The Price of Deception (4 page)

“Why don’t we take a walk when the sun is a little
higher and it’s pleasantly warm? The bright outdoors will return a
rosy glow to your cheeks. It’s sorely missing.”

Jacquelyn, still a bit withdrawn, looked at him. He
had to admit his actions were uncharacteristic to offer such kind
attention to his wife. More often, he neglected her needs, but this
time he felt compelled to show pity over her recent
disappointment.

“I think that’s a fine idea, Robert,” she replied,
with a faint smile.

They finished their late breakfast, and Jacquelyn
asked Dorcas to fetch her jacket and a hat that matched her dress.
Robert watched as she helped her pin it upon her head and slip her
arms into her outer garment. Jacquelyn always dressed in impeccable
attire, which enhanced her striking appearance. However, what
Robert sought beneath her beauty did not exist. When he looked into
her eyes, they were void of the womanhood he craved.

Robert played the role of the genteel husband and
offered his arm in escort. They exited the door and proceeded to
walk in a leisurely stride. Robert headed for their destination—the
Tuileries Gardens, where a significant number of Parisians
meandered in the morning hours.

Jacquelyn clung to Robert’s arm tightly but remained
silent. She held her tongue, and Robert held his. Whenever alone in
each other’s company, simple conversation between the two came with
considerable difficulty.

They entered through the gate and began to stroll
past the blooming flowers that lined the pathway. The budding
cherry trees created a canopy of pink, both fragrant and pleasing
to the eyes. Robert deeply inhaled the fresh air.

“It’s a fine day for a walk,” he chimed, with a
slight smile. “I’m glad I suggested we take one.”

“Indeed,” she responded, in a lazy drawl. “The
weather is comfortable.”

Unbeknownst to either of them, their innocent walk
through the gardens on a perfect spring morning in Paris had placed
them on a course of unforeseeable change.

Chapter Three

Philippe had spent years building his new life with
the woman he adored. After a long and terrifying search, he had
recovered Suzette in England. He had rescued his precious fiancée
from a life of degradation and immorality at the hands of Robert
Holland—a vile Englishman with no scruples. Now, they were married
and bound together, far from his touch.

For years he brooded over the audacity of the man,
and each time it caused his blood to boil. Philippe tried not to
mull over the past, but the little hand that clung to him made it
impossible to eradicate the monster from his thoughts. Especially,
when everyday he looked into the face of the scoundrel’s
offspring.

The aristocrat had used his beautiful wife for sexual
pleasure without an ounce of remorse. Perhaps he did owe the jaded
lord a morsel of thanks, since he rescued Suzette from a life of
prostitution. However, he made her his private mistress afterward,
which was a shameful act. All the while, he fully intended to
secretly marry another woman. His actions remained an unforgiveable
sin in Philippe’s eyes.

Thankfully, Suzette agreed to leave the insufferable
man after she discovered his deception, along with her unfortunate
and untimely pregnancy. Philippe merely wished to shield Suzette
from further harm and keep her hidden. It seemed the wisest course
of action at the time. After all, a man of power and title would do
anything to protect his reputation or fortune. He could have very
well taken the babe from Suzette, sent the child away to an
orphanage, and continued to degrade and use her without a shred of
guilt.

Of course, Suzette had tried to tell him that she
loved Robert and didn’t believe him capable of such cruelty.
Philippe convinced himself that she had mistaken love for
gratefulness. Her naivety merely duped her into believing him a man
of honor. His innocent Suzette had been blinded by the rich
aristocrat. Foolishly, she had clung to the hope that he would one
day marry her in spite of her lower station in life.

Philippe refused to believe that she had truly loved
him. After all, she agreed to marry him instead and leave London.
She had been his first love—his first innocent and pure love.
Philippe had asked for her hand in marriage from her father, who
willingly gave him the right to be her husband. They had joyously
planned their wedding upon his return from a tour of duty.

Smugly convinced Suzette rightfully belonged to him
in every possible way, he mourned over the one gift that had been
denied him—her virginity. His rival for her affections had
selfishly taken it instead.

As Philippe’s feet walked along the pebbled pathway
of the gardens, he attempted to pull his thoughts away from the
memories that weaved through his mind with infinite chords of
hatred. Nothing could be done about the past, so he determined not
to spoil the brilliant spring day. He glanced down at the boy that
clung to his hand and smiled.

The gardens were ablaze with pink and white
cherry-tree blossoms dangling from limbs. The outdoor air was
filled with the fragrance of new life. A walk in the park seemed
the perfect choice for the two to take alone. They often enjoyed
time together as father and son, and Suzette needed time alone to
recuperate.

Deep within the park, Philippe noticed in the
distance the figure of a couple. Both were dressed in rich finery
and appeared to be enjoying a leisurely stroll like many
others.

When they drew closer, the man’s striking blue eyes
met Philippe’s. Instantly, the two recognized one another. The
chance encounter thrust Philippe’s heart rate into a pounding drum
within his chest.

Had
he not just cursed the sod approaching him? Why in God’s name did
their paths have to cross today, after all these years?

His jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes narrowed when
he contemplated the potential confrontation. For the sake of
Suzette, Philippe drew in a deep breath and attempted to maintain
composure. They came face to face and stopped, and Philippe tipped
his hat, as a matter of manners, rather than honor. He greeted the
cad in an even tone.

“Lord Holland, good to see you. What brings you to
Paris this time of the year?”

Philippe watched Robert Holland stop and examine the
pair for a brief moment before he responded. His curious eyes
darted between the two.

“It’s Duke Holland now,” he clarified, unemotionally.
“Holiday—just a holiday.”

Philippe frowned as he watched the Duke’s wife nudge
him with her elbow to gain her husband’s attention. Robert
responded with a slight look of annoyance over her pointed jab.

“May I introduce you to my wife, Monsieur? This is
Duchess Jacquelyn Spencer-Holland.” Robert looked at his wife and
added, “Jacquelyn, this is Philippe Moreau, who is an old
acquaintance I have not seen for many years.”

Robert’s wife reached forth one hand in his
direction. Philippe hesitated, but then kissed it reverently,
lightly brushing his lips against her white glove.

“Duchess, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, Monsieur,” she replied, with a warm
smile.

The two men entertained an awkward moment of silence.
The Duke fiddled with the top of his cane, and Philippe tightened
his grip when Robert’s keen eyes inspected his companion. To his
surprise, the Duke suddenly knelt down on one knee and addressed
the boy.

“And who are you, might I ask?”

Robert’s soft and surprisingly kind voice spoke to
the small face with big blue eyes and blond hair. The young lad’s
countenance brightened over the attention.

“Robert Philippe Moreau,” he recited, with pride. The
child stood tall and raised his chin toward the stranger to display
a bold confidence.

Obviously shocked at his response, Robert slowly rose
to his feet. With a distressed look across his face, he asked
another pointed question. “And how old are you, Robert Philippe
Moreau?”

“I’m five,” he said, holding up five little fingers
to confirm the announcement.

“How charming,” Jacquelyn spoke in a fascinated
drawl. “He has your first name. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Yes, charming.” Robert suspiciously eyed the
boy.

Philippe could see both individuals had latched upon
little Robert, and he hoped they witnessed no concern in his own
face. He feared Robert would inquire further.

“
And how is your
mother?”

The child immediately looked up into Philippe’s eyes
and displayed his hesitancy to answer the question. He bent down
and scooped him up in his arms to grant him the assurance needed,
as he spoke the response to the Duke’s uncomfortable inquiry.

“I’m afraid that Robert’s mother passed away last
winter,” he feigned, with a sad voice. He leaned over and kissed
his son’s cheek. The lad turned his head and gazed with curious
interest at the Duke’s blue eyes.

The color drained from Robert’s face. He looked
intently at the boy. Immediately, Philippe wondered if he saw his
reflection in the lad’s countenance that gave way to doubt.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice choked with
emotion. “May I ask how?”

Philippe, somewhat pained over the Duke’s obvious
sorrow, replied with sadness. “Influenza—the influenza
epidemic.”

“Yes,” Robert nodded his head. “It was quite severe
in England, as well.”

A few moments of silence passed between the four
individuals, and then finally Robert turned his gaze back to the
young boy. “Your mother was a good woman.”

Robert reached out and touched the child’s cheek with
his fingertips. Philippe frowned and stepped backward, irritated
over his show of affection.

“Have you any children of your own, Duke?” he
interjected tersely, in an attempt to divert his attention.
Robert’s wife interrupted before he could answer, as if she needed
to spare her husband embarrassment.

“Not yet, I’m afraid.”

Philippe noted the anguished appearance on Robert’s
face. He hugged little Robert tighter and wished the two would
leave. Apparently, his sour expression had been noted.

“Shall we go, dear?” The Duchess tugged on the Duke’s
sleeve. Robert’s gaze would not leave the little boy, and Philippe
feared more questions.

“Yes, we should go,” he finally sighed in
reluctance.

Philippe bid the Duke goodbye and offered his hand in
parting.

“I’m sure if Suzette were here, she would have much
to say.” He nearly choked on his words.

Robert strongly grasped his hand and shook it in
return, which somewhat surprised him. Philippe felt no remorse over
his boldface lies.

“Goodbye.” Robert took a painful, last glance at the
boy. He offered his arm again to his wife and then continued their
stroll toward the opposite end of the park.

Philippe set his son down on the pathway and walked
toward the exit. With his palm, he wiped away the beads of nervous
sweat that had formed on his forehead.

“Who was that man, Daddy?”

“He is a man, who once helped your mother through a
very difficult time. That’s all.”

A small stab of guilt pricked him as he led the child
away from his real father. However, he had sworn that Robert
Holland would never know his son, if he had anything to say about
it. His heart had tied affectionately to him for Suzette’s sake, in
spite of the child not being his own flesh and blood.

He grasped Robert’s tiny hand, and Philippe quickened
his step. While his heart continued to pound like thunder in his
chest, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder one more time
during his hasty departure. As he did, he met Robert’s cold stare
and quickly glanced away. Philippe darted around a corner and
headed back toward the gated entrance of the gardens.

“Daddy, did I do all right?”

“Yes, you did fine.”

The child struggled to keep up with the long-legged
strides of his father. Philippe picked him up in his arms and held
him tight to quicken his pace. His tiny legs dangled from
Philippe’s arms and bobbed back and forth with each step. The boy
clung tightly to his neck.

Philippe raised one arm and hailed a hansom cab to
take them home. He climbed inside, settled back in the seat and
held Robert in his lap. The whip cracked, and Philippe glanced over
his shoulder out the rear window toward the gated exit. He let out
a sigh of relief when no one pursued.

As he held the boy close, his thoughts grew rampant
with questions and fear.
Why now, after all these years, had
their paths crossed?

He glanced down at Robert once more, overcome by a
sense of protectiveness for his wellbeing. Philippe had always
wanted to be a father. The liberation of Suzette, pregnant with
another man’s child, seemed to be of little consequence to him five
years ago. He loved her. He wanted a family. Nothing could have
made him happier than to be a father, and even more so since a
newborn child had recently arrived from their union.

Philippe hoped Duke Holland didn’t suspect the boy’s
identity, but couldn’t convince himself that danger did not exist.
Though Robert said nothing, Philippe knew the man must have
entertained questions. The lad bore a spitting image of his
biological father. Certainly, he saw his likeness—blond hair, blue
eyes, fair complexion, and the same square jaw.

Today had upset the apple cart of his idyllic
existence. As the cab bounced toward its destination, he agonized
over telling Suzette. Everything in his married life up until that
moment had been perfect.

Minutes passed while Philippe fumed over his
encounter. Finally, he collected his thoughts. The horse trotted
onto the stone drive, which elicited delight in his modest estate.
He had done well, even though no title of nobility attached to his
name. Philippe’s measure of success only recently began to decline
with difficult trials and a turn of bad luck.