Tallie's Knight (26 page)

“Madame Girodoux has
invited me to go vagabondising this evening,” said Tallie as they returned
home. Her husband glowered silently from the corner of the carriage. He had not
said a word since she had removed her cloak on arrival at the thé, revealing
her new pale gold French tea gown.

It was perfectly
respectable —compared with most of the other ladies’ gowns. But after his first
stunned glance his eyes had narrowed to icy chips, and an even blacker frown
had descended on his face.

He’d said not a word
to a soul all afternoon. And to think she had once thought his manners were
beautiful. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her for an instant. Tallie had found
that dark, icy glare decidedly unnerving, but her courage had been bolstered by
Madame Girodoux’s smiles and nods of approval.

And so Tallie had
mentioned the vagabondising excursion, knowing full well Magnus would
disapprove.

Magnus snorted
wrathfully.

“Madame Girodoux and
her simpering blasted nephew, I suppose.”

Tallie shrugged.

“Madame did not
mention who else was in the party, but it would not surprise me if Fabrice were
included. She is very fond of him.”

Magnus grunted.

“What exactly does
vagabondising mean?”

“I’m not entirely
certain, but I think it means exploring the less respectable parts of Paris by
night. It sounds utterly thrilling, does it not?” Still a little nervous about
these tactics, Tallie forced herself to smile sunnily at him. She wished she
had not to resort to stratagems to gain his attention. It would be wonderful if
he craved her company as much as she craved his. But she was learning to cut
her coat to suit her cloth. And if stratagems were what it took, then so be it.
And he had responded to her gown in a wonderfully jealous manner.

Magnus glowered at
her.

“I think I know as
much about the night life of Paris as madame or her precious nephew. Would you
object if I escorted you on my own private tour?”

“Oh, Magnus, it would
be utterly splendid!” Tallie exclaimed and, jumping up, she flung her arms
around him and pressed a fervent kiss on his mouth.

Taken by surprise,
Magnus hesitated for a moment. Tallie started to draw back, but before she
could he gathered her into a hungry embrace and was kissing her with
unrestrained passion. He drew her onto his lap, kissing her hard, his mouth
devouring her, one large, warm hand cupping her head in a firm, tender hold,
the other possessively roaming her body, caressing, seeking, bringing her to
the brink of pleasure.

“Oh, Magnus,” she
gasped, overwhelmed by his unexpected move. She kissed him back with all the
love in her heart, her anger forgotten.

She slipped her hand
into his shirt and nibbed the palm of her hand over his chest in a way she knew
he liked. She felt a glow of feminine satisfaction, feeling him shudder beneath
her fingers.

The carriage rumbled
to a halt and they fell apart as the door was pulled open by a footman. Magnus
stepped out and held out his hand to help her down, his eyes burning into hers.
Blushing, she descended the steps and entered the house with her hand still
clasped firmly in his.

As the front door
closed behind them he swung her into his arms and took the stairs, two at a
time, seeming not even to notice her weight.

She clung to his
neck, delighted with his passionate impetuosity, so unlike her Icicle. He
kicked open the door of his bedchamber, stepped inside, kicked it shut and laid
her carefully on his bed.

He took the neckline
of her gown in his long, strong fingers, saying, “You’ll not wear this blasted
thing in public again,” and ripped it open in one dramatic move. Tallie was
utterly thrilled. His eyes darkened as they moved over her partially revealed
body. He wrenched off his beautifully arranged neck cloth and flung his shirt
away.

“I think, madam wife,
any engagements you have made for this afternoon will have to remain
unfulfilled.”

Tallie smiled
naughtily up at him.

“Yes, but I doubt
whether I will.”

He looked startled
for a moment, and then eyed her hungrily.

“Nor will I, my dear.
Nor will I,” he muttered hoarsely, and lowered his mouth to hers.

That night, Magnus
took her out vagabondising —after ensuring she was muffled to the ears and
buttoned to the neck. He directed the carriage to a part of the city Tallie had
never seen, where the streets were narrow and dark and vaguely threatening.

They were, nonetheless,
full of people dressed in all sorts of costumes: gaudy women with painted
faces, beggars and cripples, elegantly dressed gentlemen, shopkeepers,
soldiers. Tallie almost slipped on the oily cobblestones, and Magnus held her
clamped tight to his side. Claude loomed in the gloom several paces behind
them, and for once Tallie was glad of his fearsome visage.

“After you, my dear,”
said Magnus, stopping at a doorway lit by painted lanterns. He ushered her down
the stairs into a dark and mysterious place called a cabaret. They found a
table and called for drinks.

Tallie’s was bright
green. She eyed it with suspicion.

“Does it not meet
with my lady’s favour?” Magnus said, quirking an eyebrow.

On her mettle, Tallie
sipped it cautiously, then smiled.

“It tastes of
peppermint.”

Magnus’s white teeth
glinted in the candlelight.

Setting down her
glass, Tallie looked around her. All sorts of people of all walks of life
rubbed elbows and mingled in the smoky gloom.

Grimy crimson
curtains hung across a small stage.

“What do the curtains
conceal?” she asked.

“Wait and see.”

After a few moments a
dwarf came forward, dressed as a Turk, with a red fez. With a shout of
something unintelligible, he pulled aside the curtains and scattered applause
filled the room as a sultry, exotic-looking woman came forward. She was
dressed, quite indecently, in red satin and black lace. She sang several songs
which had all the gentlemen chuckling, including Magnus.

“She has a lovely
voice,” whispered Tallie, “but I can hardly understand a word. Will you tell me
what the songs are about?”

Magnus looked at her,
a faint smile on his face, then shook his head.

Tallie opened her
mouth to argue, but suddenly a group of scantily clad dancers whooped onto the
dance floor, twirling glittering scarves and performing some exotic dance to
the rhythm of drums and wailing music. Their movements left Tallie in no doubt
of what the dance, at least, was about. She stared, wide-eyed, feeling her
cheeks warming. Magnus stood up, frowning, and said brusquely, “It’s time we
moved on, I think.”

Tallie’s face fell.

“Oh, no, it cannot be
time to go home already, can it?”

He looked down at her
and his frown softened.

“No, there’s plenty
more to see, little vagabond. Only not here, I think.”

“Oh, I suppose you
are right,” said Tallie reluctantly. “Those dances are vastly improper, aren’t
they?”

Her husband gave a
choke of laughter and took her arm.

“Outside,” he said. “Now.”

They took a carriage
to a place beside the Seine, where a crowd of people were gathered in a large
circle, watching. Magnus, keeping Tallie safe in the circle of his arm,
shouldered his way to a place where she could see. Tallie felt as if there were
just herself and Magnus in the world, as if everything else was just a magical many-splendoured
rhapsody whirling around them, binding them together in a spell of enchantment.

Acrobats dressed in
glittering finery leapt and tumbled on a tattered cloth of red and gold, while
a one-legged man played merry tunes on an organ. Then a pair of young girls came
out, looking as innocent as schoolgirls. They twirled and tossed burning
brands, leaving trails of fire hanging in the dark night air. And finally, to
the gasps of the crowd, they swallowed the fire, then spat out whooshing bursts
of flame, bowing and smiling afterwards, apparently quite unhurt. Tallie clapped
her hands until they hurt.

Then there was a
puppet show about a young girl lost in the forest, and a dragon and a brave
bold knight, and Tallie’s heart was in her mouth.

She knew they were
just puppets, but she clasped Magnus tight even so and was glad of his warmth.

They watched until
there was no more to see, then strolled on beside the silently flowing Seine.
They ate hot nuts cooked on a brazier before their eyes, and Magnus had to lend
Tallie his handkerchief to wipe her greasy fingers. And he kissed her in the
darkness and tasted salt on her lips.

Later, following the
sound of music down a dark lane, they came to a small, open courtyard, where
gypsies sang and leapt and gyrated under flaming torches, their heels tapping
out a frenzied tattoo, their guitars and throats sobbing with tragic passion.
Tallie found them very moving, even though she could understand none of the
words, and she clutched her husband’s arm and watched the gypsies with tears in
her eyes.

And Magnus dried
Tallie’s eyes and took her home and made love to her, first with an urgency and
passion that left her gasping with ecstasy, then later with such tenderness she
found herself weeping again. Only this time he did not dry her tears, but
kissed them away, and held her in his arms until they both fell asleep.

The next evening they
went to the Theatre Française to see Fleury, the most famous actor in all
France. It was Tallie’s first visit to a theatre, and though it was hot, stuffy
and crowded, she found it quite wondrous and fantastical. Her husband found he
could barely take his eyes off her enraptured face, and when he brought her
home that night he made slow, sensual love to her, marvelling at her passionate
response, fearing and hungering for her to say it again. I love you, Magnus.

But she didn’t say
it.

Magnus accompanied
her everywhere. He took her to the new Palais Royale, which contained
libraries, gambling houses, coffee houses, pawnbrokers, jewellers, ice shops,
exhibition rooms, theatres and even a chess club. They attended balls and
masquerades. And each night they made magical, tender love.

And she seemed happy,
Magnus thought. She told him once in sweet exhaustion that she imagined two
people could feel no closer than when making love. He wanted to tell her it
could also be the loneliest feeling in the world, that it had been for him —until
her. But he couldn’t.

And she never again
said the words he both craved and dreaded. I love you, Magnus.

“Milady,” said
Monique one morning while she was arranging Tallie’s hair. “When do you think
your baby will be born?”

Tallie stared in
surprise at the reflection of her maid in the looking glass.

“Baby? What do you
mean, Monique?”

“Oui, you are
enceinte, are you not, milady?”

“Enceinte? I have no
idea.”

The maid frowned.

“But, milady, I ‘ave
been with you more than seven weeks now.”

“Yes, it would be
about that. But what does that signify?”

“In all that time you
‘ave not ‘ad your monthly courses.”

Tallie’s eyes
widened.

“No, that’s right,”
she said slowly. “How clever of you to notice. But what has that to do with a
baby?”

Monique explained.

“Really?” exclaimed
Tallie. “So that’s how one knows… And you really think I am increasing?”

“Oui, milady. Unless
your courses are always irregular?”

Tallie shook her
head.

“No, never. I just
thought I had missed them because of being married or travelling or something.”
She felt a quiver of excitement ripple through her. A baby. How wonderful.

Monique smiled at her
mistress.

“Lord d’Arenville
will be very pleased, yes?”

Tallie froze. Once
her husband discovered she was increasing, he would want to take her home to
England and d’Arenville Hall. He had said so in no uncertain terms.

And then she’d never
get to Italy.

And getting to Italy
was almost as important to Tallie as her baby was.

She had delayed too
long in Paris as it was. There was something much more important at stake here
than mere pleasure. She had been selfish and thoughtless and had allowed
herself to be seduced by pleasures and entertainments.

“No, Monique,” she
slowly. “I will not tell my husband just yet. It will be our little secret, agreed?”

Monique looked
troubled.

“If you say so,
milady.”

“I do,” said Tallie
firmly. “And now, if you please, we must make preparations to leave Paris.”

“Leave Paris?” gasped
Monique.

“Yes, in three days,
I think,” said Tallie firmly. “You will come with us, will you not? To Italy?”

Made shrugged.

“Of course, milady.
Why not? I ‘ave never been to Italy. But milor —will ‘e wish to go so suddenly?”

Tallie smiled.

“You may leave milor
to me.”

“Oh,” said Tallie,
stretching luxuriously in her canvas seat and gazing contentedly at the passing
scenery. They had left Paris three days before by coach, but had transferred to
a barge that morning.

“This is indeed much
more agreeable than I had expected it to be. How pretty those fields and
vineyards are. And how smooth the water slipping by.”

Magnus smiled. The
barge trip had been suggested by Luigi Maguire, the majordomo hired to make
arrangements for the journey, a Frenchman with an Italian mother and an Irish
father. Maguire was already proving his worth.

“I did tell you it
would be easier on the bones than a carriage, but you wouldn’t have it, would
you? Now confess —you thought you would get seasick, didn’t you?”