Dark Masquerade by Jennifer Blake Page A

to be deducted from any profit made, payments would have to be managed—and the profit may be a year in coming, or longer, depending on how soon the economy recovers.”
    Catching the trend of his discourse, Elizabeth thought she knew what was coming, yet she could not be sure. It seemed so unlikely that she kept quiet, letting him complete his explanation and come to the point.
    “What I have in mind is this. The money set aside for your use is idle. It is being held in trust for you. If it was put to use it could be increased by as much as a third.”
    “Or lost?”
    “The possibility is remote. The country, and the Delacroix holdings, would have to collapse first.”
    “You want to use my widow’s portion for these investments rather than borrowing?”
    “Yes. The money is in my hands, of course, but I would prefer to have your approval. You will not lose by it, I promise you.”
    There was something ominous in what he had said, but she could not quite put her finger on it. “I thought I was not allowed to use more than a thousand dollars at any one time.”
    “You are not, not without my consent. That proviso was merely to protect you from fortune hunters and other hangers-on when you go into town, New Orleans. Naturally I stand in a somewhat different case.” A smile flitted across his face.
    “Naturally,” Elizabeth repeated dryly, unmoved by his smile. Even as she put her questions to him she knew that she had not the slightest intention of granting his request. Why she led him on she could not say, unless it was to raise his hopes so that his frustration and humiliation would be greater when she refused him. But refuse him she would. He would pay for his earlier high-handed treatment of her. He was not quite all-powerful. His need must be very great, she told herself in puzzlement, for him to deliver himself into her hands in such a manner. Or perhaps he had not accepted her, the young, grieving widow, dependent on him for her “pin money,” to have the temerity to refuse his request.
    She rose suddenly to her feet.
    “I don’t believe I can do what you ask,” she said in a firm voice. “I could not possibly take the risk with my only means of security.”
    “Don’t answer too hastily,” he said softly. “You may, perhaps, reconsider.”
    There was no anger in his face and the fact worried her. “I can’t think that will be necessary.”
    “I disagree. You see, before your portion can be made over to you, you will have to establish your identity. Until such time the money will remain in my hands.”
    “And at your disposal? I don’t think it is likely, at least, not legally.” There was a strain in Elizabeth’s voice. What she had intended to be a cool sarcasm came out at a near whisper.
    “You are wrong. The disposition of the money has been left entirely at my discretion. And I will do what I think best for you.” His words were accompanied by a mock bow that in its civility struck Elizabeth with a greater chill that what he had said.
    There was a silence. The wind made a sighing sound in the surrounding trees, and her hot cheeks.
    “Why did you give yourself the trouble of asking me, then?” she asked at last.
    He did not answer that. “Come, let us go back to the house.”
    Elizabeth looked away from his outstretched hand. “I think I would rather stay here, for a little while.”
    “Very well. Don’t tarry long. It will be raining soon.”
    Turning on his boot heel, he walked away. The soft black of his coat faded quickly into the wood shadows.
    Elizabeth stared after him. Suppose he had asked her permission to use the money in the nature of a test? Suppose he had wanted to see if she would react as the sweet, fragile girl Felix had described in his letters? Those letters. They haunted her.
    Another suspicion came to her. Her lack of identification was to Bernard’s advantage. He would keep the widow’s portion in his control until she could produce proof that she was who she