Lady of Shame

by Ann Lethbridge

  From that day to this, he hadn’t needed anyone. He took care of himself. By paying off her debt, he’d given her completely the wrong idea.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I think you misunderstood.’

  The silence, so full of hurt, almost killed him. He wanted to call back the words and lie. He wanted to hold her close and forget in her arms. But if he did, his whole world would turn upside down and he would be lost.

  He heard the door open and close and when he looked over his shoulder she was gone. Only the lingering scent of her perfume remained to prove it wasn’t all a dream. A figment of his imagination.

  Just as his mother’s departure hadn’t been a dream, though he had dreamt of it every night for years. Cried out in his sleep too. And the terror that he’d done something wrong had left him paralyzed. Until he’d realised she was the one to blame, not him, and anger had replaced the hurt.

  He sank down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Clenched his fists and felt the welcome pain of the tug of his fingers in his hair.

  The door opened and hope rose in his throat. He let it go with a grunt when he saw Jeremy.

  The big man peeled off his coat and hung it on the hook on the back of his door, then started on the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘She said she would wait at the White Hart for three days. Then she will be returning to Derbyshire.’

  ‘She might as well leave now,’ André said coldly.

  ‘What the hell did you say to her, Deval? She looked so happy when I told her where to find you. Now she looks crushed.’

  ‘You should not have sent her up here.’ He reached beneath the bed and pulled out the bottle of wine.

  * * *

  Why on earth had she said she would wait three days? He wasn’t coming. She’d always been perfectly clear theirs was a fling. He’d been happy with the arrangement. Why had she thought things had changed?

  Yes, he was charming. Seductive. But he was another man who never settled long in one place. Clearly, her heart had made another terrible choice.

  At least she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself and told him she thought she loved him. How ridiculous of her to think true love could be found in the space of three weeks.

  Now poor Giles was champing at the bit to get back to his Lily. It wasn’t fair of her to drag him away from the woman he loved after already being away for weeks with Phaedra, and then make him wait around for something that would not happen. They should leave. Now. Today. But what if André came tomorrow? The stupid hope he might change his mind wouldn’t leave her alone. The hope he might feel something for her.

  No, that wasn’t it. He cared for her. She knew he did, or he would not have paid off those debts. She also knew it from the way he had looked at her when she’d walked into his room. In that unguarded moment she had seen his joy at her arrival. Only then he’d retreated.

  That was what she did not understand. That was the question she wanted answered. She’d thought about going back and trying again, but Giles had vetoed the suggestion. He’d made her feel a bit of an idiot, asking her if she had no pride.

  It reminded her too much of what had happened when she’d ran off with George. He was right. This was stupid. They might as well leave today.

  She left her chamber and went in search of him in the private parlour they had rented on the ground floor. He was reading the paper and looked up at her entrance.

  He rose to his feet. ‘Claire. How are you doing?’

  ‘As well as might be expected.’

  He looked at her with understanding. He’d told her some of the rocky road he had faced courting Lily, so she knew he understood. Somewhat.

  He and Lily had worked through their differences.

  It seemed she was doomed to spend the rest of her life a widow. She certainly wasn’t going to marry again, now she didn’t have to. Thank goodness she had Jane. Jane needed her and would for a good long while.

  ‘Would you like coffee or tea?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve decided we should go home.’

  The look of utter joy on his face tugged at her heart. ‘I am so sorry for keeping you away for so long.’

  ‘No. Really, Claire. I was glad to be of service. I am just sorry—’

  ‘No sense in being sorry. It is time to move forward.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m glad you see it that way. There are lots of very eligible gentlemen in Derbyshire.

  ‘I think Jane will be quite enough to keep me busy. I’ll find a cottage. I can earn a living taking in sewing. I’ve done it before.’

  ‘You will not.’

  ‘Really, Giles. I will not be a burden on the family. Don’t worry, I will make sure I am far enough away that the Montagues won’t be embarrassed by their poor relation, but I am really quite determined.’

  ‘We can talk about it on the way home.’

  It sounded like the threat of an argument, but she was more than a match for her nephew. And a good discussion would while away the weary hours and keep her mind off André.

  ‘I’ll have the horses put to,’ he said, his eagerness making her smile.

  ‘Would you also ask our host to send up the chambermaid to help with the packing?’

  ‘Glad to.’

  They parted ways at the bottom of the stairs and Claire climbed back up to her room. She glanced at the mountain of stuff she’d brought with her thinking she might stay for a while.

  She sighed.

  No. Enough pining. It did no good at all. She must focus on what she needed for the journey and what should go in her trunk. Her fur-lined cloak would serve as a carriage blanket as well as keep her warm when tripping out to the necessary or when they put up for the night. Hopefully Giles would remember to order hot bricks for their feet. Her best bonnet she would not need. She opened a hat box and popped it inside.

  A knock at the door. The maid. ‘Come in.’

  ‘You can start on the gowns in the clothes press,’ she said, folding the ribbons neatly into the box so they would not become unduly wrinkled.

  ‘That’s the oddest request I have ever had.’

  She swung around. Her heart practically jumping out of her chest and she pressed her hand flat against her ribs to make sure it stayed in place. ‘André?’ The bruises on his face had faded a little, but there were dark smudges beneath his eyes.

  ‘Are there other gentlemen you let into your bedroom?’ His eyes danced. His charming smile made an appearance. She didn’t trust it.

  But her heart was beating hopefully.

  She turned, pressed the lid on the hat box and set it on the floor. ‘So, you came, after all. I had quite given you up.’

  ‘You are leaving.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You gave me three days.’

  She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, giving him a knowing smile and a sultry glance. She’d practiced it all day the first day, when she had hoped he would come to her. ‘It was very foolish of me. If you did not know your mind within the hour of my leaving you, then it was obvious you were not going to come.’

  ‘I am here now.’

  She tapped a finger against her chin. She’d seen some very naughty ladies flirt in this way with their beaux. It seemed to work well for them. ‘Better late than never, I suppose. But why have you come?’ She held her breath.

  He tossed the gloves resting in his hat, like a pancake in a frying pan, watching them rise only to fall back into the depths of his hat. ‘I owe you an explanation.’

  Her heart sank to her shoes. Justification for his actions was not what she had hoped for, even now, even as she was preparing to give him up.

  She shrugged. ‘There is no need.’ She slid off the bed with a cheerful smile. ‘On your way out, could you please see what has happened to the maid?’ She opened the dresser drawer and busied herself sorting ribbons she couldn’t see for the blurring of her vision.

  ‘Claire, I’m sorry.’

  ‘What? Is it beneath your digni
ty to check up on a maid? Then I will ring the bell.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. You know I don’t.’

  ‘All right. You are sorry. And I am sorry. But there really is no need for it. We both agreed it was nothing.’

  ‘It wasn’t nothing,’ he said softly. ‘Not to me.’

  She turned and leaned against the table edge, feeling the wood digging into her hips. ‘Then what was it?’

  He swallowed as if his mouth was dry. ‘It was wonderful.’

  Wonderful was good. But not good enough. Only all or nothing was good enough now.

  ‘There are some things you don’t know about me,’ he muttered, his cheekbones staining red. ‘Things I should tell you.’

  Oh, there went the whole dipping sensation again, only this time it was her stomach. ‘Tell away.’ She knew she sounded hard, brittle, but she couldn’t let him see she was hurting, not if all he had for her were explanations. She’d gone to him, placed her heart at his feet—well, almost—and he’d kicked her offering aside. She wouldn’t do it again. Not lightly.

  She folded her arms across her chest, and almost jumped when she felt how hard her nipples had become. Anticipating a romp on the handy bed no doubt. What a wanton. Well, it was not going to happen.

  He set down his hat and gestured to the two chairs in front of the hearth. ‘Might we sit?’

  ‘I really don’t have long. The maid is due to arrive at any moment.’

  ‘I will be fast.’

  She sauntered to the upholstered chair and sat down, primly crossing her ankles. He eased into the wooden armchair opposite.

  ‘The title I used at the assembly,’ he said.

  Goodness, he was probably involved in some sort of scheme to con people. He probably used it to part gentlemen from their money at the gambling table. George used to do it all the time.

  ‘It really is my title.’

  She laughed.

  He met her gaze steadily.

  She gasped. ‘You mean you really are a French count?’

  He nodded.

  She felt ill. ‘So all that talk about being a lowly chef was a lie?’

  Horror filled his face. ‘The title is an empty shell. The land went back to the people.’ His face spasmed with distaste. ‘My family was obscenely wealthy. They didn’t deserve all that for themselves. No one does.’

  ‘So why tell me about it?’

  He glanced at her face and then away. ‘When I was old enough to understand the abuses of the ancien régime, I wasn’t sorry to see it gone. But I didn’t believe in the killing. Not of my parents or any of the others. My parents weren’t bad. They had instituted many reforms. Not enough, but more than some others.’

  ‘The reign of terror.’ Her chest tightened. ‘You were lucky to escape.’

  ‘Yes, I was one of the fortunate ones.’

  ‘You hid? You were spirited away by some faithful servant? You know émigrés have been dining out on those tales for years.’

  ‘I had the help of a priest. I didn’t know him. And he died protecting me before we could get wherever it was he was taking me. He showed me how to hide in plain sight and I lived on the streets just like so many other street urchins of the time. Stealing. Drinking. Running messages. I was picked up by a soldier and dragged off to dig latrines.’

  She wrinkled her nose.

  He gave a wry laugh. ‘Actually, it was the best thing that could have happened. At first I did menial tasks. I was big for my age and some of the soldiers liked to pick on me, so I badgered the company prizefighter to teach me how to box. I even won a couple of matches. I also wormed my way into the good graces of a cook and discovered I had a talent. That lasted until the troop captain learned I could read and write and ride a horse after a fashion. Then I was back to fighting. I worked my way up to the rank of colonel. But I spent all my spare time with the cooks. I hoped when the war ended it would be something I could do. That or box. The great Carême took me under his wing for a while. I think he saw something of himself in me. I left France when the emperor abdicated. I had heard good things about England. The best of it, that it was peaceful and French chefs were in demand.’

  ‘You weren’t tempted to go home when Napoleon returned?’

  He shook his head. ‘I had established myself as a chef at Grillons.’ A wry smile twisted his lips. ‘I never agreed with the republic of France having an emperor. It was not what the Revolution intended.’

  She leaned back in her chair. ‘But what has all this to do with me? With us? Indeed, your title might have made you an eligible parti. Had you thought of that? Or are you only thinking of it now that you have spent all your money on me in some fit of madness? To which you seem prone, by the way.’

  A quick rueful smile curved his lips. Heavens, she loved those smiles, but she wasn’t going to let them worm their way into her heart so easily. It was already too sore from his earlier rejection.

  The muscles in his jaw worked. He was clearly having trouble forming his words or his thoughts. It didn’t bode well. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at his boots as if he wished they would grow wings and fly him away.

  Claire folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  ‘I’m not a marrying man.’

  Ah. ‘I see. Well, that certainly puts the whole in a nutshell.’ She started to rise.

  A gesture of his hand held her still. ‘I have always lived alone. I’m not like you. I am selfish. I go after what I want. Once I have it, I move on to the next thing.’

  ‘Or the next woman, I suppose.’

  His expression darkened. Then he sighed. ‘In the past, yes. Claire, it is not that I don’t care for you, but you deserve someone who knows how to love. You know how to love, I see you with Jane. I saw Lord Giles with Miss Lily too. I never had that.’

  ‘You don’t remember your family?’

  ‘I try not to.’

  Shock rippled through her. Horror. ‘They were cruel to you?’

  He frowned. ‘I was a spoiled little prince as far as I recall. Dandled on my papa’s knee, cosseted by my mother. I had nurses and governesses who petted me. I even remember a pony. Never do I remember anyone hurting me or denying me anything.’

  ‘Then they loved you.’ She couldn’t see what more he could have wanted.

  ‘A mother does not leave the child she loves to the fury of the mob.’

  He spoke so matter-of-factly, with so little emotion, she could only stare at him.

  ‘Would you leave Jane to save yourself?’ he asked harshly.

  ‘I hope not,’ she whispered, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the bleakness in his heart, the loneliness in his soul. ‘Really though, I can’t be sure what I would do in such terrible circumstances.’

  ‘I can. You would never leave her behind. I needed her, and she left me.’

  ‘But you survived.’

  ‘I wish I had died with her.’

  ‘Oh. She died later?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and a shudder ran through his body. ‘They followed, ran after her down the drive with pitchforks and shovels. They caught her at the gate. Pulled her off the horse. She disappeared beneath them. And then we were running. Out of the back of the house. Across the fields. Days. Nights. I barely remember how long we ran.’

  ‘You must have been terrified.’

  ‘I was angry. Angry that she left without me. Angry that she died. She did what she had to. That’s what the curé said. I needed her, but she left me. To save herself. But she died. Why didn’t she wait and come with us?’ Agony scarred his features alongside the anger.

  The thought of him as a small boy deserted by his mother, losing everyone he knew, twisted a knife that seemed to have lodged itself in her ribs. It hurt to breathe.

  ‘André, when your mother rode away, did all the people follow her?’

  ‘All of them,’ he said bitterly. ‘She sat there on her horse, the sunlight in her hair, taunting them till they ran at her foaming at th
e mouth like dogs scenting blood. She whipped them into a frenzy of hatred, then rode off.’ Bitterness twisted his lips.

  Claire pictured it in her mind, only she was the one on the horse. She nodded. ‘Yes, that is exactly what I would do too.’

  He raised his head and stared at her, fury flashing in his eyes. ‘You would never leave Jane.’

  ‘I would,’ she said, her throat thickening, her eyes blurring until she could scarcely see him. Her voice broke. She sniffed. ‘I would. If I thought I could lead them away from her.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘No.’ The word exploded from his lips like cannon shot and left a smoky haze in its wake. The images he’d avoided for so long wavered and changed. He could no longer hold them in place.

  ‘No,’ he said again. ‘She left me. I stood at the window peering behind the curtains, the priest’s hand on my shoulder, watching her go.’

  ‘And then you ran the other way.’

  The gentleness in her tone, the clarity of her eyes, made it all seem so simple. So logical. And his world turned on its head. ‘I remember the way she sparkled on that horse in the sunlight. She was wearing all her jewels. She must have known they would come after her.’ His stomach roiled. ‘She was twenty-two.’

  ‘Where was your father?’

  ‘Not there. Later I saw him guillotined in Paris. I couldn’t understand why she kept hugging me earlier that day, holding me when all I wanted to do was play.’ A groan left his lips. ‘She must have known they were coming. The priest must have warned her. She was saying goodbye.’ The pressure of tears burned behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, willing them back. ‘I kept trying to think what I had done wrong. Thinking if she had loved me, she would have taken me with her.’

  And then Claire was holding him, her small arms around his shoulders. He pressed his face against her sweet breasts and, heaven help him, he cried. Sobbed like a child. Shed tears he’d buried for so long beneath his anger. The rage and the pain that she’d left without him.

  Slowly the storm inside him died away, leaving him drained, but not empty. He was full of a warm kind of light. A quiet kind of peace. The old need to strike out at the world was gone. ‘Oh, Claire,’ he breathed. ‘I never understood.’