Stormfire (90 page)

"Aren't you forgetting Madeleine Rochet and
Hortense
Castel's barouche of well-rouged young ladies?"

Catherine's fist clenched in her muff, but her voice was even. "Why did your fellow officers treat him so rudely,
Raoul?"

"Your brother-in-law makes enemies far more readily than friends."

Her lashes flicked up. "Have you been helping him make enemies?"

"No, for God's sake! He does well enough at that by himself!" he exploded. "I'm not his keeper, though I ought to keep closer watch on you. You made a spectacle of us both by going off with him. Don't you realize for your child's sake, you mustn't be seen with the man?"

"Sean Culhane is my brother-in-law,
Raoul,"
she said calmly. "To ignore that relationship will cause gossip too. It's best to treat him normally, as a relative. Surely you know there is no man on earth with whom I would be less likely to compromise your honor."

As the carriage entered Paris,
Raoul
stared at her serene, beautiful mask in the twilight. He itched to tell her of Culhane's mistresses, but dared not. Ironically, he had to fan the heat of her longing to ensure her obedience.

The Outcast

"En garde . . . engage!" Shining foils flicked in delicate, explorative movements. Lavalier and his opponent were well matched, their opening movements a deft formality. Wearing old-fashioned steel fencing masks penetrated by a single horizontal slit, they resembled medieval knights, formal and mysterious. The matched pairs in the loft drifted from their exercises to watch the two swordsmen. The light foils skimmed in undulating bands of reflected light with flawless precision rarely seen in a century increasingly dominated by sabers.

Shortly, behind his mask, sweat ran into Lavalier's eyes. It was one thing to meet his equal, another to meet his superior. His opponent was too accustomed to the deadly reality of infighting to shield his expertise. When the match ended, the little Gascon held out his hand. "You're the better man, Monsieur Culhane. It gives me no shame to admit it."

Murmurs went up as Culhane slipped off his mask and grasped the offered hand. "The more fortunate fighter, perhaps. Monsieur Lavalier, but not the better man."

Lavalier grinned, his white teeth surprisingly large in his small jaw. "Will you join me for dinner, monsieur? There's a certain little maneuver I'd like you to show me tomorrow. You can understand how awkward it would be for the teacher to pay his pupil?"

As the two men laughed, several spectators, including one of Javet's cadre officers, approached a trifle hesitantly to be introduced. Others held back; some, awed, hurried off to spread the news that the Irishman had surfaced and to enthusiastically embellish his skill.

For all his appearance of carelessness, Culhane prowled the Lautier drawing room as edgily as a panther among alien scents. Relief that he was at last able to take action was neutralized by the certainty serious trouble would come of it. On the surface, things were beginning to go his way. Napoleon had given him authority to supervise construction of the artillery modifications; better yet, he wanted more designs. Grouchy had openly befriended him. General hostility was tempered by their association and the match with Lavalier. Now, all he had to do was look tame. He took up a post against the wall where he met furtive stares with sardonic amusement.

Gil deftly negotiated the general retreat of the Lautiers' dinner guests from that particular area and angled in with two glasses of champagne. "Here. Drink up. Our hostess is fretting about which woman she's going to seat with you at dinner. Your partner lost her nerve." He grinned. "It looks like you're going to draw either one of Madame Lautier's arch enemies or Yours Truly." As Sean laughed, Gill grimaced. "How can you look half-asleep? Haven't you seen
Arcôt
and his friends glaring daggers?"

Sean grinned. "I haven't got my back to the wall for nothing,
ami "
His eyes flicked toward the uniformed malcontents, who glared like sullen organ-grinders' monkeys on the opposite side of the room. "They'll wait until the party's over to start the fur flying."

Gil shook his head. "Don't be too sure. Fourquet and Murat have spread a pretty black picture of you."

"Why should Murat discredit me?"

"He's a crony of Javet's, for one thing; for another, he's an idle gossip." Gil hesitated, then plunged on, "He's labeled you as a homosexual."

The Irishman's abruptly tightening fingers threatened to snap the stem of his glass.

"Easy,
ami
It's not just his way of revenging Javet. He isn't a bad lot. He's brilliant at manipulating the enemy in field maneuvers, but when he carries his intrigues into civilian life, he's an idiot; even Napoleon says so."

His eyes glinting like dark bits of glass, Culhane said nothing, half wondering if Gil may have chosen this moment to tell him and force him to conquer the shock and rage quickly, but he still craved to do the murder everyone expected.

Sean watched almost absently as
Arcôt
selected a pistol from the case Gil offered him. With Levet, his second, standing behind him, the Frenchman looked determined but pale, even in the chill gray mist of early dawn. The aged trees of the Luxembourg loomed like druidical wraiths in the seeping mist that spread outward from the river. Squirrels scampered across the ground and skittered with tiny, scratching claws up the bark to branches, where they flicked nervous peeks at the five men who silently took positions below on the damp, silvery grass. The teams of the two coaches dozed in their traces, heads drooped. High in a chestnut tree, a single bird trilled a warning to his hushed tribe. Then a voice began to count and the bird fell silent. On command, the two armed men turned, aimed, and fired. The horses' heads jerked up with low whinnies and the animals danced restlessly, then settled down, reassured by familiar hands at their reins. Long before they quieted, one duelist lay on his back, his white shirt unstained by blood. Confused, his second knelt at his side as the other men closed in, Then Levet saw the black, welling emptiness where
Arcôt's
left eye had been and looked up with a hoarse rasp. "You cold-blooded bastard!"

Culhane said nothing, simply replaced his gun in its case as Gil gently tugged the other one from the dead man's fingers.

As the coach rolled lumpily over the uneven ground of the park, Gil abruptly pulled Sean's cloak free of his left arm. A sleeve was steeped in blood. The young Frenchman swore. "I thought he got you. Thank God Marius and Levet were too upset to notice."

"It's just a scratch."

Gil frowned. "If
Arcot
hadn't been so tense, he might have done a better job; but then, he wanted to live." He cocked his head. "You don't much care, do you? The girl is all that matters."

"These fights will get uglier, Gil," Sean said impassively. "Sure you want to tag along?"

Gil eyed his friend's careful mask. "I know you've been brutal to discourage challengers. It's you I'm concerned for, don't you know that?"

The Irishman did not reply, but the mask faded, and for Gil, it was enough.

By the time Culhane reached Madeleine's, his arm throbbed painfully, and he was relieved to find
Mei
Lih there. Without protest, he let her clean his wound. Her fingers were cool on his bare skin; he tried not to think about the way they felt. Though he had often wanted her, he had not taken her since he had been living at Madeleine's. He tried to relax but the twinges that shot through his arm each time she tweezed a thread out of the seeping groove kept him tense. Finally, she swabbed the fissure with whiskey. After bandaging him, she started to move away with the bottle. He caught her arm. "Wait." He took a long pull at the bottle, then handed it back. "Thanks for the doctoring."

The Oriental looked up at the man who towered over her. "I am honored to serve you, my lord."

Sean suddenly wanted to lift her against him like a child and kiss her. Feel the long course of her hair stream through his fingers. Make love to her, then sleep with her small body curved against his like a kitten. Like Kit.

Without a word, he went to collect his artillery diagrams and set to work at the desk in his bedroom. In late afternoon, he threw himself across the bed, a familiar ache pounding behind the scar near his left eye. The headaches were less frequent now, only returning when he strained his eyes.

He was nearly asleep when he felt
Mei
Lih tug at his boots. When she went on to undress him, he cooperated dully, oblivious when she threw a blanket over him.

It was night when he came partly awake to find her sitting by the bed. Serene as a silver lily in the moonlight, she looked so much like Catherine in the shadows that he felt a pang of longing. "There's no need to keep watch,
Mei
Lih," he murmured. "The wound is slight."

"No, my lord. The wound is deep," she replied softly. "You may die of it, I think."

He realized she was not speaking of the bandaged cut. "Perhaps," he agreed quietly. Obviously, out of his head with self-pity and drink, he had babbled more than he ought on Catherine's wedding night.

"Let me give you peace, my lord."

He touched her cheek. "How lovely you are. I don't want to hurt you. How can I make you understand?"

She held his fingers against her lips, then smiled for the first time, allowing him past her impenetrable reserve. "As a girl baby of poor family, I was given to the Sisters of Saint Marguerite in Saigon and educated. I hoped very much to become a nun. When I was twelve, my father demanded my return. He sold me to a pavilion of love where I remained until a French naval officer brought me to Paris. In a fit of drunkenness, he sold me to a place called Antime's to pay his debts."

Sean had heard of Antime's, a rat hole of disease down by the river. Sickened, he wondered what kind of man would condemn another human being to that living hell.

"Fortunately, I was there only a few days. The officer had first tried to sell me to Madame
Hortense;
she told Madame Rochet, who, after making certain I had not contracted a disease, took me in." She stroked his open palm. "Since the convent, no one has been concerned with my feelings. Only you."