The Sinner (16 page)

Feeling her face burn, she parted the edges of her cloak. Mr. Reiss, who had looked ready to give Dante an argument, raised his eyebrows when he saw the quality of the dress hidden by the serviceable wrap.

“Allow me to escort the lady from the premises. Also, permit me to compensate you for trade that you lost during this distraction.” Dante placed a guinea on a shelf stacked with tea boxes.

Mr. Reiss eyed the coin and sniffed. “See you do not come back, madame. Even if you think you see your long-dead cousin enter next time.”

Fleur strode past him and out into the alley. As she headed back to the street, she heard steps behind her and looked back. Dante was striding to catch up, and another man was entering The Cigar Divan’s back room.

The expression in Dante’s eyes made her walk faster. He caught up anyway.

“What are you doing here, Dante?”

“Paying off coffee sellers so they do not lay down information that you are a thief.”

“For which I am grateful. However, by my question I meant how did you happen to be available to save me.”

“I was passing in the carriage and saw you just as you turned down this alley. A fortunate coincidence.” He caught her arm and stopped her before she reached the sanctuary of the street. “What are
you
doing here, Fleur? Besides hoping for a reunion with a brother lost at sea.”

He had heard her lie. He must have stood outside the door listening before saving her.

“Perhaps you are doing one of your investigations prior to contributing to a charity. What would this one be? The Society to Prevent the Overimbibing of Coffee?”

“Such establishments have always seemed very convivial to me, and I thought that I would take a look.”

“So you walked for blocks on end until you came to this one. Do not treat me like a fool, Fleur, nor expect me to assume that you are one either.”

Blocks on end? He had not merely chanced to see her. He had been following her through the city.

“What are you up to, Fleur? Not solitary walks for exercise, it appears.”

She was grateful he had just helped her out of a difficult spot, but she resented this interrogation. Worse, his masculine energy filled the air. His anger embodied the same tension that his sensuality did. She did not like the way that confused her reactions. It was very discomforting to find a man vexing and exciting at the same time.

“I am living my life, Dante, just as you continue to live yours.”

Her reminder of their agreement did not appease him. Quite the opposite. “I asked you to make some small changes in that life, for your protection. Such as not walking alone.”

“No, you presumed to demand that I make those changes. I complied on most.”

“Not on the ones that you found inconvenient, it seems.”

“Or unreasonable.”

“My demands have been anything but unreasonable. As married women go, you have extraordinary freedom to continue living your life as it was, by day as well as night.”

The insertion of the last reference, and his tone as he said it, made her cautious. “Yes, I have.
As we agreed
. We are not really married in the normal sense. Do not expect me to submit to every whim you have as if we were.”

A very different man was suddenly looking at her. She felt like a mouse caught in a big cat’s calculating gaze. “There are several parts of this marriage that I will be renegotiating, Fleur. Regarding your submission, however, I remind you of my warning in the cottage. If challenged, the choice of weapons is mine.”

He took her arm and firmly guided her back to the street.

He opened the carriage door.

Considering his last words, she did not want to forsake the street for the privacy of that carriage.

“I would rather walk, Dante.”

He smiled slowly. It was
not
a reassuring smile at all. “Are you afraid to ride with me?”

“If it means sharing your dismal humor, yes.”

“Get in the carriage, Fleur. You face a long day of preparation and a tiring night. I will continue on foot. We will talk about the reasons for my bad humor tomorrow.”

chapter
16

F
leur examined her reflection in the long mirror. A stranger peered back at her.

No, not a stranger. An old friend, not seen in ten years. The girl she had once been greeted her.

She stepped closer so the low lighting could not obscure the details that said she was no longer a girl. The eyes were less innocent than they had been then, and the face less soft in its form. Her body showed curves the girl had not possessed, although not a pound had been gained. She was a woman now.

She wanted to believe that the years looked good on her. She needed to think that tonight. For a decade she had been free of all this fretting about her appearance. Suddenly, however, it mattered again, and she was unpracticed in controlling the way it created dissatisfactions with little flaws. Inside her body, wings of nerves beat and fluttered. She had not even been this unsettled the day she attended her first ball.

Tonight would be a second coming out, only more important than the one when she was a girl. Back then it was her future marriage at stake—which meant nothing was at stake, since she planned never to wed.

“The carriage is waiting, madame,” her maid said as she held up a cream satin mantle.

Fleur took it around her shoulders. The gesture brought her right hand to the mirror. Light crackled back and forth between the glass and the large sapphire shimmering on her finger.

It was a beautiful ring. It looked perfect with her cerulean gown and the hired diamonds that bedecked her neck.

The ring had been waiting in her chamber when she returned today, sitting on her pillow in a little box. No note had accompanied it.

She had not been able to thank Dante for it yet. He had stayed away until early evening and immediately begun his own preparations upon returning.

He had done that to avoid her. Tomorrow, she did not doubt, he would take up the matter of her blatant disobedience. That pending conversation was one more reason for the nauseous worry that plagued her tonight.

Fleur forced herself to move. She walked down to where Dante waited for her.

The sight of him made her pause on the stairs. He was almost unbearably handsome in his evening clothes, a dark, strong column of impeccable tailoring and grooming. The hint of boyishness that usually softened his countenance was absent tonight. The dark ridge was still bared, giving him a hard maturity that made his face and presence very . . . exciting.

She felt an utter fraud suddenly. She would enter the ball on the arm of this man and everyone present would know the marriage was a farce. The best interpretation she could hope for was that she was an addled fool who had bought a husband she could not hold on to.

In his first glance at her she saw the annoyance about her excursion this morning. However, that anger dimmed as he came toward her. “You are incredibly beautiful, Fleur. I do not think I have ever been this awed.”

It was such a kind thing to say that she wanted to weep. She had been lying to him and he knew it, but he still sought to put her at ease.

She held up her hand that wore the ring. “Thank you for this. It is magnificent.”

“It was my mother’s. I sent to Laclere Park for it. I left it there so that I would not be tempted to sell it when I got in too deep.”

“I am honored to wear it tonight.”

“It is not a loan. It was given to me to give to my wife, and that is who you are.”

Not really
.

A hard glint in his eyes almost dared her to say it. She had the good sense not to.

He offered his arm. She slid hers into place. He patted her hand in reassurance. “Once you are there, it will be as if you never missed a season.”

It was not as if she had never missed a season, but her fears eased once she was at the ball. It helped that Charlotte took her in hand immediately.

“Go see your friends, Dante, while I take Fleur around,” she ordered. “Come back for the third waltz.”

Dante bowed in obedience and walked away.

“Now, come with me. I have it all arranged,” Charlotte said, guiding her through the shimmering gowns and jewels.

Charlotte brought her to Diane St. John, who epitomized restrained elegance in her dark silver gown. The neckline skimmed her shoulders perfectly; a half inch more or less would have ruined the whole design. The sleeves, while full, did not overwhelm her thin arms. One stunning diamond hung at her throat, and Fleur guessed it was not hired. Her abundant chestnut hair was piled in a style that was not fashionable but very alluring.

Diane stood back and examined Fleur’s ensemble. “Perfect. You both did well.”

“Diane visits Paris several times a year, so if she says we did well that is a high compliment,” Charlotte said. “Where is Sophia? She is part of our troop tonight.”

“Coming up behind you,” Diane said.

Fleur found herself being introduced to the dark-haired Duchess of Everdon and her somewhat foreign-looking husband, Adrian Burchard. She did not need any prompting from Charlotte on the history of these two. The last decade had removed her from society’s balls but it had not removed her from the world’s gossip. She knew the story of the duchess in her own right, and of the bastard son of an earl whom she had married.

“My husband has mentioned you,” she said to Adrian. “I believe you are friends.”

“Good friends, madame. He, St. John, and Hampton form a private circle, along with Laclere, of which I am fortunate to be a part. We have had some unusual experiences together.”

“Is Mr. McLean a part of this circle?”

Charlotte and the duchess giggled. Adrian pretended they had not. “Like most men, your husband has several circles. My brother Colin enjoys that of Mr. McLean, not I.”

“I certainly hope not,” the duchess muttered.

“Mr. Burchard, you must excuse us now,” Charlotte said. “We have things to discuss.”

He backed away. “If you ladies are plotting strategies, I will wisely make myself scarce.”

The duchess took Fleur’s hands. “Before there is any plotting, I want to welcome you to our own circle. I would have called on you by now, but I was in Devon until this week. I offer my best wishes for your happiness in your marriage.”

Fleur was touched by the quick acceptance. The duchess was a short woman, and about thirty years old. She was not a great beauty, but her clear green eyes conveyed sincerity and frankness far in excess of what one expected in a duchess on first meeting.

“Thank you, your grace. You are too generous to me.”

“Finding new friends is a joy, not generosity. And, please, you must call me Sophia.”

Now, that
was
generous.

“Did the boys come up with you?” Diane asked.

“Of course. It made for quite an entourage, what with nurses and whatnot. However, Burchard commanded they both come. He has not seen the baby in a month.”

“Ladies, we will all assemble in two days to discuss women things, but right now we have work to do,” Charlotte interrupted. “You all know the things Fleur’s stepfather is saying. Tonight we prove him false. I want Fleur to meet every lady here who can influence opinion. I want her dancing with peers and admirals.” She turned to Fleur. “We will position ourselves so that you always have a friend nearby.”

“I will go first,” the duchess said. “Come, we will start easily. I see Adrian’s aunt Dorothy. She probably remembers you from your first season, so will not be a total stranger.”

They were as good as their word. Fleur was never alone. When a dance partner brought her to the side of the room, one of them joined her in a snap.

She relaxed as the night wore on. She knew many of the people here, even if she had not spoken to most of them in years. There were precious few allusions to her marriage, and almost none that was unkind.

She rarely saw Dante. Sometimes as she danced she caught a glimpse of him dancing with someone else. When the third waltz began, he was there to lead her into the dancers. The room spun around until they became the center of a whirlwind. The dance evoked memories of the last time they had waltzed, in the garden. His expression did too, but continued to be tinged with the anger of the afternoon.

By the time of the banquet, Fleur was feeling reassured that she had acquitted herself well. Attending a ball and doing nothing outrageous was an easy achievement if you were completely sensible and normal.

Daniel St. John offered his escort to the supper. She guessed that the troop had arranged that.

As she chatted with him, she looked down her table at the other couples. A stunning woman with blond hair and smoky eyes caught her attention. The woman was wearing a gown of dark violet, similar in color to the one Fleur had just had made by Madame Tissot, and it was the gown that first attracted her interest.

The lady moved slightly, turning to her companion. The shift made her more visible. Fleur vaguely noted that this was probably one of the most beautiful women at the ball.

Then her gaze locked on two details of the woman’s ensemble.

Small details. Glittering ones. A pair of amethyst earrings dangled from her lobes, catching the light, matching the gown to perfection.

Fleur’s breath caught. Her heart thudded while she stared at those earrings. She had seen them before. She had carried them in her reticule to a gaol.

She tore her gaze away and looked down at her plate. The noise of the room turned into a buzz. She ceased to hear what St. John was saying.

She looked at the earrings again. She could not stop herself. “That lovely woman down there, in the violet. Do you know who she is?” Her question interrupted St. John in the middle of a sentence.

He glanced down. Was it her imagination that he hesitated?

“That is the Baroness Dalry. Scottish title.”

“She is extremely beautiful.”

“Yes.”

He knew. She could tell. St. John knew the baroness had been Dante’s lover.

She felt chilled suddenly. Cold and warm all at once. A pain lodged in her chest that would not go away. She had to work at breathing to get some air in.

Dante had resumed his affair with the baroness, and had given her the earrings again. St. John knew about that too. Maybe Charlotte and Sophia and Diane did as well. Maybe everyone did.

She breathed deeply. She had known this day would come. Eventually it would be one specific woman, and she would learn who it was. She sought refuge in the indifference and acceptance that she had promised, but both deserted her.

She wanted to die. She felt as though she might.

“You appear unwell,” St. John said with concern. “I fear the night has been too much for you.”

“Yes, unwell.” She barely got the words out. The pain in her chest had turned excruciating. It wanted to burst out of her, and the effort to keep it in had her light-headed.

She pushed to her feet. “Please, excuse me. I will . . .”

St. John’s hand was under her arm at once. Half escorting and half supporting, he sped her out of the banquet room.

The pain grew until it filled her throat too. She felt tears flowing even though she was not crying.

Somehow the duchess was beside them. St. John handed her into Sophia’s yellow satin sleeves.

Fleur did not hear what the duchess whispered to her. An image had entered her head and she could not make it go away.

She kept seeing Dante holding the face of the baroness and gazing into her eyes, then gently kissing her twice, once on the forehead and then on the lips.

Her heart broke. The duchess pushed her into the withdrawing room just as the flood started.

She laid on the chaise longue sniffling like a fool, feeling so stupid she wanted the building to bury her. She could not stop the tears, no matter how much she scolded herself. Her throat burned from her efforts to keep some composure. Women came and went, pretending to ignore her but getting an eyeful all the same.

The troops had deployed around her, forming a bar-rier with their skirts that offered a modicum of privacy. Charlotte and Sophia stared down any lady who looked too long.

“I cannot believe that none of us carries a vinaigrette,” Charlotte said.

“She is not faint,” Diane said.

Fleur wished she
were
faint. Better if she had keeled over in the corridor and dropped to the ground. She prayed for oblivion to claim her now. Anything to stop seeing these images of Dante with the baroness.

“We need to know what caused this,” Diane said. “If someone insulted her, or spoke of her stepfather’s accusations in her presence—”

“St. John said it began right after she asked him about the Baroness Dalry,” Sophia said softly.

The three women fell silent. Fleur knew they were pitying her. That made her feel even worse.

“It was the earrings,” Charlotte said. “I will
kill
my brother. He should have told her not to wear them. He knows Fleur saw them.”

“Well, I will leave you to kill him, while I take Fleur home,” Sophia said. “Before you kill him, inform him that she has left. Diane, would you find Adrian and let him know that I wish to depart.”