Her chin came up. “You know nothing of the matter!”
“I know,” he said, leaning closer, “that my wife will have nothing to fear from me—that the spacing of children or their advent is something we will agree upon between us. I know that if sorrow must come, she will not face it alone. I know that there is more to marriage than pain and terror; there is also comfort and pleasure and peace, and the abiding grace of love.”
The gaze she turned up to him was stark with some deep longing. It was also brief. Sweeping her lashes down like a final curtain, she said, “Fine talk, but you are still a murderer.”
“A duelist, when pressed,” he corrected. “And you are a woman who has never been kissed, much less suffered—or enjoyed—the marriage bed. So how can you judge the state, or a prospective mate, when you have no idea what you will be missing?”
“I don’t want to know!” she began.
But it was too late. He leaned closer to circle her waist with his arm and pull her against him. Then his lips came down on hers.
Stunned disbelief held her motionless while her heart shuddered into a faster rhythm and heat radiated in waves through her body. Her senses reeled with the concentrated fervor of the contact. His lips were smooth and warm and sweet. Beneath them, hers tingled as if they were swelling. Her brain felt as if it were on fire and her blood pulsed through her veins with frantic, fantastic life. Never had she known such expanding, rampaging wonder.
She could feel the hard strength of him, sense the smoothness of the linen and broadcloth he wore, smell the soap-and-bay rum-freshness of his skin. And it was not enough. She wanted to be a part of him, to make him a part of her. The urge was so violent that she shivered with it, while deep inside a slow, insidious throbbing became an intolerable ache.
Abruptly, she was free. Shocked beyond words, not only at what he had done but her own reaction, she could only stare at him while she clutched his coat sleeve for balance.
“God in Heaven,” he whispered, his gaze dark and equally startled as he stared down into her face.
It was an effort to force her cramped fingers to release him. Backing away, she lifted her hand to her burning lips.
“Wait,” he said, moving after her.
“Don’t touch me!” she said, retreating with greater haste. “I require no more demonstrations of how you will treat a wife.”
“I only wanted—I don’t know what came over me.”
“You wanted to show me what marriage would be like and you succeeded. I hope you are satisfied, for you won’t have the chance again!”
“If that was my object, it was a mistake since I also discovered what I stand to lose.” He held out his hand. “Accept my abject apology, if you please. I promise not to trespass again.”
“No, I will see to that.” She whirled, picking up her skirts, and plunged away, back toward the big house.
He halted then, only lifting his voice to call after her. “Running away will do no good. I know where to find you.”
“You won’t, not again,” she cried over her shoulder.
“I will,” he said, the words low yet carrying in their fixed determination. “Always.”
Lucien was a chess player. At the board he preferred aggressive moves—a strategy that had proven useful in a number of other undertakings. He was not certain it would work with Anne-Marie, but could see no alternative.
To enlist the aid of Madame Decoulet was natural since they shared the same basic goal. He did not confide in the lady, of course; that would have been unwise given Anne-Marie’s feelings toward her stepmother. In any case, it was unnecessary. All he had to do was appear on the doorstep at Pecan Hill and suggest he wished to have Anne-Marie’s company for an afternoon drive in his Crescent City buggy. The older woman naturally moved heaven and earth to see that his desire was granted.
“Are you comfortable?” he inquired with solicitation when he had handed a reluctant Anne-Marie onto the high seat, then joined her to take up the reins.
The look she gave him was less than charmed. Immediately afterward, she turned her face away so he was left with only a view of her poke bonnet brim.
“Good, we can go then.” Setting the fine gray mare in the shafts into motion, he guided the buggy out of the yard and onto the dirt track that passed for a road.
“How is Satan?” he asked pleasantly.
Silence from the woman beside him.
“And James—is the boy well?”
Nothing.
“I thought to be able to say hello to your father, but he was away from home. I trust he is in good health?”
The grip of her gloved hands in her lap tightened slightly, but that was the only sign he received that she had heard.
“Sulking is a sign of immaturity, and unsatisfactory besides,” he said in the tone of one pointing out an obvious fact. “If you have a bone to pick with me, it will be more useful to give me the devil while you tell me exactly what’s wrong.”
“You know very well,” she said through set teeth.
He managed, just, to conceal his satisfaction at goading a response from her. Guiding his team around a sharp curve that gave him an excuse to press his shoulder against hers, he replied, “I could make a guess, but that isn’t the same as knowing.”
She wrenched away from him with her eyes glinting within the shadow cast by her bonnet. “I told you I did not care to see you again and gave you my reasons. Not only did you ignore my expressed wish, but you used my stepmother to coerce me. I may be forced to endure your company in order to avert a family squabble, but you cannot compel me to engage in idle chitchat to make the drive more agreeable for you.”
“In short, you despise me more today than you did when last we met.” His words, he thought, were insufferably affable. He hoped she would rise to the bait.
“Yes!”
“And there is nothing I can do to change your opinion?”
“Indeed not.”
“Then it’s also unlikely any action of mine can worsen it.” His words were layered with silken suggestion.
Rose-red color spread across her cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he said smoothly, but he was satisfied. She had been reminded of his kiss, and was not unaffected by the memory. The dread of having it repeated—or the anticipation of it, if he wanted to be optimistic—should now remain at the forefront of her mind. If he was lucky, it would persuade her to be more amenable. If not, well, he was not too proud to use any viable excuse to repeat the exercise.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, shifting on the seat to face him more squarely. “I refuse to believe you have any wish to be wed, no matter what you may say. Even if you did, it’s unlikely you would select a bride without a careful process of elimination. As for choosing one who holds you in disregard, that is sheer madness—and though you may be many things, I don’t think you insane.”
“I suppose I should thank you for that much,” he said dryly. “But tell me, have you any idea how I might proceed if I fell madly in love?”
“A staggering thought!” She broke off as he negotiated a bumpy curve that jostled her against him, forcing her to clutch at his shoulder to keep from sprawling across his lap.
It was difficult to concentrate on the road and the conversation while the soft curve of her breast was pressed against his arm. The effort sent a twitching shudder down his back. Compressing his lips, he said, “Now, why should it be so hard to imagine? I am exactly as other men.”
Drawing away the instant the road ran straight, she evaded his gaze while she yanked her clothing back into place and realigned her bonnet. “Other men,” she said with precision, “don’t murder those who happen to disagree with them.”
Goaded in his turn, he said, “I will grant my past is a less-than-sterling example of sensible conduct, but I have never provoked a meeting, never injured a man who was not trying his best to kill me.”
“Oh, please,” Anne-Marie said in dispa
ragement. “All men say that, but if it were true there would be no duels.”
He did not answer immediately as his attention was deflected by distant sounds. It was, he thought, a pack of hounds baying on a trail. The dogs might have been let out of their pen to run on their own, giving chase to a deer or any other animal that might have chanced to cross their path. They could also be leading hunters through the woods. Fall might be the time generally reserved for serious sport, but the men exiled from New Orleans by hot weather were apt to accept any diversion that offered.
In some distraction, he said, “I am sorry for the death of your brother, but as tragic as it may have been, I hold no responsibility for it.”
“No one suggests that you do. But you have undoubtedly caused just as much grief to others.” The words were not quite as rigid as he might have expected. Anne-Marie had also noticed the chase, for she sat with her head tilted in a listening pose and a frown between her brows.
The dogs were off to the left hand side of the road. They seemed to be following the winding course of a creek that crossed the road then continued on to meander through the Decoulet plantation. It was possible the animal being hunted would turn and follow the open roadway when it reached it. Lucien pulled in the mare a little, holding her on a tight rein. The gray might not mind sharing the right of way with a rabbit or deer, but would certainly object to anything larger.
Returning his attention to his companion, he said, “You appear to know the public story of my career, both on and off the dueling field. I inveigled you into driving out with me because I want—”
“So you admit it!” The words carried amazed triumph.
“It seemed the only way to persuade you to listen,” he agreed. “I particularly wanted to talk to you about—”
“But that’s infamous when I explained quite clearly that I—”
“Will you please allow me to speak?” he said in grim determination, even as he noted the yells and crashing sounds of a hunting party far back in the woods, riding hell-bent after a quarry. “There are circumstances known only to the parties involved which may change your view of what took place.”
“I seriously doubt that anything you can say will explain away the death of a young man several years your junior.”
He grimaced. “As it happens—”
At that moment a dark shadow bounded from among the trees and streaked across the road ahead of them. The mare shied with a shrill whinny and reared in the shafts. Lucien swore as rammed his booted heel against the footboard for leverage and sawed at the reins. Anne-Marie clutched his arm, her fingers biting into his cramped muscles.
“It’s Satan,” she cried. “The dogs are after Satan!”
Lucien had been afraid of just that; the excuse for going after the panther had been far too good for the men of the neighborhood to pass up. He cursed himself for bringing Anne-Marie out this afternoon. If he had not, she might never have known.
“Stop! Oh, please stop,” she begged. “I’ve got to help him.”
Lucien sent her a look of incredulity. Voice rough, he said, “There’s nothing you can do.”
“If I call him, he’ll come to me. I can protect him.” Her gaze turned up to him was fretted with desperation.
“Yes, and the dogs will tear you to pieces, too.”
She swung from him without answering. Bracing her hand on the side of the buggy, she gathered her skirts as if preparing to leap down. Lucien cursed under his breath. Snatching the lines in one hand, he clamped a hand on her wrist. She wavered off balance in his hard grasp, half in and half out of the buggy. Shouting at the gray and pulling on the lines, he slowed the vehicle.
At that moment, the hounds burst from the woods. The mare went wild. Yelping, snapping dogs leaped away from the lash of hooves. The buggy slewed across the road in a cloud of dust. Tree limbs lashed the struts and stung Lucien’s face. Anne-Marie was flung against him. As she twisted out of his way, she was thrown from the seat to the floorboard where she huddled for an instant. Bracing with gritted teeth, Lucien used both hands and every rock-hard, aching muscle he possessed to hold the mare. The buggy bumped over road ridges. Skidding, swaying, almost tipping, it skirted the ditch. It rocked violently then shuddered to a halt.
Springing down at once, Lucien lunged for the mare’s head. The bit was barely in his hand before the first horseman jumped the ditch and clattered across the road. Others boiled after him, shouting and cursing as they saw the obstacle in their way. They reined around it in clouds of dirt and gravel. Brief and noisy moments later, they were gone.
“Stop them!” Anne-Marie called out to him as she stood upright in the buggy. “You’ve got to stop them.”
“What do you suggest?” he demanded. “Even if I had a mount and could chase them down, they are unlikely to listen to reason. That cat of yours scared them senseless. They won’t stop until he’s no longer alive to remind them.”
She stared at him with horror in her face. An instant later, she whirled to clamber from the wagon. Jerking up her skirts, she sprinted into the woods after the riders.
Using every vicious and profane phrase he had ever heard, Lucien dragged the mare by main strength to a sapling beside the road and lashed the reins around it with a hard jerk. He leaped to the carriage to seize his sword cane, and then lunged after Anne-Marie.
He might have lost her if he had not heard her crying out to her pet. She was that fleet, had that much of a head start. Incredibly, the panther was answering her calls; he could be heard yowling far off.
It seemed the animal was circling back. His plaintive cries were definitely coming closer. The dogs were following, baying like the hounds of hell.
By the time Lucien reached Anne-Marie, the great night-black animal was gliding through the trees. Panting, sides heaving, it streaked to her and dropped into a crouch at her feet. She bent over it, murmuring reassurance.
There was only one thing to be done. Stationing himself in front of the girl and the great cat, Lucien drew his sword cane and tossed the outer cover aside. He slashed the blade through the air to limber his arm and then set his feet. As the dogs burst from its cover, he swung to face them.
They came from three directions. With dripping muzzles and the hot, glazed eyes of the chase they charged the cat. Lucien struck right and left with the flat of the sword, a flurry of solid blows to black-and-tan backs and flanks.
The dogs danced this way and that, trying to get past. Finding it impossible, they backed and sidled and turned in circles before charging once more. Met by strokes that whipped the air and carried a sharp edge, they cowered with sharp yelps and whimpers, quailing before slinking back out of reach.
In the midst of the battle, the horsemen came thundering up. Their hallos and yells grew hoarse with outrage.
“What in hell’s goin’ on here!”
Lucien barely glanced at the riders. Voice slicing in its hard command, he shouted, “Call off your dogs!”
“Like hell! Get out of the way!” The spokesman was a burly man with the rust-red hair of Ireland, clothes of a gentleman, and accents of a dirt farmer.
“To take the cat, you’ll have to take me.” Lucien’s face was set and his eyes glittered with challenge. “And then explain it to Mademoiselle Decoulet.”
The men looked from him to Anne-Marie where she stood above the panther with her bonnet hanging down her back by its stings, her dress ripped by briars, and her hair loose about her shoulders. They were not cruel men, nor were they unreasonable when the fire began to die out of their blood. Shifting in their saddles, wiping sweaty brows, they talked in low tones among themselves. It was plain to see their greater uneasiness was centered in the big cat which lay among them, flicking its tail and regarding them with wary alertness.
“It ain’t natural.” The mutter came from the rear of the semi-circle of horsemen. The comment was echoed by rumbling agreement from several quarters.
It was Victor Picard who finally dismounted and stepped f
orward as spokesman. Dividing his appeal between Lucien and Anne-Marie, he said, “It’s not that we’re after the panther for no reason; you must understand that. The way we see it, the thing’s a danger to everybody for miles around. Nobody can sleep for wondering when he’ll come sneaking through a door or window left open for air—or what he’ll do when he gets inside. We can’t risk him killing somebody, or maybe carrying off a babe next time he gets hungry.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Anne-Marie protested, color receding from her face at the suggestion.
“Can you guarantee it?” Picard demanded in strained reason. “We can’t spend night and day looking over our shoulders, listening to him screaming back in the woods. He’s got to go, chère.”
“He would never hurt anybody, really, he wouldn’t.” She stepped forward to put out her hand as she pleaded for the great cat.
“How do you know?” Victor shot back. “He’s a mangy panther, a wild animal. You can’t tell what he might do. And you won’t always be around to stop him.”
“He isn’t wild! I raised him from a kit and he loves me. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
The men exchanged quick, significant looks. It was difficult to tell whether the reaction uppermost in their minds was disbelief or wariness for a young woman who was crazy enough to claim the affection of a wild beast.
Then off to one side, a man made the sign of horns, a gesture to ward off evil. Two others spoke in sibilant whispers.
“Witch—”
“She-devil—”
Lucien’s chest felt hot and tight as he realized what Anne-Marie had done. A lady did not befriend a panther. A lady did not defy men-folk. A lady did not claim to be fearless in face of a danger that caused men to tremble. A lady did not, above all, mark herself as possessing strange powers over savage beasts.
Anne-Marie was already considered something of an oddity. By showing herself irretrievably as a creature beyond the ken of her neighbors, she had just made herself an outcast. If there had ever been a time when Anne-Marie might have been able to contract a respectable marriage, it was ended.
Out of the Dark Page 4
