“As far as they will know, yes,” Richard replied.
Ève held her hands together, squeezing her fingers to help her hold in her frustration. It was as if she had suddenly disappeared. The two men were speaking directly to each other, yet she had the sensation they were saying far more than the words they actually spoke. Understanding was passing between them which she could not grasp.
Yet somehow, Richard had brought Bertrand around, for Bertrand nodded, his thin cheeks hollowing out even more. “Very well,” he said. “If this ruse is to go ahead, then neither of you should be seen in this station very often. Letters are not secure. These people think nothing of stealing a postman’s bag in order to read the letters in it, if they believe there may be information they need in those letters.
“If Ève is to be my mistress, there is no reason why she could not have a second lover. The gendarme who has escorted her in the past…Jacques?” Richard said.
Ève looked at him, astonished.
Bertrand, though, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. He could visit when you are away. That would work very well. Your address, monsieur? I presume you have another pension?”
“An apartment,” Richard said.
“So?” Bertrand picked up his pen.
Richard gave the address. It was close by the university, among the students and artists and writers, Ève realized. Also, it was on the edges of the areas where the less salubrious people lived—those without regular income, or less than honest income, the disenchanted, the rebels…and anarchists. Anyone unhappy with their lot usually found understanding company in the cafes and salons of the Latin Quarter.
Bertrand got to his feet. So did Richard. Belatedly, Ève rose to hers, while the two men shook hands. Bertrand seemed almost happy.
Ève followed Richard from the room, unhappily aware that a large part of the conversation had been invisible to her.
What had made Bertrand so happy about Richard’s involvement, when he had been against it, to begin?
The wedding was held in a tiny chapel tucked away in a narrow lane off Rue St Jacques. No one knew the church was there except for local people.
Ève traveled to the chapel with her father in one cab, while everyone else piled into Adam’s rebuilt coach. She wore the only white dress she owned, a pretty gown in muslin, with a pink bow at the neck and tiers of cotton lace threaded with more soft pink ribbon.
It was early morning, when few Parisians were abroad.
Her father’s silence did not reassure Ève. She gripped the small posy of white roses in her hands until the stems left ridges in her palm.
“It is perfectly natural to have second thoughts at this time,” Papa said.
Ève jumped. “I’m not entirely sure how I came to be here,” she confessed.
Papa smiled. His smile, as always, held a touch of mischief and amusement. “I considered myself completely unsuited to marriage for years and years. There is something about Richard that, deep inside, you know makes him yours. Even if you are uncertain about what it is, right now, you will learn it, eventually.”
“You are saying I am committing the rest of my life to a man based purely upon my instincts?” She sighed. “That does not reassure me at all.”
“It should,” Papa said. “You have excellent instincts.”
Ève tried to laugh, but could not.
The cab came to a halt. The driver tapped the wall above the door.
Papa opened the door, stepped down and helped her out.
The cab could not reach the chapel itself, for the street was too narrow. The driver had brought the cab to the nearest intersection, upon the broader Rue St Jacques. Adam’s coach was pulled to one side. Everyone else was already here.
Papa offered his elbow. Ève took it, her heart hammering, and they traversed the narrow street and stepped inside the little chapel.
The priest stood at the altar, his surplice crisp and white. Richard stood beside him, watching her step inside.
Ève’s nerves vanished the moment she saw Richard. For a while, she had forgotten they were in this together. They had come to this preposterous moment together, reasoning it out and arriving at a solution which benefited both of them. It was of immense comfort to know Richard was there. She wasn’t going through this alone.
Ève managed a small smile as Papa walked her along the few short rows of pews to the altar, then kissed her cheek and gave her hand to Richard.
Richard’s gaze was steady. His black eyes were warm and depthless and she found her gaze drawing back to them over and over and every time, she saw he was watching her.
Ève did not remember anything of the wedding ceremony itself. She spoke her words without thought, merely echoing whatever the priest told her to say. Later, she would not be able to tell anyone what Richard wore. It seemed that all she could remember was his gaze upon her, which helped her remained steady, yet at the same time made her slightly giddy.
Her mother did not weep, as women were supposed to do, although in the one moment Ève looked away from Richard, she saw her mother’s eyes glittered as she watched the ceremony from the front pews.
Then Richard kissed her, the same gentle touch of his lips as on the previous occasion. They were married. Ève even had a ring on her left hand, a slender gold band which looked quite old.
Still somewhat dazed, she and Richard settled in the same cab to drive back to the house for a wedding brunch. Adam would take everyone else back.
Ève looked down at the simple ring, then up at Richard. He was watching her, as he had been throughout the ceremony.
“It was my mother’s wedding band,” he said. “Vaughn was to have used it, only…”
“And you happen to have it with you?”
“It is all I have of her, now.”
He had carried the ring with him everywhere he went, then. Ève touched the band, deeply moved. He had given it to her.
Ève had absolutely no appetite and barely ate a bite of the rich brunch served. There was even champagne cocktails for everyone, to go with the feast. Ève liked champagne, yet could drink only a little of one glass. Her throat was restricted by an invisible band which grew tighter as time moved on.
Richard, on the other hand, seemed to relax more as the meal progressed. It was not drink which took the tension out of his shoulders. He drank no more than she did. He chatted with her family and even teased Alicia about her constant reading, and how history would not help her catch a husband.
The family toasted them, more than once. As the champagne disappeared, the toasts grew more frequent and the comments grew ribald, making Ève’s cheeks heat and her heart to thrum unsteadily.
Finally, the meal was done. After one last toast, Richard got to his feet and held Ève’s chair, so she could rise, too.
With the entire family standing upon the front steps and squeezed into the doorway to bid them farewell, Richard helped Ève into yet another cab and gave the driver directions. Ève recognized the address. It was the apartment in the Latin Quarter.
For long moments, the only sound was the horse’s hooves.
Because he was sitting beside her, it would be more difficult for Richard to watch her as he had been all morning. Yet when she glanced at him, she saw that his head was turned and that he studied her, anyway.
She jumped a little.
“So. It is done,” he said.
“Yes, it is done.”
“Regrets, Ève?”
“I confess I have had hundreds between that morning on the riverbank and this moment. It all seemed so reasonable and sensible, on the riverbank. Only now, I have a measure of how…”
“How much the decision changes things,” he said softly.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Are you afraid, Ève?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I am not afraid. Well, perhaps a little. Only…” She paused. Perhaps it was not wise to speak of everything in her mind. Yet if she could not speak of what was in her mind to Rich
ard, then why she had she agreed to this mad scheme? “I suppose we married so we could help each other. Therefore, I should tell you that the only thing which has got me through this day is you. Knowing you are there and a part of this, that you are the only one who really knows why I am doing this, well…”
“It helps,” Richard said. His voice was low.
“Yes, it helps. Whenever I become afraid of what we are going into, I remember that you will be there too. That makes it bearable.”
Richard picked up her hand, the one with the wedding band on it. “Almost anything is bearable if you are not alone. Thank you for this, Ève.”
She jumped again, as his lips touched her fingers. “Richard…”
His brow lifted.
“There is something I should tell you, before we arrive. Before we…”
He merely waited for her to finish.
She gathered her courage, and said, “You should know that I am not… That I am…experienced.”
Richard nodded.
“You knew?” She was horrified. Did her experience somehow show on her face? Was it branded somewhere upon her for men to see?
“You are too much a woman of the world to not have had that experience,” Richard said. His tone was even. There was no anger in it.
Nevertheless, she found herself scrambling to explain. “It was just the once. A most painful and humiliating evening which I regret.” She recalled the hesitant fumbling, the less than sensual sounds, his grunts and his disinterest, afterwards.
Richard did not let go of her hand. “He was unkind to you. Now I am your husband, it is my right to be offended and challenge him up on it. Would you like me to do that?”
“God above, no! I would rather forget the man exists. I have done so until now. I thought you should know so you are not surprised. Some men would be offended.”
“Once upon a time, I would have been one of those men. That entitled son of a peer is gone now. Whatever is in your past, it has made you who you are. I would not gainsay that past, not a single moment of it, for it has delivered you into my life. Now, as you said, we are to help each other face the future, no matter what is in it.”
The last of Ève’s tension dropped away. “Oh, Richard. I do think you will be so very good for me.”
He raised a brow. “I believe that is what I am supposed to say about you. You will forgive me if I do not believe you, despite the delightful notion.”
“You should stop doing that,” she said. “You are only pretending to be that terrible man, remember?”
“Ah, yes. You may need to keep reminding me, Ève.”
CHAPTER TEN
The cab stopped upon Rue Thénard. It was shortly after noon. Just around the corner, on Rue des Écoles, the cafés and patisseries and bakeries were busy, as students bought and ate their first meal of the day. The shady streets were filled with pedestrians and it seemed as though everyone knew everyone else, for greetings and smiles of welcome were everywhere.
Ève paused to absorb the busy, friendly atmosphere. Only a dozen blocks away, the atmosphere was colder and far less welcoming.
“This way,” Richard said, offering his elbow.
Ève slipped her hand under his elbow. He led her along the street to a far narrower road which was barely more than an alley. Yet it was a delightful alley. A shallow gutter ran through the center of the cobblestones and stairs with wrought-iron railings ran up to the front doors of the buildings lining the alley. The same wrought-iron railings barred the bottom half of French windows, climbing up four or five stories.
It was early summer and on every step there were pots of flowers and trailing ivy. A cat sunned itself on a top step. Deeper into the valley, a woman wearing a pinafore swept the steps with a straw broom. She called out a greeting to Richard as they passed.
“Good morning to you, too, madame,” Richard said in his heavily accented French. He did not introduce Ève. With a start she remembered that when they were away from her family’s home, and to everyone in the world but her family, she was not married to Richard. She was merely his mistress.
She slid her left hand beneath the fold of her skirt, hiding the ring. When she had a moment, she would remove it and store it somewhere safe. Perhaps she may even pin it inside her dress, so she knew it was safe. She would hate for anything to happen to this ring.
Two doors along, Richard climbed the short flight of stairs up to the door of the house. He opened the door and stood aside for Ève to enter.
The building was old, yet the foyer was tidy and had been swept recently. The tiles on the floor were chipped and cracked, but they were clean.
“The top floor, I’m afraid,” Richard said softly.
“It will do me good to walk up stairs every day.”
It was only five flights. At the top of the stairs was an oddly shaped area made up of five doors, all of them with numbers. Richard moved to the door with the number three and pulled a big iron key out of his jacket. He unlocked the door and pushed it aside. “Welcome to your new home,” he said.
Ève stepped inside, her curiosity rising.
It was a very small apartment, with only one room. Like most buildings in Paris, the apartment had three French windows, the shadow of an iron railing in front of them. The room was not square. It had odd angles and a pitched roof, for it was directly beneath the roof of the building.
There was no kitchen. The stove in the corner of the room had a flat, round plate on the top, where one could boil water or perhaps cook in a small pot.
Most of the room was taken up by a big iron bed, with an old, worn patchwork cover and even more worn cushions sitting against pillows with white covers.
By the windows, and close to the stove simply because the room was not that wide, was a tiny round table with two chairs pulled up to it.
Immediately beside the front door was an oddly angled pocket in the wall, into which someone had built shelves. It was likely this apartment had been used by students for years. The shelves would hold books, although they were empty now.
A wardrobe stood in the last corner and beside it was her trunk, which she had packed yesterday. The floor was worn. A round rug made of rags hid most of it. The rug would be warm underfoot.
The room was shabby. Worn. Yet it was clean and neat, and it had a welcoming air. “It is delightful,” Ève said honestly.
Richard stood by the stove, one hand in a pocket. “It is all I can afford as a wine waiter.” Then he smiled. “It is more than I could afford a month ago, so I am moving up in the world. Give me a year and you may find yourself living in a palace. Who knows?”
“The room feels like a palace to me, right now. It is ours and it is not a room beneath my father’s roof. That makes it luxurious, in my measure.”
Richards amusement faded as he considered her. “What was it you said about being good for each other?” he said softly as he moved toward her.
Ève’s breath caught as he approached her. Yet he merely stood before her and did nothing else.
She looked up at him, suddenly nervous.
Richard bent his head and pressed his lips to her. This time, it was not a simple, innocent kiss, as the last two had been. There was intention behind the kiss. His lips teased hers apart and for a flickering moment, his tongue touched hers.
Then he let her go and straightened.
Her heart beat wildly. Ève touched her lips. “I do believe that is the nicest kiss I have ever had.”
“I agree.” He kissed her again. This time he drew his arm around her and pulled her up against him. The direct contact was a novelty. Just as kissing him was a novelty. He was warm against her, which she liked. Even more, she liked the sense of solidness which he imparted. It seemed as though he was a rock which would withstand anything which dared dash itself upon him.
She realized she had raised her arms and wound them around the back of his neck, only because it helped her stay on her feet. He had pulled her so tightly against him she was rai
sed upon her toes. Her lack of balance did not bother her. Because his arm was around her, she knew she could not fall. He would not let her.
His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth and swept against hers. It was a glorious kiss.
This time, when his lips released her, he did not let go of her. They both breathed heavily as they looked at each other, their mouths only inches apart.
“I do believe I am not the only one with a history of experience in this regard,” Ève said.
Richard shook his head. “Not nearly as much as you might think. Let us say that I am inspired by the subject.”
He kissed her again, to which Ève had no objections. Kissing Richard was a delightful thing. She was happy to stand here and simply kiss him. It was a pleasure all on its own.
For a long time, that was all they did. Richard seemed to be just as happy to kiss her for as long as she let him.
She did not know how much time had passed when Richard let her go, put her carefully back up on her feet, picked up her hand and drew her toward the big bed.
By then, Ève felt no awkwardness or nervousness. She merely wanted more kisses. Only a morning dress with a full bustle and train, boots and a hat with fresh roses in it would soon be ruined if she laid down upon the bed in them.
Ève let go of Richard’s hand. “A moment,” she said softly. She hesitated. “Although, I may need your assistance.” She presented her back to him. “Could you unhook my dress?”
Richard came up behind her and worked at the hooks on her dress. The dress eased open and sagged from her shoulders. She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and stepped out of the dress, then quickly tugged undone the ties on her petticoats and her bustle, so they dropped to the ground around her feet.
She quickly released the corset, too. It gave her the freedom to bend and untie her boots and slip out of them.
Standing in pantalets and a camisole and her white stockings, she reached up and removed her hat, pushed the pin through it and put it aside. Then she let down her hair.
Richard cleared his throat. “You make undressing look like a ballet.”
His Parisian Mistress (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 1) Page 10
