something to tell you.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘No, not here.
We must meet later.’ His hand, gripping hers, tightened. ‘Or are you afraid to
be alone with me?’
‘You know I am
not. But it would not be proper. People will talk.’
He grinned at
her. ‘Then it is as well they know nothing of our other meetings, don’t you
think?’
‘They were
accidental.’
‘This could be
accidental too. I must see you. I need to ask you something.’
Ask her
something; surely he wasn’t going to propose without even offering for her in
the proper manner? Whatever would she do? She could not possibly entertain the
idea. ‘I cannot meet you alone, you know that, and you should not have asked. I
have heard that Frenchmen can be very forward but you are in England now, Mr
Saint-Pierre, and in this country...’
He laughed,
drawing a click of disapproval from the matrons on the sidelines. ‘It is no
different from any other, except there’s a deal more hypocrisy.’
They were
dancing near the open French window and a cool breeze fanned her hot face. She
wished she could go out into the cool darkness and be alone to think. It was so
hot and noisy in the ballroom. ‘It is out of the question,’ she said.
‘I could dance
you straight out on to the terrace here and now.’
She looked up
at him in alarm. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me.’
‘Is it really
important?’
‘I think so.’
‘But how can I
possibly manage it? Where and when and how can it be an accident?’ It was
unthinkable that she should even consider it and yet her questions implied that
she would.
‘At suppertime,
when everyone is moving from room to room. Make some excuse and come to the
garden-room. I’ll meet you in there.’
‘I don’t
know...’
The music was
drawing to a close and they were back at their starting place, where Mark stood
with the glass of lemon cordial he had fetched for her. His dark brows were
drawn down in a deep frown.
‘ Merci,
mam’selle ,’ Adam said, releasing her to her official escort. ‘Perhaps you
will do me the honour again?’
‘She will not,’
Mark said abruptly. ‘Her dances are all taken, even the one you stole...’
Adam laughed.
‘If that is all I have stolen, then I am no thief, for the lady came
willingly.’
‘Please,’
Maryanne begged. ‘Please don’t quarrel over it.’ She took the glass from Mark
and sipped the cool drink appreciatively. ‘Thank you, Mark.’ She pretended not
to see Adam leave, but she knew he had gone from behind her; his going left a
kind of emptiness inside her. How could he have that effect on her, a stranger
with two names and apparently two characters to go with them? And why had he
and Mark taken such a dislike to each other? She needed to know and the only
way to find out was to meet him as he asked. But that, she decided, she could
not do.
She moved off
on Mark’s arm in a dream, hardly listening to what he was saying. Later they
went into the supper-room, pushing their way through the crush to the laden
tables. A servant carried their two plates of food to a table where Caroline
and Mrs Ryfield sat, and she could do nothing but sit down with them and
pretend to eat. In spite of her resolve not to do as Adam asked, she was
preoccupied trying to think of a way of leaving the company without raising
suspicions. She was mad, she told herself, completely off her head, to make
assignations with a man she hardly knew. And she did not have to go; she could
stay by Mark’s side all evening and, though the gossips might have a good crack
at that, as least it would not be considered beyond the pale.
‘I saw you
dancing with that mysterious Frenchman,’ Caroline said, and made it sound like
an accusation. ‘Who is he? You seemed to be getting on remarkably well
together.’
‘Mysterious Frenchman?’
Maryanne repeated, hardly hearing her. ‘Do you mean Monsieur Saint-Pierre?’
‘So that’s his
name! I had heard that he was handsome and prodigiously
‘Tell me now.’
‘No, not here.
We must meet later.’ His hand, gripping hers, tightened. ‘Or are you afraid to
be alone with me?’
‘You know I am
not. But it would not be proper. People will talk.’
He grinned at
her. ‘Then it is as well they know nothing of our other meetings, don’t you
think?’
‘They were
accidental.’
‘This could be
accidental too. I must see you. I need to ask you something.’
Ask her
something; surely he wasn’t going to propose without even offering for her in
the proper manner? Whatever would she do? She could not possibly entertain the
idea. ‘I cannot meet you alone, you know that, and you should not have asked. I
have heard that Frenchmen can be very forward but you are in England now, Mr
Saint-Pierre, and in this country...’
He laughed,
drawing a click of disapproval from the matrons on the sidelines. ‘It is no
different from any other, except there’s a deal more hypocrisy.’
They were
dancing near the open French window and a cool breeze fanned her hot face. She
wished she could go out into the cool darkness and be alone to think. It was so
hot and noisy in the ballroom. ‘It is out of the question,’ she said.
‘I could dance
you straight out on to the terrace here and now.’
She looked up
at him in alarm. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me.’
‘Is it really
important?’
‘I think so.’
‘But how can I
possibly manage it? Where and when and how can it be an accident?’ It was
unthinkable that she should even consider it and yet her questions implied that
she would.
‘At suppertime,
when everyone is moving from room to room. Make some excuse and come to the
garden-room. I’ll meet you in there.’
‘I don’t
know...’
The music was
drawing to a close and they were back at their starting place, where Mark stood
with the glass of lemon cordial he had fetched for her. His dark brows were
drawn down in a deep frown.
‘ Merci,
mam’selle ,’ Adam said, releasing her to her official escort. ‘Perhaps you
will do me the honour again?’
‘She will not,’
Mark said abruptly. ‘Her dances are all taken, even the one you stole...’
Adam laughed.
‘If that is all I have stolen, then I am no thief, for the lady came
willingly.’
‘Please,’
Maryanne begged. ‘Please don’t quarrel over it.’ She took the glass from Mark
and sipped the cool drink appreciatively. ‘Thank you, Mark.’ She pretended not
to see Adam leave, but she knew he had gone from behind her; his going left a
kind of emptiness inside her. How could he have that effect on her, a stranger
with two names and apparently two characters to go with them? And why had he
and Mark taken such a dislike to each other? She needed to know and the only
way to find out was to meet him as he asked. But that, she decided, she could
not do.
She moved off
on Mark’s arm in a dream, hardly listening to what he was saying. Later they
went into the supper-room, pushing their way through the crush to the laden
tables. A servant carried their two plates of food to a table where Caroline
and Mrs Ryfield sat, and she could do nothing but sit down with them and
pretend to eat. In spite of her resolve not to do as Adam asked, she was
preoccupied trying to think of a way of leaving the company without raising
suspicions. She was mad, she told herself, completely off her head, to make
assignations with a man she hardly knew. And she did not have to go; she could
stay by Mark’s side all evening and, though the gossips might have a good crack
at that, as least it would not be considered beyond the pale.
‘I saw you
dancing with that mysterious Frenchman,’ Caroline said, and made it sound like
an accusation. ‘Who is he? You seemed to be getting on remarkably well
together.’
‘Mysterious Frenchman?’
Maryanne repeated, hardly hearing her. ‘Do you mean Monsieur Saint-Pierre?’
‘So that’s his
name! I had heard that he was handsome and prodigiously
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