Guarded Heart (16 page)

“The bogeymen you want are Caid and Rio, with Nicholas Pasquale,” Gavin corrected. “They have long since made their mark.”

Denys gave him a droll look. “But they are now mired in domestic cares which they have no wish to escape. They seldom leave their houses, much less trouble themselves with the righting of wrongs. No, no, we are all aware who fills the gap.”

“I had heard,” the Kentuckian drawled, “that you, my lad, might have been sworn into the pack.”

“For what good it did me,” Denys complained with a sparkling glance from the corners of his eyes at Gavin. “All the best watchwords beginning with a V were taken, I promise. Vigilance was Rio's, Valor was for Caid, Vengeance went to Nicholas and for our friend here, Verity. What was left for me except Virtue?”

“Vex, or maybe Vainglory,” Gavin suggested, his voice dry.

“Or Virility? I could have had that, now I think of it,” Denys said, as if much struck.

“What of Victory?” Kerr asked.

“Trust a Kaintuck to hit upon that one.” Denys tilted his curly head. “It could be yours, of course, if you choose to join us.”

“I'll think on it. I've considered setting up as a sword master.”

Denys regarded the American with interest in his eyes. “Why not, pray? You've haunted the salons enough, and honed your skill to a nicety.”

“Problem is, the lowlife I've been looking for these two years and more may yet turn up. I've not given up on it, not quite.”

Kerr Wallace's quest was well known to them as they had all, at one time or another, helped him chase leads concerning the man who had caused his brother's death in the ill-fated Santa Fe campaign. So far, these had come to nothing. The last anyone had heard, it seemed the man might have traveled overland to Natchitoches near the Louisiana-Texas border, then made his way to the Rio Grande Valley and across the border into Mexico. If the purpose was a business venture, as was said, then it was unlikely to be legitimate. It would also be difficult to trace.

“Ah well,” Denys commented with a shrug. “As I was saying, there are precious few daring deeds now left undone.”

His tact, in addition to his unfailing good humor, was the reason he liked young Vallier, Gavin thought. “A fallacy, but let it stand. I have discovered in myself a great reluctance to teach manners to the unmannerly, as the Brotherhood has been wont to do, or give further lessons in the art of keeping one's tongue between one's teeth. The result can be entirely too grim, and sometimes irreversible.”

“Not a question of nerve, I take it?” Kerr's gaze was direct and not without concern, robbing the question of anything that could or should be resented.

“Intent, let us say. Given a choice between swatting a fly and shooing it out the door, we usually settle the matter in permanent fashion. But pity the poor fly which lacks direction, principles and choice but dies regardless.”

Kerr cocked a leaf-brown eyebrow. “You still don't want its droppings in your plate.”

Gavin laughed, even as his attention was caught by the sound of yet another arrival climbing the stairs. He glanced at Nathaniel who flushed and shrugged in token of his having left the street entrance unlocked after admitting Kerr Wallace. It was no great matter given that clients would be arriving in due time. Still, Gavin drank the last of his coffee and rose to face the door.

The caller strode into the salon with the solid tread of cavalry boots, a double-breasted topcoat swinging around his ankles and the light of battle in his pale blue eyes. His cane, of heavy silver and topped by a dog's head, was held like a club in his fist, and his jaw muscles bulged with the clench of his teeth. Ignoring the men assembled, he bore down upon Gavin as if he meant to trample him underfoot.

Gavin stood his ground, allowing Alexander Novgorodcev to come to him down the long room. To anticipate the mission of Ariadne's friend—this gentleman she called Sasha as a
petit nom
indicating a close degree of familiarity—did not seem polite. Besides, he might be wrong.

The Russian stopped, removed his bell-crowned top hat, tucked it under his arm like a helmet and executed a parade bow with a click of his heels. “Blackford. I have a matter I would discuss with you. Let us be private.”

Gavin noted the lack of a title of respect. To leave this off among friends was one thing, but among virtual strangers it held implications of a superior addressing an underling. Added to it was the gentleman's failure to acknowledge Gavin's other guests before attempting to dismiss them. Gavin had grown used to the exquisite politeness of the French Creoles, particularly their delicate attention to matters of form and address which made the lack now doubly noticeable. For himself, it mattered little, but he resented it for his friends.

“You will have noticed that I have visitors, monsieur. Permit me to present them to you.” He gave their names, including that of Nathaniel who bowed with far more respect than the Russian deserved. Then he went on. “As for being private, we lack that degree of friendship between us and are unlikely to achieve it. You may state your business, or not, as pleases you. Unless you come from Madame Faucher, in which case, I will hear you at once.”

“Never would she send me to you,” Novgorodcev said with scowling certainty.

“So I would imagine, as she has her full share of mother wit. Still, I can envision no other cause for you to exert yourself by climbing my stairs.”

“You are an embarrassment to the lady. She no longer requires your expertise. You will not return to the town house where she is staying so long as she is in residence.”

“How obliging of me,” Gavin drawled, “particularly when I suspect the lady will be unable to recall giving that command.”

“I speak for her.”

“And have been reprimanded for it as I remember. Think clearly. Will you risk that again?”

The purple-red of rage spread under the Russian's fair skin. “To be rid of you I would venture it a thousand times.”

“Now why? I wonder. I'm no threat to whatever pretensions you may have regarding the lady.” The words were soft but carried a warning.

“You flatter yourself by the suggestion,” Novgorodcev answered with a twist of the mustache above his full, red lips. “She has better judgment.”

“Also fewer requirements, being widowed and thus shy of another entanglement. I do understand. Do you?” At one edge of his vision, Gavin saw Kerr exchange a questioning look with Denys who gave a Gallic shrug. Nathaniel, by contrast, seemed to follow the exchange with ease.

“Better than you, having served her since before her release from marriage.”

“But no more than that? Remiss of you or wise of her. I wonder which.”

“You are insulting.” Ariadne's cavalier breathed hard and fast through his nose, the sound harsh in the tense quiet of the salon.

“Oh, only speculating, unless you care to resent it?” It was clear the Russian had come seeking a meeting. The question was why he had not flung down his card and taken his leave. The suggestion just made was Gavin's oblique attempt to discover the answer.

“Only if you have not been…remiss in the course of these lessons.”

Gavin held his hands lightly clasped behind his back, his control complete. “You are asking if she has been wise? My affairs are not a matter for conversation, unlike some. As you are in her good graces, you may guess what has passed between us.”

“Such discretion comes a little late, Englishman. Far from protecting her, you have sullied her good name in order to acquire custom for this miserable little fencing salon of yours. It would not surprise me to learn you suggested the man's costume she wore last evening.”

“You saw that,” Gavin said, all annoyance banished from his voice, or so he thought, though Kerr gave him a look not unlike a ship's gunner told to check a cannon misfire.

“After you had gone. She was still a trifle overheated. What I might have interrupted if I had come sooner is hardly in doubt.”

What was without doubt was that the noble Russian wanted, nay required, to receive any challenge that might be given this morning. The reason was not hard to find. As the offended party, he would have the choice of weapons, presumably something that would weigh the scales in his favor. It would be foolish to fall into that trap, and yet caution as a tactic had lost its luster.

“You malign the lady and me with her,” Gavin said evenly. “If my three friends here will serve me as seconds, the matter may be settled at a time and place to be agreed upon between them and whoever may act for you.”

Nathaniel's eyes widened as he stared at him. “Monsieur Gavin! I never…I mean, you don't want me!”

“None so much.” Gavin sent the briefest of smiles to his apprentice. He also collected nods of agreement from Kerr and Denys.

“Excellent,” the Russian said with satisfaction. “I believe the matter of weapons is left to me. My preference is for sabers on horseback since I was trained for the cavalry. You may pray before or after setting your affairs in order, monsieur. Or both.”

It seemed excellent advice, Gavin thought as he watched Novgorodcev turn with a wide swing of his coat hem and tramp from the salon.

The Kentuckian unfolded his long length from his chair and came to join him. Staring after Gavin's opponent, he said, “A rather large fly there, seems to me. About his principles and direction I can't say, but he sure had a choice.”

“So he did.”

“As did you.”

“There you are wrong,” Gavin answered, his voice devoid of anything other than the lightest of contention. “For me, there was no choice at all.”

T
he notes from the violin rose toward the high ceiling of Madame Touton's salon, piercingly sweet, haunting in their sadness. The violinist swayed and writhed with his face a mask of what appeared to be pain, as if he dragged the music from the depths of his body. Ariadne was affected by Vieux Temps's performance though she could not help smiling a little at the fervor of it. The romantic anguish of his selection struck a melancholy note inside her, an ache for everything missing from her life, everything always just beyond her reach. The intimation of tears that swelled in her throat wasn't terribly surprising. She had been on the edge of tears a dozen times since the meeting with her mother.

Ariadne had debated for some time over whether to attend this musical. Should she appear in public or should she not, considering her state of quasi-mourning? It was Maurelle who had finally made up her mind for her. The chance to hear music transcended all else in the city, or so her hostess said; no convention, however sacred, was proof against it. Accordingly, here she was in her demi-mourning of silver-gray satin, perched on a spindly chair in the close room and wishing she was somewhere, anywhere, else.

She unfurled a fan of silver lace, using it to stir the air around her face. Sasha, standing behind her, reached to touch her shoulder, a brief caress of one gloved hand, before resting his fingertips on the back of her chair. She sent him a brief upward glance before looking away again.

His attitude seemed particularly self-satisfied and possessive tonight. Something must be done about it once and for all. He simply had to see reason so her plans could go forward without interference. Apparently, she needed to be more forceful.

Now was not the time. It would be as well to have privacy in case the discussion became too heated.

Vieux Temps's final selection of the evening died away on a note of sublime purity. It was a relief when the muffled applause of gloved hands began. After a moment, his listeners rose with their ovation, Ariadne among them, and some few moved forward to surround the violinist with their awe and appreciation. The hostess for the occasion spoke in almost tearful gratitude for the lovely music, before she turned away, signaling for her servants to begin offering refreshments. Conversation became general as small groups formed like schools of fish separating and coming together again in the music room of the Spanish-designed mansion.

Ariadne stood talking to Madame Savoie for several moments. Minus her parrot on this musical evening, the diva was still eccentric in a magnificent fashion in an ensemble of brocade in shades of blue-green and a turban centered by an aquamarine the size of a robin's egg. Even as the two of them spoke of this and that, Ariadne was aware of Sasha hovering within hearing distance. His expression was strained beneath its habitual hauteur, and he alternated between rubbing his fingers over his mustache to smooth it, scratching at his wrist under his glove and clasping both hands behind his back. All the while, his brooding gaze remained upon her.

She was thinking of taking leave of her hostess in order to escape the surveillance when Maurelle arrived at her side, laying a hand on her arm. “Come with me a small moment,
chère.
There is someone I want you to meet.” She turned her smile upon the diva. “You don't mind, Madame Savoie? It is an object with me to expand the circle of Ariadne's friends so she will not think of leaving us.”

“No, no, by all means,” the diva said, moving away with a magnanimous wave of a hand heavy with a collection of tinkling bangles. “For Ariadne to be established is most important. Besides, I see a platter of shrimp puffs just arrived from the kitchen and must have a taste before they vanish.”

Ariadne turned from watching the majestic departure of the diva to smile at Maurelle. “So where is this personage I am supposed to meet?”

“Forgive me,
chère
. It was a small ruse as I wished to speak to you alone.” Maurelle, her gaze on Sasha, drew Ariadne away a short distance then lowered her voice. “I would not upset you for the world, but I have heard there is to be a duel which concerns you.”

The gravity in Maurelle's face sent dread skittering down Ariadne's backbone. Lifting a hand to her throat, she asked, “The principals?”

“Your Sasha and Monsieur Blackford.”

She felt her heart alter its rhythm, stuttering a little before it began again. It was what she had feared, what she most dreaded. “You mean Sasha challenged the sword master over my lessons?”

“So one might suppose. But no. Apparently it was Monsieur Blackford who issued the challenge.”

“It makes no sense. Why would he do such a thing?”

“I've no idea,” Maurelle said with a quick shake of her head, “but that's the way it was told to me.”

Ariadne flung a quick glance over her shoulder at Sasha. He had not moved, but stood staring in their direction. “By whom? I mean, how came you by the tale?”

“One of the sword master's wives told me. She had it from a street boy, or so I believe.”

Ariadne removed her arm from Maurelle's grasp, afraid her friend might feel the fine trembling that ran along her nerves. “I must speak to her immediately. Could you take me to her?”

Maurelle's lips tightened and she shook her head so the candlelight gleamed among her curls, shone over the pearls that beaded the combs which held them. “She knows no more. Besides, she spoke in confidence, because of my friendship with the Englishman.”

“And would not be pleased to learn you had passed on the information to me.” How frustrating it was, all the conventions that enwrapped females. “I wish I could be sure it wasn't some mistake.”

“If she had not been certain, she would not have spoken of it.” Maurelle's eyes were dark and liquid with concern. “Be easy,
chère.
To disturb yourself is useless. There is nothing to be done.”

“Even if a man's death may be on my head? Monsieur Blackford is a sword master. Sasha could be killed.”

“As to that, the outcome is far from certain. The weapons are to be sabers and the contest to take place on horseback.”

Dread moved over Ariadne in a sick wave. Sabers, the weapons of cavalrymen, were heavier and more lethal than the rapiers used by most duelists. Sasha had been trained in such fighting at his military academy. It had been a saber that slashed his face in one of the drunken meetings so favored by the students of such places, a mark of honor and courage according to his lights. He had served for a time in the horse guards, the elite troops which guarded the czar, so was experienced at fighting from the saddle.

The match favored the Russian to an amazing degree. Had Blackford given away his advantage in the interest of fairness or had the choice been forced upon him?

How very odd that she could even ask herself such a thing when a few short days ago she would have denied that he possessed any such code of honor. Oh, but she had no time for such questions. She must know at once how this meeting had happened.

It was one thing for Gavin Blackford to challenge Sasha for the sake of some arrogant pronouncement or assumption, but something else again if Sasha had forced this duel upon the Englishman with the idea of ending her lessons. He had no cause to take such a mission upon himself, no right to interfere at all. It could not be tolerated, not if she was to succeed in her purpose. Something had to be done.

Clearing her throat of an unaccountable huskiness, she asked, “When did you say this duel will be held?”

“I didn't say,” Maurelle answered warily.

“In the morning, I presume?”

“What are you planning,
chère?
You can't interfere, you mustn't.”

“No, certainly not,” she agreed while wondering frantically who it might be best to confront, Sasha or the sword master.

An instant later, she realized there was really no question. Sasha was here this evening, and it seemed he might have some interest in speaking to her. Before, she could not imagine what ailed him. Now she had a strong idea. And if she suspected the Russian might be more easily swayed than his opponent by her arguments against this duel, that was surely her secret.

To speak to Sasha required nothing more than a smile in his direction accompanied by a beckoning movement of her hand. He came to her side where she had stepped into the relative privacy of a window alcove.

“You require something, madame? Only tell me how I may serve you.”

The words were humble enough but his expression did not quite match them. She had noticed that contrast before, though it disturbed her more now.

“A delicate matter has come to my attention,” she said as evenly as she was able. “I believe you have an engagement with the Englishmen on the field of honor.”

“Now,
mon ange,
” he began with a ponderous frown.

“Is it true?”

“These affairs are not fit subjects for such fair flowers as yourself.”

Anger poured like acid into her veins. “Don't be tiresome, Sasha. I fear you have forced a quarrel on the gentleman from concern for me. Am I wrong?”

“The gentleman, as you style him, has given cause enough for a meeting without touching on your association with him.”

“You dislike his manner toward you, is that it? You feel he should be more deferential?” Sasha would, as a matter of course. Most men were his inferiors in his view.

“He is entirely too bold in all things.”

“Come, Sasha. Admit that his refusal to bow to your dictates incensed you. You went to him, forced him to challenge you so you might defeat him in a fight where you have the advantage. This business of sabers on horseback is appalling.”

“As to that, I am told he is of the landed gentry in his native England so should be able to ride. He holds himself my equal. Let him prove it.”

She clenched her fist on her fan. “He has had no military training that I'm aware of. Tell me why you are so determined to be rid of him.”

“I have explained…”

“Don't take me for a fool, if you please. You are interfering in my life and I will not have it. You must cancel this meeting.”

“I am the challenged party,
chère.
It's Monsieur Blackford who requires satisfaction, so only he who may withdraw without penalty. I can only allow him whatever satisfaction he may achieve. If any.”

“You compelled him to take that position, I'm sure of it. What did you say?”

A flush rose in Sasha's face, turning the scar on his cheek to a streak of purple. “Why are you so certain the Englishman is blameless? Can you conceive of no reason why he might wish to remove me from his path?”

Stillness invaded her senses so she barely breathed. “You are saying he considers you an impediment?”

“Is that so difficult to believe? You are a beautiful woman of fortune and alone in the world—a ripe plum for the hands of a man without scruples.”

“Ridiculous. Monsieur Blackford has shown no sign whatever of such an aim.”

“But have you looked? Or have you been so intent on his instructions that you have not noticed?”

Abruptly, she was assailed by the memory of burning eyes above a leveled foil and the slow, suggestive slide of steel against silken steel. Heat bloomed in her lower body, rising in a tide to her face.

No, she refused to accept it. She and the Englishman were too far apart in thought and feeling ever to be anything more than tutor and client. The only thing which linked them was a single useless death and its consequences. When that was settled then there would be nothing, nothing whatever.

“Please don't look so,
ma chère,
” Sasha said, taking her free hand and holding it between his own. “I would do anything to spare you pain, even give up my honor if that were possible. I adore you, you know, and have been waiting my chance this evening to take my leave of you in case…in case events of the morning turn out wrong for me. I meant to be discreet, to say only what might live in your memory as a farewell later. But since you are aware of the meeting…”

“Don't,” she said, her voice strained. “I can't bear it.”

If he died it would be her fault since this meeting would not be taking place had she never embarked on her plan of vengeance. And if the Englishman was killed, what then? She would never be able to close the door of her mind on Francis's death.

“As you will.” Sasha inclined his head, his close-cropped hair glinting like silver wire in the gaslight. “Only promise me that you will do nothing so foolish as going to Blackford about this affair.”

She felt as if a weight lay on her shoulders, pressing her toward the floor, while the ache of some deep internal chill made it difficult to think. Regardless, she had enough judgment to refrain from outright promises. “That would certainly be a mistake.”

“Indeed. I trust you would have more dignity as well.” He lifted her hand to his lips then drew her closer. “Now I must bid you good-night. You permit?”