Creole Hearts (3 page)

"I know what Aimee is like," Guy said impatiently. "Just explain what's wrong."

"He came here two nights ago, Aimee told me. She thought it was you and so opened the door. He pushed past her into the house. Aimee was so frightened she couldn't cry or even move. And who'd have listened if she had screamed for help?"

"Who was he?" Guy spoke through clenched teeth, glaring down at the two women.

"He took Aimee against her will," Estelle said angrily, tightening her hold on her sister. "She's afraid you'll blame her and leave her. She says she'd die if you left her, and she well might. So she didn't tell you. Aimee has feelings for you . . "

"Damn Aimee's feelings," Guy shouted. "Who is this man?"

"Monsieur Roulleaux," Estelle said. "Monsieur Nicolas Roulleaux."

In the blueness of early evening Guy paced back and forth on the banquette across the street from the Roulleaux townhouse. Seized with fury as he was, he still wouldn't lower himself to ask for entrance into the house. Nicolas would be out sooner or later—he could wait.

Guy took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His
defi
, his challenge to Nicolas, must be proper even though he longed to batter the bastard with his fists, to grind him into the mud of the street with his boots.

The small door to the courtyard opened, a man came out. Guy drew himself up and stalked across the street. "Nicolas Roulleaux!" he called.

The man turned. "I'm Philippe," he said.

Guy stopped abruptly. The brothers looked much alike, and in the fading light he'd mistaken the slighter Philippe for Nicolas. They both had the same brown curls, the same hazel eyes. Roulleaux eyes.

“I seek your brother, not you," he said. "Where is he?"

"Who seeks me?" Nicolas' voice came from behind Guy. He whirled, saw Nicolas standing in the courtyard door.

Guy strode back to him, raised his hand and slapped Nicolas across the cheek, a light blow but hard enough to jerk Nicolas' head to the side. Guy gritted his teeth to keep the furious words back. A
defi
must remain courteous.

"To the death." Guy's voice was low and intense. "No apology accepted. You know the cause, it need not be stated."

Nicolas smiled mockingly. "If you think you've grown expert enough to challenge a master,” he said, "we shall meet. My choice is the
colichemarde
, the rapier."

"My second will be Gabriel Davion," Guy told him.

"Marc de la Harpe will be mine.
Sous les chenes
,  under the oaks?"

"I prefer to meet on the Fortin plantation, in the old place," Guy said. He didn't add that La Branches had met Roulleauxes there before. Nicolas knew this as well as he did.

After the duel, he knew, the question would be asked a hundred times and more in the coffee houses.

"Which of them lived?"

Guy vowed the answer wouldn't be, "Nicolas Roulleaux."

Chapter 3

Although the sun had risen, tendrils of mist still wavered like ghost moss in the branches of the cypress trees edging St. John's Bayou. Frogs croaked in unison and from among the reeds came the high pitched whistling call of a red winged blackbird.

Guy shifted from one foot to the other, his rapier unsheathed and ready.

"You're good," Francois had assured him earlier. "Only I, myself, could take you for sure now. Don't lose your head, go after him like a cane snake, only don't give warning like the rattler does."

I'll take Nicolas, Guy assured himself. Take that bastard. He could feel the beat of his heart, rapid, impatient for the duel to begin. He started when Gabriel spoke to him.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"I'll inform your opponent's second." Gabriel left Guy's side and walked to where Nicolas stood talking to Marc.

The seconds conferred briefly. Only the four men were on the field beside the bayou, since both Nicolas and Guy had refused to have a doctor stand by.

Guy moved into position, Nicolas did the same. They faced one another, unsmiling.

"En garde," Marc cried.

Swift as a Chitimacha Indian arrow, Nicolas' rapier cut through the air. Guy avoided the thrust adroitly, feinting to the right, then lunging so that Nicolas turned slightly to face him. Guy twisted and came at him from the left, his blade catching and slitting Nicolas' right sleeve.

Guy changed his ground, circling Nicolas. Nicolas closed in, pressing Guy warmly. Still Guy circled, feinted, circled again. The rapiers flashed in the sunlight as first one man, then the other, parried murderous thrusts.

The tip of Guy's rapier pricked Nicolas' right arm. Blood stained the torn shirt sleeve. Had this been a first blood duel, Guy could now step back, his honor satisfied and the duel would end. But he was out for his enemy's heart's blood, nothing less would do.

Guy smiled tightly as he sidestepped a rush from Nicolas, his confidence growing, feeling he'd become the better swordsman. He began maneuvering to keep Nicolas to the right so he could finish him with a well-directed
coup de pointe a droite
. He circled, making Nicolas follow him. He was almost ready . . .

A woman darted between the men so suddenly that Guy almost ran his rapier into her.

Madelaine!

"Stop," she cried, "oh, please stop."

As Guy stared at her in shock and disbelief, she screamed and he felt the hot bite of Nicolas' rapier as it slid into his right shoulder.

"Cease!" Gabriel cried. "The fight is over. Interference on the field. He walked between the duellists, Marc by his side.

Blood ran down Guy's arm and onto his hand. He felt his sword handle grow sticky and transferred the weapon to his left hand.

"No," he said, trying to fend Madelaine off as she clutched at him. "No, get away. How dare you come onto a duelling field?"

“We as seconds, agree to declare this duel a draw due to interference,” Marc said. He reached out his hand for Nicolas’ sword.

Gabriel held out his hand and Guy reluctantly surrendered the rapier.

Guy turned to Madelaine. "What possessed you to interfere?" he snapped.

She was crying, tears running down her face as she struggled to pull a lace edged handkerchief from the pocket of her pelisse.

"You're bleeding," she sobbed, bringing the dainty square of cloth up to dab at the bloody hole in Guy's shoulder. "You're hurt."

"Thanks to you," he said grimly, pulling away from her. "Go home."

Gabriel pressed folded white cotton cloth against Guy's wound and Guy allowed him to bind it tightly.

"I couldn't stay home once I heard," Madelaine said.

"I'd like to know who told you."

"No duel is ever a secret," she said. "What does it matter where I heard it? What matters is you. What if you'd been killed? I couldn't bear that, Guy."

"I was in no danger of being killed."

"Nicolas, then. If you killed him in no time Philippe would challenge you over some trifle because of this crazy feud that should have died out years ago. Then he'd die. Or you would. I want it stopped." She put her hands over her face and wept.

"You sister is tender hearted," Nicolas said.

Guy turned his head quickly to see Nicolas standing a few feet away. "You did draw first blood," Nicolas went on. "If you'll accept an apology for my behavior, I'll admit I was drunk and shouldn't have indulged myself. It was ill advised.”

Guy's shoulder throbbed painfully, oozing blood reddened the white bandage. He was in no shape to fight a duel now or in the near future. The wound might take months to heal. Hatred pulsed through him with every heartbeat. If only Madelaine had minded her own business, Nicolas would be lying dead at his feet this very moment.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, knowing he had little choice. "Apology accepted," he managed to say, the words choking him.

Nicolas turned on his heel and walked away. Guy stared after him. Nothing would ever wipe the insult from his mind, certainly not an apology. Yet by the duelling code, the incident was closed.

"I’m sorry about your shoulder," Madelaine said. "I hope you won't have to miss many of the parties."

"The parties be damned," he said. "I'll wear a sling."

Nicolas and I will meet again someday at sword's point, he told himself as he let Gabriel help him onto his horse. When that day comes I'll have my vengeance.

Without lighting a lamp, Madelaine crept quietly across the parlor and into the corridor. She inched the outside door open. It was likely that no matter how careful she was, Odalie would know she'd left, but Odalie, who'd raised her since she was five, could be trusted to keep her mouth shut.

Guy was asleep in his room, his shoulder no longer bleeding. He'd not waken, for Dr. Goodreau had given him laudanum. Guy was still angry with her for interfering with the duel this morning but he'd be far more upset if he discovered what she was doing at this moment.

Life was once so simple. Rather dull, maybe, looking back but she hadn't thought it dull at the time. It was only in comparison with now that it seemed dull. For now, ah, she was in love. Love was wonderful, thrilling, more exciting than anything else in the world, but it wouldn't let her rest, it drove her forward with a coachman's whip. She had to disobey Guy.

Madelaine tiptoed across the courtyard and slipped through the small door set in one of the leaves of the tall double gate. She drew her shawl of soft white wool closer against the chill of the December night and stared into the darkness, prepared to duck quickly back inside if she heard a carriage coming. She heard instead the whuffle of a horse and then her name called softly.

"Madelaine."

She saw him, a dim figure in the starlight, coming across the street. She hurried to meet him.

"Philippe," she breathed.

He held her close for a moment, then led her back to where his carriage waited, helped her inside. As soon as he was seated beside her she flung herself into his arms. He kissed her, his lips so warm against hers that a fire spread down into her loins. She pressed herself against him and heard him groan.

"Ah, Madelaine, I love you so."

"We must do something soon. Guy . . ."

"Imagine your brother's fury were I to come to him tomorrow saying, “So sorry about my brother running a rapier into your shoulder, may I have Madelaine's hand in marriage?"

She smiled, then sighed. "If you hadn't told me about the duel, Guy would have killed Nicolas."

She felt Philippe stiffen. "My brother isn't a novice swordsman to be so easily disposed of," he said. "The duel might well have ended with Guy dead on the field."

Madelaine drew away. "I was there. I tell you Guy had the edge."

"Wasn't I watching, too, well concealed in the trees?"

"I didn't see you."

"I saw everything." Philippe grasped her hands. "I thought for a moment they both would run you through. You took a terrible risk dashing between them as you did."

She relaxed against him and he stroked her hair.

"I will have you, Madelaine. We'll marry. Even if I must challenge your brother to make you my wife."

"No! You must never do that. I won't be the cause of a duel between the two men I love best in the world. We must find another way."

As they kissed, his hand touched her breast, sending shivers of desire through her body. "Oh, Philippe," she murmured, "my sweet, dear love." She knew she must stay a maiden and yet she was aflame with wanting him to make her his and no other's forever, in the way of men and women.

"I missed you at the ball tonight," he said.

She pulled away a little. "I imagine you danced with all the prettiest girls."

"Annette Louise mostly. She missed you, too."

Madelaine pressed her lips together. "I'll wager she did. Ha!"

"But she's your friend."

"Not when you dance with her." Madelaine struck his chest lightly with her fist. "I hate not being there to see you and yet I hate being at a ball and not being able to dance with you."

"Once you wouldn't have danced with me even if we were the last two people on earth," he said.

"Just think, if you hadn't rescued me last summer," she told him. “I'd still believe a Roulleaux carried some strange and dangerous evil."

"You were frightened enough of me then," he said. "You didn't know which was worse—your mare mired in quicksand or the devil himself come to help."

Madelaine laughed. "Who could stay afraid of a man completely covered with mud? You were a sight."

"As I recall, you weren't exactly spotless yourself," he said. "I fell in love with you right then and there when you dared me to jump in the bayou with you to wash the mud off our clothes. I've never met anyone like you in my life, Madelaine. I'll never give you up. Only death will separate us."

She shivered. "Don't say that. Too many Roulleauxes and La Branches have died already. And all over a cow in the beginning, wasn't it?"

"A sheep, Guy told me."

"Roulleaux tradition says it was a cow." He laughed. "See, we shall never agree. What a stormy marriage we have to look forward to."

"No, no, it will be marvelous. Wonderful." She nestled close to him.

He bent his head to kiss her, then held. Carriage wheels rattled on the rutted dirt, the clop of horses' hooves. Neither spoke until the carriage was past and the sounds fading away.

"Be damned to this skulking about!" Philippe exclaimed. "I'll wait until your brother's arm heals, no longer, then I'll go to him and ask for you."

She clutched at his shoulder. "No, no, there'll be a duel, no, you mustn't ask Guy. Promise me."

"Do you think I can't fight him? Is that your worry?"

She drew away. "What kind of marriage would we have if you killed him? I love my brother. He can't help the way he feels. Doesn't your brother feel the same? If Guy should kill you . . ." She flung herself at him. "Oh, I'd die."

"I can't promise," he said, "but I'll try to think of another way."

She melted into his embrace. Long moments later she pulled back with a sigh. "I must go in. But one question. I want to know, Philippe, do you have a—a placee?"

"Madelaine!" His voice was shocked. "Women don't ask such things."

"Well, do you? I know most men have them. Guy does."

"As it happens, I don't. But you must never ask me again."

"You sound just like Guy sometimes. Why should I pretend to be blind and deaf and dumb?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "You're incorrigible and I love you very much." He kissed her quickly and then she scrambled out of the carriage. When Madelaine crept up the stairs to her bedroom, she found Odalie sitting, waiting.

"I thought you were asleep," Madelaine said.

"How can I be sleeping? Who be in this room if Monsieur Guy take a notion to ask about you?" Odalie had risen as soon as she saw Madelaine and now she faced her, hands on her hips. "You be getting yourself in big trouble, easing out to meet up with a no good."

"Oh, don't scold, Odalie, I haven't done anything wrong." As she looked into the slave's black face, tears swam in her eyes. "It's just that I love him so."

"Do be love that gets all women in trouble," Odalie said, putting her arms around Madelaine. "Don't fret, girl, not a man be worth it."

"He is, oh, he is, Odalie." Madelaine pulled away from her and sat on the bed.

"Then why don't he come see you proper?"

"There are reasons he can't."

"You don't be taking up with a married man?" Odalie's voice was shocked.

Madelaine stared at her, then laughed. "
Mon Dieu
, what a question to ask me. Of course not."

"I should hope you don't do that. Ladies don't be placees."