The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (46 page)

She looked up, directly into his eyes.

‘I don’t expect you to change your life or to offer me any promises of permanence.
 
I only want … well, I think you know what I want.
 
And you said you wanted it, too.
 
Unless that was another lie?’

In view of what she’d told him about her past this was no time to dodge the issue.

‘It wasn’t.’
 
God, darling – it really wasn’t
.

‘Then I don’t see why … why it’s so impossible.’

Ashley could but he didn’t feel up to explaining.
 
However, before he could say anything at all, she said abruptly, ‘It’s not as if I’m a virgin, is it?’

His throat closed and it took a great deal of effort to say, ‘No. But that is hardly your fault.’

‘I know.
 
I know it isn’t.
 
But that doesn’t make it any less true.’
 
Her colour had risen and she no longer looked nearly as composed as she’d done a little while ago. ‘You should know that I haven’t … since that one time, I haven’t … there hasn’t been anyone else.’

Ashley had suspected as much.
 
It didn’t make it any better.
 
She’d been raped at fourteen, remained celibate for eight years and was sitting there offering herself to him, freely and unconditionally. It made his reservations seem suddenly very trivial.
 
He said gently, ‘Is that because you were afraid?’

‘No.
 
Yes.
 
A little, perhaps.
 
But mostly it was because I never met a man I wanted.’

Until you
.
 
The words hung unspoken in the air and they destroyed him.

His mind was a mass of conflictions.
 
He was no longer sure why he was hesitating.
 
He wondered if she knew that she could break his resolve with the smallest touch. Even when she wasn’t physically present, a steady flame of wanting burned inside him.
 
It would be so very easy to just tell the truth and stretch out his hand.

Too easy
, said a distant voice in his head.

He drew a long, slightly ragged breath and said, ‘I’d like you to take some time to think about this, Athenais.
 
Will you do that?’

‘What choice do I have?’

‘None.
 
But you should know that the reasons I’m holding back are on your account, not mine.’
 
He smiled somewhat ruefully.
 
‘And, for what it’s worth, you may also wish to know that keeping my hands to myself isn’t as easy as I may have led you to suppose.’

*
 
*
 
*

Two days slid by. Nicholas settled into the household, causing scarcely a ripple and Athenais returned to the theatre – receiving a sharp look from Monsieur Froissart and the observation that she looked remarkably well for someone who’d been throwing up for a week.
 

A further three days saw Ashley finally able to manage the stairs – whereupon Pauline announced that she would examine his leg whether he liked it or not to see if it was time to remove the stitches.
 
He didn’t like it but she bullied him into submission and removed her handiwork – after which he found that his thigh felt a lot easier.
 

And at the end of a week, Froissart at last gave Athenais and the rest of the players permission to sit in on a rehearsal for
M
é
nage
… so that they could all see for themselves the genius of Pauline Fleury.

Francis had set the piece so that the husband, the wife and her lover interacted in the normal way while the mother-in-law sat on a raised platform – apparently unseen and unheard by the other characters while she delivered a pithy and wickedly funny commentary on their doings.
 
The play was original, clever and stylishly-written.
 
Pauline’s performance raised it to the level of brilliance and the rehearsal finished in a storm of applause – in which, it was noticed, only Marie d’Amboise declined to participate.

Later, released from her lofty station and having escaped from the congratulations of her fellow actors, Pauline sought out Francis and said, ‘Thank you.
 
I thought you were mad to insist on it and that I was equally mad to agree.
 
I was wrong.
 
So – thank you.’

‘It was my pleasure, Duchess.
 
I knew you could do it.
 
It was only necessary that
you
should know it, too.’
 
He smiled at her.
 
‘I’ve an idea for
M
é
nage Deux
.
 
The husband, his mistress, his wife – and
her
mother.
 
What do you think?’

I think what I feel for you is becoming dangerous
.
 

She said, ‘If it were anyone else, I’d say writing another play as good as this one is an impossibility.
 
Since it’s you, however, I’ll say that I wouldn’t like to put money on it.’

Francis lifted her hand and saluted it with impeccable grace.

‘That is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

‘Am I supposed to believe that?’

‘Yes.
 
Oddly enough, no one has ever rated my abilities very highly.
 
The fact that you – who know this world so much better than I – think that I have some … let’s call it potential … means a great deal.’

His tone was light enough but there was something behind his eyes which Pauline couldn’t quite interpret.
 
She said firmly, ‘You have more than potential, Francis.
 
You have a talent.
 
Write
M
é
nage Deux
if you want – or anything else, for that matter.
 
Froissart will snap your hand off to buy it.
 
And if he doesn’t, take it to Floridor at the Bourgogne.’

‘Not the Bourgogne, no,’ came the decisive reply.
 

‘Why not?
 
Their company is as good as ours – some would argue that it’s better.’

‘That’s not the point.’
 
His smile, this time, was warm and quizzical.
 
‘Do I really have to say it?’ And when she closed her lips, refusing to speak, ‘I won’t go to the Bourgogne – or indeed anywhere – because I need my leading-lady.’

*
 
*
 
*

All the way back to the Rue des Rosiers with her hand on his arm, Francis pondered on the thing he was finally beginning to recognise.
 
He’d started writing a play just to see if he could do it … and ended by writing it for Pauline Fleury.
 
When he realised what he was doing, he’d told himself that it was purely because he wanted to tempt her back on-stage – but that wasn’t the real reason and probably never had been.
 
He’d done it because he’d become increasingly fascinated by her.
 
He no longer saw the scar or noticed her slight limp.
 
He only saw the clear, hazel eyes, the luxuriant dark brown hair and the curves of an extremely trim figure.
 
But pleasing as those things were, her intelligence and barbed astringence attracted him more.
 
In that sense, she reminded him a little of Kate Maxwell; the girl he had never really been in love with but fully intended to marry – though, looking back, he couldn’t remember why.
 
Certainly the feelings he detected in himself now were unlike any he’d experienced before.
 
Feelings that had crept up on him so gradually, he’d hardly noticed they were there until he’d seen Pauline take charge on the night of Ashley’s attack.
 
And then, suddenly, he’d wondered why it had taken him so long to appreciate the full scope of Madame Pauline Fleury.
 

Buoyed up by the success of the rehearsal and the pleasure of having Pauline’s hand on his arm, Francis’s euphoric mood was swiftly banished when he entered the house to learn that his sister awaited him in the parlour.

‘God,’ he breathed.
 
‘And I was in such a good mood, too.’

Pauline shook her head, grinned and promptly left him to it.
 

Francis sighed, straightened his cuffs and tried to summon some patience.

Celia was sitting on the sofa, her skirts spread wide enough to prohibit anyone sitting beside her.
 

Nicholas stood near the fire looking faintly harassed.
 

When Francis appeared, relief rolled off both of them in waves.

‘Thank God!’ snapped Celia.
 
‘What on earth do you do with your time? I’ve been waiting an absolute
age
and was beginning to think you were never coming!’

‘Perhaps you should make an appointment,’ suggested Francis flippantly.
 
Then, glancing at Nicholas, ‘You obviously drew the short straw.
 
Have Athenais and Ashley taken to the heather?’

‘Apparently.’
 
In the half hour he’d spent with Francis’s sister, he hadn’t exactly warmed to her – but neither was he prepared to be rude. According her a civil bow, he said, ‘It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Verney – but now I’ll leave you to speak to Francis privately.’
 
And sedulously avoiding Francis’s eye, he trod briskly from the room.

Francis strolled over to the hearth and leaned negligently against the mantel.

‘Well, Celia?
 
What is it this time – or do I need to ask?’

‘There’s no need to be so horrid.
 
I’m utterly distraught!’

You all-too-frequently are
, he thought.
 
I don’t know how Verney stands it
.
 

‘And what am I supposed to do about it?’

‘You must write to Eden again and make him hurry.’

‘For heaven’s sake – it hasn’t been a fortnight yet.
 
Give the man a chance.’

‘I can’t.
 
It’s taken him months to say he’ll do it and I can’t afford to wait as long again before it’s done.
 
I need my divorce now – immediately.
 
Otherwise, I don’t know … I’m afraid what might happen.’

Since Celia never listened to anything that didn’t suit her, Francis didn’t bother to point out that Eden hadn’t said he
would
obtain a divorce – only that he’d look into the possibility.
 
Sighing, he said, ‘What do you mean – you’re afraid what might happen?
 
I imagine you’ll go on just as you’ve been doing for the last eight years.’

She shook her head.
 
‘You don’t understand.
 
It’s Hugo.’

Ah.
 
Perhaps Verney
isn’t
standing it
.

‘What about him?’

‘He – he’s different.
 
Now I think about it, he’s been different for a while now.
 
But I didn’t really notice until I told him that Eden had agreed to the divorce and then …’ She stopped, twisting a handkerchief between her hands. ‘I thought he’d be
pleased
.’

‘But he wasn’t?’

‘No.
 
For a long time, he didn’t say anything and – and he looked at me so
coldly
, Francis.
 
As if he no longer cared for me at all.
 
I said I didn’t understand why he wasn’t happy and he – he said,
No.
 
You wouldn’t
.
 
Then he went out.’

Francis shrugged.
 
‘Like Eden, he’s probably not thrilled at the idea of featuring in a divorce case.’

‘It’s not that.
 
He’s different, I tell you.
 
He hardly escorts me anywhere anymore and spends nearly every evening with friends of his own.
 
Sometimes he even stays away all night.’
 
She paused, looking genuinely distressed.
 
‘I suppose I should have noticed it sooner but it happened so gradually, you know?
 
And there’s something else.’

Francis hardly needed the something else since, from what she’d said so far, the conclusion was fairly obvious. ‘Yes?’

‘He used to want me all the time – but he hasn’t t-touched me for weeks.
 
Several times I’ve tried encouraging him to … you know …but he just makes excuses.’
 
She looked up, seemingly baffled by it all.
 
‘He’s changed, Francis.
 
And I don’t know what to do – except that I must have the divorce quickly.’

‘On the assumption that he’ll still marry you?’

‘Yes.
 
He
has
to marry me.
 
He must know that.
 
How else am I to recover a shred of reputation?
 
How else is he?’