The Duke’s good looks alone were a sufficient passport to the initial interest of most members of the opposite sex, but experience had taught him that the swiftest way to intrigue them was to say and do the unexpected. With or without a handsome profile to back it, he was convinced that audacity almost always paid high dividends, and that there were very few women who did not secretly love to be shocked. So, having decided that this ‘haughty Miss’ was well worth powder and shot, he adopted his usual technique by lying glibly.
“I have often given a woman a beating. It is an ancient and admirable custom, making for peace and obedience in the home.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “You are married, then? How I pity your poor wife!”
He smiled. “You may spare yourself the trouble, Mademoiselle, for I have not got one.” Then he added mischievously: “But, since you have said that you hope soon to be married, you are old enough to know that men of the world sometimes contract less orthodox alliances.”
“Monsieur!” she exclaimed, flushing scarlet. “How dare you mention such matters to me. Your behaviour is outrageous. Now we have reached the ballroom, I desire you to take me to the lady with the grey hair seated over there near the band. You may then relieve me of your obnoxious company.”
De Richleau knew that it had been a little wicked of him even to hint at the existence of such things as mistresses to an unmarried girl, but he was surprised by the violence of her reaction, and immediately decided that he could not possibly allow her to leave him in the belief that he was an ill-bred fellow of the baser sort. So he said:
“If I did as you suggest, Mademoiselle, that would be a great pity, for I was about to give you the best waltz you are likely to get this evening.”
“So, you can waltz well,” she countered sharply, “but add to your other horrid qualities that of a boaster.”
Suddenly his voice changed to a low, vibrant tone. “Try me, and see. Forget this silly nonsense I have been talking. Dance with me once round the room, and I promise you that you will not regret it.”
His brilliant grey eyes were smiling straight into hers, and the anger faded from her blue ones. For a second she hesitated, while the haunting strains of the music now came clearly to her above the swish and rustle of the dancers, and in that second she was lost. His arm slid round her waist, with the hand to which her big blue ostrich feather fan was looped she automatically caught up her dress, and they glided away into the whirling throng.
For the next ten minutes they did not exchange a single word. In becoming an accomplished swordsman de Richleau had acquired an admirable sense of balance, and his slender body concealed considerable strength; so he was able to guide and control his partner with smooth, unerring steps. From the first few turns he found that she too was light, supple, and fully capable of timing her movements in perfect union with his own. Without a shadow of hesitation she followed his lead as they spun, first one way, then the other, in wide circles round the crowded floor; often missing couples only by inches, yet touching none. Soon both of them were entranced with the ease and excellence of the other’s performance, and gave themselves up entirely to the intoxicating rhythm of the dance until, at the end of their most daring spin, the music ceased.
As he released her, murmuring his thanks, her fair face was flushed, her blue eyes sparkling, and she asked a trifle breathlessly, “Where did you learn to waltz like that?”
“In Vienna,” he smiled. “And you, Mademoiselle? Surely, only by also learning in the home of the waltz could you have achieved such perfection?”
She shook her head. “It was in Munich that I took my first steps. I spent much of my youth in the Bavarian capital. But I am flattered, Monsieur. It is a new experience for me to receive a compliment from a cave man.”
“Oh, come!” he protested, as he offered her his arm and led her out of the ballroom by an entrance opposite to that by which they had come in. “I cannot believe you really think me that.”
“I admit that neither your figure nor your dancing fit such a part. But before we danced you tried to make me believe you a veritable ogre. Only drunkards and savages beat women in these day.”
“Do you know, I had almost concluded that you were an adventurer who had gained admission here by false pretences, trusting in your mask to protect you from being found out?”
Unwittingly, she had given him another tempting lead, and he took it. “Being well born is no guarantee against a man becoming dissipated, unscrupulous, and cruel. Some people believe me to be all those things, and perhaps you will do so too when I admit that you were right. I am an adventurer.”
Her smooth forehead wrinkled in perplexity. “If that were true, why should you confess it and risk my telling our host?”
“I might well do so, counting on your natural reluctance to involve yourself in the unpleasant scene which would be certain to result from such a step.”
From the ballroom they had emerged on to a semi-circular balcony, from which a flight of iron steps led down into what was normally an open courtyard with a few elm trees growing in it, but was now entirely enclosed under a great marquee. As they reached the bottom of the steps she took her hand from his arm and, turning towards him, said:
“I believe you are making fun of me. If I could see your face I would be better able to judge of that. But since I cannot, and am most averse to remaining in the company of anyone who might possibly turn out to be a jewel thief, I think you had better take me back to the lady I pointed out to you before we danced.”
The Duke saw that in seeking to intrigue her he had overplayed his hand; but he was now more loath than ever to let her go. His life was far too fully occupied for him to devote much of it to the pursuit of women, and on the rare occasions when he entered on an affaire it had usually been with some sophisticated beauty nearer his own age. He guessed his partner to be a good ten years younger than himself, but she certainly was not a debutante, as she was entirely free of the shy, awkward coquettishness usual in young girls just entering society, and appeared to be fully mature. Yet she possessed a special fresh, youthful quality that he could not quite define. It was the unusual combination in her of youth with poise that he found so refreshing, and he swiftly cast about in his mind for a means of keeping her with him without admitting for the time being that he had deliberately misled her about himself.
The marquee in which they were standing contained not a trace of the bare, cold, courtyard that it roofed over. The magic of money had, in a few hours, converted it into a semi-tropical paradise. Sir George Holford’s hobby was growing orchids. A fleet of vans had brought many hundreds of rare, exotic blooms up from his hot-houses in the country. With their pots now hidden by banks of greenery, they rose in tier upon tier over concealed heaters, forming a score or more of alleys, bays and nooks, in which couples could sit and flirt unseen by anyone more than a few paces distant.
After a second’s hesitation, de Richleau said: “Since you believe that you could judge my true character better if you saw my face, I will willingly unmask for you. But I cannot do so here. Let’s find a quiet spot among Sir George’s lovely orchids.”
As he expected, curiosity got the better of her prudence. “Very well, then,” she murmured with a smile. “But you must not seek to detain me further, if I decide to return to the ballroom immediately afterwards.”
Taking his arm again, she allowed him to lead her down one of the colourful alleys until they came to an unoccupied settee, concealed from its neighbours by great masses of ferns and cymbidiums. Then, turning to face her, he took off his mask.
The light was pleasantly subdued, but sufficient for her to see his lean, aristocratic features. After she had regarded him in silence for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitched mockingly and he inquired:
“Well, what do you think now, Mademoiselle? Am I a brutal beater of women, here to commit a jewel theft in order to support my immoralities, or an honourable gentleman whom your parents might consider a suita
ble parti for you if I asked your hand in marriage?”
To his surprise her blue eyes suddenly lit up, her mouth opened, showing two rows of strong white teeth, and she burst out laughing. He could not even make a guess at the cause of her mirth, but when it had subsided a little she stammered:
“My—my parents are both dead, so that question will never arise; but I would take a bet that with such features you are of noble blood. Perhaps, though, it is also true about your being a rogue. You may be illegitimate.”
A swift flush rose to de Richleau’s cheeks, his chin tilted, and his eyes sparkled dangerously but, not the least dismayed, she cried, “There! I have caught you out. Since you show such resentment at the implication, it cannot be true. You are neither an ogre nor a jewel thief. You have simply been seeing how far you could lead me on for your own amusement.”
“Touché!” he smiled, his sense of humour at once getting the better of his indignation. “I asked for that, and confess myself outwitted. The truth is that I was invited here tonight, and there are plenty of people in London who would vouch for my respectability.”
She pouted. “What a horrid word. It is so often synonymous with dull.”
“You are disappointed, then?”
“Just a little. I never quite believed all that nonsense; but it intrigued me to think that you might be of another world, and quite different from the polished, insincere men of good birth whom I am always meeting.”
“Would it console you somewhat if I tell you that I really can claim to be an adventurer? I am a political exile, a big-game hunter, and a ‘soldier of fortune’.”
Her eyes brightened, and sitting down she motioned him to sit beside her. “That sounds far from respectable and very exciting. But surely you cannot be one of those horrible nihilists who meet in cellars and plot to blow people up with bombs?”
“Dear me, no!” he laughed. “I am only half Russian. My father was French, and it was from France that I was exiled. As a young officer at the military college of St. Cyr I took a leading part in an abortive conspiracy to place the Duke de Vendôme on the throne.”
“So you are a royalist. That pleases me much better. The Duke de Vendôme is the last representative of the old line, is he not; and a descendant of the great Henri Quatre by his beautiful mistress, Gabrielle d’Estrées?”
De Richleau nodded. It struck him as rather surprising that she should know anything of a matter so far outside the skeleton of history ordinarily taught by governesses and in schools, and he wondered if it was a true sample of a wider knowledge, or just an isolated fact that she had picked up by chance. After a moment, he added: “Unfortunately the affair miscarried badly. We were betrayed, and during a mêlée caused by our resistance of arrest a number of people were killed. I hated having to go into exile, but I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have escaped with my life.”
“I should like to hear the whole story,” she said. “But I doubt if there’s time for it now. Another dance has just started, and I ought not to stay here much longer.”
“Why not? At a masked ball like this all dance engagements are only tentative. Be kind, I beg, my beautiful unknown. Forget the poor fellow to whom you promised this one, and sit it out with me.”
“I may be missed. Perhaps someone will be sent to find me.”
“Why should they be? In any case, they would have to search for quite a time before they found you here.”
“All right, then. I will if you’ll tell me more about this exciting conspiracy in which you nearly lost your life.”
“Willingly! But first I would beg a favour. While you remain masked and I am not, you have me at a disadvantage. It is like talking to a person wearing dark glasses. Will you not reveal to me the lovely features that command the best partners at every dance you grace with your presence?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean to remain incognito till midnight.”
“Come!” he rallied her. “If you persist in your refusal it will lead me to believe that your face does not match your figure, and that good partners seek you out only because they know you to be an excellent dancer.”
“Then you must believe that, if you will.”
“It would explain, too, why, as you said when we first met, that although you wish to be married you fear that you may soon be left on the shelf.”
“I am not plain!” she exclaimed with a flash of anger. “I am accounted the most beautiful—I mean, very good looking. The papers are always publishing photographs of me. That is my reason for not unmasking. You would be sure to recognise me if I did.”
He was amused by her youthful conceit, that her features were so widely publicised that he would be bound to know her at the sight of them and, having deliberately nettled her into asserting that she was a beauty, he did not hold it against her. With a good-humoured shrug, he said:
“Very well, then. If you will not unmask, at least tell me something of yourself. Although you speak French very fluently, I am sure you are not French by birth. What is your nationality?”
“I probably have as much Bavarian blood as you have Russian,” she replied a little cryptically. “But my mother was a Belgian.”
“And where do you live?”
“In various places on the Continent. I have relatives in Munich, with whom I spend a good part of my time but during the past two years I have been allowed to travel quite a lot in order to complete my education. Tell me more about the Vendôme conspiracy.”
“We have ample time for that. Tell me first what you have made of your life so far?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What a strange question! How can a girl like myself make anything of her life? What she does, or may not do, is dictated for her by her elders.”
“That does not prevent her having her own ambitions.”
“True! Mine is to make a suitable marriage, in which I may also find love—so that through my own happiness I may be the better able to bring happiness to others.”
His shrewd eyes regarded her with curiosity for a moment then he remarked, “You said that almost as though you were repeating a well-learned lesson.”
“Perhaps, unconsciously, I was.” She gave a cynical little laugh. “My life so far has consisted of little else than lessons. But the part about hoping for love was my own idea.”
It occurred to him that she was probably a great heiress, who might later be called on to watch over the welfare of many thousands of workpeople in the industries that her money controlled. Or, in view of her mixed parentage, she might be the daughter of an American millionaire and, perhaps, had been brought up in Europe with the idea of her marrying into the higher aristocracy, where she would have to spend much of her time supervising charities and performing minor public functions.
“You speak as though you have been educated to take life very seriously,” he smiled, “and were already suffering from the burden of great wealth. Am I right in guessing that you inherited a fortune from your parents?”
“Yes. I am an only child, and on my mother’s death I became very rich. But I have only the vaguest ideas about the size of my fortune and how it is administered. In fact, I really know very little about money at all.”
“Perhaps you make up for that by knowing a lot about love?”
The yellow diamonds in her diadem of stars sparkled as she shook her head. “Only at second-hand, through books that I have read. I have been brought up very strictly. Meeting a stranger like you Tonight is quite an adventure for me.”
He leaned forward. “I do not mean this impertinently; but, how old are you?”
“Nearly twenty-five.”
“And do you really mean to say that you have never yet had a serious love affair?”
“I was engaged when I was twenty-one, but I had met my fiancé only about half a dozen times before he fell overboard from a yacht and was drowned. He was younger than myself and proved very shy on the few occasions we were left alone together. So, although I rather liked the poor
boy, I was only just getting to know him; and one certainly could not call it a love affair.”
“And then?”
“A few months later I had a serious hunting accident myself, so naturally no further plans to marry me off could be considered for quite a time. I was twenty-three when my next engagement was mooted. The man proposed for me was considerably older than I was and, although I respected him, I found him rather a bore, so I was by no means keen about the match. Fortunately for me there were religious difficulties which could not be surmounted, and after months of fruitless attempts to get a dispensation from the Holy See the project had to be abandoned. Then, last year, I lost my mother, so I was sent on my travels again to occupy the period of mourning. Can you wonder that I feel it high time now to find a husband?”
“Not in the least. Yet, with your fine figure and lovely colouring, plus the beautiful face you persist in hiding from me, I marvel that both at home and on your travels a score of eligible young men have not sought to make love to you.”
She hesitated. “My—my family have rather grand ideas about the term ‘eligible’, in connection with myself.”
“Naturally! As you are an heiress, they would do their utmost to protect you from fortune hunters. But what of your own feelings? Surely, during the past few years you must have met someone who attracted you?”
Opening her fan, she began to flutter it gently, and replied with a reminiscent smile: “When I was fourteen I used to weave the most marvellous romances round a handsome gardener’s boy, who tended the flower beds underneath my windows. But, of course, he never knew it. Then, for the best part of a year, I was desperately in love with my music master. He knew, I’m sure, and returned my love; but he never had the courage to declare himself. Since then, there have been several young men that I rather fancied, but immediately they showed their interest in me they were warned off. One sent me flowers secretly for a few weeks, and another poems. But I suppose both of them were found out, as the flowers and poems stopped arriving without any apparent reason. I often wish that I could change places with some little shop girl. As it is, I am the prisoner of my circumstances. If it were not for the prospect of marriage I might just as well be a nun in a convent.”
The Second Seal Page 2