Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch

by Marguerite Kaye

  Later when Henrietta studied the names, she saw they were addressed to her uncle from friends and acquaintances, inviting him and his niece to several society events. She smiled, thinking that becoming reunited with Simon would not be as difficult as she had thought.

  * * *

  Between acclimatising himself to Paris—which was a world away from his little house in the Highlands of Scotland—and the daily meetings with Armand and other friends and acquaintances he had not seen for many years, and chaperoning Henrietta about Paris to show her the places of interest, her favourite being the great Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris, Matthew suddenly found life full and satisfying. After a week he arrived home in an animated mood.

  ‘Henrietta, I have been invited to a ball and I would like you to accompany me.’

  She glanced up from the letter she was writing to Christopher Goodwin. ‘Whose ball are we attending?’

  ‘The king will be there—also Prince Charles Stuart and one of his close friends—no other than Lord Simon Tremain.’

  Henrietta felt a sudden thump of excitement in the pit of her stomach and exchanged a quick glance with her uncle. He merely shrugged, as though this were nothing startling, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked at her.

  ‘It is to be a grand affair and will be the perfect occasion for you to show yourself, do you not agree? It will also mark your official entry into Parisian society.’

  Henrietta sighed happily and sat back in her chair. ‘Yes, Uncle Matthew. Perfect.’

  Immediately she began fretting over what to wear for such a grand occasion. Simon had only ever seen her dressed as an unkempt youth and in clothes borrowed from members of his family, and later in the plain and practical woollens of a Highland girl. For his first glimpse of her in Paris society, she wanted to dazzle, to be as mysterious and alluring as possible.

  * * *

  Rose helped her prepare for the ball. After she had bathed in lilac-scented water, she sat in front of the vanity. Humming softly to herself, Rose smoothly drew back her mistress’s red-gold hair and deftly pinned it. Henrietta studied herself in the mirror, turning her head this way and that. The simple hairstyle accentuated her high cheekbones and made her green eyes seem even larger and wider. She also noticed with approval how it showed to good advantage her long white neck.

  She had chosen her gown with great care, for she wanted Simon never to forget how she looked tonight.

  * * *

  Nearly an hour later she had finished dressing. Having decided upon a new gown of brocaded gold, she turned slowly in front of the large bevelled mirror. The neckline was square and low-cut, and the fitted bodice and hem of the full skirt were embroidered in an intricate pattern of tiny pearls. A silk shawl in matching gold was draped over her arm and she wore a set of antique pearl earrings that matched the strand at her throat.

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Matthew, awed by his niece’s appearance, beamed down at her. ‘I swear you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know you will outshine all the other women tonight. The gentlemen will have eyes only for you.’

  ‘Nonsense, Uncle Matthew,’ she said, though not unkindly, for she was pleased with her uncle’s praise. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  * * *

  At last the château south of Paris loomed in the distance, white, ornate and mysterious on the edge of a lake. To Henrietta, who had known the modest homes in London, the sumptuous abodes and palaces of Paris were indeed something to behold. One after another, at slow pace, the carriages turned into the long avenue of poplars leading to the entrance.

  Matthew smiled as he glanced at his niece’s awestruck face. ‘The château is very beautiful, is it not, Henrietta? It is good you see it before the light fades from the sky. But perhaps later you will slip away with Simon and stroll through the gardens.’

  ‘I would like that,’ she said as a thrill of excitement went through her. She envisioned a moonlit walk through the exquisite gardens on Simon’s arm, stopping in some private place to share a kiss.

  On stepping out of the carriage, she set foot on the acres of red carpet that covered the steps. There was a great bustle all around the château, for the multi-coloured liveries of the footmen mingled with the guests. King Louis himself was to be present and, what was more to the point, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, in whose honour the party was being held, so that the thousand or so guests felt themselves highly privileged persons.

  They climbed a vast white marble staircase that rose from the centre of the hall. Busts and statues everywhere were to be seen in a state of magnificent whiteness. The rooms were choked with people, men and women wearing the latest Paris fashions and filling the air with their strong perfumes and their wig powder. Entering a large white-and-gold salon, they found it awash with candlelight and resounding with laughter and conversation. The elite of Paris and some of the court were present. Henrietta walked among them, a smile on her lips. An orchestra was playing in the adjoining ballroom and numerous, glittering couples were already dancing. She glanced around, feeling a small knot of expectation and apprehension in her stomach.

  A group of gentlemen appeared at the other end of the salon. Suddenly her eyes became riveted on one of them standing on the edge of the group, leaning against an outsized urn filled with flowers. Even at that distance, she had no trouble in distinguishing the imposing figure of Simon Tremain. Her eyes devoured the keen features, that fine-boned face with the deep-set twinkling blue eyes and firm lips crooked into a half-smile, and the thick unruly black hair that always looked slightly windblown. Surely there could not be another man like that in all the world.

  Henrietta was not even conscious of the radiant spectacle she presented in the middle of this light-filled salon in her magnificent gown and full-blown beauty. The brilliant chandeliers spread a halo around her. Matthew stood back and watched her walk towards Simon Tremain. She was unaware of the subdued murmur that followed her passage or how all these strangers devoured her with their eager curiosity. Her heart had started beating a wild tattoo as she slowly advanced, with that strange sensation of helplessness and fatality which one sometimes has in a dream. In the surrounding haze she no longer saw anyone but Simon. She looked at him fixedly, as if drawn by a magnet. Had she wanted to lower her eyes she could not have done so, for to see him again brought to her heart an almost unbearable overload of feeling.

  Quite suddenly her heart gave a joyful leap and cried out his name long before her lips could bring themselves to frame the word—‘Simon!’ She was now almost as close to him as she had been when they had parted in Scotland and everything went blank for her except that terrible memory.

  When at last he looked her way, he did not seem to recognise her.

  She gave him a puckish smile. ‘Why, have you forgotten me already, Lord Tremain?’

  Simon jerked erect and stared at her. A world of feelings flashed for an instant across his set face—surprise, disbelief, admiration, happiness—but only for an instant. Then he was moving forward very coolly to bow before her.

  ‘Henrietta!’

  The sound of her name on his lips stirred her, forcing roiling emotions out of the depths of her soul.

  ‘This is indeed a surprise,’ he went on. ‘I did not expect to find you here in Paris—and looking so different. I hardly recognised you. Allow me to compliment you—you are exquisite tonight.’

  Thrown completely off balance, Henrietta stared at him uncomprehendingly. When she had come to meet him with a heart overflowing with gladness and love, within an ace of throwing herself into his arms, his tone was coolly formal. What could have happened to turn him into this polite stranger?

  ‘I thank you. I am surprised to see you also. I am relieved you succeeded in getting out of Scotland. It—cannot have been easy.’

  ‘There were moments when I thought I might not.’r />
  The words were nothing, the merest commonplace such as might have been exchanged by virtual strangers. Henrietta found herself wanting to weep. Could this handsome stranger be the same man who had loved her with such passion, who had told her he wanted her to be his wife? Even as she sought to say something that would not be either stupid or inept, she was aware of his eyes scrutinising every detail of her face. She lowered her gaze as the silence between them grew uncomfortable despite the music and the conversations going on around them. She dared not raise them to his now, for fear he should see the tears in them.

  Sick with disappointment and unable to stand the tension a moment longer, she was about to excuse herself and move away, when she was aware of someone coming to stand beside him.

  ‘Simon, here you are,’ a feminine voice trilled. ‘You promised to dance with me, remember?’

  Henrietta raised her eyes and stared with all the horror of one seeing a ghost at the slender young woman with hazel eyes.

  ‘If you will allow me,’ Simon said, drawing the young woman closer. ‘Miss Brody, I should like to present an acquaintance of mine. Miss Vanessa Wallace. Miss Brody is an old friend, Vanessa.’

  Stiffened by pride, Henrietta managed to stifle her disappointment and accept the slap that fate had dealt her. Miss Wallace was an acquaintance, he had said. She was also beautiful and delicately exquisite with masses of dark silk hair arranged in a froth of glittering curls. Schooling her features into a smile, Henrietta managed to inject the necessary social politeness into her voice.

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Wallace.’

  Miss Wallace gave Henrietta a more-than-suspicious look. With a faint inclination of her elegantly coiffed head she said with a frosty smile, ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Brody. Are you from Scotland?’

  ‘Yes, although I have spent most of my life in London. Do you live in Paris, Miss Wallace?’

  ‘For the present. My father was a supporter of Prince Charles in the recent rebellion. We are unable to return to Scotland, you understand.’

  ‘Yes—yes, I understand perfectly.’

  ‘What are you doing in Paris?’ Simon asked.

  Henrietta drew a tortured breath, determined not to let him see how much her heart was breaking. Whether she was pretty or not, this woman who had stepped from the shadows had shattered her happiness. There was no room in her heart but this one vast disappointment which became an aching pain.

  ‘I am here with Uncle Matthew. We—we are to reside in Paris for a while—and later, perhaps, do some travelling.’

  ‘How is he? Is he well?’

  ‘Yes, he is, very well. I know he would be glad to see you again.’

  ‘And I him. I will seek him out shortly.’

  Taking a step back, Henrietta forced a smile. ‘Forgive me. I am keeping you from your dance. Excuse me.’

  Denying herself so much as a glance at Simon, with anger simmering in her breast, she inclined her head slightly and then turned away from them to go in search of her uncle.

  Hovering in the background, observing his niece’s meeting with Lord Tremain, their body language had told Matthew that things were far from well. The sudden appearance of the beauty at his side made him genuinely concerned for Henrietta.

  As she walked away, angry and hurt by his cold rejection of her, Henrietta faced the truth. Physically, she was no more immune to Simon Tremain than she had been six months ago. Her heart was beating hard, as though it were trying to get out of her ribcage, to escape the bewildering pain it felt, and she found it hard to draw breath. But she did, just enough to keep her conscious, to keep her upright, smiling, though her face felt as though it would crack. Her whole body was suffering such a torrent of physical anguish she found herself walking quickly to escape it.

  So this was heartbreak, then, she thought. How was she to survive it? But she must—she would. No matter what came next, she must bear her pain in silence. But she refused to wallow in self-pity. Simon no longer wanted her. He had just made that clear. But it was her own fault for believing he did. To think he had found someone else!

  As had happened once before when she had fled from London and Jeremy Lucas, she was seized by the old longing to run away. It was a primitive urge, which overcame her whenever she was unhappy. It was not cowardice. She was not afraid to face her troubles, but felt a need to hide her feelings from prying eyes and seek her own cure in silence and solitude.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Matthew said quietly.

  The anger simmering inside her had increased to such a pitch that it was all she could do to hold back her temper that was making her tremble. Taking hold of herself, she gave him a tight smile from behind her fluttering fan, lifting her head to a queenly angle. ‘Of course.’ She laughed. ‘Why ever would I not be?’

  ‘That’s my girl, Henrietta. Don’t let what has happened get you down. Come, some wine to fortify you and then you must enjoy the ball.’ They were not the most felicitous of words. He smiled when he saw his niece’s scowl. ‘I want to introduce you to some of my friends who have expressed their desire to be introduced to you—unless you would prefer to slip away?’

  ‘I have no desire to leave just yet, Uncle. The king has yet to arrive and it would be impolite to leave. But one thing I have learned tonight is that coming to Paris was a mistake. There is nothing for me here. I think I would like to move on.’

  ‘Leave Paris? But—my dear, we have only just arrived—and Lord Tremain—’

  Henrietta’s voice was cold as she answered, ‘Lord Tremain no longer concerns me. His attentions are directed elsewhere—but I admit his presence in Paris is my chief motive for wishing to leave. If you will not take me away from here, then I shall leave anyway. I will go to any lengths to erase Simon Tremain from my life.’

  Her uncle must have realised she meant what she said for even as she saw him blanch, she was aware of something else, a curious pride glowing in his usually gentle eyes.

  ‘Do you have anywhere in mind? Italy, perhaps?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she quipped. ‘I will instruct Rose to begin packing my things in the morning.’

  Though her heart throbbed and she felt inclined to shiver despite the warmth of the room, Henrietta knew she must get through this night without making a fool of herself. Without anyone knowing how she suffered.

  * * *

  Simon was not as unaffected by Henrietta’s sudden appearance in Paris as she thought. As he escorted Vanessa on to the dance floor, he could think of nothing else but the young woman he had left in Scotland. He had been startled to see her, and looking as magnificent as only she could.

  He reflected on the joy he had felt when they had become lovers. It had come to him and filled him up the moment he had held her and felt all his passions reciprocated in her. Seldom was the ardour of two lovers equal. There was always one who felt more. But with Henrietta, they had taken their pleasure with a kind of exquisitely matched respect, strong and tender, for each other, and whispered all the while words of passionate attachment. He longed for that again and knew he would experience it with no other woman but Henrietta.

  What the hell was she doing in Paris? Why had she come? When he’d parted from her, her rejection had almost sent him over the edge, and tonight, seeing her again, magnificent in these grand surroundings, a beautiful, glittering world she was created for, when the joy had overwhelmed him, he had wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him.

  It had been with a great effort, his large frame trembling with the tension of it, that he’d managed to master it and treat her with indifference. He’d had to get away, before Henrietta saw what was in him, what was still buried deep inside, locked away in a safe in which to keep it. But it was a poor, weak thing that was in danger of collapsing at any time and he must guard it against her rejection.

  But
now she was in Paris she wouldn’t let him.

  * * *

  As the evening wore on Henrietta found she could look everyone directly in the eye and smile as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She had hoped, of course, to have Simon’s arm to cling to, his protection about her, for she knew how he felt about her. But that was before. It had disappeared now, that barrier of security he had erected about her on their journey to Scotland and thereafter, in the icy chill of what appeared to be his total indifference.

  The king’s arrival with his courtly entourage caused much excitement. As his dark, hooded eyes swept restlessly over the crowd and he raised his haughty Bourbon nose, Henrietta saw he was not a tall man. As he nodded in gracious acknowledgement of his bowing subjects, the richness of his attire, his backswept wig and the attitude of those around him enhanced his stature.

  It was to the young man hovering on the periphery of his entourage that Henrietta’s eyes were drawn. His head was bent close to a pretty woman eager for his attention. Instinctively she knew this was Prince Charles Edward Stuart. A wave of bitterness swept over her. Handsome, yet slightly effeminate, with soft pink lips and powdered hair, he was not exactly as she had imagined him to be.

  This was the man whose head had once been full of great revolutionary ideas, whose eagerness to reclaim the crown for his father had driven him to associate with those who had turned the idea of a revolution into a bloodbath on Culloden Field. He had fled to safety in France, leaving those who had supported him to face the brutal retribution of his enemies.

  * * *

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur of introductions, conversing and consuming more champagne than she was accustomed to. She stayed close to her uncle. When the firework display ended in a blaze of glory, much as she’d been looking forward to this fabulous pyrotechnic display, she regarded it with a jaundiced eye.

  Among so many people she did not see Simon again. He made no attempt to approach her or her uncle.