Iron Lace (17 page)

Livid now, Vidal swayed as though he had been struck. "I
should run you through on the spot!" he exclaimed, his voice throaty
with rage, as he began to unsheathe his sword.

Roget realized he had gone too far. The blood drained from
his countenance. "I… I'm not armed, senor," he reminded
Vidal feebly.

Even Monique held out a pleading hand to detain her
guardian, but Vidal had already regained control of himself and, with a
grunt of disgust, let his half-drawn sword drop back into place by his
side once more.

"Bah! I see where there's no sense discussing anything
with you," he growled angrily. "You're a boorish clod, senor, without
even the conscience or sensitivity to apologize for your rude behavior
to my ward while a guest in her home. You leave me no recourse except
to send my seconds to you tomorrow morning."

Roget bowed stiffly and stepped out at last from behind
the potted palmettos, trying to preserve what little dignity he had
left.

"I'm at your disposal, senor. Since I'm the challenged and
have the right to choose weapons, I would prefer pistols."

The Frenchman eyed Vidal's blade apprehensively, obviously
afraid that his adversary would be too formidable an opponent with the
rapier that he seemed so eager to use on him at that moment.

"We can discuss the details in the morning," Vidal replied
curtly. "For now I'll thank you if you just vacate the premises."

Roget bowed again with exaggerated pomp to both Vidal and
his ward and then, turning rigidly on the heel of his boot, walked away.

For a few seconds there was an awkward silence on the
gallery as Monique stood beside her irate guardian watching the
retreating back of her would-be lover.

"Oh, Cousin Miguel, are… are you going to have
to fight him?" she asked suddenly, her tear-stained cheeks whiter now
than the rice powder could have ever made them.

He turned his dark, smoldering eyes at last to her.

"Yes, I am," he replied tartly. "For, in spite of your
obvious determination to rush down the road to total ruin, I'm still
your guardian and must answer for your reputation. But he has
la
raz
ó
n
, you know. I saw you flirting with him like the silly,
thoughtless child you are, without any concern for the tragic
consequences your reckless behavior could bring about. Well, I hope
you're satisfied now!"

"But… but I never thought—"

"Of course not! When do you ever think, you foolish
child?" he interrupted impatiently. "Do you realize that, because of
your folly, two men are in peril now of losing their lives? Your
thoughtless actions have provoked a senseless duel that will prove
nothing except that you are a scatterbrained girl who puts no value on
her reputation. Unfortunately, as your guardian, I have been placed in
a situation where I am nevertheless obliged to defend it.
Bien
,
perhaps this will be your way of finally ridding yourself of me. Now go
back to your guests, and please try to behave yourself at least for the
rest of tonight. I can only fight one duel at a time!"

Monique's eyes were brimming over with tears once more.
"Please, you mustn't think I really wanted that horrid man
to… to…"

"Then
whatever possessed you to behave as you did? I know you're impulsive
and headstrong sometimes, but I've never seen you flirting like a
bawdy-house wench before. Are you in the habit of going around offering
yourself to every man who murmurs a few pretty phrases in your ear?"

"Oh, no, of course not! I'd never let anyone take
liberties with me."

"Well, he seemed well on his way to doing just that. I
certainly hope you're not accustomed to letting men take you off into
dark corners and have their way with you!"

His face was still livid.

"Oh, no… believe me, I've never…"
The intensity of his rage awed her.

"Don't lie to me, Monica. What about your precious
Maurice? If you let Roget, surely you've let him?" The nerve in his jaw
was twitching as the knuckles of his hand went white over his sword
hilt. He seemed to be wishing he had Foucher there, too, at that
moment, so he could run him through along with Roget.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed indignantly. "What do you
think I am? A fallen woman?"

He saw how offended she was, and the anger drained out of
his eyes. He had never had any sisters, but after the courtesans of
Europe and Azema Ducole, he had forgotten just how naive a
seventeen-year-old girl in the provinces could be. He had to keep
reminding himself that the sensuous woman standing there before him was
really still a child in so many ways.

"All right," he acquiesced crossly. "At least it's a
comfort to know I won't have died in vain if I should lose my life
defending your virtue tomorrow."

The pale gold of her hair blended with the moonlight as
she bowed her head. "That's what we were fighting about when you came
out and found us," she confessed timidly. "He'd pulled me back of the
palmettos and was trying to take liberties with me, but I wouldn't let
him."

Vidal continued to eye her sternly. "Well, let that be one
of your first lessons in womanhood," he said sharply. "Don't dangle the
bait if you don't want to get caught. You see, my little ward, that's
one of the big differences between a woman and a child. A woman
considers the consequences of her actions. She doesn't just plunge
headlong into trouble, pulling everyone else around her into the
whirlpool with her as well. Now do as I say. Go inside to your party."

She turned to obey, her head still hanging dejectedly, the
tears rolling unchecked now down her cheeks. Suddenly she paused and
looked back at him from where she stood on the gallery.

"Miguel… Cousin Miguel…" She
hesitated.

"Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"Please… please be careful tomorrow."

He lifted a dark, inquisitive brow. "I have every
intention of doing so," he replied, but he was staring at her with
renewed curiosity.

"I'm… I'm sorry… truly sorry you
have to fight because of me."

"I hope you'll bear that in mind next time you feel
tempted to act rashly."

She paused yet a moment more, as though loath to return to
the party in progress within. The peals of carefree laughter and the
tinkling of mandolins and guitars spilled out into the warm summer
evening through the open doors farther down the gallery, but the
merrymaking suddenly had a distant, unreal sound to the two motionless
figures silhouetted there in the moonlight just then.

"I… I wouldn't want anything to happen to you
because… because of me," she insisted.

"I wouldn't, either," he agreed, a faint smile tempering
the annoyance in his dark eyes for the first time since he had found
her behind the palmettos with Roget.

"Now go back in," he said, a little less severely, "and
don't say anything for the moment. You don't want to worry your
grandmother, and the less scandal the better. I'll be careful tomorrow,
you can be certain of that much."

He watched her walk the rest of the way down the gallery
and disappear into the house. The rustling of her silk skirts still
echoed in his ears as he stood there in the semidarkness a few minutes
longer, trying to collect his thoughts. He wondered whether the day
would ever come when he'd be able to understand that bewildering little
ward of his. He could have sworn she seemed genuinely concerned for him
when she was leaving. But then, Monique was a good-hearted girl
underneath all that hostile exterior. It was probably just her guilty
conscience reacting, once she realized how her foolish behavior had put
him in danger. Whatever made the girl act the way she did sometimes?

The memory of her in Roget's arms came back to haunt him,
and his blood began to boil anew. The damn bastard… pawing
her like that! And Roget hadn't been playing, either. He'd have taken
her if he could have gotten away with it!

Just the thought of another man's lips pressed against
that fleshy little mouth, of irreverent hands caressing the fullness of
those proud, hard-tipped breasts, set him to trembling with rage. At
least he'd seen enough to know she'd been trying to fight him
off… that she hadn't wanted him to go on. The foolish child!
He'd have to keep his eye on her even more from now on. She was at an
age where her own passions might betray her. The very thought of her
responding to another man's caresses, of someone violating, even
touching, the sweet wonder of that warm, vibrant body, tormented him to
the point of madness. He had to come out of tomorrow's duel
alive… if only to protect her when she needed him.

Monique
was desolate. She had wanted to show her guardian that she
was a full-grown woman but instead had only succeeded in making him
look on her as more of a child than ever—and a foolish one,
at that!

Worse yet, she had put him in danger of losing his life.
Although it was true she'd often wanted to rid herself of her
interfering guardian, she certainly had never wanted anything to happen
to him, much less to be the cause of his misfortune!

During those long restless hours later in her room, she
had lain awake tormented with visions of his seconds suddenly appearing
at the front door carrying his bloody body between them…
that fascinating, vibrant body she had felt pressed so close to hers,
pulsating to the rhythm of her own! She'd never forgive herself if
anything happened to him now because of her!

Shortly after dawn, unable to lie there sleepless any
longer, she had risen from the twisted, tortured sheets of her bed and
gone in search of her guardian. She had a great longing to see him
again… to let him know how truly worried she was about him.

But he had already gone… gone to keep his
appointment perhaps with death! If only she could have at least told
him goodbye… seen him just one more time! Just the thought
that she might never see him alive again made her physically ill.

Mlle. Baudier, noting the quiver of her charge's lower lip
and the dark shadows under her eyes, called her quickly aside. Vidal
had taken her into his confidence before leaving, she said, and had
ordered her to say only that he had been called into the city on urgent
business if Grandmother Chausson should ask why he wasn't there.

The governess's eyes seemed even larger than usual as she
scolded Monique for her folly of the night before and repeated Vidal's
warning that they were to say nothing to anyone about his real reasons
for going into New Orleans.

By midday the last of the guests who had accepted the
hospitality of Le Rêve for the night had gone. Normally Monique would
have been sorry to see such festivities come to an end, but on this
occasion she was only too happy to be relieved of her role as hostess.

Celeste sensed something was amiss and tried her best to
find out from Monique what was wrong, but the older girl remained
dolefully silent. Once she even broke out into unexplained weeping.

Grandmother Chausson immediately declared that Monique
must be suffering from an attack of the vapors and told the governess
to give the girl a good purgative and put her to bed. Monique would
hear none of it, however, since she wanted to stay as close to the main
entrance as possible. All that day she would start at every sound in
the driveway and, heart pounding wildly, run to the front window to see
who might be arriving.

But as night fell over the plantation and there was still
no word of her guardian, she felt so ill that she finally retired to
the refuge of the mosquito netting, where she could find welcome relief
from prying eyes and let the tears flow freely.

That second sleepless vigil seemed longer than ever, for
this time there was no distraction of guests to attend to until the
early hours of the morning as there had been the night before. What's
more, the fact that the duel had undoubtedly been fought by now only
made her guardian's continued absence seem more ominous than ever with
each passing hour.

When Celeste entered the bedroom to retire to her own
four-poster, Monique pretended to be asleep so her sister wouldn't try
to ask her anything more. She simply lay there wide-eyed behind the
veil of netting, her back to the night candle on the table between the
two beds, clutching her rosary in her hands and trying not to let the
sob caught in her throat become audible.

As the second day wore on and there was still no news
Monique was on the verge of letting the tears welled up inside of her
burst their dam and confessing all to her grandmother and Celeste. Only
the stern warning in Mlle. Baudier's watchful eyes forced Monique to
keep the emotions churning inside of her in check.

It wasn't until near dusk Thursday afternoon that Miguel
came riding up the long lane of oaks leading to the main house from the
levee road. He came at a leisurely pace and even paused to say a few
words to the stableboy, a quick-witted lad who took over the gelding he
dismounted.

At the sight of her guardian Monique gave a little cry of
delight and for a moment stood there by the window devouring his
familiar tall figure with joyful eyes, while her heart pounded wildly
and the blood raced through her veins, bursting the dam of her pent-up
fears in a flood of relief. He was alive! Thank God, he had come back
to her at last!

Unable to control herself any longer, she ran out on the
gallery to meet him. She would have continued down the stairs to the
driveway where he still stood talking to the boy if he hadn't seen her
pert little figure in pale green muslin waiting for him and immediately
gone up to join her on the porch.

He couldn't help noticing the vestiges of the two
sleepless nights she had passed lingering on her woebegone, tearstained
face, despite the fact that its paleness was momentarily flushed with
the emotion of seeing him at last. The possibility that she could have
been so upset did surprise him, but he chalked it up to remorse.