Lady of Shame

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘I believe so,’ she said.

  He stepped out into the shelter of the portico and opened an umbrella.

  ‘Is that it, madam?’ The footman sounded almost shocked.

  Claire peered into the street and then gasped. Instead of the kind of sleigh she expected, a heavy affair with dray horses plodding in front, there was this light-bodied thing, a racing curricle with runners. André stood in the driver’s seat while one of the grooms employed by the Assembly Rooms fought to hold the head of an excitable-looking horse.

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

  He started down the steps. The wind tore at the umbrella and he struggled to hold it over her head.

  She slipped him a coin. ‘Don’t bother.’ She ran down the rest of the steps.

  ‘Hurry,’ André said, his teeth gleaming white in the lamplight. ‘As fast as we can travel in this, the roads will be impassable before long.’

  Another liveried groom helped her up into the high-bodied oversprung equipage and quickly disposed several warm fur lap rugs about her legs and shoulders, and pushed a hot brick beneath her feet.

  ‘Let him go,’ André yelled. And they were off. Racing through the night.

  At first the streetlights at the centre of Buxton lit their way. Then as they left the town, it became completely dark. It was like being in a cocoon of black, travelling at breakneck speed. For some reason once they were moving, the snow seemed to pass over them. André remained standing, looking out at the road intently.

  ‘How can you see your way?’ she yelled above the noise of the wind. ‘Surely this is far too dangerous.’

  He flashed a quick grin like a boy caught in mischief. A string plucked in her heart, painful and sweet all at once.

  ‘The mail is just ahead of us,’ he said. ‘I am following their tracks. Look carefully and you will see them.’

  She squinted into the dark, and then she could see the dark impression of wheels and horses’ hooves. She relaxed back against the seat and pulled her blankets up to her nose. It seemed he knew what he was doing.

  What manner of man was he, this chef? He seemed more like an adventurer than a servant. He spoke like an educated gentleman, mingled with people he should see as his superiors as if he was their equal and he boxed like a ruffian.

  The only thing she knew for certain was that he was a puzzle. And Jane liked him.

  Jane didn’t like everyone, though she had seemed happy enough since they’d come to Castonbury. But she really liked André.

  They had been travelling for some time, when the clouds began to break up and the wind to die down.

  At first the stars glimmered here and there, then the moon floated free of the clouds.

  ‘It seems the worst of the storm is over,’ André said, sitting down beside her, slowing the horse to a walk. ‘Perhaps I was a little precipitous in whisking you away.’

  ‘I would not have been happy leaving Jane alone all night.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shifted in her seat to better see his face, he sounded so serious.

  ‘Why?’ she repeated, her mind scrambling, looking for plausible explanations.

  ‘What do you fear, Claire?’

  Her stomach tightened. ‘Jane doesn’t like to be alone.’

  ‘Nonsense. A child who can walk all the way to the Dower House by herself is not afraid of being alone. And besides, you left one of the maids with her. Claire, you might be fooling everyone else, but there is something or someone you fear.’

  She swallowed. A shiver ran down her spine. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  He gave a shake of his head ‘There was a man asking questions about you and Jane at the Rothermere Arms.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘See. This is what I mean. You look behind your back.’ He shook his head. ‘That is not right. Your shoulder, you always look behind your shoulder. When Jane went missing, you were terrified that she had been taken.’

  Was it really so obvious? Or was it just because he knew her too well? ‘Who was this man asking about me, André?’

  ‘A man called Webster. He works for Sir Nathan, he says.’

  ‘A red-haired man?’

  He tensed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I saw him at the Rothermere Arms too, the day the horse bolted. I do not know why he would be asking questions.’ He was not the henchman she’d seen with Pratt in the market, nor did he seem like the sort of man a criminal would employ.

  ‘But still you are worried. Tell me what you fear, Claire. Perhaps I can help.’

  She clasped her hands together inside her muff. It would be so easy to tell him all of her problems. To unburden herself to him, when she had said so little to Crispin because she knew he would be horrified. Dare she trust André with something so important?

  ‘I swear that whatever you tell me, I will keep to myself.’

  Could he read her mind? Dare she trust him? Yes, he was charming. Exciting. He made her feel young again. Giddy. And that was the problem. She’d felt this way about George and look how he’d failed to live up to expectations.

  She’d been little more than a child then. Lonely. Swept off her feet. She was a child no longer and she had decided on her own course of action. Made her own plan. And until she’d become involved with André, she’d been perfectly happy.

  Well, if not happy, then content.

  ‘I cannot,’ she said.

  She felt his disappointment like a live thing. She also felt him distance himself. Shutting her out.

  ‘Not for myself,’ she added swiftly. ‘For Jane.’

  He shrugged. ‘Then we must say no more, n’est-ce pas?’ He stood up and looked around. ‘Tiens, we are making good time. I expect we shall soon see the lights of the village.’

  She nodded. But his coolness hurt. As she had hurt him. Always his French became more noticeable when he felt some deep emotion. He’d been wounded by her lack of trust. He cared more than he had said. And heaven help her she did not want him feeling that pain.

  ‘I need a great deal of money.’

  His hands went slack on the reins and the horse faltered. He gathered the animal, then turned to look at her. ‘You have debts?’

  ‘My late husband had debts.’

  ‘I see.’

  He didn’t see. No doubt he thought she had been living high above her means. Nothing could be further from the truth and now she was talking about it the words just wanted to flow.

  ‘The night before my husband was struck down by a carriage, he confessed he owed a large sum of money to a criminal.’ A bitter laugh erupted from her throat. ‘He’d been gambling, despite a promise to stop, and lost far more than he could ever repay. He feared for his life. He warned me that if anything happened to him, anything at all, I was to take Jane and run. Use a false name and go as far away as possible.’

  Beside her, André remained silent, listening intently, only the muscle in his jaw telling her he did not like what he heard.

  The shock of that night returned in full force. Her husband’s trembling voice. His scared eyes. He’d dipped deeper and deeper, he’d said, until he had no hope of recovery. But what he said next had terrified her. ‘We rented a small house in a mean part of London, but I had been making ends meet by taking in mending. George said this man was ruthless. That if George didn’t pay up, he would get his money another way.’ She took a deep shaky breath, the terror drying her throat and making it hard to speak. ‘The man had told him that Jane and I would work off the debt.’

  André muttered a curse. ‘C’est incroyable. Your husband would allow it?’

  ‘He was in a panic. Terrified of this man. He was trying to borrow from friends. We’d fallen so far by that time, I knew none of his old friends would help. And all his new friends were no better than Pratt.’

  ‘And the next day, he died?’

  She shuddered, still unable to believe they had escaped. ‘We were lucky. One of my neighbours brought the news. She
was in the street when it happened. When I mentioned Pratt, she practically fainted. He is infamous for punishing anyone who bilks him out of money. And he bribes officers of the law to make sure of it. Jane and I ran.’ She put her hands over her face as all the horror of that day came rushing back.

  André put his arm around her shoulders, strong, so warm and comforting. ‘Hush, ma petite. You are safe.’

  She shook her head. ‘I will never be safe until he is paid.’

  ‘You think this man still looks for you?’

  ‘We moved to Rochester. A year passed and I felt sure he must have forgotten us.’ Her body started to tremble.

  He gripped her tighter, his gloved hand on the reins clenching.

  ‘I saw him,’ she whispered. ‘Him and some brutish bully in the marketplace. They were searching. For us. I know it. We ran again. Here. But I fear he will never stop unless I pay him.’

  ‘Mon Dieu. Can the police do nothing? Or your brother? Your husband was murdered.’

  ‘I have no proof. And how can I burden my brother when he has so many troubles?’ She tried to pull herself upright away from him, but he kept her close and she relaxed against him.

  ‘So you will make a marriage. But how does it help?’

  ‘His Grace will ask a high price for my hand. I hope it will be enough to pay off the debts.’

  André cursed. ‘When you say a large sum, how much are you talking about?’

  ‘Three thousand pounds is what George told me.’

  He let go a long breath. ‘Claire, I really think you should go to your brother and have him talk with the authorities. He is a powerful man.’

  This time she did pull away. ‘I brought a great deal of pain to my family the first time I married. This time I will do my duty. But more importantly, I cannot risk him finding Jane and if I talk to the authorities he will. You promised to say nothing of this to anyone. I trust you to keep your promise.’

  ‘You extract a hard bargain.’ He sounded angry. He sat silent for a moment. ‘I still do not understand why this villain did not immediately look for you at Castonbury.’

  ‘Because George was constantly running close to the wind with the law, we changed our names all too often. I had no wish to further embarrass my family and George promised he would never reveal my family connection to anyone.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘But I cannot be sure. He was weak. He drank. He might have said something.’

  A long silence ensued. As if he was having trouble taking it all in. She wasn’t surprised. It had the makings of a gothic novel.

  In the distance she saw a light, then another. The village of Castonbury. In a few minutes, they would be home.

  Surprisingly, she felt calmer, less fearful than she had for a very long time. She put a hand on his arm. ‘You don’t know what it has meant to me, to tell someone about this.’

  She did indeed feel lighter, as if part of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. More than that, she was certain she was doing the right thing.

  ‘And you don’t think this man Webster is looking for you?’ He sounded so fierce, she could imagine him seeking the man out.

  ‘If so, he would have taken us when we met him at the inn.’

  ‘Then why the questions?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I thank you for coming to warn me.’ Impulsively she rose on the seat and kissed his cheek at the same moment he turned his face towards her. His mouth brushed hers, velvet soft, scorching hot against her numb lips.

  He gave a soft groan. Then they were kissing, his tongue plunging inside her mouth. The sensations were indescribable. Exotic. Like eating ice cream for the very first time.

  She pulled her hands free of the muff and the covers and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him with all the fervour of a desperate woman.

  He held her gently, carefully controlling the kiss, tasting every corner of her mouth with his tongue, savouring her with such tenderness she thought she would go mad.

  Then his hands began stroking her back, caressing and shaping her breasts and the heat low in her belly exploded with need and want.

  With a moan of longing she sought his mouth again, kissing him, nibbling at his lips until he opened his mouth and she plundered the hot dark depths with her tongue.

  Their breaths mingled around them, the beat of their hearts thundered together. She was lost. Yet she felt completely at home.

  Finally breathless and utterly undone, they broke apart.

  The horse shifted in its poles, and whickered a protest. Sometime in the past few moments it had stopped in the middle of the road and was pawing at the frozen earth as if to raise some grass from beneath the snow.

  André sighed. ‘I promised myself I would not succumb to this again. It seems I have no control when it comes to you.’

  ‘Me neither,’ she whispered.

  He looked about them with a sort of desperation, then gave a short laugh. ‘There is nowhere for us to stop here. I will not make love to you outdoors in the cold on the seat of a sleigh and risk being seen. Even I have some standards. We must return to Castonbury.’ He clicked his tongue and the horse started forward. ‘I will report this man’s questions to Lord Giles, I think.’

  Disappointed about the veto on the lovemaking, Claire nodded. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Bien sûr.’

  ‘Where did you get that French order you wore on your chest?’ It was odd that it troubled her, but it had looked so right on his chest, as if it belonged there.

  ‘From a pawn shop in Paris.’

  When she said nothing, he set the horse in motion. Her body ached, her blood hummed. But there was nothing to be done about it. The kiss had been an accident. Another one that must never be repeated.

  She supposed she was fortunate the man had so much honour. He could easily have taken advantage. She didn’t feel fortunate. She felt frustrated. And the future seemed bleak.

  They passed through the gates and up the drive in silence. When they stopped outside the front door, he leapt clear, helping her down carefully, but keeping her at a distance. As he should. According the rules.

  The front door opened and there was no time for anything, not even words. She scuttled inside the house.

  ‘That’s a fancy rig you came home in,’ the footman said.

  She handed him her cloak. ‘Yes. It was.’ André was full of surprises. But, she realised as the footman handed her a candle, she knew no more about him now than she had when they’d first met, because she’d been too busy telling him all of her troubles. Perhaps that was part of the attraction. His mystery. ‘Goodnight, Mark.’

  ‘Goodnight, madam.’

  It would not be a good night. Because she would be thinking about André, and that kiss. And wishing things were different.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jeremy, a huge man, with dark twinkling eyes above jolly fat cheeks and an enormous belly, arrived the morning after the assembly. Determined to end the affair with Claire, André had written to him days before. Jeremy had agreed to exchange positions for the last two weeks of André’s contract. They had worked together at Grillons and had liked each other on sight. Now André would take his place back at the famous London hotel.

  After a tour of the kitchen and cellars, it was time to introduce him to Claire. Time to tell her he was leaving. Much as he regretted it, this was the right thing to do. As they took the stairs, Jeremy began to puff loudly. André adjusted his pace. ‘You need to lose some of that belly, mon ami.’

  Jeremy patted his paunch. ‘Creams and sauces of the very finest distinction put that there. My sauces. So stow your criticism.’ He gave André a considering glance. ‘You look as if you haven’t eaten properly in weeks. Do they run you ragged?’

  ‘Non, mon ami. You will see it is all very simple. Just one dinner party planned for tonight, then nothing but the family. Though I understand Lord Giles, Mrs Landes-Fraser and Lady Phaedra are expected in a day or so.’

  Jeremy r
aised a brow. ‘And Mrs Holte?’

  ‘Madame Holte and her daughter eat like birds.’

  Jeremy’s sharp eyes looked at him for a moment, then he shrugged. ‘The plans for your hotel proceed well?’

  Glad of the change of topic, André slapped his friend on the shoulder. It was like striking a mountain. ‘Another month and everything will be in place. I just need to firm up one or two more investors.’

  ‘I have no doubt you will do it. It is good to see a man achieve his dream.’

  ‘Thank you.’ André paused on the stairs. ‘And thank you for agreeing to assist with my plan for this evening.’

  ‘We’ll find out who is ruining these dinners. Don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘I hope so. It is important for the madame that the evening goes well.’

  Jeremy raised a brow. ‘It seems you have more than a passing interest in what Mrs Holte thinks.’

  Was he actually feeling heat in his cheeks? ‘Nonsense. What makes you say such a thing?’

  ‘Your voice. The look on your face. You had it the first time you mentioned her too. Don’t tell me you have fallen for your employer’s daughter. Is she the reason for your hasty departure?’

  His friend saw too much. ‘Now you are being more ridiculous than usual. She is his sister and I have grown fond of her child.’

  ‘Her child?’ Jeremy’s astonishment was palpable. André had expressed his dislike of families on more than one occasion. The big man narrowed his gaze. ‘You like her. Does she know who you are?’

  She did, but she hadn’t believed it. He shrugged. ‘What would that serve?’ He started walking again.

  Jeremy hurried after him. ‘Life is about more than getting on in the world, you know. The right woman can make it all worthwhile.’

  A spurt of anger heated his blood. A woman could also destroy. Look at Marie Antoinette. Or his mother. He clung to that anger, took strength from it, took a deep breath and gave a careless chuckle. ‘So speaks the man who’s been courting the same woman for five years.’