It might never be possible for her to be truly happy, but the joy of the dance lifted her spirits.
They had completed only one circuit of the ballroom when, during the subtle break before the faster Allegro vivace movement, a voice from behind Lorne said, “May I take the princess for a turn?”
When Lorne stepped aside with an expression of irritation to address the intruder, she saw that it was Stephen Byrne.
Her breath hissed inward with delight as she took in his costume, so unlike anything she’d seen him wear before. It was an officer’s military dress uniform, one she recognized from photographs of the American Civil War. Dark blue jacket, with polished brass buttons, fringed epaulettes, and a fitted waist that showed off his wide shoulders. She was stunned at his change in appearance. Without the great flapping leather duster and Stetson he looked every bit the gallant young nobleman.
Although Byrne was nearly a head shorter than the lofty Lorne, she sensed her husband felt intimidated. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped back and waved a hand in her direction.
“So long as the lady does not object, she is yours,” Lorne said with a chill smile. “For the moment.”
“Thank you, Marquess.” Byrne held out his hand to Louise as the music swelled exuberantly, sweeping other dancers past them in a frenzied vortex of silk, satin, and jewels. “Your Highness?”
Unsure why he had stolen her away from her husband, middance no less, she observed him with caution. Did the American officer even know how to dance?
He did, she discovered. Magnificently.
They joined the throng, circling counterclockwise around the ballroom. But as soon as they reached the side farthest from the royal dais where the Prince of Wales and her brother Leo sat, Byrne whirled her out of the maelstrom of dancers. He lifted the latch on the balcony doors, dropped an arm around her waist, and scooped her outside into the night.
Thirty-one
It happened so fast, Louise didn’t have a chance to protest. She was still preoccupied with catching her breath when she realized he was wrapping a leather strap he’d pulled from his pocket around the two exterior door handles, effectively locking the doors with the two of them outside.
She touched wary fingertips to the pearls at her throat. “What is that for?”
“So we won’t be disturbed. You wanted a report?”
“Yes. Darvey.” She breathed a little easier. “Have you dealt with that cruel man? Are Amanda and her family safe now?”
Byrne walked over to the ornate stone balustrade that edged the balcony, his boots striking the paving stones forcefully, his expression unreadable. “The pimp has gone missing.”
Louise frowned. “Maybe we should consider that good news? He’s been frightened off, knowing the police will arrest him for arson.”
“I doubt it. The police, at least some among them, are likely to have been paid to protect Darvey’s business. And that might extend to his other shenanigans.”
She huffed. “I hardly call burning down a building with people inside it ‘shenanigans.’ As if he were a schoolboy prankster.”
“Despite our differences in word choice,” he said, fixing her with a dark stare, “the man’s lying low. I’ll catch up with him eventually. In the meantime, I’ve visited the Lococks and let them know to stay close to home. Henry promised to meet with as many of his patients as possible in his examination room, rather than making calls. That way, he’ll be better able to keep an eye on his wife and child.”
Louise was trying to pay attention to what he was saying. But even as he spoke, Byrne was observing her with an intensity she found worrisome, almost predatory.
“Then I suppose,” she said, “there’s nothing more you can do for the time being.”
“There is the other matter. Donovan. Your young lover.”
“Yes, what have you—” She cut herself off, realizing he’d tricked her. “Don’t be crude,” she snapped. “I never said we were anything but friends.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said and stepped closer to her. “But you were more than friends. You were lovers.”
Louise was certain she’d stopped breathing entirely now. She opened her mouth to speak but found she could not. Not a word. Not a whisper.
“Louise, it’s insane what you’re doing. You’re hiding things from me. You expect me to help you, but you refuse to give me what I need to do my job.”
“But I—”
“You can’t go on protecting secrets that need to be brought out into the open, at least between us.”
Emotion surged through her, cramping her chest, sending a lightning bolt of pain from one side of her forehead to the other. She balled her fists in rage. “How dare you presume to require personal information from me. You have been commissioned to do two jobs for the royal family. One for the queen, officially, and one for me, unofficially. That is all you need to know.” Was there ever a more infuriating man? “I stand under no obligation to feed your curiosity by . . . by spilling out the events of my personal life for your entertainment.”
He seemed not to have even heard her reprimand. “It’s not Amanda’s safety that’s so very important to you, is it?” His voice had become as still as a pond. His eyes so dark she lost herself in them. They were no less fascinating than the distant black spaces between the stars overhead. He stepped toward her. “Is it?” he repeated.
“Of course Amanda’s welfare is important.” How had they come to be standing so close? She could hardly draw a breath without the bodice of her gown brushing his lapels. “She’s my dearest friend.”
“But there is, or was, someone even more precious to you than Amanda Locock.”
She felt confused, then terrified. No. No, he can’t have found out! She fell back into the safety net of her practiced story. “Donovan was a fellow artist and friend whose—”
“Donovan be damned!” Byrne roared, making her jump. He took a breath, calmed himself again with obvious effort, but his expression remained pained when he at last spoke again. “There was a child. That’s the secret you’re trying to protect. What happened to it?”
Before she could answer, a loud pounding set the terrace doors shivering. “Your Highness, are you there? Are you all right?”
In desperation, she glanced back the way she’d come, toward the ballroom. “It’s our guardsmen,” she whispered. “Someone must have seen us come this way.”
“Answer,” Byrne said. “Tell them you’re safe.”
Was she? One scream from her, and the Hussars would break through and escort her back to her brothers, and take Byrne away.
“I’m fine,” she called out shakily. “Please, I just need a little fresh air.”
Louise heard muffled conversation then retreating footsteps but was pretty sure they’d have left a man close to the door in case she should need him. The orchestra began to play another dance. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought a fresh surge of panic. He couldn’t force her to tell him. She could run . . . just dash for the door and call out to the guard—
Byrne seized her arm as if he knew escape was on her mind. “Not this time. You’re staying here until I hear the whole story. No more lies, Louise.”
She tried to shake him off, but he held all the tighter, pulling her closer still, lowering his face to capture her frantically wandering eyes with his. The muscles along his jaw tightened, as rigid as carriage springs. His gaze turned brittle with determination.
“Louise, please, tell me. What really happened between you and the queen and your mother’s physician Charles Locock? Did you give birth to a baby out of wedlock?”