Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (68 page)

Henrietta drew a tortured breath, determined not to let him see how much her heart was breaking. Whether she was pretty or not, this woman who had stepped from the shadows had shattered her happiness. There was no room in her heart but this one vast disappointment which became an aching pain.

‘I am here with Uncle Matthew. We—we are to reside in Paris for a while—and later, perhaps, do some travelling.'

‘How is he? Is he well?'

‘Yes, he is, very well. I know he would be glad to see you again.'

‘And I him. I will seek him out shortly.'

Taking a step back, Henrietta forced a smile. ‘Forgive me. I am keeping you from your dance. Excuse me.'

Denying herself so much as a glance at Simon, with anger simmering in her breast, she inclined her head slightly and then turned away from them to go in search of her uncle.

Hovering in the background, observing his niece's meeting with Lord Tremain, their body language had told Matthew that things were far from well. The sudden appearance of the beauty at his side made him genuinely concerned for Henrietta.

As she walked away, angry and hurt by his cold rejection of her, Henrietta faced the truth. Physically, she was no more immune to Simon Tremain than she had been six months ago. Her heart was beating hard, as though it were trying to get out of her ribcage, to escape the bewildering pain it felt, and she found it hard to draw breath. But she did, just enough to keep her conscious, to keep her upright, smiling, though her face felt as though it would crack. Her whole body was suffering such a torrent of physical anguish she found herself walking quickly to escape it.

So this was heartbreak, then, she thought. How was she to survive it? But she must—she would. No matter what came next, she must bear her pain in silence. But she refused to wallow in self-pity. Simon no longer wanted her. He had just made that clear. But it was her own fault for believing he did. To think he had found someone else!

As had happened once before when she had fled from London and Jeremy Lucas, she was seized by the old longing to run away. It was a primitive urge, which overcame her whenever she was unhappy. It was not cowardice. She was not afraid to face her troubles, but felt a need to hide her feelings from prying eyes and seek her own cure in silence and solitude.

‘Are you all right, my dear?' Matthew said quietly.

The anger simmering inside her had increased to such a pitch that it was all she could do to hold back her temper that was making her tremble. Taking hold of herself, she gave him a tight smile from behind her fluttering fan, lifting her head to a queenly angle. ‘Of course.' She laughed. ‘Why ever would I not be?'

‘That's my girl, Henrietta. Don't let what has happened get you down. Come, some wine to fortify you and then you must enjoy the ball.' They were not the most felicitous of words. He smiled when he saw his niece's scowl. ‘I want to introduce you to some of my friends who have expressed their desire to be introduced to you—unless you would prefer to slip away?'

‘I have no desire to leave just yet, Uncle. The king has yet to arrive and it would be impolite to leave. But one thing I have learned tonight is that coming to Paris was a mistake. There is nothing for me here. I think I would like to move on.'

‘Leave Paris? But—my dear, we have only just arrived—and Lord Tremain—'

Henrietta's voice was cold as she answered, ‘Lord Tremain no longer concerns me. His attentions are directed elsewhere—but I admit his presence in Paris is my chief motive for wishing to leave. If you will not take me away from here, then I shall leave anyway. I will go to any lengths to erase Simon Tremain from my life.'

Her uncle must have realised she meant what she said for even as she saw him blanch, she was aware of something else, a curious pride glowing in his usually gentle eyes.

‘Do you have anywhere in mind? Italy, perhaps?'

‘Perfect,' she quipped. ‘I will instruct Rose to begin packing my things in the morning.'

Though her heart throbbed and she felt inclined to shiver despite the warmth of the room, Henrietta knew she must get through this night without making a fool of herself. Without anyone knowing how she suffered.

* * *

Simon was not as unaffected by Henrietta's sudden appearance in Paris as she thought. As he escorted Vanessa on to the dance floor, he could think of nothing else but the young woman he had left in Scotland. He had been startled to see her, and looking as magnificent as only she could.

He reflected on the joy he had felt when they had become lovers. It had come to him and filled him up the moment he had held her and felt all his passions reciprocated in her. Seldom was the ardour of two lovers equal. There was always one who felt more. But with Henrietta, they had taken their pleasure with a kind of exquisitely matched respect, strong and tender, for each other, and whispered all the while words of passionate attachment. He longed for that again and knew he would experience it with no other woman but Henrietta.

What the hell was she doing in Paris? Why had she come? When he'd parted from her, her rejection had almost sent him over the edge, and tonight, seeing her again, magnificent in these grand surroundings, a beautiful, glittering world she was created for, when the joy had overwhelmed him, he had wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him.

It had been with a great effort, his large frame trembling with the tension of it, that he'd managed to master it and treat her with indifference. He'd had to get away, before Henrietta saw what was in him, what was still buried deep inside, locked away in a safe in which to keep it. But it was a poor, weak thing that was in danger of collapsing at any time and he must guard it against her rejection.

But now she was in Paris she wouldn't let him.

* * *

As the evening wore on Henrietta found she could look everyone directly in the eye and smile as though she hadn't a care in the world. She had hoped, of course, to have Simon's arm to cling to, his protection about her, for she knew how he felt about her. But that was before. It had disappeared now, that barrier of security he had erected about her on their journey to Scotland and thereafter, in the icy chill of what appeared to be his total indifference.

The king's arrival with his courtly entourage caused much excitement. As his dark, hooded eyes swept restlessly over the crowd and he raised his haughty Bourbon nose, Henrietta saw he was not a tall man. As he nodded in gracious acknowledgement of his bowing subjects, the richness of his attire, his backswept wig and the attitude of those around him enhanced his stature.

It was to the young man hovering on the periphery of his entourage that Henrietta's eyes were drawn. His head was bent close to a pretty woman eager for his attention. Instinctively she knew this was Prince Charles Edward Stuart. A wave of bitterness swept over her. Handsome, yet slightly effeminate, with soft pink lips and powdered hair, he was not exactly as she had imagined him to be.

This was the man whose head had once been full of great revolutionary ideas, whose eagerness to reclaim the crown for his father had driven him to associate with those who had turned the idea of a revolution into a bloodbath on Culloden Field. He had fled to safety in France, leaving those who had supported him to face the brutal retribution of his enemies.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of introductions, conversing and consuming more champagne than she was accustomed to. She stayed close to her uncle. When the firework display ended in a blaze of glory, much as she'd been looking forward to this fabulous pyrotechnic display, she regarded it with a jaundiced eye.

Among so many people she did not see Simon again. He made no attempt to approach her or her uncle.

* * *

Midmorning the following day found Simon at Matthew Brody's residence. It had not been difficult to locate. His impatience to see Henrietta and to discover her reason for coming to Paris was eating away at him. He could not bear another hour, let alone another day, of this awful suspense.

Matthew put down the newspaper he was reading and rose from the chair when the visitor was admitted. He watched Lord Tremain enter the room, having half expected him to call and heartily relieved that he had. But after his cold treatment of Henrietta at the ball, Matthew had no intention of making it easy for him.

The two men shook hands and exchanged polite greetings. Matthew offered him a chair and the two men sat facing each other.

‘I trust you are well, Matthew?' Simon said, sincerely glad to see him again and to express his gratitude once more for providing shelter for him in Scotland.

Matthew was studying him. ‘I am well and I can't tell you how relieved I was to learn you had managed to reach France safely. But I do not think it is me you have come to see. You wish to see Henrietta.'

‘That is the purpose of my visit.'

‘Then it is as well you have called today. We are leaving for Italy shortly,' Matthew stated, standing up and walking to a table where he poured some Madeira into two glasses and handing one to Simon. ‘The climate in Paris at this present time is not to my niece's liking.'

The glass in Simon's hand froze halfway to his lips. ‘Why? She's only just arrived.'

‘I think your behaviour of last night has something to do with her decision.' Matthew watched in satisfaction as Simon tossed down half the contents of his glass as if he wanted to wash away the disappointment of the news.

‘Will you allow me to see her? I would like to.'

‘That's a pity. I don't think Henrietta wants to see you. The welfare and happiness of my niece is paramount to all else, which is why I've agreed to take her to Italy.'

‘Where she will no doubt be a huge success and meet eligible young men with all the prerequisites required of a husband,' Simon remarked savagely, his voice laced with uncharacteristic sarcasm. Draining the glass, he set it down with a thud before getting to his feet.

‘She might—although since encountering you, marriage to anyone else is the last thing on her mind. Wealth, titles and all the trappings that accompany them, are not important to her. Given your treatment of her last night—which was undeserved, I might add,' Matthew said, determined to have his say, particularly in matters of morality or justice, ‘she was under the influence of the most formidable temper I have ever seen. While I was not present at your—reunion—although my eyes did bear witness to it—I got the gist of it, and if what Henrietta told me is true, then it is obvious that you are completely without either heart or conscience. My heart breaks when I think what she has gone through to come here. How she—'

‘Why? What has she done?' Simon interrupted shortly, turning and walking to the window.

‘She sold everything, everything Baron Lucas had left to her, and all because she loves you and could not live without you. She turned her back on England and the security of her home to come to you.' With grim satisfaction Matthew observed the muscle that was beginning to twitch in Simon's rigid jaw.

‘Despite what I am? That I have nothing to offer her?'

‘In spite of all that. She suffered greatly when her father was executed. She was a child, bewildered and hurt—unable to understand—and then...'

Simon turned sharply. ‘What? What happened?'

‘Her mother could not endure life without my brother. Henrietta will probably berate me for telling you this, but if you are to fully understand the situation then I feel you should know the whole of it.'

‘Go on,' Simon urged, his eyes fixed on him intently when he fell silent.

Taking a deep breath, after a moment Matthew continued. ‘The brutality of her husband's death my sister-in-law could not endure. Demented with grief, she entered into a state of madness where no one could reach her. Gradually, her behaviour became more and more irrational—her moods erratic. Fearing that something would happen to Henrietta and that she, too, would be taken away from her, she became obsessive and hated to let her out of her sight for a moment. It broke Henrietta's heart when she saw what was happening to her mother. Quite how it happened we will never know, but one day she left the house and drowned herself. Henrietta found her. The double tragedy was almost too much for the heart and mind of someone so young. Her father's execution had a terrible impact on her—her mother's suicide turned her life into a living hell.'

Simon's brow drew together in a frown of disbelief at what he was hearing. His heart began to hammer in deep aching beats. He was caught between torment and tenderness over what Matthew had divulged. ‘I didn't know,' he said hoarsely. ‘She didn't tell me this.'

‘She could never bring herself to talk about it. When I saw her, her eyes were filled with so much pain—I'll never forget the torment in her eyes.'

Simon stared at him, trying to deny what Matthew was telling him, and then, with his heart bursting with compassion, he closed his eyes as he tried to blot out the image of a little girl with red-gold hair and green eyes being subjected to so much pain and sorrow.

‘I did what I could for her,' Matthew went on, ‘and when she was stronger I placed her in the care of Baron Lucas and his wife. I believe she was happy, but what happened to her as a child has never left her. She needed someone—something—to blame. Perhaps now you will understand fully why she focused all that hate on the Jacobites and their cause.'

A muscle moved spasmodically in Simon's throat, but he made no effort to defend himself. Bracing his hands on either side of the window, he stared out, Matthew's revelations about Henrietta's mother pounding in his brain with the torment of his own cruelty to her. Little wonder she felt as she did with him being a Jacobite.

He saw her as she had been in Scotland, courageous and lovely, filled with innocent passion in his arms, and he heard her words from last night—
Have you
forgotten me already?
Dear God, if he lived to be a thousand he could never forget her. With a fresh surge of remorse, scolding rage at his own blindness and stupidity poured through him. His last words to her in Scotland had been spoken in anger—that if she sent him away without hope, then he would not come back. And now this—she had sold everything to come to him.