Royal 02 - Royal Passion

by Jennifer Blake

  What did her father think of what she had done? Did he feel differently toward her? It did not seem so. The way it looked, he had instead transferred the entire blame to Roderic. She could not allow that. She must make certain as soon as possible that he understood her own part.

  It was, perhaps, a good thing that de Landes was dead. In his present humor, André might well have decided to horsewhip him, or to call the man out also. The duello was banned in Paris, as in most of the world, but gentlemen incensed because of slights to their names or their persons could circumvent the regulations easily enough. In New Orleans it was not at all uncommon for men to be killed on what they were pleased to call the field of honor.

  Pray God that Roderic did not quarrel with her father. With pistol or sword, it was impossible that he should be bested by the older man. Unless, of course, Roderic permitted it out of misguided conscientiousness.

  It was not his fault. The blame was hers entirely. He might claim otherwise, might suggest that he had planned her seduction in order to relieve her of the guilt, but she knew better. Just as she knew that the blood of Nicholas de Landes was on her hands. She had killed a man, and nothing that Roderic could say would alter that fact. It was something she was going to have to live with for the rest of her life.

  The door swung open and Juliana swept into the room. “Are you asleep? I thought not. Maman said I must let you rest, but I suspected you were in here alone fretting yourself to tatters. You must not, you know."

  "Mustn't I?” Mara asked with a wry smile, though she was willing enough to be beguiled.

  "What's done is done; nothing can change it. You must turn your thoughts toward tomorrow, and the day after. Life is life, and you must live it."

  The gypsy influence. Mara wondered if Juliana realized it. “That's easy to say."

  "But difficult to do? You begin by forgetting. And then you interest yourself in something else. My problems, for instance. Did you think you were the only one who had any?"

  "What I think is that you are a great deal like your brother."

  "You've only just noticed? But I was telling you about Luca."

  "Were you?"

  "Pay attention, Mara. Do you know what that earringed scoundrel has had the impudence to do? He has had himself appointed as my official bodyguard. As if I needed one!"

  "By Roderic?"

  "Who else? And the king will not rescind it.” Juliana took a turn about the room that sent her skirts flying in a wide sweep.

  Watching her, Mara said, “I can see why Luca did it; he is obviously besotted with you."

  "Oh, yes, to the point that he publicly repudiated all claim to my hand!"

  "He was forced to it."

  Juliana's face took on a look of scorn. “He could have defied the cadre and my brother, as well as my father."

  "Could he and retain his principles, his worth as a man?"

  "He didn't have to come crawling back."

  "He came to bring information Roderic needed and his help. What I don't understand is why he was sent away in the first place, why your father insulted him so. It doesn't seem like King Rolfe to harbor such prejudice. Could it be that it was a trial by fire?"

  "Naturally, and he passed it to my father's satisfaction, but what of mine?"

  Troubled, Mara was silent until the other girl stopped striding about and turned to look at her inquiringly. Then she said, “What of Luca? To appoint him your bodyguard is to encourage him, or so it seems to me, though it may be the same as with Crown Prince Arvin, a means of throwing you together so that you conceive a disgust for one another. Still, if it has the opposite effect, what will be the outcome? You are a princess, he is a gypsy."

  "There is nothing in the laws of Ruthenia that forbids marriage between royalty and a commoner. It has happened before."

  "Perhaps, but the need for alliances, for protective agreements between countries, usually means a marriage of state to cement them."

  "Such alliances mean nothing; they are as easily broken as any other. The world is changing. That sort of diplomacy is hopelessly outdated."

  "Would you become a gypsy woman, then, and roam Europe in a caravan?"

  "I might, but Luca, if he wished, could make a place for himself with my brother, become someone of importance in the government of my country."

  "It seems he wishes to do so. And now what of you? What do you want?"

  Juliana gave a toss of her head, then the irritation left her face to be replaced by a somber shadow. She made a helpless gesture with one hand. “If I knew, I would attempt to get it. But I don't."

  Juliana succeeded in her aim, which had been distraction. When she had gone, Mara lay staring at the fire across the room, thinking. The world might be changing. Alliances between royal houses might be a thing of the past. One thing remained the same, however. Princes did not wed their mistresses or the women who tricked their way into the royal bed. Pride must refuse that choice, even if common sense did not. But if, because of a vow given in a moment of self-blame, Roderic should seek to wed her, she trusted she would have the strength to refuse.

  20

  "I would like to go home as soon as possible."

  Mara had meant the words to be a firm statement of fact. Instead they had a tight, defensive sound.

  "Why, chére?"

  André, sitting in an armchair before the fire in her bedchamber, looked up from his newssheet to peer over his spectacles at her where she sat in a chair across from him. It seemed everyone spent half their time reading the columns of print these days, trying to discover what was happening with the new republic and its leaders.

  "It isn't a sudden decision. I wanted to go before, weeks ago."

  "But I've been here such a short time—what is it, eight, nine days?—not nearly enough time to reacquaint myself with the city. The theaters are opening, the opera houses, the restaurants. It's been twenty years since I sampled these pleasures in Paris itself, and I look forward to them."

  Her father, after that first explosive quarrel, had come to terms with Roderic. They seemed to understand each other on some entirely masculine level. Within a day or two André had become accustomed to the peculiar household and had fitted himself into it with remarkable ease, exchanging tales with the cadre and joining them on some of their visits to the upper rooms of the restaurants, making himself agreeable to the guests who had begun to come and go again. With Angeline he was part gallant and part childhood friend. They often sat reminiscing, and sometimes he served as her escort about the city. Rolfe accepted his presence with equanimity, without effusiveness, but also without a trace of jealousy.

  Mara forced a smile. “It's springtime in Louisiana, my favorite season. The fruit trees will be blooming, and the honeysuckle and rambling roses. The clover will be high. It will be planting time, and you know you don't want to miss that."

  "My overseer is a good man. I gave him his instructions before I left as I had no idea how long I would be gone. In any case, I'm not sure you are fit yet for the return journey."

  "I will be before long, perhaps another week."

  He put down his newssheet and took off his spectacles, folding them and attaching them to the watch chain that looped across his waistcoat. “Mara, ma chére, are you certain you know your own mind? I thought—that is, I had assumed you and Roderic—"

  "No."

  "What do you mean, no?"

  "The prince has not asked me to marry him, and, in any case, I don't wish it."

  "You don't wish it.” He stared at her, a frown gathering between his brows before he repeated, “You don't wish it. You didn't want to marry Dennis Mulholland when he had compromised you in the summerhouse. Now Roderic has done much more, but you don't care to be wed to him either. What, may I ask, will it take to please you in a husband?"

  "I don't know, Papa,” she said, leaning her head back on the chair cushions, closing her eyes. “I only know I have no need of a man who will marry me out of a feeling of obligation." />
  "Such scruples do you credit, but are they wise?"

  "That doesn't matter."

  "It matters to me. I'm your father, and it's my duty to see that you don't ruin your life over this unfortunate affair."

  She turned her head to look at him. “You forced me to become engaged to one man out of that fear. I will not allow you to do the same thing again. Please don't interfere, Papa. Just take me home soon."

  Long seconds ticked past before he spoke, and even then he avoided her gaze. “You are more like your mother than I supposed. I married her because—who can say precisely why? I was lonely. She was beautiful and as different as possible from Angeline, and most of all she loved me. She discovered soon enough that my affection was not deep. She knew that I would never dishonor our wedding vows, that as my wife she would always grace my table and share my bed, and that we would be comfortable together. It wasn't enough. I suppose it isn't enough for you either. When you are strong again, in a week or two, I will make the arrangements for our departure."

  "Thank you, Papa.” The victory had been easier than she had expected. She should have been glad. Instead, she felt numb, and in her eyes was gray bleakness.

  Her father's well-meaning interference was not all she had to face. The cadre, for no reason that she could see, began to treat her as though it were an accepted fact that she would be with them always. They solicited her opinions on a thousand things and listened as if the answers had the weight of authority behind them. She could see no reason for it, unless it was Roderic's constant presence at her side, his air of possession. It made her uncomfortable, yet at the same time it gave her such a warm feeling of belonging that she was reluctant to discourage it. It would end soon enough.

  She had progressed from sitting up in a chair in her room to taking her meals with the others and joining them in the salon. She put aside her dressing gown for ordinary clothing. She had thought she would have to leave off her corset, but discovered that the whalebone-stiffened garment, so long as it was not too tight, supported her mending ribs. The knowledge gave her hope that she would be able to leave sooner than she had expected.

  In Louisiana it would be spring, but in Paris winter lingered. Despite the welling of the buds on the trees and bright displays of primroses on windowsills, the days continued gray, often with chill, drizzling rain. It was on such a day that Trude approached Mara in the salon.

  Mara had been trying to embroider. She lay on a settee under one of the tall windows opening onto the entrance court, trying to find light to see the faint pattern she was following. As the other woman drew up a chair, she tucked her needle into the stretched linen in her hoop and thankfully flung it aside.

  "There is something I have wanted to say to you,” Trude said, her face solemn.

  "This sounds serious, indeed,” Mara teased her. “What is it?"

  "Once I thought—I thought I loved Roderic. I know now it was only because he is my prince, my leader, and a handsome man."

  The humor died from Mara's eyes. “And now?"

  "Now I know something more is needed. I will honor him, I will follow him, perhaps I will love him a little. No more."

  "It ... will be his loss.” Mara could think of nothing else to say to such a simple declaration.

  "I think not. I love you also. I will be content."

  "Trude, you must not think—"

  "I don't think, I know. You have his love. I want to tell you that you take nothing from me. I also have my love."

  Diverted, Mara asked, “Estes?"

  A faint blush stained the amazon's cheeks. “The count. He is droll, is he not? He makes me laugh. I like that. And he has knowledge of women. That I also like."

  Mara tried to picture the Italian and the tall, blond woman in a moment of passion, and failed. Perhaps Trude had not meant that Estes was experienced with women, but that he understood their needs. She would never know, and it was not important that she should. She reached out to press the other woman's hand. “I wish you joy."

  Trude smiled, returning the clasp. “And you."

  A few days later, Angeline arranged for a musicale soirée. The music would be provided by a trio of gypsies, great musicians all. Much of the music of Europe, Mara had been informed, had been taken from the ancient melodies and rhythms of the Tziganes, and many of the greatest violinists had gypsy blood in their veins. It was to be a rare treat.

  Many of the people she had met in Paris were on hand: Aurore Dudevant, known as George Sand; the Dumas, rather and son; Honoré de Balzac; Victor and Adele Hugo. Conspicuously absent were Lamartine and the other deputies; they were much too busy for frivolous entertainments.

  The music was superb, the sounds brought forth from the common stringed instruments were exciting in their complexity, yet achingly pure and sweet, like a pain in the heart. The hardened experts that were gathered applauded with tears in their eyes and shouted for encore after encore.

  The conversation afterward was witty and sharp-edged. A great deal of it centered, not unnaturally, on politics. There was already a feeling of disenchantment, or so it seemed to Mara, with the new régime. The compromises necessary to govern a diverse people and the lack of firm proposals to deal with the worsening economical situation were viewed with disdain by the literary elite. The ideals of reform appeared to be lost. The only surprise in that, according to Roderic, was why the French, usually such realists, were so surprised.

  Mara wore a gown of pale yellow satin for the soirée. She was feeling much better, and had even persuaded Lila to draw her corset strings a bit tighter for the occasion. Still, even when the music ended she kept to the settee where she was ensconced. Michael brought her refreshments and, deputized by Roderic, who was performing his social duties, stayed to keep her company. He was relieved a short time later by the twins. When they deserted her to chase after an actress from the Comédie Française, they were replaced by Luca.

  The gypsy talked easily enough of the music they had heard and of great composers who had been influenced by his people, but his mood was morose. He seldom took his gaze from Juliana as she moved about the room. The princess never looked in his direction. That very omission seemed suggestive to Mara, but the man standing behind her was not encouraged by it.

  There was a long period of quiet while Luca watched Juliana flirting with extreme vivacity with a French nobleman. His hand gripped the carved rosewood back of the settee until the knuckles were white. He said a soft word in the calo of the gypsies that sounded far from complimentary.

  "What does she want of me, the Princess Juliana? I have given her my love, my heart, all that I am. I have suffered insult to gain her father's favor. I have left the tents of my people for her. What more can I do?"

  Mara, watching the willful set of Juliana's head on her shoulders, said on impulse, “You have given so much, perhaps too much. What have you asked of her?"

  "Only her love."

  "But don't you want to know her, to discover what she thinks and dreams, what makes her laugh and cry, what strengths she has to complement yours?"

  "More than the world, but how can I learn these things if she will not let me near her?"

  It was, indeed, a problem. Finally, Mara asked, “What would you do if she were a gypsy woman and treated you this way?"

  He smiled so that his teeth flashed white in his face."That would be easy."

  "Well, then? She is a princess, but also a woman."

  He looked skeptical, then, as he continued to watch Juliana with the lights of the chandeliers gleaming on her white shoulders and in the gold of her hair, his gaze became thoughtful. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. And if she still despises me, it can be no worse."

  That might be so, and again it might not. In some trepidation, Mara asked, “Luca, what are you going to do?"

  He did not answer."Ah, Mara, what would we do without you? You must hurry and be well so that you and Roderic may be wrist-joined as man and wife."

  He left her then, m
oving with the smoothness of the excellent muscle control of a man who has danced as well as fought for most of his life. He bowed before Juliana, speaking to her. Juliana said something sharp, turning away. Luca caught her arm so that she was pulled off balance, stumbling against him. In an instant, he bent and swung her into his arms, striding with her toward the door that led into an antechamber not far away. After the first moment of stunned incredulity, Juliana struggled, pushing against his chest, but she did not scream or call out for help. So quietly and quickly was it done that only a few people turned to stare.

  Mara had swung her feet from the settee to rise, to go after them, when Roderic stepped in front of her. He put a hand on her shoulder, detaining her. “What, may one ask, did you say to Luca to turn him into a brigand carrying off the spoils?"

  She looked up at him with a worried frown. “I only recommended that he treat Juliana as he would a woman of his own people. I had no idea that was what he would do."

  "So simple,” he murmured. “Why didn't I think of it?"

  "Aren't you going to stop him?"

  "I don't expect he will go far; Juliana will see to that."

  "But what if he harms her?"

  He shook his head. “He is still her bodyguard, not an assignment he takes lightly. Luca is the one in danger, or so I would have said until a few minutes ago."

  What Luca had said to her still rang in her ears. She took a deep breath. “Then if you have a few moments, could I speak to you?"

  "Darling Mara, you have been speaking to me."

  The facetious answer was, she saw, a barrier designed to give him time to assess her request. “I mean, seriously."

  He searched her face, the smile dying out of his eyes. Inclining his head, he said, “As you wish."

  He helped her to her feet and gave her his arm for support as he led her from the room and along the main gallery to his own apartment. A fire burned in the private salon, and he put her in a chair in front of it. He offered her wine and she refused. He moved to stand in front of the fireplace with his back to the glow until he saw the way she was forced to look up at him. He stepped then to the companion chair to her own, dropping into it, relaxing with his elbow propped on the arm. His face pensive, he waited without the least sign of impatience for her to begin.