A Dangerous Masquerade (7 page)

             
‘I trust you were satisfied with our service?’

             
‘Yes, perfectly.  You will keep the large trunk here until I send its direction?’

             
‘Yes, my lord.  Certainly.  We shall hope to see you again.’

             
Moraven left the hotel, carrying his bags outside to the waiting cab.  He gave the address and climbed inside, glancing out into the street as it drew away from the curb.  Had he been followed?  He did not think so, though he was sure that someone had followed them earlier that morning.  Did that mean that it was she being followed and not he?

             
He frowned as he stretched his long legs in front of him.  The excuse he’d given Constance for staying at her house was a weak one for the hotel would not have demanded payment from such a prestigious customer.  He had only to write a draft on his bank for the matter to be settled. Yet it suited his purpose to make her believe that he was penniless, at least until he could transfer funds.

             
Why had he persuaded her to accept him as a guest in her house?  Was it simply because he believed her in danger from Renard – or was she right to suspect an ulterior motive?

             
She was certainly beautiful and there had been moments the previous night when he’d thought of her lying in the next room and felt his manhood harden.  Had she been a different kind of woman – the woman he’d thought her when he discovered his purse missing – he would not have taken no for an answer.

             
Was she making a fool of him?  It was true that he’d seen the children for himself and Sister Helene had confirmed that she had been supporting them for several months.  However, that did not necessarily make the rest of her story true.  He could not be certain that she’d not taken advantage of the situation to steal the comtesse’s identity in order to acquire her jewels and possessions.

             
Was she actually a rather clever adventuress?

             
A smile touched his sensual lips as he recalled the way her eyes had taken fire that morning.  He found it amusing to fence with her verbally and realised that he enjoyed her company – more than he’d enjoyed the company of a woman for years.

             
There had been several women in his life.  He was not a saint and would never pretend otherwise, but he’d never taken an unwilling woman or deflowered a virgin – though certain people believed otherwise.  For a moment his frown deepened.  Whatever he said or did, he was damned in the eyes of certain of his erstwhile friends.  He had no intention of trying to prove his innocence.  Let them think what they pleased.  They had condemned him as a traitor when he’d been risking his life in ways they had no idea of – damn them!  His pride had made him become reticent and in time bitter.  There had been moments when he’d wanted to wipe the look of smug indifference from Pendleton’s face.

             
Pushing the angry thoughts to the back of his mind, he bent it to the task in hand.  If Renard was the man he thought him, he would not ignore the challenge Moraven had thrown down.  Once he returned to Paris and learned that someone had been looking for him, he would do something about it – which meant he might try to kill Moraven.

             
Was he risking Constance’s safety by staying at her house?  She was already in danger.  If she’d been followed from the nuns’ house it meant that they were aware of her and what she was doing.  While Moraven was in danger of a knife in the back or a ball through the head, Constance’s fate might be far worse.

             
She was too beautiful to dispose of – especially if she was a virgin, as she seemed to claim.  There were men who would pay a huge price to deflower her – and others who would use her again and again until she was broken in mind and body.

             
A shudder ran through him as he considered her fate.  He would die rather than let that happen to her.  She might be a thief, she might even be an adventuress – but the thought of men using her, breaking her pride little by little.  He wanted to take Andre Renard by the throat and choke the life out of him.  Men like that deserved to be hung drawn and quartered – and even that was hardly enough punishment for the men who preyed on young children.

             
Moraven had felt sick to his stomach as Sister Helene related some of the children’s stories.  He was aware of such things, naturally, but it wasn’t until it was thrust on his notice and the child pointed out that he felt the full force of its meaning.

             
He had promised the nun that he would help her and he would do his best to keep that promise.  Her most pressing problem for the moment was for him to track down and deal with the man who was threatening her.  Most of the children had been run by pimps who worked for Renard and were under his protection. While he retained his network of influential friends and patrons they feared nothing, but cut off the head and the tangled web would begin to unravel.  It would never stop of course.  Abuse of women, children and some young men would always go on, but this was a particularly nasty group who used violence to coerce their victims.  Kill Renard and the men that had died in Spain in that ambush would be avenged – and many children would be able to live without the shadow of fear hanging over them.  If he saved Constance’s life into the bargain all the better.

             
His expression lightened as he recalled the look on her face when he lain on her bed the previous evening.  She had believed he intended to ravish her as payment for the purse she’d taken.  While he acknowledged the physical need she’d aroused, he had no intention of demanding payment.  However, should she wish to become his mistress he would be more than happy to oblige her. Just thinking of the possibility was enough to make his breeches extraordinarily tight about the crotch.

             
A smile played over his mouth as he imagined the situation.  He would set her up in her own house when this was all over.  Instead of wearing another woman’s gowns and jewels, she would have her own – gowns that became her colouring and jewels that set off her lovely eyes.

             
The smile vanished.  First of all, he had to find and deal with Renard.

Constance was returning to the house with her basket over her arm.  It was filled to the brim with the ingredients she would need to make her soup, also bread, cheeses and a joint of beef she intended to cook for their supper the following day.  It was pleasant in the sunshine and for once she had not bothered to look over her shoulder.  Why should anyone follow her to the market and back?  If they knew where the nuns were living they would try to snatch the children back.  Heloise had warned her to be careful but most people believed she was the comtesse and as such she was surely safe from attack?

             
It was just as she reached the house that she realised someone was  behind her.  She glanced back, shocked to discover two burly men standing so close that it was obvious they intended some harm.

             
‘I have no money to steal,’ she said, her heart thumping.  ‘If you want the food in my basket, take it…’

             
‘It’s you we want, my pretty one,’ the man nearest to her said and grinned in a way that sent shivers down her spine.  ‘Come along nicely now.  Someone wants to see you.  You’re to explain why you’ve been interfering in his business, madame.’

             
‘No,’ Constance said, stifling the scream that rose to her lips.  ‘I shall not come with you…’

             
‘We’ll hurt you if you force us,’ the second man said.  ‘It would be a pity to mark that lovely white skin but you’ll heal…not that it matters much where you’re going.’

             
The leer on his thick lips made Constance shiver.  His meaning was so plain that she could not doubt she was in mortal danger.

             
‘Let me be, sir.  I shall not come with you.  If you try to touch me, I shall scream…’

             
‘And who will listen?  No one will risk their person to save you, madame.  Especially a cheating impostor…’

             
‘No…’ Constance let out a cry of fear.  ‘Do not touch me.  My friends will avenge me.  You’ll be sorry…’

             
‘What friends?  Who will stop me?’

             
‘I should be happy to oblige the lady,’ a harsh voice spoke from behind him.  ‘At this moment a loaded pistol is pointed at your head, rogue.  Lay one finger on the lady and I’ll shoot you like the dog you are.’

             
The man grunted and turned his head just as Moraven brought the side of a second pistol crashing against his skull.  He yelled in pain, reeling away and holding his hand to his bleeding flesh.  His companion, seeing that the newcomer was still holding a pistol trained on him, turned and ran.  The wounded man stared at him in disbelief for a moment longer and then took off after his accomplice.

             
‘Are you all right?  They did not harm you?’

             
‘No.  Your arrival was timely, sir,’ Constance replied, taking a deep breath to steady herself.  ‘They wanted me to go with them – to explain myself to their master, Monsieur Renard, I think.’

             
‘Go inside the house, Constance.  You look as if you could do with a glass of cognac.’

             
‘I am not sure we have any.  I have never ventured into the comte’s wine cellar.’

             
‘It’s just as well I have,’ Moraven said with an odd smile as he pushed her inside the house.  ‘Whatever else he may have been, the comte was a good judge of cognac.’

             
Constance swallowed hard as the door was closed behind them and the bolt shot.  ‘Thank you.  I’m not sure what I should have done if you hadn’t arrived.  There were people about but whether they would have helped me I do not know.’

             
‘It depends.  Some might have stepped up to help, but many prefer to ignore an altercation for fear of being hurt themselves.’

             
‘Yes, I know…’ Constance realised her hands were trembling and set down her basket.  ‘How foolish of me.  I feel a little shaken…’

             
‘It is hardly to be wondered at.  Come, sit down and I shall fetch the brandy for you.’

             
Constance obeyed.  It was so stupid of her for she did not normally give way to nerves, but her knees felt like jelly and she thought she might fall if she did not sit. 

             
Moraven returned in such a short time that she knew he must have brought the brandy up from the cellar earlier.  He handed her a glass and she took it with both hands.

             
‘Drink it all.  It will sting your throat but you’ll feel steadier.’

             
‘Thank you.’  She lifted it to her lips and drank a sip.  It did sting her throat but she drank some more, then set the glass down still a third full.  ‘That is enough.  I am much better already.  I suppose it was the shock.  I’ve walked safely at night for months – now in the middle of day someone tries to abduct me.  Why?’

             
‘I think you know the answer.’

             
‘They knew I wasn’t the countess.  How can they know?  Madeline never went out in company.’

             
‘Then someone must have come here and seen her – one of her husband’s friends perhaps?  That someone must have told your enemy.’

             
‘Yes, perhaps…’  Constance stood up.  ‘I must prepare the soup for our meal.’

             
‘Rest for a little longer.  Can you recall any of the men who visited here when the comte was alive?’

             
‘He did not encourage visitors but there were a few.’  Constance wrinkled her smooth brow.  ‘I recall one man…he was not ill favoured but his eyes made me feel as if he were stripping me naked when he looked my way.  The comte was pleased with his company.  He sent for wine and he made Madeline join them for dinner.  She told me afterwards that they had business together.  She did not know what but she didn’t like the visitor.’

             
‘Renard…’ Moraven looked thoughtful.  ‘Could it have been he?’

             
‘Perhaps.  I had never heard his name then.  It was only after…he called himself Devallier…yes, the man who came here was the Comte Devallier.’

             
‘Another of Renard’s names.’  Moraven nodded.  ‘It was good fortune that I returned when I did.  Renard knows what you’ve been doing and he knows you are not the comtesse.  He believed you to be friendless, apart from your servants and the nuns.  Had he succeeded in snatching you, I think you know your fate?’

             
‘Yes.’  Constance’s face was pale as she stood up once more.  ‘I must take more care in future.  I shall ask Pierre to escort me to the market in future – and I shall not go out at night alone.’