by Danice Allen
Anne decided it was better to go along with Jeffray’s story than to deny it. She lifted her chin. “Yes. He was a cad, all right. But I blackened his eye.”
A couple of the officers snickered. “Well done, mademoiselle,” said the lieutenant. “Now get her on the horse, Wycliff. We’re losing precious time.”
Jeffrey reached down, and Anne had little choice but to allow him to pull her up on the horse. She sat sideways on the front of the saddle, with one of Jeffrey’s arms circling her waist. Despite her dislike of being in such close proximity to Jeffrey, she realized that there was no better place to be if she wanted to help Lucien. Obviously Jeffrey had turned traitor and was leading the police to Renard. She was confused, though, about what they expected to find. Had Lucien planned a slave escape tonight, as well as murder?
As they moved stealthily into the cypress woods, Anne whispered, “So, Jeffrey, you decided to go for the reward?”
His arm tightened around her waist, and he bent his head close to her ear. “I couldn’t have you.”
“Is that what you wanted? My money?”
His hands splayed on her midsection, his thumb caressing, straying much too close to her breast. “I wanted more than that, but the money made the package perfect.”
She pulled his hand away and hung on to the saddle pommel for support. “I thought you were a champion of the cause. I thought you were on Renard’s side.”
“Not after he bed you.”
Anne made a disparaging noise through her teeth. “I don’t know where you got that ridiculous idea.”
“My suspicions were confirmed tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Soon all my suspicions will be confirmed, and you’ll regret playing me for a fool, Anne. Too bad you’re so full of integrity, you can’t forgive a fellow for being a little too ambitious, for being too human for your highfalutin tastes.”
Anne had no reply to this. He was right. She couldn’t forgive him, especially now. She wondered if he knew that Renard and Lucien were the same man. Somehow Jeffrey knew she’d made love with Renard, but had he also seen her leave the ball to meet Lucien in the garden? Had he seen her follow Lucien and Bodine across the sugarcane field? Had he put two and two together and come up with the truth?
“What suspicions are you hoping to confirm tonight, Jeffrey?” she ventured, trying to lead him into saying something revealing.
“You’ll see,” was his disappointing reply. “Now be quiet. We’re getting close to the spot.”
They were on the edge of the bayou directly behind the slave cabins. No one had lighted a lantern. The only light was the dim moonshine reflected off the still, gray-green waters of the bayou. Just minutes before, Lucien and Armande had headed this way. Where were they now? she wondered, her stomach knotted with tension. And what made Jeffrey think she’d keep mum if Lucien showed up? She was going to scream the minute she saw him. She was going to warn him to ride away, even if it meant she’d go to jail herself.
As if they’d planned their strategy beforehand, without discussion the men spread out, hiding in the shadows of the huge, moss-draped trees. And they waited. For what, exactly? Oh, how she wished Lucien had confided in her, instead of keeping quiet in an attempt to protect her!
Everyone, even the horses, was perfectly still. Anne stayed as still as the others, hoping to lull them into a false security. In the silence, the sounds of the forest were magnified. There were the deep, rhythmic croak of the bullfrog, the singing of the crickets, the constant buzz of insects, and the gentle lap of water against the shore. The air was warm and dank, smelling sweet.
Suddenly there was movement down-shore. The lieutenant raised a hand and held it in the air, poised like a snake about to strike. A horse appeared out of the lush foliage on the opposite side of the narrow bayou—a black horse. Tempest?
Anne opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Jeffrey clamped a hand over the lower half of her face and held her hard against his chest. She struggled, but his grip was strong—much stronger than she expected. The rider on the horse came into view. It was Renard!
The lieutenant’s hand came down in a swift motion: the signal to give chase. The horses were spurred forward into the shallow waters of the bayou. Anne saw Renard immediately turn Tempest back into the cover of the woods, but with four lawmen chasing him, she didn’t have much hope that he could outrun them. Having to maneuver through the tangled jungle of the cypress woods would work more to the benefit of the police. It could slow Renard down just enough that they might be able to surround him.
The posse of police had splashed across the bayou and disappeared into the woods before Jeffrey removed his hand and urged his own horse forward to follow at a slower pace. Anne was startled by the first crack of pistol shots, her heart thudding against her ribs. “We don’t want to get too close to the action till the deed’s done,” Jeffrey told her, “but I do want to be there when they rope him in. I can’t wait to see the look on his face!”
Anne could say nothing. Her throat ached with fear and frustration. At that moment she hated Jeffrey. If Lucien was killed, it would be his fault! She would have jumped down from the horse on the spot if she didn’t want just as badly to follow the police. Although the air was warm, she was cold and shivering with dread. Feeling utterly hopeless, she closed her eyes and prayed to God that Lucien would escape.
They’d crossed the bayou and hadn’t ridden far when they came upon the very scene Anne had been desperately trying to push out of her imagination for the past hour. Someone had lighted a couple of lanterns, the oil turned up high and burning brightly. All the policemen’s faces she hadn’t been able to see before were illuminated by yellow lantern-glow. They were off their horses, clustered in a tight circle, their heads tilted down. They were looking at something—or someone—on the ground. The lieutenant was on his knees.
Anne’s deepest fears rose to the surface, finding voice in a long, shrill “Nooo!” She leaped from the horse, stumbled in the slimy undergrowth, struggled to her feet, and ran to the group of men. She yanked the arm of one policeman, pulling him aside so she could see past him, so she could see what they’d done to her beloved Lucien…
Anne blinked through tears as she looked down at the prone body, all in black from head to toe.
Her head felt light, her vision was fuzzy. She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t even breathe.
“He’s still alive,” she heard the lieutenant say, and her hammering heart pounded even harder in relief. “Took a nasty blow to his head, though. Must have hit that low branch there.” He made a vague gesture upward. All Anne registered was that he hadn’t been shot. A bump on the head seemed less serious.
“Take his mask off,” Jeffrey said eagerly. He’d come up behind Anne and stood very close. The others murmured their excited agreement. Anne felt ready to faint. Once they removed the mask, Lucien would be exposed as the Fox and all hope would be gone. They’d take him away and she’d never see him again. Her knees were shaking, ready to buckle. She watched as one officer lifted Lucien’s head while the lieutenant untied the mask and lifted it off. There was a collective gasp.
“My God,” said one of the men. “Charles Bodine! Who’d have thought?”
Anne’s knees gave way and Jeffrey caught her and held her up with an arm around her waist.
“His reputation was just a cover, I suppose,” said the lieutenant. “Lord, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it. You’re all witnesses, men. Bodine’ll be put away for a long time on our testimony, and from this night forward, Renard is history. He’s given us a good run for our money, but it’s over. Thank God, it’s over.”
Anne couldn’t have put it better. It was over! She was flooded with relief, delirious with happiness. Her strength returned and she pulled away from Jeffrey. She watched as Bodine was put on the black horse she now suspected was not Tempest at all. She listened as the cheerful men congratulated themselves for having fina
lly outfoxed the Fox.
She should have realized before that the man in black couldn’t have been Lucien. Bodine was the same height, but was heavier, not as well-proportioned. She’d been too upset, too worried to think clearly. She also realized that Lucien must be close by, because he had obviously been the one to cleverly orchestrate this deception.
Caught up in her own thoughts, Anne had forgotten Jeffrey. Now, as the police mounted their horses, she looked around and could just make out his shadowy form as he leaned against a tree trunk. His eyes were mere slits in a blur of gray-white, but she felt the palpable hatred emanating from them. A shiver coursed down her spine.
She turned away and found the lieutenant peering curiously down at her from his horse. “Just one question, Miss Weston,” he said. “Why did you cry out earlier? Are you somehow connected to this outlaw? One of his admirers, perhaps?” He gestured toward Bodine, the large man looking pathetic and harmless with his arms dangling over the horse’s flanks.
“Connected to that man? No,” said Anne, the ring of truth in her voice too strong to disbelieve.
The commander nodded. “I see. Then maybe you screamed because you were afraid we’d mistakenly injured your swain?”
“My … swain?”
He grinned. “The cad whose eye you blackened. I guess you care about him more than you want to admit, eh?”
Anne made a convincing show of maidenly consciousness, bowing her head, averting her eyes. The lieutenant chuckled, then looked over toward Jeffrey. “You’ll see she gets home?”
“Of course,” said Jeffrey.
Anne’s heart sank as the lieutenant turned and led his small posse out of the woods, headed for town. She wanted to call out to him, to beg him not to leave her with the monster Jeffrey had become, but she knew Jeffrey wouldn’t hesitate to implicate her if he was cornered. He was angrier with her than ever, and she thought she knew why…
Slowly she turned and confronted him. One lantern had been left behind, and Jeffrey moved into its circle of light, standing perhaps three feet away from her. The cosmetics he wore were streaked by sweat, the blacks and whites running together for a ghoulish effect.
“You know, don’t you?” she said.
“That they got the wrong man?”
Anne stuck out her chin defiantly. “Whether they got the wrong man is a matter of opinion. Bodine is a vicious rapist and murderer. He has deserved to be behind bars for a long time.”
Jeffrey crossed his arms and took a step closer, standing straddle-legged, belligerent. “But we both know he’ll be incarcerated for crimes he didn’t commit.”
Anne didn’t want Jeffrey to recognize how much he frightened her, but she took an involuntary step backward. “Renard’s crimes were justified. I wouldn’t even call them crimes. As I recall, you didn’t used to, either.”
He uncrossed his arms, dropping his hands to his sides. “But I hate the man now. He’s still a hero. In your eyes, he’s an idol to worship. In fact, you’ve given him the biggest sacrifice of all—yourself. And now he’s getting off scot-free.” Jeffrey threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Dandy Delacroix is the Fox! He’s a clever one, all right. No one suspected, and now no one will ever know. It’s a closed case. Bodine is as good as locked up for life.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone?”
“Who would believe me with all this theatrical evidence?”
“You’ve got the reward money, and the story. That ought to satisfy you.”
He took one step closer. “But I’m not satisfied. Not yet. Sure, I’ve got a story, but no one will admire me for snitching on Renard. The police will be lauded and admired because they’ve been against Renard all along. But I’ll be seen as a turncoat. I helped capture a man whose life I just saved two weeks ago. Do you comprehend my dilemma? Do you see the problem with my credibility from now on? Do you see that my integrity will be in constant question?”
“And rightly so,” Anne couldn’t help saying.
“Yes, I’ll have to take my reward money and start fresh somewhere else—climb up from the bottom of the heap. But I’ll do it.”
“Then you should be satisfied.”
“No, Anne. No, I won’t be satisfied till I have one last thing. The thing that Renard had—the thing that Delacroix had, too—the thing I covet most of all. I want you.”
“I told you, Jeffrey. I don’t love you. I don’t even—”
He laughed, the sound harsh and cold. “I don’t want your love.” He suddenly sprang forward; grasping her arms, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. Anne was frozen with fear. “I just want this.” Then he bent his head and pressed his mouth cruelly down on hers.
Chapter Twenty-One
She had clamped her lips tightly together, but with his tongue and teeth, Jeffrey forced them apart, then plundered her mouth greedily. Anne thought she was going to be sick. Jeffrey’s large hands pressed her arms to her sides so she couldn’t scratch his eyes out as she dearly wanted to. Instead she twisted her head from side to side until he could no longer maintain his disgusting invasion of her mouth. He cursed and swung her around, pinning her against a tree trunk.
“We’ve done enough kissing anyway, my little angel,” he rasped, his hot breath fanning her face. “I want some of the stuff you gave Delacroix in the garden. Or should I say Renard?” He laughed. “Do you like men in costume, Anne? Here’s your chance to prove it!”
He yanked her arms behind her, making her cry out with pain. He held her wrists with one hand. With his other hand he grabbed her breast and squeezed painfully hard. Desperate and furious, she swiftly hiked her right knee up and caught him forcefully in the crotch. He yelped like a dog, but he didn’t let go. Face contorted with rage, he grabbed the front of Anne’s gown and ripped it, exposing her breasts to his lecherous gaze.
Anne squeezed her eyes shut. She prayed fervently for Lucien to rescue her, as he had in the alley. Where was he now, when she needed him more than ever? Jeffrey was like a man possessed. She was afraid of more than rape; she was afraid he might end up killing her…
There was a “whooshing” sound and a thud, like a large object falling. Then Jeffrey was literally yanked away from her. Anne opened her eyes. Lucien, dressed as Renard but without a mask, was holding Jeffrey up by the points of his collar against the trunk of another tree. This position made breathing impossible for Jeffrey, and even in the yellow glow of lantern light and through the runny coating of cosmetics, his face shone bright red.
Lucien’s expression showed barely contained fury. “I ought to kill you, you bastard!”
Jeffrey clawed ineffectually at Lucien’s forearms and made a choking sound.
“Oh, you don’t want to die, do you? Well, the lady didn’t want the attentions you forced on her, either.” Lucien made a sound of disgust. “You’re no better than Bodine.”
Clutching the tom material of her gown to cover her breasts, Anne watched as Jeffrey’s color changed from a flushed red to a deathly pallor. His eyelids fluttered. “My God, let him go, Lucien,” she whispered. “His lips are turning blue! You’re killing him!”
“No, he’s just getting ready to pass out,” said Lucien grimly. “But I’ll put him down before that happens because I want him fully conscious to hear what I have to say. What about it, Wycliff? Are you ready to listen?”
Bug-eyed, Jeffrey nodded. Lucien released him, and Jeffrey slumped against the tree, rubbing his neck, taking in huge, noisy gulps of air. Lucien stood over him, watching scornfully. “I want you out of New Orleans. No … I want you out of the state.”
“Gladly,” said Jeffrey in a raspy whisper, pushing up from his slouched position. “I’ll be gone by tomorrow night. I want nothing more to do with you, or her.”
“Watch what you say,” warned Lucien in an ominous tone. “If you do or say anything that hurts Anne, or her reputation, I’ll kill you. If you disregard this advice, and turn tail and run before I learn of your treachery, I’ll hunt you do
wn. Do you understand, Wycliff?”
Glaring at Lucien, rubbing his injured throat, Jeffrey reluctantly nodded again. With one last sulky glare at Anne, he staggered to his horse, mounted, and rode away toward town.
Instantly Anne was in Lucien’s arms. With her face pressed against his chest, she said in a muffled voice, “Where did you come from?”
He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, looking lovingly into her face. He inclined his head slightly to the side and tilted his chin, indicating the tree. “From up there.”
“Were you there all along?” she asked, incredulous.
“All along.”
“You saw the police, everything that happened?”
“Everything.”
Anne knitted her brows. “What took you so long to get down here? You could see what Jeffrey was leading up to.”
“Sweet Anne,” said Lucien with a sigh, an apologetic smile curving his lips, “I’m only human. I was in the uppermost branches. I dared not start down till the posse left, and I dared not come down at a breakneck pace. If Jeffrey heard me, I might have been shot like some poor helpless tree possum.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Jeffrey had a pistol?”
“Strapped to his right thigh.”
“Why didn’t he use it just now?”
“I took it away when I had him against the tree. I’ve got it in my back pocket.”
“Thank God!” said Anne.
“Yes, and thank God you didn’t get yourself killed this time. You must have a guardian angel, Anne, whose sole job through eternity is to save you from your own foolishness. How did you follow me tonight? After we parted in the garden, I watched you go inside the house. How did you know something was afoot?”
Anne opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, but Lucien stopped her with a forefinger touched lightly to her lips. “Never mind. I know you’ve got a million excuses. I don’t want to hear them. You’ll charm me out of lecturing you, anyway.”
