Page 48 of The Rogue

“She was very beautiful,” she said, looking up at sparkling blue eyes that were a perfect match to those belonging to the man beside her.

He smiled and nodded gazing on the painting with a fond expression. “You would have liked her very much I think.”

“I’m sure I would.”

They stood in what had been the comtesse’s bedroom, and despite the fact there was a very inviting and comfortable-looking bed taking up a great deal of the space, Henri felt uneasy at making an attempt at seducing Lawrence while his mother looked down on them; even if she had the slightest idea of how exactly she was supposed to go about it in the first place. She sighed inwardly and walked to the window that overlooked the front of the house.

At least his forbidding demeanour had lessened as they had toured the house. His natural amiability seemed to struggle to remain in dudgeon, and little by little he became his usual animated self as he had regaled her with stories of mischief he’d made as a boy.

“Come, I want to show you something,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and towing her from the room. She ran behind him, exclaiming as her shoes slid over the parquet floor, until they reached the end of the corridor. There were portraits all along the walls of the wide stretch that ran the entire length of the house and gave onto the landing in the middle and the bedrooms on both sides of either end. There was laughter in his eyes as she looked around her. They were at the very end, with nowhere further to go. She raised her eyebrows at him, wondering what he was smiling at.

“What do you think of this fine fellow?” he asked at length, drawing her attention to a full height painting of a rather solemn and bad-tempered looking man, who glared down at them, bewigged and bespectacled, with an air of deep disapproval.

“I ...” she hesitated, unwilling to insult a worthy ancestor.

“Terrifying, isn’t he?” he asked her, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Well, he is a little forbidding, yes.” She frowned up at him perplexed. “Who is he?”

“Damned if I know,” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “But he’s been awfully good to the family.”

“Oh? How so?”

He grinned at her and strode a few paces back down the corridor. “You remember how I showed you each tower has its own staircase, and you can only access them from the ground floor?”

“Yes?” she replied, laughing at his mysterious enthusiasm.

“Ah-ha,” he replied, tapping the side of his nose and returning to the painting. “Look.”

With the air of a magician producing a rabbit, he moved to one of four ornate gold bosses that seemed to be part of the gilded frame and pulled. To her astonishment the painting swung forward to reveal a hidden door.

She squealed with glee and practically bounced on the spot. “Oh, how Gothic! It’s like something from The Mysteries of Udolpho,” she exclaimed. “Can we go in?”

Lawrence chuckled. “I knew you’d like it, and of course we must go in! Wait here while I fetch a lamp.”

He came back a moment later and led the way up a narrow curving staircase. At the top was a tiny round room. It was simply furnished with a chair - a blanket draped over one arm, a table, an oil lamp and a stack of books. There was a tiny slot of a window which gave a little light and a truncated view of the gardens below.

“They say this is where poor Marguerite hid after the wicked count threw her out into the storm.”

“Oh, Lawrence, please say you’re teasing me?” she whispered as a shiver ran down her spine.

He shrugged, putting the lamp down on the table, and moved to look through the little window. “I don’t know, but that’s what everyone says, and it’s certainly saved a neck or two since in times of trouble,” he said, his voice softer now.

The atmosphere had changed somehow, and his previous dark demeanour seemed to be making an appearance. No, she thought, I won’t let you do this, and I won’t let you go. She took a step closer to him, and not having far to go in the confined space found herself right by his side. He turned, suddenly aware of her proximity, and paused as he discovered her so close to him.

The moment seemed to freeze between them, and he stared down at her but made no move in either direction. His eyes never left hers, though, and she felt her heart thud in her chest. Please, Lawrence, please, she begged inwardly but he didn’t move.

Well, if he wouldn’t, she must. Taking courage in her hands she reached up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. For the barest second he didn’t react, and she thought perhaps she had miscalculated, perhaps she had been totally wrong. Perhaps ... and then his arms went around her; and he swept her into a fierce embrace.