Lucienne shook her head. “No, that’s not all of it. At home, you’re just one of the young men of the parish. You flirt, gamble, go to the theater, just like everyone else. Out here, you’re someone I don’t know. I’m sitting here with a stranger.”
“And maybe that isn’t all bad, Chou-Chou. That other man, the man in New Orleans, he’s the one you ran away from. And life with that man seemed so unbearable that you chose the perils of the unknown rather than live with him.” Armand leaned forward to tilt up her chin. “Why didn’t you at least confide your objections to our marriage to me, Lucienne? I would have done anything in my power to make it easier for you.”
Lucienne felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her head. It seemed so far away, as if it had happened to someone else. What did it matter if she told him now? It was a lifetime ago. “I thought I was in love with someone, and if I had to marry, I wanted it to be with a man I felt cared for me more than for my dowry.”
“Philippe Pardue?” Armand’s voice was soft.
“You knew?”
“I knew. But I thought…I admit to some arrogance, but I thought you’d see sincerity in my attentions.”
“But Philippe…”
“Chèrie, he left for Texas. He could have taken you with him, but he didn’t. You misjudged the strength of his feelings, I think.”
“I know. I followed him to New Orleans; he said he cared nothing for me. He even laughed when he said it.” Lucienne buried her face in her hands, humiliated to make the confession.
“He said that to you?” Armand demanded.
“Oh, no, no, he said it to his brother. I only overheard.”
Armand came around the table and rested gentle hands on her shoulders. His cautious fingers caressed her neck and eased the tightness in her throat. “Then I think he spoke with a little bravado for his brother, chèrie.” Armand drew her to her feet. His arms felt sure and strong holding her. “Philippe Pardue stood outside the window with Marie as we recited our wedding vows. He told your old dragon of a chaperone that he cared too much for you to let you waste your life on a man such as he is. He thought you would be safer with me.” He shook his head and dismissed the idea with a harsh laugh. “I hardly think he would see your present situation as safer.”
“It doesn’t matter any longer.” Lucienne raised her eyes to his, the comfort he offered easing her pained embarrassment. “I didn’t love him, really. He was just different, exciting, and a little dangerous. Colorful and charming when he wanted to be.”
“And so very much more interesting than tedious Armand. I can understand the attraction.” Armand stroked her hair, letting it tumble through his hands.
“After I overheard Philippe, all I wanted was to get away, go somewhere so no one could arrange my life for me. Somewhere that no one could decide anything for me but me.”
A rueful chuckle answered her words. “And you expected to find that in the convent? Really, Chou-Chou?”
Lucienne smiled at his irony as well. “I didn’t know what life was like for the nuns. It was alarming.” She crossed her arms in stubborn challenge. “But I was really good at it. I did anything they asked, and I never complained. Not once. And I washed dishes, heaps of dishes, every day, and I learned to make bread. I can make the best bread you ever tasted. So my days there weren’t wasted. I would have made a very…pretty…nun.”
“Chou-Chou,”—he laughed freely, wrapping her again in his arms—“you would be beautiful at anything you wanted to try. No one else has your spirit or the courage to attempt your wild schemes.” He stepped back, cupping her face in his hand. “But you have had enough of this adventure. I think it’s time we begin our journey home.”
Home? She moved away, turning from him. “Oh, Armand, how will I ever be able to face anyone after all this? I’ve caused a scandal, embarrassed my family. It’s possible even Grandmère will never speak to me again.”
His hands rested on her shoulders for a moment, then turned her to face him. “No, no, Chou-Chou, your grandmother is managing everything. Your parents think we left the morning after the wedding to spend our first weeks together alone at my house. Marie is there waiting for you, she and your little Ninette. So far, I’ve managed to keep this escapade quiet. If we can get back to town unseen, no one will ever know about these last weeks.”
For a second she was elated. How brilliantly he’d managed to hide her misconduct! There would be no scandal. Then she remembered the consequences ahead. “And once we are back, what then, Armand? After all this, you can’t want me for a wife any more than I wanted you for a husband.” She wouldn’t be a coward, whatever he said. She’d accept the results of her actions, but she needed to know what they would be.
He was silent for what seemed to be a long time. She wanted to squirm, run, vanish, but she stood her ground, waiting for Armand to answer. “Whatever you want to do, Chou-Chou,” he said slowly. “You don’t want anyone else deciding your life for you, so I put the future in your hands. Tell me what you want to do, and that will be the end of it. No one will ever force you into a life you didn’t chose, not as long as I have breath and strength to stop it.”
Tears, for once real and unplanned, filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I want, Armand. I can’t give you an answer. I never thought beyond…”
“It’s all right, p’tite.” He bent down to drop a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll not get home for another day, or a bit more, depending on the condition of the trail. You think on it till then, and you can tell me when we’re in New Orleans once more.”
Lucienne nodded, confused and yet relieved by his words. She’d fought so hard against the life she didn’t want that she’d given no thought to what she might like if someone gave her a choice.
He thumbed the tears from her cheeks and stepped back. “The horses are watered. I’ll get them saddled and then come back for you. Do you need help with anything?”
Lucienne laughed shortly. “It takes Marie at least three days to pack for me when I go to visit Grandmère. She’d have conniptions if she could see how little there is for me to bundle up. I’ll be ready in three minutes, at the most.”
Armand picked up a weighty saddlebag and sauntered out the door. “I’ll hold you to that estimate, madame. Outside in three minutes.”
Lucienne ducked behind the horse blanket curtains and pulled them down. They were heavy and awkward to fold, but she was sure they would be needed, if only for a ground cover.
She was tying the rolled bundle when she heard the grating screech of the barn door. Armand was serious about that three-minute wait.
“I’m just putting the blankets away,” she said, turning toward the far door.
Men, three of them, in rough clothes and carrying bulging bags over their shoulders, stood in the entrance.
“Well, do my eyes lie, or is that a woman? A female woman, just waitin’ for a man? Sacre bleu, this must be my lucky day.” Broad, with a massive belly shining below his filthy shirt, the man advanced on Lucienne, a covetous look on his scarred face.
Unable to speak, even to cry out, she backed up till her heels hit the wall. She didn’t know how they came or from where, but she was sure the river pirates that used this place had returned to their lair.
Chapter Nineteen:
Courage and Folly
Lucienne stood immobile for a moment. Then a raging fury the like of which she’d never known, even in her wildest tantrum, overtook her. She would not let this filthy, fat outlaw touch her! Not even thinking before she acted, Lucienne swung the rolled blankets with both hands. The bundle struck the leering pirate full across the face. The cord that bound it went directly into his eyes. He growled in surprise and lunged for her. Cat quick, Lucienne darted away. She cut across the room to put the table between herself and the three brigands.
“Oh, ho, the little one has spirit,” one of the men exclaimed, chuckling. “It makes a better game, eh?”
“We’ll see who c
an take the final point,” their leader snarled, and reached across the table. Lucienne was a split second ahead of him. She grabbed the three-legged stool at her feet and hurled it at his head. Years of throwing things in fits of temper had given her a good aim. The stool clipped the pirate’s shaggy head with a hard crack.
“You’ll pay for that, vixen!” He charged around the table.
“Mes amis, if you lay a hand on my wife, you’ll discover the accuracy of my aim. And pay with your lives.” The low, lazy voice at the doorway caused all three men to turn. “You didn’t think I left my lady here alone and unprotected, did you?” Armand stepped into the room, each hand filled with a deadly pepperpot pistol. “Chèrie, this is getting to be too routine. Each time I turn my back, you find a new way to court danger.” He gestured with one pistol. “M’sieu, if you will step back and allow Madame to pass, we’ll be on our way.”
The pirate squinted a look at the multi-barreled pistol aimed at his belly, measured his chances against it, and stepped back.
“Very wise, mon vieux.” Without looking at Lucienne, Armand gave her directions. “Come along the wall and step behind me, Chou-Chou. Don’t get in my line of fire.”
Lucienne gathered up her rolled blankets and took the circuitous route to the door. Armand moved into the room a half step so she could pass behind him easily. He held steady aim on the men. “The horses are waiting outside. Mount and ride as hard as you can. Go right from the barn and into the trees. I’ll be behind you in a few minutes. I want a private word with these gentlemen.” A faint irony colored his last word.
“But Armand,” Lucienne began. Three pirates faced him, with no one to help Armand if they came at him.
“Go!” he snapped. “I can manage things here.”
Lucienne turned and ran for the door of the barn. As she cleared it, she heard Armand saying, “Mes amis, I took the precaution of cutting your boats loose. You have the option of following me and raising my ire, or salvaging whatever booty you left in your pirogues.”
The horses waited just outside the door. Lucienne didn’t hesitate. She hauled herself into the saddle and dug a heel into her mount’s side. The horse bounded in surprise and took off at a dead run across the mushy ground. She was hard pressed to keep the animal under control as it dashed into the trees. Half a minute later, the beat of pounding hooves reached her, and she began to rein in her racing mare.
“You ride too well to be a novice in that saddle.” Armand pulled his horse even with hers. “Did your papa give you lessons not usually meant for young ladies?”
“No, he gave me something less pleasant when he caught me riding this way.” She slowed to a walk and turned in his direction. “Clever of you to cut the boats loose before coming after me, but a little chancy, wasn’t it? They might have taken me hostage, or worse.”
Armand nodded. “A calculated risk, Chou-Chou. You have a very cool head in tight situations. I was betting you could distract them safely for two minutes. It gave us the element of surprise and insured our departure.”
“Well, that’s three times you’ve come to my defense, m’sieu, and I hope it’s the last. Next time, perhaps I’ll have the opportunity to come to your aid.”
“From this point on, it should be only a matter of following the trail until we reach the Renard farm. Once there, the River Road will take us into town. No more alarms and emergencies, s’il vous plait.” They rode along in silence for some time. Lucienne took refuge in her own thoughts. The end of the journey would bring her face to face with her dilemma once more.
What was she to do? Armand would keep his word, she had no doubt. He would arrange things so she could have whatever life she chose. She could return to the convent, she supposed, not as a nun, but as one of those unfortunate ladies who retreated behind the walls when life outside rejected them. No, that wasn’t a life, not one she could embrace. A life with no gaiety, no friends, no admirers to brighten the days. Not even the opera or theater to enliven the bleak hours. And all those bells and religious services? Lucienne, after just a week of such a schedule, knew she’d never conform for a lifetime.
What else? As she’d contemplated before, she could live with Grandmère, and that was probably her best choice. Her grandmother managed to live beyond some of the social conventions, not making her home with her children or arranging for a lady companion to live with her, as elderly widows were expected to do. Maybe she would include Lucienne in her world. Grandmère traveled, had even gone to Paris alone, and surely she’d take her granddaughter as a companion if she went again. A cold tremor touched Lucienne’s heart when she thought of the years ahead. Grandmère was old, no matter how spry and lively she acted, and one day she’d be gone. That would leave Lucienne alone and still outside the life she knew. And what would her existence be then, with no doting Grandmère to stand between a scandal-tainted Lucienne and the Creole world?
But there was, she at last admitted, another option. Armand wasn’t the deadly dull man she’d thought. Not this Armand riding beside her. He’d come through a hurricane to find her. He’d challenged pirates for her safety. Even the quick snake hadn’t escaped his sharp aim. Whoever Armand Dupre was when he was in New Orleans, he wasn’t the man she had thought she knew. Philippe’s brash ways and disregard for convention were superficial; Armand’s quiet competence in a dangerous world was real. But would he even consider, could he want, might he… Oh, why did life have to be such a mess!
“You’re very quiet, chèrie. What goes on inside that beautiful head?” Armand’s voice called her back to the moment.
“I was just thinking.” She pushed away her qualms and looked for the path he followed. She waved at the thick trunks and canopy of leaves surrounding them. “You said we only had to stay on the trail, but honestly, I can’t see anything like a way through all these trees. How do you know where we are or if we’re even going the right direction?”
“It takes practice to see it, but long ago the Indians marked the trees by tying limbs and turning them to show the trail. Look there. Do you see the lone oak with one branch pointing left? That means we turn. And farther down, there’s an old hackberry with a twisted branch. It shows us another turn. We just have to follow the markings. Once we are away from the streams, we’ll also look for rock cairns to show us the way, if they aren’t buried in fallen limbs.”
“I see the direction markers. There’s another on that little sweet gum. It looks recent.”
“You have sharp eyes, Chou-Chou. The sweet gum takes the place of an older tree that fell in a storm some time back. You’d make a tracker, with eyes like that.” Armand nodded approval at her quick perceptions.
“But can we see the markings at night? Won’t we get lost as soon as the sun drops low enough to cut off the light in the woods?” Lucienne felt a chill of alarm. How would they manage the night?
“True enough. We have to stop when we lose the light. I hope we can get as far as a house I saw up the trail a ways. It’s a ruin now, but we can camp there. A fireplace is still standing, and we can make a fire. A hot meal helps at the end of a long ride.”
Lucienne hadn’t thought of this, of spending the night alone with Armand. She’d shared the straw and blanket pallet behind the curtain with Dorcas for the two nights they’d been at the pirates’ retreat. The thought of Armand nearby hadn’t registered. Now they were alone, with no convenient chaperone. What could happen in the long hours of the night? Would he… No, she couldn’t imagine he’d kiss her, or even want to. In the wilds or not, Armand was a gentleman, after all.
Lucienne’s nerves grew taut and edgy as the sun dropped slowly beyond the treetops. She kept glancing sideways at the man in the doeskin shirt. He rode easily, his rifle not far from his hand, his eyes narrowed for signs of the trail in the fading light. He was a man to take the eye, she admitted. Others had found him handsome. Young mademoiselles, the cream of New Orleans society, expressed envy at her luck in becoming his betrothed. She hadn’t seen the appeal, t
oo entranced by Philippe to see any other man, but now she could appreciate the warmth in his smile, his elegant carriage and poise, his classic face, one that might look well on a gold coin. Brown hair, dark as mahogany and with a hint of curl as it escaped his battered hat. Eyes the same color, able to glow with affection or flash with fire when his temper flared. Dorcas was right. Armand did have his own dash and style, though the doeskin shirt and battered hat made him a stranger, but an intriguing stranger, to her eyes. When Lucienne tried to picture life with Armand, her imagination failed her. She couldn’t visualize it happening, certainly not, not after their recent history. She’d done everything a woman could to show him she wanted nothing to do with him. He wouldn’t want her back after that. She shouldn’t even consider the possibility.
“There’s the house I was telling you about.” His words interrupted her thoughts. Lucienne raised her eyes to the knoll beyond. At its crest sat the remains of a house long left to the ravages of time and weather. Two walls stood, perhaps held together by the crude stone fireplace lodged in the corner between them. The floor, an uneven expanse of rock with tufts of green showing between the stones, covered less space than a bedsheet. Lucienne bit back a protest. When Armand mentioned staying the night at a house, she’d envisioned walls and a roof, with at least a door to keep out night-hunting animals.
“It isn’t much, I admit,” he added. “But the floor seems dry, and if the chimney draws, we can have a hot meal. We’ll be all right for one night here.”
It was worse than the Jessups’ fishing cabin, in Lucienne’s mind. At least there she’d had some manner of bed, and the sky hadn’t been the only roof over her.
“Staying dry will be something new,” she answered, determined not to show her alarm. “I don’t suppose it comes with a bathtub?”
Armand laughed at her sally. “No, chèrie, you’ll have to wait one more night for that tub of hot water. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
Bal Masque Page 23
