Miss Weston's Masquerade (10 page)

‘You did kiss me in Paris,’ she said miserably.

‘You do not have to remind me. Hell, Cassandra, you are a woman, however little experience you may have of Society and the world. You must realise…’ How to explain what he did not understand himself when it came to her?

‘Are you telling me I cannot trust you?’ she whispered.

‘Yes.
No
.’ He spun away, pacing the room in frustration at inability to explain to her. ‘That night in Paris I had been drinking, you had made me angry – and then to see you looking like that… I didn’t stop to think. I reacted.’ He struggled to find the words to explain. ‘Our Society keeps unmarried girls and men apart for a reason. Sometimes our natures overrule both sense and honour.’

He saw her throat move as Cassandra swallowed. ‘What you are trying to say is that if it happened in Paris, it could happen again if we are thrown together in such intimacy. You are saying that you must send me back,’ she stated bleakly. ‘That you have no alternative.’

‘I only wish I could send you back,’ he said bitterly. ‘Don’t think I haven’t considered it.’ He tried smiling but he doubted it was very reassuring. ‘But I could not consign you to Offley’s tender mercies, not and live with myself afterwards. Nor can I send you directly to my mother. From here you would have to travel back to Lyons, then across the Alps into Switzerland and on to Vienna, and that is too perilous a journey even with a reliable escort.

‘No, I have weighed all this since yesterday and you must continue to travel with me, but as my ward, under my protection. It is no further to Vienna through Italy than to retrace our steps.

‘
Madame
will find you a wardrobe of discreet clothes such as you are wearing now and we must hope you can pass as a schoolgirl. I will engage a maid.’ He broke off and looked at her. ‘It will seem unconventional, but we are on the Continent: and foreigners think all the English are mad, anyway. We must just avoid the company of our own countrymen.’

‘But Nicholas, you will be sacrificing so much, missing so much of the Grand Tour if we have to avoid everywhere where English tourists will be,’ she protested. So like Cassie. He could strangle her half of the time – the half when he wasn’t wanting to kiss her senseless – but she was always worrying about him.

He shrugged. ‘So be it. I doubt I’ll have a decent night’s sleep until I can deliver you safe to my mother, never mind an appetite for art galleries and antiquities.’ He doubted he’d ever have a decent night’s sleep with her so close, regardless of where they were. Now the guilt of feeling desire for the girl he had believed her to be was gone his body ached with need.

‘Thank you, Nicholas,’ she said fervently. ‘I promise I’ll behave with discretion. I made a good boy, but I’ll make an even better schoolgirl.’

She fixed him with an imploring gaze, which he met with narrowed eyes and a slight, dubious, shake of the head. ‘You’ll be bored to tears back in skirts and with a chaperone. When the novelty wears thin…’

The rest of the sentence was drowned by the rumble of carriage wheels on cobbles, followed seconds later by the raised voice of an Englishman. Nicholas pushed open the door a crack. ‘Hell and damnation. Upstairs quickly.’

‘But Nicholas – ’

‘Don’t argue. There’s a party of about a dozen English, three carriages. Of all the cursed bad luck!’

Once she was safely in her room Cassandra set the shutters open a crack to observe the new arrivals who appeared to consist of two families with their servants. The older men, both florid and over-dressed, were alike enough to be brothers. They were accompanied by their wives – one stout and perspiring in the afternoon sun, the other thin and languid – and their sons. Cassandra saw at a glance they were not of the
ton
. Rich merchants from their dress and manner, she guessed. The yard soon emptied, the noise transferring to the interior of the inn as they and their luggage were distributed amongst the available rooms.

Did this mean she would have to be confined to this chamber until these people – or she and Nicholas – moved on? Already the restrictions of her new rôle were beginning to chafe. At least as a boy she could have slipped down the back stairs and into the stableyard and no-one would have spared her a second glance.

There was a light tap at the door and
Madame
came in, accompanied by a pretty blonde woman in her early twenties whom she introduced to Cassandra as
Madame
Vernet, the apothecary’s wife. ‘
Monsieur
entrusted me to engage a companion for you,
m’selle
, and he has requested me to ask you to come down to dinner this evening with Madame Vernet.’

‘And the other visitors?’

‘They are not of the best society,
m’selle
.’ The widow spoke with hauteur, as if she and her inn were used to better. ‘
Monsieur le Comte
thinks it would be useful for you to practise your new rôle among people who do not know him.’

Cassandra felt her spirits lift at the prospect of a chance of escape, a change of company. ‘What am I to wear?’

‘
Monsieur
and I consider what you are wearing is entirely suitable for a young lady not yet out.’

Cassandra smoothed down the light grey skirts of her gown and sighed. Her new resolution to behave like an obedient young lady was being sorely tested sooner than she would have expected.

The rest of the party was assembled in the dining room by the time Cassandra and her new chaperone entered. Colette Vernet had proved to be a friendly companion and an excellent dresser of hair. Despite her drab dress, Cassandra was pleased with the shining curls Colette had teased from her crop, and the Frenchwoman had brought her own rice powder to cover the bruise on Cassandra’s cheek.

All eyes turned to them as they entered. Cassandra thought she glimpsed relief on Nicholas’s face at her modest demeanour while the touring party stared with frank curiosity that turned to indifference at the sight of two uninteresting females.

‘My ward, Miss Jones. Ca– Catherine, Mr Bulstrode and Mr George Bulstrode and their families.’

Cassandra bobbed a neat curtsey, then took the seat next to Nicholas, Colette at her side.

‘You are most indulgent to bring your ward with you, my lord,’ the elder Mrs Bulstrode observed archly. ‘My two darling daughters, Phoebe and Ariadne, pleaded with their dear Papa to permit them to accompany us, but Mr Bulstrode would not countenance it. Would you, Mr Bulstrode?’

‘Certainly not.’ Her spouse broke off from stuffing roast goose into his mouth to nod in agreement. ‘I don’t spend good guineas for them to attend Miss Simpkin’s Academy in Bath so they can fritter their time on continental travel. No way to catch a good husband that, is it, my lord?’

Faced with a direct question, Nicholas was forced to participate in a conversation he clearly found distasteful. ‘I am afraid I have no opinion on the matter, Mr Bulstrode. I am delivering my ward to the care of her great aunt in Nice and that is the sum total of my experience of the rearing of young ladies.’

Cassandra could hardly contain her laughter. How Nicholas managed to convey such total boredom and a complete distaste for the subject without being openly offensive fascinated her. She could well believe all the stories she had heard of the arrogant Earl of Lydford.

The Bulstrodes appeared oblivious to the snub. They ignored Cassandra and her companion completely, except to request them to pass the buttered crayfish or the mustard, and addressed all their remarks to poor Nicholas.

Cassandra knew she had to avoid his eye or they would both set off laughing. But all desire to giggle left her when, to her utter astonishment, she heard her own name mentioned.

‘Of course, my lord, you have been out of the country and will not be aware of the latest
on-dit
in Society. Poor Lord Offley has set off such a hue and cry after his young bride-to-be, who has vanished from her home. Why, he believes Miss Weston to be abducted, so sudden was her disappearance.’ The younger Mrs Bulstrode was positively quivering in her over-trimmed gown with the excitement of the tale.

‘And he must be correct,’ her sister-in-law chimed in, ‘for what young girl would flee from such a distinguished connexion?’

Cassandra felt the colour rise up her throat and her heart began to thud uncomfortably. Not for a moment had she expected anyone to make her flight public, let alone Lord Offley. But, of course, when she thought about it, she could understand why. Her father might live cut off from Society, but he hoarded every penny and was known to be a warm man. Lord Offley, as profligate with his money as with his morals, would want Cassandra, and her dowry, back.

‘Why, we have shocked dear Miss Jones,’ Mrs Bulstrode senior said patronisingly, after a glance at her flushed cheeks. ‘I am sorry, my dear, but such sad stories should be told, for they hold a moral for young girls.’

‘In what way, since you hold Miss Weston to have been abducted, sir? If that were the case, it could not be her fault and the story holds no moral,’ Cassandra remarked coldly. ‘Or do you suggest she had connived in her own abduction? If that were so, I am sure the tale is not fit for my ears.’

Nicholas tapped her warningly on the ankle with the toe of his shoe, but Cassandra was enjoying the look of outrage on Mrs Bulstrode’s florid features. The older woman was not to be so easily snubbed, however. Ignoring Cassandra, she turned to Nicholas. ‘I believe Miss Weston is a connexion of yours, is she not, my lord? This sad news must be a terrible shock for you.’

‘One of my mother’s numerous godchildren, I believe,’ he said in tones of utter boredom. ‘A scrubby child given to masquerades when I last saw her. The Dowager has always been more generous than wise in her patronage. Catherine, my child, if you have finished that Rhenish cream, I suggest you retire.’ He turned to Mrs Bulstrode. ‘She is not yet out, you know,’ he remarked, by way of explanation for such an early dismissal.

Cassandra was glad to escape the overheated atmosphere and the ugly curiosity of the Bulstrodes. In her room she thanked Colette, who promised to attend her in the morning, but once the Frenchwoman had gone, she felt too agitated to undress and get into bed. Instead she curled up in the window seat and rested her hot face against the cool green glass. In the moonlight, the dark Rhône slid silently past, its smooth surface giving no hint of the murderous currents beneath.

Those
odious
women. The thought of vulgar persons like that gossiping, bandying her name about, was revolting. It had never occurred to her for one moment that news of her flight would reach more than her immediate and restricted circle. She had believed no-one would care, no-one would find her of any interest.

Cassandra had known she should feel guilty for embroiling Nicholas in her escape, but she had not, for overriding all other emotions was the thought that she would still be with him, for days, weeks to come. He was arrogant and dangerously disturbing, but he also laughed with her, shared with her and looked after her. For the first time in her life, she had a friend, a companion.

Her life before she had run away had been desperately lonely. No doubt, when she reached Vienna, Godmama would introduce her to girls of her own age who would become friends, but for the moment there was only Nicholas to fill that gap.

But now what was she going to do? If the story of her flight was all over London he would be cast as an abductor after her dowry, or a wicked seducer or something equally horrible. And what would Godmama say when she heard? The thought made her go hot and cold all over. The thought of waiting until the morning to talk to Nicholas was insupportable. She must see him now, find out if he would still take her with him in the face of this scandal.

When she reached his room, it was empty so she perched uneasily on the end of the bed until she heard his footsteps on the polished boards of the passage.

Almost as soon as he closed the door behind him, she flung herself into his arms, held on to as much of him as she could wrap her arms around and gasped out her misery and her fears and an incoherent apology. The candle Nicholas was holding guttered and snuffed with the draught she created, leaving them clinging together in the darkness.

‘Cassandra.’ He began trying to free himself from the arms that encircled him, but then the extent of her unhappiness and humiliation must have reached him and he said no more, but held her close until she ran out of words.

His arms around her felt strong and sure, his body a rock of certainty to cling to. Gently he stroked her hair from her crown to the nape and instinctively Cassandra snuggled closer.

‘You shouldn’t be here, you know,’ he said, but his voice was gentle.

‘Those horrible people, Nicholas. Talking about me. Everyone knows. What am I going to do? What are we going to do if anyone discovers I am with you?’

‘Pay them no heed and they’ll find another scandal next week,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Frankly, you aren’t known, so there is really nothing to hold Society’s interest and no-one likes Offley.’

Cassandra tipped her head back to look at him. In the moonlight his face was a white mask, but it seemed to her his breathing was not as regular as it had been.

‘Cassie… you must go now. And stop worrying.’

‘Not yet, we must talk about what to do, Nicholas,’ Cassandra insisted.

‘Not now and
not
here.’ Nicholas freed himself from her embrace and gave her a little shake. ‘Cassie, this isn’t proper and it isn’t wise.’

‘Oh, I know what you said, but I trust you, Nicholas…’

He looked down at her. ‘Stop it, Cassie. I am not made of stone. Be a good girl and go to your room.’

‘Stop treating me like a child when you know I am not,’ she said vehemently. ‘You’ve
seen
I’m not fifteen. Why won’t you discuss this with me? You just keep saying
Cassie, do this, Cassie, do that, don’t worry, it’ll be all right
. But it won’t be all right, will it?’

‘If you don’t get out now and go to your room it will
never
be all right,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘What if someone finds you here? Do you
want
to be ruined?’

‘But I
am
ruined in the eyes of Society, anyway. I’ve been travelling with you day and night for more than two weeks. What has changed? I need to talk to you, Nicholas…’ She reached out her hands to him again, but he caught her wrists, holding her away from him.

‘I tried to warn you in Paris you were playing with fire. There is a lot of difference between being ruined in name and in fact. You are not such an innocent, you understand what I am saying to you. Get out of this room
now
.’

He freed her wrists and turned from her, one hand clenched on the carved bedpost. In the sudden stillness of the room his breathing was ragged.

Cassandra could not pretend she did not understand him, not any more. He had obviously been attracted to her in Paris, and in Lyons, but had fought against it because he believed her so young. Now he had seen with his own eyes that she was a woman. Cassandra burned with the memory of his eyes on her body, an uneasy sensation of embarrassment mixed with a tingling pleasure.
Desire.

And with it came realisation. Nicholas was a passionate. experienced man, used to the company of women as experienced and willing as Lady Broome.

With her trustfulness and in their enforced intimacy, she was putting an intolerable strain on him. And suddenly, staring at his wide shoulders, the crisp curl of dark hair at his nape, the strong hand gripping the bedpost, she realised she didn’t care, she
wanted
him to feel like that about her.

Five minutes ago she had been in his arms, held close to him, and she yearned to be there again. With a shiver, she remembered the heat of his mouth on hers in Paris, the strength of his arms as he held her on the river bank.

‘Nicholas,’ she began, then broke off, uncertain of what she meant to say.

‘Damn it, Cassandra,’ he ground out without turning. ‘Will you get out of here?’

‘But I…’ she stammered.

‘
Go.
’ He gestured abruptly with his hand and she turned and fled, banging the door behind her.

‘Then I can go back to being a boy?’ Cassandra started to sit down on the low stone parapet of the bridge, remembered her skirts and checked the movement.