Читать книгу Regency Scoundrels And Scandals - Louise Allen - Страница 25

Eva could not recall shedding a tear since the day Louis bore Freddie off to school in England, leaving her frantically weeping in the schoolroom, his slate clutched in her hands. Weeping was undisciplined, an unseemly weakness she had learned to do without.

Now, in her bed, the maids finally departed, a single candle on the nightstand, she leaned her head back on the pillows and let the tears trickle down her cheeks. From the street came the hubbub of laughter and shouts and cheering. The news had been coming in since about half past eight that the French were beaten. The early rumours became hard fact, as more and more messengers arrived. The Prussians were pressing hard from the east, the Foot Guards were advancing and then the French were in full retreat, the Old Guard alone standing firm to the last to allow the Emperor to escape the field.

Dinner had become a celebration of toasts, of speculation, of vast relief. She tried to tell herself Maubourg would be safe now, whatever fate had befallen her brothers-in-law. Someone was going to have to explain to King Louis XVIII why his neutral neighbour had invaded with a small troop of men, but at least the monarch had more pressing things on his mind just now.

And throughout the meal Jack had been distant, correct, formal. It was exactly how he should have been of course, and she thought her heart was breaking. Would he have been like this anyway, once they reached Brussels, or had her attack of nerves and indecision, her demands, alienated him?

She scrubbed at her cheeks, angry at herself for being so weak. There was so much to be happy about. Jack had at least taken the choice away from her, she must do what she wanted so passionately to do. In a few days she would see Freddie, hold her son in her arms. She could get news of the Duchy, hopefully of Philippe’s recovery, Europe was saved from more years of war…and all she could think about was Jack’s face, the feel of his mouth, hot and angry on hers, the knowledge that something magical had gone for ever.

The clocks began to strike, past one. The noise in the streets was dying down, or perhaps people were moving to the Grand Place to celebrate. Wearily Eva blew out the candle and closed her eyes. Tomorrow they would be travelling again; she had to get some sleep.

She opened her eyes on to pitch darkness, to chill, musty air, to a sense that the walls were closing in around her. Then she knew where she was: in the tomb, in the vaults. The terror coursed through her; she threw up her hands, desperately pushing against the unyielding stone. It did not move one inch.

Defeated, quivering with fear, she fell back, feeling the grave clothes shifting around her, her unbound hair slipping about her shoulders. Into the silence, broken only by her rasping breath, came the sound of the stone gritting above her. Louis. Louis had come for her. Somewhere, glinting in the black fog of panic, she glimpsed another thought and grasped it. Jack. Not Louis, Jack. He had said it would be him who would come, he had promised to rescue her. The stone lid slid further, she saw fingers gripping it as light flooded in.

‘Jack!’ He smiled down at her, reassurance, strength. ‘You came.’

Without speaking, he reached in and lifted her against his chest and she buried her face in his shoulder so as not to see as he carried her back through the vaults, past the tombs, out to the stairs and the air and freedom. With a sigh Eva closed her eyes against the white linen of his shirt and let herself drift into peace.

When she opened her eyes again there was a candle burning on the night stand, her cheek was pressed to damp white linen and she was held against a warm, male body. ‘Jack?’ Disorientated, Eva twisted so she could look up at him. ‘I was sleeping—dreaming. I had that nightmare, but you came into it, just as you promised. But that was a dream.’ What was he doing here? He was angry with her, yet here he was, cradling her in his arms.

Jack looked down into the sleep-soft eyes and felt a wave of tenderness swamp every other confused emotion he had brought with him into her bedchamber. When he had curled up on the bed next to her he had kissed her cheek and tasted salt. He had made her cry.

He loved her, nothing could change that; he feared nothing ever would. There was a puzzled furrow between her brows and he bent his head to kiss it away. ‘Don’t frown. I came to say sorry. You were asleep, so I stayed.’

‘But…’

‘Your reputation is quite safe. Everyone thinks we are being somewhat over-protective of you, given that the battle has been won, but Henry is asleep in an armchair on the landing and I, as you will have realised, am sitting in your dressing room with a shotgun.’

That made Eva laugh, as he hoped it would. ‘That was not what I meant.’ She wriggled out of his arms and sat up, half-turned so she could watch him. ‘I should apologise, not you; I was foolish to waver now, when I had agreed to go to England, and I did not mean to try to make you go against your orders. To hector you.’ Jack grimaced. Was that what he had said to her?

‘You weren’t. I was angry and I overreacted.’ How to explain, when he hardly understood the violence of his reaction himself? This was probably all to do with falling in love, against all sense and reason. No wonder he did not understand himself any more. Eva was waiting; that damned furrow was back again, making him feel guilty for upsetting her. Hell, he never felt guilty!

‘The thought of you in danger makes me afraid,’ he admitted at last. ‘I am not used to being afraid, it makes me irritable.’

She wrinkled her nose in what he could see was an effort not to laugh at him. ‘Irritable? Is that what you call it?’ Those frank brown eyes were looking so deep inside him he was afraid she could see his love for her written there. ‘Are you truly never afraid? Isn’t that rather dangerous?’

‘Yes. I am. Of course I am, often. I meant afraid for someone else, afraid and not able to do anything about it.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Her face lit up. ‘You mean, like I am afraid for Freddie? I try and be brave for myself, but even if it is irrational, I worry so about him. But…he is my son. I love him.’ That little furrow of puzzlement was back as she looked at him, her head tipped slightly to one side

It was almost a question. Almost the question. He could answer it truthfully, and have her turn away, embarrassed by such an inappropriate declaration, or he could think damn fast, and learn not to get into intimate conversations about feelings in the small hours.

‘I get like that about clients,’ Jack said lightly. ‘Very protective.’

‘Oh.’ The puzzlement had gone, replaced by a slight haughtiness. ‘And you become the lover of many of them?’

‘Only the women.’ He tried to make a joke of it.

‘What?’ she demanded, bristling.

‘One or two,’ Jack admitted, knowing he was burning his boats. But this liaison, which was all it could ever be for her, had to end soon and it was best a line was drawn under it.

‘I see. You mean, I am the latest in a long line?’

‘Eva, I never pretended to be a virgin,’ Jack began, feeling the conversation slipping wildly out of control. Then she buried her face in her hands and her shoulders began to quiver and it was as though he could feel the salt of her tears in his mouth all over again. ‘Hell! Eva, sweet, don’t cry. I didn’t mean that. There isn’t a long line, just a…Damn it, I’m not a saint.’

The quivering got worse, then she looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. Of laughter. ‘Pretending to be a virgin?’ she gurgled. ‘You know, Jack, I don’t think you would have deceived me for a moment.’ She rubbed the sleeve of her nightgown over her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, I am not such a hypocrite that I expected you to have been saving yourself for me. In fact,’ she added, a decidedly wicked twinkle in her eyes, ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

Jack reached for her. ‘Get back under the covers and go to sleep. It is late and tomorrow we are going to Ostend. I want you on a ship before half the English army decides to head home.’

‘Won’t you stay?’ Something of his feelings must have shown, for she added hastily, ‘I mean just sleep.’

‘While you drop off, then,’ he said, resigning himself to the bittersweet pain of having her so close, perhaps for the last time.

‘That’s what I used to say to Freddie,’ she murmured, wriggling down between the sheets, then turning on her side so she could wrap an arm across his chest.

‘I’m not singing you a lullaby.’

‘No?’ She sounded almost asleep already.

‘No.’ Jack settled her more comfortably against his chest and lay back. He had never understood the need women seemed to have for cuddling, until now. You made love and then you slept, he had thought. But now, as always with Eva relaxed in his embrace, he felt a calm soaking into his bones, despite the lurking knowledge that he might never experience this again. This was love, damn it. Love.

‘Is this the road to Eton?’ Eva demanded, trying to read signposts as the post chaise bounded up the road from the coast.

‘No. London.’

‘But I don’t want to go to London, I want to go to Eton to see Freddie.’ She twisted round on the plush upholstery to glare at Jack indignantly. ‘You know I do.’

‘And my instructions are to take you to London.’ Eva opened her mouth to protest, but Jack shook his head before she could get the words out. ‘We have a charming house for you in the heart of fashionable London. I am taking you there, then I will check with the Foreign Office and, if you still want to, we will go to Eton tomorrow, after you are rested.’

‘But I don’t want to rest! I’ve tossed about on that wretched boat for twenty-four hours—without getting seasick—and now I shall be stuck in this bounding carriage for hours. Compared to days in the saddle and sleeping under the stars, I am perfectly rested.’

And no lovemaking to make her feel languid and lazily inclined to do nothing but curl up in Jack’s arms until one or other of them began those irresistible caresses that ended, inevitably, in ecstasy and exhaustion. She ached for him, but ever since they had set foot on the sloop he had waiting at Ostend, Jack had behaved with total circumspection.

It made her restless and impatient now, and, when she let herself brood, miserable for the future. The thought of seeing Freddie had been buoying her up; now that treat had been snatched away and she knew she was reacting like a child told to wait until tomorrow for her sweetmeats. Well, she was not going to stand for it…

‘Don’t even think about it.’ The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched, betraying his awareness of her rebellious thoughts.

‘What?’

‘Getting on your high horse and ordering me to take you to Eton, your Serene Highness.’

‘Surely you are not frightened of a lot of Whitehall clerks, are you?’ She opened her eyes wide and was rewarded by his grin at her tactics. Wheedling was not going to do it.

‘I thought you understood the concept of duty,’ Jack said mildly.

‘I do. But would it matter so much if I were one day late arriving in London?’

‘Yes.’ Jack produced a travelling chess set. ‘This will wile away the time.’

‘No, thank you, I have no desire to play chess. Please? Take me to my son, Lord Sebastian.’ That got his attention. Jack placed the box deliberately on the seat next to him and leaned back into the corner of the chaise.

‘So that was what you were doing up a ladder in Mr Catterick’s library.’ Eva nodded. ‘I do not use my title when I am working.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it makes me more of a target, less invisible. I am two different people, Eva. You have not met Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst, and I doubt you will.’

‘Why not?’ she demanded again, kicking off her shoes impatiently and curling up on the seat facing him.

‘Lord Sebastian is a rake and a gamester and does not mix in the sort of society that grand duchesses, even on unofficial visits, frequent.’

‘Is that why you fell out with your father?’ That would explain it, an estrangement between the duke and his wild-living son.

‘Actually, no. My father rebuffed my efforts to be a dutiful younger son, learn about the estate, make myself useful in that way. He supplied me with money beyond the most extravagant demands I might make and sent me off to London to become, in his words, a rakehell and a libertine.’

‘But why? I do not understand.’ Jack’s face was shuttered. Eva leaned across the space that separated them and put her hand on his knee. ‘Tell me, I would like to understand.’

‘I think because he was disappointed in Charles, my elder brother, and he did not want to admit it. I am very like my father, probably very like what he expected Charles to be. But Charles was—is—quiet, reclusive, gentle. My father maintained he was perfect in every way and dismissed me so he would not see the contrast proving him wrong at every turn.

‘By the time I was ten—and my brother twenty—I was careering round the estate on horseback, ignoring falls and broken bones. I was pestering him to teach me to fence, to shoot. Charles was stuck in his study, reading poetry. By the time I was sixteen I was in trouble with all the local light-heeled girls, Charles had to be dragged to balls and virtually forced to converse with a woman. And so it went on. Eventually the contrast was too extreme, but my father’s sense of duty to the family name, the importance of primogeniture, was too strong. He could not admit he loved me more, so he had to pretend the opposite. I had to go.’

‘How awful,’ Eva said compassionately. What a mess people got themselves into with their expectations and their pressures. Why could they not accept each other for what they were? ‘Did you miss your family and your home very much?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I was eighteen, the age when you want to get out and kick your heels up. He didn’t show me the door, I still came home, saw Charles, my mother, Bel, my sister. But for a few days, every now and again. And my father got the constant comfort of people comparing his sober, quiet, dignified elder son with the wild younger one.’

‘Then why aren’t you drunk in some gaming hell now?’ she asked tartly, to cover up the fact that she felt so sad about the young man he was describing. In nine years Freddie would be that age.

‘Nothing was expected of me,’ Jack went on, gazing out of the window as though he were looking back ten years at his younger self. ‘Nothing except to spend money and to decorate society events. I did my best. I can spend money quite effectively, I scrub up quite well, I can do the pretty at parties—but I was bored. Then I found myself helping a friend whose former valet was blackmailing him over indiscreet love letters. One thing led to another and I found that I liked Jack Ryder far more than I did Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst.’

‘Aren’t they now the same person, just with two different names?’ Eva asked. ‘Hasn’t Lord Sebastian grown up with Jack Ryder?’

‘Perhaps.’ He shifted back from the window to regard her from under level brows. ‘It makes no difference to you and me. The Grand Duchess Eva de Maubourg does not have an affaire with a younger son any more than she does with a King’s Messenger.’

‘That was not why I wanted to know.’ Oh, yes, it was, you liar. It was curiosity, certainly, but something was telling you that this man was an aristocrat and that would make it all right. ‘It was curiosity, pure and simple. I dislike secrets and mysteries.’ She said it lightly, willing him to believe her.

The way the shadow behind his eyes lifted both relieved her and hurt her. He did not want their affaire to continue. Why not? She thought he would be as sad as she at its ending. But then, by his own admission, he was a rake. Loving and leaving must be as familiar as the chase and the seduction. Only he had neither chased nor seduced her, when he very well could have done.

‘What do I call you, now we are back in England?’ she asked. ‘Mr Ryder, or Lord Sebastian?’

‘I am Jack Ryder. As I said, you will not meet my alter ego.’

‘You are not invited to the best parties?’

‘Duke’s sons are invited everywhere, even if fond mamas warn their sons against playing cards with them or their daughters against flirting. I do not chose to accept, it is as simple as that.’ He looked out of the window again. ‘And here is Greenwich. Another hour and you will be almost at your London house.’

Eva sighed. Even if she could persuade him, it was too late to set out to Eton now—there was the whole of London to traverse before she could be on the road to Windsor.

‘Don’t sigh—it is a very nice house.’

‘How do you know?’ Eva sat up straight and found her shoes. Time to start thinking and behaving like the representative of the Duchy in a foreign country, not an anxious mother or a sore-hearted lover.

‘I chose it.’

‘Really? You were very busy before you left.’

‘I mean, I had bought it, for myself. I was finding my chambers in Albany a touch small these days. But I am in no hurry to move in. The staff are all highly trustworthy, employed by the Foreign Office for just such eventualities.’

‘So you have never lived there?’

‘No.’

That, at least, was a mercy. The thought of living in the midst of Jack’s furnishings, the evidence of his taste, of his everyday life, was disturbing. Eva set herself to talk of trivia, of London gossip, and the last hour of the journey passed pleasantly enough. It was as though, she thought fancifully, they were skating serenely on a frozen sea, while beneath them, just visible through the ice, swam sharks.

‘Here we are.’ Jack opened the chaise door and jumped down, flipping out the steps for her before the postilions could dismount. She lay her hand on his proffered arm and walked up to the front door, gleaming dark green in the late afternoon sunshine. Jack lifted his hand to the heavy brass knocker, but the door swung open before he could let it fall.

‘Your Serene Highness, welcome.’ An imposing butler, with, she was startled to see, the face of a prize fighter, ushered them into the hall, then stood aside.

Facing her across the black-and-white chequers was a boy, sturdy, long-legged, with a mop of unruly dark hair. Hazel eyes met hers and for a moment she was frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. Then Eva flew across the hall and fell to her knees, her arms tight around her son. ‘Oh, Freddie, you’re here!’