“He was an awful man, possessive and insecure. There were times I convinced myself I deserved his punishment, for I was planning to perpetrate a hoax by passing off our child as his. After the child died and he knew what I had attempted, his punishment worsened. Every day was a fight for survival. One day, he pushed too far, and I fought back, though being his victim.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I can see how you might blame yourself. No man likes to find his child is not his own; however, what he did to you was inexcusable. The urge to blame yourself will never fully abate, but over time you will be able to forgive yourself for being human.”
Master Jones had said the same thing. She tested out the idea of forgiving herself, trying to remember the young woman she’d been. Scared, alone, and heartbroken, her younger self had made the best choice, given her circumstances. Empathy for her eighteen-year-old self, not the typical pity, welled inside her, replacing some of her shame with calm acceptance. She was human, and though mistakes were part of life, there was one event for which she might never absolve herself. “It has been difficult to forgive myself and let go of the past because my mistake cost us our child’s life.”
“What has changed? Our child is dead. Surely you do not blame yourself for actions out of your control.”
“For almost ten years I have, and I imagine it will be several more years before I can fully let go. Something has changed, though. Our son is not dead.”
His hand in hers trembled, and she grasped it in both of hers.
“Beatrice, no, he’s dead. You want to believe he lives to remove some of the guilt, but he’s gone. You have to accept it. Don’t torture yourself or me with this madness.”
Her laugh when it came was a harsh bark. “Ten years I mourned our child. You’ve known about his death for a few months, while I’ve lived every day of those ten years believing my actions caused our baby’s death. Don’t talk to me of torture, for I have lived with this guilt for a decade. But no more.”
“Be sensible, Tris. You’re talking nonsense.”
“Listen. He lives, Luka. Gabriel is alive,” she said, uttering her son’s name for the first time since his birth.
“No, you want to believe—”
“I know it. Before the explosion, Michelson told me he knew where our boy was. He said to find him and he’d tell me where our son is.”
“Even if the man was telling the truth, he might be dead. It’s been months. Thomas said he had some leads, but if he hasn’t found him yet, it’s unlikely he ever will.”
She pushed his hands aside and jumped from her chair. “Why are you saying this? Michelson knows where our son is. I sense it here.” She thumped her chest. “Why are you taking this from me?”
“To pin your hopes on the word of a madman is foolishness and will bring disappointment.”
“I have no other hope. He must know where he is. If not, it will be unbearable. It will be like…like…” Her words hitched in her throat, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, shaking her head as silent sobs shook her body.
Luka struggled to rise and winced as he hobbled to her on his injured feet. “You have your hope, Tris. Take it and hold it tight, for as long as you believe, he lives in your heart.”
“I will find him. I will find our son.”
He hugged her close and rested his chin atop her head. “I know you will.”
****
The ladies moved Luka to an upstairs bedroom the next day, as his feet had healed enough to allow him to walk up the stairs, thus freeing the front sitting room for Madame’s girls to entertain callers. He settled in Amy’s bed, the young girl having offered her space to Luka after he apologized. In his apology, he’d mentioned she had a feisty spark like Beatrice and a kind heart like Madame Cosette, and Amy, loving no one more than she did those two women, melted under the man’s charm, giving him her bed and moving into Cosette’s room with joy.
Bea busied herself in other parts of the house, doing her best to avoid her room and the man occupying it. His reaction to her news was underwhelming. Their son was alive, and he acted as though she brought him news of his death. Niggling doubt took root. Maybe Luka was right. Maybe she was wrong to hope, and with no hope, what were the chances she and Luka could have anything more than friendship? His duties resided with his clan, and hers was to their son. A relationship between them was as ill-advised as it had been ten years ago. Yet those tiny tendrils of hope which had grown and encased her broken heart in warmth refused to die. They clung, stubborn and resolute, and thoughts of a future in which she had both her son and Luka elated and terrified her. Hope was a fickle creature and more often than not heralded despair. She’d had sorrow enough and did not look forward to its resurrection. There being no other choice, she avoided her room to prevent the heartache arriving on the heels of hope and asked Cosette to take his meal to him once more.
“You can’t ignore him forever, chérie,” Cosette said. “Best clear the air, else you won’t sleep tonight.”
“I’m not sleeping in my room with him. Luka has vacated a bed. I’ll use it tonight.”
“The girls are entertaining callers in the sitting room this evening. Unless you wish to join them, sleep in your room. There are no vacancies. So many lonely men at the holidays. So much money for Cosette.”
“You, my friend, are a devil in satin slippers.”
She lifted an elegant shoulder. “Some things are universal. Money and sex, and I like them both. Many houses close for the holidays. They are shortsighted and lose paying customers. My house and the girls are, how do you say, open for a good time. We are full this Christmas.”
“Your grasp of English expressions amazes me.”
A sly smile graced Cosette’s ruby lips. “I am as good as my teacher, non? Don’t presume because I am such a gracious hostess I didn’t see the rolling of your eyes or hear the way you complimented me. Dry as toast, you English. A compliment must be given from the heart, sincerity throbbing in each word.”
Cosette grabbed her hands, her brown eyes kind as they looked in Bea’s. “For example, I have seen such improvement in your needlepoint. How proud I am of you for your hard work.”
Her head hurt from the change in subject, but the earnestness of Cosette’s words lessened much of the frustration any conversation with Madame fashioned. “Truly? Do you believe someday my stitches will be as even as yours?”
“Non! I made a little joke with you. See the difference? You believed my compliment because I was sincere, but in my mind I was saying it in your dry voice because, as you know, you are horrible at the needlepoint. What a clever trick!”
“Not clever but mean! You said one thing but meant another.”
“Oui, because I told you my trick. Had I remained silent, I would have known the truth, and your face would not look like that, all pinched and disapproving.” She twisted her own face into a grotesque version of Bea’s minor chiding frown.
Bea smoothed out her features and stamped her foot. Her brows contracted and her mouth pursed again. “What does any of this have to do with my taking a tray to Luka?”
“Much like my small lie, you are playing a mean trick on him. He is alone and wounded, but the woman he cares for is avoiding him. You are scared, I know, but he doesn’t need to know, eh?”
“You’re telling me to lie to him?”
She waved her hand as if swatting away a bothersome fly. “ ‘Lie’ is such a harsh word. I’m suggesting you see him, and if you must run and hide in your mind, do so. Don’t allow him to imagine, as I do when I see your rolling eyes or hear your biting words, what he’s done to deserve your displeasure.”
Equal portions of horror and guilt assaulted her, and a hot flush stole up her chest to stain her neck and cheeks. “Cosette, I’m sorry. You are a dear friend. I meant no disrespect.”
Cupping her cheeks, Cosette said, “I know, and I even understand. Your foul moods come and go and have, for the most part, lessened since you came
to stay here. Remember, not everyone is as good a mind reader or as forgiving as me.” She pressed a kiss to Bea’s forehead. “Your man, for one. He was morose when I took him his luncheon, and had you seen the way his eyes lit with excitement and then faded when he saw me, you’d not have kept him waiting this long.”
Bea grabbed the tray from the table by the stairs, took a step, and paused. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course not. You obviously love him.”
“I do,” she whispered, testing out the idea in her mind.
“Love is not the evil you imagine it to be. You have accustomed yourself to running when emotions intensify. Slow yourself and remember the joy love brings.”
“I’m terrified, Cosette. The last time I risked my heart, it didn’t end well.”
“This time neither of you have any place to run. It’s Christmas Eve, snow has made travel all but impossible, and the man is as weak as a kitten. Let him love away some of your fears.”
Bea vacillated between hysterical laughter and terrified tears. She settled on scowling disdain. “I said I love the man, not I’m eager to warm his sheets! Besides, he’s injured, or have you forgotten.”
“But you will be warming his sheets. Whether you are clothed or not is for you to decide. I needed your bed for the holiday entertainments and for an unusual request from a regular client. Now’s your chance to see if his important parts work or if they froze and fell off in his cold, damp cell. Either way, I’ll have cotton for my ears by the bed, in case,” she said. With a wink and a saucy swish of her hips, she sashayed out of the foyer. Bea stared after her for several dumb seconds, the unsettling realization she had been duped penetrating the confused jumble of her mind. In the space of fifteen minutes, Cosette had exposed her selfish actions and explained how she was hurting others by pushing them away, had tricked her into admitting her love for Luka, and because of the Christmas rush, had boxed her in to sleeping with him for the foreseeable future. Shaking her head, Bea ascended the stairs. The cruel vagaries of fate had cheated her friend, for if Madame had been a man in charge of military strategy, the British would have already conceded defeat.
Chapter 30
Paris, France, December 1810
Bea watched Luka eat in silence, having already picked over her meal and set it aside. Her appetite had disappeared the moment she settled in next to Luka on their bed.
“Why aren’t you eating? Did you cook?” His handsome face crinkled in amusement, and hers did the same, happy to see the transformations a week of healing had begotten. The bruising had faded to a light yellow instead of the angry purple marks he’d had when she first found him, and some proper nourishment had added a healthier glow to his wan skin. He’d even gained some weight, for gauntness no longer plagued his face, and the added flesh softened the sharp contours of his collarbones and shoulders.
“Someone is doing better, if you have enough energy to tease.”
“Seeing you brightened my spirits.”
Those five words returned the uncomfortable awkwardness which had hung between them since her arrival. “You’re quiet again,” he said, setting his fork on his plate. “What did I say?”
“I’m sorry for avoiding you today. It’s not you… it’s me.”
“So you were avoiding me. I wasn’t imagining it.”
“Cosette helped me to see a few important truths. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length, too afraid to permit more than distant friendships or casual affairs.”
“Thomas said you were with him for eight years. How is eight years a casual affair?”
She stiffened, anger at his presumptions causing her to lash out. “We didn’t sleep together until about a year ago, though it’s none of your concern.”
“If we’re to share a bed, I want your reassurance I’m not dipping my pole in waters where someone has already claimed the privilege.”
“Do you hear yourself? As if I’d let you dip your pole anywhere near my waters after such a comment.”
“Give me a break, Tris. My mind isn’t as nimble as yours, and clever metaphors are beyond me right now, what with my injuries and the constant pain. Tell me the truth. Are you and Thomas involved?”
Overwhelming tiredness swamped her already frazzled nerves, and any energy she had to prevaricate and make him regret his word choice vanished after witnessing his quiet anguish. Her response mattered. “We parted ways, and have not been involved in any physical manner for almost seven months. I love him, and most likely always will, but I’m not in love with him, not the way I was with you.”
“You were it for me. After I left you, I was unfit to mingle in polite company for almost a year. The pain from your absence was physical. I wasn’t much use and had convinced myself being without you was worse than whatever fate awaited us together.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I left my family and had traveled halfway to your father’s estate, ready to fall on my knees and beg for your forgiveness, when I received word you’d married and borne a child whose appearance did not mirror his supposed father. The anger I harbored for you burned with as much fierceness as the love I once carried. I left England determined to forget you. It was almost another year before speaking your name didn’t cause me to erupt in uncontrollable rage. Revenge helped to remove the sharp edges. I have hated you almost as long as I’ve loved you.”
“Why are you telling me all this? Do you seek to punish me? I assure you I have experienced all the retribution I can bear.”
“When you washed against my boat at Herm and I recognized you, there were several dark moments when anger and vengeance overshadowed human decency, but time with you, even time spent with your unconscious body, erased any remaining fury. You wear my bracelet.”
She clutched her wrist, the reassuring hardness from the copper face pressing against her wrist. “It’s stayed on my wrist for years.” What does my bracelet have to do with anything he’s telling me?
“The explosion and the plunge in the Atlantic rendered you almost unrecognizable, and soot and ash covered you, coating your skin and uniform. Blood stained your jacket, and fire had left its vengeful trace along your leg. You were blue from cold and shock, I imagine, and your glued-on facial hair all but disintegrated. Smoke hung heavy on the water, but a patch cleared and the moonlight shone on our boat. It caught a flash of metal on your wrist, and recognition slammed me in the gut. I should have thrown you overboard and let the water rock you away to oblivion; you were almost dead, but you wore my bracelet, a cheap trinket I had bought the girl I loved when we were both young and full of optimism. Your bracelet was all the proof I needed of your identity, and I wanted to exact my revenge, yet my heart, wherein lies fear to lurk, had me save you and beg Aba to help you live. I’d already passed a lifetime without you by my side; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.”
“Why tell me all this now?” Her throat ached with unshed tears, and she clenched her fist, those tendrils of hope growing and strengthening around her fragile heart. Time, whose passage had marked endless years of heartache and disappointment, seemed to suspend, and the room quieted in expectation, as if the universe itself awaited Luka’s answer.
“Cosette removed your bed. She said we’re to share this one. If you lay with me, I’m not letting you go this time.”
Her heart thudded in her ears, and her mouth dried. Hearing those precious words, words she’d resigned herself to never hearing again, was enough to thrill and terrify her. His desires were clear, but whether she was brave enough to trust him again remained to be seen. She tried to stall. “I can sleep on the floor, if you wish.”
For the first time in this impossible, revealing conversation, he was angry, for his brows furrowed and his lips thinned to a white slash against his golden face, yet his answer betrayed none of his inner turmoil. “No, I don’t wish it. However, it is your choice.”
Did he know the gift he had given her? The freedom to choose sang through her body, clearing the confusion in her mind and
all but destroying the lingering fear she clutched like a battered shield to protect her equally battered heart. This one choice had set her free, free to love again. “Oh, I guess we’ll be sharing the bed. Are you tired?”
He relaxed, his shoulders visibly slumping against the headboard, and sighed. “A little. I’m more cold than anything.”
“Why don’t I change and come under the covers? You’ll be warm in no time.”
She cleared off the dinner tray and placed it outside the room, locking the door before returning to the bed. She picked up the candle from the nightstand, ready to blow it out, but he stopped her. “Leave the light on. You could hurt yourself in the dark.”
A shiver stole through her body, so she turned her back to him, unwilling to show him the panic his request caused her. Her body had withstood a decade of change, and doubts assailed her. What if he does not find me attractive? How will I bear the humiliation? She clutched her arms about her middle and whispered, “No more running.” It was time to trust again.
Placing her foot on the chair by the bed, she unrolled her stockings and placed each one over the chair’s back. She released the ties under her skirt holding her woolen underskirts. They, too, joined her stockings on the chair. Trembling hands fluttered to her hair, and she removed the pins holding her curls atop her head. The golden mass swung free, and she ran her hands through the silky tresses, the day’s tension easing as her fingers massaged the tightness from her scalp.
“Um, I can’t reach all the buttons on this dress.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw him swallow and swing his legs over the bed.
“Stand between my legs,” he said. “I’ll do my best. My damn hands are shaking.”
“From the cold? Let me warm them.” She twisted to hold them in hers, but he swatted her away.
“Right now the window could swing open and a foot of snow encase my feet, and I’d not be cold.”
Silver-Tongued Temptress Page 19