The Sometime Bride (58 page)

Pelletier, his actions well covered by the highwayman at the opposite door, tore Cat’s cloak aside. “
Merde!
” he hissed in reverent tones as he saw the elaborate necklace of diamonds and emeralds sparkling above the fullness of her breasts. When his hand grabbed at her décolletage, Cat hastily unclasped the necklace and handed it to him. Pelletier was so absorbed in the rise of her breasts as her hands reached up behind her neck that his hand dropped away. His eyes gleamed in the dim lantern light like a greedy beast of prey.

As Cat began to unfasten her earrings, Pelletier, annoyed with himself, ripped at her hair, quickly adding the tiara to the loot in the sabretache slung over his shoulder. The other highwayman was busy relieving Colonel Beaufort of his money and Blanca of her more modest jewelry. When Cat’s unsteady fingers had trouble with the clasp of her bracelet, Pelletier swore and yanked it from her arm. Chin jutting up in anger, she glared at the man hidden behind the black scarf.

Dazzled by the magnificence of the jewels and the swell of her breasts which rose halfway out of her low neckline, Jacques Pelletier had not taken a full look at his victim until now. What he saw was almost as exciting as the jewels. He was not a stupid man. He had deliberately targeted the Beaufort carriage, knowing the wealth of the family. Robbery was his sole intention, but no man alive would fail to pay ransom for this little beauty, and Beaufort had far more francs than most. Meanwhile . . . the girl would provide most excellent sport.

With no warning, Pelletier clubbed the colonel on the side of head with the butt of his pistol. Cat cried out, reaching toward Beaufort as he slumped to one side, unconscious. Thoroughly satisfied with his brilliant alteration of their plans, the highwayman chortled deep in his throat. “
Allons, ma belle!
” He jammed his pistol in a pocket, reached out to grab her.

Cat’s anger had remained cold and clear-headed while she stripped off her jewels, but the sudden inexplicable blow to Auguste, the trickle of blood down his pale cheek, ignited her fury. Balancing herself with the carriage’s hand strap, she surged forward, the toe of her slipper hitting its mark, just as Thomas had taught her. Although the emerald silk slipper was too soft and pliable to do incapacitating damage, the highwayman howled with rage, lost his balance, and fell backward out the coach door. Rage triumphed over his agony. As he fell, one powerful hand clamped over Cat’s arm, taking her with him in a tangle of tall leather boots, green silk skirts, and tumbling copper hair.

Lost in a haze of outrage, Cat beat at the bandit’s rock-hard body with her fists, dug a furrow down his cheek with her nails. Pelletier’s breath came back with a roar. With his back to the ground, his fist propelled upward, clipping her neatly on the chin.

Damned vixen! Jacques Pelletier scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off and looked down with no small satisfaction at the bundle of emerald silk crumpled at his feet. Thirty seconds later he was mounted, eyeing the small figure in the dirt with cold-minded consideration. The jewels alone would provide a life of luxury for years to come. Then again . . . the
famille
Beaufort
had a bankful of money. And the notorious widow was the surely most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Spirited too. A real handful. Armful. Bedful.

Pelletier gestured to one of his men. “Hand her up.” She was small and pliant and warm, lolling unconscious on the saddle in front of him. The ex-sergeant felt himself grow hard. His voice husky with desire, he gave the command to move out. “
En avant!
” A good night’s work, this. With the best still to come.

Chapter Thirty

Jacques Pelletier could have snapped Cat’s neck with one blow. He did not. Furious as he was at her defiance, he had pulled his punch, not wishing to damage his prize. Only a few minutes passed before Cat stirred to life. The jouncing of the galloping horse sent shooting pains through her head. Nausea gripped her stomach.

“
I’m going to be sick,” she gasped.

After a particularly foul epithet, Pelletier shoved Cat’s head roughly to one side so she hung out over the horse’s withers. “Be sick on my boots and I’ll throw you in the lake,” he growled. “In that gown you’ll go down like a stone.”

Cat gagged, willing the contents of her stomach to stay in place. The world around her was a swirling black void. There was only pain, the bandit’s arm hard about her waist, the ground rushing by beneath them. She had no thought beyond a determination to survive. Cat gritted her teeth, grabbed at the saddle and hauled herself upright. They were galloping through the deepest part of the woods, the road a barely visible opening winding through the impenetrable black of the forest. Heavy branches hung only a few feet above their heads. Cat gulped in the cool night air, trying to steady her mind as well as her stomach. If they got out of the woods before Auguste recovered, they would simply disappear into the vastness of the city.

Cat shuddered. Only now was she willing to admit there were worse things in the world than a husband’s deceit.

She would survive. No matter what happened, she would remember Blas’s words of long ago. Honor be hanged, she would survive. And if Blas—Alex—still wanted her . . .

“
Head down, Cat. Hang on!” a voice shouted in Portuguese.

She never hesitated. Cat threw herself onto the horse’s neck, clinging to the mane for dear life.

A dark shape launched itself from a branch overhead, flying over Cat’s prone figure to cannon into Jacques Pelletier. Both men flew over the horse’s flank and hit the road with a vicious thud.

“
To me, Cat!” ordered another well-known voice. As Tony pulled his horse alongside, Cat went into his outstretched arms with all the panache of a stuntrider at Astley’s Amphitheatre. It had to be Tony, she knew, because Alex would never let someone else fight this particular battle. As usual, she was to be left in his brother’s keeping. But somehow the thought was no longer bitter.

Alex, who had been aching for a fight—with anyone, over anything—finished off the burly ex-sergeant in remarkably short order. When Pelletier found himself flat on his back with a knife at his throat, he went very still, not hesitating to beg for his life.

“
Are you all right?” Alex tossed over his shoulder to Cat.

“
Only a little damaged. But he has my jewels in his sabretache.”

“
Only a little damaged,” Alex repeated as he gazed down at the highwayman. “Then perhaps I shall do only a little damage in return.” Slowly, steadily, he drew the tip of the knife down Pelletier’s cheek, blood springing darkly from the wound. The highwayman was silent, jaws clenched, wondering only where the knife would stop.

“
Perhaps I should geld you,” said Alex thoughtfully. “I have no doubt, you see, about your plans for my wife.” With his left hand he reached for the buttons below Pelletier’s belt. The knife tip pointed downward.

“
I barely touched her,” Pelletier babbled. “Ransom, that’s all I wanted. Ransom.”

Alex smiled. The kind of smile the devil undoubtedly used to welcome his guests to hell. “You forget. She’s my wife. And I
know
that’s not all you wanted.”

For a moment there was complete silence, not so much as the whickering of a horse or the hoot of an owl broke the stillness. Alex unfastened one of the buttons. “Beaufort,” he called, “how is your guard?”

“
He will live.”

Alex eyed the next button with considerable anticipation, drawing out the moment. Then, with a look of infinite regret, he sheathed his knife and stood up, motioning for Pelletier to do the same. The highwayman rose with great caution. Two of the ring of menacing figures around him carried torches. The bandit could clearly see he was outgunned and outmanned. Pelletier dug into his sabretache and produced the jewelry, ordering his men to do likewise.

“
Beaufort,” Alex called, “what shall we do with them?”

For a moment Cat took her eyes off Alex and looked around. She had been vaguely aware of the sound of shots and curses. Now it was apparent the bandits had had the tables turned on them by an ambush of six or seven very competent-looking men. Alex’s men. And just what was he doing in the Bois de Boulogne with a well-armed private army?

“
They are swine,” Colonel Beaufort declared, “a disgrace, but they wear the uniform of the Emperor. It is not easy for soldiers to come home to find their country occupied by foreign armies. Believe me, this I know.”

“
I fear ‘Go and sin no more,’ is entirely inappropriate for such as these,” said Alex dryly, but I’ve seen enough killing to last me a lifetime. And, strangely enough”—he gave his wife a long look—”these
canailles
may have done me a favor.
Allez. Allez-vous-en!
Go on, get out of here.”

Startled, the four bandits hesitated, then scrambled for their horses. When Jacques Pelletier was mounted, he looked down at Alex and sketched a salute. He wheeled his horse and disappeared into the darkness after his men.

The colonel’s coach came rattling up the road, and Blanca burst from the door. Never before had Cat she seen Blanca run. “Catarina, are you all right?” Blanca panted. “Oh, my child, I was terrified for you. Tomás would have haunted me, I know it, if I let anything happen to you.” Gently, Tony lowered Cat to the ground. The two women hugged each other, murmuring incoherent reassurances.

Alex swung up onto a horse one of his men had been holding. “It’s time for goodbyes, my friends.” He turned to Blanca, bent down to kiss her hand. “As always, my greatest admiration and my thanks for keeping watch over my wife. Tony will take care of all arrangements to see you and the maid safely back to England. I would send you straight to Portugal,” he added with the tilt of a bushy black brow, “but I know you would not wish to miss the wedding.”

Ignoring the sharp gasps from both women, Alex nodded to the man who had brought his horse. Cat suddenly flew through the air straight into the saddle in front of him. The evening had finally come right. But when Blas tightened his arm around Cat’s waist, he found a stiff, unyielding bundle.

Cat gritted her teeth, doing her best to be grateful, but her body was battered, her head ached. Blas had let the culprits go, and now—once again—he was kidnapping her. Not that she hadn’t secretly wanted him to, but he was so impossibly, arrogantly high-handed. “You planned it,” Cat hissed. “Were the highwaymen on your payroll too?”

“
Good God, no! Word of honor. If we hadn’t been lying in wait with our own ambush and seen what happened, you’d be lost somewhere in the stews of Paris right now.”

Cat sniffed, her shoulders remaining stiffly erect. He was incorrigible. Yet anyone attempting to take her off Alex’s horse at that moment would have had the greatest fight of the night on their hands.

“
Tony,” said Alex, gesturing toward his small army, “this lot will be enough escort. If you’ll be good enough to go with Blanca and Beaufort . . . And get the colonel a doctor whether he likes it or not. That’s a nasty cut he has there.” Alex sidled his horse toward Beaufort and held out his hand. “A more exciting evening than we planned, colonel, but we seem to have survived rather well. This is not goodbye. You may tell André Cat and I will be back to see our special son.” The two men eyed each other with considerable understanding, their handshake the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

“
And now, Dona Blanca, gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I am taking my wife on a long overdue wedding trip.” Alex flashed them all a wicked grin. “Seven years is a long time to wait.
Bon soir, mes amis.
”

Cat gave up her token struggle, snuggling into Alex’s chest. Was this not what she wanted? He had come for her. With an army at his back. What more could a woman ask? It was rather like solving the problem of the Gordian knot by slicing it with a sword. Alex’s solution appealed to the pragmatist in Cat, as well as to her romantic soul. There were things yet to be said, but at the end of a very long darkness there was at last a glimmering of light.

As they rode at a steady pace toward the center of the city, surrounded by their private army, Cat was forced to admit, though only to herself, that she did not care where they were going. With the enormous width of the belled skirt allowing her to ride astride, she was pressed against Alex’s thighs and torso as tight as a second skin. A surge of satisfaction as she felt him grow hard. Cat closed her eyes and drifted, allowing the marvelous security of Blas’s presence to wash away the terrors of the night. She was where she was always meant to be. Whether or not she could stay there, however, was still in question. In her long quiet days shut up in the Hôtel Beaufort Cat had discovered a possible way out of their impasse. But could she humble herself enough to use it?

A sudden whiff of the pungent odor of the Seine snapped Cat’s eyes wide open. In the light of the torches the men were carrying, the dark shapes of boats of every size and description loomed out of the darkness. There were so many, they were moored side by side, extending out into the broad river. Waves lapped gently against the dark hulls. Just ahead, a large barge was in sole possession of the quaiside, its access to the channel unobstructed by other boats. A
flambeau
stuck on top of a rough wooden post marked a narrow plank which stretched from the quai up to the deck of the barge.