Adele Ashworth (34 page)

His eyes widened just enough for her to know she’d stung him with that. But fury seeped from her in waves now, and she refused to stop there. His motives were becoming so very clear at last.

She swallowed as tears she could no longer control filled her eyes. “I suppose you’ll next tell me that everything you said to me last night was rehearsed. Or perhaps you simply called upon phrases you’ve used before? I’m sure you know exactly what to say to a woman at precisely the right moment.”

She realized immediately that she’d gone too far. At first he appeared only stunned by her vehemence. Then intense pain sliced through his eyes, and she knew she’d wounded him deeply. It shook her, too, and she wavered, but she refused to back down completely.

After moments of excruciating silence, staring at each other from across the corner of the bed, his features softened to an unspeakable sorrow he couldn’t conceal, and he slowly lowered his gaze.

He turned away from her, walked three feet to the chair, picked up his jacket, and moved to the door. When he grasped the handle he looked back into her eyes.

“You’re going to have to come to terms with this on your own, Natalie,” he warned in a clear, grim voice. “I can’t make you trust me and I can’t change my past. If you cannot accept it for what it is, you alone will ruin everything between us, and we’ll have no chance at all.”

He opened the door and glanced to the plum carpeting beneath his feet. “I’m going into the city to discover what I can about the banquet tomorrow night.”

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 16

N
atalie sat primly on a high-backed, pink velveteen chair in the private, third-floor suite of the Hotel de Monceau. She had arrived only minutes ago after a day of frustrating investigation of her own, traipsing through Paris by herself and with all her luggage in an attempt to find Madeleine DuMais.

She’d discovered Madeleine’s whereabouts by no unusual manner, but by moving from one elegant hotel to another until she did so. The Frenchwoman was in Paris because she’d accompanied M. Fecteau in some secrecy to the capital city to finish her business with the British government regarding the emeralds. This much Natalie had known before coming north herself. But it wasn’t until this morning, after the fiasco with Jonathan, that she’d considered seeking her out.

Her first inclination after their horrible argument had been to leave France entirely. She had packed her trunks quickly once he’d left and had removed herself from the distress she felt within the four walls of their beautiful room at the Auberge de la Cascade. She’d traveled to the city with every intention of catching the first train to Calais, then booking passage to Dover. She could be home in three days if all went well. And yet something restrained her. At first she thought it was just the simple feeling of regret for the words she’d spoken to Jonathan that morning. But after attempting to find transportation to the city, and then spending half of her day paying an enormous sum to have her trunks carried all over town, she realized she stayed in France because of her confounding feelings for him—the man who lied to her, humiliated her, deceived her, helped her to his advantage, made love to her so perfectly, and carted her tremendous wardrobe through France because she’d asked him to.

Yes, she had to admit she’d had second thoughts about running home strictly because of the inconvenience she’d caused him for weeks without a serious complaint on his part. She’d been an imposition to him, steering him away from his work, distracting him with her presence and demands, stealing his emeralds, which she still had in her possession. And that’s exactly how her relationship with Jonathan had always been—confusing, amusing, and ridiculous. Before she tossed it all away, if she hadn’t lost everything already, she needed the advice of an experienced woman, and that’s how she’d found herself in Madeleine’s hotel suite at last, seven exhausting hours after deciding to locate her.

She’d been greeted at the door by a tall, prosaic-faced maid with dark-brown hair and eyes, wearing a starched gray gown, white apron, and cap. She took Natalie’s name and after only moments, ushered her into the sitting room to await her mistress.

She sat in something more like a parlor, actually, adorned in shades of pink, tastefully done—not garish as one might expect. The decorations were sparse, as the room was somewhat small, containing only two velveteen chairs facing a settee of the same material and a mahogany tea table between them. To the west, behind her, was a wall of windows, now open to allow for any breeze that might find its way inside, offering a splendid view of the lush park across the street. Pink brocade wallpaper with tiny velveteen flowers of an unknown variety covered the other three walls, from the plush carpeting to the ceiling. Three oil paintings of Parisian sights graced the long wall, and at opposite ends were a large fireplace with a carved mahogany mantel, and the door leading to the sleeping room.

The look could certainly have been overdone, Natalie mused, sitting erect and fanning herself against the persistent heat. But of course it wasn’t. The suite was sophisticated and feminine, quite Parisian, and it certainly suited Madeleine.

“Goodness, Natalie, I’m so surprised to see you.”

She turned to the soft, airy voice of the Frenchwoman coming from the doorway leading to the bedroom where she’d been taking an afternoon rest. As always, Madeleine DuMais was stunning to look at, elegant in stature as she gracefully walked across the pink carpet toward her, her beautiful, smiling face brimming with questions, the full skirt of her blue silk day dress flowing gently around her legs as if a natural part of her frame.

Natalie felt small and awkward suddenly in her modest traveling gown of mint-green muslin. Her damp skin caused wayward curls to stick to her cheeks and her corset to crunch her ribs together as she tried to sit properly. Of course, she would never again leave even her bedroom without a corset, but considering that now only turned her mind to the indecent memory of not wearing one in Jonathan’s presence. She didn’t need the distraction right now.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me this intrusion, Madeleine,” she said pleasantly, lightly fanning her face. “But I was in Paris and thought perhaps I’d call. Are you well?”

Madeleine’s dark brows arched faintly at the question. She moved her lithe form to the settee opposite Natalie and sat in one swift, fluid motion. “I’m quite well, thank you, except of course for the heat.” She smoothed her skirt, straightening the hem to swirl around her legs, and turned her body so that she pointed just to the side as she faced forward, folding her hands in her lap. “I hope you, too, are well?”

“Oh, yes, very well, thank you,” Natalie returned politely. “It’s been so hot, but the showers we’ve had for the last several days have been a lovely diversion. I do prefer the coolness in England to the heat of southern France, although the weather in Paris has been rather mild. One cannot complain.”

“No, indeed one can’t,” Madeleine agreed easily. “In the winter months, however, I prefer the warmth of Marseilles.”

She smiled. “I do think it’s natural for one to prefer the comforts of one’s home, regardless of the weather—”

“Natalie, where is Jonathan?”

She blinked at the candid question, pinching the handle of her fan as it stopped in midair. Madeleine knew very well she wasn’t here to exchange pleasantries and was now insisting on the point of her visit.

She hesitated, licking her lips. “I’m not certain where he is. Have you seen him?” She was deathly afraid he was here, resting with Madeleine, but she quickly shoved that thought from her mind. She truthfully didn’t think it likely.

Madeleine breathed deeply, leaning back serenely against the thick cushion. “I haven’t seen him since we left Marseilles, and he didn’t tell me you’d be coming to Paris.” She lowered her voice. “Are you looking for him or running from him?”

Natalie almost laughed. She would have had the events of the past two days not made her so unsettled. “Actually, I-I was thinking of leaving France without his knowledge. My trunks are downstairs with the concierge, but first I wanted to visit with you.”

“I see. Is everything all right?”

Natalie felt color rise in her cheeks and compensated for it by swishing her fan again. “We . . . had a bit of a quarrel.”

Madeleine’s head tilted fractionally. “Did you?”

Natalie could think of nothing more to add and was starting to feel restless. She turned her attention to the window, gazing blankly at green, leafy vines hanging from a white trellis.

“Have you eaten today, Natalie?”

Her gaze shot back to the Frenchwoman. “Eaten?”

Madeleine scrutinized her for a moment, then leaned forward and rang a silver bell sitting atop the tea table. Immediately her maid appeared, and Madeleine ordered in French.

“Marie-Camille, have the hotel chef prepare a cold tray, something cold to drink, and something”—she glanced at Natalie—“something chocolate.”

“Madame.” Marie-Camille curtsied, turned, and walked out of the sitting room.

Natalie lowered her fan to her lap, fidgeting as she attempted to straighten her body so her corset didn’t cut into her breasts quite so much. Madeleine adjusted her skirts then spread her hands wide, her palms flat against the settee cushion. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what happened?”

She wasn’t exactly prepared to be vivid in detail, but Madeleine was sincerely asking, and she did, after all, come here for advice.

Without pause, she started at the beginning. “I asked Jonathan to bring me to Paris. I needed him, as the Black Knight, to help me locate letters of a private nature, written by my mother.”

“So he finally told you who he was?”

“I discovered his identity myself, the night of the ball,” she countered at once, hoping to disguise her irritation. The world of deception wasn’t open strictly to professional thieves and spies. Feeling proud of her deductions, she added, “He also verified my conclusions regarding your . . . affiliations with England.”

“Did he,” she stated without apparent surprise or concern. “Well, then, we have no secrets between us.”

She seemed pleased with this, and Natalie relaxed a bit, deciding it best to divulge everything. “I also have the emeralds.”

For a moment Madeleine stared at her, nonplussed. “The emeralds stolen from the comte d’Arles?”

What other emeralds were there? “Yes, of course,” she answered courteously. With a small smile of triumph, she boasted, “I stole them from Jonathan.”

“That’s impressive. Evidently your talent and mind are on the same level as his.”

Natalie nearly beamed in satisfaction. Quite a compliment, coming from a British spy.

“Was this the topic of your quarrel?”

She tried to organize her thoughts before she spoke. “No, actually. The quarrel was . . . on a more personal level.”

Madeleine waited, then asked, “Of a romantic nature?”

“Yes.”

“I see. . . .”

Madeleine watched her so intensely Natalie began to have second thoughts about the exchange. Her emotions were far too volatile right now, her nerves on end. She squeezed her fan in her lap to keep from screaming, because a lady did not scream. Her logical mind told her to blurt everything at once, or maybe just run. Her heart urged her to weep again, which in turn made her furious. She’d never felt so confused.

“Natalie, have you and Jonathan been intimate?”

Her eyes opened wide. Her skin flushed, and her gown felt scratchy all over. This was not something an unmarried lady discussed with anyone. Yet she could think of no other way to search for direction other than to confess such intimacies, and wasn’t that why she’d wanted to talk about it with an experienced woman anyway?

“Yes, we have,” she admitted through a whisper of sadness and regret, sagging into her binding stays at last.

Madeleine drew a long, steady breath, but her eyes never left hers, and she held no judgment in her expression. “Are you upset about it?”

“I think I am more angry at myself for allowing it to happen,” she replied, turning to view the clock on the mantel, watching the second hand tick past the nine, then the ten. Miserably she said, “I told him in Marseilles that in exchange for getting my mother’s letters, I would return the emeralds and give him something else, something priceless to his convictions. I was only speaking of information I had overheard at the ball, but he assumed I meant my innocence.”

Madeleine chuckled, and Natalie glanced back at her, noticeably bothered. “I fail to see how such an indecent notion on his part could amuse you.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you or your serious predicament,” she soothed, smiling and shaking her head just enough that her chestnut curls bounced along her cheeks. “But that reaction is so very typical. Men always think in sexual terms, Natalie, and I don’t suppose they can help themselves. It’s their nature. And because of this instinctive nature, I don’t imagine Jonathan thought twice about what you proposed. More likely he’d been dreaming or fantasizing of a time when you could be together, and when you offered him something priceless, he assumed you meant exactly what he wanted to hear.”

Natalie’s stomach tightened, aching not from lack of food but from the very troublesome thought that Madeleine might be right.

“He said he thought it was a logical assumption,” she confided.

Madeleine’s grin broadened again. “Of course he did. I’m sure it never occurred to him that it could be anything else.”

She made it sound so simple, so normal, not despicable as her mother would think if she knew. Thank God she would never know.

“Did he seduce you?”

That cut into her thoughts, catching her by surprise, and her first consideration was to lie. But Madeleine didn’t appear to be judging her. She needed the woman’s guidance and she wanted her friendship, which surprised her even more than the question of seduction.

“No, he didn’t exactly seduce me. I never discouraged him,” she admitted, squeezing her fan now to the point of breaking. “I kissed him first, very innocently, and then he expertly took my heart in his hands and sliced it into pieces.”