Page 27 of Venus in Disguise

The implacable word made him look up at her.

“No?” he repeated in confusion. “I have said nothing yet.”

“But you will. You’re about to say we cannot see each other again,” she said, the words choked, the sorrow in her eyes making his chest ache.

He had never thought to see such a look from this woman, to believe that she cared for him, even a little. Ash sighed, touched that she felt so strongly, or thought she did, but she was little more than a child who had never experienced feelings of this nature. She did not know what danger she courted, not really. At the first sign of trouble, she would likely blame him for it, and it would be as well he avoided such an eventuality for both their sakes.

“And what will you do when your father finds out?” he asked her gently. “For unless we say goodbye, he will find out. Do you prefer to wait until we are both tangled up in an affair that will hurt us both deeply, or to do it now, when we will be wretched for a time, but shall recover?”

Even as he said the words, the unsettling suspicion that it might take longer than ‘a time; to forget her nagged at his conscience.

“Then you don’t want to see me again?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He snorted at that, replacing her bonnet and tying the ribbons with swift, deft hands that longed only to untie them again and cast it aside.

“Don’t be a little fool,” he scolded her, annoyed by her disingenuous words. “I told you from the start, this was a game you could not afford to play. Neither of us can.”

“Then that’s it. I shall marry Lord Wishen,” she said, resignation behind the words.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Don’t make out like it’s a choice between the two of us when you would never have chosen me. Not when it came down to it.”

Narcissa gaped at him, eyes wide with hurt. Ash cursed himself but perhaps it was better this way, better they part with anger and hurt on both sides. She would recover quicker under those circumstances. Besides, it was true. Ash was no romantic boy. He knew well enough how it would be. She would profess to love him until the stakes became too high, and then she would return to the safety of her life and her unimpeachable status.

Not that he blamed her entirely. It would be hard for her to be his wife, should he even offer her the chance. He and Viv, privileged and protected as they were by his father’s fierce reputation, had still endured their share of snubs and slights. How would a young woman used to being treated with the greatest deference adapt to such a fall, to being seen as something no longer quite perfect, in some way sullied by her association with him? Badly, he suspected, and he knew that would hurt him more deeply than anything else ever could. The woman who became his wife must love him not only unashamedly but with pride, caring nothing for what anyone else thought, or he would not marry at all.

“I w-would choose you,” she stammered, but there was enough doubt behind the words, enough fear to tell him he was right.

He stared at her, keeping his voice even. “Go back inside, my lady. Find yourself an alternative to Wishen. God knows you could bring the devil himself up to scratch if you put your mind to it.”

“But not you,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

“No,” he replied, resolute, even as something bright and hopeful died inside him. “No. Not me.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. Turning, she opened the door and slipped back inside the gallery. Ash stood frozen for a moment until he felt something like rage burning inside him, the need to hit something so fierce he looked around for a suitable target but found himself surrounded by brick walls.

It will pass, he assured himself, before striding down the courtyard to a back gate. He walked out, down the yard, back into the street while the simmering rage boiled inside him.

It will pass. It will pass.

Chapter 8

Dear Diary,

This week has been the most miserable of my life.

Maud is to meet with Mr Anson this afternoon. I no longer feel I have the right to think of him as Ash. That offer was rescinded when he parted with me. I feel utterly at sea, for I can settle to nothing, concentrate on nothing. Life seems to have lost all its colour. How I wish to go with Maud and see him again, except I have sworn to her we have parted company, for I can give her no opportunity to blackmail me again, not when it is Mr Anson who must bear the cost of my recklessness.

I have been a fool, and yet those moments with him linger in my mind, taunting me with a glimpse of what happiness looks like. I don’t know what to do.

I wish I had asked him to run away with me, there and then, but I discover to my shame that I am not half so brave as I thought I was. I do not wish to end my days like Maud, unmarried and at the mercy of others who would use me for their own ends. Though it makes me sick to admit it, I fear even marriage to Lord Wishen would be better than that.

―Excerpt of a diary entry by The Lady Narcissa Ponsonby.

12th February 1850, the Calverley Art Gallery, Pall Mall, London.

Ash waited in the private receiving room at the Calverley Art Gallery. The sooner this interview was over, the happier he would be. Not that happiness seemed to be anywhere in sight. He stood by a window that overlooked the street below, watching the passersby as they went about their business. Turning away, he flexed his hands—which were still swollen after the punishment he’d put them through recently—swore and went to peer in the mirror over the mantel.

Christ, he thought, regarding his face with a grimace. He’d fought too many bouts in the past days, winning them all. At first, he’d been untouchable, fuelled by rage and frustration, but the anger was leaving him now, replaced with something less aggressive and far more insidious that made him want to reach for a bottle and not stop until it was empty. He’d deserved the black eye he’d received yesterday. He was lucky he hadn’t got his pretty nose broken. His own damned fault for not paying close enough attention, but it was difficult to concentrate on anything now. Cursing, he swung away from the mirror and stalked back to the window. Where was the bloody woman?