Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  "Moultons never believe in throwing clean water into dirty," he said. "We're getting nowhere, and we ought to go home. I want to get back to my sister. She needs me. And staying around here won't accomplish a thing. Boline sounds to me like he thinks he's too important for his own good. And the girl—well, I bet she's an abandoned wench if ever there was one."

  Ethan could not restrain a laugh. "Forgive me for saying this, Jed—but I know more about women than you do. And Mademoiselle Leclerc is a lady."

  "No matter. Our deal with Boline is no closer to being signed than it was the day we left home. And from the looks of things, we can sit around here for months before anything happens."

  Jed's prediction was proved erroneous in only a little more than twenty-four hours. Late the following afternoon they were returning to their quarters when a young man with the erect bearing of the guards at Boline's estate approached them and handed Ethan a folded and sealed sheet of paper. He recognized Melanie Leclerc's scent even before he broke the blob of wax, and then he read what was evidently a hastily written note: "Come to me at once with the bearer. B's mood is much improved. Outlook very hopeful." At the bottom of the sheet she had scribbled her initials, "M.L."

  Ethan was elated at the sudden change in the prospects, and even Jed smiled. They could not discuss the matter in front of the messenger, however, but they grinned at each other as Ethan mounted the horse that the man had brought for him. "I didn't mean a word of what I said yesterday," Jed declared hopefully as his friend rode off.

  The young man from Boline's estate was surly and uncommunicative, and the ride was passed in silence. This time there were no formalities to be observed at the gates, and it was apparent that Melanie had carefully paved the way for Ethan's arrival. The guards gave him immediate entry, and when they came to the front door of the mansion, the man who had accompanied him bowed respectfully. "You'll find Mademoiselle where you saw her yesterday," he murmured.

  A pair of liveried servants were at the door, and a third conducted Ethan to the drawing room where Melanie Leclerc was waiting for him. She stood well inside the room, facing the door, and he stopped short when he saw her. He knew that he loved Prudence, but he had to admit that the beauty of Boline's ward dazzled him. And, he thought, only the most sedately demure of young ladies could wear such a shockingly daring costume without cheapening herself.

  Melanie's ivory taffeta bodice was cut so low that it dipped below her breasts, which were covered by a scalloped band of delicate black lace that then extended to form close-fitting, semitransparent sleeves. The creamy silk of her skirt was slashed from waist to hem in a series of panels, between which her sheer black lace underskirt could be clearly seen. Long pearl drop-earrings and high-heeled slippers of ivory silk covered with black lace were the finishing touches. As Ethan recovered himself and entered to take her extended hand, he knew that she was more alluring than any woman he had ever known.

  "You're going to be very angry with me," she said.

  "I doubt if that's possible." Her hand was cool, and her skin felt soft and smooth.

  "Not five minutes after I sent the message to you, Marinus was called away. He's been in such a good mood all day that I was positive he'd agree to your offer if only he saw you again, and that's why I sent for you. But I— I didn't send word to you that he was gone. And that was wicked of me."

  "Not at all." Ethan tried to hide his fresh disappointment and consoled himself with the thought that at least he was seeing Melanie again.

  "I'm glad you feel that way, and I'm even happier that you aren't furious with me." She sat on the divan and made room for him beside her. "To be honest with you, I—I wanted to see you again."

  "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, either." That wasn't what Ethan had intended to say, but it was the literal truth.

  Their eyes met and held, and the atmosphere suddenly became tense. Then Melanie smiled and broke the mood by proposing a cool drink. Before Ethan could answer she summoned a servant, who darted out and returned with two superbly wrought Venetian glasses filled with a pink liquid. Melanie explained that this was Martinique punch, a concoction of rum, wine and fruit juices, and Ethan, far more interested in her than in the refreshments, listened politely.

  They raised their glasses, and as they again looked at each other, Ethan knew he would need to exercise great caution in his relationship with her. But he continued to gaze at her all the same. "To our friendship," he said.

  "To our friendship," Melanie echoed, and they both drank deep.

  When Ethan awoke his first thought was that he was in his room at the Fleur-de-Lis, but he could not recall having come back to the inn. His last memory was of having several drinks with Melanie Leclerc and of chatting with her; he could not remember what they had discussed, but knew they had spent a pleasant hour together. Strangely, he had no recollection of having seen Marinus Boline, and an uneasy feeling came over him. He recalled that he had drunk too much with Melanie, and he decided that he was paying the price for his over-indulgence.

  At almost the same instant he caught a whiff of an elusive, tantalizing scent, and he opened his eyes. Dawn was just breaking, and by its light he saw that he was beneath the thin silken coverlet of a strange bed in a high-ceilinged chamber. And he was not alone—on the pillow beside him, her blonde hair tousled, was Melanie, sound asleep. Ethan blinked, caught sight of their clothes piled on a bench across the room, and tried desperately to piece together the preceding evening. He could not remember having come into this room or having made love to Melanie; it was absurd that his memory should fail, in spite of four or five drinks. Either the spirits had been more potent than he had realized, which was likely, or else he had been drugged, which seemed possible. However, he could imagine no reason why Melanie—or anyone else in the house—would have wanted to drug him.

  Then Melanie stirred, opened her eyes and smiled. Ethan, moved by the nearness of this dazzling beauty, forgot last night and concentrated on the present; he slid an arm beneath her and drew her soft, yielding body to him. There was no need for words, and they kissed passionately.

  Suddenly she wrenched free, and Ethan was uncertain whether something was disturbing her or whether she was merely trying to tantalize him. She tried to roll over to the far side of the bed, but he slid an arm around her supple waist and pulled her back. He saw then that she was laughing at him, and covered the laugh with his lips. He kissed her until she began to tremble, then pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat.

  Melanie was aroused now, too, and she was laughing no longer. Her eyes shining, she let Ethan do with her what he pleased. His hands roamed restlessly, arousing both of them to an ever-increasing pitch of excitement. They embraced, violently, and then they lost track of time. Their world was themselves, and their delight in each other was unbounded.

  The sun rose higher, banishing the shadows in the comers of the bedchamber, and Ethan and Melanie relaxed against the pillows, languid but content. Her eyes were closed, and as he looked at her he thought that in time he would want to know what had happened last night to bring them together, but that could wait; they were here and he was satisfied. She became aware of his gaze and nestled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and for a little while they dozed.

  Suddenly the door of the room burst open. Ethan, instantly wide awake, sat upright, and Melanie moaned softly as she clutched the coverlet "Marinus," she whispered.

  Marinus Boline said nothing as he shut the door behind him and advanced into the center of the chamber. His light blue eyes were deceptively mild and his bland face seemed drained of all feeling, but when he spoke his voice was clipped and cold. "No one," he said, "can play lightly with the affections of my ward. Melanie, there is nothing I can say to you. Wade, I don't yet know you well enough to speak my mind to you, but I shall know you better, much better. In a manner of speaking we're going to become related to each other, you and I, for you will marry Melanie. Today."

 
; Ethan clenched his fists. "This is a trick!" he shouted. "I don't know what your damned game is, but I won't let you get away with it!"

  To his horror Melanie burst into tears. Pain was in her face, and he saw innocence there, too. And no woman, he thought, was capable of being such a superb actress that she could feign genuine emotion so convincingly. "Last night," she said, sobbing and struggling to catch her breath, "you told me that you loved me and you begged me—again and again—to marry you. The only reason that I—I let you make love to me was because you swore we'd be married as soon as possible."

  Ethan stared hard at the girl. Her naive horror at having been compromised, her obvious and abject misery convinced him that she was not shamming. Were she homely, it would be easy enough to understand if she and her guardian tried to dupe someone into marrying her. And if she were poor, she might be looking for a wealthy husband. But Marinus Boline was one of the richest men in the whole West, and Ethan, even if he some day inherited his uncle's business, would never be able to live on a scale like that which Boline and Melanie enjoyed. So there was no valid reason for them to be tricking him.

  Therefore the choice was very clear. Melanie had fallen in love with him, and Ethan either had to marry her or face public disgrace. Opening his fist slowly, he held out his hand to her. There was no need for words, and Melanie understood the gesture at once. Smiling through the tears that streaked her face, she threw herself into Ethan's arms. He held her close, and neither of them knew that Marinus Boline had gone until they heard the door close.

  Seven

  BY NOON the arrangements for the wedding were complete. In spite of his anger and deep frustration, Ethan could not truly blame Boline, and he knew that if he were the guardian of as provocatively attractive a girl as Melanie, he would be equally severe. He alone was at fault, and although the events of last night were still fuzzy in his mind, he would have to pay the consequences for his slip. No matter how much he tried to excuse himself, he had certainly compromised a lovely girl, and as a gentleman it was only right that he should marry her.

  What tortured him most, of course, was his memory of Prudence. It was almost too painful for him to think of how she would react when she learned that he was a married man. She had pledged herself to him, just as he had promised himself to her. She would loathe him, but he would despise himself even more. In a sense, he thought, she would be better off without him: she deserved to become the wife of a man who was neither weak nor impetuous.

  Shortly after noon there was a peremptory knock at the door, and a well-dressed young man with a long, jagged scar on the left side of his face entered the room. The two guards stationed there jumped to attention, and for an instant Ethan felt as if he were back in the army. Then the newcomer removed a plumed hat and bowed to him elaborately, and the illusion was dispelled.

  "Senor Wade, your servant. Francisco Hernandez, junior aide-de-camp to Senor Boline." His accent was Spanish, but there was a sing-song lilt to his words that seemed typical of all the peoples of the islands of the West Indian Ocean.

  "Your servant, sir." Ethan stood and tried to observe the social proprieties.

  "You are prepared for the ceremony, Senor?" Hernandez' eyes were grave.

  "As prepared as Til ever be, I suppose."

  "Good." Boline's aide turned to the door. "Juan!" he called, and another husky young man entered, carrying Ethan's sword. "You will want to wear this," Hernandez said, and handed the weapon to Ethan.

  "Thank you." It was absurd, but Ethan felt less like a prisoner as he buckled on the sword. "I left this in my room at the Fleur-de-Lis yesterday. How did you—"

  "We sent for your belongings this morning."

  "Then my friend knows—"

  "Senor Moulton will be a guest at the wedding. He accepted Senor Boline's invitation with alacrity." A faint note of humor crept into Hernandez' voice as he added, "Senor Moulton is a man of considerable enthusiasm, is he not? It was necessary to—ah—restrain him when the situation was explained to him."

  Ethan grinned in spite of his anxiety. "I hope Jed wasn't hurt. He's not much of a fighter, and—"

  "That fact quickly became evident to those who called on him. But you need have no fears for him, Senor. After a very brief—ah—discussion, Senor Moulton became reasonable, eminently reasonable. Shall we go?"

  They walked together into the corridor, preceded by the man called Juan, and the two guards fell in behind, Ethan thought that in all probability no bridegroom had ever been provided with so strong an escort.

  They crossed a courtyard in silence and came at last to a building slightly larger than the rest. As they stepped through a Gothic-arched door, Ethan was amazed to discover that they were in a chapel not unlike the churches of North America. There were twenty or more rows of pews, with a broad aisle on each side. He was even more startled to see that seventy-five men, perhaps even more, were seated in the pews. All the men carried sidearms, and muskets were neatly stacked in racks at the rear of the chapel. Ethan's escort moved to one side, and only Hernandez accompanied him as he walked down the left aisle. They halted in front, to one side of the pulpit, and Ethan turned to the assembled throng. His first impression was one of indifference and hostility; most of the men paid no attention to him, and the others simply glared at him, making no attempt to hide their dislike or contempt. He saw Jed, deathly pale, sitting halfway back in the crowd. The little man's lips were working, and he started to rise, but the burly retainers on either side of him pushed him into his seat again.

  It was hot in the chapel, although the door and the windows were open, and Ethan perspired heavily as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cleared his throat repeatedly and kept looking at the door. It struck him as peculiar that the assemblage remained silent; the men did not converse, and most of them sat as motionelss as statues. Why did Boline, a man of business, keep what was tantamount to a private army on his estate? An odd feeling was beginning to nag him, but there was no opportunity to look into the matter, for the minister was the next to arrive. He walked rapidly down the left aisle and took his place behind the pulpit, nodding to several in the audience whom he apparently knew.

  Again there was an interminable wait, and then Melanie Leclerc appeared in the doorway, followed by two elderly women in black who remained at the rear as she walked down the right aisle. The three of them were the only women in the chapel, but the men paid scant heed to Melanie, in spite of her beauty and the undeniable fact that as the bride she was presumably the principal attraction. Ethan could only gape at her as she walked at a lazy pace, and it struck him that she looked more as though she were arriving at a grand ball than at her own wedding.

  Her clinging gown of apricot silk showed off her voluptuous figure to magnificent advantage. The sleeveless dress was draped softly over her shoulders and crossed artfully over her high breasts. The full skirt was looped up and caught with a shell-shaped silver brooch, revealing her white taffeta petticoat. At the crown of her head was a huge black Spanish comb which looked startling against her blonde hair, and from it hung a peach-colored veil which touched her shoulders. Her lips were delicately rouged, a black substance brought out her long lashes and her eyelids glistened. There was something almost theatrical about the effect she created. Although her eyes were bright and her smile brilliant as she looked at Ethan, he stirred uncomfortably. He had already possessed her, it was true, but he was marrying a complete stranger.

  Melanie halted at the far side of the pulpit, inclined her head to the minister and then stood very still, a picture of beauty and composure. Ethan, unsure what was to happen next, took a single step forward and would have gone to her, but Hernandez, frowning slightly, restrained him. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something, and after another pause the reason became clear. The pounding of horses' hoofs sounded outside, then several men, all of them expensively attired like Francisco Hernandez, marched into the chapel. Behind them in plain black, was Marinus Boline. As he entered the
entire assemblage stood, Melanie curtsied to the floor and even the minister bowed low.

  Boline acknowledged none of the greetings, but walked straight to the pulpit and took his place beside the cleric He nodded abruptly and the audience sat, then he looked at Melanie and nodded again. She moved to the pulpit and Hernandez whispered, "Now, Senor." The wedding was about to begin.

  In a moment Ethan stood before the pulpit, too, and the minister took a small, black leather book from beneath his robes. The ceremony was brief and to the point. The elderly minister read first in French, then in English. He spoke so rapidly that some of his words could not be understood, but no one seemed to care. When Ethan was called upon to make a response he spoke more loudly than he realized; then it was Melanie's turn, and her voice was soft and sweet, but firm. At the appropriate moment Hernandez produced a ring for Ethan to place on the bride's finger; it was a circlet of diamonds and it fitted perfectly. Apparently nothing in this establishment was ever left to chance.

  At the conclusion of the ceremony Ethan kissed his bride, and as he took her in his arms he tried to blot out the image of Prudence that danced before him. Then Boline kissed Melanie and shook Ethan's hand, and the three of them moved up the aisle together as the men again stood. A small, open carriage was waiting outside, and Boline broke the silence. "Ride in that," he directed. "We'll meet at the house."

  Ethan handed Melanie into the carriage, and as he joined her for the short ride he spoke to her for the first time since early morning. "I can't tell you how sorry I am," he said slowly. "My last intention in this world has been to hurt you and cause you embarrassment. I'd give anything to undo what's happened, but I can't. All I can do," he added earnestly, "is try to make this experience up to you, and I promise you that I will, in every possible way."