Sweet Bravado (6 page)

“Should I?” There was a warning gleam in his eye.

“Shouldn’t you?”

Tension sparked between them as he regarded her silently. “Perhaps so,” he conceded reluctantly. “But gambling is one of the
Harcourt traits, as you well know,” he replied pointedly.

“One I am happy to say I did not inherit,” she answered tartly.

“But I recall your father indulged himself heavily.”

“Are you criticizing my father?” Nicole bristled.

“Not at all. We Harcourts have all indulged our whims, and your father was no exception. Good Lord, Nicole, you must see that.
He even…” He stopped abruptly.

“Go ahead. Say it. Even to the wife he chose!”

“Now I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Yes you were.” She jumped up from the bench.

“Good God, don’t fly into a rage.” He pulled her down beside him. “It seems you have the Harcourt temper, my dear.” Valentin
smiled placatingly.

Nicole shuddered, attempting to control herself. They were going to quarrel again. She could feel it.

“If you will excuse me, my lord.”

“No, I will not, Nicole. We are going to be married soon, and we must come to an understanding.”

“I am already resigned to my fate,” she replied foolishly.

“Well, that’s just fine; So I’m your fate, am I? Like some bitter pill? I’m too much of a Harcourt to resign myself to fate.
And furthermore, I do not relish insults from anyone, especially my future wife,” he snapped.

“I—I did not mean to insult you.”

“Yes you did, now admit it.”

“No… I mean… it was not intentional…”

“Well, that at least is a start. Perhaps I will be able to change your mind in time about resigning yourself to
fate.” He lifted her chin with his finger and forced her to look into his penetrating blue eyes while he stroked her chin
with his thumb. Once again Nicole felt drawn to him as he lowered his head to hers.

“My lord.” It was Pierre. “Excuse me, but there are some gentlemen waiting to see you. They say it is important.”

The Viscount swore to himself. “Very well, Pierre. I shall be along directly.” He stood up. “It seems I am needed elsewhere,
so I will take my leave of you now, Nicole.” He kissed her hand perfunctorily and left.

Nicole sat staring disconsolately after his departing figure. She had wanted him to kiss her. How could he just walk out in
such a cavalier manner, leaving her hanging mid-way between fear and desire? It was humiliating to realize that he could manipulate
her feelings so easily. She struggled with herself for several minutes before regaining her composure and retracing her steps
down the hallway. The sound of agitated voices reached her from the open library door.

“Hell and damnation, Danforth. Couldn’t you have done something to ward off this young fool?”

“I am afraid not, Ardsmore. Your brother had no choice but to challenge him to a duel.”

“Of all the blundering maneuvers…”

“Pon my soul, Val. What was I to do? Stand around and let him insult the family about that ballet dancer?”

“Quiet!” The Viscount warned, closing the library door and shutting off the sound of their voices.

Ballet dancer! Those words reverberated sickeningly in Nicole’s brain. Did they refer to her mother? She clenched her hands
convulsively to her sides. Who else could they mean? It must be her mother. Cheeks flaming with humiliation and rage, she
crossed the hallway and fled to her room where she paced the floor restlessly. Was she never
to be free of her mother’s past? Her mind was a chaotic turmoil as she tried to recall just what she had heard. What was that
about a duel? Was Perry to fight a duel? Oh, she could not stand this half-knowing. She must have the complete truth. She
would seek out the Viscount now and confront him. But first she must calm herself. Valentin must be made to speak honestly
with her, and this matter of her mother must be settled once and for all.

She reached the Viscount just as he was seeing Perry and Danforth out the door.

“My lord, I must speak to you.”

He turned to her, a brief frown creasing his features as he ushered her silently into a small salon and closed the door firmly
behind them.

“What is it you wish to say, Nicole?”

“I must be frank with you, my lord.” She paused searching for the appropriate words. “I overheard part of the conversation
between you and your brother…”

“That is unfortunate.”

Ignoring his remark, she continued. “And I… I think it concerned my mother, did it not?”

“Nicole, I feel it would be best if this matter were not discussed between us at this time.”

“But there was talk of a duel, was there not?” she persisted.

“Nicole…”

“But Perry would be foolish to acknowledge the intended insult.”

“My sentiments exactly—except that the young fool called him out.”

“You… you must stop him!”

“I quite agree with you.”

“But what will you do?”

“My dear Nicole, that is
my
business.”

“And mine.”

“No! I do not think so. I shall handle the situation. It need not concern you further.”

“But…”

“Please let me handle the affairs of this family. I especially do not want my mother to hear of this.”

“Surely you can tell me what you intend doing.”

“No, I will not… and furthermore, in the future you will oblige me by having confidence in my judgment.”

“How can I?” She hesitated before going on. “You must be the first to admit that the Harcourts are not known for prudent judgment.”

“Touché”
he laughed scornfully. “But you will have to trust me. After all, I am to be your husband. Perhaps this leopard can change
his spots. Now you will have to excuse me. I have a most pressing appointment.”

Nicole watched in frustration as her fiancé walked out the door.

According to their arrangement Danforth met the Viscount at the
Chat Noir
late in the afternoon because it was at this particular gaming hell that Lord Crawley spent most of his time since his arrival
in Paris. Valentin and Gordon mounted the stairs to the second floor and unobtrusively entered the gaming rooms; the Viscount
noted with satisfaction that few players were as yet in evidence. A scant handful were seated at round tables where they were
quietly engrossed in faro or deep basset, and the muffled sounds echoing from the next room indicated that the roulette tables
were also in use. However, it was the card table at the far end of the room that commanded the Viscount’s attention. Seated
at this table was the imposing figure of Lord Joseph Crawley, Valentin’s target for the evening. Crawley was a swarthy man
with heavy
features that bore a look of perpetual cynicism but not unattractive withal.

Nodding to various acquaintances and passing a comment with one or two others, Gordon and Valentin walked across the room
until they reached the game being played by Crawley and his three comrades. Noticing the glazed look in the gambler’s dark
eyes, Danforth issued a quiet warning to Valentin. “Careful, Crawley’s been drinking.” To which Valentin remarked, “All the
more fitting.”

When the play was momentarily broken by one of the players’ withdrawal from the game, the Viscount immediately assumed the
vacated chair at the table.

“If you don’t mind?” Valentin smiled smoothly.

“Ardsmore.” Crawley eyed the Viscount suspiciously. “I didn’t think your game was faro.”

“My skill has never been questioned, but if you have some objection…” He left the remark unfinished.

“None! None!” Crawley claimed through tight lips. “The stakes are high, however,” he taunted.

“That suits me.” Valentin leaned back in his chair and reached for his money pouch.

“Pound points then?” Crawley sneered, his hard eyes daring the Viscount to accept.

Valentin nodded curtly as Crawley broke a pack of cards. The waiter poured fresh brandy into the glasses and play was resumed.

Valentin had observed his opponent at play several times before. He knew him to be a showy player who often took risks; he
himself was a cool but daring gamester. Within the hour it was apparent that luck was running in Crawley’s favor, although
Valentin had been able to hold his own. Toward early evening the other players began dropping out, claiming engagements else
where until only the Viscount and his antagonist were left.

Valentin shuffled the cards, the sapphire on his small finger flashing in the glowing candlelight. Crawley called for a refill
of brandy and studied the contents of his glass. Then gulping a mouthful, he turned his full attention to the Viscount. Some
decision seemed pending.

“Well, Ardsmore, it is just you and me now.” A meaningful sneer had crept into his voice.

“As it was meant to be.” The Viscount’s rejoinder was low and ominous.

“Do you think you can afford to continue, my lord Ardsmore?” He scooped up the cards with a slight flourish.

“I’ll manage, Crawley.” Valentin’s eyes never left Crawley’s face.

“Will you? And on what resources? Or do you play with your future bride’s prospects in mind?”

Finally the opening had come. “Perhaps you would like to explain yourself, Crawley,” Valentin questioned quietly.

“I merely remark on your coming nuptials,” he replied smugly.

“As you did yesterday for my brother’s benefit?”

“Your brother is an impudent cub who interfered in a private conversation.”

“And you are an unprincipled scoundrel for accepting the challenge of a mere boy!”

Crawley pushed back his chair, knocking it to the floor as he jumped up. “No one calls me names!” he hissed.

“I just did. You are a coward as well as a scoundrel,” Valentin taunted deliberately.

“Coward? Scoundrel?” Crawley ejaculated. “You’ll pay with your life for those words!”

Picking up his glass, Crawley dashed the contents into
Valentin’s face. There was an audible gasp from the few remaining occupants of the salon. But the Viscount only smiled contemptuously
as he wiped the liquid from his face.

“I believe the choice of time and weapons is mine,” he spoke drily.

“It is!” Crawley spat at him.

“Then tonight. The Field House at ten, with swords.”

“Tonight? Impossible. I am meeting your brother in the morning.”

“Either accept or be known for the coward you are.”

“Ah, so that’s your game? Very well, Ardsmore. I’ll finish you tonight and your brother in the morning. You think you’ve outfoxed
me, but you haven’t. I’ve waited for this a long time,” he growled angrily.

“So have I.” Valentin’s voice was cold with contempt.

Danforth stepped between them, fearing the blazing hatred would engulf them on the spot. “Gentlemen, until tonight” Danforth
managed to get Valentin across the room and down the stairs to the foyer.

“You’ve accomplished the first part of your plan,” he murmured as they donned their greatcoats and walked out of the
Chat Noir.

Valentin nodded, still caught in a fever of hatred. However, once outside in the evening air his anger cooled, and he spoke
matter-of-factly.

“I have to cripple that right arm of his so he can’t use it in the morning against Perry.”

“Crawley will be out for more than just the drawing of a little blood, Val. That man had murder on his mind.”

Comprehension flickered briefly in Valentin’s blue eyes. Then he shrugged. “His enmity is nothing new. Sometimes it amazes
me that Crawley still harbors a grudge that neither he nor I began, and one that should have
passed on with our fathers. But since he chooses not to, some day it will end in death for him or me.”

Let us pray it is not yours, Danforth thought gloomily.

“Come, my friend, don’t look so downhearted,” Valentin cajoled. Then, changing the subject he asked, “Tell me, how is Miss
Rutherford?”

Danforth shrugged. “I have not seen her for some time, but we are expecting to settle matters between us shortly after the
New Year.”

“Then you too will be entering the bonds of matrimony. Ah, what the indolent gentleman is forced to do because of finances,”
he mocked himself.

“I think the beauty of your fair maid will ease the pain,” Daaforth said roguishly.

“Touché”
Valentin agreed. And for the moment both men were diverted from their encounter with Crawley.

That evening at the Hotel Belmontaine, Pierre scurried into the drawing room and whispered to the Viscountess. Her eyes flew
open and she cast a worried glance at Nicole. Then rising stiffly from her chair, she issued a curt order to both Nicole and
Cecily who were watching her. “Wait here. I shall return momentarily.” Lady Eleanore preceded Pierre out of the room.

Eyeing each other expectantly, Cecily rose and tiptoed to the door, opening it a fraction. Nicole could not resist the temptation
to follow Cecily’s lead. Peering through the crack, Cecily gasped as Nicole reached her side. “It’s Tessa Von Hoffman!”

Over Cecily’s shoulder, Nicole glimpsed a rather tall dark-haired woman whose rich attire and haughty manner exuded an aura
of glamor. She was gesticulating vigorously with one hand, but her voice was low and tremulous and her words were indistinct.
Her tirade was apparently
halted by Lady Eleanore, for the visitor was seen to pout haughtily and draw herself up with disdain.

Cecily eased the door shut and leaned against it eyeing Nicole slyly. Crossing to the fireplace before speaking, Nicole turned
her steady gaze onto Cecily and asked, “Who is Tessa Von Hoffman?”

“Gracious, all these weeks and you still haven’t heard of the, beautiful widow?”

Nicole hesitated before replying. Cecily’s desire to have Nicole question her about the woman was transparent. Nicole forced
herself to respond calmly as she seated herself in a wing-backed chair beside the fireplace. “No, so why don’t you tell me
since you seem to be so well informed.”

“Perhaps I should not.” Cecily contemplated the nails of her right hand and eyed Nicole stealthily under downcast lids.

“Then do not,” Nicole retorted with some resolution. Intuition warned her she would be better off not knowing.