He was dressed entirely in black. Sparkling rubies were imbedded across the hilt of his sword, reminding her of drops of blood. She glanced up into the coldest black eyes she had ever seen. Ice penetrated her soul and she lowered her gaze when he looked directly into hers. He snapped his fingers and a servant moved around him.
Nicolette screamed, "Marie!"
She did not answer but lay limply in the man’s arms. Her dark hair streamed down, nearly to the floor, her head wobbled loosely.
Nicolette jerked away, but John Pierre grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
The man in black spoke, "What am I to do with this one?" His voice was deep and abrasive. "I want her when all is done."
John Pierre shrugged, "For now take her below. Have someone care for her and see that she is guarded. As to the other, we shall see."
John Pierre grasped Nicolette’s chin and gazed down into her eyes, "How your friend is treated is completely up to you. She will be taken care of if you co-operate. I will allow no one to harm her. However, if you choose to fight me then, well...?" he shrugged. "Will you sacrifice your virtue for her? I wonder." John Pierre shook his head, "My, my, what a shame. If you choose to fight, or attempt escape, I shall have her killed, and your fate will remain the same. She will be sacrificed for nothing. Do you understand?"
John Pierre gently wiped the blood that oozed from the corner of her mouth with his thumb then drew it to his lips. "Mmmm, warm and sweet." he smiled. "I have many gowns waiting, my dear. I have jewels, hair combs, and many other things for my lady’s pleasure. Bathe, relax, and dress." He bowed, "I request your presence at luncheon. Do not disappoint me or what you have experienced ‘til now will seem like child’s play."
He nodded at the footman, "Take her upstairs to her room then fetch a maid. Do whatever else she requests, but when she is done, lock her door, and post a guard."
Once in her room Nicolette ran to the window, never had she felt so alone or vulnerable. "God’s teeth!", she shouted then nearly laughed as the word slipped out sounding so much like Jamie. "Jamie," she whispered and more tears filled her eyes. She suddenly remembered her grandmother’s dagger. Her hand moved to her thigh for reassurance. Thank God she had thought of it. She pulled up her riding skirt. The jewels in the hilt glistened. Her fingers traced the blade encased in the leather sheath. "What am I to do now?" she whispered. Agitated she paced the floor.
~ * ~
Emeralds and pearls graced her neck and ears. Her gown matched perfectly, with a green velvet sash at the waist and bows at the bodice. Her hair had been pulled back with matching emerald and pearl combs but left free to flow down her back. She looked bleakly at her reflection, as her terrifying thoughts raced. "What is to happen to me?" she whispered as she left the room. By the time she reached the dining room her hands were trembling so badly she had to clutch them together.
John Pierre stood at the end of the room near the fireplace. When he spoke she could hear his surprise, "Mon Dieu, you could be Genevieve. Did you know you wear her necklace?"
Her fingers moved to touch the pearls as she said a silent prayer. God, help me! Let my mother come to help me, she is your angel Lord, now let her be mine.
"You look lovely. Please be seated my dear. I will be back in just one moment. I had forgotten I have another gift."
Nicolette was seated across the table from Philippe. When she looked up his gaze seemed full of hostility.
"Soon, ma petite, you shall pay for your brother’s indiscretion," he whispered.
Anger flowed through her body, "What indiscretion Philippe? In your less than sane mind exactly what do you think my brother has done to you."
"Nothing. No, it was Madeleine, my sister that he soiled. He ruined her years ago, before he went to America. I think it only fair that you will belong to me in payment of his debt."
"Laurent has told me the truth, I know the entire story. It was Madeleine that did not wish to marry, not Laurent," Nicolette waited for a response but Philippe only looked at her.
Finally he spoke, his word clipped and angry, "And what did he tell you? Did he speak of defiling my sister? My sweet Madeleine." Philippe took a deep, ragged breath, "She was with child when she committed suicide. Did he tell you that? He compromised her then refused to marry. Tainted and soiled, no other man would have her."
"No! Laurent would never do such a thing. He loved your sister. He asked her to marry him months before he left for America and she refused. Madeleine told him she had a lover."
Philippe’s face grew red, "How dare you say such a thing! You know nothing of what happened. Nothing! Laurent lied to save himself from appearing a complete knave." He shook his head, "You are such a child. He would tell you whatever he pleased, and you would believe him. He simply protects your innocence with this outlandish story."
Nicolette sighed, "Just as Madeleine would say anything to keep the truth from hurting you?" She paused and saw Philippe’s face drain of color. "Madeleine had been in Paris at court, not at home. Remember? My brother was at our estate before he left for America. He had not seen her in months, and when he did she told him she was in love with another."
Philippe’s voice rose, "Impossible. Laurent was her one true love. She never mentioned another. Your brother has told you a falsehood."
"No, he did not lie to me. Why would he? I doubt if Madeleine told you about her lover. Tell me, did she ever say that it was my brother’s child?"
Philippe scoffed, "No, she did not need to tell me who was responsible because I already knew." Tears suddenly filled his pale eyes, "Her misery drove her to the brink of insanity before she finally took her life. Her death has been more than I can bear at times. I will have retribution, my dear."
His last words were so quietly spoken that Nicolette felt a chill race down her spine. "Laurent once told me that you two were the best of friends. Knowing him as you must, understanding his integrity, do you honestly believe that he would leave your sister defenseless and alone with his child growing inside her?"
Philippe pondered the thought. "People change. Once I would have trusted him, yet now I believe him capable of any evil."
"Philippe think! Madeleine only returned from Paris three days before Laurent left for America. Laurent said he had not seen her in over six months. Do you not remember?"
Philippe was quiet, thoughtful, and Nicolette believed him struggling with his memory after so many years.
"Laurent did not know she was with child. She told him she loved another. He loved her and begged her to marry him, but she refused."
He shook his head, "No, Chere’, she loved no one else." He smiled yet it did not reach his eyes, "I admire you for defending Laurent so earnestly, but you are sadly mistaken."
"You were with her in Paris, and you know the people at court. Can you think of anyone who seemed attracted to Madeleine?"
Philippe’s brow furrowed, "Stop this cowardly assault on my sisters memory. You shall pay for Laurent’s debauchery, just as Madeleine did. A cry of anguish shall come from the Bastille such as Paris has never heard, when he learns of your disgrace. You see once we are married you will be mine to command, and I have plans for you." he lowered his head. "Plans that will not be changed, regardless of your naiveté." his last words were barely a whisper, and his face turned a deep crimson.
Nicolette gasped, "What do you intend. I cannot believe you are so depraved. Do you care for me not at all?"
"Revenge is not a pretty business." Philippe gazed into her eyes, then lowered his, "Begging for mercy will not help you, so cease your pointless prattle. I have vowed vengeance on my sister’s grave. Although I regret what must be done to you, I will not be deterred from my purpose."
When John Pierre re-entered the room Nicolette chose to continue the assault, "Uncle, Philippe believes Laurent responsible for his sister’s death, yet I trust it is untrue. Were you at court when she was here?"
John Pierre looked from her to Philippe, "Nicolette, it has been many years since then. I
ndeed, I was at court, however I do not recall Madeleine. We spent no time at all together, I am sure of it."
Philippe’s brow furrowed again as his gaze snapped to John Pierre, "Of course you recall, the three of us were together quite often. You found her amusing and innocent. You were quite taken with her."
John Pierre looked uncomfortable, "Ah, yes indeed, I am terribly sorry about what happened to her, but that is the past." He turned to Nicolette as if bored with the subject, "Now my dear, I have something much more pleasant to discuss. Here is another gift for you that was your mother’s."
Nicolette took the black velvet box from him. She gasped when she found a most exquisite diamond necklace and earrings, "They are beautiful. Why do you have them if they were my mothers?"
John Pierre looked uncomfortable. "Well, that’s another story," he smiled. "Shall we eat, I’m famished."
~ * ~
Luncheon drew to a close and Nicolette again found herself locked away in her room. She sat on the bed, her fingers curled lovingly about the necklace she wore, pulling the pearls back and forth in her hand. Their smooth, creamy feel reminded her of times past, and sitting on her mother’s lap. How did John Pierre come into possession of her mother’s pearl and diamond necklaces? Nicolette thought about the diamonds and wondered if it were the mysterious missing wedding gift that she’d heard so much about. It disappeared the night before her parent’s marriage. Did her mother give it to him? No, never! John Pierre was disgusting and no doubt had always been the same. He must have stolen the necklace, just as he had taken the title, and her, through deceit and trickery. She had heard of such twisted human beings, their sick stories of hate, and revenge, and of their perverted appetites. She shuttered. What exactly did Philippe and her uncle have in mind for her?
Nicolette stood moving her hand slowly down her gown until she could feel the hilt of the dagger. Strangely, she felt much safer. She could remember the stories her mother told of her grandmother, and her escape from Scotland with James Stuart. Their journey had been rife with dangers, yet if her grandmother could fight, then so could she. She would not meekly submit to whatever they had in mind for her. She reached up and touched the dagger again, slowly moving her fingers back and forth over the hilt. She pulled up the skirt, then untied the sheath from her leg and hid it under her mattress. She would use it on herself if there were no other choice.
Nicolette thought of Philippe. It was obvious that he had loved his sister and was obsessed with her death. She could almost feel sorry for what he had become. Almost!
She tried to remember her conversation with Laurent. What had he said about Madeleine? He had told her most of the story, and told her that he knew the identity of the man responsible, but refused to give her his name. She clearly remembered Laurent’s sincere declaration of his innocence.
She walked to the dressing table and put down the necklace, then went through the drawers. Curiously, she found a ladies fan, gloves, and a locket that contained a miniature of her uncle. She quickly dropped the golden, filigree jewelry back into the desk. Opening the fan, she found an inscription on the ivory, "Sweet Madeleine."
"Madeleine!" she whispered, then with a flick of her wrist opened the fan, admiring its beauty. Why would Philippe’s sister have left something so lovely and obviously something of such sentimental value, here? And why in this room? John Pierre said he barely knew her, yet here was proof that she had been here before. Nicolette searched the rest of the room but found nothing of interest. She returned to the dressing table and moved her fingers back and forth across the silk fan, "Perhaps this will be of some use."
Tea was delivered, and when she was alone, she sat in a chair by the window. "Don’t think of tonight!" she whispered. "Think about Jamie. Think about the last night in his arms." Certainly it was not proper to think of such things, yet pleasurable warmth filled her as she thought of him. Weariness overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes. Just for a moment she would allow herself to forget about the rest of the world, and think of the past few weeks with Jamie.
Her dream ended when a maid entered her room. There was no question as to what she would wear. The maid chose each piece carefully. Her chemise and under garments were of the sheerest cream chiffon, trimmed with lace. They left nothing to the imagination, and Nicolette flushed when she looked into the mirror. Next she dressed in a thin silk petticoat and hip cage.
Her pure white silk gown, with silver threads throughout, shimmered as she walked. Belgium lace trimmed the entire top of the dress, and covered her upper arms. The tiny sleeves were far down her shoulders and her bodice was cut so low that it barely covered her breasts. The center of the bodice was cut into a deep V down to the waist, with sheer chiffon in the center. Strings of pearls and diamonds crossed like laces, across her nearly bare skin. The skirt had elaborate white embroidered flowers, encrusted with pearls and diamonds.
Nicolette looked into the mirror in confusion. She had never seen such a scandalous design. If it weren’t for the extremely low cut of the bodice it would have reminded her of a wedding gown. One fit for a courtesan. Her face flushed and anger jolted through her.
"Zut alors!" her shout burst forth and the maid jumped, as Nicolette’s fear changed to fury.
"I am sorry, Mademoiselle, I must finish my work."
Her hair was pulled up in an elaborate fashion. It was held in place by two diamond combs, ringlets flowed down and onto her shoulders. The exquisite diamond necklace and long, dangling earrings that John Pierre had given her earlier were the finishing touch.
The maid left the room in silence, locking the door behind her and Nicolette raced to the dagger. Once in place on her thigh just the feel of it helped her feel less vulnerable.
She walked to the dressing table and looked at her image. She wanted nothing more than to use the dagger on herself just then, but anger filled her and her resolve grew. "Zut!" she whispered. No, first she would use the dagger on Philippe or John Pierre if need be, but as a last resort, when there was no other choice, she would use it on herself. She would not allow them to win.
She glanced at her image in the mirror, "You look like a strumpet! But whose courtesan shall you be, Philippe’s or Uncle’s?" There wasn’t the least question in her mind what John Pierre had in mind for her now.
Sixteen
Nicolette was escorted downstairs into a small sitting room at the front of the house. She glanced around the room and found a long window. For a moment she thought of escape, but remembered Marie, then suddenly realized that she was not alone.
Philippe, oblivious to her presence, stood at the fireplace deep in thought. He held a miniature in his hand, studying it intensely.
She found him surprisingly different. He did not appear the court fop as usual. His dress was quite plain, casually elegant, with a black superfine coat, a plain white linen cravat, and black breeches. A slender black ribbon held his pale, blond unpowdered hair in a simple queue at the back of his neck. His face was filled with pain. For a moment Nicolette envisioned the man before he became the monster.
His arm rested on the ornate marble mantle. When she noticed the de Noilles coat of arms carved into the center, her eyes widened in amazement. This was her family’s home, yet she had never heard it mentioned. Laurent used a townhouse when he stayed in Paris. Her gaze moved to the painting above and she gasped. It was a portrait of her mother, dressed in a white gown, similar to the one she wore tonight, except the bodice was demure. She had seen a miniature of this very painting in their music room.
She had inherited her mother’s emerald eyes and their hair was nearly the same color. The artist captured a most wistful, faraway look in her face. She appeared sublimely happy. Nicolette’s fingers wrapped around her throat as she noted that pearl and emerald necklace she had worn earlier graced her mother’s neck. Tonight, she wore the necklace that her uncle had given her at their noon meal. She touched the icy cold diamonds, and a chill coursed through her. The pearls gave her comfort s
omehow, but the frigid feel of the diamonds frightened her, as if they were a portent of danger. Anger welled inside, and she vowed she would not allow John Pierre to be victorious, regardless of what she had to do to stop him.
She looked up again. In the painting her mother sat on the deep green grass outside their summerhouse. Her white skirts billowing about her like a fluffy white cloud. She held a large bouquet of pink roses and white lilacs in one hand. Nicolette gasped, suddenly shocked by the implications. Why would her mother’s portrait hang in her uncle’s home? She looked down at herself, then back at the picture. Their gowns were alike, except her mother’s was demure and virginal, while hers was brazen and lewd. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of the uncanny coincidence. "Is this not strange?" she whispered.
Philippe put the miniature on the mantle, then turned slowly as if returning from a lost world. His eyes widened and his gaze slowly traveled from hers, sliding slowly over her body, then to the portrait, finally resting on her again. He had a puzzled look on his face, "Indeed." He cleared his voice, "Mon Dieu Nicolette, what are you playing at? Why demean yourself in such a manner?" his eyes moved to her bodice, and his voice was harsh.
Her hand moved to the top of her dress as she felt her face grow warm. "I...I had no choice. I was forced to wear this gown and these jewels. Indeed, I was told that if I did not comply my uncle was prepared to dress me himself!"
Philippe gasped, "This is completely improper for an unmarried woman. It is the dress of a courtesan."
"And why should you care? You are the one who wanted to hurt and abuse me, remember? You are intent on ruining me, my reputation and my life, simply because you believe my brother responsible for what happened to Madeleine. Perhaps Uncle has decided to help you accomplish that goal."
Philippe blanched, "It is true. I have had only one thought in mind these many years, and that was revenge for Madeleine’s death. But now I begin to question whether my judgment in this matter has been entirely flawless."
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