Royal 02 - Royal Passion (49 page)

A grim smile touched his mouth, then he went on. “One of the many things we learned through the channels we encouraged was news of the presence in Paris of Madame Helene Delacroix and her granddaughter. The names were familiar to me, of course, since I had heard much from my mother about Louisiana. The social requirements having been impressed upon me since childhood, I set out to pay a duty call. I saw you and your grandmother getting into a carriage with de Landes. That's how close we came to a properly dull introduction. I left my card with a servant where you were staying and went away again. That night I left Paris to visit the gypsy camp, and before midnight you dropped into my lap like a gift from the gods."

"And that was all?"

She did not know whether to be relieved or incensed that the thing she had thought was not true. “But you let me believe—"

"You so obviously saw me as capable of any villainy. I could not resist. In any case, the part I played was base enough."

"Because you recognized me?"

"I thought I did,” he answered, a troubled look passing across his features, “but I had seen you so briefly, and not at close range. I knew something of de Landes and could guess that there was a purpose in your arrival, but it seemed incredible that someone like you would do his bidding. I could not rule out the possibility that you had simply been fooled by him and persuaded into a carriage ride in the countryside, that you had been discarded there or perhaps had escaped him by jumping from the carriage at that spot. Your loss of memory could have been real. The more I saw of you, learned of you, the less I could imagine anything else. You were a most convincing actress. And yet the coincidence was too great to swallow."

"So you took me with you to Paris."

"The situation required pursuing. What I discovered was that you and Madame Helene were supposedly out of the city at some property belonging to de Landes, another unlikely coincidence. And then when you left this house, he contacted you."

"You set Luca to spy on me. I thought he was a protector."

"Could he not be both? But after that day I nearly went mad trying to decipher the riddle you presented, to find some excuse, any excuse, for what you were doing. You came to me as such an innocent temptress, but a thousand times more effective because of it."

"You were able to resist me easily enough,” she said with some tartness.

"Easily? How can you think it? No Hades conceived by a monk made mad with celibacy could have been more wracking. You were my mother's goddaughter; how could I despoil you? Yet how could I not when it seemed the best way of coming close enough to you to discover what de Landes intended, the best way of carrying out my duty, would be to cease to resist."

"Duty?” she exclaimed with loathing.

"But in the end it was not duty that made me succumb.” He waited, his narrowed gaze upon her face.

"What was it then? You need not tell me it was an uncontrollable passion, for I remember all the preparations for the seduction, the violets and the diamonds—everything but gypsy violins!"

He smiled, satisfied. “Oh, I would have brought those, too, if I had thought of it. And there was desire, a white-hot and consuming obsession of it. But the final seduction was a thing of sheer cunning, the ultimate trap."

That he could talk of it so easily gave her the courage to do the same. “Trap? You mean it was the proof you needed that I was the accomplice of de Landes?"

"Ah, no, because by then, willing or not, you had become mine. I knew you, on some deep level, by some instinct I could not begin to analyze. Allied to my other sources, I was certain I would be aware of when and where de Landes expected to use me from your reactions. No, it was more perfidious than that. I saw that your presence with me must become known—in fact, I took you with me to various public events so that it could not be missed. This course was chosen because it was plain that the masquerade would have to end, and when the unmasking came, when you were exposed as my mother's goddaughter, I must naturally be called upon to do the honorable thing. The greater our intimacy, the more imperative it would be."

Words, their shadings of meaning, were his stock-in-trade, as was the careful manipulation of people in order to achieve the results he wanted. She must remember that. She must.

"You are saying that you
wished
to marry me?"

"To bind you to me beyond sundering."

"But you did not."

"My father, in his ineluctable wisdom and crass fashion, pointed out the unfair advantage I had taken. He was right."

"And all that about bourgeois respectability was—"

"Mere bombast. But he is magnificent, isn't he?"

So was his son. If only she could believe what he was saying with such relish. No, it was too unlikely to be true. He was not an ordinary prince concerned with proper behavior; he made his own rules that had little to do with the conventions. And yet there were some he could not ignore, those that touched upon his family, his country, his duty. To these he was bound more than most, precisely because he was above the crowd and therefore highly visible. He would not have deliberately flouted the unwritten laws of decent conduct. It was a lie. A munificent one, but a lie. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap to hide the rise of tears.

When she failed to comment, he went on, though there was a heaviness inside him. “I had the best of intentions. I meant to retreat, to give you breathing room. It was not always possible to hold to such high resolve. The political situation required my attention. And every time I took my eye from you, you ran straight into danger.” He lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “God, to see you racing that mob with a sword in your hand: I was bloated with pride and, at the same time, shriveled like a sun-dried date with unadultered terror."

"My safety was not your problem."

He shook his head as if he did not hear. “And that afternoon when I found you in that Left Bank garret with de Landes. I have never felt anything quite ... It was as if we were one, two parts of a whole, and sharing for an interminable instant a single beating heart and transcendent mind. I knew what you were doing. I knew.” He turned his back to her, staring down into the flames of the fire. “I suppose I expected that oneness to last. I expected you to understand that I would act on the snare you had laid so carefully for de Landes. You didn't. My failure to see that you didn't nearly cost you your life."

"The failure was mine,” she said through the tightness in her throat. “You trusted me. It was a trust I didn't, couldn't, return."

"How could you? I gave you no reason."

"Oh, I could have, if I had listened to my heart instead of my head."

He whipped around, held out a square, brown hand."Then listen to it now!"

"Please. Don't.” She pushed herself to her feet, moving away from him. “You are very convincing, but I can't forget that you have been forced to this."

"Forced? By what? By whom? I could have stopped it at any time."

"You didn't, and the reason lies in what you said: It was the best way to carry out what you had to do."

"Tripped by my own logic,” he said with a hollow laugh, “the penalty of being too articulate."

He watched her as she turned away, and he ached with the need of her and the necessity of releasing her from the prison of doubt that she had built around herself. It was a protection, he thought. She was afraid he would hurt her. Rather than that, he would withdraw into his own confinement, leaving her free to make the escape she thought she needed. There should, however, be some compensation.

"Mara, do you love me?"

She sent him a quick glance, then looked away again. “If I did, it would change nothing."

"Even so, do you?"

The love she felt for him had been a gnawing pain inside her since—she hardly knew how long, perhaps since she had seen him playing a mandolin by the firelight in the midst of a gypsy camp. To deny it now seemed pointless, another needless betrayal.

"Yes, I love you."

The urge for violent action was nearly overpowering. To stand where he was, set like some item of the salon's decor, was the most difficult thing he had ever asked of himself. His impulse was to cover the distance that separated them in a single stride, to take her to the settee and—He couldn't. For the thousandth time, and the most bitter one, he wished her injury was his. In its way it was, and might prove to be mortal.

What reaction she had expected, Mara could not have said; still, his frozen acceptance was deflating. She lowered her lashes, moving toward the door. “My father and I will be going home as soon as possible."

"Wait."

She paused to look at him. His gaze was hooded, considering, and yet behind the gold-tipped screen of his lashes was a flash of cobalt brilliance.

"There will be a gypsy wedding for Luca and Juliana if I am any judge. It will be something to see. Will you stay for it?"

The request sounded in her ears like a reprieve. She knew she should be wary. But to refuse this small thing would be graceless and ungrateful under the circumstances. Besides, Juliana had grown to be very like a sister to her.

"I will do that much, yes,” she said quietly.

"Thank you,” he answered, his tone just as grave. “Juliana will be pleased."

He moved not a muscle, not an eyelid, as she left the room and closed the door gently behind her.

The month before Juliana's gypsy wedding was the longest period of Mara's life. The delay was caused in part by a concern for appearances, but primarily by the necessity of visits to the modistes and milliners to order a wedding gown and trousseau for the Catholic wedding that would follow in Ruthenia. Mara said nothing more to her father or the others about leaving. It seemed best to wait until the celebration was over. They could then slip away at the same time the others were leaving Paris for the journey to their homeland. There would be fewer explanations to make, fewer recriminations to be heard. It might be cowardly, but she excused it by telling herself that she did not want to draw attention away from the bride and groom.

For the gypsy ceremony, Juliana had ordered a gown cut on simple lines, rather like the blouses and wide, flowing skirts of the
Tzigane
women, though it was made of layers of white tissue silk banded on the many hems with cloth of gold. She insisted that Mara should have something similar instead of wearing her stiff, unwieldly skirts that made it so difficult and inconvenient to sit gypsy fashion on the rugs.

Mara was reluctant, due to the unnecessary expense, but Angeline added her weight to the argument in favor of it. Juliana would be more comfortable in her own rather conspicuous costume if she was not the only one wearing such a thing, and since Mara would be lending the bride support, it would be a gift from her godmother. Angeline, like her son, was difficult to circumvent. It was finally agreed that Mara would wear pale blue silk banded with cloth of silver.

The gypsy camp was much the same, loud with laughter and music and bright with the light of fires that made a gray cloud of smoke about the caravans. The smell of roasting meat hung in the air. Women, their festive clothing like bright splashes of an artist's oils in red, blue, green, and yellow, turned food on spits over glowing red coals or stirred pots. Children chase each other, yelling, calling, with unabashed vigor. Dogs barked, chickens cackled, horses whinnied. And yet there was an air of impermanence about the gathered away or hanging neatly here and there. The encampment would be breaking up that night when the feast was over. The gypsies would also be leaving for Ruthenia to join in the festivities that would take place there after the official wedding of the
boyar's
daughter to one of their own.

The ceremony was not elaborate. The gypsies ceased what they were doing and gathered around the main fire. Violinists, who had been regaling the guest already, played a spritely and flirtatious march to bring the couple from the caravans where they had been secluded. From separate directions, they approached the
boyar
, Rolfe, who stood waiting. Mara walked with Jaliana and Roderic with Luca unitl the couple were side by side, then they stepped back into the crowd. Rolfe took the right of Juliana and joined it with Luca's right hand, bidding them hold fast to each other while they exchanged their vows.

Luca, darkly handsome in a full-sleeved shirt of red, with his gold ring in the his ear, spoke in firm, clear tones, “I, Luca, take this woman to wife and give her my oath that I will leave her free to seek happiness elsewhere as soon as love has left my heart."

Juliana stood tall and proud, gazing into the eyes of her groom as she repeated the same vow. Then Roderic stepped forward to hand his father a knife with a jeweled handle. Rolfe took Luca's wrist and slashed an incision perhaps an inch long. Juliana offered her wrist, and a similar incision was made in it. The two cuts were placed together and their wrists bound. Thus they stood with their blood mingling, facing each other as the night wind lifted the edges of their hair and stirred Juliana's silk skirts against. Luca's boots. Around them were their friends and family, above them nothing but the dark, star-filled sky.

A shout went up, ringing into the night. Music burst forth wild and full of passion. Wine flowed. Food was snatched hot and crackling from the fire. People talked and laughed and shouted in a rich, communal joy.

Mara stood alone. She could see Grandmère and her father with the others, gathered around the bride and groom. She felt outside that circle of happiness, bereft, cold inside.

...
as soon as love has left my heart.

There was nothing permanent in such a vow, and yet what good was permanence without love? The words suggested that to feel love inside oneself was the important thing, not being loved. To give love as long as it lasted, not to take it. In that case it was a vow that she could make, given the chance.

The chance had been there, and she had let it go. She had let it go out of—what? Pride? Distrust? The fear that she was not loved in return?