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Mélisande’s world tipped once again. A courtesan? So her involvement with Louis had not even been by chance, but a deliberate thing. She’d been trained to seduce him. My mother was a...
“I was a very lucky fool,” her mother continued, ignorant of the tumult she’d caused. Your papa married me knowing I carried another man’s child because he was in love with me. Madly so. He still is.”
“Does he know?” Mélisande whispered.
Her mother looked at her with sorrow. “He learned the truth in Versailles. I could not hide it from him there, though I tried. You must know that I had no wish to wound him in this way. If I could have prevented it, I would have done. I regret that visit to France with all my heart, and wish now that we had kept you ignorant of the truth. There would have been a danger in it for you, but it would have been better than this.”
With these words, all of Mélisande’s happy illusions shattered. Everything was a lie. Not only was her own identity founded on secrets and lies, but her parents’ marriage was a falsehood as well. How could she do it? Even though he’d been willing, how could her mother have used Papa like that?
“Now you understand,” Isabelle muttered, her voice hollow, her eyes lifeless. “My heart has been divided all these years. I was parted from the man I loved more than life itself and married to another who loved me enough to overlook it. And he has been so good to me, so very kind. I have no better friend in all the world, and I know it. But there is a vast difference between loving someone and being in love with them, chérie. How I wish I’d met Spencer first! Then I might have loved him the way he deserved.”
Her lovely face darkened with sudden fury. “And how I wish you’d never met that Italian cochon!” she hissed, making Mélisande flinch. “Had it not been for that, that horrid roué, you would have married David, had children, and been content! But now—now your tainted blood has been awakened.”
“Maman—”
“It is my fault, and I accept the blame,” said Isabelle, again cutting her off. “Unfortunately, you now pay the price for my sins. And David with you.” Taking a deep breath, she returned to her intended topic of discussion. “Mélisande, now that you are aware of your proclivity for passion, you must learn to control it, to master your own desires, for your own sake.”
Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears as she gently held Mélisande’s face between her palms. “Spencer and I would not have you marry without the possibility of happiness—we love you, Mélisande. But, like David’s father, we expect you to marry someone of similar social standing. If you find yourself attracted to someone either beneath your station or beyond your reach, you must not let your passions drive you, as I did!”
“I understand, Maman,” Mélisande said, wanting this uncomfortable conversation to end. “I will be careful.”
“Caution is not enough to sway passion from its course, chérie,” her mother murmured after a moment, gracing her with a wry smile as she released her. “Guard your heart well. Hold it and your passion prisoner until you find someone deserving of such gifts.”
Her expression grew calm. “The hour grows late. I must go now and prepare for dinner,”
she announced as if nothing more than polite conversation had just passed. “Will you come down, or shall I have a tray sent up?”
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
ALESSANDRO’S STOMACH TIGHTENED with unease as he walked the halls of his childhood home. He’d bravely faced men in battle many times, in both war and single combat, but this was different. Beyond the heavy doors at the end of this hall sat the only man on earth with the power to make him feel insignificant, which in his opinion was far worse than death.
Bracing himself, Alessandro forced a careless smile to his lips as he opened the doors and strode into his father’s study.
The Duke of Gravina looked up from his desk, impaling him with accusing eyes. “Ah, the prodigal son, at last. What took you so long?” the querulous old man snapped, a disapproving frown creasing his leathery face. “I summoned you nearly two months ago!”
“My journey was delayed by a foul-tempered monarch and equally ill-tempered weather. Do not ask me to name the worse, for I would be unable to distinguish between man and nature by the behavior of either,” Alessandro answered with levity. “But Italy has welcomed me back with gentle arms. I’d almost forgotten how lovely it is here in spring. The countryside is so peaceful and refreshing after years spent serving the Empire in cold, noisy, filth-ridden cities like Paris and Petersburg.”
His father glowered from beneath bushy, grey brows. “Serving? Pah! Do not provoke me with your impertinence! I have been kept informed regarding your reprehensible behavior while you are supposed to be acting as a representative of Rome. If you have served anyone, it has been yourself.”
“It was not my intent to be impertinent, father,” Alessandro countered, maintaining a benign expression. He’d accomplished every assignment given him, achieved every goal set by his superiors. How he spent his personal time was no one’s business but his own. He let it go for the sake of peace. “I was merely trying to be pleasant.”
“Now is not the time for pleasantries.” His father’s chin quivered for a moment as he paused to draw a shaky breath. “I have brought you here because Pietro has died.”
The blood drained from Alessandro’s face with an abruptness that matched his father’s announcement. “How?” was the only word he could get past the constriction in his throat.
“He was thrown from his horse while riding. They brought him to me still alive, but...”
Alessandro watched as his father seemed to sag beneath the weight of the unspoken words. The same crushing weight bore down on his own heart. “Father, I—”
“His wife was with child, and we had hoped...but the boy was stillborn. Thus, you are now my heir,” the duke pronounced bitterly, his voice cracking. “I know you’ve never coveted your brother’s place and that you view any responsibility an onerous burden, but in this, you have no choice. Neither of us does. Be it for good or for ill, you are my successor now.”
The grizzled old man appraised his elaborately decorated garments with open disgust. “I expect you to don proper mourning at once, at least while you are here. What you do when you leave here is beyond my control, but in this house, you will behave with proper decorum and respect.”
“Of course, Father.” An odd sensation spread slowly across Alessandro’s skin, like cold fingers trailing over it. Does he not think that I grieve, too?
“I will allow you to stay for a time to comfort your mother, for it was at her request you were summoned. Had it not been for her, I would have simply informed you of Pietro’s passing in the letter and bid you remain in Petersburg until it became necessary to bring you home to assume your duties.”
As though he couldn’t bear the sight of him any longer, his father bent his silvered head, focusing instead on the ledger before him. “It is out of care for her that I have held my tongue about your degeneracy abroad and kept it from my superiors. See to it that you bring no disgrace upon yourself while you are in this house, for if you cause her even a moment’s additional pain through your lack of self-control, I will strip you of your allowance and have you excommunicated.”
