Sweet Bravado (7 page)

Still Cecily baited her. “Well, I suppose I ought to tell you. I mean—you really should know. After all, it does concern you
directly.”

Nicole clasped her hands together before insisting with some impatience.

“Either get to the point, Cecily, or don’t bother telling me.”

“Well,” said Cecily, enjoying herself, “Karen Wexford, who knows just about everybody, says that Tessa Von Hoffman has been
seen everywhere with Valentin.”

Nicole would not be drawn in. Shrugging her shoulders and holding Cecily’s gaze she asked, “So?”

Aggravated by Nicole’s indifferent manner, Cecily gave up the cat-and-mouse game and cried, “It’s common knowledge that she
came back from Vienna with him.”

Except for her tightly clasped hands, Nicole remained outwardly calm. This is what she had suspected. “Rumors don’t concern
me, Cecily. There is always gossip.”

Cecily cut in, “Oh for heaven’s sake, Nicole. Must I really spell it out for you?” Cecily came to stand over Nicole.

“I do not wish to hear any more,” Nicole protested, trying to rise, but Cecily placed a firm hand on her shoulder as she sneered,
“Well, you’re going to.” And taking her hand off Nicole’s shoulder, she let the bitter, jeering words drop into the silence
that had sprung up between them. “Tessa Von Hoffman is Valentin’s mistress!”

Nicole bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering and stared determinedly up into Cecily’s gloating face.

“Does it really shock you, my dear? You’ve grown quite pale. I don’t see why it should. After all, you and the Viscount are
hardly a love match. It’s only a marriage of convenience,” Cecily taunted viciously.

Stung beyond endurance, Nicole retorted through bloodless lips, “That’s right. That’s all it is.” She continued to meet Cecily’s
malicious glare steadily.

Still trying to inflict pain, Cecily cried, “Then you surely don’t expect him to remain faithful to you?”

Nicole refused to respond to any further venomous taunts. Already tormented by jealousy, she would never let Cecily know how
hurt she was.

Her moment of triumph rapidly fading, Cecily withdrew to the window and stared moodily outside. Baiting Nicole was rather
useless. Impossible to believe, but Nicole seemed to care nothing for Valentin. It was she, Cecily Fairfax, who agonized over
his affairs. How she hated Nicole and her apparent indifference!

The muffled rattle of wheels and horses’ hooves brought Cecily out of her reflections. “She’s leaving. Aunt Eleanore certainly
made short work of her.”

Nicole’s wilting body snapped to attention as the Viscountess entered the room. She had never seen the lady look so haggard.
The usually taut facial muscles sagged, revealing the tell-tale lines of age about her mouth and eyes. What had taken place
between her and Tessa Von Hoffman? Nicole felt a surprising rush of pity for the older woman. Yet she waited in strained silence
for her to speak. However, even after seating herself before the fire, Lady Eleanore did not satisfy their curiosity.

But Cecily could bear it no longer and blurted out, “What did she want?”

“Be still!” Lady Eleanore’s voice cracked with exasperation.

“Aunt, everyone knows about Valentin and the merry widow.”

“Cecily!”
Lady Eleanore hissed and turned an anxious glance to Nicole.

Having recovered her composure by this time, Nicole commented quietly, “You need not fear my reaction. I am well aware of
the circumstances surrounding this marriage.”

Flustered only momentarily, the Viscountess replied, “Yes, well, it is a wise woman who does not plague a man for his past
indiscretions. I am certain that the Viscount knows nothing about this… intrusion. It was a most unfortunate incident. Nevertheless,
it is the future that must concern you. Once you are married to Ardsmore I’m sure you and he will handle the matter to everyone’s
satisfaction.” The lady sighed wearily.

Never would Nicole accept with resignation another woman in Valentin’s life. Even if he were discreet, and it was accepted
behavior by the
beau monde.
But she held her tongue, too disturbed by the knowledge of Tessa Von Hoffman to argue.

A rap on the door brought all three women to attention.
However, they all relaxed at the sight of Madame Lafitte.

“Excuse me,” she said softly. “It grows late and I was wondering whether I was needed any more this evening.” She looked anxiously
at Nicole.

“We were just about to retire, madame. Perhaps Nicole wishes something.” Lady Eleanore was once more in command of herself
and the situation.

Cecily’s voice called across the room. “But you haven’t told us why that woman had the nerve to come here!”

Lady Eleanore hesitated before answering Cecily’s in sistent demand. “It… has all been taken care of.”

“You had best tell us, Lady Eleanore, for none of us shall be able to rest until you do,” Nicole demanded in turn.

The Viscountess paused and looked agitated once more. “Oh, very well, my son… Valentin, at this very moment is about to engage
in a duel.”

“Oh, God,” Nicole cried—all forgotten but Valentin’s safety.

“And Madame Von Hoffman wished me to stop it.”

“You? Incredible. How?” They all spoke at once.

“Exactly! To think I would interfere in a matter of honor.”

“But why is Val involved in a duel?” Cecily questioned anxiously.

“It is all Perry’s fault,” Lady Eleanore stated.

“No, that is not true,” Nicole whispered almost inaudibly. The three ladies stared at her. “I am the cause.”

“You! But how?” Lady Eleanore demanded.

“The past still haunts us, Cousin Eleanore.” Nicole’s voice cracked.

“The past?” Lady Eleanore paused, then shook her head as comprehension dawned: “You mean…”

“Yes, yes, Sylvie Harcourt, my mother. The poor lady still cannot rest in peace,” Nicole cried in anguish.

“Hush child, don’t become hysterical.”

“Your son might be killed over a scandal that should have died years ago. Oh dear Lord, what is the use? It shall never work.”
Nicole closed her eyes and hung her head dejectedly.

“Now stop that talk, Nicole!” Lady Eleanore stormed. She crossed the room to sit beside the girl, a bright, brittle smile
on her face. “Everything will be all right. Why, I have the greatest confidence in Ardsmore. Lord Crawley,” she snapped her
fingers, “is no match for him. You shall see.” Mentally she shook off her own fears for the Viscount’s safety. “Believe me,
I know my son.” She clasped Nicole’s hand with one of her own.

Startled, Nicole did not know how to respond. To accept it as a genuine gesture of comfort would be reassuring, but how could
she trust this woman who so coldly planned the marriage of her son to a woman he did not love?

Before Nicole could decide what to do, Cecily broke in. “But how can we just wait and not know…” Cecily did not need to complete
her question.

“I have already sent Pierre to the
Chat Noir
for the information we seek. Until then we must wait,” the Viscountess stated firmly. “Madame Lafitte, if you will read to
us, I think the time will pass more quickly.”

The flickering torchlight and the wintry moon cast long eerie shadows across the freshly fallen snow and lent a disquieting
effect to the restless figures gathering in the courtyard of the Field House.

At ten minutes past ten Joseph Crawley arrived with his second and a surgeon. Nodding curtly to the silent group, he eyed
his tall, slim adversary. In a few minutes this arrogant Ardsmore would feel the steel of his blade.
That would wipe the imperious smile off his face. Crawley’s lips curved in a cruel smirk.

“Well, sir,” Valentine taunted his formidable enemy, “Shall we get this affair over quickly? I have better things to do with
my time.”

“It will be my pleasure, Ardsmore. I can hardly wait for the joy of running you through.”

“Gentlemen,” Danforth called, “this is a duel of honor. Let us hold to the rules. It is my duty to ask each of you to settle
this matter peacefully according to…”

“Save your breath, Danforth. I have no intention of drawing off even if Crawley were to bég my forgiveness,” the Viscount
added scornfully.

Turning a fiery red, his lordship shouted, “Insolent dog! I will beg your forgiveness when hell freezes over.”

There was a clash of swords as the two men swept into sudden action. Time after time their blades hissed against each others’
as they parried backward and forward over the crunching snow. Their blades flashing in the moonlight, each antagonist sought
an opening or an advantage. Murderously Crawley drove his point against the Viscount’s only to find it artfully blocked. Each
time he thrust, Valentin skillfully outmaneuvered Crawley’s bold strokes.

The Viscount’s eyes danced with delight as he parried still another of Crawley viciously aimed assaults. Crawley fought with
furious intent, desire for Ardsmore’s death driving him almost to recklessness. Valentin, on the other hand, fought dispassionately.
Knowing his own mastery of the weapon, he deftly controlled the execution of each stroke. He did not wish to inflict a mortal
wound. His aim was a disabling strike to his enemy’s right arm, rendering it useless and thereby guaranteeing Perry’s safety.

Finally, the Viscount’s chance came. Feinting a thrust,
he forced his adversary off balance. With a swift, darting movement the point of his sword drove into Crawley’s upper arm.
Valentin stepped back breathing hard as the Crawley’s sword sagged but steadied within seconds. Disbelief flickered in Crawley’s
eyes momentarily as Ards-more saluted him. The recovering man lashed out driving Valentin into temporary retreat. Valentin
widened the distance between them, allowing his infuriated opponent to chase him halfway across the courtyard. Then the Viscount
halted as his panting adversary closed the gap between them. Now he waited somewhat impatiently for his next opening. He was
certain it would come soon enough. The Viscount leapt aside and chuckled mischievously as Crawley lunged forward once more.
Valentin gave him no time to recover before his blade made straight for Crawley’s heart, stopping short of piercing the flesh.
Crawley gasped audibly as he envisioned death at the hands of his deadly enemy, whose cold blue eyes glittered with contempt.
Next he felt a cold draft as his shirt was ripped open and Ardsmore mockingly stepped aside. Enraged by this humiliation,
Crawley lashed out wildly. Passing below his opponent’s hacking weapon, Valentin struck once more squarely through the right
wrist. Crawley’s blade dropped as blood flowed freely over his hand. His second immediately hustled him off to the waiting
surgeon.

Danforth smiled wanly and went to Valentin’s side. “There is no need to worry now, Val. Lord Crawley won’t use that arm for
quite some time. Perry is safe.”

“Yes, until he opens his mouth again. Thank God it all turned out right.” A brief smile lighted his weary face.

One of Crawley’s men approached. “The surgeon has informed his lordship he will not be able to use his right arm for several
weeks.”

“You may inform Lord Crawley that the Harcourt honor is satisfied on both accounts, and if he wishes to with
draw from tomorrow morning’s duel of pistols, the incident will be forgotten.”

“That is most generous of you, my lord. Undoubtedly his lordship will accept your proposal.”

“Undoubtedly,” Valentin nodded. “But reluctantly,” he added to Danforth. He shrugged into his greatcoat. “Let’s find Perry
and ease his mind.”

The grandfather clock had just finished chiming the half hour. Twelve thirty and still no word. The women huddled deeper into
their shawls as dying embers spurted fitfully on the hearth. Madame Lafitte’s voice droned on, a murmur floating against their
tired brains. They struggled to maintain an air of dignity and calm against the increasingly gloomy thoughts swirling about
in their minds. At last the sound of a horse clattering across the cobblestones of the courtyard aroused them from their lethargy.
With a start they were on their feet, but an imperious wave of Lady Eleanore’s hand kept them from bounding into the corridor.

“We will receive whatever news with dignity,” she managed to say steadily just before a shout of “Mama!” greeted their ears
and the door swung open.

“Good Lord!” Valentin exclaimed with some consternation as he surveyed the distraught expressions on the faces before him.
They continued to stare at his ruffled hair and sparkling eyes.

“It is only me.” He began to chuckle. “You look as if you have seen a ghost. Weren’t you expecting me? Pierre’s message said
you were.”

“Don’t you laugh, sir, or I shall box your ears. How could you be so reckless and risk a duel so close to your wedding day?”
Lady Eleanore’s relief turned into anger.

“A duel? Who told you anything about a duel?” His eyes narrowed and sought out Nicole.

“Never you mind. Just tell us what happened.”

He grinned once more. “Lord Crawley is at this moment nursing a wounded arm.”

“And you?”

“As you can see, I am all in one piece, and extremely pleased with the results of tonight’s work.” He crossed the room to
kiss his mother’s cheek.

Somewhat soothed, she said, “I never doubted your skill for a moment, my son.”

“My ability with the sword is seldom questioned, ma’am. I wish the same could be said of my authority.” Once again his eyes
swept Nicole.

He suspects me of informing on him, she thought incredulously. The fool! As if I would tell his mother even if I did know
what he was planning. She threw back her head defiantly and met the challenge in those piercing blue eyes. I should tell him
it was his mistress who flouted all convention by coming here.

Lady Eleanore, intercepting the clash of eyes, placed herself between them and announced, “This affair has upset us all and
kept us up unnecessarily late, so bid the ladies goodnight, Ardsmore, and be on your way.”

“Might I have a word alone with my fiancée?” he asked.

“No, no, the girl is exhausted. Besides, you are promised to us for the weekend. There will be plenty of time to chat then.
Come, I will see you to the door.”