Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(34)
To do it for herself would be wrong, would be sinful.
Only she didn’t believe that.
Whatever she felt about that night, she did not feel it was wrong.
Few things in life had ever been so right.
So why not?
Why not give in? Why not accept his offer? A few meetings was better than nothing, was better than never experiencing his arms again. Even if they remained masked, kept their secrets, surely that was better than nothing?
Why not tell Madame that she could arrange another meeting?
Why not explore further the secrets of the dark?
There was a good reason why not.
It had been one night. It could not be more.
“I am afraid that is not possible. I do not seek a lover. I seek a new husband.” Even as she said the words she glanced at the sliding doors, wishing they would open, wishing Charles would be there, wishing he would make her every dream come true. But the doors remained closed, and she continued, “I did what I did for my husband, out of my love for him. But I also did it for myself. I want a husband, children. Perhaps some women could seek a husband while indulging their bodies with a lover. I could not. I want a lifetime, not a night or a dozen nights. I want a husband, a child,” she repeated—and waited.
The doors still did not open.
Her dreams were of what could never be.
“I am sorry,” Madame said after a moment, understanding burning in her eyes. “I had hoped things could be different.”
“Sometimes life is not what we want.”
“You speak the truth.” Madame opened a drawer in the table beside her and held a package out to Louisa. “He wished you to have this.”
It was a small box wrapped in silk. Louisa took it and held it in her lap. Part of her wanted to wait, to open it in privacy, but she had no secrets here.
With trembling fingers she unwrapped the silk, slipped open the box.
A mirror. He had given her a mirror.
The most beautiful hand mirror she had ever seen. It was enameled in the deepest blue, a night sky spread across a silver frame, jasmine entwined about the handle and up the edge, a single flower closed in waiting bud at the top.
A single folded note remained in the box. Lifting it, she read his few words.
Remember your promise.
Her promise? And then she remembered. She’d promised to examine herself with a mirror. Surely he didn’t really expect … only he did. The mirror was proof of that. She was supposed to look at herself and think of him, of his command, of his watching her.
She glanced up at Madame, but the other woman’s face remained passive. She had no understanding of the gift, no understanding of Louisa’s thoughts.
Louisa picked up the mirror, looked at the top piece of jasmine, distracting herself from more erotic thoughts. It sprang open at her touch, revealing a small, sleeping, black-and-white kitten, some strange mechanism causing its tail to flick.
Mittens had been brown, not black and white, but it did not matter. She understood Charles’s message all too well.
That night had been about passion, but about so much more.
She had gained more than she could ever have imagined, but she had also left a piece behind, a piece of her soul that would never be recovered.
A tear formed in her eye and she let it slide down her cheek.
Some things were not meant to be.
With great care she picked up the mirror and replaced it in the box, tucking the note along the side.
She would take his gifts and learn to live. She would find a husband and be happy.
It might not seem possible at the moment, but tomorrow would come, and then the next day.
“Thank you,” Louisa said as she stood. “I doubt we will meet again, but I will be forever grateful for all you have done.”
“One never knows what will happen, but I accept your thanks. I am glad I could help. You deserve happiness. I hope you find it.”
She would not cry. She would not. Holding the box tight in her hands, Louisa turned and left the room, left the house, a thin figure wrapped in black veiling.
She did not turn back. She refused to turn back, even as she felt the eyes that followed her, knew that if she turned she would see him, would see the silhouette of the man who had changed her forever.
She walked forward into her new life.
Part Two
The Masquerade
Chapter Eleven
Geoffrey John Andrew Charles Alexander Danser, Marquess of Swanston, stared down at the papers before him. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. There was no choice left.
He was going to have to marry. And soon.
Bloody, bloody hell.
He was going to have to marry—and to a rather wealthy woman.
Bloody hell.
How could his father, the duke, have managed to create such a mess? He’d never thought the old man had the brains or the interest for something of this magnitude. He’d allowed himself to feel safe because all the properties were entailed. The duke could muck things up and mismanage the estates, but he wouldn’t be able to sell or dispose of anything. Swanston had been sure of that, sure that he’d managed to tie enough knots into his father’s finances that only so much damage could be done.
He’d been a fool. He’d allowed control to slip from his hands.
But who could have foreseen this?