Regency Masquerade by Vera Loy Read Free Book Online Page A

London!  She
threw a fearful glance around the room, half fearing that he was even now
bearing down on her.
    Tony
took his leave and Carleton turned back to Frances. “Alright?” he queried,
curiously.
    She
nodded, offering no explanation, and after a second he continued walking.
    “Care
to come back with me for a drink?” he invited over his shoulder.
    She
felt she could do with a strong brandy at the moment but it would be beyond
rash to go alone to Carleton’s house with him a second time.  “That is very
kind of you my lord, but -”
    “Come
now, I’ll brook no refusal!” the older man interrupted smiling, “The night is
still young ... unless there is some reason why you no longer want my company?”
    Frances
stopped in her tracks, her eyes flying to his face.  Did he suspect?   She had
not seen that hard look in his eyes before, she did not think he had guessed
her secret but he obviously suspected she was hiding something from him.  She stiffened,
squaring her shoulders, “I am sorry my lord.  It’s rather that you may
no longer want my company.”  She bowed slightly, “I’ll go.”
    Already
regretting his sharpness, Carleton put a hand on her shoulder, “Please don’t. 
I apologise.  I would very much appreciate it if you would tell me your full
story, or as much of it as you feel comfortable in telling.”
    When
he smiled at her like that Frances felt that she would have walked on coals
rather than lose his regard.  What was another risk to her reputation after all?
  It was already beyond redemption if her secret was discovered. “In that case
I accept your kind invitation.”
    They
took a hackney cab as Carleton had not thought it worthwhile to bring his own
carriage.  The thought crossed her mind of the absolute impropriety of the
action if she had been dressed as a woman.  Men had so much more freedom.
    In
his study, with the coals stirred up into an orange blaze, Carleton poured them
both a glass of brandy and asked, “Will you tell me what is between you and the
Comte Duverne?”
    Frances
gaped at him.  He smiled wryly at her, “You looked as sick as a dog when Tony
asked me about him and I know I have never met the gentleman.”
    “I
...er,” she stuttered.
    “Tell
me to mind my own business if you like,” he offered withdrawing slightly.
    “No
it is just ... well ... oh the devil! I’ll have to tell you now or you will be
imagining the Lord knows what!”
    Carleton
relaxed at this rather ingenious outburst and sat down.
    “I’d
rather not have told you,” Frances confessed, “as tis not a pretty tale and you
will only have my word for the truth of it.  It was a gaming matter.  I was in
Paris at the time with my ...  my father and we visited a rather infamous
gaming den.  The Comte Duverne was there also.”
    Her
mind went back to the scene, the smoke filled room, the Comte with a party of
friends and hangers on, obviously the leader of the group and equally obviously
half primed, and ready for a lark.  His eyes searching for diversion, had
landed on Frances, a young boy as he thought sitting idly at a table by himself
watching the game across the room.  He had risen to his feet and approached
him.  “A game of piquet lad?” he enquired, seating himself without waiting for
an invitation.  “Just a friendly hand or two while I wait for my friends to
finish their game.”
    “I
tried to decline, but he was insistent,” she continued.  She had not tried very
hard, she admitted to herself.  She had been playing cards ever since she could
remember.  Her father had taught her originally so that he could have someone
to play against and keep up his own skills, and then when she had shown such
natural aptitude, so that she could join him in his livelihood.  After the
first game which she suspected he had let her win, the Comte had insisted on
increasing the stakes, no doubt thinking to frighten the lad  out of what wits
he had for cards and then to have