Anne Herries

by Rosalynand the Scoundrel

  ‘I have bought several small tokens for you,’ she told the youth. ‘Just trifles I thought would amuse you. If we return to Paris before we leave France, you must come with us, Jared. I am sure you would enjoy the experience—though I know you love the freedom of the countryside…’

  Rosalyn glanced about her, taking stock of her surroundings.

  It was a large, old house which had obviously been important in its day, but was now fading into genteel decay. She supposed Damian had chosen it for its beautiful grounds, which he had told her led down to a private beach. There was plenty of room here for Jared to roam at will in safety…though there would be less need for security in the future. It was most unlikely that further attempts would be made on his life now that he was no longer his father’s heir.

  Rosalyn wondered how Jared would react to the news that his father had cast him off, and her concern made her redouble her efforts to amuse and please him.

  She began to tell Jared about her plans to breed horses in Andalucia, and his enthusiasm for the project was such that they were on excellent terms as they went into one of the shabby but comfortable salons, where refreshments had been prepared for their coming.

  Their lovemaking that night was perhaps more special, more passionate and deeply felt than it had ever been. Afterwards, Rosalyn lay entwined in her husband’s arms, her face pressed against the moist warmth of his shoulder. He had been all hers while they were making love, but now she sensed a withdrawal in him.

  ‘What is wrong, Damian?’ she whispered. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, my dearest,’ he murmured and kissed her. ‘Everything is perfect. Go to sleep now.’

  Rosalyn said no more. She slept in his arms for a while, but woke when he left the bed. For a moment she lay with her eyes closed, then when she heard the door close softly behind Damian, she’d sat up, waiting for him to return. Something was bothering him, and she needed to know what.

  Could it be that despite his feelings for her, he could not forget Helen? Did the terrible fate of his lost love still haunt him?

  Rosalyn felt the pain twist inside her. Would Helen’s ghost always be between them?

  She waited for Damian to return for a long time, but he did not come and at last she slept. When she woke the next morning it was a new day, and she made up her mind to put the past behind her.

  If Damian had his ghosts, he must be the one to speak of them. All she could do was to show him how much she loved him.

  ‘Oh, you are too good for me!’ Rosalyn laughed as Damian’s ball knocked hers aside. They had been playing croquet on the lawn at the back of the house. Now she threw down her mallet and went to sit in one of the basket chairs overlooking the sea. ‘It is too warm to play any more,’ she said as he came to look at her inquiringly. ‘Is that Jared down there on the shore?’

  Damian looked down at the beach and frowned. ‘Yes, I think so. He went off in a mood after I told him about his father’s decision. As I feared, it upset him a great deal.’

  ‘He isn’t wearing a turban.’ Rosalyn shaded her eyes as she looked up at Damian. ‘Why has he taken it off? I thought it was a part of his religion?’

  ‘Perhaps he has decided to cast off his past life entirely,’ Damian suggested. ‘We must leave him to find his own way, Rosalyn. He is torn between two worlds—and perhaps it will be easier for him if he makes a new world for himself. Indeed, he must, for he can never return to the old one. He would not be welcomed and his life might be in danger from those who feared his influence.’

  ‘I think I shall go down to him,’ Rosalyn said. ‘This has been very hard for him, Damian. He needs to know that we care if he is to make this transition. Do not be concerned, I shall not try to persuade him either way, now or in the future.’

  ‘I believe he has begun to see you as a stand-in for Anna,’ Damian replied. ‘He is beginning to love you, Rosalyn.’

  ‘I want only that he should be happy,’ she said, and reached up to kiss Damian’s cheek. ‘As happy as we are.’

  ‘You are happy?’

  ‘Of course. Why should I not be?’

  ‘No reason.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Do you want to go to this party tonight? These people are friends of Charlotte’s. We met Devere’s younger brother and his wife in Paris, if you recall?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I liked them,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘I remember Monsieur Devere speaking of the comte once or twice. It was courteous of him to invite us to his house when he discovered we were living near by. I think we should go, Damian—unless you do not wish to?’

  ‘It does not matter to me one way or the other,’ he said, reaching out to tuck a wisp of wayward hair behind her ear. ‘I care only for your happiness. Go down to Jared, my love. I have some letters of business to write.’

  She smiled and nodded. As he went into the house, she began to make her way leisurely down the gentle wooded slope to the beach below. Jared had been throwing sticks into the sea, but, hearing her voice calling to him, turned to greet her. She saw that his hair had been cut quite short, changing the appearance of his features so that he looked even more European than before.

  ‘I have cut my hair,’ he said, a defensive look in his eyes as she came up to him. ‘Nessa was angry with me—and Rajib said nothing. He is angry, because he thinks I have betrayed him and all that he believes in, but I do not care. I have told them that they should return to India. I am no longer a child. I do not need a nurse.’

  ‘Your hair suits you like that,’ Rosalyn said truthfully. ‘But you must not turn against those who love you, Jared. Especially your father. He did not want to disinherit you, he had no choice—what he did was for your own sake.’

  ‘He put me aside to favour the son of his new wife,’ Jared said bitterly. ‘He has betrayed both me and the memory of my mother.’

  ‘Yet you must try to forgive him if you can, dearest.’ Rosalyn saw the tears glistening in his eyes. Despite his grown-up ways, he was still a child and he had been hurt. She understood how it felt to be cast off by the family one had loved and opened her arms to him invitingly. ‘You are not alone—we love you. Damian and I think of you as our own,’ she said. ‘I know what has happened hurts but—’

  She got no further. Jared rushed into her arms, sobbing out the grief he had held inside him for so long. Rosalyn’s arms closed about him, holding him, rocking him as he sobbed. She kissed the top of his head, and stroked the rather roughly shorn hair, comforting him until he was still, his grief spent.

  ‘It will get easier,’ she promised him. ‘In time you will come to understand that your father did what he thought was best for you. Try not to become bitter, my dear. Nothing will be gained by hating your father.’

  Jared drew back from her as the storm of grief subsided. His head lifted and there was pride in his face. ‘You are very wise,’ he said. ‘I shall try to do as you say—but it is very hard.’

  ‘Let us go back and have our tea,’ she said, giving him her hand as they began the climb up to the house. ‘Damian and I have been invited to a grand party this evening by the Comte Christophe Devere—tell me, should I wear my green gown or the crimson?’

  ‘You always look beautiful,’ Jared told her as she put an affectionate arm about his waist. ‘But I think the crimson gown is very elegant. If there are to be important guests, you should wear that—with the diamonds Damian gave you yesterday.’

  ‘I shall look very grand, shan’t I?’ Rosalyn was laughing as she entered the house, her arm still loosely about him. ‘Yes, I think you are right, Jared. I shall wear the crimson gown…’

  Damian came into the bedroom as Rosalyn was changing for the evening. She smiled at him, turning her back so that he could fasten the hooks at the neck of her gown.

  ‘Jared thought I should wear this tonight,’ she said. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘You are always lovely, whatever you wear. Surely you know that?’

  There was an odd note in his voice which made her look a
t him more intently. She remembered the night he had left her bed and not returned.

  ‘Is something wrong, Damian?’

  ‘Why should anything be wrong?’ He took the diamond necklace she was trying to fasten and slipped the catch into place, then kissed the top of her shoulder. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Rosalyn turned to face him. There was something wrong, but he obviously did not want to talk about it. Perhaps it would be better to leave well alone for the moment? If he was still in this same mood when they came home from the party, she would ask him again then. She felt that he was shutting her out and it hurt, but she was determined not to let him see it.

  ‘No reason, it does not matter. Are you ready to leave?’ she asked. Her manner, though she did not know it, was a little reserved. Damian noticed it at once, but made no comment. He nodded, holding her velvet wrap to place it around her shoulders. ‘I wonder what the comte will be like. Have you ever met him, Damian?’

  ‘No.’ He frowned, thinking how magnificent she looked in the crimson gown. She had always been beautiful, but of late there had been a new glow about her. She would draw all eyes—just as she had at the ball in London, when he had felt so jealous. ‘No, I have not met the Comte Devere, but I have heard of him.’

  ‘Oh…?’

  She moved towards him, her perfume so intoxicating that he felt an urgent need to make love to her. He wished they need not go to this dinner party, yet perversely was pleased that they had been invited for her sake. She had every right to shine in society, and he was proud of his wife.

  ‘He is as yet unmarried,’ Damian answered her question with a wry twist of his lips. ‘Rich, handsome and charming, so they say—but determined to remain single despite the best efforts of a legion of young ladies.’

  ‘Ah…’ Rosalyn laughed. ‘I see. It will be interesting to meet this paragon, do you not think so, my love?’

  ‘We shall see…’ Damian smiled. ‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

  Rosalyn was surprised by the richness of the comte’s château, which was filled with treasures of every kind. Paintings by the old masters adorned the walls, and the furniture was as fine as that she had seen at Versailles and the Louvre in Paris, both of which she had visited with Damian. The comte was obviously very wealthy, and a connoisseur of beautiful things.

  Rosalyn and Damian walked up the grand staircase to be greeted by their host in an even larger and more lavishly decorated salon than the one downstairs. Her first sight of Christophe Devere told Rosalyn that Damian had not exaggerated when telling her the stories about this man. He had raven black hair and eyes so blue they rivalled the Mediterranean on a summer’s day. He was dressed with exquisite care, his cravat falling in folds of the finest lace and pinned with a diamond so large that it dazzled the eyes when caught by the light of the crystal chandeliers. However, it was his only extravagance and the elegance of his attire came from its simplicity.

  His manners were perfect. He bowed over Rosalyn’s hand, kissing it briefly but holding it a fraction of a second longer than necessary. His look told her that both she and her gown, which was cut quite daringly low over her breasts, had found favour in his eyes.

  ‘Enchanting, madame,’ he murmured huskily. ‘Seldom have I seen such perfection…such poise.’ His eyes mocked her slightly. ‘They told me you were English—but surely not?’

  ‘I am indeed English,’ Rosalyn replied, amused despite feeling wary of this charming predator. She had met his kind before, and was well aware of the danger they posed for women foolish enough to be taken in. ‘But I believe I do not have the English rose style.’

  ‘A far more exotic bloom,’ the comte replied. ‘My lord, you are to be congratulated in your choice of a wife. She is exquisite.’

  ‘Yes, so I have always thought,’ Damian replied drily. ‘I count myself very fortunate that she chose to marry me instead of one of several devoted admirers.’

  His tone made Rosalyn glance at him in surprise. He sounded as though he were warning the other man off. Surely he could not be jealous? He could not imagine that she would be in the least interested in any other man? He must know she loved him, and only him! Yet there was a dangerous glitter in Damian’s eyes, which disturbed her. She gave him a little warning frown, but he had turned away.

  The comte bowed but made no further comment. They passed on, mingling with the other guests milling around the huge reception chamber until dinner was announced. The long dining table was a work of art, set with fabulous silver-gilt epergnes and dishes, delicate glasses with fine air twist stems, and an array of flower displays which perfumed the air.

  Rosalyn discovered that she had been placed at her host’s right hand; Damian was much further down the table on the same side, which made it difficult to look at each other. She saw that there was an attractive lady on each side of him, and hoped that would be enough to make him content with the arrangement. She herself was very conscious of her attentive host, who made it the business of the evening to attend to her every need, pressing her to try each new delicacy offered.

  ‘Tell me, Lady Marlowe,’ the comte said, leaning close to whisper in her ear after they had been at table for some twenty or thirty minutes. ‘Is your husband always so possessive of you? Not that one can blame him. Such a treasure must always be closely guarded.’

  Rosalyn felt that he was mocking Damian and frowned reprovingly. ‘My husband does not think of me in those terms,’ she said. ‘We are happily married, sir.’

  ‘Then he is even more to be envied,’ the comte replied, a hint of laughter in his mesmerising eyes. ‘Wedded bliss is even rarer than the treasures I pay a fortune to acquire for my collection. May one inquire how long you have been married, madame?’

  ‘A few weeks.’

  ‘Ah…then the novelty has not yet worn off,’ he murmured. ‘It is a pity we should have met at this time. A beauty such as yours should not be wasted on one man…unless that man has the eye to appreciate it, which I take leave to doubt.’

  The look in his eyes left her in no doubt of his meaning.

  ‘No more of this, I beg you,’ Rosalyn said, beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. She glanced at Damian, but he seemed engrossed in his conversation with the lady sitting beside him. ‘I do not care for foolish compliments.’

  ‘No? An unusual woman indeed.’ A wolfish smile played over the comte’s mouth. He gave her a speculative look. ‘What would appeal to you, madame? I wonder.’

  Rosalyn shook her head but did not answer. It was clear the comte had decided to hunt her, probably because she had shown reluctance to be flattered. It was no doubt a game with him, a game he played to alleviate the tediousness of a life which contained no real purpose. Although he could be charming, she considered him a rather vain and foolish man, and wished he would not be so intense towards her.

  Her wish was not to be granted. The comte continued to give her his undivided attention throughout the meal, as course after course of delicious food was brought to table.

  At the end of the long meal, a huge sugar confection was carried in, accompanied by cries of delight and polite clapping. It depicted a scene from a Greek legend and included nymphs, satyrs and men fighting mythical beasts—a triumph of the chef’s art that even Monsieur Maurice would have found difficult to surpass.

  After this, the ladies were led to a separate salon by the comte’s sister, Madame Moreau, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy or port. Rosalyn found herself singled out for attention over the teacups by the comte’s sister, who seemed to imagine her a favourite of her brother.

  ‘Christophe has never married,’ she told Rosalyn. ‘I fear he is spoiled, madame. He loves beautiful things but he has never found a woman to grace his home. I tell him he is too particular. It is time he married and provided an heir for the family.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I suppose you must wish for your brother to be happily settled,’ Rosalyn replied dutifully. She did not particularly care for the comte or his sister—
neither of whom were as pleasant as their brother, whom she had met at Charlotte’s house in Paris. She was beginning to find the evening tiring and wished the gentlemen would join them so that she could ask Damian to take her home. ‘With such a treasure house as this, your brother must wish for an heir to follow him, I think. There are so many beautiful and rare things here, are there not?’

  ‘What do you particularly admire, Lady Marlowe?’

  ‘Oh, there is far too much to pick out any one thing,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘But I suppose the cabinet with the collection of gold and enamel curios is very interesting.’

  ‘You have a good eye,’ the older woman replied with a satisfied smile. ‘My brother has collected pieces from Italy, Russia and the Orient. Yes, there are some very valuable things in that particular cabinet.’

  Rosalyn smiled but made no further comment. She was uninterested in the value of the comte’s collection, and she had just seen Damian enter the drawing room. She sent him a look of appeal, which brought him immediately to her side.

  ‘Can we go home?’ she asked in a whisper. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘They are about to set up the card tables,’ he said. ‘Do you wish to leave so early?’

  She did wish it but could see he was not ready to leave. He was obviously in the mood to gamble, and as the card tables were being set up, she was herself obliged to join the comte’s sister in a four at whist.

  Rosalyn played with mixed success, something that annoyed her partner, and for which she was quick to apologise.

  ‘I fear I have never excelled at cards,’ she explained. ‘My father and I were more inclined to play at chess in the evenings.’