A Kind of Honor

by Joan Wolf

  “You don’t?” Charles leaned forward, his brown eyes intent. “Then you must not have seen her lately. She’s thin and pale and looks as if she’ll snap in two any minute. Is it something to do with Gacé?”

  “Gacé?” said Menteith.

  Charles brought his hand down hard on Menteith’s desk. “Stop playing games with me, Robert!”

  “Why should you think Nanda’s appearance has something to do with Gacé?”

  “Because he has a perfect genius for making her unhappy. His very presence is a blight.”

  Menteith carefully moved some papers around on his desk. With his eyes studiously avoiding Charles, he said, “It has been that way for years. Why, now, should Nanda be suddenly disturbed by him?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that she is disturbed, more so than I’ve ever seen her to be. I wish you will tell me if there’s something I can do for her.”

  Menteith sighed. “There is nothing either of us can do to help Nanda now. Except, perhaps, to leave her alone.”

  “Then there is something wrong,” Charles said slowly. “I knew it.”

  Menteith looked down at his desk and was silent.

  “Is it the children?” Charles asked.

  “No.”

  “Then – what?”

  “I can’t tell you, Charles. But it will get better presently.”

  There was a pause, then Charles said, a challenge glinting in his eyes, “When Stanford finishes his work for you and goes away?”

  Menteith’s eyes flew up to meet Charles’. There was a tense silence, then Menteith said, “You and Nanda have always been close.”

  “Yes. That’s probably why she’s avoiding me lately.”

  “There’s nothing between them, Charles,”

  “Except that she’s fallen in love with him.”

  Menteith’s silence was his answer.

  Charles got wearily to his feet. “Can’t you send him back to the army - even if he limps?”

  Menteith shook his head.

  Both men stared at Charles’ driving gloves, which were lying neatly on the desk. Menteith said in a low voice, “Do you think he loves her?”

  Charles’ smile was not pleasant. “Have you ever seen the poor devil’s eyes when he looks at her? They don’t make many like Stanford, Robert, but I fear he is doomed to failure, another of Nanda’s sacrifices on the altar of her wretched marriage.” His mouth tightened. It would give me a great deal of satisfaction to see Gacé rotting in hell.” He picked up his driving gloves and started for the door.

  Menteith waited until his hand was on the handle. “I don’t know about that, Charles,” he said softly.

  Charles swung around. “What don’t you know?”

  “If Stanford is doomed to failure.”

  For a long moment the two brothers looked at each other, then Charles drew a deep breath. “I hope to God you’re right,” he said.

  “Don’t hound her. Leave her alone.”

  Charles nodded once, sharply, then went out the door.

  # # #

  Gacé, usually so observant, was too preoccupied with his own affairs to notice the change in his wife. He had written several letters to friends and relations in Baden and Frankfurt, and was satisfied that Baden would be the best place for him in the near future. No matter what happened in Europe, Gacé knew he would be safer if he severed all ties with England.

  He had not quite given up on Napoleon. Gacé’s plan was to devote a few more months to the Horse Guards in the – admittedly dwindling hope – of getting some valuable information in regard to the Spanish campaign. If he could pass along to Paris information that would bring about an English defeat in the Peninsula, then Napoleon would have freed up the large, veteran army that was presently tied down in Spain. The English would probably realize that Napoleon had received information he shouldn’t have, but by then Gacé would be safely in Baden.

  If Napoleon won this war, Gacé would have won everything he wanted. But if Napoleon lost…

  Gacé had to plan for such a possibility. His greatest problem, in the event of such a catastrophe, would be his own exposure as a French spy. On the plus side of the equation, only Napoleon and a few French officials knew the name of their English source. Unfortunately, those few would most probably start talking the moment the triumphant allies marched into Paris.

  This could not be allowed to happen. He could not be revealed as a traitor to the allied cause. If that happened all of Europe would be closed to him.

  As he reviewed his situation, he was struck by the fact that, with the exception of his courier, Francois Bellay, no one had ever actually seen him. He could deny everything and insist that someone else had been using his name.

  Gacé was a highly intelligent man and it did not take him long to work out how such an explanation would work. He needed only two things: to get rid of Bellay; and to find a scapegoat at the Horse Guards to blame as the real traitor.

  Bellay’s death, he thought, would be simple. As for the scapegoat – it didn’t take Gacé long to pick the Earl of Denham to take the blame. Denham was high enough in rank to have access to vital information. And Gacé knew he was burdened with huge gambling debts. He would make an easy target.

  With this scheme in mind, Gacé began to hint to King Louis that all was not well at the Horse Guards, that information was leaking to Bonaparte. Sorrowfully, he confided his own fear of being suspected if the English did in truth start to search for a traitor. He had never been fully accepted by les Anglais. Everyone knew they distrusted all Frenchmen.

  The king was indignant. And reassuring. He would never distrust his dear friend, Monseigneur de Gacé.

  At the end of March, Gacé went to Hartwell for a private dinner with his majesty and informed Nanda he would stay the night.

  # # #

  Gacé’s absence didn’t worry Nanda. She was engaged for dinner and the theatre with her sister-in-law, Helen, Lady Menteith, who had recently arrived from Scotland. Helen had not invited Adam, and Nanda felt secure in the knowledge that she would be returned home in her brother’s carriage and could then go straight to bed. She would not see Adam at all.

  The earlier part of the evening went according to Nanda’s expectation. At Menteith House she found, beside her brother and sister-in-law, Sir George and Lady Murray, Major and Mrs. Munro, and, to escort her, Sir Alistair Hepburn. They were all old friends, cosmopolitan Scots who still retained their ties to home, and Nanda relaxed and enjoyed herself as she had not done in weeks.

  Kemble was playing at Covent Garden, and the play was excellent. The Menteiths and Sir Alistair saw her home, and the night footman let her into the house at one in the morning. There was no sign of Adam as Nanda went upstairs. Her maid undressed her and she got into bed, relaxed and drowsy. She was just slipping off to sleep when her bedroom door opened.

  She sat up, clutching the sheet, and saw Adam, candle in hand, closing the door behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, anger, surprise and fear sounding in her voice.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Adam’s face was pale but composed as he stood a few steps away from the bed looking down at her. His arms were at his sides, his hands relaxed and open, his whole posture saying she had nothing to fear. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I came for two reasons. The first was to ask you a question.”

  She clutched the sheet to her breasts. “A question? What question is so urgent that you must needs break into my bedroom to ask it?”

  He said, in the same reassuring voice, “If you were sure of getting custody of Ginny and Marc, would you divorce Gacé and marry me?”

  His question was a blade to her heart. Then came anger. How dare he torment her with impossible dreams? She said sharply, “What kind of question is that? Matthieu will never give up the children. Get out of my room, Adam! You should never have come. You don’t belong in here.”

  He didn’t move, just kept looking at her with those grav
e, dark blue eyes. “What if there was a possibility that it might happen?”

  There was no urgency in his voice. He might have been discussing the weather, she thought wildly. But his eyes were holding hers, and the absolute intensity of his gaze shook her. He said again, “If Gacé gave up the children, would you divorce him and marry me?”

  Divorce, as they both knew, was not unheard of in their world, but it was a stigma. A divorced woman would be barred from the highest level of society, the level Nanda now inhabited – indeed, helped to rule. A possibility? she thought. Could such a thing really happen? She drew a deep, uneven breath and said, “Yes. I would divorce him and marry you.”

  At her words, color flushed back into to his stark face. He was in evening dress, but he had removed his coat and neckcloth. The power of his presence was overwhelming, and she clutched the sheet more tightly, as if to shield her wildly beating heart. “Why do you ask me this?” she asked.

  He smiled at her and didn’t answer. She stared at his mouth, then looked away, saying breathlessly, “There is no chance, Adam. You must understand that.”

  “I wouldn’t say there was no chance…” he replied carefully.

  She frowned and began to think. Then, “Is something wrong with Matthieu?” she asked.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s been different lately. He seems worried….”

  “Is that so?” Now he looked pleased.

  A healthy dose of anger made her sit up straighter. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  He took two steps, bringing him closer to the bed. “It will come right, Nanda. You will have to trust me in this, but everything will come right.”

  I have to send him away, she thought. This is dangerous. I have to make him go.

  But what came out of her mouth was: “You said you came for two reasons. What was the other one?”

  He took another step, which brought him right up against the bed. “The second reason? The second reason was to make love to you.”

  Even in the dim light of the single candle, the eyes holding hers were deeply blue. Her throat ached and her heart began to thud. “No,” she said. “No.”

  “You don’t understand, my darling,” he said gently, “you have no choice.” And, turning her face up to him, he bent his head and began to kiss her.

  She went still at his touch, trying to deny the intense response that flooded through her. You have no choice, he had said, but the part of her that could still think knew that, if she resisted, he would let her go. She put a hand up to push him away and felt his lips move from her mouth to the hollow of her throat. He was pressing her backward and, with a long shuddering sigh she allowed him to lay her down, and the hand she had raised to push him away buried itself, caressingly, in his crisp black hair.

  Gacé was a skilled lover, but she had not known love could be like this. His hands and his mouth caressed and wooed her, and she responded with every ounce of her being. She loved him so much. And she could feel his love; it was there in his touch, in his voice. She pushed away all her scruples and surrendered herself to him, and to the intensity that was building in her body. Higher and higher it went, until she felt she could bear it no longer and dug her nails into the strength of his back as the shattering waves of fulfillment broke over her and she cried out.

  Afterward she lay beside him, the hair he had pulled loose spread on the pillow around her. He raised himself on an elbow and watched her, his own face relaxed and youthful, his eyes brilliant under the open black lashes. She raised a hand to touch his cheek. “That wasn’t fair,” she said softly.

  “Why?” His voice sounded very deep.

  “Because I was ready to give you up.”

  He bent his head so that his lips touched the smooth, warm curve of her throat. “And now?” he murmured.

  She smiled. “What do you think?”

  “I think what I have always thought. That there is no escape from this.”

  “No,” she agreed softly. She smoothed a lock of dark hair off his forehead. “I don’t think there is.”

  His mouth curved in a smile so intimate it sent shivers through her. “Adam.” She tried to control the tremble in her voice. “What are we going to do?”

  “I can’t tell you, Nanda, but believe me, everything will be all right. We will be together. Trust me, my love.”

  She searched his face for a clue. He rested his forehead on hers and said, “Don’t you know that I would cut my heart out before I hurt you?”

  She laughed shakily. “I don’t care if you hurt me, as long as you love me.”

  As she spoke his eyes narrowed and he reached out to slide his hand into the shining silk of her hair. “Forever,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  # # #

  Trust me Adam had said, and Nanda made up her mind to do just that. She knew that if ever she gave way to the fears and doubts that lodged deep within her soul, they would extinguish her joy. And she was joyful. It astonished her that she, who had been a slave to conscience all her life, could be so happy in an illicit love affair. There was a singing inside of her that translated into a luminous glow that shone in her eyes and her skin. Whenever she saw Adam, or heard his voice, her heart lurched and she felt dizzy with happiness.

  She wanted to be with him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. Face it, she thought to herself one blustery afternoon, as she sat in the green drawing room, a piece of embroidery held uselessly in her hands. You want him to make love to you again.

  It had been over a week since the night Adam had come to her room, and no other opportunities had come their way. Gacé was home again, which made Berkeley Square much too dangerous for a lovers’ rendezvous. Nanda, to her own horror, found herself trying to think of other places where they might safely meet.

  I never thought I could behave like this, she thought, as she stared distractedly at her neglected embroidery. They had been at the same ball last evening, and she remembered vividly how the sight of him across the room had affected her. He had been talking to Lord Henry Staples and had suddenly thrown back his head, laughter lighting the usual reserved stillness of his face. A rowel of pain had knifed through her, a need so intense it took her breath and tightened her stomach.

  She felt that pain again, sitting alone by the fire, and did not hear the sound of steps in the hall until the door opened and Virginie looked in. “There you are, Mama!” she said, and came in and seated herself next to Nanda on the sofa. “We had such a good time.”

  With an effort Nanda focused her attention on her stepdaughter. Ginny had spent the afternoon with Lady Menteith and her daughter Margaret, who was the same age as Ginny. She listened to the little girl’s excited chatter with half an ear, until Ginny said the words, “dueling exhibition.”

  She frowned. “What was that, darling?”

  “We saw a dueling exhibition. It was great fun, Mama. Meggie and I both decided it would be excessively romantic to have a duel fought over us. Just like Sir Lancelot and the Lady Guinevere.”

  Nanda smiled and nodded and exclaimed, all the while her heart felt frozen with fear. “I hope you remembered to thank Aunt Helen for taking you,” she said when Ginny’s story finally ran down.

  Ginny looked slightly affronted. “Of course I did, Mama.”

  “Good girl,” Nanda said absently. “Run along now. Miss Braxton is waiting for you.”

  After Ginny had left, Nanda sat on for another half an hour until the servants came to light the lamps. The song within her had been silence, effectively extinguished by the idea Ginny’s words had put in her mind. “Everything will be all right,” Stanford had promised.

  “Dear God,” Nanda whispered, her eyes black with fear. “He can’t mean to call Matthieu out?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Adam spent the week following his night with Nanda in preparing his case against her husband. When he had organized his evidence in as c
oldly detached fashion as was possible, he went to see the military secretary, Nanda’s brother, Robert Doune, Lord Menteith.

  They met at Menteith’s town house in Hanover Square, behind the firmly closed door of his lordship’s library. There, amid the background of leather-bound books and big, comfortable armchairs, Adam felt safer opening such an explosive topic than he would have felt at the Horse Guards.

  Menteith sat before the pleasantly crackling fire, opposite Adam. He took in the empty hands and reserved face of young Lord Stanford and said pleasantly, “I apprehend you have news for me, Stanford.”

  Adam looked back, any apprehension he might have been feeling skillfully hidden behind a quiet, relaxed appearance. He liked Menteith. During his months at the Horse Guards he had come to respect his integrity, his patience, and his ability. It was vital that he convince the military secretary of the truth about his brother in law.

  “I have found your traitor,” Adam began.

  “Ah.” Menteith looked apprehensive. It was not going to be a pleasant experience to hear the name of someone he knew. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “I regret to have to tell you this, but it is the Duc de Gacé.”

  “What!” Menteith thrust himself upright, his hands on the arms of his big chair. Angrily he stared at Adam Todd. “You must be mistaken!”

  “Please sit down, my lord,” Adam responded quietly. ‘I’m afraid it is true. I realize you may have cause to doubt my motives about Gacé, but I hope the evidence I am about to present will be convincing.”

  Slowly Menteith sank back into his chair. He chose to ignore, for the moment, the first part of Adam’s speech and replied only to his last statement. “It had better be, Stanford. I’m not inclined to take such an accusation against my brother-in-law lightly.” There was a deep line between Menteith’s brows and a challenge in his brown eyes.

  “I realize that, my lord,” Adam answered. “It is not an accusation I make lightly, I assure you.”

  For a moment Menteith continued to stare at him, then he made a movement with his hand. “All right,” he said tightly, apparently satisfied with what he saw. “Tell me about this evidence.”