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“No, Maman!” Mélisande said, jerking back. “I’ve never felt that way about David, and I never will!” Switching to French, she continued. “You think me so naïve, but I’m no innocent. I tasted desire in Versailles. I know what passion is, and I know I will never feel it for David. You could tie us together naked and my blood would not stir. I will never marry a man for whom I feel nothing but sisterly affection!”
Isabelle’s face had grown ashen, and her voice was chill as she responded in the same language. “Who? Who dared?”
“The one you warned me of, the Italian,” Mélisande replied, defiant.
“Impossible!” Isabelle half laughed. “I cannot believe such a thing—you were never left alone long enough.”
Mélisande’s mouth twisted, the remembrance of her stolen kiss with Le Renard bringing a tremor of longing into her voice. “I met Lord Orsini several times,” she fibbed. “In the library, the gardens, on the night of the ball, and again just after our audience with the king. He showed me a world of pleasure that I never knew was possible. It was magnificent.”
It was mostly truth, though somewhat skewed in the telling. Her mother’s stricken face made her wish she had not added that last bit, but she had no choice now. She had to persist. “I came alive in his arms, Maman, and I will never settle for anything less when I choose a husband.”Silence filled the room as mother and daughter stared at one another, as everyone else stared at them.
Mélisande’s eyes flicked to David, marking his faint smile. He knew she was deliberately misleading them, for she’d told him the whole story via letters using the secret code they’d created as children. Her true lineage, their parents’ plans for them, her encounter with Orsini.
Her papa, who also spo
ke French, stood with his mouth hanging open in shock. If there was anything Mélisande regretted in all this, it was hurting him.
The duke did not speak the language and was quite obviously annoyed at being unable to understand the conversation. “What the devil are you people saying?” he roared, turning helplessly from person to person. “Speak English, for God’s sake! And will someone have the decency to tell me what the hell is going on?”
No one answered him.
“Mon Dieu,” Isabelle whispered. “You are compromised, then?” she demanded, still speaking in French, her blue eyes turning hard.
Anger stiffened Mélisande’s spine. Hypocrite! “Though I’ve wished otherwise since, I did not allow him full liberties. I valued my honor, Maman,” she flung back, her voice just as cold. Her mother flinched at the verbal slap. “But it changes nothing. Punish me if you like, but there will be no match between us. Ever.”
Isabelle stared at her with a veiled expression for a long moment before turning to her husband. A look passed between them, and he nodded.
Lord Wilmington turned and addressed the Duke of Newcastle. “I’m afraid our children are not properly suited for marriage,” he stated, his tone brooking no argument. “As such, I request the betrothal contract be voided without penalty, as both are unwilling to fulfill the terms.”
The duke’s face paled, his eyes bulging with fury as he turned on his son. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”
Unperturbed, David smiled. “Though she and I are in agreement, Melly made her own decision to oppose this farcical arrangement. But even if I felt differently, Father, I would still respect her wishes. I want a wife who is happy to share my bed.”
Knowing fully the hidden meaning behind his words, Mélisande winced. Damn David’s quick tongue! Why did he feel the need to constantly provoke his father?
“Worthless spawn!” the duke spat. “I would disown you this minute were you not my only living heir! By George, I may still do so, and damn the succession! You’ll receive no further funds from the estate until the day you marry, and until that day arrives, I want you gone from my sight! And do not think to appeal to your mother!” he shouted, shaking his fist.
Something dangerous sparked in David’s eyes. “Though I may frequently be found under them, I’ve never been one to hide behind a woman’s skirts, Father,” he quipped in a deceptively mild voice. “And I’ve no need of an allowance, as you well know. I’m quite content to continue making my own way in the world.”
The lines bracketing his father’s mouth went white, but before the duke could act, David departed.
Less than an hour later, a soft knock sounded at Mélisande’s door. Preparing for another battle, she bade her mother enter.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her mother looked her in the eyes. “I knew you were changed after our visit to Versailles, but I attributed it to the shock of learning your true lineage. Now I know differently. I should have seen this coming. After all, you are the child of a man who is completely uninhibited in his passion and a woman who was reckless enough to follow her own desires to the very brink of ruin.”
“Maman, I—”
“I know what you experienced in Versailles,” her mother cut her off. “The same passion once overwhelmed me, and it has cost me much. I do not wish you to suffer as I have.”
She looked sad and tired, and for the first time Mélisande noticed the fine network of lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes.
“You would do well to marry David,” her mother advised, holding up a hand to forestall protest. “I know you find it an undesirable prospect now, but I ask you to trust me when I say that a marriage of this kind will save you from the sort of pain I have endured. Passion is made much of by the poets and romantics of this world, ma fille, but it is an unreliable guarantee of happiness.”
Mélisande’s brow crinkled in consternation at her mother’s bitter tone. To all appearances, her mother led a happy, contented life.
“I have no desire to break your heart, but I must save you from yourself,” her mother murmured sadly. “I am extremely fond of your—” She took a deep breath. “Of Spencer. He has been very good to me, and we have had many wonderful years together. But you already know that I once loved another, Mélisande. In truth, I have never stopped loving him, and I never will.”
She paused to wipe away her tears. “I adore your papa, Mélisande—truly I do—but I’ve never loved him in that way. I wanted to, but I simply cannot. You must understand: though I had been groomed as a young woman to become the king’s mistress for my family’s gain, I knew I could never truly have him for my own. But it did not matter. Louis took my heart the moment I met him, and he has never given it back,” she whispered, her mouth twisting. “I loved him so desperately. For a courtesan, that is the ultimate folly.”
