It occurred to her that she had not thought out the details of this adventure very well.
He stopped and glanced back curiously to where she stood rooted.
“I, um, thought that I would be staying in a boarding house.” In truth, she had not given any thought to where she would be staying, but living in his house now struck her as a very stupid thing to permit.
“That is not necessary. There are plenty of chambers here.”
“Yes. Of course. I see. However, I will feel that I am imposing.”
“Nonsense. Besides, sticking you in some tiny chamber in a rooming house or hotel would be inconvenient for us. Come with me.”
Inconvenient?
Very nervous now, she joined him. Together they walked up the eight white steps toward the front door.
“For the sake of simplicity, we will tell the servants and my friends that you are a cousin, come to visit from the country.”
“Am I? A cousin? A relative?”
“No.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. At least now she knew what she was not to him.
Under the circumstances, however, the lack of a blood tie was not good news. Nor was the evidence that he had concocted a deceit to explain her presence in his home.
The door opened. The house beckoned. She stepped inside, worrying that she abandoned her innocence in doing so.
Daniel shrugged off his cape into a waiting servant’s hands. “Where is Mademoiselle Jeanette?”
“In the south sitting room, sir.”
Daniel guided her toward the curving sweep of a marble staircase. “I will present you to my sister.”
Relief broke in her. If Daniel St. John’s intentions were dishonorable, surely he would never bring her here, where his sister lived too.
She felt like a queen mounting those stairs. Their breadth and elegance made one walk a little taller and straighter. Her feet sank silently into the deep pile of a strip of pale, flowered carpet running down their center.
The sitting room astonished her. Entering it felt like walking into a corner of heaven.
Dazzled, she took it in through a series of flashing impressions. Not square, but octagonal. Everything pale and creamy. Large mirrors on four walls reflected the light pouring in the one long window. Gilt tendrils framed them and snaked along the cornice like so many delicate vines. An oval painting on the high ceiling was set amidst shallow coffers. Discreet, elegant furnishings, small in scale and upholstered in pastel tones, dotted the space.
An incredibly beautiful woman, about forty years old, with black hair and white skin, sat in a chair near a diminutive fireplace.
Not only a sister, but an older sister. A mature woman. That reassured Diane even more.
Diane expected clouds to billow around her feet as she crossed the room. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors and immediately fell back to earth. Her worn cloak and muslin cap and silly braids blurred by, reflected four times over. She looked like a peasant in this chamber.
“Jeanette, this is Diane Albret.”
“You brought her back with you.” It wasn’t a question, but its inflection carried a note of surprise.
“It was necessary.”
Jeanette took Diane’s hand and gestured for her to sit on a padded bench nearby. “You are most welcome here, my dear.”
“I thank you, mademoiselle. I will not impose very long. M’sieur has offered to help me find a position as a governess in London.”
Daniel settled into a chair. It instantly accommodated his lean length and casual pose, no doubt because it knew better than to resist. He dominated the whole chamber the same way. Even the gilt tendrils seemed to restrain their exuberance out of deference.
“Actually, it will be several weeks before I journey to London, so those plans will have to be delayed. I hope that you will not mind too much.” He spoke absently while he brushed the cuff on his coat. Delaying her plans was the least of his concerns and, whether she minded or not, of little true importance. “In the meantime, my sister will see to your comfort, and you will have the opportunity to visit this city. Paris is not a place that one merely passes through unless there is urgent business waiting elsewhere.”
“It was not my intention to require your hospitality so long.”
“It will be no imposition. Will it, Jeanette? You will enjoy taking her about, won’t you? Enjoy your stay with us. The tedium of a governess’s life awaits you. After years in that school, you owe yourself a respite of pleasure before shackling yourself to such a miserable existence.”
He made the future she had chosen sound dreadful. One could not argue against his reasoning.
Especially since the only argument she could think of made no sense. She could hardly explain what she didn’t understand herself. But that long, silent carriage ride had imbued their association with a certain . . . intimacy. The conversation about the book increased the familiarity and added a tinge of danger. It had made her uncomfortable then, and despite the reassurance of Jeanette’s presence in this house, it still did. The notion of spending weeks in the home of Daniel St. John unsettled her.
Jeanette slid a long silk shawl off her lap. “Daniel, call for Paul. Our guest looks very tired. I will take her to her chamber so that she can rest and refresh herself.”
Paul turned out to be a thick, tall pillar of a man. The elegance of his blue servant’s livery could not hide his earthy solidity. The neat grooming of his reddish hair did not soften his craggy features.
Carefully, with a gentleness that looked peculiar for his bulk, he slid his arms under Jeanette and rose, holding her like a baby.
“To the Chinese bedchamber, Paul. Diane, will you come with us, please.”
They mounted another flight of stairs, not so grand, but impressive still. A bank of tall windows on the top landing overlooked a garden. They stopped at a heavy, large door that Paul easily opened despite his burden.
The chamber smelled of cedar. Decorated all in blue and white, it reminded Diane of the porcelain urns displayed in the better shops’ windows in Rouen. It contained many similar pieces, only these looked much nicer. She knew without being told that they were very precious and that if she broke one she would want to die.
Paul settled Jeanette on a chair by the hearth and bent to build up the fire. Then he retreated, taking up a position outside the open door.
“As you can see, I am lame,” Jeanette said. “I suffered an injury some years ago. Thanks to Paul’s strength, however, I need not be an infirm recluse. Everyone is accustomed to seeing him carry me and it will cause you no embarrassment.”
“It will be my presence that will cause eyebrows to raise. Your brother said that I am to claim I am your cousin. Your friends will be shocked to learn that you have such poor, ill-mannered relations.”
Jeanette beckoned her forward and gave her a more thorough inspection than she had down below. “Not so ill-mannered. That school taught you the basics, and you will quickly learn the rest. Your appearance, however . . . I will send my maid to do something with that hair before the evening meal. We will begin on the rest tomorrow.”
“There is no need. Please. I will remain in this house until it is time to sail to England.”
“My brother has affairs to attend to here. Although this is one of his homes, he makes his life in England and his visits here are always very full. If you are hovering in the shadows, he will be displeased by the reminder that he inconveniences you.” Her smile suggested that giving Daniel St. John displeasure was not the path of wisdom.
A servant arrived with the valise.
“I will leave you to rest. My woman will come later, to help you unpack and dress. Again, I extend my welcome to you. I am glad that you have come to us.”
Paul carried her away. The door closed. Diane sat in the chair that Jeanette had just vacated and inched it closer to the hearth. The abundant warmth flowing from the fire felt delicious.
She stared at the fla
mes. She dared not look anywhere else. The chamber was too much. The porcelain urns waited to be broken. The front of this house had not overwhelmed her, but its interior certainly did.
Several weeks, Daniel had said. Maybe longer, Jeanette had implied. Then a life of tedium.
She was not sure that briefly tasting this luxury would be a good idea. Dwelling amidst such wealth could make what had come before, and what would come after, a source of discontentment.
He will seduce you with luxuries and kindness, and then . . .
Ridiculous. A man like this had no need of such as her. Nor would the next few weeks be the product of his kindness. It simply was not convenient for him to travel to England right now.
The fire’s heat worked its way down to her bones, killing the chill that she had known most of her life. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. The warmth surrounded her like arms, comforting her.
A memory came to her suddenly, of another long carriage ride, split by a journey on a boat. Of fear and loneliness finally defeating her during an interminable night while she huddled in the corner of a moving, black space. Of arms reaching for her in the dark and pulling her close so that she cried into a wool coat.
Perhaps that buried, childish memory accounted for the familiarity in the carriage today.
No, not entirely. For one thing, she was no longer a child and he neither treated her nor spoke to her as one anymore. It was that abrupt change that made her uncomfortable with him. Still, the memory eased her misgivings a little.
She dozed off into a vision of a garden filled with golden vines.
She sat on the chair in front of the hearth, waiting to be called to the meal. Her hair felt a little unsteady, piled up as it was on her crown. After the maid had finished, her reflection displayed a stranger, someone older than her own image of herself.
The door opened, but no servant had come. Daniel stood there.
“Jeanette asked that I check on you, to spare her coming up. You are comfortable here? You have been settled in?”
She rose to face him. “Actually, I have been wondering if there is another chamber.”
“This one does not suit you?”
“I would prefer something simpler. Smaller. I am not accustomed to such as this.”
“The smaller ones are above and used by the servants. We can hardly put you there.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because you are not a servant. You are a guest.”
He stepped into the chamber and looked around curiously, as if checking its proportions and seeing its opulence anew. His expression changed to one of comprehension.
He strolled over to a table near the canopied bed. It held one of the beautiful urns. “Come here.”
She did not move. She could not, and not just because the chamber intimidated her.
The space was not so large that one could ignore that it was a bedchamber. Her bedchamber, and he was in it and really should not be, even if it was his home. No one had ever taught her that lesson. She just knew it. An odd quickening in her blood, a different flow in the air, a heightening of the familiarity from the carriage—his presence produced a barrage of effects that warned that this was not correct.
“Come here,” he repeated, lifting the precious urn.
When she did not obey, he walked over to her. “You cannot spend the next weeks chained to that hearth. Eventually you must move.”
“It is warm here. It is the only comfort I welcome or need. In fact, it is a wonderful luxury.”
“No fire in your chamber at school? No, I suppose not. And small ones in those that were lit elsewhere, I expect. Madame would justify the discomfort as good for the soul.”
He stood near her, the urn casually cradled in his hands. “Take it.”
She hesitated. He placed it in her hands. It was much lighter than she expected. Fragile.
“Now, drop it.”
She stared at him in shock.
“Drop it.”
She glanced down to the hearth tiles on which they stood. “It will break.”
“Drop it.”
“No.”
His hands came over hers. They rested there a moment, the warmth of his palms enclosing her hands, the rough pads of his fingers grazing her wrists. The touch startled her. A deep wave of intimacy flowed through the contact.
She looked at him in surprise. Something unfathomable flickered in his gaze. That startled her even more.
They stood a long time with his hands cupping hers over the urn. Too long. Or maybe not more than an instant. She couldn’t tell. Her awareness of him and of their physical contact filled the moments so totally that she had no sense of how much time had passed.
His fingers moved. He pried her hands loose.
The urn slipped away. She watched, horrified, as it fell to the tiles and shattered.
“Now you have broken one and do not have to be afraid of doing so again. They are just objects, Diane. Soulless, lifeless objects. They have no value unless they serve us with their function or beauty. Only a fool is ruled by them.”
He spoke quietly and gently. More gently than she ever remembered, as if he were sharing an important secret.
He still held her hands, his pressing thumbs making strange pulses throb in her palms. New lights entered his eyes and the pulse spread. To her arms. To her blood. To her breath and the fire and the air. To the whole chamber.
Another timeless instant. An astonishing one. Compelling and confusing. A little frightening, but touched with dangerous excitement, such as one felt when peering down from a great height.
He dropped her hands abruptly, breaking the spell. He turned on his heel and aimed for the door. “Break one every day if you need to. Tear the chamber apart if it suits you.” His voice came harshly, making her wonder if she had imagined what had just happened.
He paused at the threshold and looked back. A little tremor of that pulse passed to her again. Like an echo. Or a distant voice calling.
“Your intentions, Daniel. I would hear them now.”
“You say that in an accusatory tone, Jeanette. I am wounded.”
“It is not in anyone’s power to wound you.”
“Perhaps not, but if anyone could, it would be you.”
That made her retreat. She relaxed back in her chair and her face lost its strict expression. “Why did you bring her here?”
“I told you, it was necessary.” He explained the little drama at the school and the discovery of Diane’s true age. “I suppose that I never considered that the years passed for her as well as us. And she appears very young, unless you look closely.”
“Perhaps you also found it convenient not to see that she was grown and had to be dealt with.”
He ignored that. “She was building up her courage to leave the school anyway. It was just a matter of time. London, she said. To find her life.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Exactly.”
Jeanette’s face came to him five times over, the real one multiplied by the mirrors. He did not care for this old-fashioned sitting room with its flimsy furniture and relentless reflections. His own tastes were more restrained, but this was Jeanette’s bower and she had decorated it to create a private world. She had filled it with the light and beauty of her childhood, and he neither begrudged her the expense nor the opulence. He would build her an entire palace filled with golden tendrils if that would crowd the darkness from her memories.
“Do you intend to keep her here forever? She thinks that she is going to London.”
“She will, eventually. I merely need some time to finish arrangements regarding Dupré first. Then I can turn my attention to England, and to Tyndale.”
Jeanette’s dark head tilted back in surprise. Concern veiled her green eyes. “Daniel . . .”
“Do not worry. And do not interfere.”
She thoughtfully rearranged the long shawl around her shoulders. He waited while she contemplated the little she knew and
surmised the rest. He never explained much to her, but she always saw it all.
“She is very lovely,” she said. “Unpolished, but that is easily remedied. I will see to it.”
“Do not make the shine too bright. It will obscure what is naturally there.”
He did not have to say more. She would understand.
Wrapped to her satisfaction, the shawl’s long silk ends crossing just so, she drew herself a little straighter. “So many years had passed, that I thought you had given up on it. That it was over. But if you are making arrangements for Gustave Dupré, I suppose not.”
“It is only over when it is finished.”
“And when you turn your attention to England, you think that you see a way to finish it for good? You plan to try and take down Andrew Tyndale? I do not like it. I do not want it. He is the brother of a marquis. It is not worth the risk. You could lose everything, even your life.”
“I won all that I have so that it could be finished. It is definitely worth the risk.”
“I will not see this girl harmed for my sake.”
“It is not only about you. If you think so you are mistaken, and have forgotten too much.”
“I forget nothing. Still—”
“I told you not to interfere.” He caught a glimpse of himself, eyes and face suddenly hard, in the damnable mirrors. He forced the rancor down. “She will not be harmed in any way. I will not permit that.”
“As always, you are very sure of yourself. Perhaps, as always, it will be as you plan. So let us put aside my larger concerns. I will not worry about them until I have cause to. However, the woman in me finds herself also wondering about something much smaller and more ordinary.”
Jeanette rarely worried about small, ordinary things. He saw to it that she did not have to anymore. “What is that?”
“You have asked me to look after her. She will be my responsibility and you are a legendary seducer. Therefore I am duty bound to repeat my first question, but in this smaller, more ordinary context. What are your intentions?”
He laughed, to indicate the question was completely absurd.
She did not react. She knew him too well and had probably seen that it was not absurd at all.
The Seducer Page 3