The Price of Deception (2 page)

When the door closed, Suzette took baby steps in his
direction. His heart couldn’t help but be touched by her beauty and
innocence. He had purchased her virginity and would have gladly
taken it with his sexual appetite, but discovered he could do no
such thing.

She appeared far too pure and innocent to touch. He
hungered to possess her soul, more than he ached to taste her
flesh. Robert had not the heart to introduce her to the life of
prostitution, and in doing so carried out a ruse behind the
Madame’s back to bide time.

During his last night in her company, all changed in
a matter of moments. Their little deception had backfired, and
Madame Laurent played her own game of revenge by selling Suzette to
another. Had he not arrived when he did, she would have been
violated by the fat pig, Marquis Barone, who squashed her petite
frame underneath his mass. Each time he thought of the scene, anger
rose in his heart as fresh as the night it transpired.

Robert walked back to his desk. He pushed around the
mounds of paper that needed attention. His index finger shoved
sheets left and right, and he admitted he had not the heart to do
any work. He needed to get away.

It had been nearly six months since he visited Paris.
Springtime afforded a perfect season to travel to their townhouse
in Arrondissement de Passy. The Seine would be at its peak with the
runoff, and the parks and gardens brimming with budding flowers and
trees. The thought of traveling alone appealed to Robert, but a
stab of guilt told him that his wife needed a respite too.

Determined to act upon his urge, Robert exited his
study and walked down the corridor toward the main parlor. The
high-pitched voices of his mother and spouse filtered down the
hallway as he approached. The two were probably orchestrating a new
project that would cost him money.

As he drew near, he stopped for a moment and inhaled
a deep breath for fortitude. He rounded the corner of the doorway
and strode into the center of the room. Both women eyed drapery
fabrics for their next redecorating enterprise.

“I like the emerald green,” he chimed in, just to
give his opinion. “The color of a forest is indeed soothing, don’t
you think?”

Jacquelyn wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “Oh,
Robert, how awful and dark it would be. Mother and I just agreed
that puce is a much better match. Especially since we’ve ordered a
new settee with matching arm chairs. The unique flower pattern
contains splashes of puce throughout and will undoubtedly show well
in this dull room. Perhaps, if there were more westerly daylight,
green might work; but as you know, the morning rays soon fade. The
sitting room looks quite grim afterward.”

Robert wanted to roll his eyes over Jacquelyn’s usual
long justification of the perfect choice. Everything he suggested
had to be discarded as inconsequential in her thoughts. Each
opinion he gave fell upon deaf ears, and every suggestion she made
had to be accepted without disagreement.

He glanced over at his mother, who sat quietly,
taking note of the conversation. Finally, she spoke her opinion in
an attempt to bring some agreement between the two.

“I do concur with Robert, because I know that green
is his favorite color. But, unfortunately,” she exhaled, as she
glanced at her daughter-in-law, “I have already ordered the
furniture and puce will match perfectly. Green will clash.” She
looked at Robert and continued in an emphatic tone. “It is the
color we shall choose, Robert, and it will be delightful. You’ll
see.”

“Delightful, indeed.” He surrendered to the ladies of
the house and would lick his wounds from this latest defeat later.
Irritated, he had almost turned to leave, but he had purposely come
there for a reason.

“Paris,” he announced. “Springtime in Paris. Does
that intrigue anyone here?”

Jacquelyn quickly lifted her head and dropped the
fabrics in her lap. She looked at Robert’s mother in wide-eyed
astonishment and then back at him.

“Are you serious?” She jumped to her feet and
approached Robert with a broad smile. “The spring fashions will be
released in the next few weeks, and you know what that means to me,
Robert. Fashion shows, new designs, hats, and special
fittings.”

“Yes, I know.” He held out a carrot to entice her
further. “You want money to buy another wardrobe for the summer, no
doubt, and as your husband, I shall provide.” Robert calculated in
his mind how much this new endeavor would cost him.

Jacquelyn spun around quickly and looked at her
mother-in-law. “But what of you, Mary? The furniture is due to be
delivered and the drapes must be installed.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” She waved her hand at
Jacquelyn. “Go! Just bring me an outrageous hat, my dear, and I
will be very content.”

“When, Robert? When shall we leave?”

“In a fortnight,” he said, thoughtfully. “I have some
estate matters to attend to, but you can write ahead to our staff
at the townhouse and have them ready our residence for arrival.
Will that do?”

Jacquelyn smiled and then stepped closer to him. He
braced his stance in anticipation of her show of affection. A
moment later a kiss met his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered in
his ear. “I need this.”

Robert grasped her hand and gave it a slight squeeze.
“I know. We both do, frankly.”

The trip had been arranged, and Robert found no need
to linger with the women of his household. He turned and left them
alone to talk of colors, patterns, and draperies. In two weeks’
time, he would be back in Paris where his real love resided.

As Robert strode down the hallway, he pondered if
Suzette found happiness and contentment after she married her
former fiancé. He probably would never know. Perhaps it remained
better that way, so he could cherish the memories instead. Why
torture himself with the thought she had found something superior
to their love? It was too depressing.

In the years he had periodically returned to Paris on
holiday, their paths never crossed. Of course, there were millions
of residents in Paris, why should he think they ever would? Yet,
the possibility of seeing her never left him as soon as his feet
landed upon French soil.

Robert felt the need for a breath of fresh air. He
walked to the foyer, opened the front door, and stepped out to view
the emerald green hills in the distance. The English countryside
unrolled like a breathtaking oil canvas. The artist of Heaven had
splashed a pallet of brilliant colors wherever Robert’s eyes
roved.

The deep blue sky accented the green. He loved the
rich color of the grass and trees. The leaves had sprouted from
their limbs and dangled down, swirling with the gentle breeze that
passed by. The flowers shoved their heads up from the ground, and
life renewed itself after the dead of winter. The sight brought a
smile to Robert’s face, stimulating his love of country and the
legacy of the land his father left him.

As beautiful as the scene happened to be at that
moment, the gray cloud of his life pushed its way into his
thoughts. Jacquelyn’s whisper a few minutes ago haunted him with
worry. He knew her mentality. She had been seasonally depressed
during the winter months. Each year, the dark months with rain,
snow, and lack of sun covered her mind with a cloak of despair.
This past season had been unusually harsh upon her psyche. It sent
her moods soaring into deeper depths.

Thankfully, beautiful days like today would help to
turn the tide of her melancholy. He noted her spirits had lightened
up and took encouragement that she would recover more quickly if he
took her to Paris, or so he thought.

Not long after their marriage, Robert learned that
his wife’s downhearted moods were frequent. Her mind tended to
wander, making her unresponsive when engaged in conversation.
Jacquelyn’s ability to socialize with others suffered. The only
person she seemed comfortable with on a daily basis happened to be
his mother, Mary, who pampered her like the daughter she never had.
As the years continued to pass with no sign of pregnancy, the
frequency of his wife’s misery increased exponentially.

Robert soon discovered, in his role as husband, his
unpreparedness to handle the emotions of a woman—especially one
such as Jacquelyn. There were moments in the depths of her despair
that he believed she needed the help of a physician. However, when
he suggested that medical counsel be sought in the course of her
depressed phases, she adamantly refused to comply. As a result,
Robert bore it silently, accepting it as his lot. To compensate, he
avoided her as much as possible.

On the other hand, Jacquelyn portrayed a beautiful
and gracious woman in spite of her negative traits. Her gorgeous
blond hair and fair features were pleasant to look at, and her
curvaceous body would appeal to any man.

She had been raised in an aristocratic family of
wealth and privilege and bore the title of Duchess, which she
assumed upon their marriage, extremely well. Intrigued with her
when they first met, Robert swiftly courted her due to his father’s
ill health.

Locked into a union of convenience in all respects,
Robert possessed no endearment toward Jacquelyn, as hard as he
tried. When feeling well, Jacquelyn portrayed an extremely poised
and well-mannered woman. In contrast, though, when her spirits fell
low, Robert noted a distinct change in her behavior. She would turn
into an argumentative shrew and badger him verbally, until he would
give into her demands. If anyone deserved the title of expert in
the art of manipulation, it would be Jacquelyn Spencer.

The trip would hopefully bring Jacquelyn a sense of
happiness. Fashion and new frocks seemed to be her single fountain
of joy. He’d give her a generous allowance and let her shop to her
heart’s content.

In the meantime, he would visit his old friends for
drinks and card games, and other acquaintances that he never failed
to see when in Paris. Robert determined to have a good time of it,
no matter what. While away, he would put aside troublesome thoughts
of his poor decisions of the past and find some comfort elsewhere.
Paris, known as the city of love, had its pleasures. Robert
intended to enjoy them all.

Chapter Two

Robert pulled off his black leather gloves and handed
them to his butler, along with his cane. The maid attended to his
wife. She unpinned her hat and then placed it inside a box in the
hall closet. The trunks were unloaded from the carriage and footmen
busily carried them up the grand staircase to their private
chambers.

They had arrived in Paris for their holiday. The
journey across the channel had been blessed with pleasant weather,
and the train ride from Calais to Paris uneventful. Jacquelyn,
however, remained quiet through the course of the trip, and Robert
hesitated to ask her why.

As he stood in the foyer and made a quick glance
about the stately rooms, everything seemed to be in order. The
staff had readied the residence for their arrival. The interior
smelled clean, the furniture dusted, and the tiled black floors
gleamed from fresh polish.

“I’ve taken the liberty, Duke, of ordering a tray of
hot tea and cakes for you in the parlor. Is there anything else I
can do for you?”

“No, that will be all, Gerard. Needless to say, the
Duchess and I are a bit tired after the long journey. Thank you for
the kind gesture of tea upon our arrival.”

“Of course.” He bowed at the waist. “If you need me,
please do not hesitate to ring.”

Robert offered his arm to Jacquelyn who remained
unresponsive. For some reason, he anticipated a more jovial
response over their arrival in Paris. Instead, a miserable
countenance captured her face.

He surmised she felt exhausted from travel and gently
helped her to the nearby settee. The maid poured them both a cup of
tea from the pot, giving Robert his cup with a usual dash of white
milk. Jacquelyn received her brew with her usual two cubes of
sugar.

“Thank you, Rosalind. That will be all.”

She curtsied, left the parlor, and closed the double
doors on her way out. Robert looked over at his wife and patted her
arm tenderly with the palm of his hand.

“You look exhausted, Jacquelyn. Are you all
right?”

She picked up the spoon from her saucer and began to
swirl the sugar cubes around and around until they were totally
dissolved. Her actions appeared to purposely delay her response.
Robert waited. He watched her thoughtfully with each movement of
her hand.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” he finally offered. “I think
I’ll drink this tea, have a piece of cake, and then ask Giles to
draw me a hot bath.” He made sure that his personal attendant
traveled with him as usual, and Jacquelyn’s lady’s maid, Dorcas,
accompanied his wife.

“I’m off to bed. You should—” Robert abruptly stopped
midsentence as he saw a tiny tear trickle down Jacquelyn’s cheek.
He looked at her for a moment and wondered why the display of
tearful emotion. It wasn’t long before she articulated the reason
for her distress.

“I’ve bled.”

“You mean—?”

Jacquelyn bitterly interrupted. “Yes. When we stopped
in Calais before boarding the train and I excused myself to the
powder room, I . . .”

Jacquelyn didn’t need to say anything else. She
pulled her gaze away and lowered her head. Tears freely poured over
her lower eyelids and spotted her lace bodice below. Robert knew
exactly what she inferred. Her menses had arrived, and another
month passed without conception. The scab, which had healed on the
wound of disappointment a month ago, had been cruelly ripped open.
Discouraged once more, he felt nauseated. He slowly put his teacup
down on the side table.

He had consulted their family physician privately
some time ago to understand the process of conception. The doctor
explained to Robert that even if she skipped her menses on a
regular basis, they could never be sure of a viable pregnancy until
five months passed without the sign of blood. On the other hand, if
she bled it meant no pregnancy or possibly a miscarriage.