‘Eva.’ His head was down; he was regarding his clasped hands as though they held the answer. ‘Eva, you honour me, and I—but that makes no difference to our problem. For you to take a lover, now you are back in the full glare of the public eye, is impossible if you wish to avoid scandal.’
‘Jack, please look at me.’ He looked up, met her eyes, his own still and watchful, and very dark. She sat quite still, her own hands, with a desperation to stop her from reaching for him, knotted in her lap. ‘You do not understand. I am asking you to marry me.’
He was so silent that she thought he had not heard her. Then he stood up with the violent grace she had seen him use when he was fighting. From the other side of the little room, as far as he could get from her, he said, ‘Are you insane?’
‘No! I mean it.’ His reaction shocked her. She had expected surprise, doubt, an argument. Not outright hostility.
‘Have you forgotten who—what—you are?’
‘I am the Dowager Grand Duchess. But I am not of the Blood Royal. My father was a French count, my mother the daughter of an English earl. You are the son of a duke. There is no disparity between our breeding.’ She had thought that out very carefully. If Louis could marry her, then she could marry Jack.
‘How very convenient that you discovered my bloodlines,’ Jack said coldly. ‘What would you have done if you had found I was plain Mr Ryder, simply an agent and an adventurer?’
‘I have no idea,’ Eva said flatly. ‘I learned to need plain Mr Ryder, but I did not know just how much being separated from you was going to hurt until I got here. How do I know what I would have thought, what I would want to do, if you were not Lord Sebastian?’
‘Not a convenient Maubourg title, then? That would have sorted out plain Mr Ryder. You might still want to come up with some sort of tinsel decoration, some sort of specially created title for me, or a senior rank in your army perhaps? Yes, that would do it. A handsome sash to wear on my new blue-and-silver uniform—or you could ask the Prince Regent to design something: he specialises in fantasy.’
‘Stop it! You do not need a title, you have a perfectly good one of your own! If you want to take an interest in the army, then I am sure that would be very acceptable. What is the matter with you? Do you not want to marry me? Is there someone else after all?’ He had never said those words, she realised, cold sweat beginning to trickle down her spine. She loved him, had hoped, when she asked him to marry her, that he would confess that he loved her, but had not felt able to say so. It seemed she had made a terrible misjudgement…
‘No. There is no one else.’ Jack took two strides, came up against the corner of the room and turned again, frustrated by the confining space. ‘Don’t you think, ma’am, that I might prefer to do the asking? Does it not occur to you that I have a life—two, actually—in this country? Marriages into Royal families happen for dynastic reasons, for heirs—there is one already; for international allegiance—I cannot bring that; for wealth—I am sure my resources are paltry in comparison to yours. What they are not intended for is so that the lady in question can enjoy the attentions of her lover without causing a scandal.’
‘But that isn’t why—I told you, I need you!’ Eva got to her feet, her head spinning. This was not how it was supposed to go. She had told him how she felt, she made an offer that was the honourable one, fitting for both of them, and he threw it back in her face. Anger was beginning to stir under the misery.
‘That is extremely flattering, ma’am. But as you know, I already have an occupation and being transplanted to virtually the Alps so I can service the sexual needs of a lady—however alluring and charming—does not fit in with my plans for my life.’
He did not even try to avoid it as she slapped him, hard across the cheek. Shaking her stinging fingers, Eva stared aghast at the scarlet mark of her hand branded across his livid face. She had hit so hard it would probably bruise.
‘It is so much more than sex,’ she whispered. ‘So much more. I thought you felt the same. I was wrong. I am sorry, so sorry I spoke. I will go.’
‘Eva.’ Jack took her arms, holding fast as she tried to twist away. All she wanted now was to escape this humiliating heartbreak. ‘Eva, What I feel for you went far beyond what happened just now in this room. You have been lonely, frightened, left to do your duty at whatever cost to yourself. I came along and gave you excitement and freedom and affection. It is not me you want now, and I cannot give you what you need. I am English, Eva, I live here, this is my home. I have purpose, identity, independence. I cannot give that up to find myself in a country not my own, where I have no role, where my life is bounded by the constraints of who I have married.’
‘If you loved me, you would not say that,’ she flung at him.
The silence between them seemed to fill the room. The music faded, the loud voices that had roared like the sound of the sea beyond the door became a whisper. ‘If I loved you, my answer would be the same,’ Jack said steadily. ‘I cannot be caged into the life you offer me and, if you tried, I would finish by hurting you. I think you need to go back to Maubourg, Eva. Take Freddie, it is safe to travel now with the escort the Foreign Office will arrange for you. Go now, and forget me.’
Her hands were shaking so much that Eva could hardly unlock the door. She managed it at last, turning as she opened it for one last look at him. ‘How can I forget?’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’ It was safe to say it, he could not have heard her, the orchestra was just drawing a particularly noisy country dance to a triumphant conclusion amidst enthusiastic clapping. The dancers coming off the floor engulfed her, swept her away from the door as the Rhône had carried her, dizzy, weak, unable to fight her way to the edge of the room.
‘Eva!’ It was Bel, tugging her arm. That hurt; she remembered vaguely Jack gripping her just there, a hundred years ago. ‘Come and sit down.’ She steered Eva to a chair in an alcove. ‘What happened?’
Eva could only shake her head, dumbly. Words seemed to have deserted her. ‘You need a drink.’ Bel looked around her. ‘Why is there never a waiter when you need one? Theo! Yes, I know it is you, no one else in London is that tall with auburn hair, you numbskull. I need two glasses of champagne, at once. And a glass of brandy. Shoo!’ She pushed the indignant young man off into the throng. ‘My scapegrace cousin Theo,’ she explained. ‘Did he say no?’
Eva nodded.
‘Why? Why on earth would he say no?’
‘Because he does not love me, I suppose. Because I made a mull of it, because he does not want to end up as an adjunct to his wife in a foreign court.’
‘You told him you love him? No?’ Eva shook her head. A whisper he could not hear did not count. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I thought he realised that was why I was asking him, and then he told me he did not love me, so what was the point?’
‘He told you?’ Bel stared at her. ‘In so many words? He actually said I do not love you?’
‘He had told me he would not marry me and then he said his answer would be the same whether or not he loved me. I think.’ She shook her head, too stunned by the whole experience to trust her memory any more. The young man—Theo, was it?—came back with a waiter at his heels. Bel took a brandy glass, pressed it into Eva’s hands and then scooped the two champagne flutes off the tray. ‘Thank you, Theo.’
She waited until her cousin had retreated, then said, ‘Drink it!’ Eva tossed back the brandy, reckless now for something to take the edge off the pain, while Bel took a reviving drink of champagne, then removed the empty brandy glass and substituted the other flute for it. ‘I will be drunk,’ Eva protested.
‘Good. I’d get tipsy and then go home if I were you, there isn’t any purpose in waiting here for the unmasking, you’ll only be miserable.’ Bel sipped her drink, brooding. ‘He may well think better of it in the morning,’ she offered at length.
‘I