Unmasking Sin, page 20
She was looking around her, taking in the comfortable, old furniture, his desk, the paintings on the walls, the rug before the hearth. Perhaps she remembered another carpet before another fireplace, for she looked hastily away, her color slightly heightened.
“To protect me,” she repeated. “By bringing me to your own rooms, where my reputation is unlikely to survive being discovered?”
He allowed a smile to flicker by way of acknowledgment, though he said with certainty, “No one will discover you here.” He waved one hand toward an armchair. “Please. Be comfortable until you can safely leave.” He walked to the window and looked down on the street. And frowned. “Where is your carriage?”
“I sent it away.” She had chosen to sit not in the armchair he had indicated but on the cushioned sofa where she was altogether too tempting.
“Then the boys will bring you a hackney,” he said.
“There is no need. My carriage will return at midday.”
“Midday?” Startled, he glanced at the mantel clock. “That is an hour and a half away.”
“I did not know how long I would take to convince you.”
His gaze came back to her. He had to fight the desire to go and sit beside her, wrap her in his arms… “Convince me of what?”
“That I am a worthy friend.”
“If you mean worthy to help in this insanity of Francisco’s,” he began.
“You didn’t consider it insanity until I arrived,” she pointed out.
“You cannot know that.”
She smiled. “Yes, I can. You were making plans like students preparing mischief. Ludovic, I know enough of your story to lead Dauncy’s conversation down the correct paths, to make him say what you need him to. And Mr. Francis is right. Dauncy is too self-absorbed to recognize me in a masked, blonde courtesan.”
He groaned. “How can you even say that?”
She laughed. “Courtesan? I never took you for such a mealy-mouthed fellow. Ludovic—”
“Ludovic,” he repeated, with one last glance out of the window. Someone came out of the building’s front door and strode off down the street. A messenger. He walked back toward the sofa and stood looming over her. “Yesterday, I was once more Mr. Dunne.”
“Because I was Lady Cornish.” She swallowed audibly but continued to meet his gaze. “I assumed you regretted what passed between us the night of the ball at Calvert Court, and I would rather die than impose.”
“You could never impose on me.” It should have been calm and reassuring, but it came out harshly, almost violently.
A smile flickered on her lips, and he could not look away from them. “I came to the conclusion that your formality was your gentlemanly way of not imposing on me. And then Napper told me… I decided we were being silly. That friends did not impose, merely help each other.”
He gave in, sitting beside her and taking both her hands in his. She did not withdraw them. “In that, you are right. But what kind of friend would I be to you if I allowed you to take this risk? And it is a risk. Whatever Francis says, Dauncy is not a fool.”
“But he does not think women important enough to be a threat.” She shrugged. Her fingers twisted, and he immediately released them, but her hand only turned to grip his more strongly. “Think about it. If not me, who would you choose? Another friend? A sister?”
“An actress.”
“I have been acting in public since Theo died. You have seen me do it.”
“Rebecca.” He leaned forward, dragging their joined hands nearer him. “I will not risk you.”
Her smile could have melted Arctic ice. It’s effect on him was spectacular enough that he could not move.
“But what I do is not up to you,” she pointed out. God help him, she actually rested her temple against his shoulder. “You helped me with the uncles, with my reputation. If I can help you with this, we will be even, with no debts on either side.”
“There are no debts between friends,” he managed.
“No, but there should be equality.” Her face pressed further into his shoulder. “Especially if there is ever to be more between us.”
He sat very still, almost afraid to breathe. While inside, his heart rejoiced, singing. And his brain cried out in agony. He closed his eyes, but his other senses were so full of her that it didn’t help.
Worse, he was clinging to her hands as if he could not bear to leave them. He did not underestimate the courage it had taken her to come here, to say those words, and he would be fiercely, utterly glad of them until the day he died.
“I am a solicitor with a flair for discovering the truth,” he said hoarsely. “I will never be more than that, though I hope I will never be less.”
“You are already more. You may work for your living—which is perfectly honorable whatever our society claims—but your grandfather was an earl.”
He opened his eyes and gazed down at her. Loosening his grip on her fingers, he brought them instead to her cheek and stroked her silken skin. “It would not matter if I were an earl myself. You are not the kind of woman who indulges in affaires de coeurs.”
“Then what was I at Calvert Court? What were you?”
“Friends who needed a little love. You will never know how much I treasure that gift.”
“But you do not love me,” she whispered.
Oh, God in heaven, am I inhuman? “I cannot love you. And you do not love me. You can’t. We barely know each other.”
There was a brilliance about her eyes, as though they were full of unshed tears. An unhappy little smile played about her lips. “And I have a reputation for jumping too quickly into marriage, into love that does not last.”
“He was not worthy of your love. And neither am I.”
Her lips parted in mute invitation. If his life had depended on it, he could not have prevented himself kissing her, a long, tender kiss of goodbye.
Oh, yes, I have to be inhuman. Somehow, he forced himself to leave her soft, giving lips. He tasted salt, and he was not fooled when she turned into his shoulder, wiping her face on his coat.
“Then friends it is,” she said shakily. “And as friends, we will work together against Dauncy. I presume your Mr. Francis knows where to find me.” She untangled herself from him without fuss, rose, and picked up her bonnet. “It is almost midday. I believe I will go down to await my carriage.”
Chapter Nineteen
Rebecca had gone to Ludovic’s office with a double purpose. To save him from Dauncy and to seduce him. In the first, she had been successful in at least finding a role for herself in bringing the traitor down, although the second had been an abject failure.
Or had it?
More than kindness had caused him to kiss her. More than lust had driven the torment she had glimpsed on his face in the depths of his eyes. He cared for her. In fact, he had never said he didn’t love her, only that he could not. Could not because he would not allow himself.
It came to her as she watched the rain running down her sitting room window the following day that she had, in fact, won him. He just did not yet know it. And that was fine, too. She had rushed headlong into marriage with Theo. But this feeling for Ludovic was nothing like the tame, almost childish affection she had known for Theo. With her second husband, everything had been mixed up with gratitude because he was nothing like Bowden, because he had been young and handsome and carelessly kind. Now, she was older and wiser and had learned the hard way to read a man’s character, to recognize and dismiss the passing lusts for handsome masculinity.
Lust… She had never desired anyone with the force she had wanted Ludovic, even before the night at Calvert Court. Now it was a gnawing hunger, not just for his knowing, skillful body, but for the whole man. And for him, she thought smiling, she would wait.
A knock heralded the arrival of Simpkins. “Mr. Dunne and Mr. Francis are below, my lady. Are you at home, or do you want Dawson to send them away?”
“No,” she said at once, whirling away from the window to glance anxiously in the glass. “I shall come at once.”
She received them in the drawing room, her heart drumming, while she tried not to look too obviously at Ludovic and asked Dawson to send up tea.
“What a miserable day,” she said, trying not to be impatient. “I hope you did not walk.”
“On the contrary, it is a happy day,” Mr. Francis said, grinning, “and we shall tell you all about it as soon as we have tea and are unlikely to be interrupted.”
Somehow, they made small talk until the tea was brought in and the servants had departed. Or at least, Mr. Francis and she talked. Ludovic said little but seemed to be forcing himself to stillness. And she felt his gaze on her face, unreadable and yet curiously warm.
“Well?” she demanded at last, pouring tea while Ludovic closed the drawing room doors.
“Ludo and I went to a party last night,” Mr. Francis said. “Not the sort of party that you would have enjoyed or that would have improved your reputation, but our friend Dauncy was there. I made friends with him by appearing to entice Ludo’s favorite actress away from him.”
Rebecca kept her gaze on Mr. Francis’s face, refusing to react.
Mr. Francis smiled faintly. “For the sake of his reputation, I should point out here that Ludo’s favorite actress is, in fact, one of his eclectic circle of friends and firmly attached, romantically speaking, to a member of Parliament.”
“Go on,” Rebecca said steadily, though she was relieved not to have to consider a mistress. At least, not this mistress, but there could be another, an obstacle she had not even thought of before.
“Well, before Ludo stalked off in high dudgeon, Melissa—the actress—and I were Dauncy’s pets. He won money from me at cards, made Melissa giggle, exchanged tall stories of—”
Ludovic cleared his throat.
“Precisely,” Mr. Francis agreed in some amusement. “And the upshot is, we are engaged to join him at Maida Gardens tomorrow evening. And I have promised to introduce him to my most ravishing, widowed sister-in-law. That is you. How good is your French?”
“Passable to anyone who is not actually French.”
“Probably good enough. You and I shall practice speaking English with a delightful accent. I have already hinted at my Bonapartist sympathies. You will have to pretend the same, so we will also go over your beliefs and some plausible stories of heroism in the cause.”
Rebecca nodded, frowning. “Yes, but he is a soldier. He fought in Spain and probably France. Our accents and our stories will have to be good to fool him. Or will he be so foxed that he won’t notice?”
“No,” Ludovic said. “He must not be so castaway that anyone can throw doubt on what he says as mere drunken boasting. A couple of glasses of champagne to loosen his tongue, but no heavy drinking, at least until after he has told us what we need.”
“Will you be there?” she asked.
“I will, but not where he can see me, let alone recognize me. At the table next to you will be our friend, the magistrate, quietly listening, with his clerk taking notes.”
“And what if we are arrested for spouting Bonapartist nonsense?” she asked.
They both regarded her as though she had grown horns. “At Maida?” Ludovic said. “No one cares. Which is why it is the perfect location.”
“Mama, mama!” The childish cry drifted to their ears an instant before Tom all but crashed through the drawing room doors, a grin of pure mischief on his face. “Annie says…” He skidded to a halt, taking in the visitors and then, recognizing Ludovic rushed on him instead with a cry of glee.
Ludovic’s hard eyes had softened. He even seemed happy enough to be climbed on, greeting Tom with such evidence of delight that Rebecca was loath to call the child to order.
“Shall I free you of your limpet?” she asked him lightly.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Ludovic said, casting her a quick, uncomplicated smile.
After a moment, she became aware that Mr. Francis had sat back in his chair and was watching this passage with some amusement. A few moments later, Annie came puffing in.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, then, becoming aware of the company, she dropped a quick curtsey. “Sorry, my lady, he’s playing tricks on me again.”
Rebecca rose and plucked her son from Ludovic’s lap. “Seriously, Tom, you must not run away from Annie. And never, ever when you are outside.”
Tom’s eyes slid away so that he could grin again at Ludovic. “It’s only a funny joke.”
“No, it won’t be a joke until you are much bigger,” Ludovic said gravely.
“Really?” Tom asked, disappointed.
“Really.”
“Oh, well. Is it teatime?”
“Not yet,” Rebecca said. “Go with Annie for a little.”
Tom remembered his manners enough to execute a funny little bow, although he didn’t stop talking while he did so.
“My apologies for the interruption,” Rebecca said. “We have to assemble the guards in advance to take him out, so he’s too full of energy.”
“As he should be at that age, I understand,” Mr. Francis observed. “Now, to Bonaparte…”
For the next hour, they discussed Napoleon Bonaparte in a mixture of French and French-accented English that made Rebecca want to laugh. Mr. Francis seemed surprised that she was aware of so much of the emperor’s past and present, though he occasionally pointed her to ideas or events she should speak of with more—or less—enthusiasm.
“Excellent,” he said at last, rising to his feet. “I shall return tomorrow morning, if I may, to discuss your manners and dress.”
“Of course,” Rebecca said, unsure if she was mostly dazed or amused. “But won’t you stay for tea?”
“Alas, no. I have other employment to attend to.”
“And you, sir? Remembering that I promised Tom he could join me!”
“Then how could I refuse?”
Pleasant warmth suffused her. He was not appalled by yesterday’s scene. They were still friends, and that gave her hope.
*
Mr. Francis was as good as his word and called the following morning promptly at ten of the clock. Ludovic, to her disappointment, was not with him.
“I presume all your gowns are fashionable and tasteful,” Mr. Francis said as soon as they were seated.
“Tasteful, yes,” she replied. “And they were fashionable a year or so ago.”
“That is no problem. We are aiming for a certain style, and you are not supposed to be a wealthy woman, but one fallen from greatness to the demi-monde of a foreign country. To that end…” He delved into the leather satchel he had brought and produced a long, fair wig. “I brought you this… And these.” He placed the wig and a small string bag on the table between them. “Can your maid work with the wig, or shall we send Melissa?”
“No, no, Simmie will manage.” Though what she would say about it was another matter. “What is in the bag?” On his nod, she opened it and emptied out a rush of sparkling diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and garnets.
“They’re paste,” he said apologetically as her jaw dropped. “But I thought your own jewels might be a little too tasteful.”
“On the other hand, no one goes to Maida dripping in jewels,” she observed. “That would be asking to be robbed.”
“But you will be unique, too proud and brave to care about mere thieves, and thus you will stand out for Dauncy. He must be desperate to impress you. Let me be blunt, my lady. The way you move is both elegant and sensual. No, do not blush, I am aware this is entirely unconscious, and as such, I must encourage you to exaggerate certain traits, partly to attract him, partly to disguise who you truly are. Now, oblige me by walking to the door… and pick up the candlestick… Now, walk back toward me, swinging your hips just a shade more. Imagine I am the most attractive man in the world, and you are wildly in love with me. Now place the candlestick in front of me as though it is a gift. No, bend a little closer because you want to impress me with your magnificent bosom.”
Rebecca flushed a fiery red. For the first time, she began to panic that she was not cut out for such a pretense, afraid that she could never in her life carry it off, even that Mr. Francis was merely making fun of her, or, worse, taking advantage.
But he remained entirely dispassionate, and he never once touched her. She was merely an actress, learning her role, and he directing her. In all, it was a bizarre, impersonal meeting until, just at the end, when she flopped into the chair beside him, and he was preparing to leave.
He said, “You are a good friend to Ludovic, to do this for him.”
“He has helped me—is still helping me!—with my problems, too.” She tried to talk herself out of it, but in the end, the temptation was too great. “I suspect you are a much older and closer friend than I.”
“Older certainly, but our friendship is quite different. To put it bluntly, Ludo has never looked at me as if I am the last cake in the baker’s shop that some cruel fate prevents him from eating.”
The beating of Rebecca’s heart was suddenly painful. “I am not sure that analogy flatters either of us.”
His smile was fleeting. “No, it does not. Nor was it kind. I am impatient with the lovelorn.”
She swallowed and bit her lower lip to prevent herself asking. But she did it anyway. “What makes you think he is lovelorn?”
“Oh, my dear. I have known Ludo a long time.”
“And he has been in love for much of that time?” she asked as casually as she could manage.
He eyed her thoughtfully for some time. Then, “There is no one you need regard as competition.”
“That does not answer my question.”
He sighed. “Lady Cornish, you should have my post. Very well, since I have known him, Ludovic has had several causal lovers, and he has many friends. Occasionally, the two overlap but never in a serious way. Until you.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could protest, he raised one hand.
“Spare me the righteous wrath. I am well aware of your respectability. And his honor. But you are the only woman I have ever seen get under his skin. In plain language, my lady, he is in love with you and will never act upon that before you are both so miserable that he finally decides it might be more honorable to speak than to let you suffer. If you love him, show him, or you will both waste a lot of precious time on this earth.”
