But what an elegantly vicious dilemma he found himself in through his own unbridled lust. Because it wasn’t as though marrying him would keep Allegra safe. Just the opposite. He couldn’t tell her so, but there seemed little point in saving her reputation only in order to put her life at risk. It would be comforting to think that the multitude of people who would want him dead if they knew his true identity would be scrupulous enough to make sure they left his wife unharmed in any attack on him, but he didn’t believe that for a second. She’d be a perfect hostage to fortune, as would any innocent children they might produce, and who could doubt that his numerous enemies would seize the opportunity with both hands if it ever came? He would not take such a chance, still less because he emphatically couldn’t tell her the truth and let her assess the danger for herself before she chose, which was a privilege any adult should be granted in a life-threatening situation.
And it was a moot point anyway. He could resolve to marry her, if he did not give a damn for her safety, and then it wouldn’t matter overmuch if the ton listened to Englishby and whispered sexual slurs against her – given who and what he was, they probably would regardless, of any woman he wed. But marriage by itself wouldn’t fix the problem of her mother’s apparently murky past. He knew she had younger sisters, two or three of them, though of course he’d never met them and couldn’t be expected to care about them. If anyone had asked him fifteen minutes ago if he gave a button for the future happiness and security of some silly little chits he didn’t even know, he’d have denied itvehemently. He wasn’t a misty-eyed idealist; he was a practical man concerned chiefly with his own threatened survival. But he’d be damned if he’d let a hell-born babe like Englishby destroy a whole family of women who’d done him no harm. Especially not when Allegra Constantine was one of them. It just wasn’t right.
‘I think you’re going to have to tell your mother,’ he said resolutely. He knew already what her reaction to this sensible advice would be.
‘I can’t!’ she shot back.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. ‘You told me I was implicated in this confounded mess, and you were right. Well, so is she, Allegra. I deserved to know of it, and the same applies to her. If Englishby’s slurs on her birth are untrue, that’s one thing – then we can deal with him.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet, but we can. Let’s not worry about that now. If he’s somehow ferreted out the truth, though, that’s a very different matter – it makes him much more dangerous. And only your mother can say if this is the case or not.’ He saw that she was still looking uncertain, and went on with added urgency, ‘Even if you or I could somehow investigate and confirm or disprove what he told you, and I can’t imagine where we’d start, or the damage we might do simply by asking such loaded questions, what then? It’s unfair to keep her in ignorance. Dangerous, even. You must see that.’
She seemed unconvinced. ‘If I go to her with that news, though, I shall have to share everything with her.Youmust surely see why I don’t want to do that. It’s mostly for my own sake, I admit, but it won’t be easy for you either, if I tell her. You know what she’ll say.’
So he was going to have to say it in plain words; he’d feared as much. ‘She’ll tell me I should marry you.’
He couldn’t decipher the mixture of emotions that crossed her face. Perhaps he didn’t want to. He ploughed on before his courage deserted him. ‘Ican’tmarry you, Allegra, and I can’t tell you why. It’s not just some whim or stubborn preference or foolish desire for freedom. You’ll just have to trust me on this, though I know there is no reason on earth why you should.’
‘I didn’t come here to ask you to marry me, or force you in some way. It’s not a clever trap I’ve devised for you.’ She was vehement, but she didn’t need to convince him, because he had felt this deep in his bones before she had spoken. His Miss Constantine was too good, too uncomfortably honest; she would never stoop to such a subterfuge.
‘I know it isn’t, Allegra. I think…’ He was blindsided by a sudden rush of emotion so powerful that he was unable to speak for a moment, and when at last it receded, he was left with an empty, lonely feeling that was fresh and painful in its intensity. ‘I think if I could marry you, I would gladly do it. I wasn’t aware of that till just now, and there’s no point in me saying it, because I can’t, however much I might wish to. It must just be easy words to you.’
‘You’re married already, then?’ She was striving for lightness, for an air of sophistication, and not achieving it, seeming as overset as he was. It was a natural question, he supposed.
‘I’m not. But I am… involved in something that prevents me from joining myself to you, or anyone, in an honourable fashion. I’m sorry. I really can’t say any more.’
She shrugged. He wanted to think,bravely, but that would be to assume, like some self-regarding popinjay, that she actually wanted to marry him. Why should she? He was no great bargain, assuming she wanted to marry anybody at all, which she easily might not. He thought her freedom was precious to her, such little as she had. She said, ‘I will believe you, if you tell me so. I dobelieve you, in fact, if I can depend on my own judgement at all. But I can’t promise as much on my mother’s behalf. She’s fearsome – you must have seen that. She may very well abuse you, put you under all manner of pressure.’
It was his turn to shrug, though he felt it to be a poor effort at casualness. ‘I daresay I will deserve it, however bad it is. You wouldn’t be in this coil at all if it wasn’t for me.’
She shook her head. ‘No, that’s incorrect, you know. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have kissed Mr Englishby in the garden that night, maybe done more than that, and then I’d be in a similar sort of mess, but without you or anyone else to turn to.’
That was true, and he adored her for saying it. Which was interesting, even alarming, but didn’t help a jot either. ‘Your mother bears some blame too, unless he’s lying.’
‘Somehow I don’t think he is.’
‘Then we are back where we began: you have to tell her.’
She sighed. ‘I suppose so. I’ll do it tomorrow. I shall have a sleepless night, and if you have the smallest fraction of an idea what lies in store for you, you should too.’
He smiled at her without any amusement in his heart. ‘I’m not sure there’s much more to be said, then. I’ll take you home and see you safe inside. One journey alone through the streets is enough for an evening, I think. Let me call up my coach.’
‘Must you? It lets more people know the scandalous fact that I was here, or at least that someone was. It increases the chance of discovery, in any case. I don’t mind the walk, if you come with me. It’s not so very far.’
‘Very well. Do you need anything before we go – refreshment, a moment to… tidy yourself?’
‘No, thank you. Do you?’
He laughed. ‘No. Let us go, then.’ She followed him out into the hall, which was empty though he could not doubt thatWicken was close by, discreetly hovering in case he should be needed, and he picked up his hat and coat and left the house with her at his side.
Max was conscious, even while it was happening, that he’d not soon forget that strange and somehow precious interlude, when he and Allegra walked, side by side and largely silent, through the night-time streets of London.
A few minutes after they left his house, they passed a bedraggled old watchman with a battered hat and a sack around his shoulders. He looked at them blearily without any great show of interest – think of all the odd things he must have seen in his nightly journeys – and called out the hour: two o’clock, and the weather turning. It was coming on to drizzle, and Max was glad of his many-caped overcoat and beaver hat; Allegra said she was snug enough in her heavy cloak, and had been sensible enough to wear stout boots for her journey. The silver moisture settled on her hood and shoulders, and clung to her long, dark lashes. He felt an impulse to reach out and brush it away with tender care, but he repressed it. It could do no good to either of them.
All too soon, as far as he was concerned, they reached Great Russell Street. She wanted him to leave her at the top of the area steps and make his way home directly, but he insisted on accompanying her down to the door. He told himself it was the least he could do, though he knew that the plain fact was, he wanted a few more pathetically inadequate moments in her company.
She took out a heavy key from her reticule and inserted it with infinite care in the lock, but he saw with a sudden thrill of alarm that it did not turn as she expected. ‘It’s already unlocked,’ she hissed urgently.
