The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Truly, thought Lucien, this man cares deeply for Anne and considers her welfare and reputation above everything else. If only he’d been as honorable and considerate last night! “Mum’s the word, Monsieur Weston,” he assured him. Then, earnestly, “I’d never do anything to hurt Mademoiselle Weston—if I could possibly help it.”

  The two men’s eyes locked for an moment. There was a puzzled curiosity in Reggie’s light blue eyes that seemed to grow clearer instant by instant—like the dawning of understanding. Lucien looked away, panicked. Could Reggie tell? Could Reggie see in his eyes how he felt about Anne? Perhaps he’d been too earnest. Perhaps he’d been too—

  “Are the flowers for her, then?”

  Lucien turned his gaze back to Reggie. There was a reserved pucker about the older man’s mouth, a shuttered look around the eyes. But the expression as a whole was not unkind. Lucien gathered his scattered composure. Here was Renard, for Christ’s sake, the so-called daring outlaw, falling to pieces in a perfectly safe drawing room in the company of a perfectly civilized gentleman! His concern for Anne, his consuming desire for her, could be a potent weapon in the hands of an enemy.

  “Oui, the flowers are for Mademoiselle. I thought they might brighten her room”—he made a vague gesture with his free hand—“brighten her day, perhaps. Delicate females depend on such pretty things to amuse them, n’est-ce-pas? To coddle and wheedle them through life’s difficulties.”

  Reggie nodded. Their eyes met again in complete understanding. They both knew Anne was no ordinary “delicate” female who expected to be amused and coddled out of difficulties, but neither said so. Reggie stood up and pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. “I’ll have them put in a vase and sent to her room. She’ll be delighted, I’m sure. So kind of you…”

  He sat down again, his gaze fixed on his flower-burdened guest with a new intensity. Under such keen scrutiny, Lucien was tempted to squirm. “You do understand that I’m not allowing her visitors just yet?”

  “Perfectly.” A chambermaid came in and, after receiving Reggie’s instructions, took the flowers and left the room. “But I had hoped to see Madame Grimms today. Is she in?”

  This request seemed to surprise Reggie as much as, or maybe more than, anything else Lucien had said so far. It was obvious Reggie was curious about Lucien’s possible business with Katherine—suspicious, even—and very protective of his womenfolk.

  Ah … A light went on somewhere in the dim, overtaxed recesses of Lucien’s brain. He had supposed for some time that Reggie and Katherine did not get along. Perhaps it had just been a rather prickly mating dance. There was no denying now that he detected protectiveness in Reggie’s manner toward Katherine. And protectiveness came of love…

  “Mrs. Grimms is sitting with Anne,” Reggie said hesitantly. “But if you’d like me to fetch her, I would be happy to take her place at Anne’s bedside.”

  Lucien frowned. “I thought you said Mademoiselle Weston was doing well?”

  “We’re not exactly nursing her,” Reggie assured him wryly. “While she’s relatively quiet, we’re using the opportunity to take her to task, to set down new rules, you see.”

  “I see.” Lucien heaved an inward sigh of relief. Anne could use some hard-nosed chaperoning for a while. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about the little baggage so much. In the next few days he’d be busy enough keeping himself alive, much less Anne.

  “I’ll go and get her.”

  His thoughts full of Anne, Lucien frowned again. “Get Anne?”

  Damn! He’d slipped up and used her Christian name, and irrationally supposed Reggie was bringing Anne downstairs when Reggie had already told him that she wasn’t receiving visitors. Neither mistake was lost on Reggie. “Of course not Mademoiselle Weston,” he quickly corrected himself, smiling gamely, brilliantly. “You said she was not receiving visitors, and rightly so. A slip of the tongue, n’est-ce pas? Silly me … of course you meant Madame Grimms.”

  Reggie returned the smile with meticulous politeness and bowed himself out, saying, “Of course. As you say … a slip of the tongue. Sit down, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll have Theresa bring in a tea tray.”

  “Merci. But that’s not necessary—”

  “Katherine likes tea this time of day. No trouble at all.”

  Lucien watched Reggie back out the door, cursing himself for being such an ass. He walked distractedly to the window, pushed aside the heavy drape, and looked out, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but his own ineptitude. How was it that he could keep his wits about him when dealing with the dangers of a criminal’s life, yet hadn’t been able to hold on to them at all in this situation, simply because Anne was just a few rooms away?

  God … just a few rooms away. Upstairs, in that bedchamber, in that bed … Dark, warm, vivid images of last night flashed through his mind. The feel of her was like nothing he’d ever imagined.

  “Lucien?”

  Lucien pivoted around at the familiar use of his name, at the welcome voice of his friend. Katherine stood just inside the door. He relaxed, his usual facade not needed now. “Is it safe to talk?”

  She reached behind her and closed the door. “It is now.”

  Lucien made a doubtful face. “Reggie has instructed Theresa to bring tea.”

  “We’ll have sufficient warning. The door squeaks. I won’t allow Theresa to oil it.”

  Lucien grinned. “You frequently hold clandestine conversations in this room?”

  Katherine shrugged, dismissing his teasing with a serious look. “Never before with you. Why are you here, Lucien? It must be very serious for you to take this chance. It couldn’t wait till next Saturday, when you could send word through Madame Tussad?”

  Lucien sighed and sat heavily in the chair Reggie had recently vacated. “I had a good excuse to come. Reggie sent me a note, thanking me for saving Anne from the certainty of being … er … compromised.”

  Katherine sat down in the opposite chair. “You mean raped, don’t you?”

  Lucien winced. “Probably. The foolish girl. She’s just like you, Katherine. Too intrepid for her own good.”

  Katherine raised her brows. “Is that why you like her so well?”

  Lucien tried to avoid a direct answer. “I’ve always admired courage and resourcefulness in a woman.”

  “Don’t hedge. I asked you if you liked her.”

  “Of course I like her, but—”

  “But perhaps not as well as she likes you?”

  “I don’t know how much she likes me.”

  “Then you’re a fool, Lucien. She likes you well enough to sleep with you. And knowing my niece, that means she’s in love.”

  Lucien liked Katherine’s straightforwardness, but just now it embarrassed him and definitely inconvenienced him. He didn’t want to be taken to task over something he knew he was guilty of. He had no defense.

  “Did Anne tell you everything?”

  “Everything. Except, of course, that you’d bedded her. I figured that out for myself. And now you’ve confirmed it with that guilty look. Where was Armande all that time?”

  “Escorting the slaves out of town. He returned to the cabin at daybreak.”

  “Anne gave the impression that Armande was there the whole time. The assumption, the hope that Anne was never alone with Renard is the only thing keeping Reginald from falling to pieces.”

  “How much does he know?”

  “Only the broad details. He won’t press Anne, but he’s a highly intelligent man and very intuitive. He’s figuring things out as he goes, I’ll wager. Anne actually confided in him first, you know. He was sitting in the garden this morning when she dragged in dressed like a man and looking a bit worse for wear.”

  “Does Reggie know anything about your connections to Renard?”

  “No.” Her stern mouth relaxed, curving ruefully. “Neither he nor Anne is privy to my involvement in your nefarious crimes, Lucien.” She got a sudden inquisitive look on her face just then, and Lucien feared the
next question—as well he might. “How did you make love to my niece without her knowing who you really are?”

  “You put me to the blush, Katherine,” he evaded, but still he felt the blood pulse close to the surface of his skin.

  “You aren’t going to tell me?”

  “Suffice it to say she doesn’t yet know that the hero she … admires is really the wastrel she loathes.”

  “Anne is just as intelligent as her uncle. She’ll figure out who you are soon enough.”

  He nodded. “Probably much sooner than I would like. That’s why she mustn’t see me for a while. Even in the dark, people note similarities.”

  Her brows lifted. “Indeed.”

  “I need time. I’m hatching a plot that—God willing—will stop Bodine’s abuse permanently. I can’t deal with Anne and Bodine at the same time.”

  “This plot against Bodine is something you’ve wanted to do for a long time. I’m sure you’re putting yourself in considerable jeopardy to accomplish this, Lucien. Why now? Why the sudden need to hurry up the business?”

  “I’m ending my career as Renard, Katherine.”

  “I’m glad!” she said emphatically. “It’s time. Can I attribute this disinclination to flirt with death to my niece’s influence?”

  Again he evaded. “As you know, there’s a leak, Katherine. I have an unsettling feeling that I’m about run out of luck.”

  “Yes, so do I.” She brooded a moment, biting the outside edge of her lip, contemplating the floor. “You did get my note, then, warning you that Wycliff was bragging to Anne about knowing your rendezvous point?”

  Lucien reached over and squeezed Katherine’s hand. “Yes.”

  “Thank God,” Katherine murmured wryly. “I had the devil of a time last night finding a private moment to scribble that hasty message. I was afraid the young groom I sent wouldn’t get it to you in time.”

  “He did. And forewarned, we were very careful … at first. But when we’d managed to get the three men inside the wagon without the least sign of trouble, and Armande was actually at the ready to flick the horse’s ear and take off, we began to relax. A foolish and precipitous act. The bounty hunters crept up from behind us, through the cemetery.”

  “How were you alerted?”

  Lucien blinked. “Anne didn’t tell you?”

  “Anne’s explanation about last night was short and sketchy. She said we’d read about it in the Picayune.”

  “Wycliff got his story, then. It should report that a certain anonymous ‘young man’ saved my life by risking his own. As you must know, Anne was that young man.”

  Katherine was silenced. While the ormolu clock on the marble mantel ticked away the seconds, Lucien watched her absorb the shock. Anne nearly killed. Anne in love with an outlaw. Anne no longer a virgin.

  “Are you ready to draw and quarter me?”

  “More than ready.” She sighed heavily. “I didn’t take Anne away from her family in England so she could throw away her future, Lucien. You are a good man, but a man of strong passions. It appears you’ve allowed those passions to rule you where my niece is concerned. She deserves everything that’s best in life, and if you don’t think you can give her the best, then…” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t need to. “I don’t want her hurt, Lucien.”

  “Neither do I,” he replied soberly.

  Katherine reached across the distance between them and took Lucien’s hand. She squeezed hard. “I know you will do what’s best.”

  Lucien was grateful for Katherine’s show of confidence, even while she was obviously angry with him for compromising her niece’s future happiness. He was determined to “do what was best” for Anne, but no matter how carefully he made his plans, there was always a chance that something could go wrong … dreadfully wrong. Till he could be more sure of the outcome, he still couldn’t make promises to Anne, or to her aunt.

  Lucien had another concern, too, that he didn’t dare voice aloud to Katherine, and tried not to dwell on himself. Anne still didn’t know that he and her hero, Renard, were one and the same. What if she had nurtured such a hatred for Delacroix, the wastrel and cad, that she couldn’t accept who Lucien really was?

  Katherine interrupted his brooding thoughts. “As Renard, what are your immediate plans? Am I involved?”

  He stood up. “I’ll let you know, Katherine. I dare not stay longer. Reggie’s already suspicious of my wanting to speak to you.” He cocked an inquiring brow. “You don’t suppose he’s jealous?”

  Katherine stood up, too, busily smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of her blue bombazine skirt. “It’s too early to suppose anything,” she mumbled. When she looked up, her face was delightfully flushed. “You’ll keep me abreast of developments, Lucien?”

  “Certainly,” he replied, distracted from his own troubles by his enjoyment of the girlish bloom that had spread over her handsome features. “And you’ll keep me abreast of … developments, too, won’t you?”

  “Out of here, you rapscallion,” she said with a haughty sniff, her lips fighting a smile. “I shan’t put up with your nincompoopery!”

  Lucien playfully threw up his hands in defeat, then bent to kiss Katherine’s cheek. Just then the unoiled hinges of the parlor door announced Theresa’s arrival with the tea tray. Lucien immediately put a proper distance between himself and his hostess, transforming himself in the wink of an eye into the persona of Dandy Delacroix. His lips smirked, and his eyelids drooped lazily.

  “Certainement, Madame Grimms,” he drawled. “I understand completely. If you say your literary club is not interested in hearing Monsieur LaPriell expound on the social benefits of slavery—” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Well, then I suppose I must believe you. But I thought you might be a little more open-minded about allowing a dissenting voice among your ranks. How else can you make educated choices?”

  Recognizing her cue, Katherine opened her mouth to deliver a sharply worded set-down when another voice intruded. “Some choices are self-evident, Delacroix. At least to an honorable man”—Jeffrey Wycliff inclined his head to Katherine—“or woman.”

  Lucien turned to see Jeffrey sauntering in behind Theresa and the tea tray. Another maid was carrying a vase holding the flowers he’d brought for Anne. Lucien wondered why she was bringing them to the parlor, when Reggie had expressly instructed her to take them to Anne’s bedchamber.

  Jeffrey was dressed in his customary conservative gray suit and hat, but there was something different about him today. He looked more smug than usual. A very definite self-satisfaction shone from his clean-shaven face. Lucien’s eyes dropped to the rolled-up copy of the Picayune Jeffrey had tucked under his arm. He’d apparently brought the newspaper fresh off the printing press so he could impress Anne with his story about Renard.

  “Monsieur Wycliff, bonjour,” he said, ignoring Jeffrey’s baited implication that he wasn’t an honorable man. Katherine thought he was honorable, and her opinion counted much more than Jeffrey’s did. He bowed politely, but was nearly overcome with an irrational urge to bloody the cocky braggart’s nose. “Your timing is exquisite. I was just leaving, and now you may keep Madame Grimms company at the tea table.”

  Jeffrey nodded cordially to Katherine. “Mrs. Grimms will understand that I don’t have time to stop for refreshment this afternoon. Actually I’ve come specifically to see Anne.” His gaze lifted abruptly to Lucien’s face, as if trying to catch a reaction to the familiar use of Anne’s name. Lucien kept his expression as vacuous as possible, while inwardly his vague dislike for Jeffrey Wycliff took on substance.

  “You will be disappointed, I’m afraid,” Lucien couldn’t help saying. “Mademoiselle Weston is indisposed today and not receiving visitors.”

  “Oh, she’ll see me,” Jeffrey asserted.

  “Jeffrey, I’m afraid Reginald won’t allow it,” Katherine interjected.

  Jeffrey smiled charmingly as he walked across the room. “I beg to differ, Mrs. Grimms. Wild ho
rses couldn’t keep Anne away from me today.” He pulled the paper out from under his arm and waved it like a taunting schoolboy. “I have a firsthand account here of Renard’s latest derring-do. Nearly freed his last slave this morning. There was a very close, very exciting encounter between Renard and a band of bounty hunters.”

  Lucien frowned. A band of bounty hunters? Did three men constitute a band?

  “Goodness!” exclaimed Katherine, feigning surprise. “Yes, I’m quite sure Anne will want to read the article, Jeffrey, but I’ll have to take it up to her room. She had a rather nasty fall last night against her dressing table, and the wound has left her a bit woozy.” She moved forward, holding out her hand.

  Jeffrey backed away, tucking the paper under his arm again. Lucien noticed that Jeffrey didn’t react at all to the news of Anne’s fall; he seemed too full of himself at the moment to have much concern for the woman he’d been determinedly wooing for the past several weeks. “Oh, no, I can’t let you do that. I absolutely have to watch the expressions flit across that beautiful face of hers as she reads this.” He waggled a finger at her. “You can’t take that pleasure away from me, Katherine.”

  Katherine laughed, but the sound was forced. She was obviously losing patience. “But, as I told you, Reginald won’t allow—”

  “She was standing at the window, looking out, as I came up the drive. I showed her the paper, and even from a distance I could see her eyes light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. ‘I’ll be down, Jeffrey,’ she called. ‘Wait for me.’”

  Jeffrey shrugged and smiled an insincere apology. “Can you blame me for doing exactly as she asked, Katherine? I imagine that Anne has been for the past five minutes cajoling and arguing with her uncle. If you were a wagering woman, whom would you bet on to win the argument?”