A Dangerous Masquerade (20 page)

             
What did he think Jonathan could give her that he couldn’t?  Money didn’t matter as long as they had food, clothes and a roof over their heads, besides, he was rich.  Jonathan had told her that his reputation was stained and some hostesses would not receive him.  She’d never planned to mix in high society.

             
All she’d wanted was his love, but perhaps that was the very thing Moraven could not give.  He wanted her but he’d never spoken of love.  She imagined that something had happened long ago that had made him shut off his feelings, made him afraid to love.

             
It didn’t help to know that she had probably discovered his secret.  They had quarrelled and he’d left her, gone home to England.  She was not sure she would see him again.

             
Hot tears stung behind her eyes but she held them inside.  Pushing back her chair, she took her untouched soup to the sink and poured it away.

             
‘Why are you wasting good food?’ Heloise demanded.  ‘If you’re breaking your heart over that Englishman you’re a fool.  I told you at the start that he would hurt you.  Marry the young one and take what he wants to give you.’

             
‘What do you know of that?  Have you been listening at the door?’

             
‘I’m no fool.  I’ve seen the young idiot looking at you.  He adores you.  A sensible woman would grab what’s on offer instead of mooning over what she can’t have.’

             
‘I’m going to take Lord South some broth,’ Constance said.  ‘I thank you for your concern but please do not try to tell me how to live my life.’

             
‘Lose the chance and you’ll end on the streets,’ Heloise warned.  ‘Don’t think I don’t know what’s been going on here – that rogue has broken your heart and you’ll either harden it or die in poverty, my girl.’

Constance did not answer as she prepared a tray of broth and delicate slices of bread and butter.  She also added a small measure of brandy since it was Jonathan’s request.  The broth would be good for him, but the strong wine might give him strength.

             
She had wondered if he might still be sleeping but she saw that he was awake when she entered and had managed to sit up against his pillows.  He seemed a little easier and smiled as he saw her.

             
‘Will you forgive me?’

             
‘What have you done that needs forgiveness?’

             
‘I tried to blackmail you into becoming my wife earlier.  I am sorry.  You do know that I care for you deeply?’

             
‘Yes, I know.’  She moved closer to the bed.  ‘Do you think you could manage a little broth?  I have brought some brandy if you prefer.’

             
‘I will have the brandy and then try a little broth, but you must not scold me if I cannot swallow much.’

             
‘I have no right to scold you.’

             
‘You would if you were my wife.’

             
Do you truly wish for it?’ Constance asked.  ‘You said you knew I was in love with Moraven.  I shall tell you that he was my lover for a short time – and, yes, I do love him.  You are a friend and I care for you – is that enough for you?  Would it not hurt you to know that your wife loves another man?’

             
‘The physician made it clear to me that I do not have long to live.  He says that even if I make a recovery I shall never be truly well and it is unlikely that I could live more than a year at most.’

             
‘He may be wrong, Jonathan.  Already, you are better than you were.  You should not dwell on such thoughts.’

             
‘I could not be a husband to you, as I should wish, but it would make me happy to know that when I’m gone you have a chance to live as you ought.’

             
‘Supposing I am already carrying Moraven’s child?’

             
‘Are you?’

             
‘I cannot tell.  It is too soon to know.’

             
‘I shall never have a son.  Your child will be mine.’

             
Emotion caught at her throat.  ‘You are too good, sir.  I am not deserving of your generosity…’

             
‘Ah, Constance, never say it again.  To me you are an angel and sweeter than a pure white rose just kissed by the dew.’

             
She laughed.  ‘I think you are a poet.  Do you enjoy poetry?’

             
‘Yes, I do.  Very much.  My father thought me a fob because I liked to read poetry, paint and walk about the countryside – he wanted a strong brave son to make him proud.  It is why I joined the intelligence, to prove that I am no coward.’

             
‘You are one of the bravest men I know,’ Constance said, touched to the heart by his confession.  ‘If it makes you happy I shall consider your offer, Jonathan.  If you recover a little and still wish me to be your wife – I shall give you my answer within two weeks.’

             
‘If my recovery is important to you I shall eat as much of my broth as I can manage.’

             
‘Do you wish me to feed you?’

             
‘I think I can manage.  You must have work to do.  Please return when you can but do not feel obliged to sit with me.’

             
‘I shall return in an hour and I will bring a book of French poems.  We shall read them together.’

             
‘Yes, I should enjoy that,’ he said and smiled at her.

             
Constance left him to eat what he could of the food, though she suspected he would prefer the brandy.  She had given her promise because he had shown her the young and vulnerable man beneath the bravado.  He was alone and perhaps as unhappy as she.  Since it seemed that Moraven no longer wanted her as his mistress, she might as well consider the idea of becoming Jonathan’s wife.  It was not his wealth or his position in society but the fact that she had seen his need and believed that she could heal his inner wounds if not those Renard’s rogue had inflicted.

Moraven scowled at the flunky who showed him into the royal antechamber.  He scowled at the servant who offered him wine and told him that the Regent would not keep him waiting long.  In fact he had not stopped scowling since he left Constance and set sail for England more than ten days ago.  His temper was not helped by the fact that he had been from one meeting to another, giving various officials details of his work in Paris.  Renard had been a dangerous enemy of both England and France and it seemed many people wanted confirmation of his death from him personally.

             
‘You are sure it was Devallier?  Can we really  be certain that the criminal Renard was one and the same man?’

             
‘It was my intelligence and I know that the man who called himself the Comte Devallier was also known by many other names, including Renard.  He tried to shoot me in the back after offering a duel and one of my men killed him.’

             
‘Give that man a medal.’

             
Moraven was sick of answering the same questions and getting the same answers.  Everyone was treating him as if he were a conquering hero.  The Regent had always acknowledged him, but now other people were beginning to lionise him.  On one particular evening he had been greeted with a burst of applause as he entered a ballroom, which had him scurrying for the card room where he could be sure of a less enthusiastic greeting.

             
‘Ah, Moraven,’ the Regent had entered the room without his noticing so lost in his thoughts was he.  He managed not to scowl and inclined his head.  ‘Forgive me for keeping you.  Matters of State you know – which brings me to the reason for this audience.  I am told you intend to retire.’

             
‘Yes, sir.  I feel that it is time my life took a different turn.’

             
‘I have been asked to persuade you to continue your excellent work for us, but I shall not press you.  I had it in mind to make you an ambassador, if you should care for it?'

             
‘It would be an honour, of course – but one I shall decline if you will forgive me?’

             
‘Thought it wouldn’t wash myself,’ the Regent laughed, his large belly shaking with mirth.  ‘It’s time you thought of setting up your nursery, Moraven.  Since you will not accept the post of ambassador – perhaps the order of the garter might be acceptable.’  He moved towards Moraven, offering his hand.  ‘Is there anything more I can do for you – short of making you a duke I can’t see what is in my power.  You’re richer than I am for goodness sake.’

             
‘I have no desire for riches, titles or honours,’ Moraven said.  ‘All I asked was that my name be cleared of the shadow that has lain across it for years.  I am no traitor and I did not cause the death of my colleagues that day.’

             
‘Glad to tell you I’ve already seen to it.  I had Pendleton in earlier and told him the whole story.’  The Regent laughed again.  ‘Never seen a man more shocked in my life.  Thought he was going to faint – asked me three times if I were sure and I showed him documents to prove your outstanding service to the crown and explained why you’ve held your silence all these years.  I feel sure that you will hear from him – and the others.’

             
‘Thank you.  That is all I required.’

             
‘Then we shall have the award for the garter here at the palace next week and afterwards you may attend a dinner I’m giving at Carlton House.  After that you’re free to do much as you please, Moraven – though there is one little matter of a personal nature I might request of you.’

             
‘If  I can I should be honoured, sir – but I’ve finished with the service.’

             
‘This is personal to me.  In my youth I may have been indiscreet.  There is a letter in a certain person’s possession.  She is asking for ten thousand pounds for its safe return.  A not inconsiderate sum you will agree.’

             
‘You want me to secure the letter without paying the blackmail?’

             
The Regent winced.  ‘It sounds so sordid but I feel if I pay it may lead to other demands.  I was assured you were the best man for the job.  It will only take you a couple of days there and back.  You’ll be in London again for the investiture.’

             
‘Yes, of course, Highness – if you will give me the direction.’

             
Moraven could hardly hide his scowl as he took the folded paper.  This in itself was close to blackmail.  Since the request was personal and not a State matter, he felt unable to refuse but it was the last – the very last time he would walk on the dark side of the law for the sake of others.

             
He was released a few minutes later after a short chat about the Regent’s horse running at Newmarket.  He scowled as he strode though the narrow passages of the royal palace; he scowled as he left and crossed the street, heading for his club, and he scowled as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed.  It was a habit he would find hard to break, but break it he must if he wanted a normal life.

             
A wry smile touched his mouth.  What was normal for him?  He’d forgotten what it was like not to live beneath a shadow.

             
Just for a moment in France he’d thought he might have a future but then his foolish pride had got in the way.  When he’d heard Lord South offering to marry Constance he’d known he had no right to snatch her away.  The younger man could give her so much that he couldn’t – and she obviously liked him or she wouldn’t have agreed to nurse him until he no longer needed her.  That might be weeks, months or years.  Though an invalid, the man could linger on forever.

             
An unworthy desire to smother him with his own pillow rose up in Moraven’s mind but he crushed it.  South was a brave man and his action had undoubtedly saved Constance.  Had he stood aside and let the rogues take her, Moraven might have been too late.  He’d seen the despair in the eyes of those girls in the brothel and the thought of her being slowly broken to become like that sickened him.

             
She would be better off as the young lord’s wife.  He would give her all the things she deserved.  Moraven was still living with the shadow of the past and it might take a while to clear it – and yet his body burned for her and he could not sleep at night for thinking of how sweet she would be in his arms.  He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.  Indeed, he was close to loving her…whatever that meant.  If he loved anyone it was Constance, but could he open his heart to love – could he let in the light to that dark place within him?