Page 24 of Sinfully Daring

“You have feelings for him, Ozzie?” Evie said, her voice cautious.

Rosamund shrugged. “I’m not in love with him, Evie. Nothing like that. I do have some sense, honestly. I just liked him so much and he’s so unhappy and… and there’s not a thing I can do to help him. It’s not fair!” she exclaimed, knowing she sounded like a spoiled child and not caring.

Evie would understand. Indeed, she was always a good friend, always listened without judgement and did her best to help.

“Life isn’t,” Evie replied softly, the words so stark and unlike the usually optimistic girl Rosamund knew that something must be badly wrong.

“It’s for the best you don’t get too close to him,” Evie said. “There’s nothing worse than falling in love with a man who is n-not suitable.”

Her voice quavered and Rosamund saw the effort Evie took to compose herself.

“Evie?” Rosamund took her hand, squeezing it with encouragement. “You’re in love?”

Evie’s lip trembled, and she gave a jerky nod. Rosamund stared at her in shock, for Evie had never given her the slightest clue that… Idiot. Of course she had.

“The Comte de Villen?”

Evie made a sound of distress and put her head in her hands. Rosamund put her arms about her, holding her tightly as she wept, great racking sobs the pain of which seemed to reach through Rosamund and squeeze her heart. This was why she must stay away from Lord Hargreaves. Evie was right, and so was he. Falling in love with the wrong man was disastrous.

“But he has feelings for you too, I think?” Rosamund offered, wishing she could help her friend, take away this dreadful pain and make it all better.

Evie nodded, wiping her eyes, her breathing still uneven. “I believe he does.”

“Your parents?”

“My father, he….” Evie clamped her mouth shut and tears rolled down her cheeks again. “Oh, I can’t tell you!”

“Why?”

Evie just shook her head. She took Rosamund’s hands and held on tight, her green eyes swimming with tears. “Stay away from Lord Hargreaves, Rosamund. If you care for your own heart, or for his, stay away from him. He’s married. There’s not a thing either of you can do about that except protect yourselves. You are fond of him, or you’d not be this wretched now. Don’t fall in love with someone you can’t have. Don’t!” she added, the command ringing with desperation.

Rosamund nodded, knowing her friend spoke the truth, and her obvious pain was warning enough of what she would face if she was foolish enough to disregard her. “I won’t, Evie. I promise, but is there nothing I can do for you?”

Evie shook her head. “No. No, I must figure this out for myself, and I will. It… It just might take some time.”

Rosamund could not help but feel daunted by the idea of marrying a man like the comte, who was notorious for his mistresses and remained something of an enigma. Though a popular addition to any guest list, Rosamund did not believe society entirely trusted him. He was too beautiful and held himself too much apart. There was too much about him people did not know, and he did not invite confidences.

“You would marry him then, if your parents approved?” she asked.

Evie’s tears erupted once again. “I don’t know! I love him, but….”

Rosamund did not need to hear the but to understand her concerns.

“But,” she agreed, nodding in sympathy.

“Oh, Ozzie,” Evie said, her voice so wretched Rosamund’s heart broke a little. “Why is this so hard? When people talk about falling in love, it’s supposed to be easy, isn’t it? This is not easy at all. No matter what I do, I shall hurt someone I love, and myself. How can I make a choice like that?”

“I don’t know, Evie,” Rosamund replied sadly, and hugged her friend a little tighter.

3rd July 1842, Hans Place, Knightsbridge London.

Despite Louis’ best efforts to persuade Barnaby to stay at the ball, he insisted on coming home with him. He sat on Louis’ bed, arms folded, glowering, as Louis tugged out a chest from under it and flung it open.

“What’s in there?” Barnaby asked.

Louis didn’t reply. What would he say? Well, Barnaby, these are the clothes I used to wear when I was breaking into people’s houses to relieve them of their jewels. He had kept them as a reminder of exactly who and what he was, not that he was ever likely to forget, but now he was glad of it. The clothes were unremitting black, made of fine soft cloth and loose fitting enough to climb in with ease, but not so loose that they’d get caught on things. Then there were the soft leather shoes, again to help him climb, but also to move about in the darkness, stealthy as a cat. No, best he hold his tongue. Barnaby would draw his own conclusions and, knowing him, they’d be far kinder than the truth.

Louis stripped off his clothes, amused when Barnaby turned his back. He was not the least bit modest. There was little room for modesty in the circus, and not much privacy to be had. As a skinny, malnourished boy he’d been mortified, especially when compared to his big, strong brother, but such concerns had quickly vanished when he’d been properly fed and given a punishing routine of physical exercise. Everyone pulled their weight in the circus, and he’d been no exception. He hadn’t wanted to be an exception, too desperate for approval, to fit in and find something resembling a family.