CHAPTER ONE
The Devil Man had come.
Madame Leblanc had threatened to send for him, and it
appeared she had done so.
Diane watched the carriage slow to a stop in front of the
school's entrance. Green and gold, with abundant carving,
it was drawn by four white steeds. A prince might use such
a carriage.
He had not always come in such grand style. There were
times he rode a horse, and once he had walked. One year he
had not visited at all. Madame Leblanc had come close to
sending her to the Dominican orphanage for the poor before
a woman had arrived instead and paid for her keep for a
while longer.
A bilious sensation churned in Diane's stomach. A guardian
who only visited annually out of duty would not appreciate
being summoned because of a disaster.
The brave plan she had hatched suddenly struck her as
hopeless. Facing the inevitable, she had concluded that
fate decreed a future that she had been too cowardly to
embrace on her own.
Watching the carriage, her fragile courage abandoned her.
The sanctuary of this school might be lonely and small but
it was safe. The quest that beckoned her could wait.
Maybe with time it could even be ignored.
The Devil Man stepped out of the carriage, resplendent in
a midnight blue cloak and high boots. The wind blew
through his dark hair. He was not wearing a hat. He never
did.
He had not always look so rich. She vaguely remembered
years when he had appeared almost rustic. There had been
the time, ages ago, when she had thought him ill. Rich or
poor, their meetings always followed the same pattern. He
would glance at her, barely, and ask his questions.
Are you being treated well? Do you have any complaints?
Are you learning your school lessons? How old are you now?
He did not care about the answers. She told him what he
wanted to hear. Except once. She had been whipped for a
transgression she had not committed and the humiliation
was very raw when he visited. She impulsively complained
to him. Amazingly, she had never been whipped again.
Before he left he forbade it, much to Madame Leblanc's
frustration. From then on she could not be physically
punished without his permission.
Which was why he had been summoned today.
He strode to the entrance. She barely caught a glimpse of
his face but she saw enough of that severe countenance to
know for sure who it was.
"Denounce me and I will kill you."
The sharp whisper pulled Diane out of her thoughts. She
spun around.
Madame Oiseau, the music teacher, glared at her from the
door, which she blocked with her body. Short and slight in
stature, she still made an effective barrier. Her eyes
glowed like two tiny coals in her fine-boned face. Her
dark hair appeared mussed, as if she had rushed through
her morning toilet.
"Do not doubt that I will do it, Diane. Take the
punishment, keep your silence, and I will be your friend.
Otherwise . . ." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
A chill slid through Diane, as if evil breathed on her
nape.
"No one will believe you," Madame said. "And when it is
over we will both still be here. You are smart enough to
make the right choice." She opened the door. "Come down
when you are called. I will bring you in."
Stunned, Diane watched her leave.
She glanced around her spartan chamber, seeking
reassurance from the familiar objects. She had an odd
fondness for the hard bed and old coverlet, for the wood
chair and simple desk. The wardrobe needed painting and
the pink washbowl had gotten very chipped over the years.
The physical comforts were few, but time had made the
narrow room the center of her life. It was the only home
she could remember.
She pictured herself living in this chamber for a few
years more. Not happy, but content. Not such a bad future,
even with what she faced today, even with Madame Oiseau
nearby. The alternative stretched in front of her like an
endless void, dark and unfathomable.
The old questions began intruding, robbing the chamber of
its meager comfort. Questions from her childhood,
eternally unasked and unanswered. Who am I? Why did I come
here? Where is my family? For a few years she had stopped
wondering but recently they had returned, louder and more
insistently, until they ran in a silent chant echoing in a
hollow part of her heart.
The answers were not here. Learning the truth meant
abandoning this little world.
She only needed to grab the opportunity that fate had
created.
Should she do it? Should she throw herself at the mercy of
the Devil Man?
* * *
". . . if she goes unpunished, I must insist that she
leave. I cannot have the virtue of my girls
corrupted . . ."
Madame Leblanc rambled on in severe tones. Distracted by
thoughts of the unfinished business he had left in Paris,
Daniel St. John only half-listened.
Something about a book. Of course the girl would have
books. It was a school.
He forced his attention to the gray-haired, buxom
schoolmistress and broke her incessant flow. "Your summons
said that this was serious, madame. I assumed she had
taken ill and lay on death's door."
It had been a bizarre stroke of luck that the letter had
found him in Paris at all. He certainly had not planned to
interrupt his visit there to make this journey. He was
annoyed that he had been bothered for such a minor
matter. "If she has broken the rules, deal with it as you
normally do. As I pay you to do. There was no need to send
for me."
Madame lowered her chin and glared at him. "This
transgression requires more than bread and water for a few
days, m'sieur, and you gave strict orders she was not to
be punished with the rod without your permission. "
"Did I? When was that?"
"Years ago. I told you that such leniency would lead to
grief, and now it has."
Yes, he vaguely remembered the earnest expression on a
gamin-faced child asking him for justice. He could not
recall giving instructions about it. If he had known it
would prove this damned inconvenient he would not have
been so generous.
He straightened in the chair, prepared to rescind the
order. His gaze fell on the willow rod lying across the
desk. Tearful eyes and a choking voice accusing Madame
Leblanc of unwarranted brutality came back to him again.
"You said something about a book. Let me see it."
"M'sieur, that is not necessary. I assure you that it is
of a nature to be forbidden, to say the least."
"That could mean it is only a volume of poems by Ovid, or
a religious tract by a dissenter. I would like to see it
and judge for myself."
"I do not think--"
"The book, madame."
She strode to a cabinet. Using one of several keys on a
cord around her neck, she unlocked it and retrieved a
small, red volume. She thrust it at him and retreated to a
window. She took up a position with her back to him,
physically announcing her condemnation of the literature
in his hands.
He flipped it open, and immediately saw why.
Not literature. In fact, no words at all. The thin volume
contained only engravings that displayed carnal
intercourse in all its inventiveness.
He paged through. Things started out simply enough but got
increasingly athletic. Toward the end there were a few
representations that struck him as totally unworkable.
"I see," he said, snapping the book closed.
"Indeed." Her tone said he had seen more than necessary.
"Call for the child, madame."
Satisfaction lit her face. "I would like you to be here
when it is done. She should know that you approve."
"Send for her."
* * *
Madame Oiseau escorted Diane in.
As expected, a visitor waited in the headmistress's study.
The Devil Man lounged in Madame Leblanc's chair behind the
fruitwood desk. Madame stood beside him rigidly, a bulwark
of censure. Two items lay upon the spotless desk. A willow
rod, and the book.
Typically, Daniel St. John barely glanced at her. He
appeared a little annoyed and very bored. She half-
expected him to yawn and pull out his snuff box.
He did not really look like a devil. She had given him
that name as a young girl because of his eyes. Dark and
intense, they were framed by eyebrows that peaked in vague
points toward the ends. Those eyes could burn right into
you if he paid attention. Since he never did, she did not
find them so frightening anymore.
His mouth was set in a straight, hard, full line, but then
it always was. Even when he smiled it only curved enough
to suggest that whatever amused him was a private joke.
Along with the eyes and chiseled face, it made him look
cruel. Maybe he was. She wouldn't know. Still, she
suspected that women thought him very handsome, and maybe
even found his harshness attractive. She had seen Madame
Oiseau flush and fluster in his presence.
He was not as old as she had once thought. He had grown
more youthful as she had matured. She realized now that he
could not be more than thirty. That struck her as
peculiar. He had been an adult her whole life, and should
be older.
It was easy to forget how hard he could appear. Every year
the months hazed over her memory. Seeing him now, she knew
that her plan had been stupid. He would never take on more
inconvenience, and she would be left here to await Madame
Oiseau's vengeance.
"M'sieur has learned of your disgraceful behavior," Madame
Leblanc intoned. "He is shocked, as one would expect."
He quirked one of his sardonic smiles at the description
of his reaction. He tapped the book. "Is there an
explanation?"
Madame Oiseau moved closer, a physical reminder of her
threat. Madame Leblanc glared, daring her to make excuses.
The Devil Man looked indifferent, as always. He wanted
this to be done so he could be gone.
Diane made her choice. The safe, cowardly choice. "No
explanation, m'sieur."
He glanced up at her, suddenly attentive. It only lasted
an instant. He sank back in the chair and gestured
impatiently to Madame.
The two women readied the chamber for punishment. A prie-
dieu was dragged into the center of the room. A chair was
pushed in front of it. Madame lifted the willow rod and
motioned for the sinner to take the position.
The Devil Man just sat there, lost in his thoughts, gazing
at the desk, ignoring the activity.
He was going to stay. Madame Leblanc had insisted that he
witness it.
Diane had known remaining here would mean punishment.
Madame firmly believed that sins deserved whipping, and
she did not reserve the rod for her students. Several
months ago a serving woman of mature years was caught
sneaking out to meet a man and the same justice had been
meted out to her.
Burning with humiliation and praying that he remained in
his daze, Diane approached the prie-dieu. Stepping up on
the kneeler, she bent her hips over the raised, cushioned
arm rest and balanced herself by grasping the seat of the
chair.
Madame Oiseau ceremoniously lifted the skirt of her sack
dress. Madame Leblanc gave the usual exhortation for her
to pray for forgiveness.
The rod fell on her exposed bottom. It fell again. She
ground her teeth against the pain, knowing it was futile.
They would whip her mercilessly until she begged heaven's
pardon.
"Stop." His voice cut through the tension in the room.
Madame got one last strike in.
"I said to stop."
"M'sieur, it must--"
"Stop. And leave."
Diane began to push herself up.
Madame Oiseau pressed her back down. "It appears her
guardian is so outraged that he feels obliged to mete out
the punishment himself, Madame Leblanc," she said in oily
tones. "It is appropriate for such a sin, no?"
Madame Leblanc debated in a string of mumbles. Madame
Oiseau walked around the prie-dieu. The two women left.
She heard him rise and walk toward her. She hoped that he
would be quick about it. She would gladly accept any pain
just to be done with the mortification that she felt
positioned there, half-naked.
The skirt fluttered down. A firm grasp took her arm. "Get
up."
She righted herself and smoothed the sack gown. Biting
back her humiliation, she faced him.
He sat behind the desk again. No longer bored. Definitely
paying attention. She squirmed under his dark gaze.
He gestured to the book. "Where did you get it?"
"Does it matter?"
"I should say it does. I put you in a school that is
almost cloistered. I find it curious that you came by such
a thing."
The threat in her chamber rang in her ears. She could do
it. Madame Oiseau could kill someone. And when it happened
the Devil Man would not care at all. He would be grateful
to be spared the trip each year.
"I stole it."
"From a bookseller?"
"I stole it and Madame Leblanc found it among my
belongings. That is all that matters. Madame says that
excuses and explanations only make the sin worse."
"Does she? What nonsense. Do you understand why Madame was
so shocked that you had this book?"
"The women are undressed, so I assume that it is about
sins of the flesh."
That seemed to amuse him, as if he thought of a clever
response but kept it to himself. "I believe that you stole
this book, but I think it was from someone here. Madame
Leblanc?"
She shook her head.
"I did not think so. It was the other one, wasn't it? The
one more than happy to leave you alone with me." He
speared her with those eyes. "Tell me now."
She hesitated. He really didn't care about her. This was
the first time in years that he had even really looked at
her.
He was definitely doing that. Sharply. Deeply. It made her
uncomfortable.
He had helped her that time when she complained. Maybe if
she told him he would agree to keep silent and things
could continue as before. Or perhaps if he complained
Madame Leblanc would believe him, and Madame Oiseau would
be dismissed.
There was something in his expression that indicated he
would have the truth, one way or another. Something
determined, even ruthless, burned in those devil eyes.
She much preferred him bored and indifferent.
"It belongs to Madame Oiseau, as you guessed," she
said. "There is a young girl, no more than fourteen, to
whom she has been showing it. The girl told me how Madame
Oiseau described the riches to be had for a woman who did
such things. I went to Madame's chamber and took it. I was
looking for a way to bring it down to the fire but Madame
Oiseau claimed a brooch had gone missing and all the
girls' chambers were searched. The book was found in
mine."
"And the brooch never was found, was it?"
"No."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully while his gaze moved all
over her, lingering on her face. He was trying to decide
if she spoke the truth.
"How old are you now?"
The annual question, coming now, startled her. "Sixteen."
"You spoke of your friend who is fourteen as a young
girl."
"She acts younger than that."
He scrutinized her. He had never looked at her so long or
so thoroughly. No one ever had.
"I brought you here, what, ten years ago? Twelve? It was
right after . . . You were a girl then, but not a little
child." His gaze met hers squarely. "How old are you?"
Her foolish plan was unfolding in spite of her cowardice.
Only she did not want it now.
"Sixteen."
"I do not care for young women trying to make a fool of
me. I think if we let down your hair from those childish
braids, and see you in something besides that sack, that
we will know the truth."
"The truth is that I am sixteen."
"Indeed? Indulge my curiosity, then." He gestured at her
head. "The hair. Take it down."
Cursing herself for having attracted his attention, she
pulled the ribbons off the ends of her braids. Unplaiting
and combing with her fingers, she loosed her hair. It fell
in waves around her face and down her body.
His sharp eyes warmed. That should have reassured her, but
it had the opposite effect. Caution prickled her back.
"How old are you?" His voice was quieter this time, with
no hard edge.
He had her very worried now. "Sixteen."
"I am sure not. I suspect that you concluded it was in
your interest to lie. But let us be certain. The gown,
mam'selle."
"The gown?"
"The gown. Remove it."
CHAPTER TWO
She faced him, with her chestnut hair pouring down her
lithe body. Her lips parted in confusion and her soulful
eyes widened with shock. With that expression she looked
almost as young as she claimed to be.
"Remove it," he repeated.
"You can not tell my age from . . . At sixteen I
already . . ."
"A female does not stop maturing so early. There is a
difference between the voice of a girl and that of a
woman, and yours has a mature resonance. There is also a
difference in their bodies, especially in the hips. The
ones that I just saw struck me as too rounded for sixteen.
Remove your garments so that I can check if my fleeting
impression was correct."
Her face flushed a deep red. Sparks of indignation
flickered in her dark eyes. He half-expected her to start
disrobing and call his bluff.
Then the fires disappeared and her gaze turned cool.
She suddenly reminded him of her father. There was no
reason why the hell that should bother him, but it always
had, and he abruptly lost interest in the game he had
initiated with her.
"I am twenty years old."
She did not sound like someone who had just been
outflanked. Her tone suggested that she had made some
decision.
A tiny spike of caution stabbed him.
"Does Madame Leblanc know your true age?"
"She never asked my age when I came. I was small and
unschooled and put with the youngest girls. However, she
can count the years."
"But she never raised the question of your future with
me."
"It was not in her interest to do so. You continued paying
the fees. I progressed through the curriculum quicker than
most. Three years ago I moved to the front of the school
room and began teaching what I had been taught."
"Very convenient for Madame Leblanc. However, you also
never raised the question. In fact you have lied to me
about it before, and just did again."
"I have seen girls leave at eighteen. I did not think you
would let me stay here if you knew I had come of age. So
when you asked, I gave you the same age for several years
before getting older again."
She had been very clever, Daniel realized. More clever
than one expected of a young girl.
He made the annual trips to this school with dark, soul-
churning resentment. They served as sharp announcements of
duties delayed and hungers unfed, of time passing and of
quests unfulfilled. His responsibility here only reminded
him that there would be no peace until he finished what he
had started years ago. Even as he talked with her each
year in this study, he blocked most of his mind to her.
She had seen his self-absorption as indifference and taken
advantage of it.
She blushed prettily at her admission of guilt. "I
apologize for the deception, but this is the only home I
have known. I have friends here, and a family of sorts."
Home. Family. A small, wistful smile accompanied those
words.
She had been willing to take a whipping to keep what
little she had of both those things.
He instantly wished that he had not let curiosity follow
its course. Looking at her pretty face, he had forgotten
whom he dealt with. For a few moments there he had been a
man toying with an attractive woman and enjoying her
dismay far too much.
"We will forget this conversation, mam'selle. You can
indeed stay. We will say nothing about your true age, and
I will continue sending the fees. In time, Madame LeBlanc
will probably begin compensating you for your duties and
you will officially move to the front of the school room."
She strolled around the chamber, absently touching the
glassed bookcase and the velvet prie-dieu. "It is
tempting, I will not deny it. But the book . . . Madame
Oiseau . . . it cannot be the same now. Sometimes events
conspire to force one to do what should be done. " Her
ambling brought her back to the desk. "No, it is long past
time for me to leave here. I must ask for your help,
however. Very little, I promise you. I am a good teacher
in the subjects expected of a governess. If you could aid
me in securing a position, I would be grateful."
"I expect that is possible. I know some families in Paris
who---."
"I would prefer London."
She said it quickly and firmly enough that his instincts
tightened.
How much did she remember?
"I think that I can get better terms in London," she
said. "They will think that I am French. That should count
for something."
They will think that I am French. Clearly she had
remembered the basics.
"Paris would be easier."
"It must be London. If you will not help me, I will manage
on my own."
He pictured her arriving in London unprotected and
unsupervised. She would get into trouble immediately.
And get him into trouble eventually.
"I cannot permit that."
"What you will permit is not of consequence, m'sieur. I am
in this school by your charity, I know that. But I am of
an age when I daresay that you have no further obligation
to me, nor I to you. If events have forced courage on me,
then I shall be courageous. I must find my life, and I
intend go to London."
I must find my life. His caution sharpened to a sword's
edge.
As often happened, that produced a mental alertness that
instantly clarified certain things. His mind neatly
transformed an unexpected complication into an
opportunity. One that might salve the hunger and finish
the quest.
It stood facing him, waiting for his response. Proud.
Determined. But not nearly so confident as she posed. Not
nearly so brave.
Sometimes events conspire to force one to do what should
be done.
How true.
How much did she remember? It would not matter. And if, as
he suspected, she hoped to learn all of it, it would be
over before she even came close. In the meantime he could
keep an eye on her.
He studied her lithe frame and the body vaguely apparent
beneath the sack. He pictured her in a pale gown of the
latest fashion. Something both alluring and demure. Her
hair up and a single, fine jewel at her neck, with those
soulful eyes gazing out of her porcelain, unpainted face.
Lovely, but young. Fresh and vulnerable, but not a silly
schoolgirl.
Yes, she would do. Splendidly, in fact.
"I will speak with Madame Leblanc and explain that you
will leave with me today. We will discuss the details of
finding you a position when we get to Paris."
* * *
Diane folded her few garments and stacked them in the
valise that Monsieur St. John had sent up from his
carriage. They were all too childish for a governess to
wear. She would have to find some way to rectify that.
From the small drawer of her tiny writing table, she
removed an English Bible. It was one of two remnants of
her life before this school.
She thrust her hand far to the back of the drawer and
grasped a wadded handkerchief. She let it unwrap and its
contents fall onto the desk. A gold ring rolled and rolled
before stopping, poised upright. A scrap of paper
fluttered down beside it.
For several years she had worn the ring on her thumb every
night when she went to sleep. Then the day had come when
her tenuous hold on childhood memories failed, when they
became fractured snippets of images and sensations. The
ritual of putting on the ring no longer made sense and she
had ceased doing so.
She did not have to read the words on the paper. They were
from the Devil Man, the only note he had ever sent her. It
had come with this ring one year on the feast of the
Nativity, explaining that the ring had been her father's
and that he thought that she might like to have it. She
doubted that he even remembered making the gesture.
It had been years ago. The second or third Nativity that
she was here perhaps. She couldn't remember exactly.
She tucked the ring and note into the valise. She would
have to ask Daniel St. John how he came to have it.
And her.
The door to her chamber opened and Madame Leblanc entered.
She marched to the window and peered out with critical
eyes. "Take your time. Let him wait."
"If he waits too long he might leave without me."
"He will not leave without you. Trust this old woman when
she says that. I am not ignorant of the world, or of men."
She turned abruptly and pointed to the bed. "Sit."
Diane sat obediently. Madame paced in front of her,
shaking her head.
"Sometimes this happens. One of my orphans leaves to be a
governess or to live with a relative, but I know that
there is more. I can sense it. Holy Mother forgive me, I
do not welcome giving the advice that I am about to impart
but I would fail in my duty to you if I did not."
"There is no need, madame. Your training has been most
thorough."
"Not in this." She crossed her arms over her substantial
chest. "Property and jewels, secured to you. That is what
you must demand. Legally secured, so there can be no
misunderstanding."
"He has no reason to be so generous."
"He will have a reason. He has realized that you are of
age. . . and that book. Now he thinks that you are
amenable . . . I should have considered that, but in my
disappointment at your sin I did not."
"You distress yourself for nothing. He has agreed to help
me find a position and I will be safe."
"He intends to find you a position, Diane, but not the one
that you think. He wants you for a mistress." She looked
down severely, but her expression instantly softened. "You
look at me so blankly. You do not even know what that
means, do you?"
She could believe that she looked blank, for she wasn't
very clear on what that meant except that it was sinful.
"The book, Diane. The terrible images in the book. Those
are the duties of a mistress, and with no benefit of
marriage."
The odd engravings flashed through her mind. She felt her
face turn hot. "Surely you misunderstand."
"I have over fifty years on this earth. I know a man's
sinful interest when I see it. Oh, his cool demeanor hides
it better than most, but hear what I say to you now. You
must protect your future. Property and jewels. Make him
pay dearly for every liberty that you grant him."
Diane wiped the pictures from her thoughts. Madame might
have fifty years but they had not been very worldly ones,
and she always spoke badly of men. "I am sure that you are
wrong."
"He is rich. He will seduce you with luxuries and
kindness, and then . . ."
Diane rose. "I thank you for your concern, but my
association with Monsieur St. John will be brief."
Madame helped buckle the valise. "Do not forget to say
your prayers. Every night. Perhaps then, when the offer
comes. . . Maybe."
Diane lifted the valise. It wasn't very heavy. All the
same, carrying it out of this chamber would not be easy.
Nor would leaving Madame, for all of her strictness.
"I thank you for your care, madame."
Impulsively, the formidable woman enclosed her in an
embrace.
She had never done that before. No one had, for as long as
Diane could remember. It evoked ghostly sensations,
however, of the security and comfort of other, long-ago
embraces.
It took her breath away. The warmth and intimacy
astonished her and moved her so much that her eyes teared.
The human contact both salved the odd hollow that she
carried in her heart and also made it ache.
The little cruelties over the years did not seem very
important suddenly. Madame had been the closest thing to a
mother.
The moment of tenderness made Diane brave. She turned her
head and spoke in the older woman's ear. "The book. I
stole it from Madame Oiseau. She shows it to the girls."
She broke away and turned to the door quickly, catching
only a glimpse of Madame Leblanc's shocked face.
* * *
Madame Oiseau waited for her down below. She slipped an
arm around Diane's waist and guided her to the door.
"I underestimated you." She smiled slyly, as if they had
suddenly become great friends. "Who could have guessed
that such a shrewd mind worked beneath that demure manner.
Well done, Diane."
"I think that you overestimate me now."
"Hardly. But you are too young to appreciate the victory
waiting for you. Too ignorant to reap all that you can.
You must write to me for advice. We can help each other
and grow rich from your cleverness."
"I do not want your help."
"Still proud. Too proud for an orphan with no past. Much
too proud for the bourgeois merchants and lawyers to whom
most of the others have gone."
They passed out to the portico. A crisp wind fluttered the
edges of their muslin caps.
Daniel St. John lounged against the side of the carriage
with his eyes fixed on the ground.
Madame cocked her head. "An exciting man. Maybe a
dangerous one. Not born to wealth. Beneath his elegant and
cool manner there is too much brooding vitality for that.
He has managed to be accepted into the best circles,
however. The women would permit it, to keep him nearby,
and even the men would be intrigued." Her eyes
narrowed. "Make him wait."
First Madame Leblanc and now Madame Oiseau. "Since I am
already out the door, it is too late to try and do that
now."
Madame laughed. It brought those devil eyes up, and on
them.
"Perhaps you do not need much advice," Madame mused. "Your
ignorance will deal with him just as well."
A gesture from Daniel sent a footman over to take the
valise. Madame retreated to the door. "Remember what I
have said. Write to me."
The footman opened the coach door. Daniel held out his arm
to usher her in. He did not appear too dangerous.
Actually, right now, with the breeze tousling his short,
dark locks, he looked rather young, and almost friendly.
Who am I? How did I come to be here? Where is my family?
Down the three stone steps she trod, her heart pounding
with trepidation. She walked across the only solid earth
she knew, toward a sea of uncertainty.
The Devil Man waited for her to join him there.