by Lucy Ashford
Francis asked me to enclose another letter for you, Rosalie, from an attorney in Paris … Swiftly Rosalie unfolded the second missive. And felt her world changing, for ever, around her.
When Alec got back to Two Crows Castle half an hour later his men melted away rather hastily at the sight of his brooding expression. Only Ajax came up to nudge sympathetically at his hand.
Garrett pulled the dog away quickly. ‘Think I’ve found ‘im a new home, Captain!’
‘What?’ Alec was looking abstracted.
‘A new home. For Ajax.’
‘You’re getting rid of him?’
‘Thought that was what you wanted, sir.’
Alec shook his head. ‘Oh, no. He might as well stay. After all, he’s doing no harm.’
He didn’t see Garrett’s secret smile of satisfaction, but went straight up to his own room and tugged off his coat. Running his hand through his hair, he went back down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mary was tidying up for the night.
‘Where is Rosalie?’
‘She’s just in the parlour, Captain.’
He went through. Somehow she’d made this little parlour into a different place, tidying it in the indefinable way that women had. Evidence of her quiet feminine touch was everywhere.
But there was also danger everywhere.
She was arranging a bowl of flowers on the window sill, and at first she didn’t see him. He thought that she looked—different somehow. As if she was hiding something, and whether it was good or bad, he could not tell. She was so self-contained, so strikingly lovely, even though she refused to believe it …
And you are no damned good to her, Alec Stewart.
Faint colour tinted her cheeks as she spun round. ‘Captain Stewart …’
‘Mrs Rowland. Have you had a quiet day?’ he enquired.
She nodded. ‘Indeed, but I’ve had a letter, from Helen and Francis. Such good news—they are going to be married, Alec, and the school Francis has set up is going well …’ She hesitated.
‘And they want you to go and join them, I imagine. Is it close to where you used to live?’
‘A few miles or so. I would like to see it all again. My mother is buried there.’
‘Of course.’ His voice was calm. ‘So what will your answer be?’
She met his eyes directly. ‘Some day it would make sense for us to go there, I feel. But—’ she looked up at him ‘—you warned me, Alec, that the person who threatened me might trace us there. Might trace us anywhere.’
He looked around. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? Were you in a hurry to retire?’
She put the flowers aside and sat down herself. ‘No. Not at all.’
He sat opposite her, on the sofa. ‘Rosalie,’ he said, his face shadowed in the candlelight, ‘have you ever considered that the man who seduced your sister might have a legal claim on Katy, as her father?’
She looked absolutely stunned. ‘Oh, no. But— why would he want to make such a claim, when he abandoned both mother and child so cruelly?’
‘He could say that the mother left him of her own will and he didn’t know the child existed.’
‘Yes. Yes, I see …’
Pity for her twisted rawly in Alec’s gut. She took a moment to calm herself before going on, ‘Alec, could this man—would he be allowed to take Katy away from me?’
‘If he’s her father, it’s possible, yes.’
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. ‘Would money help?’
‘What money?’ he answered grimly. ‘That’s one commodity neither of us has and for once I’m sorry.’ Stephen, damn him, has enough money to buy up lawyers by the score.
Rosalie nodded, biting her lip. ‘What do you think I should do?’
Alec regarded her steadily. ‘I know you will hate this. But there is one solution. Agree to a betrothal.’
‘A—’ She looked even more stunned.
‘A betrothal. With me.’
Dear God. She looked—horrified. He raked his hand through his hair and tried again. ‘Look. It need only be a temporary arrangement. You and I would always be aware of that. But if this man should try to claim Katy, you do need to assume respectability. I may not be rich, but I am an Earl’s son—and a betrothal to me would strengthen your reputation, Mrs Rowland, in the eyes of the world.’
Rosalie sat very still. Do you really think that you—a courtesan who writes for a gossip rag—would be taken seriously at the magistrates’ court? Those caustic words of Alec’s still seared her. ‘So—you would pretend that you’d asked me to marry you …’
‘Exactly. It’s not going to be so very surprising to anyone, is it? You have, after all, been married before. And people already know that you’re living here.’
Rosalie lifted her head at last. The scent of the flowers on the window sill seemed almost overpowering now. ‘They already assume I’m your mistress?’
‘I’m afraid it’s inevitable.’ He saw the tinge of colour under her fine skin.
‘Is there nothing else I can do?’ she asked quietly. ‘No alternative?’
How she hated the idea. ‘It’s the best way, I fear. We would need to make a formal announcement, of course, in the papers and so on, but I’ll give you the night to think about my proposition. I can see you hate it, so let me remind you that once the danger is over, you can break it off any time you want.’
And he went, not even glancing at her as he left the room. Dimly she heard him in the hallway talking to Garrett, his mind already on other things, no doubt.
She gathered up those letters from Helen that she’d thought of showing him and clutched them to her, feeling quite sick.
She remembered overhearing Garrett saying sourly, ‘So she’s back in town. Dear God, she’s beautiful, but she’s wrecked his life …’
Alec had offered her this betrothal even though clearly he detested the notion. And she must agree to it, for Katy’s sake. But, oh, it was going to be difficult.
She looked again at the letter from France.
It reminded her that her mother was part of the Lavalle family, who’d owned land, châteaux and great vineyards in the Loire region of France, but lost them in the tumult of the Revolution so long ago. Rosalie had always assumed that the wealth of the Lavalles had gone for ever.
But six years ago, this letter told her, her family’s fortune had been restored by the Emperor Napoleon in a deliberate ploy to gain the political backing of France’s foremost aristocratic families. And the letter told her that a portion of that fortune—not vast, but large enough to make a difference to her life—might be hers.
She folded the letter in her fingers and gazed into the dying embers of the fire.
Even if this was true—how could it help her, now? For she had lost her heart to a man who was scarred for ever by a past commitment and who felt nothing but pity for her.
And if he knew all her lies—he wouldn’t be able to bear to have her near him.
Chapter Nineteen
That night Katy lost her much-loved rag doll. Rosalie had realised Polly was missing at Katy’s bed time and was apprehensive, because she clutched the battered toy in her sleep every night. But Katy had fallen asleep so very quickly that it had slipped from Rosalie’s mind.
Until, a little after midnight, Rosalie was woken by Katy’s woeful cry. ‘Polly-doll. Gone.’
Rosalie scrambled out of bed in her nightgown and hurried to comfort the little girl. ‘I’ll look for her, darling. Don’t fret—I’ll be back very soon.’
Her fault for not doing it earlier, she reproached herself. Quickly pulling a shawl over her nightdress, she took a candlestick and tiptoed barefoot downstairs. She was aware that a rota of Alec’s men kept watch both inside and out, night and day—a relic of their old army routine, she assumed. But the sleeping house was quiet as she hurried down the staircase and along the unlit passageway to the parlour off the kitchen where she guessed the doll was most likely to be.
Indeed, the rag doll
was lying half under a chair. Retrieving it with a sigh of relief, she set off back up to Katy, and a watery smile was her reward.
‘There, darling.’ Rosalie stroked Katy’s cheek. ‘Everything’s all right now. Sweet dreams, my love.’
As soon as Katy was asleep again Rosalie tiptoed back to her own room. So stupid of her to go without shoes, for she’d somehow caught her left foot on a splinter of wood—on the rough staircase, perhaps—and now it was bleeding slightly. She wrung out a cotton handkerchief in cold water and knotted it tightly around her foot to cover the small wound. Then she remembered she’d left the candlestick burning on the landing and limped out to fetch it.
And nearly collided with a tall male figure. Alec.
Shock quivered through her veins at the raw masculinity of his body, so close to hers.
‘I thought I heard someone,’ he was saying. ‘Is anything wrong?’ He was assessing her sharply, taking in her shawl flung over her nightgown, her pale face, her loose hair.
‘Katy woke up just now and realised she hadn’t got her rag doll.’ Somehow she kept her voice calm. ‘Major crisis, of course. So I’ve just been down to find the doll, then I remembered I left this candle out here …’
Her voice trailed away. She hadn’t realised, and she should have done, that he wasn’t all that fully dressed himself. His lean, hard-boned face was shadowed with beard growth. His white shirt had been hastily thrust into his tight buckskin breeches, but was unfastened almost all the way down his chest, and … Oh, Lord, she could see, as his shirt gaped, that astounding musculature. His sculpted shoulders and chest, the bronzed gleam of smooth male torso, that line of silky dark hair that ran down towards his abdomen and …
Don’t look as though you’re about to faint at the sight of a half-naked male body, you silly fool. He thinks you a widow and a whore.
‘So Katy’s all right?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes, indeed—she’s fast asleep, now, and quite happy, thank you!’ She gave a brief nod and turned to go.
His hand was on her shoulder. ‘And what about you, Mrs Rowland? Perhaps you’d like to tell me why your nightgown is spattered with water and there’s a handkerchief tied around your foot?’
‘I caught it on the stairs just now. So stupid of me. It’s only a scratch. I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you—’
His voice was softer. ‘You must stop blaming yourself, you know, for everything.’
Something tight caught in her throat. ‘Who else should I blame?’ she whispered.
His hands were warm and strong on her shoulders. ‘Listen to me. No one could have done more than you for your sister. You’ve searched high and low for her, you’ve taken extraordinary care of her child …’
‘But I had to. I had to.’ She gazed up at him in despair. ‘Because it was my fault, Alec!’
‘For God’s sake! What was?’
‘It was my fault that my little sister ran away from home!’
His gaze was steady. ‘I really find that very difficult to believe,’ he said.
‘Then you must,’ she told him bleakly. She dragged herself away from him. ‘Why do you think I care so desperately for poor Katy? Because it’s the only way I can make amends!’ She was trembling. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, you and your men, but I’ve drawn you into all this on a lie, because I should have told you everything from the very beginning, I’ve deceived you … Excuse me, I’ve disturbed your sleep. I’ll go back to my room now.’
But she couldn’t go anywhere, because he’d caught her again by her arm.
‘Rosalie. This is an order. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve looked at your foot.’
She stared down at it blindly. ‘No, really, it’s just a splinter …’
‘Then it needs removing. You’d better come to my room. And at the same time you’re going to tell me—everything.’
After it happened, Alec reviled himself bitterly. But what else could he have done? He couldn’t leave her so obviously in pain, though she tried so hard to hide it. Couldn’t leave her so full of contempt for herself.
And he couldn’t take her downstairs, where any of his men, as they made their nightly rounds, might see them. But he was playing with fire. And he damned well knew it.
She followed him to his room. He could tell by her uneven tread that she couldn’t put her weight properly on her left foot. He saw her glance at his bed and catch her breath before perching on the edge of a chair with her nightgown buttoned up to her throat. But her lovely pale hair was loose, as it never was by day, and—damn, he thought. Damn, didn’t she realise, with that lamp glowing away behind her, that despite that garment being long and all-enveloping, he could see almost everything through that sheer material? She looked exquisite, with her slender legs outlined beneath the filmy fabric, her pert breasts jutting …
Dear God, you’re no good for her. Remember it, you fool.
He fetched a low stool on which she could rest her foot and bent to swiftly examine the damage. Yes, there was a splinter—tiny, but if it wasn’t removed it could turn nasty. Her foot was small and soft. Clenching his teeth, he fetched water. Then, bringing a lamp very close, he said, ‘This will hurt, just a little.’
Rosalie nodded, biting her lip. His strong, warm hand cupping her foot was such sweet torment that it sent a surge of longing through her veins. With swift skill he eased out the splinter and she suppressed the low cry that forced its way to her lips.
He glanced up at her, concern and reassurance in his dark eyes. ‘That’s it,’ he said. He bathed away the slight trickle of blood, knowing it would cleanse the wound, then tied one of his laundered neckcloths around her foot and stood up. ‘Better?’
She lifted her chin staunchly. ‘Thank you. Much, much better. I’ll go back to my room—’
‘Not just yet,’ he said quietly. ‘You were going to tell me—remember?—about your sister.’
And so she began. He reminded himself, as he watched her, how young she was, how vulnerable still. Twenty-one and a widow, with her life in tatters around her. He stood with his back to the window, hoping that the distance across the room might help to quell the physical arousal of which he was all too aware.
She clasped her hands together. She raised her face to him and said quietly, ‘Alec, I loved Linette, so very much. But I’ve already told you that everyone was unkind to my mother for being foreign—even for being pretty. And Linette was just like our mother—so sweet and lovely, wanting everyone to adore her, and not understanding why they didn’t.’
‘And so you took it upon yourself to defend your little family?’
‘My father asked me to.’
‘Your father? But—how old were you when he died? Seven, I thought you said?’
‘My age did not matter—I’d promised!’ She gazed at him almost defiantly, her blue eyes dark with emotion. ‘And as I grew older I did what I could to protect my poor mother from those who—wished to hurt her. Helen was my one good friend; she was the village schoolteacher. I loved my lessons, I loved learning about—oh, about everything. And I used to write stories. They were my way of escaping a rather cruel world, I suppose—Linette used to love hearing them.’
She took a deep breath. ‘But Linette didn’t enjoy school at all. And as she grew older, she grew very pretty, not like me.’
Alec found himself about to say something, but stopped.
‘Then Linette realised that a lot of the local boys and men were starting to notice her,’ she went on. ‘I couldn’t blame her for enjoying their flattery, but I just asked her to be careful …’ Rosalie shook her head and blew her nose with the big, clean handkerchief Alec had silently offered her. ‘I’m sorry, Alec, you must find this tedious!’
‘No,’ he said. ‘What happened? To make her run away?’
He saw the pulse fluttering in her throat, the faint colour that tinged her exquisite cheekbones. She moistened her lips. ‘There was someone in the village …’
‘Go on.’
&
nbsp; ‘And he used to lend me his books. His name was Thomas—he was the local squire’s son. He often came riding past our cottage, and when he saw me, he would stop and talk. I thought he was—a friend. I was eighteen, nearly nineteen—he told me he would protect us, against the troublemakers.’
Alec listened. ‘And he didn’t?’
She shook her head quickly. ‘I was a fool. I’d gone to tell him that some men were persecuting my mother again—oh, in little ways, harassing her for being a foreigner as she walked to the village shop and so on. He told me to meet him that evening, in the churchyard, and he … he tried to seduce me.’
Alec had gone very still.
‘I told him that I’d only agreed to meet him because he’d promised to help us. But he said—’ she clenched her hands ‘—he said I was deluding myself if I thought that anyone would trouble to defend a French trollop and her brats without— some sort of reward.’ She shuddered. ‘And he told me I was too thin for him anyway.’
Too scrawny to give a man a comfortable ride had been his exact words. She could still remember the horrible wet thickness of his lips as he’d tried to thrust his tongue into her mouth, the hateful grabbing at her breasts. She’d kicked him away, panting with nausea. ‘And then,’ she went on rather desperately, ‘he said I had been deliberately leading him on. Which I hadn’t! I’d no intention—’
Alec had hardly moved. ‘He sounds a pleasant specimen. Was that the last you saw of him?’
She was struggling to be calm, but he saw her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her nightgown. ‘Unfortunately, no. A few months later, I discovered that he had been meeting my sister and giving her gifts.’ She lifted her blue eyes to Alec’s; he saw how they burned with distress. ‘I don’t know what, if anything, occurred. But we argued, terribly. She told me I was jealous and had wanted Thomas myself; I told Linette she was being very foolish.’
‘Couldn’t your mother have said anything to your sister?’
She shook her head. ‘Our mother was by then not at all well. When I warned Linette that his intentions could not be honourable, she said I was making life unbearable for her. And a few days later she’d gone. Packed some things and taken the carrier’s cart to Oxford.’ She caught her breath. Despair etched her features. ‘I knew that she wanted to be an actress, so I guessed she’d gone to London, and I went there again and again to look for her, but it seemed hopeless. And then I had to go back to my mother, for she was very ill, and bed-bound; she passed away last summer. But last October, I got a note from Linette to say that she was in trouble. I found my sister, with Katy, just before she died. And it was my fault …’