Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 Read online

  “Well said, ma’am. A new scandal will arise, no doubt.”

  “But there is no getting over this one,” Virginie said quietly.

  “Instead of going to France, why don’t we go into the country?” her mother said.

  Virginie found her mother’s proximity strange. She hadn’t seen her for ten years, ever since her marriage. Her mother must have kept away from her during Virginie’s stay at the club, which she found somewhat strange, but she had always found her mother an enigma and did not expect an explanation.

  The separation had been a stipulation of the late Duc de Clermont-Ferand, that her mother should live discreetly. He’d meant to pay for her to live in a private establishment. However Virginie’s mama had refused to do so and continued with the career she had begun after Virginie had been born. She liked it, she said, but Virginie wondered if she was not being perverse.

  And discovering secrets. Her mother loved secrets, especially when they belonged to someone else. That was exactly why society refused to allow domestic servants to have any legitimate relations with its sons and daughters. Servants knew too much. They had attended to their masters and mistresses in an embarrassingly intimate way, emptying their chamber pots, providing creams for skin blemishes, washing intimate garments.

  Virginie couldn’t face the censure of people she had considered friends. She would walk into a ballroom and see backs turned in the cut direct. How could she do that?

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The result of anger as much as distress, and frustration because she didn’t know what to do.

  If she left the country, it would be for good. That notion angered her. Why should she allow people to shun her on such a specious excuse? The enemies she’d made would turn on her. She wouldn’t be able to return for at least fifty years, until the people who’d met her now were old or dead.

  She liked it here. The explosion had occurred in England, so most of the rebirths were here as well. She wanted to join the search for the missing ones, the immortals who had not resurfaced. To be useful. Her beauty had made her an ornament, and while it was her weapon, she wanted to do more. For the first time, she wanted to do something that didn’t depend on her appearance. She was beginning to find her way, talking to people her face didn’t intimidate because they knew the reason for it. She was the goddess of love and beauty. Virginia Davenport might have been a pretty woman, or horse-faced; she would never know.

  Normally she tried not to think about it, but the prosaic way Harry had accepted his disability as part of his immortal attributes made her pause.

  So did her mother’s comments. She had to admit that part annoyed her. “Yes, I know this is like running away. But there is not much else I can do.”

  “At least don’t retreat to France,” Harry said. But the way he looked at her while he was talking told her he wanted her to stay for himself. He made no secret of his admiration for her, and she revelled in his attention. Used to the admiration of men, but this one had given her more than appreciation and lust. He’d given her honesty.

  Harry leaned towards her and raised his hand, but dropped it by his side again. He wanted to touch her, she realised with pleasure. “Even retreating that far is to admit defeat.”

  “The season is ending. People are going into the country.”

  Harry frowned at her, his eyes gaining a far-away look. “The season of hunting and house parties.” He addressed her mother then, but stayed close to Virginie, although not touching her. She felt like part of a couple, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. The feeling was too new. “Madam, I regret the necessity of asking, but are you an immortal? I have tried to read you and found nothing.”

  Virginie’s mother shook her head. “I am not. I am as you see me, a poor mortal given the gift of a daughter who is so much more than her mother will ever be. I have devoted my life to protecting her and I will not stop now.” She offered a small smile, a ghost of an expression. “Please, my name is Deirdre. I was born the daughter of a bishop, but a poor one. My papa never entered the higher echelons of the church and he rarely attended Parliament. His bishopric was one of the smallest in the country and his children were consequently indigent. I have tried to live as he would have wished. He died without leaving us adequately provided for, and we were forced to make our own ways in the world. I told my employers that my father was a cleric, but not his rank, since some might have taken that amiss.”

  Harry gave a great sigh, his chest heaving, and he blew out a breath. “At last we have something we can work with! Let me talk to Amidei. I will do nothing without your permission, but we might find a way out of this mess. One that doesn’t include running away.”

  He turned his head and snared Virginie’s gaze. “Will you agree to staying in town for the immediate future? I swear I will keep you informed all the way. If you do not wish to attend social events, then let it be known that you are ill, rather than hanging your head in public. It won’t be for long.”

  What could she do but agree? She had never realised her maternal grandfather was a bishop. But her father? Although there was a name in the parish register of her birth, she had strong suspicions the man didn’t exist, but was a figment of her mother’s imagination. Like her mother’s marriage. And that would make her a bastard.

  Harry arrived back at the Pantheon club in time to witness Amidei leaving by the front door at a speedy pace. He paused to greet Harry. The harassed look on his fellow immortal’s face made him fall into step next to him instead of allowing him to stop.

  “Are you being pursued, old man?”

  Amidei shot him a wry grin. “Clever of you to spot that. Yes, since Mrs. Davenport left I’ve had to hunt about me for another housekeeper.”

  “What did she say to you at your interview?”

  “She came with excellent character references, some of them with immortal households, so while she’s mortal, she knows our ways and what we need. Lightfoot worked well with her, and he’s not an easy person to get along with.”

  They crossed the busy thoroughfare, barely skirting a hackney carriage taking the corner at a fast clip. Harry felt the breeze as the driver’s whip skim past his ear and guessed the gesture wasn’t accidental. They ignored the cabbie’s curses.

  Amidei rounded the corner and slowed fractionally, now they were out of sight of the club.

  “Are you regretting opening the Pantheon?” Harry asked.

  “Certainly not! It aids my mission considerably.”

  “Ah. Your mission?”

  “Mercury is messenger of the gods. It’s mainly my responsibility, trying to contact those we have lost and getting them to a place where we can band together once more. We cannot allow the rebels to win.”

  “The Titans?”

  “They’re not all Titans and they’re not all immortals. They are idiots who think the world would be better controlled by a dictator, rather than the result of choice and free will.” He glared at Harry. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought it.”

  “Not seriously. Only in passing.”

  “Humph.” They rounded another corner. Amidei was heading for Green Park. Harry supposed it was time he visited his tailor in Bond Street, and that was on the way. His plain country clothes served him well and lasted a long time. Maybe he should make more of an effort at evening events, especially if he was wooing the most beautiful woman in London. “Well, now I need another housekeeper, and this time I’ll go for an immortal, if I can find one. Lightfoot is an excellent factotum, but he is too fond of collecting favours. I thought I’d go down to Thomas’s Registry Office and make enquiries. If they can’t find anyone, then she is not to be found and I must resign myself to Lightfoot’s gentle mercies.”

  Outside the fencing studio on the corner of the street, Amidei glanced back, then turned and faced Harry. “I don’t think we’re being pursued. Everybody wanted everything today, so I left matters to my factotum.”

  “I’m surprised
you have a person of his ilk as a trusted servant.” He meant satyr, but to say it aloud might attract attention from the throng of passers-by.

  “He’s proved willing and he works hard. Besides, I’m hardly in a position to search for two key members of staff.”

  Harry nodded. People jostled past, but none showed any interest in joining them, although they received a few greetings and acknowledgements. Amidei glanced at him perceptively and started off again, heading through the gate into the park. People strolled at leisure here, the park much less crowded than the thoroughfares outside. They could speak in relative privacy. “So you’re not expecting Mrs. Davenport back?”

  Amidei raised a brow, his mouth quirked up. “Do you need an answer to that? How is the beauteous Duchesse de Clermont-Ferand?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “As I expected. Otherwise?”

  “Concerned.” In other circumstances he might have enjoyed their journey through the park. Green Park was more select and smaller than Hyde Park. Also less popular with the fashionable, unless they genuinely wanted to take the air. Couples strolled, chatting to one another instead of ensuring they were being watched, and parents and nannies brought their charges here. He vastly preferred this place to the fashionable haunts.

  Amidei glanced at Harry’s cane and slowed considerably. Harry hated that. “I’m of a size to keep up with you,” he said. “I’m used to it. It doesn’t give me much trouble.”

  “Sorry. For racing ahead and for making my concern obvious. You’re probably on the receiving end of that a lot.”

  Harry nodded. “Virginie is distressed, but she doesn’t intend to disavow Mrs. Davenport, who is indeed her mother.”

  Amidei sighed. “I was afraid of that. This will make her an outcast. Damn it all, we need all the immortals we can find. Traps are closing, nets dropping, and we need to fight back. The world is hurtling into war, and the immortals are set to create their own. We need that balance.”

  “I know. But all may not be lost.”

  “Don’t tell me. You’re going to marry her and hope society ignores her origins? Not much chance of that, I fear. Mrs. Davenport cannot cross the green baize line.” Servants’ doors were often lined with baize on their side to soften the sound when the doors closed. Silent and efficient.

  “She might.” Harry broached the subject with difficulty. “Mrs. Davenport is the daughter of a bishop.”

  Amidei stopped dead and turned to face Harry, who stumbled before he regained his balance.

  “You don’t say,” Amidei said.

  “I do. According to her, the bishop was not an important one.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could take off his hat and wig and hurl them to the ground. The day was too warm for such accoutrements. He’d be much happier in the country.

  “But we can work with that. A bishop!”

  “If you called Mrs. Davenport your hostess, that would help. Not your housekeeper.”

  Amidei gazed into the distance, his light grey eyes far-seeing. “We’re skating close to the edge.”

  “When did the gods do anything else?”

  He choked a laugh. “That’s true. We’ll have to speak to whoever employed her before. Perhaps a little persuasion is called for.” Stretching out his hand, he waggled it from side to side.

  “Ah.” Yes, mental persuasion. Something the gods rarely did, even though they could. “To my mind that’s skirting on control.”

  “I know. But there are no straight lines in this. Is it permissible to bend the rules to aid a fellow immortal?”

  Harry tapped his cane on the ground. “Is this solid? Or is it liquid? I work with material that I render liquid before I change its form into something else. I have no answers for you, Amidei. But if it can be done without harm, then we might consider taking that course.” It was a grave step, but for Virginie, he would do it. She didn’t deserve this treatment. Nobody did. Why should anyone be judged by what their parents did?

  And who was he to tell other people how to think? Damnation, this philosophical meandering would drive him to drink.

  “Can you persuade her to stay in town? Or at least in the country?” Amidei asked.

  “I’ll do my best.” Harry needed to give Virginie the best choice he could. Except in one thing. He was determined to marry her.

  “There are people who hate us, Harry. Not just the few who know who we are. They resent us, our wealth, our position, and they are looking for reasons to denounce us. If we stand by Virginie now, they could destroy us all.” Amidei kicked at a stone, spun it up the path.

  Indignation surged through Harry. “Are you suggesting we abandon her?”

  “It has to be your choice, of course, but we have to think of our cause.”

  “Which is to fight against tyranny, is it not?” He had to consciously force himself to lower his voice. “This is tyranny, forcing a woman out of her place of birth.”

  “Nobody is doing that,” Amidei said. “And it’ll be a cold day in Hades before I abandon any of my fellow immortals, but we might have to trim our sails somewhat.” They had run out of park.

  Outside, the world continued in its mad way, but Harry had come to one firm decision. He would not turn his back on Virginie. Ever.

  That evening Harry saw his fellow immortals off to the various entertainments. All promised to spread the word and discuss the possibility of Virginie’s return to society. He cared for nothing else. As far as he was concerned, Lyndhurst could take care of his own. He had some peripheral responsibility and in good time he would pay attention to it.

  Chapter Seven

  Virginie’s fingers trembled as she drew the tattered note from her pocket, the light breeze nearly whipping it away. Our usual place, at four, it read, but she didn’t need Marcus’s signature to tell her who the note had come from.

  Her broad-brimmed bergère hat covered her bright curls, and the linen cap underneath finished the job. She wore a simple gown and, despite the warmth of the day, a heavy cloak. She was alone.

  Thanks to her past she could not only dress like a servant, she could move and behave like one too. She had banished her usual graceful, haughty demeanour to the series of clothes presses that held her fine gowns. This gown, she told her lady’s maid, was for simple tasks and travelling.

  Getting out of the house was trickier, but she had perfected a mixture of gentle mind-suggestions and changing the way she moved and acted. When her mother had left the house, she’d claimed a headache and gone to bed, ordering the staff to leave her alone.

  Clandestine affairs were more trouble than they were worth, she reflected sourly. She and Marcus had started that way, secret meetings and swift encounters at balls, but recently they had thrown caution to the winds. They were adults, they had nobody to please but themselves, but their antics had shocked the most jaded of gossips. By then they had given up caring.

  Now they had come full circle. A beginning and an end.

  When she entered the little room above the nondescript inn down one of the alleyways in the City, Marcus sprang to meet her, as he always did. Virginie flinched and held up a hand at the same time as he halted, stamping his feet to the floorboards in a determined gesture.

  “We cannot, Marcus.”

  “I know it. I desperately want one more time.” He glanced at the bed, already made up with fresh linen. “But we cannot. What got into us, Virginie?”

  “Madness,” she said briefly. “Eros only enchanted us into each other’s arms, but made it a fleeting attraction. We did the rest ourselves. Or someone saw our vulnerability and did it for us.”

  Marcus bit his lip, a bead of blood appearing on his mouth before he licked it away. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his drab coat. Did he want her in his arms as much as she longed to be there? “We could have married.”

  “Could have?” That was not what she had come to hear. “We are both unmarried, Marcus. Are you so influenced by society that you would turn your back?” And receive n
othing by way of punishment. They would not condemn him as they were denouncing her. He would be a dog, a rascal, a rake, but he wouldn’t be barred from society and all that meant. “Can we not marry now?”

  Lord, she’d just proposed to him. She sounded desperate. Perhaps she was. She was doing everything possible to hold her head up. Apart from her panicked reaction of a few days ago when she ordered everything packed up. The thought of marrying Marcus didn’t have the same appeal it had a week ago. Then she’d have accepted him with alacrity.

  The woman? Marcus had no proof they were even his children, let alone that he had a wife.

  Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “After our adventure at the theatre I would have jumped at the opportunity. I should have proposed to you then and not left it until today.”

  She wasn’t at all sure what he meant. Did he intend to marry her? “What of Miss Simpson?”

  “Yes, what of Miss Simpson?” He laughed bitterly shook his head. “I cannot turn my back on her, Virginie. That would be the act of a coward, and I am not that.”

  She folded her arms. Otherwise she might cross the room and embrace him. A week ago she wouldn’t have hesitated. That so much could happen in such a short space! Doubt nudged at the powerful feelings of lust still surging through her. The temptation to step forward was so great. If she started the process, then Marcus would follow. She knew that for sure.

  One more time? Try to persuade him?

  No, no, no. But when she denied herself, she hurt. From her stomach, down her legs, and up to her shoulders, she ached. Perhaps she was starting a cold. That would have nothing to do with this yearning, it was just an annoyance, as summer colds always were.

  “What will you do about her?” she asked.

  “I met her,” he said reluctantly. “She’s a respectable woman.” He closed his eyes tightly. Something dreadful was coming. Desperately she wished to turn back the clock, stop him telling her whatever he was about to announce.

  He opened his eyes, stark with pain. She didn’t look away. “I knew her,” he said. “I had her.”