Jane Feather - Charade by Unknown (top rated books of all time txt) 📗

A deep flush suffused the pale countenance but, without comment, thesmall figure moved to the far side of the bed, seating herself on thelow chair at its head, partially hidden by the brocade canopies of thetester. Linton gave a brief nod of satisfaction and tugged the bellpull.

His summons brought an army of servers into the room. The paraphernaliaof the urchin's bath were removed swiftly as was the sad pile ofdiscarded clothing with the brisk injunction to consign them to thefurnace. The evening had become cool and a taper was placed to the firelaid ready in the hearth behind the round oak table now spread withsnowy linen, heavy silver utensils, delicate china, and thick crystal.

Danielle remained in her corner throughout the bustle, her nostrilsassailed by the savory aroma of hot food, her stomach cleaving to herbackbone, the constant, gnawing rat of hunger now exploding into realpain under the miraculous possibility of imminent satisfaction. Hermouth ran with saliva and she swallowed convulsively, furious at herbody's weak treachery. The door closed firmly behind the last servant,the last polite, "

Bon appetit,

milord," and the earl took his place at the table raising an inquiringeyebrow at the shadowy figure by the bed.

"You are served,

mon enfant.

"

He watched the figure move slowly toward the table and regretted withdeep sincerity what he was about to do.

"Before you eat, Danielle, I wish for some answers." A razor-sharpblade slid thinly through the oyster-stuffed capon, exuding a steamyaroma to entice even a well-fed stomach. The slight figure halted,turned, and sat resolutely on the bed.

"

Je n'aipas faim

. I am nothungry," Danielle stated with a tiny shrug, forcing back the tears ofdesperate disappointment.

"What a pity," the earl murmured, taking a bite of his capon, whichrapidly became ashes on his tongue. He had been moderately hungry, butnow all appetite vanished. But if he was to win his objective thecharade must be played through. Silence reigned, disturbed only by thesounds of one-half of the pair eating with apparent gusto.

"It seems, My Lord Linton, that you intend to keep me captive,seminaked and starved."

His head shot up in surprise. Danielle had spoken in perfect, barelyaccented English.

"No, I do not intend to starve you, infant," he replied in the samelanguage and cut a large hunk of the baguette, poured water into acrystal goblet, and carried both to the bed. He put them down besidethe rigid figure and returned to the table.

Danielle broke off a small piece of the bread, rolling it between thumband forefinger, heedless of the flaky crust crumbs showering on thecoverlet. This morning she had risked a beating for a crust of day-oldbread half the size of this oven-warm chunk, but now could think onlyof the other offerings on the table. She took a slow sip of theice-cold water and looked longingly through luxuriant sable eyelashesat the wine bottle from which the earl was helping himself in a totallycavalier, heartless fashion.

"Why don't we start with your age?" Lint on sliced a piece of succulentbreast, laying it carefully on the empty platter across from his, notlooking at her as he did so.

Her age for a piece of capon—it didn't seem an unreasonable exchange.Whilst she continued to hesitate

a spoonful of stuffing joined the meat.

"Then your full name," the voice continued softly. A spoonful of freshbaby peas sat beside the stuffing, followed by a mound of light, goldensauteed potatoes. The soft tinkle of ruby red wine filling a crystalgoblet proved the last straw.

"Seventeen," Danielle murmured.

"Will you join me, mademoiselle?" The Earl of Linton rose politely,came around the table, pulled out the carved wooden chair, pushing itin as his urchin sat before the first plate of real food she had beenoffered in eight weeks.

"Eat slowly," he cautioned. "Your belly is not used to riches and I'veno wish to spend the night holding your head over a bowl."

He need not have worried, he reflected, watching her as he twirled theslender stem of his wineglass between restless fingers. She was no morea glutton than she was a wanton. But he knew rather more about what shewasn't than about what she was, he remembered suddenly. It was time forfurther information.

"I hope you intend to play honorably, mademoiselle," he said softly."You owe me your name, I think."

Danielle paused in her intent pursuit of green peas with thethree-pronged fork. She had three choices:

the lie direct, a careful half truth, or the truth.

"Only the full truth will suffice,

monenfant

."

Her startled gasp at his uncanny reading of her thoughts was hopelesslyrevealing and, for a second, a

pair of haunted brown eyes met curiously softened, curiously reassuringblue-black orbs.

"I am Danielle de St. Varennes," she stated with flat resignation. Thisman would not countenance a half story and would have the rest out ofher now as easily as a tidal wave could sweep through a fragile dam.

A sudden fluke blaze of a green log in the hearth caught the tip of hermangled curls illuminating a pinkish tinge to the wheat-colored crop.The earl sighed as the elusive memory fell into place.

"You are Louise Rockford's daughter." It was a statement answered by asmall nod and a soft,

"Ma mere."

"You are, therefore, Danielle de St. Varennes, the granddaughter ofAntoine, Due de St. Varennes."

Again a simple, inexorable statement, but this time the responsesurprised him.

"Was," His diminutive companion whispered, eyes bent resolutely to theplate in front of her. In spite of her concentration she was now eatingnothing. He refilled her glass.

"Was?" The question hung in the air, dropped its oppressive umbrellaover the two figures.

"He is dead."

"As I remember, Louise married the oldest son," the voice gentlyprobed. "That makes you,

mon enfant,

the daughter of the Due de St. Varennes."

"Mon pere est mort."

The earl sipped his wine