A Masquerade in the Moonlight(114)
She broke off, looking up at him apprehensively, as if she had said too much.
“All right, aingeal,” Thomas said quietly, suddenly understanding why she had been so quick to pick up on his own association with the members of The Club. And no wonder, although she loved him, he still felt sure she didn’t quite trust him. “I’ll admit I can believe they’re devious sorts, more than capable of plotting treason.
“But, Marguerite,” he continued earnestly, taking hold of her upper arms and looking down at her intently, “they are also dangerous men. So far, you’ve been playing with them, taking out the weakest ones with what I’d have to call remarkable ease. But Harewood? Laleham?” He shook his head. “Oh, no. Not them. You’re in over your head with those two.”
“Am I, Donovan?” she shot back angrily, her eyes glittering like green ice behind her mask. “Or is it just that you don’t wish for me to cause any more havoc with your plans? They’re out to do it again, aren’t they? They’re out to betray their country again, this time with American assistance. Poor Donovan. I’ve been making things difficult for you, haven’t I? You even went so far as to plan to seduce me, to keep me occupied and out of mischief—and don’t bother to deny it, for Stinky told me all about how you bragged about seducing me the night of Lady Sefton’s ball. Oh, the terrible sacrifices you’ve made for your country! You deserve a medal for your diligence and dedication.”
Thomas felt his Irish blood beginning to boil, matching Marguerite in her own anger. “I think, aingeal, I’m hearing the pot call the kettle black. Do you by chance recall our charming interlude in the mews behind Sir Gilbert’s mansion? Talk about seduction! ‘What would it take, Donovan, for you to stumble out again?’ That’s what you asked while you were rubbing that glorious body of yours against mine. Why were you so cooperative, if it wasn’t to make sure that I would look the other way while you went about your childish schemes?”
Marguerite shrugged, giving without really giving in. “All right. We’ll declare that part of the argument a draw, even though you’re a beast to turn my own words against me. But I won’t give up on my vengeance. These men deserve everything I’m doing to them!”
“Do they? They may be bastards, the lot of them, but they weren’t the ones who put a pistol to your father’s head. He did that on his own! He’s the one who took the coward’s way out instead of standing up to face the piper—to face you and your disillusionment in your most wonderful, perfect father. Hell—even I am paying for your father’s suicide, Marguerite, because now you refuse to really trust any man.”
She slapped him, hard, across his cheek, so that his head snapped to the right, then stood back, her trembling hands pressed to her own cheeks. “Oh, Donovan, you stupid fool—look what you made me do. What you made us both say.”
He pulled her against him, his anger dissipated, holding her tightly, afraid he was losing her, knowing he couldn’t live without her. “You’re right. It’s my fault, aingeal, all my fault. I admit it. I was a cloddish fool, and I did set out to seduce you, to discover what sort of mischief you were up to with the men I’d been sent to contact. But that was only in the beginning—the very beginning. I love you, Marguerite. I love you so much—with all my heart and soul. I’d die if I lost you. Please, forgive me. I had no right to say anything about your father. I never knew him.”
“I wish you had,” she whispered against his chest a few moments later, her tone wistful and, thankfully, devoid of anger. “He was a wonderful man, Donovan. Wonderful. He taught me so much. I still can’t understand how he could have left me that way, without saying good-bye.” She pushed herself back against his arms and looked up at him searchingly. “You’ll say good-bye, Donovan, won’t you?”
“Never,” Thomas told her, swallowing down hard on the rarely felt need to cry. He hadn’t cried since he buried his mother before striking out for a new life in America, kneeling in the cold winter rain and scratching out a hollow in the soft ground with his own two hands. So many years, and he could still remember the pain as if it was yesterday. He knew how Marguerite felt. He, too, had been left behind to fend for himself. “For I’ll never leave you, aingeal.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders, blinking back tears and smiling wanly as she wiped at the residue of hair powder that clung to his black domino. “We’re a fine pair of idiots, aren’t we, Donovan? Did I hurt you?” she asked, stroking his cheek. “I almost used my fist, the way Papa taught me, but at the last moment I realized that I’m a woman grown now. A woman in love, even if there are times I could cheerfully choke you.”