Bride for a Night(33)

Her annoyance with Jacques was forgotten as she stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on his arm. She had been devastated by the loss of her mother at a young age. No child should have to endure such pain.

“I would love to see them.”

“Then you shall.” He turned to meet her sympathetic expression. “He would have approved of you.”

She shifted uneasily beneath his intent gaze. “What happened?”

He paused, clearly unaccustomed to sharing his past. Then he heaved a deep sigh.

“My mother had been an actress before wedding my father and she was…” His expression softened. “Exquisite.”

“That I can well believe.” His own beauty was potent.

He gave a dip of his head. “Merci, ma petite. Unfortunately, beauty can often be a curse for women.”

“A curse?”

She blinked at his odd claim. Was beauty not an essential quality for a woman? God knew that she had suffered the consequences of daring to be less than lovely.

“My father was invited by the king to visit for several weeks at Versailles,” Jacques explained. “He was, of course, delighted. An artist must depend upon the patronage of those with wealth. He hoped to acquire additional commissions.”

“Did you travel with him?”

“No, I remained at our home in Paris with my tutor, but my mother joined him at the palace.” His jaw clenched. “Within a few days she had caught the eye of the Comte de Rubell.”

Talia bit her bottom lip, a sick sensation forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh.”

“Being a member of nobility the Comte naturally assumed that my mother should be honored to warm his bed. He could not accept her rebuffs.”

It was, unfortunately, a too familiar story.

Women without the protection of wealth or powerful connections would always be at the mercy of unscrupulous men.

Of course, even wealth did not necessarily protect a woman from being compelled to obey the demands of an overbearing male, she grimly acknowledged.

“Did he…force her?”

Pure hatred flared through Jacques’s eyes. “That was his intention when my father arrived and stuck the bastard with his sword.”#p#分页标题#e#

“Good for him,” Talia said with staunch approval.

His lips twisted. “It was not a fairy tale with my father as the hero, ma petite. Although his attack caused no more than a flesh wound, he was taken to the Bastille and condemned to death.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, horrified by the story.

“Jacques, I am so sorry.”

“As am I.” He took a moment, raw emotion tightening his features before he struggled to regain command of his composure. “My father was a hardworking, decent man of honor who was killed as if he were no more than a stray dog.”

“You loved him,” she said softly.

“Oui.” He managed a stiff smile. “And he adored me.”

“Then you are fortunate, even if you only had him a short time.” She felt a familiar tug at her heart. “The memory of my mother was often my only comfort after a particularly difficult evening among society.”

He shrugged off her words of comfort. “Remarkably I do not feel fortunate.”

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “What happened to your mother?”

“She returned to Paris only long enough to pack our belongings and to flee to England. Her cousin in London was willing to take us in.”

“So that is why you speak English with such fluency.”

“My mother married the youngest son of a baron who was willing to pay my tuition to Eton to keep me from being constantly underfoot.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but Talia sensed that the rejection from his stepfather had only served to deepen his disgust for the aristocracy. “I was a well-polished Englishman until I came of age and was able to return to France.”

“And yet you feel no loyalty at all to England?” she asked, unable to accept that he had made no friends during his years in school.

“I have no loyalty to a country that will allow the oppression of its people by a handful of bloated nobles who remain above the law.”

“But…”

“Enough of this dreary talk of politics,” he abruptly interrupted, pressing a slender finger to her lips. “I have come to request your companionship for dinner.”

Talia rolled her eyes in wry resignation as Jacques retreated behind the practiced charm he used as a shield against the world.

“I should refuse,” she muttered, ruefully aware she was unable to conjure the outrage she should be feeling at being held hostage by a French spy.

With a dramatic motion, Jacques pressed a hand to his heart. “You would not be so cruel.”