Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade by Hilary Gilman Read Free Book Online Page A

her throat, and a sudden
recollection sobered her. This was Génie’s husband, not hers. And Génie loathed
him! Why she should do so, her twin would never understand; but since it was
so, it was her clear duty to repulse him. She could not transform this loveless
marriage into a fairy-tale romance for her own sake and then, when the time
came for her to leave, condemn Rochford to disillusion and bitterness. At least
he had cared no more for Génie than she did for him. She should not, must not,
allow her own feelings to intrude or influence his.
    So she said in a hard little voice, ‘You are being
quite absurd. I told you I would have done as much for anyone in danger. And
you are quite mistaken in thinking I could not bear to look at you. The truth
is I did not give the matter a thought.’
    Two lines became visible above his nose in a quick
frown, but he did not appear to be angry. When he answered her, his tone was
that of a man attempting to work out a conundrum. ‘No, this is not you. I understand
that you wish to set me at a distance for some reason, but it is not you.’
    ‘Of course, it is me. Who else could it be? I do
not understand you.’
    ‘You mistake me. I meant that you have been playing
a part since our marriage but, for some reason, since you returned to me, you
have not been able to keep it up.’
    ‘You are quite mistaken!’
    ‘Am I? Let us make an experiment.’ He bent over
her, delicately cupped her face between his hands, and pressed his lips to hers
for a long moment. In spite of all her resolutions, her mouth quivered beneath
his and her hand stole up to caress his scarred cheek.
    When he released her, he was as pale as she was
fiery red. ‘Eugénie, my dear, I—’
    They were interrupted by Sturridge who, regarding
them with an approving eye, announced, ‘Dinner is served, your Grace.’
    Not for nothing had Minette been raised by the
Marquise de Montauban. She knew that nothing was more vulgar than to wear one’s
heart upon one’s sleeve. She could never hope to emulate Génie’s glittering
charm, but no one who observed her calmly consuming a light repast while
maintaining an effortless conversation with Rochford could have guessed that
she was suffering inner turmoil.
    She had the impression that Rochford, too, was
conversing very much at random. His gaze rarely left her face, and his
expression was still that of a man confronting an enigma. At one point, he did
bethink himself of the fate of his agent and asked, ‘Does Wilkinson have
everything he needs?’
    ‘Mrs Pritchard has him in charge,’ she answered. ‘He
was sleeping when I left him. There is nothing to be done but to keep him warm
and feed him liquids when he awakes.’
    ‘Poor old fellow. He should retire, but I have not the heart to suggest it.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    He glanced at her questioningly. ‘Are you really
interested?’
    ‘Why should I not be?’
    ‘Because the last time you visited Camer you made
it perfectly apparent that you were counting the moments until you could return
to Town.’
    She flushed and cast her eyes down to her plate.
She was making mistake after mistake; Grandmère and Génie should have known how
it would be. Rochford suspected something, there was no doubt, but she trusted the
truth was too fantastic to occur to him. She shrugged and said lightly, ‘But
since then I have suffered such ennui in Town. Always the same people, the same parties. A period in the country
makes a refreshing interlude.’
    ‘I am delighted to hear it.’ He continued to
converse amiably. That dreamlike encounter before dinner might have never
occurred. But, foolishly, she could still feel the pressure of his lips upon
hers, and she was very sure that, beneath his cool courtesy, Rochford was
thinking of little else.
    Yet, when she rose from her seat to withdraw and
leave him to his port, he surprised her by saying, ‘I shall say goodnight and
farewell for the time being. I have no doubt you