Guarded Heart

by Jennifer Blake

  Ariadne added nothing to the conversation, for what could she say? It was a relief when the cafe au lait arrived. Maurelle came with it, however, and naturally took upon herself the duties of hostess, seeing that everyone had a cup and also a small plate of rose-decorated china to hold their bonbons and the candied rose petals that she had ordered to go with them.

  "I met Lisette this morning at Barrière's on Royale, and she mentioned that she had called here," Zoe said. "What did you think of her, Ariadne, ma chère? Is she not the perfect little mother, gathering her family of sword masters around her?"

  "I'm sure she is," she murmured, her gaze on her coffee cup.

  "It is she who holds them together, I do swear. Having no family of her own, she dotes on Caid's friends and their wives."

  "No family? But I thought they had children."

  "So they do. I was speaking of the sisters and brothers, the endless aunts and uncles and cousins to the last degree everyone seems to have here."

  "Oh, yes, certainly."

  "Madame Faucher is also alone in the world, or virtually so," Gavin said.

  "Oh, but I thought—"

  "No."

  The word seemed freighted with warning. Ariadne saw Madame Savoie exchange a brief glance with Maurelle who only lifted a plump shoulder in a shrug that could have meant anything.

  "My mistake," the diva said, unperturbed as she turned back again. "Though I tell you, it's an inspiration to see how Lisette has risen above all the talk of a few seasons ago. Did you not find her congenial?"

  "I barely saw her," Ariadne said a shade defensively. "My company was quite unnecessary."

  Gavin turned his head on the pillow. "They slighted you?"

  "Oh no, they were perfectly cordial."

  "As only women can be when turning a cold shoulder toward one of their own. Shall I speak to them?"

  His quickness was disquieting. "I pray you will not. They can hardly be faulted for feeling I share some blame in your injury."

  "Even when it's untrue."

  "I would not cause trouble between you."

  "They would prefer to know how they've misjudged the matter."

  "Still."

  He did not answer, which effectively prevented her from guessing if he meant to abide by her request. That it should matter to him was, perhaps, the most disturbing thing about it.

  "Where is Nathaniel?" Maurelle asked, glancing around the bedchamber as if she expected him to emerge from behind a curtain.

  "He was growing restless at his confinement to a sickroom," Gavin said. "I sent him on an errand to relieve his tedium."

  "One meant to save you from his ennui, I expect," she said placidly. "What a hand you are. But I suppose he will return before evening."

  "Oh, without doubt, unless he's detained."

  "Should he fail, you may always send for Solon to make you comfortable for the night."

  Gavin turned his gaze to Ariadne where she sat still holding her coffee cup. She could feel its warmth on her face though she refused to meet it. "I'm sure," he said, his voice like silk, "that some arrangement may be contrived."

  Madame Zoe, watching them, snorted and rose to her feet. "A perfect signal for my departure since my aid, unfortunately, will not be required." She picked up her muff, slipped it over her wrist and held out her arm for Napoleon to mount below the fur. "No, no, Maurelle, don't disturb yourself, I beg. Ariadne will see me out. Besides, I must just drop a hint in her ear as to how to handle a man who is flat on his back."

  "Gently, I should hope," Gavin said.

  "But not like a bunny," she returned at once with a droll smile and a kiss blown in his direction, "unweaned or otherwise."

  As an exit line, it was less than satisfactory, at least to judge from the look on the diva's strong features as she walked along the gallery. Ariadne glanced at her, then back out over the railing to where the fretted leaves of the banana trees glistened with misting rain as they waved in the wind. Speaking in careful neutrality, she said, "If you are concerned about the care Monsieur Blackford is receiving..."

  "No, no, that was a jest only. My thought was the opposite. I don't know what passes between the two of you, chère, but I would advise you to be on your guard."

  A frisson ran along Ariadne's nerves, one she ignored with valiant effort. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Do you not? No matter. Something about the way your patient looks at you when he thinks no one is watching concerns me. You will think me silly, I expect, but it calls to mind the drama of the opera. Death and tragedy, love and hate are everyday occurrences on the stage yet are based on the most common of human failings. People are so often predictable, you perceive. We behave in ways that come from inside us, from all the tangle of things we feel and dream, hope and fear. Sometimes we are civilized enough to rise above our more base emotions, but not often. We fail because we cannot see how what we do looks from the outside. We are lost in the terrible anger, the anguish and betrayal we feel. It fills our world and we will do anything to banish it."

  Ariadne stopped, turning to her with her hands clasped in front of her. "What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm not precisely sure, ma chère, or I would put it most frankly. I only know it isn't like Gavin to allow a stranger to care for him, nor to lie as watchful as some great cat waiting to pounce. Be very careful, for it is a dangerous game you play."

  "I was not aware that..."

  "Don't play the pretty simpleton with me. Others may believe you have the idle envie to learn fencing, but I am not so easily fooled. You want something of Monsieur Blackford, just as he wants something from you. It may be a mere itch for both of you, one easily scratched, but I doubt it. So I warn you again, take care. You may get whatever it is you are after, and find it is not what you want at all."

  The operatic diva, magnificent in her disdain, swept around with her bobbing parrot riding her shoulder, and strode away down the gallery. Ariadne watched her go while cold dread settled inside her. There was something in what Madame Savoie had said, she knew there was, but what difference did it make?

  It could not matter. She would allow nothing to matter.

  A quiet footstep accompanied by the rustle of skirts sounded behind her. As she whirled in that direction, Maurelle exclaimed, "What is it, chère? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

  "I'm...just a little chilled, perhaps." She tried a smile but feared it was not quite successful. "It's turning cooler, don't you think?"

  "Was it something Zoe told you? What has she been saying?"

  "Nothing of importance. Only.. .you said once, I think, that you accused Monsieur Blackford of being épris. It was a joke, wasn't it? You didn't mean it."

  "He may find you attractive, but is quite aware of the line which separates you. It's unlikely he will overstep it."

  Ariadne gave an unhappy nod. "So I thought. It's good to know you are of the same mind."

  "Is that what Zoe was saying, that you should be wary of his advances?"

  "Perhaps I misunderstood her."

  "Or not. She is a romantic, our Zoe, under all her outrageous manners and sophistication."

  "So likely to be mistaken, you mean."

  "Or her views may be exaggerated." Maurelle linked her arm with Ariadne's and began to stroll with her toward the salon centering the main house as it fronted the street. "Be easy in your mind. Whatever she may think, matters can't be so very bad."

  Ariadne was willing enough to be convinced. She moved with her hostess without resistance, though she glanced back once toward the bedchamber where Gavin lay. Yes, she would allow it, at least for now.

  Regardless, the specter that Madame Savoie had raised, that Gavin might be stalking her like some great golden tiger, would not leave her mind. There was only one possibility she could conceive for it. He had discovered who she was in spite of everything, so had divined her purpose. Yet if that was true, why had he not confronted her?

  He could have no reason for pursuin
g her, no need for revenge of the kind that drove her to meet him. What she might do need concern him very little; she had scant power to cause him harm. He was more than able to deflect anything she might try, or at least it must seem that way in his mind.

  Still, she could not stop thinking about it as the evening wore on, wondering, guessing, going over every single word and action between the two of them. One moment she concluded that Madame Savoie was completely mistaken, the next she was positive she was right. She could settle on neither one nor the other.

  One thing was clear. She must know how matters stood before she went a step further.

  It was supper time, that late evening meal following some hours after the mid-day dinner taken at three o'clock, when she finally hit on a way to find out. Footsteps firm, smile grimly in place, she proceeded along the gallery toward the bedchamber allotted to Gavin with Adele carrying a supper tray as she followed along behind her. Knocking lightly on the door, Ariadne pushed it open and held it for the maidservant. Only then did she turn toward the bed.

  It was empty.

  Panic beat up into her mind. She turned quickly, searching the room with her eyes, half afraid she would discover her patient stretched on the floor where he had fallen out of bed.

  Gavin was ensconced in a wingback chair before the fire with pillows cushioning his injured side and back and one foot thrust out toward the red-orange flames. A robe de chambre of dark Bordeaux-colored brocade wrapped him from his shoulders to the Turkish slippers on his long narrow feet.

  He straightened, lifting his head from where it was propped on his fist with his elbow resting on the chair arm. "An auspicious evening," he said, his voice light and even. "Not only am I allowed to leave my bed, but it seems I am to have company for dinner. Can the excitement rise any higher?"

  "Allowed?"

  She moved forward as she spoke, directing the maidservant to wait with the tray while she pulled a table closer to the fire.

  "By my devoted henchman here," he answered as Nathaniel rose from where he had been hidden by the back of the matching chair on the other side of the fire. "He was most strenuous in his objections on the head that too rapid a recovery might remove him prematurely from a household where he has neither to cook nor empty slops."

  She gave a low laugh. "Strong considerations, I must agree. I rather thought I might relieve him of his duties, keeping you company while he has his meal with Maurelle."

  Gavin glanced at the young man who stood by with hands clasped behind his back in an attitude of respect but a grin on his face. "What say you? Does the prospect of dining with Madame Herriot please?"

  "If my manners are up to it—well, and Madame Faucher really don't mind taking my place."

  "Your manners require no mending," she said warmly, "and I can't imagine your duties are beyond my performance."

  "Then I'll leave you to it. Though I warn you he's sore-headed as a bull in a baiting ring."

  "Is he now? I wonder why?" She half suspected the boy of teasing Gavin. If so, she saluted his daring in attempting it.

  Nathaniel shook his head without answering, his gaze hooded as he followed the maidservant from the bedchamber.

  Ariadne had more vital things on her mind than the byplay between sword master and apprentice. She gave it a few seconds of curiosity while taking the chair Nathaniel had vacated and disposing her skirts around her, then dismissed it from her mind.

  How to embark on what she intended? She had thought something would come to her when she was in place, but she had been too optimistic. The silence in the bedchamber grew long, broken only by the quiet popping of the fire and the sound of a dray rattling past in the side street beyond the windows. She stared at the coals, but they burned brightly, offering no excuse for busy work, much less conversation. In her intent search for something to say, she started a little as Gavin spoke beside her.

  "You have eaten?"

  "Not...as yet."

  "This abundance of food was surely meant for two then." He indicated the collection of silver dishes holding slices of roast chicken, blanched asparagus spears, small loaves of bread, creme brulee, and the carafe of wine that went with them. "Please. Begin, if you will."

  "The intention was to tempt your appetite."

  "For which sentiment, I am grateful though I have little taste for food just now." He went on after a moment. "It's a reminder that I haven't thanked you for your care. I would include Maurelle, but know well she isn't at her best in the sickroom so has left most of it to you and Solon."

  "None of us have been overtaxed. It's Nathaniel who has been constantly on duty."

  "Which is why you determined to relieve him, another example of your thoughtfulness."

  His words of appreciation made her feel distinctly guilty as nothing she had done, or very little at any rate, had been without motive. "I'm pleased to see you're improving. At least.. .1 suppose you must be better since you left your bed."

  "I was tired of it, to tell the truth. Too much bed rest is no great benefit with most injuries."

  He shifted a little in his chair, as if uncomfortable with the discussion or perhaps with the soreness of his wound. She was not quite ready to leave the subject, however, having nothing else to take its place. "You have been injured before?"

  "Like thorn pricks while gathering roses, it occurs around swords. As you know."

  "This was something more than a thorn prick." She was obscurely glad to hear his description. The lack of convolution in his speech had begun to make her uneasy, as if he might be more tired or ill than he appeared.

  "But of no more concern. Still, you did not join me, I think, to discuss my health or even to take Nathaniel's place. Why am I so honored?"

  "I was persuaded you must be bored with your own company." For something to do while she waited to see if he would accept that evasion, she reached to break the end from the loaf of bread and began to nibble at it.

  "Oh, assuredly, but I don't believe crossing swords with you this evening would be of benefit."

  "Not if you mean literally." She frowned. "Am I to suppose you feel that's the only way we might pass the time?"

  "If you have other joys in mind, then you must tell me plainly. Men of my stripe are not encouraged to suppose anything."

  A short laugh left her. "Oh, please, as though that ever stopped you."

  "Spoken by someone who is, of course, a model of propriety."

  "Neither of us may make that claim, which should put us on equal standing."

  He watched her through an ambush of gold-tipped lashes. "And that is something to be wished?"

  "Merely a fact." How very controlled he was. She wondered what it would take to shake him. While she considered it, she finished her bread then reached for a plate and began to load it with a few slices of chicken breast, spears of asparagus and another piece of bread broken from the loaf. "Shall I cut your chicken for you?"

  "I believe I can manage," he said, but made no move to take the plate she placed on the table near his elbow.

  "You really are not hungry."

  He turned his head against the back of his chair, his gaze darkly blue and penetrating. "My hungers are not so simple or so easily appeased."

  What was there to say to that? What did he expect her to say?

  It occurred to her to question if she could seduce him, not just in the physical sense but in mind as well. What better way was there to discover a man's weaknesses than by that ultimate closeness? How better to persuade him to lay aside his guard? Men and women were never more surely themselves, with all their faults and foibles exposed, than when they made love.

  It was not as if she were some untried girl, nor was a liaison between them likely to be of any duration. It was what society must be whispering of them already after the duel fought in her name. What had she to lose? And what better time and place than here in this house while he recuperated under Maurelle's auspices?

  Of course there was the small difficulty of his
injury. It did not encourage explorations of a sensual nature, much less anything requiring more strenuous activity. He could barely move, after all.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice soft.

  She took a startled breath before forcing a smile. "Nothing of importance. Merely that.. .physical attraction may be the basis for most affairs, but there is more to the association between a man and a woman."

  "Why, Madame Faucher, you do surprise me."

  "Not that I have any great experience in these matters, you understand."

  "Oh, perfectly." The agreement was dry but without conviction. "You were not tempted during your marriage?"

  "Never."

  "Not even with your Russian?"

  "No."

  "No?" he repeated, his eyes narrowed.

  She thought he sounded almost incredulous. It might be a little odd, perhaps, given the nature of her marriage and Jean Marc's illness, but the prospect had never beckoned. She had been brought up to consider her marriage vows sacred and the sanctity of the home inviolable. More than that, she had met no one who made abandoning her virtuous stand seem worthwhile. Certainly, no man had ever stirred her blood to fever heat the way the man sitting beside her had accomplished with no more than a look.

  "It still seems to me that some degree of trust and affection, some meeting of the minds, must be required," she said, continuing her reflective argument.

  "Not," he answered, "with the majority of men."

  "No?"

  "No."

  He should know if anyone did, she thought with a small frown between her eyes. "I did not, naturally, expect love to be a requirement, but surely the whole thing is rather empty unless... what I mean to say is, I don't see how men can simply remove their clothing and take a woman, any woman, to bed on the spur of the moment."

  "It's a great mystery," he replied, his voice even, "like the tides or an eclipse of the sun. A few moments spent rising then falling, a few pleasurable seconds hidden away behind the brightness, and then they emerge, unchanged."

  She must be depraved to be so affected by the images contained in the words that fell from his lips. For a flashing instant, she had seen herself in the arms of this man who had murdered Francis. How had she come to this, that it could seem not only possible but reasonable?