Rogue's Mistress (38 page)
Authors: Eugenia Riley
Mercy paced the parlor and wrung
her hands. Justine was pregnant, and all signs would seem to indicate that
Julian was the father.
Oh, the cad! How could he have come
after her in Natchez, all the while knowing—
Mercy bit down the panic and
desperation rising within her, and tried to consider her dilemma more
objectively. After all, she had no actual proof that Julian was the father of
Justine’s child. She knew she should give him the benefit of the doubt and at
least ask him if the child was his.
Yet what would she do if he said
yes? She’d be destroyed. So far during their marriage, she hadn’t given Julian
an heir, and the very idea that Justine might now be carrying her husband’s
second child was too much to be borne.
Should she ask him or not? Mercy
knew she had to get her thoughts in order about this quickly. Julian was due
home shortly.
Mercy was still stewing when Risa
stepped into the room. “Madame, you have a gentleman caller, from Natchez.”
With astonishment, Mercy watched
Anton Gerard stride into the room, looking dapper as ever in his ivory wool
frock coat and dark trousers.
“Anton! What on earth are you
doing here?”
He removed his hat and bowed.
“Hello, Mercy. You’re looking well. Why, I’ve come to fetch you back to Natchez, of course.”
Mercy could have screamed out her
frustration at him for showing up this way. However, she realized that she
couldn’t simply toss her relative out on his ear. She also belatedly noted that
Risa was still standing in the doorway, eyeing the scene with unabashed
curiosity.
Mercy turned to the servant. “Will
you bring us tea, please?”
“
Oui
, madame.” Risa took
Anton’s hat and walking stick and swept out of the room.
Mercy turned to Anton with a
frown. “Sit down, please.”
Mercy sat on the settee and Anton
took the chair flanking her. She threw her cousin an admonishing look. “Anton,
didn’t my grandparents give you my message when I left Natchez?”
“Indeed, they did. We were all, of
course, alarmed by your sudden, rash departure. We all assumed that your
husband had forced you to leave with him.”
As much as her feelings were at
war regarding Julian, Mercy heartily resented Anton’s criticism of her husband.
“My husband is not a scoundrel. Furthermore, he did not force me to leave Natchez with him. I can’t believe Grand’mère and Grand-père got that impression, since I
made it clear to them that I was leaving with my husband of my own free will.”
Anton appeared perplexed. “But how
can that be, Mercy? Don’t tell me you’ve come to accept that man’s unprincipled
behavior?”
Mercy was poised to reply, then
stopped herself as Risa swept back into the room bearing a silver tea service.
The servant deposited her tray on the tea table. Mercy thanked the girl, and
she left.
“Well, Mercy?” Anton prodded.
Mercy forced herself to gather her
patience as she poured Anton tea and handed him his cup and saucer. She watched
him take a sip.
“Are my grandparents well?” she
asked.
He nodded, setting his cup down.
“They’re getting by, although they still haven’t really recovered from your
sudden departure.”
“As I explained to Grand’mère and
Grand-père before I left, I did not wish to cause them any pain. I simply felt
my place was with my husband.”
“Why, Mercy?” Anton again
demanded, gesturing angrily. “When are you going to stop avoiding the issue and
tell me what’s really going on here? How could you possibly have taken that man
back after he treated you so abominably?”
“Actually, Anton, I regret ever
confiding in you regarding my marriage. The truth is, I never should have left
Julian.”
“What?” he cried.
She held up a hand. “When Julian
came after me in Natchez and we at last had an opportunity to talk, I
discovered that I’d left him due to a misunderstanding—some false conclusions
I’d drawn.”
Anton’s brow knitted in suspicion.
“What sort of false conclusions?”
She stood and began to pace. “Do
you remember when I told you how I’d spotted Julian with Justine at her
cottage, right before I left New Orleans?”
He also rose, setting his jaw in a
belligerent line. “Yes. And there was no excuse for your husband’s
reprehensible behavior.”
“But there was!” Mercy replied.
“You see, while I didn’t know it at the time, Julian and Justine’s son was
desperately ill. The boy died that very morning. The two of them were convulsed
with grief.”
“My—what a generous conclusion on
your part.”
“What do you mean?”
He started toward her, his
expression deeply cynical. “I’m stunned at your naiveté, Mercy. How can you so
easily dismiss your husband’s infidelity?”
“Anton, Julian’s son died!”
“A son he had out of wedlock, with
his octoroon mistress.”
“That was before he married me.”
“Ah, but he didn’t tell you about
his mistress and child, did he?” Anton pressed. “Furthermore, he continued to
see the woman after you were wed, did he not?” Anton paused to laugh
ironically. “Under these very damning circumstances, how can you blithely
assume that their relationship is platonic? It’s totally beyond my
comprehension.”
Mercy bit her lip in terrible
uncertainty. Considering what she had just witnessed at Justine’s house,
perhaps she was being naive.
Anton drew close to her, placing
his hands on her shoulders. He smiled. “Mercy, I realize you’re infatuated with
the man, but those feelings will pass in time. If you continue to stay with
him, he’ll only go on hurting and betraying you, having additional illegitimate
offspring with that dreadful woman.”
At his brutally accurate words,
Mercy stared up at. him in horror and astonishment. Did he somehow know about
Justine’s current condition? But then, how could he? Surely his presumption was
just a shrewd guess—but, quite possibly, an accurate one, too!
Tightening his grip on her
shoulders, Anton went on persuasively. “Come back to Natchez with me, my dear.
It’s your home, the place where you belong. Your grandparents miss you and need
you desperately, as I do. Indeed, in time, I mean to have you as my wife.”
“Anton, no, I could never—”
Mercy became distracted as Anton
glanced sharply away, just for an instant. She stretched on tiptoe, but
couldn’t see anything over his tall, broad shoulder. And then he was dragging
her into his arms and kissing her boldly.
At first, Mercy was too stunned to
fight as Anton’s unwelcomed lips bruised hers. Then she had no cause to fight,
as his body was violently pulled from hers.
An instant later, both of them
turned to face a murderously glowering Julian. His fists were clenched and
veins stood out on his forehead as he confronted them.
“Keep your slimy hands off my
wife!” he thundered to Anton.
Mercy gasped in horror. Yet Anton
seemed unaffected, briskly brushing off his clothing as if to make clear how
offensive he found Julian’s touch. “M’sieur, I have come to fetch Mercy back to
her rightful place with her grandparents.”
“By seducing her?” Julian
demanded.
“Mercy and I have become quite
fond of each other,” Anton went on unflappably, ignoring Mercy’s horrified cry.
“In time, after her divorce is official, I intend to make her my wife.”
Anton’s words were so unspeakably
incriminating that for an instant, Mercy feared she might faint. Then her
dizziness turned to electrified panic as she watched Julian seize Anton’s
cravat. Her husband yanked on the silk tie until Anton’s face turned blood red.
Mercy started to rush forward, then stopped dead at the violent, warning look
Julian flashed her.
“Get the hell out of my house, you
goddamned miscreant, or I’ll kill you,” he hissed to Anton.
“You will not stop me, m’sieur,”
Anton managed to choke out, though his eyes were bulging. “You’re a coward
anyway, as evidenced by the fact that you failed to meet my challenge in Natchez.”
Abruptly Julian released Anton.
Shaking a fist at the other man, Julian replied in a blood-chilling voice,
“You, sir, may consider yourself challenged once again.”
As Anton smiled in vengeful
satisfaction, Mercy rushed to her husband’s side. “Julian, no!”
He threw off her touch. “You will
stay the hell out of this!”
“Oh!” she cried, cringing away,
angered and hurt by his cruel denouncement.
Meanwhile, Anton was puffed up at
his victory. “I’m staying at the St. Louis Hotel,” he informed Julian with
vindictive pleasure. “I take it I’ll be hearing from you, sir?”
“My representative will call on
you before day’s end.”
“Good day, Mercy.” Anton turned
and strode from the room.
The instant he was out of earshot,
Mercy turned back to Julian, her eyes wide with fear. “Julian, no, you can’t
fight Anton!”
“Just as you couldn’t kiss him
just now?”
“I wasn’t kissing him. He was
forcing himself on me. I suspect he saw you coming into the room and tried to
kiss me just to rile you.”
“Then he succeeded,” Julian
drawled.
“But you’re playing right into his
hands.”
“Am I?” He advanced on her, his
eyes blazing with scorn. “And what about you, my dear, devoted wife? What about
all those long days and nights you spent with Gerard on the steamboat—and in Natchez? Did you play into his hands, Mercy? Into his bed?”
“Ooooh!” she seethed, stamping her
foot. “How can you think—”
“How can I not think it, damn it!”
he roared. “What a fool I’ve been to believe your lies. You must have
encouraged Gerard somehow. Why else would that popinjay assume you’re going to
become his wife?”
“I never gave him any reason to
believe I would marry him.”
“Didn’t you?” Julian mocked. “I
sure the hell didn’t see you fighting him off just now.”
With an anguished cry, Mercy
raised a hand to her mouth. What could she say to Julian to change his mind? It
seemed he was convinced that she had betrayed him with Anton, and there was no
reaching him now.
To Julian, Mercy’s silence seemed
an admission of guilt. He stared at her with ever-increasing contempt. “Cat got
your tongue, Mercy?” he sneered.
She stepped forward with tears in
her eyes. “Please, don’t fight him.”
His eyes glittered with raw fury.
“Forgive me if I’m unmoved by your pleas to save your lover’s life.”
“He’s not my lover! And I’m not
pleading for him. I’m pleading for you—for us.”
For a brief, heart-stopping
moment, she spotted a flicker of softening in his blue eyes. “Julian, remember Natchez?” she asked softly, her tear-filled eyes beseeching his. “Remember how I gave
myself to you that night? After that, how can you think . . . ?” Her voice
trailed off in misery.
Julian was silent, and Mercy
observed an exquisite struggle of emotion on his face. But soon, anger once
again gave his mouth a cynical twist.
“After that, how can you kiss
him?” he demanded savagely.
Mercy could only shake her head in
bewilderment. There was no reaching this implacable stranger.
Julian whirled. At the door, he pivoted,
pointing a finger at her. “You forget that I issued the challenge this time.
And it will not be withdrawn.”
He left the room, and she
collapsed on the settee, sobbing.
Mercy seethed with anger, hurt,
fear, and frustration. By this time tomorrow, either Anton or Julian might well
be dead. Both seemed to anticipate the duel with almost gleeful relish. Damn
men and their deadly pride!
She also felt hurt regarding
Julian’s unfair accusations just now. How dare he accuse her of cheating with
Anton, when he may well have fathered another child with Justine! Was he
pointing the finger at her to cover his own guilt?
She knew she would have to
confront Julian regarding Justine. But for now the important thing was to keep
him alive. Despite all her anger toward him, she still loved him, and she
couldn’t bear the thought of his being killed.
She plotted her course of action.
Since her husband was acting so very stubborn, she decided it might be best to
try to prevail upon Anton first. She wondered how she might persuade him to
back off from the duel. She could, of course, offer to return to Natchez with him if he didn’t fight Julian. But that sort of ruse would not really solve
anything. For one thing, she was finished with running away from her problems.
And if she did return to Natchez, Julian would likely just come after her
again, thus setting the entire deadly chain of events between him and Anton
into motion once more.
No, all she could do with Anton
would be to persuade him that fighting her husband would not help him
accomplish his goals, that if, indeed, he harmed Julian, she would turn her
back on him forever.
***
While Mercy was mulling over her
options, Julian stood in the small tobacconist shop he’d bought for Henrí near
the Exchange. His former manservant was now standing behind the counter,
politely helping a middle-aged customer.
Julian looked about the shop with
satisfaction—the high shelves were lined with tins of tobacco and snuff, boxes
of cigars, and custom-made pipes. The establishment smelled marvelous.
Julian had been a customer in this
shop for many years, and recently, when the elderly proprietor had mentioned
that he planned to retire, he had decided to buy the store for Henrí. Julian
felt proud that Henrí was now a free man of color as well as an independent
businessman. The customers liked his respectful, soft-spoken manner.
Julian had much on his mind this
afternoon, including the duel he would fight tomorrow. However, his feelings
were most focused on his earlier argument with Mercy, an incident he now
regretted. In truth, he did not really believe she had slept with Anton Gerard,
although he did not hold her entirely blameless, either. Part of him couldn’t forget
that she’d left him with Gerard—although her reasons had been compelling ones
at the time. Still, he’d become insanely jealous when he’d spotted Gerard
kissing her an hour ago. He wished he could take back some of the terrible
things he’d said to her afterward; but as far as his challenge to Gerard was
concerned, he had no regrets. No man could attempt to steal Julian Devereux’s
wife and escape unscathed! Indeed, Julian suspected that Gerard had possessed
an ulterior motive with Mercy all along. Thus, the duel would proceed as
planned; Julian had already asked his business partner, André Beaufort, to act
as his second. He hated the thought of shedding the other man’s blood—yet
Gerard had given him no choice.
Julian had no intention of telling
Henrí about his current plight, for he had an entirely different purpose in
mind in visiting his friend today.
Now, as the middle-aged customer
left the shop with a wrapped box of cigars tucked under his arm, Julian stepped
to the counter. “Business is good?”
Henrí grinned. “It has been
booming,
maître
. ”
Julian waved him off. “Enough of
this
maître
business. I should have insisted long ago that you dispense
with such nonsense. It’s high time for you to call me Julian, my friend.”
But Henrí only shook his head. “To
me, you’ll always be
maître
.”
“You’re a lost cause,” Julian said
with a chuckle.
Henrí began dusting off the
counter with a cloth. “So, are things going well with madame? Justine and I
were so relieved when you told us you had brought her home.”
Julian nodded, forcing a casual
voice. “As I mentioned, Mercy wanted to see what her mother’s people were like.
Can’t say I blame her for being curious. Now she’s where she belongs.”
“
Bien
,” Henrí returned with
a smile. “I am most pleased for you both. Is there anything I can do to help
you?”
Julian harrumphed. “Of course not.
As a matter of fact, I’m here to tell you in no uncertain terms that it’s high
time for you to proceed with your plans with Justine.”
Henrí chuckled. “You do not like
her idea that we wait until after All Saints’ Day before we marry?”
“Of course not.” Glancing about,
Julian spoke in a low awkward tone. “Let me be frank, man. I went to see
Justine again yesterday, and her pregnancy is showing. She may want to wait a
while longer, but that is most unwise under the circumstances,
n’est-ce pas
?”
“I agree.” Henrí frowned. “But
what is it you want me to do?”
“Why, marry the woman, of course.”
Henrí sighed. “Justine feels very
reluctant to wed me so soon after Arnaud’s death. And she does want to know that
your situation with madame is resolved—”
“It’s resolved,” Julian cut in
brusquely. He was silent for a moment, avoiding Henrí’s eye. “As for the two of
you . . .” He grinned sheepishly, pulling an envelope from his breast pocket
and handing it to Henrí.
With astonishment, Henrí opened
the envelope and pulled out an official-looking document. “What is this?”
“Your marriage license, of
course,” Julian replied. “Paul Rillieux helped me secure it quickly. I also spoke
with a priest at St. Mary’s Church on your behalf. He is expecting the two of
you at two p.m. tomorrow.”
Henrí whistled. “My, but you are
determined,
maître
.”
“You bet I am. Two o’clock
tomorrow, Henrí.”
Henrí glanced about the small
establishment. “But what of my shop?”
“I’ll send my clerk down to handle
your affairs for the balance of the day.” He sighed. “I wish I could offer you
both more, book you into a hotel, or . . . But you know how things are here.”
He offered Henrí an apologetic smile.
Henrí nodded wisely. “I know.
You’ve done too much for us already.”
“Not so. But you’ll marry Justine
tomorrow—even if you have to drag her to the altar?”
Henrí grinned. “
Oui
. I’ll
marry her.”
***
Mercy’s attempt to convince Anton
Gerard not to duel Julian was an abysmal failure.
He met her in the lobby of the St.
Louis Hotel and listened patiently to her pleas.
After she stated her case, Anton
said firmly, “Mercy, your husband has issued me a challenge. I have no choice
but to duel him.”
“No choice?” she cried. “Of course
you have a choice! Anton, you could kill Julian!”
He shrugged. “Don’t you want to be
free of him?”
Mercy shook her head, her
expression appalled. “I have no desire to see my husband hurt in any way. And I
could never forgive you if you killed him.”
But her words fell on deaf ears.
“I’ve told you, Mercy, that you’ll recover from your infatuation with that man
in time.”
Mercy’s eyes beseeched the
heavens. “I’ll never recover from my hatred of you if you harm Julian!” When
Anton still appeared unmoved, she changed tactics. “More likely, though, he’ll
kill you. I must warn you that my husband is a crack shot.”
Anton only smiled smugly. “Mercy,
I think you’ll find that my talents on the field of honor are hardly
negligible.”
Mercy could have throttled him.
Her cousin seemed hopelessly puffed up with pride and arrogance, so cocky and
sure of himself. “Is there nothing I can do to make you back down?”
“No. There’s nothing.”
Mercy could only throw up her
hands in despair and storm out of the hotel.
***
For the balance of the evening and
night that followed, Mercy felt like a mouse caught in a maze. First, she went
home and waited for Julian to appear, so she might prevail upon him to withdraw
his challenge, even though she knew that her chances of success with her
obdurate husband were practically nil.
But as the shadows of night
lengthened, Julian did not appear. Mercy paced the parlor in a near panic.
Where on earth was he? The thought that he might be spending the night with
Justine Begué was devastating.
Finally, toward midnight, she
succumbed to her suspicions and asked Risa to rouse old Rubin. She met Rubin
down in the courtyard. After apologizing to the gardener for waking him, she
asked him to drive her to Rampart Street; he trudged off to the carriage house
with a shrug. By now, the slave was well used to Madame’s spur-of-the-moment
whims.
But when they drove past Justine’s
cottage half an hour later, Mercy noted that the bungalow was dark, Julian’s
coach nowhere in sight. Feeling at her wits’ end, she asked Rubin to drive her
back home.
As they clattered past unlit town
houses and businesses in the chill of night, she wondered if there was anything
more she could do to stop the duel. It would likely be fought at dawn tomorrow,
she realized grimly. She could always appear at the dueling site and once again
beg both men not to fight. But where would the duel be held? Mercy had heard of
a few spur-of-the-moment duels that had been fought in St. Anthony’s Square,
following altercations at Quadroon Balls. Yet she doubted a formal duel would
be held within the confines of the city, since Louisiana law forbade such
affairs.
More likely, the duel would be
fought under the infamous Oaks, which Mercy had heard various people mention in
hushed whispers several times before. Indeed, at a dinner party a couple of
months ago, Mercy had overheard Nicholas Bienville saying that the Oaks were on
the plantation of Louis Allard.
She nodded firmly, her mind made up.
She would have to hope Rubin knew the way to the Allard plantation. Though it
would anger Julian, she had every intention of appearing there at dawn.