Out of the Dark (6 page)

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 disparagement. “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.