The Price of Deception (8 page)

“I had a stressful day,” Robert confessed. Unable to
let go of the luscious body, he found comfort in Nadine’s breasts
and refused to withdraw his hand or gaze from her hard nipples.

“How so?”

Robert struggled for a few moments and wondered
whether he should speak of the matter. He liked Nadine for sexual
pleasure, but he felt no love for her either. She embodied
convenient entertainment but nothing more. He contemplated the
wisdom of becoming too personal with the gorgeous prostitute beyond
the bed they shared. Weakened over the day’s stress, he didn’t
fight the urge to spill his soul.

“Remember Suzette?” he queried pensively.

“How could I forget the little virgin you purchased,”
she said, annoyed. “What happened to her, anyway?”

Robert finally released her breast and heaved a sigh.
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the canopy cover
overhead.

“I took her to England with me.”

Nadine sat up next to Robert and peered downward into
his face. “You did what?”

“I took her to England with me,” he moaned. “She was
my mistress for a while. Then her old beau happened upon her and
took her away from me.” Robert swallowed and looked into Nadine’s
curious eyes. “I found out today that she died last winter.” The
statement tore his soul, and Robert experienced a profound sense of
loss wash over him once more.

Nadine leaned her back against the headboard of the
bed.

“You made her your mistress? Well, it sounds as if
you got what you paid for—her virginity.”

“I could not marry her, Nadine. My father and station
in life would not allow it, and Suzette—well, Suzette, you know how
naive her thoughts were. I’m afraid I wasn’t as honorable about the
situation as I should have been.” Robert inhaled a deep breath,
astonished over the pain that had surfaced. “Besides, she left me
for another, and now she’s dead. No reason to mourn what never
could be, is there?”

Robert yawned. He glanced at the clock on the
fireplace mantel and cursed over the late hour.

“Damn! It’s almost midnight.”

He swung his legs around the edge of the bed and
stood up. “The wife calls.”

“Did you love the Queen of the Chambre?” Nadine’s
face soured in her expression.

Robert picked up his clothes and started dressing.
“Love? Do men love their mistresses?”

“You loved her. I can tell by the look on your
face.”

Robert said nothing and continued to dress. The
conversation brutally assaulted his emotions. He glanced at the
naked Nordic beauty lounging seductively on the bed. Her long
blonde hair cascaded in curls down her chest and pink nipples
peaked out from behind the strands. He smiled.

“You’re a pretty sight for a man in need,
Nadine.”

He opened his wallet, pulled out a hundred francs,
and approached her body propped up against the headboard. “I
already paid my dues to the brothel mistress downstairs, but
here—this is for you. Go buy yourself a new frock.”

Nadine smiled as her hand curled around the crisp
bill. In the flash of her eyes, Robert saw more than sexual desire.
He worried that her affections were becoming deeper than he wished
to engage. As a prostitute, she should know better than to get
involved with her customers; but Nadine had been sexually involved
with him for a long time.

“I don’t know if I’ll be back before I return to
England.” He pulled on the last glove over his long fingers.
“Hopefully, the next time I come, I’ll be able to leave my wife in
London.”

Nadine rose from the bed and sauntered over to
Robert. She wrapped her warm arms around his neck, pushed her
breasts against his chest, and bestowed upon him a long deep kiss
that filled his mouth with her tongue. Her actions thrust him into
another arousal.

“What a vixen you are, Nadine.”

“Thanks for the tip, sweetie.”

Robert grasped her naked derrière, gave it a playful
squeeze, and then left the room.

A carriage starter procured a cab, and Robert
instructed the driver to take him back to his townhouse. The
thought caused a knot to form in his stomach, and he hoped his late
arrival home would not end up in a battle. Tomorrow night he’d be
at the opera; and though he enjoyed the arts occasionally, he truly
wasn’t in the mood for shrieking sopranos or tragic love stories.
He had felt enough tragedy for one day when he learned of Suzette’s
death.

The bothersome matter of the little blond-haired boy
with blue eyes holding up five fingers, as he proudly announced the
name of Robert Philippe Moreau, didn’t help either. He concluded
the child must be his, because he saw in Philippe’s eyes worry—not
that of an assured father.

“Damn him!” Robert roared, banging the leather seat
with his fist. Anger rose inside, as he thought of the man who
stole his beautiful Suzette. He played a ruse to make him feel
guilty about his moral obligations, when all along he planned to
take not only the love of his life, but his son.

Robert’s eyes narrowed. He turned and glanced out at
the streets lit with gas lamps and saw that they neared his
residence. A moment later, the horses’ gait slowed, and then
halted. The driver opened the door, he paid the fare, and Robert
warily climbed out and headed for the entrance to his
townhouse.

He slipped inside, and all appeared to be quiet. The
staff probably had retired, as well as his wife. He laid his hat
and gloves on the side table, then swung off his top coat and hung
it on the hook of the hall coat tree. He tiptoed into the parlor
and illuminated a small electric lamp in the darkened room. He
gasped, startled to find Jacquelyn sitting in a chair. Their eyes
met, and Robert saw trouble.

“My God, woman!” he exclaimed, reacting to her
unexpected appearance. “Why are you not in bed?”

“I was waiting for my husband to return home,” she
answered, in a sarcastic tone.

Robert cleared his throat. “The poker game went far
longer than I anticipated, as well as the drinking. I apologize for
the lateness of the hour.”

Jacquelyn rose to her feet and slithered across the
room until she stood in front of him clothed in her night garments.
Her robe revealed a sheer nightgown underneath. In a brash move,
she kissed Robert forcefully on his lips. Afterward, she drew away
and wiped her mouth from her sloppy kiss with the back of her
hand.

“I taste and smell no alcohol on your breath,
darling.”

She leaned into his neck and sniffed the collar of
his coat. “I do smell the scent of perfume, however.” She curled
her lip as she inquired. “Does Vicomte de Rieux wear perfume?”

Robert stood astonished at the brazen assault from
his usually docile wife. Jacquelyn’s eyes darkened like the
chambers of Hell.

“This is ridiculous,” Robert flung. He stepped
backward to put distance between them.

Jacquelyn refused his spurn and returned to stand in
front of him. She seized his hand and forcefully placed his palm
upon her breast.

“Well, then, if my suspicions are ridiculous, perhaps
you’ll show me by bedding me for the evening. Perchance tonight
I’ll conceive.”

Robert’s blood ran cold. He looked at his wife’s hand
that forced his own against her breast. He felt no arousal or
desire for the madness in front of his eyes.

“You’re tired, Jacquelyn. It’s making you irrational.
Go to bed.”

Jacquelyn dropped her husband’s hand and then glared
into his blue eyes. “Apparently visiting the comforts of two women
in one night is a bit too much in the way of performance for the
infamous Duke?”

Robert’s anger rose as he watched her storm from the
room. He heard her footsteps run up the stairs and the door to her
suite bang shut with a loud
thud.

He fell into a nearby chair and held his head in his
hands. He utterly despised his life. No, he despised his wife, even
more so, now that Suzette lay in a cold grave. To deepen his sorrow
further, he probably had a son that he would never know or be able
to acknowledge.

Tired and weary, he finally stood and climbed the
staircase to his quarters. He had stopped sharing a room with her
years ago. Once inside, he locked the door to keep at bay the thorn
of his life. Without fully undressing, he flopped on the empty bed
and fell asleep.

Chapter Seven

Robert stood in front of the full-length mirror and
adjusted the lapels on his suit. Dressed in his finest apparel, he
braced himself for an evening at the opera with Jacquelyn.

He had managed to somewhat patch the difficult night
between the two of them by playing upon Jacquelyn’s neediness for
attention. Robert had become a master of appeasement when it came
to his wife, which brought peace to the household. A few tender
touches, embraces, and feigned words of love always melted her to
his whim.

However, Robert noticed lately that Jacquelyn had
undergone a dramatic change in her conduct. His tender tactics had
become less effective. Her behavior the evening before, lying in
wait amidst a dark room, displayed a prime example. It appeared the
tables had turned, and she began to show her frustrations in a more
aggressive manner.

He made a mental note to visit Jacquelyn’s bed after
the opera. She had asked to try again. He’d oblige her request.
Certainly, it would be another unsuccessful attempt to conceive, as
he pictured his seed swimming around a barren womb finding no egg
to fertilize.

After one final adjustment to his ascot, he left the
room and found his wife being pampered by Dorcas. Her lady’s maid
struggled with a latch on a sapphire necklace.

“Here, let me.”

Robert approached his wife, who sat on her vanity
chair, and gazed at her in the mirror. She had not lost her beauty
outwardly. Inwardly, though, Robert perceived ugliness. He took the
small clip, hooked the latch in the eyelet of the necklace, and
arranged it perfectly center. He smiled at his accomplishment, and
then bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

“You look stunning, Jacquelyn. Are we ready?”

“Thank you for the compliment, Robert.” Jacquelyn
rose and smiled in response to Robert’s approval. “I am looking
forward to this evening.”

“As I am,” Robert confessed, lying between his
teeth.

He held out his arm and escorted Jacquelyn down the
staircase to the foyer. Dorcas waited with her white fox shoulder
wrap. Robert donned his top hat and overcoat and then led his
preened wife to the waiting carriage outside their front door. A
moment later, the hooves of the horses clapped against the stone
pavement and headed for the Théâtre National de l'Opéra.

Robert scrutinized the pleased expression upon
Jacquelyn’s face. She expressed a look of love he had not seen in
some time that caused him to shift uncomfortably. From disdain to
love to disdain. Her moods changed daily like the ocean waters.

At that thought, Robert’s mind drifted back to the
moment of levity he had shared with Suzette in the small café in
Calais. He distinctly remembered his words and her response.

“Frankly, I love the sea. I find great comfort in
its beauty and its ever-changing nature. One moment it can be
peaceful as Heaven, and the next stormy as Hell itself. Just like a
woman
.
”

He looked at his wife and smiled. His mind spoke to
his departed love.

“Yes, Suzette, I think women are that changeable
from one extreme to the other.”

Robert chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Jacquelyn asked with a curious
expression over his behavior.

“Nothing. Just an odd memory, which popped into my
mind, that’s all.”

“I haven’t seen you smile in some time, Robert. You
should have odd memories more often.”

Robert didn’t respond as the carriage had slowed and
came to a halt in front of the entrance to the Garnier. The area
choked with activity as arriving patrons pulled up in various modes
of transportation, dressed in their expensive evening apparel.

He glanced up at the majestic building and realized
it felt good to get out for the night. Perhaps it was what he
needed—a night out with his wife to provide an escape from the
pressures that weighed upon his heart.

After they entered the impressive lobby, Robert
escorted his wife slowly up the wide staircase to the corridor that
led to their box for the performance. Robert recognized very few
faces, but he wasn’t surprised, as most the men he knew found
companionship in the presence of their mistresses at night.

They reached the assigned box, and a uniformed
attendant handed them a program. He pulled the velvet red curtains
apart that led to the interior. Robert escorted his wife to her
chair and then sat at her side. He glanced over and saw the
distinct pleasure written across her face. He leaned in and made a
comment.

“You must admit, The Royal Opera House cannot compare
to the opulence of Paris.”

Jacquelyn agreed, “Yes, it is beautiful.”

They both surveyed the 2,000 seat interior laden with
rich velvet, gold leaf, and classic Baroque decorum. Overhead the
many cherubim and nymphs smiled down upon their location.

“It’s quite breathtaking.”

Robert opened his program and turned his attention
elsewhere. As the house lights dimmed and the stage lights
illuminated, the curtain pulled back. In the darkness of the box,
Jacquelyn reached over to Robert’s hand and grasped it firmly. He
made no attempt to resist her touch and held her hand in return. He
forced a smile and settled in for the first act hoping the
performance had no tragic ending.

Intermission arrived, and the lights rose in the
interior. He needed a breath of fresh air.

“Do you wish me to bring you a glass of champagne, or
do you prefer to rise and walk with me?”

“I’d like to walk,” she responded, standing to her
feet. “After sitting for such a long period, I need to move
too.”