with
the most beautiful girl in the room.’
‘You know I
didn’t mean that. And why invent that ridiculous name?’
‘Saint-Pierre
or Jack Daw? They are both names by which I am known.’
‘Why do you
need more than one? Have you something to hide?’
He smiled. ‘Do
we not all have something to hide? Have you no secrets?’
‘No.’
‘Liar!’ he
whispered. ‘You have told no one of our meetings; is that not a secret?’
‘How do you
know I haven’t?’ She was acutely aware of the staid matrons and chaperons
sitting on the sidelines watching them with more than passing interest.
‘You would be
surprised what I know, mam’selle .’
‘What do you
know?’ She should not have asked; it would only encourage him and he frightened
her a little. Or was it herself she was afraid of? Was she afraid of her own
emotions, afraid of where they might lead her?
‘I know you are
beautiful, that you have eyes like a summer sky, a clear, honest blue, that
your lips are irresistibly inviting and just now. . .’
‘Mr
Saint-Pierre, I beg you, no!’
‘No, I won’t do
it, not in front of all these people.’
‘I am relieved
to hear it.’ Her voice was cool, but there was such a fire raging inside her
that she thought everyone must be able to see it.
‘No, you are
too delightfully good to be the subject of gossip, too. . .’ He stopped
speaking suddenly, then went on softly, ‘I should not have asked you to dance.’
‘Why not? Do I
dance so badly?’
‘You waltz like
an angel, on wings, nothing so ordinary as feet,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of
what others might think.’
‘Pooh to that,’
she said, making him laugh. ‘We are masked and there is more than one
highwayman.’
‘Indeed, yes,
the Honourable Mark is similarly dressed. Could we be mistaken, do you
suppose?’
‘You are very
alike, it is almost uncanny. One would almost think you were related, though
his eyes are grey and yours are brown, and I do believe you are slightly
taller. Your voice is very different, though, and as for your behaviour...’ She
laughed suddenly. ‘He would never behave so disgracefully towards a lady.’
‘Disgracefully?
You mean because I stole a kiss?’
‘And your
familiar manner.’ Why was it so difficult to be serious when she was talking to
him? ‘But you have still not said why you are here in London; the last time I
saw you, you said you were in Beckford looking for a past. Did you find it?’
‘Partly.’
‘Tell me about
it.’
‘There are more
important things to talk about. Are you going to marry Mark Danbury?’
‘Mark?’ She was
shocked into stumbling. He caught her in his arms and whirled her round so that
her feet hardly touched the floor. Breathlessly she said, ‘Such a thing never
entered my head and I am sure it has not occurred to him.’
‘Forgive me if
I disagree. He has the look of a man determined to keep you to himself, and if
marriage is not on his mind he is a greater rogue than I took him for...’
‘Rogue? How can
you say such a thing? Mark is a very kind man; he has been good to me ever
since...’
‘Kind? No more
than that?’ Why had he insisted on Beth Markham introducing him? Why had he
come to the ball in the first place? Was it so that he could observe Lord
Danbury and Mark at close quarters? Would it help him to make up his mind what
to do? Or was it because of the girl he was dancing with? Oh, why did she have
to be a Danbury? He was in danger of being diverted from his purpose. His
annoyance was directed at himself, for his weakness, not her, who could know
nothing of what he had been through. He found himself wanting to tell her, to
try to explain, but then he pulled himself together; she was simply a girl who
had fallen into his arms, nothing more, and it was unfair to involve her. But
she was involved, and if she was going to marry Mark Danbury she had a right to
know the truth.
‘I must see you
alone,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘I have
the most beautiful girl in the room.’
‘You know I
didn’t mean that. And why invent that ridiculous name?’
‘Saint-Pierre
or Jack Daw? They are both names by which I am known.’
‘Why do you
need more than one? Have you something to hide?’
He smiled. ‘Do
we not all have something to hide? Have you no secrets?’
‘No.’
‘Liar!’ he
whispered. ‘You have told no one of our meetings; is that not a secret?’
‘How do you
know I haven’t?’ She was acutely aware of the staid matrons and chaperons
sitting on the sidelines watching them with more than passing interest.
‘You would be
surprised what I know, mam’selle .’
‘What do you
know?’ She should not have asked; it would only encourage him and he frightened
her a little. Or was it herself she was afraid of? Was she afraid of her own
emotions, afraid of where they might lead her?
‘I know you are
beautiful, that you have eyes like a summer sky, a clear, honest blue, that
your lips are irresistibly inviting and just now. . .’
‘Mr
Saint-Pierre, I beg you, no!’
‘No, I won’t do
it, not in front of all these people.’
‘I am relieved
to hear it.’ Her voice was cool, but there was such a fire raging inside her
that she thought everyone must be able to see it.
‘No, you are
too delightfully good to be the subject of gossip, too. . .’ He stopped
speaking suddenly, then went on softly, ‘I should not have asked you to dance.’
‘Why not? Do I
dance so badly?’
‘You waltz like
an angel, on wings, nothing so ordinary as feet,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of
what others might think.’
‘Pooh to that,’
she said, making him laugh. ‘We are masked and there is more than one
highwayman.’
‘Indeed, yes,
the Honourable Mark is similarly dressed. Could we be mistaken, do you
suppose?’
‘You are very
alike, it is almost uncanny. One would almost think you were related, though
his eyes are grey and yours are brown, and I do believe you are slightly
taller. Your voice is very different, though, and as for your behaviour...’ She
laughed suddenly. ‘He would never behave so disgracefully towards a lady.’
‘Disgracefully?
You mean because I stole a kiss?’
‘And your
familiar manner.’ Why was it so difficult to be serious when she was talking to
him? ‘But you have still not said why you are here in London; the last time I
saw you, you said you were in Beckford looking for a past. Did you find it?’
‘Partly.’
‘Tell me about
it.’
‘There are more
important things to talk about. Are you going to marry Mark Danbury?’
‘Mark?’ She was
shocked into stumbling. He caught her in his arms and whirled her round so that
her feet hardly touched the floor. Breathlessly she said, ‘Such a thing never
entered my head and I am sure it has not occurred to him.’
‘Forgive me if
I disagree. He has the look of a man determined to keep you to himself, and if
marriage is not on his mind he is a greater rogue than I took him for...’
‘Rogue? How can
you say such a thing? Mark is a very kind man; he has been good to me ever
since...’
‘Kind? No more
than that?’ Why had he insisted on Beth Markham introducing him? Why had he
come to the ball in the first place? Was it so that he could observe Lord
Danbury and Mark at close quarters? Would it help him to make up his mind what
to do? Or was it because of the girl he was dancing with? Oh, why did she have
to be a Danbury? He was in danger of being diverted from his purpose. His
annoyance was directed at himself, for his weakness, not her, who could know
nothing of what he had been through. He found himself wanting to tell her, to
try to explain, but then he pulled himself together; she was simply a girl who
had fallen into his arms, nothing more, and it was unfair to involve her. But
she was involved, and if she was going to marry Mark Danbury she had a right to
know the truth.
‘I must see you
alone,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘I have
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