Out of the Dark (7 page)

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 forward 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.

Lucien, recognizing what was happening, saw his way with sudden bright clarity. From this moment on, he realized with quiet exultation, there could be no turning back. She was in his hands.

“Enough,” he said, infusing his voice with the lash of authority as he stared down the other men. “You cannot take the panther here and now without killing him in front of the lady. And I feel sure that’s a bloody deed none among you wants to undertake.”

There was still some muttering and a few curses, but the men noted the trenchant challenge in his face, remembered his reputation with the sword in his hand. They saw, too, that he had given them a way to save face by pretending to bow to female sensibility. It took a few more minutes of aimlessly milling, of talking under their breaths and gesticulating with low threats about how they meant to get the beast come hell or high water. In the end, however, they mounted up again and called their dogs.

From the saddle, Victor Picard said, “We’ll let it go,
Roquelaire
, but this isn’t the end of it. You can bet on that.”

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Lucien said, and he meant it.

Reining around, the disgruntled men kicked their mounts into movement. They vanished back into the woods.

The crashing and muffled thuds of the men’s departure faded away. With the slow precision of stiff muscles, Lucien turned to face Anne-Marie.

“You saved Satan,” she said quietly. Her face was pale and her gaze fastened on him in clear and steady appraisal.

He made no reply as he moved closer, stepping around the big cat. He felt odd, almost disembodied, as reaction seeped through him like a slow-moving poison. There was a prickling sensation along his spine and the jittery aftermath of over-tried temper in his brain. At the same time, exhilaration fizzed like champagne in his veins.

“I must thank you,” she went on, eying him with some trepidation. “And I would, if I did not have the strangest feeling that, whatever you may have done in the heat of the moment, it was for reasons of your own.”

He reached her then. Catching her forearms in his strong hands, he dragged her nearer. Giving her a slight shake, he said through gritted teeth, “Lady, you need a keeper.”

“Because I wouldn’t sit and wring my hands while Satan was hunted down like—like vermin?” she said with unsteady defiance. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You could have been killed. You could have been caught between the dogs and that great damned cat and slashed to ribbons.”

She flung her head back. “But I wasn’t. And now Satan is safe, and that’s all that matters.”

“Satan may be safe, but I’ll be damned if you are,” he answered, his grasp tightening.

“My only danger—” she began, and then stopped. She glanced at his hands on her arms, stared up into his set face while her eyes widened in wonderment. In abrupt concern, she said, “You’re shaking.”

His gaze meshed with hers, sinking into the pools of her eyes until he felt as if he were drowning. She was right, he saw. It was a fine quivering that ran through his hands and arms and down to his toes. Clattering his teeth together, it threatened to loosen his grip on his temper.

He had felt something of the same thing after his first duel. Cool and calm while it was taking place, he had descended into rattled nerves when he had discovered it was over and he was alive and unharmed. It was a natural response to the keyed-up state necessary for facing death. Still, it had never troubled him again. Until now.

He loosened his grasp to rub his hands up and down along her arms. His voice husky, he said, “You’re trembling, too.”

“Am I? Oh, yes,” she agreed, as she was shaken by an especially strong rigor. “But you—” A tiny frown appeared between her brows and she reached to touch his face with quivering fingers. “You came rushing in to protect me; you risked your life, but are used to that. It was not yourself you were afraid for, I think.”

He made no reply; he could not while she brushed her cool fingertips along the plane of his cheek and traced the hard muscle in his jaw in delicate exploration. It was so very pleasant, so devastating in its offer of heart’s ease.

There was the amazement of discovery in her tone as she went on. “You don’t like death, do you? It gives you no pleasure. Rather, it offends you. You despise it.”

“Doesn’t everyone,” he answered in ragged tones.

She shook her head. “Some are terrified of it, some are fascinated, some indifferent and others accepting. Few fight it as you did.”

This was cutting too close to the bone. Releasing her abruptly, he stepped back. “The mare,” he said, clutching at the first thing that came to mind for a distraction. “I had better see after her. Will Satan follow if I return you home now?”

“Yes—yes, I’m sure he will.” She still searched his face as if there were some secret hidden beneath its flesh and bones.

“Come, then,” he said, holding out his arm while he turned his face away from her.

She hesitated a moment longer, but accepted the support he offered at last and allowed him to lead her back to the buggy.

The big cat followed like a faithful dog, gliding after them through the edge of the woods, keeping pace until they reached the house once more. Satan disappeared, however, when they stopped on the front drive.

The eyes of the butler who opened the door to them widened as he saw their disheveled state. Too well trained to comment, he directed them to the salon in answer to Lucien’s request for Madame
Decoulet
.

Anne-Marie’s stepmother lacked that discretion. Rising up out of her chair as they entered the room, she lifted her hands and exclaimed in tones of horror, “Dear God in Heaven! What have you been doing, the two of you? You look as if you have been rolling in the grass!”

“I hope I have more concern for a lady’s comfort,” Lucien said in justifiable sarcasm. “In fact, we met with a misadventure.”

“You overturned your buggy?” There was blank disappointment in the woman’s voice.

“Rather, we had a confrontation of some moment in the woods.”

The older woman’s bosom lifted with her indignation. “Just as I thought! I hope no one saw your condition.” She turned on Anne-Marie. “Go to your room at once, you ungrateful little wretch, while I speak to this so-called gentleman.”

“Please, Madame,” Anne-Marie said in stringent tones, “it isn’t what you think.”

“I have eyes in my head, my girl!” The older woman swung back to Lucien. “Sir, whatever your habits in New Orleans, you cannot play fast and loose here with a young woman’s good name and get away with it.”

Anne-Marie drew a gasping breath. “It was nothing like that!”

“Quite probably it was worse; you can’t fool me!”

“I regret cutting short your strictures, Madame,” Lucien interrupted, “but feel any explanation of this affair should be placed before Monsieur
Decoulet
. Is he, perhaps, at home?”

The older woman’s face took on an alarming mottled color. Then she met his hard gaze, saw the purpose that glittered there. Her lips parted while avid speculation rose in her small eyes.

At that moment, the door leading into the library opened. Anne-Marie’s father emerged holding a book in his hand with his forefinger marking his place. “What is this commotion?” he required in stern yet querulous tones.

“Nothing of great moment,” Lucien said evenly as he turned toward the older man and inclined his head. “There was a little excitement along the road. I would be most happy to discuss it, if you will give me leave. Then there is a matter of some importance I would put to you in private.”