Lady of Shame (16 page)

When André entered the ballroom many eyes turned his way. While he was dressed much as the other men in the room, apart from the military men in their red coats, the glittering order on his chest pronounced him to be someone of importance. One look at him and none of the servants downstairs had questioned his right to be there. He still didn’t quite believe he was doing this, but it was the only way to see Claire right away.

He glanced around the crowded room and found Claire on the ballroom floor stepping lightly in the star formation of an English country dance.

She looked lovely in a gown whose colour mystified him. Not pink, nor red, perhaps the colour of burgundy wine mixed with water. The colour of a stormy sunrise. It showed off her delicate shoulders and milk-white skin, and matched the glow in her cheeks. Even at this distance, he could see that her eyes sparkled blue tonight. She had never looked more lovely. Or more tempting.

She was enjoying herself. A pang twisted in his chest. Guilt at spoiling her evening? Or something darker, like jealousy. He squeezed his eyes shut to regain his sanity. Claire was not the woman for him. She never could be. Noblewomen did not go into trade, not willingly, and he would not join the ranks of nobility. At least, not permanently.

He could not prevent the stir of excitement in his blood as he watched her small form move lightly through the figures of the dance.

He half wished he had not said what he had this morning. Even if it had been the right thing to do. The honourable thing. He still wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted any woman.

The man she was dancing with, Sir Nathan, he knew because he had seen him in Castonbury village. Not that the man would recognise him. Men as full of their own importance as Sir Nathan never saw servants, even if they tripped over them. Tonight he looked as proud as a peacock as he galumphed heavily down the set with his arm about Claire’s waist. Beside Claire, he looked decidedly brutish. André’s hands curled into fists. She deserved so much better.

He resisted the urge to rip her out of Samuelson’s arms and leaned against one of the columns supporting the ceiling. He need not have come upstairs, of course. He could have waited in the hallway below to tell Claire of the change in plan. But truth be told, he had as much right to be here as any of the other men present.

A dark-eyed young miss in white caught his wandering gaze and peeped over her fan at him, fluttering her lashes. The blonde beside her, a lady of the overblown English rose variety, gave him a come-hither tilt of her head.

As a colonel in Bonaparte’s army, he’d attended plenty of soirées and received lures enough at balls to recognise signs of female interest. The only female in the room who had not glanced his way, it seemed, was Claire.

The music drew to a close and her partner escorted her to an older woman seated nearby.

‘The next dance is a waltz,’ said a buxom matron passing by on the arm of a sweating man. ‘You do know how to waltz, do you not?’

The man mumbled something under his breath.

A waltz. What could be more private? As he approached Claire, his heart picked up speed. He had taken many risks as a soldier, but would she out him right away? Call him a fraud?

He knew the moment she saw him. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, her cheekbones flushed a delightful shade of pink.

‘Madame Holte,’ he said, bowing low. ‘We met once before. The Comte du Valière.’ He smiled at the other two members of her party, managing to look down his nose while at the same time appearing perfectly affable.

Bosom rising and falling, she stared at him. For a moment he thought she would call his bluff.
‘Monsieur le Comte,’
she said breathlessly. ‘This is Sir Nathan Samuelson and his cousin, Miss Jennifer Samuelson.’

André bowed with just the right amount of condescension of a nobleman introduced to a mere knight. ‘Madame Holte, will you do me the honour of this next dance? A waltz, I believe.’

Panic entered her gaze, then relief as she realised this was the perfect way to get him away from her friends and take him to task for his impudence. ‘Thank you,
Comte
. I should be delighted.’

Samuelson frowned as André placed her hand on his sleeve.

‘Damned émigrés,’ Samuelson muttered to his cousin, clearly intending his voice to be heard. ‘Flouting titles of no value at all.’

The insult didn’t bother him one little bit. Indeed, if asked yesterday for his opinion, he would have completely agreed. Yesterday. Tonight though, the title served him well.

He led her onto the dance floor and smiled down at her. She opened her mouth to say something and he gave his head a quick shake. ‘Wait until the music starts,
madame
. Then you can berate me until your heart is content.’

‘Unconscionable,’ she whispered.

He chuckled. And felt her little shiver. A tremble of her hand. A tremor of the ribbon in her hair and at her breast, as if some stray breeze had set them stirring.

André knew better. It was her racing heart that set them in motion. Her excitement. He could taste it on his tongue. And it spoke of promise. A promise he must not let her keep.

Nor would she want to when she knew why he was here. Frustration roared through him. But he remained determined to do what was best for her and ignore the beast of lust pulling at its chain.

The orchestra commenced the introduction. ‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ she said. ‘It is years since I danced a waltz and only once or twice then.’

‘Follow my lead,
ma petite
Claire,’ he said for only her ears. ‘I will not let you down.’

And then they were dancing, twirling and gliding around the floor, and she was in his arms, mere inches away from his body, her skirts twining around his legs on the turn in a most seductive fashion, her face tilted proudly, her gaze meeting his.

He couldn’t remember when he had been more enchanted. Or had so much fun. The devil inside him felt very smug indeed. It began to have wicked ideas about how he would like to spend the next few hours.

‘Well,
madame
. What did you wish to say?’

Claire’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest she could hardly feel the beat of the music. But her feet wanted to skip and her lips to smile. It was ages since she’d danced a waltz and he was a wonderful partner. But a count?

The brazen enormity of it had left her speechless. The sheer daring had stolen her breath. And now she was in his arms floating around the room as if the floor was made of thistledown and she was a girl of eighteen again.

His touch, despite their gloves and the maintenance of the correct distance between them, seared her with heat. Inside and out. Her blood leapt to the feel of his hand on her waist, the way he guided her around the floor and swung her into the turn. Life coursed through her veins. It was him. Every time she was close to him she felt more alive than she had for years.

She glanced at the faces whirling by. None of them looked shocked or startled. The only people following their progress were young females with decidedly green eyes.

It was all just too delicious to relax in his arms and let the music carry her along as if this was something real. It was wrong. So very wrong. ‘How could you?’

While his mouth remained grave, his dark eyes smiled. ‘How could I what?’

A pang twisted in her heart. Desire and longing tangled with regret for what could not be.

‘Pretend to be a count? Impose on all these people?’ she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

‘Ah, that.’ He sounded not the least perturbed. ‘You think it is a problem?’

Was ever a man so infuriating? How could she answer that without being thoroughly insulting? ‘You know it is.’

His boyish grin at her sharp reply made her heart falter in her chest. He swung her around in a wide turn at the end of the dance floor. ‘I will admit there is a certain amount of dislike amongst the local populace for émigrés.’

She winced at the obvious reference to Sir Nathan. ‘You lied to my friends. What if you are caught out?’

He shrugged. ‘I will worry about that when it happens.’

‘And me? I went along with your deception.’

‘You will tell them you didn’t remember me at all and were just being polite.’ He grinned. ‘Deny all knowledge.’

‘You are my brother’s chef,’ she said, exasperated and laughing at his lack of concern all at once.

‘No one expects you to recognise a servant out of his proper place.’

The truth was a bitter taste on her tongue. ‘You are mad.’

‘Mad for a chance to waltz with you. Just once.’

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. The man certainly knew how to knock down her defences.

‘Dancing wasn’t the only reason for my coming here this evening, however.’ His eyes became intense.

Heat flashed through her body. Her stomach gave a little hop of excitement. Foolish, foolish stomach. He was altogether much too charming. Too tempting. She must not let his allure lead her astray again. She’d come to terms with his earlier rejection. She really had. She knew nothing about the man and she knew to her cost how deceiving appearances could be. Still, she could not prevent her body from shivering at the thought of why else he might be here masquerading as a French count.

He whirled her around with amazing skill. Keeping her on tenterhooks quite deliberately, she thought. When she was back in his arms, his face was once more completely calm, his smile charming. ‘I was worried.’

Her heart dropped. ‘Is it Jane?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘No. Not Jane. At least, I think not.’

She tensed. ‘You think?’

‘The moment the music ends, I need to speak with you in private.’

She didn’t want to be private with him. It only led to temptation. The temptation to kiss. The temptation to engage her carnal desires. He’d been right in what he had said; she’d convinced herself he was, no matter how miserable it had made her feel. ‘We can’t.’

‘But I insist.’ He spoke coolly. ‘It won’t take more than a moment or two, I promise. And you will not be sorry.’

She ought to be sorry she’d ever met him. But she wasn’t. ‘Very well. Just for a moment. Outside in the hallway.’

He nodded.

Slowly the music drew to a close. She hated the idea that they would never do this again. Must never. She fanned herself briskly with her fan and let him lead her outside into the corridor.

Private, but not alone. All around them, people were coming and going from the ballroom to the withdrawing room and the card room.

He led her to a niche with a sofa at the end furthest from the ballroom.

She swung around to face him. ‘Was it not you who indicated we should not meet again? It seems, sir, that you are not very constant in your opinions.’

His lips twisted wryly. ‘You see it is snowing.’

It had been snowing lightly when they left Castonbury. ‘So?’

‘So John Coachman will not want to take the carriage out again tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘Then I am to stay overnight? At an inn? Is that the message? I hate to leave Jane alone. She will be worried when she awakes and finds me gone.’ The knot in her stomach tightened.

He gave her a long hard look as if there was something he wanted to ask. Then he shrugged. ‘You could stay overnight at an inn, or you can let me drive you home in a sleigh.’

She stared at him. ‘We don’t have a sleigh.’

‘I borrowed one. From a friend. The owner of the boxing saloon.’

Her choices? Leave Jane at Castonbury with only Crispin and the servants for who knew how many days, or risk travelling home with André. A small cracking sound made her glance down at her hands. Bother. She had snapped the shoulder of her fan. In that second she made up her mind. ‘Very well. I will go with you. Give me a moment to make my farewells and I will meet you outside.’

He looked as if he might protest and stay at her side, but then he nodded and strode off. She hurried back into the ballroom. Hopefully, Sir Nathan would understand, but if he did not it was really too bad. She had promised herself that she would never leave Jane alone, not until she was sure Pratt could do her no harm, and it was a promise she would keep.

Pratt, she really had to deal with him soon. She couldn’t keep feeling so constantly fearful and not have it show.

Chapter Fourteen

A
t first, Sir Nathan was inclined to protest her departure. The supper had not yet been served, but Claire’s statement that because of the approach of inclement weather one of Castonbury’s servants had been sent with the sleigh to fetch her trumped his objections.

‘Do not worry, Sir Nathan, I shall be quite safe, I assure you. Thank you and Miss Samuelson for a wonderful evening.’ The other lady gave a regal incline of her head.

‘I will send you an invitation to the hunt, Mrs Holte,’ Miss Samuelson said.

‘When Giles returns, I’ll have you both for dinner,’ Sir Nathan said. ‘My Derbyshire cook is as good as any French chef, I can tell you.’

‘I am sure you are right.’ She sketched him and Miss Samuelson a curtsey and squeezed through the ballroom and ran down the stairs. It did not take her but a moment to retrieve her coat and her boots. Fortunately, because it was early, the servants were able to help her right away.

A footman opened the door. Snowflakes whirled around outside and the wind sent them flying indoors. ‘Is your carriage waiting, madam?’ He looked gloomy at the thought of venturing out to find it.

‘I believe so,’ she said.

He stepped out into the shelter of the portico and opened an umbrella.

‘Is that it, madam?’ The footman sounded almost shocked.

Claire peered into the street and then gasped. Instead of the kind of sleigh she expected, a heavy affair with dray horses plodding in front, there was this light-bodied thing, a racing curricle with runners. André stood in the driver’s seat while one of the grooms employed by the Assembly Rooms fought to hold the head of an excitable-looking horse.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

He started down the steps. The wind tore at the umbrella and he struggled to hold it over her head.

She slipped him a coin. ‘Don’t bother.’ She ran down the rest of the steps.

‘Hurry,’ André said, his teeth gleaming white in the lamplight. ‘As fast as we can travel in this, the roads will be impassable before long.’

Another liveried groom helped her up into the high-bodied oversprung equipage and quickly disposed several warm fur lap rugs about her legs and shoulders, and pushed a hot brick beneath her feet.

‘Let him go,’ André yelled. And they were off. Racing through the night.

At first the streetlights at the centre of Buxton lit their way. Then as they left the town, it became completely dark. It was like being in a cocoon of black, travelling at breakneck speed. For some reason once they were moving, the snow seemed to pass over them. André remained standing, looking out at the road intently.

‘How can you see your way?’ she yelled above the noise of the wind. ‘Surely this is far too dangerous.’

He flashed a quick grin like a boy caught in mischief. A string plucked in her heart, painful and sweet all at once.

‘The mail is just ahead of us,’ he said. ‘I am following their tracks. Look carefully and you will see them.’

She squinted into the dark, and then she could see the dark impression of wheels and horses’ hooves. She relaxed back against the seat and pulled her blankets up to her nose. It seemed he knew what he was doing.

What manner of man was he, this chef? He seemed more like an adventurer than a servant. He spoke like an educated gentleman, mingled with people he should see as his superiors as if he was their equal and he boxed like a ruffian.

The only thing she knew for certain was that he was a puzzle. And Jane liked him.

Jane didn’t like everyone, though she had seemed happy enough since they’d come to Castonbury. But she really liked André.

They had been travelling for some time, when the clouds began to break up and the wind to die down.

At first the stars glimmered here and there, then the moon floated free of the clouds.

‘It seems the worst of the storm is over,’ André said, sitting down beside her, slowing the horse to a walk. ‘Perhaps I was a little precipitous in whisking you away.’

‘I would not have been happy leaving Jane alone all night.’

‘Why?’

She shifted in her seat to better see his face, he sounded so serious.

‘Why?’ she repeated, her mind scrambling, looking for plausible explanations.

‘What do you fear, Claire?’

Her stomach tightened. ‘Jane doesn’t like to be alone.’

‘Nonsense. A child who can walk all the way to the Dower House by herself is not afraid of being alone. And besides, you left one of the maids with her. Claire, you might be fooling everyone else, but there is something or someone you fear.’

She swallowed. A shiver ran down her spine. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

He gave a shake of his head ‘There was a man asking questions about you and Jane at the Rothermere Arms.’

‘What? Who?’

‘See. This is what I mean. You look behind your back.’ He shook his head. ‘That is not right. Your shoulder, you always look behind your shoulder. When Jane went missing, you were terrified that she had been taken.’

Was it really so obvious? Or was it just because he knew her too well? ‘Who was this man asking about me, André?’

‘A man called Webster. He works for Sir Nathan, he says.’

‘A red-haired man?’

He tensed. ‘Yes.’

‘I saw him at the Rothermere Arms too, the day the horse bolted. I do not know why he would be asking questions.’ He was not the henchman she’d seen with Pratt in the market, nor did he seem like the sort of man a criminal would employ.

‘But still you are worried. Tell me what you fear, Claire. Perhaps I can help.’

She clasped her hands together inside her muff. It would be so easy to tell him all of her problems. To unburden herself to him, when she had said so little to Crispin because she knew he would be horrified. Dare she trust André with something so important?

‘I swear that whatever you tell me, I will keep to myself.’

Could he read her mind? Dare she trust him? Yes, he was charming. Exciting. He made her feel young again. Giddy. And that was the problem. She’d felt this way about George and look how he’d failed to live up to expectations.

She’d been little more than a child then. Lonely. Swept off her feet. She was a child no longer and she had decided on her own course of action. Made her own plan. And until she’d become involved with André, she’d been perfectly happy.

Well, if not happy, then content.

‘I cannot,’ she said.

She felt his disappointment like a live thing. She also felt him distance himself. Shutting her out.

‘Not for myself,’ she added swiftly. ‘For Jane.’

He shrugged. ‘Then we must say no more,
n’est-ce pas
?’ He stood up and looked around. ‘
Tiens
, we are making good time. I expect we shall soon see the lights of the village.’

She nodded. But his coolness hurt. As she had hurt him. Always his French became more noticeable when he felt some deep emotion. He’d been wounded by her lack of trust. He cared more than he had said. And heaven help her she did not want him feeling that pain.

‘I need a great deal of money.’

His hands went slack on the reins and the horse faltered. He gathered the animal, then turned to look at her. ‘You have debts?’

‘My late husband had debts.’

‘I see.’

He didn’t see. No doubt he thought she had been living high above her means. Nothing could be further from the truth and now she was talking about it the words just wanted to flow.

‘The night before my husband was struck down by a carriage, he confessed he owed a large sum of money to a criminal.’ A bitter laugh erupted from her throat. ‘He’d been gambling, despite a promise to stop, and lost far more than he could ever repay. He feared for his life. He warned me that if anything happened to him, anything at all, I was to take Jane and run. Use a false name and go as far away as possible.’

Beside her, André remained silent, listening intently, only the muscle in his jaw telling her he did not like what he heard.

The shock of that night returned in full force. Her husband’s trembling voice. His scared eyes. He’d dipped deeper and deeper, he’d said, until he had no hope of recovery. But what he said next had terrified her. ‘We rented a small house in a mean part of London, but I had been making ends meet by taking in mending. George said this man was ruthless. That if George didn’t pay up, he would get his money another way.’ She took a deep shaky breath, the terror drying her throat and making it hard to speak. ‘The man had told him that Jane and I would work off the debt.’

André muttered a curse. ‘
C’est incroyable
. Your husband would allow it?’

‘He was in a panic. Terrified of this man. He was trying to borrow from friends. We’d fallen so far by that time, I knew none of his old friends would help. And all his new friends were no better than Pratt.’

‘And the next day, he died?’

She shuddered, still unable to believe they had escaped. ‘We were lucky. One of my neighbours brought the news. She was in the street when it happened. When I mentioned Pratt, she practically fainted. He is infamous for punishing anyone who bilks him out of money. And he bribes officers of the law to make sure of it. Jane and I ran.’ She put her hands over her face as all the horror of that day came rushing back.

André put his arm around her shoulders, strong, so warm and comforting. ‘Hush,
ma petite
. You are safe.’

She shook her head. ‘I will never be safe until he is paid.’

‘You think this man still looks for you?’

‘We moved to Rochester. A year passed and I felt sure he must have forgotten us.’ Her body started to tremble.

He gripped her tighter, his gloved hand on the reins clenching.

‘I saw him,’ she whispered. ‘Him and some brutish bully in the marketplace. They were searching. For us. I know it. We ran again. Here. But I fear he will never stop unless I pay him.’

‘
Mon Dieu
. Can the police do nothing? Or your brother? Your husband was murdered.’

‘I have no proof. And how can I burden my brother when he has so many troubles?’ She tried to pull herself upright away from him, but he kept her close and she relaxed against him.

‘So you will make a marriage. But how does it help?’

‘His Grace will ask a high price for my hand. I hope it will be enough to pay off the debts.’

André cursed. ‘When you say a large sum, how much are you talking about?’

‘Three thousand pounds is what George told me.’

He let go a long breath. ‘Claire, I really think you should go to your brother and have him talk with the authorities. He is a powerful man.’

This time she did pull away. ‘I brought a great deal of pain to my family the first time I married. This time I will do my duty. But more importantly, I cannot risk him finding Jane and if I talk to the authorities he will. You promised to say nothing of this to anyone. I trust you to keep your promise.’

‘You extract a hard bargain.’ He sounded angry. He sat silent for a moment. ‘I still do not understand why this villain did not immediately look for you at Castonbury.’

‘Because George was constantly running close to the wind with the law, we changed our names all too often. I had no wish to further embarrass my family and George promised he would never reveal my family connection to anyone.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘But I cannot be sure. He was weak. He drank. He might have said something.’

A long silence ensued. As if he was having trouble taking it all in. She wasn’t surprised. It had the makings of a gothic novel.

In the distance she saw a light, then another. The village of Castonbury. In a few minutes, they would be home.

Surprisingly, she felt calmer, less fearful than she had for a very long time. She put a hand on his arm. ‘You don’t know what it has meant to me, to tell someone about this.’

She did indeed feel lighter, as if part of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. More than that, she was certain she was doing the right thing.

‘And you don’t think this man Webster is looking for you?’ He sounded so fierce, she could imagine him seeking the man out.

‘If so, he would have taken us when we met him at the inn.’

‘Then why the questions?’

‘I don’t know. But I thank you for coming to warn me.’ Impulsively she rose on the seat and kissed his cheek at the same moment he turned his face towards her. His mouth brushed hers, velvet soft, scorching hot against her numb lips.

He gave a soft groan. Then they were kissing, his tongue plunging inside her mouth. The sensations were indescribable. Exotic. Like eating ice cream for the very first time.

She pulled her hands free of the muff and the covers and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him with all the fervour of a desperate woman.

He held her gently, carefully controlling the kiss, tasting every corner of her mouth with his tongue, savouring her with such tenderness she thought she would go mad.

Then his hands began stroking her back, caressing and shaping her breasts and the heat low in her belly exploded with need and want.

With a moan of longing she sought his mouth again, kissing him, nibbling at his lips until he opened his mouth and she plundered the hot dark depths with her tongue.

Their breaths mingled around them, the beat of their hearts thundered together. She was lost. Yet she felt completely at home.

Finally breathless and utterly undone, they broke apart.

The horse shifted in its poles, and whickered a protest. Sometime in the past few moments it had stopped in the middle of the road and was pawing at the frozen earth as if to raise some grass from beneath the snow.

André sighed. ‘I promised myself I would not succumb to this again. It seems I have no control when it comes to you.’

‘Me neither,’ she whispered.

He looked about them with a sort of desperation, then gave a short laugh. ‘There is nowhere for us to stop here. I will not make love to you outdoors in the cold on the seat of a sleigh and risk being seen. Even I have some standards. We must return to Castonbury.’ He clicked his tongue and the horse started forward. ‘I will report this man’s questions to Lord Giles, I think.’