Scars of Betrayal

by Sophia James

  And then one day whilst sitting in a park, wrapped warmly against the capricious springtime winds, a colourful bird had come to sit on the branch of a shrub in front of her and her baby had moved.

  Life returned. Hope blossomed. The want to survive overrode the desire to simply cease to be, and she recovered.

  Rebuttoning her shirt, Cassie looked back at herself in the mirror. No longer as thin. No longer as sad. No longer hobbling into each successive hour with the burden of betrayal heavy on her shoulders. The Daughters of the Poor had given her life a purpose and Jamie had given her body a heart. She could not endure uncertainty again. If she went to Nathaniel’s dinner tomorrow night she would tell him she couldn’t.

  It was that simple.

  Chapter Nine

  Nothing was simple.

  Nathaniel was dressed down tonight, his clothes less formal, the unbuttoned white collar of his shirt bold against the dark of his skin, a loose garment that gave him a sense of danger and familiarity. Cassie knew that it was more than scandalous to come to his house at night and alone, but both want and need had brought her here. Shaking away doubt, she moved inside. She was not about to give in to the narrow confines of Victorian rules, and besides, in the eyes of God they were married.

  ‘I am glad that you came.’

  His house was well appointed, every piece of furniture in sight beautifully wrought. Because she was so nervous she picked up a small bowl on a side stand, admiring the colourful flowers that marched around the rim. It was the one thing that did not look eminently English.

  ‘I remember these designs from the marketplace at Perpignan. I always liked them.’

  His eyes today were the shade of well-worn slate and warmer than usual. She wished he had been plainer, less intimidating and wished, too, that she might have worn some other dress than the one she had on, the starched blue silk too grand and stiff for this occasion.

  ‘I have a fire going in the middle salon and some white wine.’

  Nodding, she followed him. The fire sounded inviting though she was determined to refuse any drink at all. Keep your wits about you, she said to herself, and understand that he will want explanation of what happened in Languedoc.

  The new room was more imposing than the last. A rich floral carpet was laid on the floor, the deep colour in it matching the heavy curtains at the windows. All around every wall mirrors and pictures abounded and, as in his library, there were shelves of books stacked almost to the ceiling. A generous fireplace blazed at one end and it was here that he led her. Two leather seats had been positioned opposite each other, a small table between them with fluted glasses upon it.

  The apprehension of being here was growing by the second. A portrait of a woman in full riding regalia graced the nearest wall, and when he saw her looking he smiled.

  ‘My mother loved horses.’

  ‘She was very beautiful.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The talk then tailed down into silence, a thousand other things to say beneath the polite banter and no way to voice them.

  I love you. I never stopped loving you.

  For one horrible moment Cassie thought she had blurted the words out, bare and naked in their truth, and shock crawled up her spine, caught in the gap of honesty.

  ‘Please, do sit down.’ He waited until she complied before doing so himself, pouring two drinks and placing one before her. ‘How is Miss Milgrew settling in?’

  A different topic completely and one she was pleased to speak of. ‘Sarah has been a godsend and has begun teaching the other girls the fine art of sewing.’

  ‘Is there any sign of the sibling?’

  ‘No. It seems she has quite disappeared. You asked if she sewed for her sister the other night and I thought the question odd. Why was that?’

  ‘The bodies of two young women were pulled from the Thames a month back and no one claimed them. Both were dressed in finely sewn gowns.’

  ‘You think it could be her lost sister, then? I see.’

  ‘Do you, Sandrine? Do you see how searching out the damaged women of London may have more consequences than you can imagine? One day you could end up in the river yourself.’

  ‘I take every precaution...’

  ‘And you think that is enough against an opponent who is bigger and stronger than you.’ He no longer sounded as mellow. In fact, now when she caught his glance she looked away quickly, so much of Nathanael Colbert before her. The soldier. The lover. The man who had watched her betray him, blood running down his chin.

  ‘Where is the Colbert part of your name from?’

  ‘It is a lesser title of mine. The St Auburn earldom contains many and as the heir I have an entitlement to them.’

  ‘A real name? Not made up?’

  ‘Made up like Sandrine Mercier was, you mean?’

  ‘My cousin Celeste often called me Sandrine and Mercier was her surname.’

  ‘I know. I went back and spoke to what was left of the family. An uncle, Gilles Mercier, informed me of the demise of Celeste and her father, though he said nothing of you.’

  ‘Celeste had that knack of making everyone around her look invisible.’

  ‘Or you barely went out?’

  This was running too close to the bone. Depression had kept her in bed for a long time, but she did not wish to recall that.

  Even sitting, the breadth and height of Nathaniel Lindsay was substantial. She remembered how she had loved his largeness after the small men of Languedoc. She remembered his scent, too, an evocative mixture of plain soap and maleness.

  ‘Your sister visited me last week. Did you know that?’

  ‘Maureen came here?’ She could not keep her astonishment at bay.

  ‘She wanted to be assured that I was not threatening you in any way. She stood her ground and cautioned me that she would not tolerate anything that may hurt you. When I told her that I had pretended to bed you in order to help you from being discovered and compromised, she was happy.’

  More unspoken words shimmered in the chasms.

  Were pretence and lies all that once held us together?

  Here it was harder to maintain the falsehood, even with the arguments Cassie could muster for carrying on with such a charade. She felt a choking want in the back of her throat and swallowed it down. The wine helped, a fine dry white that gave her hands something to fidget with and her mind something other than him to dwell upon. But secrets could be as damaging as any wound and her fingers tightened around the crystal glass.

  All of a sudden she wished he might just reach out and take away choice. She wanted the feelings she had discovered in Saint Estelle and in Bagnères-de-Bigorre here in London, in the quiet warmth of his beautiful house, far away from others and from the responsibility of her everyday life.

  Nathaniel made her believe in fantasy. That was it. He had before in southern France and he did again now, the muted sounds of the city far away and the clock showing eight-thirty in the evening. Still early. The blue in her gown shimmered as she shuffled back and sat up farther.

  ‘My sister feels it is her duty to protect all those about her.’

  ‘Then such obligation must run in your family.’

  At that she laughed. ‘Perhaps it does in Maureen, but Papa is too busy with trying to understand the complexities of science and my other sister Anne is too preoccupied with her brood of children.’

  ‘There is also a brother?’

  ‘Rodney. He is the youngest.’

  He had told her once that he was without siblings.

  Alone. The word came with a forcefulness that made her blink. He was still like that; the solitary detachment of one who was careful not to anchor himself to another for fear of being disappointed. Oh, how well she knew that feeling.

&
nbsp; The clock in the corner boomed out a further passage of time, and Nathanael finished his first drink and poured himself another, eyeing hers as he did so.

  ‘You do not like the wine?’ he commented.

  * * *

  She looked nervous and her hand shook as she made herself take a drink. Not just one sip, either, but three. Fortification. He wondered perhaps whether it had been a bad idea to invite her here because the ease that had always existed between them seemed dissipated tonight into a sheer and utter nervousness, her eyes skirting away from his and her body ramrod straight.

  ‘Albi de Clare is of the opinion that you and Maureen are two of the most beautiful women in London.’

  She smiled. ‘Is his eyesight hampered, my lord?’

  ‘Many I have spoken to would agree with him. But they also say you are prickly and distant to any advances that come your way. Most make a point of telling me that you in particular seldom venture out to partake in any of the entertainments that most are fond of.’

  ‘There are other things that I need now more than a man, Lord Lindsay.’

  He reached out and stroked a finger down the soft skin near her wrist, measuring the beat when he had finished. She often wore gloves, the left-hand fingers specially fashioned so as to show no signs of her old injury.

  ‘Indifference requires a less rapid pulse, Sandrine.’

  Cassie did not pull away, but watched his thumb as it moved up her arm and he had the sudden and unexpected thought that she might allow him more.

  ‘I would like to know you again as I did once.’ Firelight was reflected on the smooth skin at her throat and it was now there that his touch lingered.

  ‘No. It cannot be as before.’ She said the words slowly, enunciating each one, and he did not quite understand what she meant.

  ‘Before?’

  ‘Only a kiss. Nothing else.’

  God. His body leapt with her words, shock warming everything. She did not turn away, but met his glance full on, the depths of burning need and pain inside them making his breath catch, for the Sandrine of old was so easily seen.

  New secrets lingered there as well, he was too much of the spy not to recognise that, but they would have to wait. For now he pulled her up towards him as he stood, the length of their bodies touching. He did not wish to frighten her or make her call a halt so he was cautious. It was enough to feel her against him, willingly fitting into the contours of his body and to smell her particular and sweet scent.

  Strands of hair that had loosened from the knot at her nape lay across his arm, bright against the darkness of his clothes.

  Night and day. Lost and found. Lies and truth. All were there as he brought his mouth down across hers, the limit of a kiss shrugged away by the blinding honesty of connection. They were back again in the hot pools of Bagnères-de-Bigorre and in the shadowed room at Saint Estelle, a thousand days of apartness lost into union.

  No careful kiss this, after all, but a full-blooded connection of want. Slanting his lips, he brought her closer, the stark heat of his body tightening with desire. Sensation washed through reserve and instead of the judicious touch he had promised he ravished her mouth with his tongue, trying to make her understand the futility of boundaries and the depth of his need. The savage movement of years of memory and betrayal lingered there, too.

  * * *

  This kiss was different from any they had shared in France, the play of anger on one edge and a trace of hate. Once, as a girl, Cassie might have been frightened by such an emotion, but now she relished it, the woman in her responding to their complex and circuitous layers of history. She wanted to punish him back, too, for not being there when she had Jamie and for the all the loneliness she had felt ever since; for the pain of his birth and the cold hard hours afterwards of isolation and solitude.

  A shared and desolate despondence.

  Her fingers raked across the bare skin on his neck and held him closer, the breath between them hoarse and rasping. Hardly proper. Barely kind. She wished she might tell him everything even as she knew she would reveal nothing.

  But for this moment Nathanael Colbert was hers. She could not think of the earldom or of society or of the duties that would drag Lord Lindsay from her as soon as they broke off their kiss.

  Nothing but now, but, oh, how she yearned for more, his body moving inside her and that particular moment of release when all the world fell away to the beat of pleasure and purpose, the dark, hard power of sex mitigating everything.

  When the kiss was finished, as she knew it must, she laid her head against his chest, feeling his heart pounding in her ear, like the beat of some song that was played too fast for the melody.

  Their lives. Out of tune and spinning into chaos again.

  Jamie.

  She made herself stand alone. For now she needed the time to think. Her smile was false when she finally looked up at him—she knew it was, and yet it was all she had left.

  ‘I do not think this was a good idea.’

  He laughed. ‘Then you have not had many other kisses or you would recognise the magic in it.’

  She was pleased he did not comment on the anger.

  ‘I am older now, Nathaniel, and wiser. What I think I want and what I need are now two different things. I cannot make a mistake again.’

  ‘Come to bed with me, Sandrine. Now.’

  Shocking. Enticing. Impossible.

  ‘And if I did, what then? Can you honestly say that without reservation you have forgiven me for what happened at Perpignan?’

  His smile faded and he remained silent. When he looked away she knew that she had lost him.

  ‘I think I should go.’

  One minute of silence and then two before he simply reached down and rang a small silver bell she had not noticed on a table. Footsteps outside could be heard immediately.

  ‘You rang, sir.’ The servant was all a good butler should be, circumspect and prudent.

  ‘Miss Northrup is just leaving, Haines. Could you find her coat and see her out?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Lord Nathaniel Lindsay did not move as she pushed past him and followed his man from the room.

  * * *

  He punched his hand against the hardness of the wall behind as she left and liked the pain that radiated up his arm.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Why could he not have given her the soft words she was after, the oaths of forgiveness and absolution? Lebansart’s face drifted into his mind and the anonymous visages of two men who had never known what was coming. The last words at Perpignan were there, too, as she had curled her fingers into those of his enemy.

  Sandrine the whore.

  He hated the truth of it, but he could not change. An impossible future moulded from an old and familiar hurt. How long had she stayed with Lebansart? It had been eighteen months later that she had returned to England according to Hawk. That long? A lifetime compared with the paltry weeks that they had been allotted. Lifting his glass, he finished the lot and his body ached with the loss of her.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Lord Lindsay was at the Venus Club the night before last, Cassie, and according to our uncle he was enjoying all that was on offer there.’

  Maureen gave her the information over the breakfast table the week after her meeting with Nathaniel, the anger in her voice lancing the words with repugnance. ‘I would have thought him to have had more taste,’ her sister added as she helped herself to a plate of scrambled eggs from a heated silver dish on the sideboard.

  Cassandra was shocked, the shame that was still substantial from their last meeting now compounded by Lindsay’s obvious lack of regard for women. He had sent a sizeable chit, too, with a servant the day after she had seen him. The bribe for the Daughters of the Poor now felt like a severan
ce token, a way of apologising for a relationship that he did not want and could not pursue.

  Nathaniel Lindsay was a bounder and a cheat; that was what he was, a man who would prey on the hard times of others and yet pretend an interest in her work with the Daughters of the Poor; a man without the courage to chance her offering of more than a kiss. She was suddenly glad that he had dismissed her from his company if this was what he had become, though anger and disappointment made her shake.

  ‘Kenyon said he could not imagine Lindsay in such seedy places when he has all the women of society to choose from, but as Uncle Reg was adamant in his identification, I presume it must be the truth. Stephen Hawkhurst accompanied him by all accounts.’ She stopped then, a worrying look in her eyes. ‘I had hoped you and Lindsay might have been friends. I noticed him watching you closely at the Forsythe ball, and he was certainly helpful there.’

  ‘Perhaps he feels responsible for me somehow. Lords of the peerage have an inflated view of duty towards others in need.’ Cassandra prayed that her sister might take her explanation as an end point to the conversation, but she was disappointed.

  ‘Kenyon thinks he is a good person. He also said that his grandfather is a mean-spirited old miser who needs a hearty talking to.’

  ‘Your husband-to-be has strong opinions, Reena.’

  ‘I know. Isn’t he wonderful?’

  Unexpectedly, Cassandra found herself laughing. Her sister had changed from a woman who often questioned masculine dominance to one who was allowing Kenyon Riley every right of persuasion. It was heartening because Maureen looked so very happy, a smile pinned on her lips almost permanently now and nothing and no one could dull it. Not even their father when he joined them in the breakfast room looking irritated.

  ‘Reginald was here again yesterday and he is becoming more and more of an interfering and bombastic bore. I shall instruct the servants not to let him through to the laboratory again because he cannot help touching the experiments even when I ask him not to. Your mother was always exasperated by him and I can well see why.’