Prelude to Heaven (38 page)

Aubry, however, intended to have it taken out, and Tess had reacted to the other man’s decision without any surprise. It was almost as if she'd been expecting it.

Did she really love that selfish prig? He could hardly credit it. She didn't look like a woman in love, and she clearly wasn’t happy. Was it her unhappiness with Aubry that had sent her into another man’s arms in the first place? Led her to run away to France? Had she gone back with Aubry only because marital law demanded it?

Alexandre sank down in the grass, appreciating that every time he asked himself these questions about her motives, he attempted more and more to find explanations that would exonerate her. And he didn’t know what was truth and what was simply wishful thinking on his part.

***

When Tess entered the conservatory the following morning, Alexandre was already there, standing by one of the windows with his pencil and sketchbook. Knowing he hadn't heard her come in, she paused in the doorway to watch him unobserved, knowing she might never have another opportunity.

His hair was loose, and she wondered where he'd left his ribbon this time. As he sketched, she watched his hands, and she remembered how he had touched her with a tenderness she had never known before and would never know again. Never again would he hold her in his arms. Never again would she have the luxury of being cherished. She loved him, but he could never be hers. She could never be his.

Suddenly, he seemed to sense her presence, for he paused and glanced at the doorway. When he saw her, his lips tighten, as if he didn’t like the fact that she’d been watching him. He left the window, dropping his sketchbook and pencil on a nearby table and moving to where he had set up his easel and paints. “Let's begin,” he said, gesturing to her chair.

Tess crossed the room and sat down, positioning her body in the same pose she’d assumed the day before. But she must have got it wrong, for Alexandre shook his head as if dissatisfied and walked over to her chair. He bent down, pulling at the folds of her yellow silk gown to rearrange them. When he was satisfied, he straightened, but he did not return to his easel. Instead, he paused in front of her, looking into her face.

Tess met his gaze, and she had the terrible feeling what she felt was plainly written on her face. But covering her love for him behind a mask of indifference was proving harder each time she saw him, and suddenly, it seemed impossible.

He reached out his hand toward her.
Don't
, she thought.
Don’t touch me, Alexandre
.
I’ll come apart
.

His fingertips brushed her cheek and she heard her own sharp, indrawn breath. He ran one finger along the hollow dent of her cheek, and when she opened her mouth to protest, he cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips to silence her before she could speak.

Inside, she could feel herself shaking with the effort of holding back. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, kiss his mouth, tell him to take her away...but it was all impossible dreams.

He tilted her chin up and a bit to the side, then jerked his hand back and returned to his place.

He began to sketch her image on the canvas, blocking out her shape. “I took a walk in your garden last night,” he found himself saying. “I thought it was beautiful.”

“Thank you. A pity does not agree with you.”

He paused. “Nigel,” he said with obvious contempt, “is a fool.”

He looked at her over the top of the canvas, waiting as if he expected her to defend her husband against such criticism, but she said nothing, and her silence said more than any words she could have spoken.

***

That afternoon, an unexpected matter of business required Aubry to cancel his plan to take Alexandre on a tour of the countryside, leaving Alexandre to his own devices.

Tess learned from one of the grooms that he had gone riding, and in light of his admission that Suzanne was nearby, she wondered if he'd gone to see their daughter. The groom told her Monsieur Dumond had ridden every morning and every afternoon during his stay, and with that news, she decided to follow him the following afternoon, grateful that Nigel no longer deemed it necessary to keep a footman or maid constantly at her heels. She had her mare saddled, and lingered near the stables but hidden from view behind a thick row of yew hedges. Peeking between them, she waited, and when she saw Alexandre ride out, headed for the road, she mounted her mare to follow.

Careful to remain a good distance behind, she followed him to the Bells & Motley, an inn on the road to London, and when he went inside, she halted in the grove of trees across the road. She dismounted, tethered her mare to a tree, and sat down to wait, watching the inn from the thick shelter of the trees. She knew she was taking an enormous risk by coming here, but if this was he was keeping Suzanne, if she could catch just one glimpse of her daughter, the risk was worth it.

It was at least an hour before Alexandre reappeared, but Suzanne was not with him, and she felt a keen stab of disappointment. He mounted his horse and started back toward Aubry Park, but she lingered, staring at the inn across the road. The temptation to go in, ask after her daughter, perhaps even see her, was almost irresistible, but she didn’t dare act on it. Someone would be sure to recognize her, and she couldn't run the risk of Nigel finding out she'd gone to an inn.

At last, she untied her horse's reins intending to follow Alexandre back to Aubry Park, but as she prepared to swing herself up into the saddle, she caught sight of Leonie emerging from the inn with a toddler by the hand and a baby in her arms, and risks and consequences went to the wall.

Once again tethering her mare, she glanced about to make sure no one was watching her, then she followed Leonie behind the inn. She had no need to quicken her pace to catch up to them, for Elise’s baby steps were still a bit wobbly, and they had barely entered the grove of trees behind the inn before Tess was close enough to call the other woman’s name.

Leonie turned at the sound, and her dark eyes widened in shock. “Mademoiselle?”

Heart pounding, Tess came closer, staring not at Leonie, but at the baby in Leonie’s arms, looking into a pair round eyes as green as her own that peeked at her from beneath a lacy white cap. Joy and love welled up inside her, making her eyes sting. “Oh, she’s so beautiful!”

Suzanne smiled at her, gurgled something unintelligible, and jammed her fist into her mouth.

“Why do you come here?”

Leonie’s voice cut in, disapproving and defensive, and Tess’s joy faded as she watched the other woman step back from her, pulling Elise and clutching Suzanne more tightly to her breast.

“I know it must be a great shock to see me,” Tess said. “But surely you know Alexandre was here to paint a portrait of me?”

“
Oui
. The Comte told me.” She turned her head aside as Suzanne began pulling at her hair, and she shifted the baby’s weight a bit in the crook of her arm.

Tess took a step closer and reached out her hand as if to touch Suzanne, but Leonie stepped back, holding the child more tightly than before.

“I wanted to see her.” Tess let her hand fall to her side. “I know you think I don't care about her, but I do.”

“What sort of mother abandons her baby?”

Tess's throat clogged up at the accusation, and it took her a moment to reply. “I had reasons for leaving,” she finally managed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I will not allow you take Suzanne.”

“I don't want to take her. I can't keep her, and besides, I know that Alexandre loves her very much.”

“I will never forget the look on the Comte's face when he came back from Marseilles. He had followed you there, you and your lover. When he came back, he looked a broken man. I cried for him.” Her frown deepened into contempt. “Be gone. Have you not done enough to hurt him?”

Leonie bent and lifted Elise into her other arm, then she tried to step around Tess. Desperate, Tess blocked her path, hoping for a few moments more. “I don't want to take Suzanne away from Alexandre,” Tess reiterated, looking at her beautiful baby, burning the button nose, plump cheeks and red-blond lashes into her mind. “I only wanted—” Her voice broke, and she had to force the words out. “I only wanted to see her.”

Leonie's hostile posture relaxed, but only a little. “She is well. You have seen that she is cared for. Now, go. And do not come again.”

Leonie walked past her toward the inn. Tess turned, and as she watched the other woman taking her baby away, Tess was no longer able to hold back the pain. “I only wanted to see her,” she called, watching them go through a blur of tears. “I only wanted to see my baby.”

***

Alexandre snapped the reins across the horse's neck, quickening the animal’s pace from a gallop to a run. The morning breeze stung his cheeks and sent his hair flying behind him as he raced the horse across a meadow, making for the elegant estate in the distance. He'd been to the inn to see Suzanne, where Leonie had told him of Tess's visit the previous afternoon, and anger seared through his veins like acid. Anger and fear.

Perhaps she was having second thoughts about her choice to give up Suzanne. Perhaps she wanted the child back. If so, her desire was futile, for she could prove no legal claim on the baby. He wouldn't let her take Suzanne from him, not as long as he drew breath.

By the time he had changed out of riding costume and arrived at the conservatory to begin their session, she was already seated, waiting for him. He came in, and her eyes widened in surprise as he closed the door behind him, but she said nothing.

“You went to see Suzanne.”

Her chin rose a notch. “Yes.”

He wanted to shout and rage and rip her heart out as she had done his.

“Don't do it again.” He walked past her to the worktable by his easel and began mixing paints, vowing he’d have this picture finished within two days and be gone from here. To that end, silence reigned for the next few hours as she posed and he worked. Like him, she did not seem inclined to talk, for which he was glad, but the lack of conversation didn’t make his task easier. He still had to look at her, he still had to capture the eyes that had looked at him with what he’d thought was love. He still had to paint the mouth he had kissed and the skin he had touched.

“Alexandre?”

He froze, staring at the canvas. “What?”

“I only wanted to see her.”

“Why?” he demanded and tossed down his brush, sick of having nothing but questions. He wanted some answers. “Why should you want to see her? If you have any idea of trying to take her back, think again. I will not give her up.”

“I don't want her back.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“Damn you.” She jerked to her feet and came toward him, and when he looked at her, he saw an anger in her eyes that matched his own. “I love my daughter.”

“You have a fine way of demonstrating it.”

The fight seemed to drain out of her as quickly as it had come. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead, silent for a moment. “Alexandre,” she said at last, lifting her head. “I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, but—”

“Who is Suzanne's real father?”

She blinked, astonished by his abrupt question. “W...what?”

“You heard my question.”

“I heard you. But I don't quite know what answer you are expecting.”

“Perhaps the truth?”

“Nigel, of course,” she answered, a frown of bewilderment knitting her brows. “How could you ask me such a question?”

“I was wondering why a woman who was married and expecting a child would run away from her husband. And I was wondering why that woman would journey all the way to southern France to have her baby. It seems to me there's only one reason.”

“You think I had a lover,” she said slowly. “You think I left my husband because I was having another man's child and my husband would realize it? You think I ran to avoid facing a scandal?” She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that hurt him. “During the past seven months, I have often wondered what you must think of me,” she managed. “Now I know. The worst part is, I can't blame you your conclusions, as wrong as they are.”

“Why did you leave Suzanne behind, if Nigel is her father?”

“Nigel would not...” She paused to take a deep breath. “Nigel would not have wanted a daughter. He would not have been a good father to her.”

“So, you didn't take a lover?” His voice was harsh to his own ears, and his heart seemed to stop as he waited for her answer.

“Yes, I did. I did take a lover once.” She looked at him, not a hint of shame in her expression. Instead, he saw what he remembered—the soft tenderness of the woman he’d thought had loved him. “But he's French, you see. And he has the blackest eyes I've ever seen. And the m...most glorious hair. And he was so good to me, he loved me, and I left him. I—”

Something inside him snapped, broke apart. He pulled her into his arms, cutting her off mid-sentence, and captured her mouth with his. The taste of her was like heaven. And like hell.

Her arms came up around his neck, and she returned his kiss with a passion that matched his own, burning away all anger, all fear, leaving only need. The need to have her.

Suddenly, she broke the kiss, tearing free and taking a step back, out of his arms. “I have to go,” she choked out and ran for the door, but in the doorway, she stopped and turned. “Leave, Alexandre. Take Suzanne, and leave. There is nothing for you here.”

He didn’t try to stop her. Breathing deep, he raked his hands through his hair and tried to gather his scattered wits. She was right, of course. When the painting was finished, there would be nothing to keep him here, and he would have to leave. He just hoped that when the time came, he would have the strength to do it.

***

Alexandre spent the afternoon with Nigel, forced to endure a tour of Aubry Park. Fortunately, the tour was not a long one, and when they had finished, he was still able to spend a bit of the afternoon with Suzanne.

He ordered a picnic from the innkeeper's wife, and took Suzanne to a pretty spot he'd noticed earlier in the day. But he’d barely put her on the blanket and opened the picnic basket before she turned over, hoisted herself up on her hands and knees and began to crawl away across the grass. In her long skirts, she couldn't crawl very fast, and he was able to catch her simply by stretching out one arm and cupping his hand under her belly. Laughing, he hoist her up and wrapping his hands around her plump midsection, he stood her on his knees facing him.