Authors: Eugenia Riley
“Then you must bring her to her
senses, take her over your knee if necessary.” Watching him pace off, she
demanded, “What ails you anyway? I’m stunned that you’ve put up with this
blatant misconduct for so long. Mercy’s recalcitrance makes it abundantly clear
that she needs a firm hand. Don’t let yours fail you now.”
Julian paused, resting his
trembling hands on the back of a chair. He drew a ragged breath. “Perhaps I’m
just tired, Mama. Tired of it all.”
At his poignant words, Madelaine
again felt a welling of deep sympathy for him. “Julian, I know you’re eaten up
with grief over precious Arnaud, as I am. Nevertheless, are you simply going to
let these Dubois people, and this Anton Gerard, have Mercy? Are you going to
give up your own wife without a fight?” When his only response was a surly
stare, she challenged, “Well, are you?”
“You really want me to go after
her?” he half shouted.
“Of course!”
He strode toward her, his eyes
gleaming with a violent, determined light. “If I do go after my wife now, Mama,
you’d best take pity on her hide. I’ll bring her home, all right, but suffice
it to say, I won’t be acting in her best interests. She’ll rue the day that I
find her.”
But Madelaine merely waved him off
with a laugh. “Oh, Julian, don’t posture so. You men and your silly pride. I
know that the girl will be in good hands with you.” With a sly smile, she
added, “And I must admit that I have something of an ulterior motive in mind.”
He scowled. “Oh?”
Madelaine drew herself up proudly.
“Robert Townsend just wrote me a letter, asking me to marry him and come live
with him in the East. He offered to come fetch me, but I don’t think that this
would be wise so late in the year. Accordingly, I’ve written him back accepting
his suit, and telling him that I intend to sail for New York within a
fortnight.” With regal firmness, she finished, “I’d appreciate it if you could
have this debacle with Mercy resolved before then.”
To Madelaine’s surprise, Julian
grinned at her announcement. He strode closer and kissed her cheek.
“Congratulations, Mama. I’d been hoping wedding plans were brewing between you
and Robert. He’s a fine man, and, of course, I wish you both every happiness.”
“Thank you, son.” She frowned at
him in mock outrage. “Now, will you kindly go wash and make yourself
presentable before you take off after your wife? You smell like a brewery and
your face is rough as a prickly pear. I swear I’ll have a rash on my cheek for
at least a week.”
Julian chuckled. “As always, Mama,
your tact is so reassuring.”
But after his mother left, Julian
again paced. He knew his mother was right—he must go at once to Natchez and confront Mercy, if only to throttle the girl. He had tolerated her treason far
too long, and he would know no peace until he took action in her regard. He’d
hesitated before due to deep worry over Justine, as well as shattering grief
over the loss of his son; both concerns had not diminished, but he still knew
that now was the time to act.
To think that the girl had sent
him divorce papers, even as he was reeling with grief over Arnaud! Well, if she
could not be content as his wife, then perhaps he could still thwart her
happiness a bit . . .
“
Maître
? Will you be
leaving for Natchez now?” came a concerned male voice.
Julian turned to see Henrí
standing in the doorway. “You overheard my conversation with Mama?” he inquired
cynically.
Henrí nodded. “Do you wish me to
accompany you on your journey?”
“Hell, no!” Julian snapped. Then
he flashed his manservant an apologetic smile. “God knows you’ve suffered
enough already due to my abominable temper. Besides, you must stay and look
after Justine. Tell me, why haven’t you married her as yet?”
“Justine wants to wait a suitable
period, out of respect to Arnaud,” Henrí replied soberly. “And frankly,
maître
,
we are also most concerned about you. We would prefer not to marry until madame
is safely home with you.”
“
Pour l'amour de Dieu
!”
Julian raved, gesturing his frustration. “Do you want your child to be born out
of wedlock?”
Henrí smiled patiently. “When
madame is home, we will marry. There is still plenty of time.”
“I wish I shared your faith,”
Julian grumbled. He forced a more pleasant expression. “At any rate, my lawyer
is preparing your manumission paper. As I’m sure you know, I arranged for
Justine’s freedom many years ago. I’m also in the process of buying you a
tobacconist shop near the Exchange—”
Henrí had listened in shock, his
eyes wide. “
Maître
, you must not do all this for us—”
Julian held up a hand. “Nonsense.
This is the very least I can do. I’ve promised both you and Justine that you’ll
be free to seek your happiness, and you must support your new family,
n’est-ce
pas
?”
“I suppose so. Still, you’re being
far too generous—”
“Not at all,” Julian assured him.
“You have both been most devoted to me over the years. Now you must marry
Justine—and quickly.”
“When madame is home,” Henrí
repeated obdurately. “Justine and I cannot marry until we’re sure your
situation is resolved.”
Even as Julian rolled his eyes in
consternation, Henrí slipped from the room.
Julian righted the chair behind
his desk and collapsed into it. Raking a hand through his hair, he stared
grimly at the divorce papers. So much depended on his bringing Mercy back—his
mother’s happiness and now, it seemed, even Henrí’s and Justine’s. What if he
couldn’t successfully fetch the girl home?
And did he really want her back?
When he’d made the decision moments earlier to go to Natchez, he hadn’t really
asked himself if he was playing for keeps.
Now Julian realized that he was.
Mercy might view him with utter contempt, but he’d be damned if he’d let some Natchez dandy like Anton Gerard steal her away. As much as he hated the girl for her
betrayal, he loved her still more. He missed her with an intensity that all but
ate him alive. His arms ached to hold her, his lips hungered to kiss her. He
dreamed endlessly of making love to her, of driving deep into her tight warmth
until she moaned in pleasure and her eyes misted with surrender . . .
He groaned, burying his face in
his hands. He and Mercy might well be doomed, but he knew now that she would
soon be back in his life—and in his bed—once more.
On an overcast afternoon a few days
later, Mercy sat in the parlor of her grandparents’ Natchez home; she was
perched at the cabinet grand piano, scowling at a sheaf of music and doing her
best to blunder her way through a Bach
Polonaise
. Across the room on the
silk damask settee, her grandparents and Anton sat sipping tea and listening
raptly. Mercy was tempted to roll her eyes at their blissful attentiveness; she
mused that even the prisms of the crystal chandelier which rang mellifluously
overhead, were much more palatable than her abominable playing.
But then, everything about her
seemed to please Anton and the Dubois inordinately. If she sported the most wan
smile, they all beamed from ear to ear; if she made an even passingly clever
remark, they all broke into gales of laughter at her ingenuity. Their
worshipful attitude could be cloying at times.
Actually, Mercy knew she had
little cause to complain. Her grandparents had been wonderful to her, and even
Anton had been a consummate gentleman ever since his indiscretion at the
Dahlgreen dinner party a few days ago, as if he were trying to make amends for
so crudely kissing her. Still, he and the Dubois seemed to have their heads
together entirely too much these days, and sometimes she wondered what they
might all be plotting.
“M’sieur Dubois, we have a
visitor.”
At the sound of the butler’s
voice, Mercy inclined her head toward the portal. As she spotted the familiar
stranger standing there, her hands stopped in mid-air and her heart crashed in
her chest.
Mercy was too stunned to gasp, let
alone breathe. Julian Devereux stood poised in the archway, looking more
handsome and formidable than ever! Dressed all in daunting black, he was
staring at her with a chilling intensity that made her shudder. It was a
terrifying, electrifying moment for her, an instant in which her entire world
turned and careened and then came crashing down about her ears. She could feel
the blood draining from her face, and a wave of dizziness swept over her as she
continued to stare at him, transfixed.
Now he was starting toward her,
blatantly ignoring the others. His jaw was set in rigid lines; his shoulders
were broad and powerful; his muscled legs rippled against his well-fitting
trousers as he stalked her.
At last Mercy caught a frantically
sharp breath. Her heart galloped faster with each aggressive step her masterful
husband took. Then he paused before her, and as his scent wafted over her, her
senses suddenly swam with him. Hot tears suffused her eyes, and she realized
quite insanely that, more than anything else, she wanted him here; she had
missed him terribly. Irrationally she longed to throw herself into his arms and
beg his forgiveness. He looked tired, older and yet more menacing and
good-looking than ever. She felt like a fawn stalked by a ruthless hunter—and
yet part of her yearned to be captured.
His blue eyes were coldly remote
as they bored into her. His features seemed chiseled from stone, so frightful
and intimidating and devastatingly handsome. He looked as if he might kill her
as easily as he might crush a flower.
Julian was far from unaffected by
his first glimpse of his wife in over a month. Oh, Mercy was a beautiful little
traitor, he mused; she looked like a sparkling jewel in her lavish setting. She
was dressed in a sumptuous, long-sleeved frock of black and white taffeta, with
a low, ruffled bodice. A double choker of pearls graced her lovely neck. Her
thick red hair was pulled away from her face and cascaded in lush curls down
her nape and shoulders. Her slim hands were perched over the piano keys, and
her upturned face, with its classically perfect features, had never looked
lovelier. Hot desire and fierce longing stabbed him at the sight of her. For a
moment, he was tempted to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless—the
others be damned.
But then he glimpsed the guilt and
fear in her beautiful green eyes, and noted the vulnerable trembling of her
lush lower lip. The fires of anger flared in him anew. She was not happy to see
him! On the contrary, she looked like a thief caught in the act.
In the stunning silence that
lingered like a bad dream, Mercy could not have spoken if someone had pressed a
gun to her temple. Soon enough, though, Julian filled the void. With a mocking
bow, he drawled, “Hello, my dear. I note that your piano playing is
irredeemable, as always. Perhaps, though, you’ve improved in other areas?”
At his cynical words, Mercy at
last came to her senses. She lurched to her feet and glowered back at him.
Julian was still an insufferable scoundrel. She was about to inform him of her
ill opinion of his person when she heard her grandfather’s alarmed voice.
“Mercy, who is this stranger?”
Mercy’s grandparents and Anton
hurried across the room. The three gathered protectively about her, all glaring
at Julian with open hostility.
In coldly formal tones, Mercy
said, “Grand’mère, Grand-père, M’sieur Gerard, may I present my husband, Julian
Devereux.”
At her announcement, all three
gasped sharply. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, sir?” Gaspard demanded.
“Intrusion?” Julian laughed ironically.
“I’m hardly intruding, sir. I’ve come to fetch home my recalcitrant wife.”
A collective cry of horror issued
forth. Anton stepped forward, fixing Julian with his most scornful stare. “Sir,
your presence here is most unwelcome. Furthermore, my cousin has no desire to
see you.”
Julian sized up the other man
dispassionately. “I take it you’re the M’sieur Gerard who stole my wife away in
the first place and recently sent me divorce papers?”
As Anton colored deeply, Mercy was
totally horrified, turning to him in shock. “Anton! You told me nothing of
this!”
“I know it’s what you wanted,”
Anton defended stubbornly. “Besides, your grandparents insisted I proceed at
once.”
Mercy whirled, stunned, to face
Hélène and Gaspard. “Is this true?”
Even as her grandparents’ guilty
looks confirmed her suspicions, Julian cut in sarcastically, “Spare me your
absurd protestations, Madame Devereux. You had to have known about the divorce
proceedings.”
She turned to him, wide-eyed. “But
I didn’t.”
“Then I presume you’ll be most
eager to rush upstairs, pack your bags, and depart with me?” he inquired.
“No,” she retorted. “I won’t.”
At last Mercy glimpsed a spark of
anger beneath Julian’s cold veneer, even as Hélène stepped forward regally.
“M’sieur, my granddaughter has no desire to return to New Orleans with you.”
Julian turned on the woman. “And
you, madame, have no claim on Mercy after you treated her mother so abominably.
Besides, this young lady is
my wife
. She has no choice in the matter.”
“Of course she has a choice after
the way you consorted openly with your mistress,” Anton flung at Julian.
Julian’s eyes gleamed with a
murderous light as he glanced first at Anton, then at Mercy. “So you’ve aired
our dirty laundry in public, my dear?”
Mercy clenched her fists. “Julian,
please, just leave . . .”
“Oh, I intend to,” he snapped.
“Indeed, I’ve booked passage on the first steamer tomorrow—for us both.” He
pointed a finger at her and spoke obdurately. “You will be packed and ready to
depart with me by dawn.”
“Or?” she challenged.
He smiled, speaking in a soft
voice that made her blood run cold. “You really don’t want me to answer that.”
Then, as quickly as he had
appeared, Julian Devereux turned on his heel and strode from the room.
***
Mercy had no time for the
mortified comments of the others; she tore out of the room after him. “Julian!”
At the doorway, he paused and
turned to her, raising a dark brow. “Yes?”
She stepped forward to confront
him, somehow managing to keep her expression cool, her gait steady. She felt
terribly hurt by his coldness. He’d come after her, all right—but only to
chastise her. His attitude hadn’t changed at all.
“Julian, it’s over between us,”
she said evenly. “Go home.” Pride forced her to lift her chin and add bitterly,
“Besides, I have my own money now. I don’t need you.”
His features darkened in rage.
“You’ve never needed me.”
“Then why did you come after me?”
she demanded, appalled to be fighting tears again. “I know you hate me!”
“Hate you, do I?” he rejoined
cynically. “Then perhaps you deserve to be punished.”
“
I
deserve?” she cried.
“Indeed. I’ve tolerated your
willfulness for far too long. And, believe me, disciplining you will be my
pleasure.”
“Ooooh! As always, you’re a
contemptible scoundrel, and—”
“Sir,” interrupted a deep male
voice. “I must ask you to leave these premises at once, or suffer the
consequences.”
Julian turned with almost eager
aggression toward Anton, who had joined them in the hallway. “You presume to
keep me from my wife, sir?”
Anton’s nostrils flared. “Indeed.
Either you leave Natchez now, or we’ll settle this between ourselves.”
Even as Mercy gasped in horror,
Julian laughed. “And just how do you propose to stop me, m’sieur?”
Anton glared at the other man,
pompously thrusting out his chest. “I’ll call you out. Do not doubt it for a
moment.”
Before Julian could comment, Mercy
rushed to Anton’s side. Oh,
mon Dieu
, she thought, this was madness, a
repetition of her nightmare with Philippe! “Anton, no, you mustn’t challenge
Julian! He’ll kill you!”
But Julian’s cynical laughter cut
her dead. As she whirled to face him, he drawled bitterly, “My, my, what a
touching scene. At last I see how things really stand here.” His expression
hardened to one of utter contempt. “You know, it’s not every husband who’ll
take back an adulterous wife. However, you’ve crossed the wrong man, my dear.”
Before Mercy could protest his
cruel accusation, Julian pivoted, pointing a finger at Anton. “I’m staying at
City Hotel, Gerard. By all means, have your second call on me. Your death will
be my pleasure.” Turning back to Mercy, he added ominously, “It’s on your head,
my dear.”
And he strode out the front door,
slamming it resoundingly behind him. Anton and Mercy returned to the parlor, in
their agitation not seeing the item Julian had left behind in the silver tray
on the pier table—a calling card edged in black.
***
An atmosphere of hysteria
prevailed as Anton and the Dubois tried to think of a way to protect Mercy from
her villain of a husband. The three paced the parlor, discussing options, while
Mercy sat numbly on the settee.
She couldn’t believe that Julian
had actually come after her! Clearly, he was motivated only by a thirst for
revenge, after she had insulted him by walking out without a word. She seethed
at his audacity in accusing her of committing adultery with Anton; in reality,
he was the adulterer, the one who had betrayed her with Justine.
Yet, despite all her outrage,
seeing him again had turned her inside out emotionally, proving to her how
powerless she was against his magnetic pull. Blackhearted scoundrel that he
was, she still hungered for him; she yearned for the healing and forgiveness
that she knew they would never find together, and the love that would forever
elude them both.
Now they were in a terrible
quandary, as a duel between Anton and Julian appeared imminent.
“Mercy, you must not go near that
terrible man again,” she heard her grandfather order sternly.
Drawn from her thoughts, Mercy
stared up at Gaspard’s lined, anxious face. “You’re aware, Grand-père, that
Anton just challenged my husband to a duel?”
“Indeed,” he said forthrightly,
nodding his approval to Anton. “It’s a matter of honor now, and we must depend
on our nephew to defend you.”
Mercy surged to her feet. “But he
could be killed!”
Anton strode toward her, smiling
indulgently. “I’ll be fine, dear. It’s your welfare that’s at stake here.”
“Indeed,” Hélène chimed in. “We
must not let that villain simply abscond with you.”
“Have you all lost your minds?”
Mercy stammered, gesturing in frustration. “Don’t you care at all about Anton’s
life?”
Hélène and Gaspard exchanged a
brief, guilty glance that clearly said Anton was expendable, while Mercy was
not.
Anton stepped into the gap,
patting Mercy’s hand reassuringly. “Dear, why can’t you simply trust me to
resolve this?”
Mercy could only shake her head
sadly. “I must speak with my husband at once, and implore him to see reason.”
“No!” all three of her relatives
cried in unison.
“Mercy, how can you be considering
such idiocy?” Anton demanded. “You know nothing will satisfy that man short of
your going back with him.”
At this, Mercy surprised even
herself by saying, “Then perhaps I should.” Before the astounded others could
comment, she went on intently, “I could never live with myself if either Anton
or Julian was killed on my account. Besides, I’ve been putting off dealing with
my marriage for long enough.”
“Mercy, you can’t be thinking of
returning to New Orleans with that cad!” Hélène pled in anguish.
Mercy shook her head sadly. “I’m
not sure, Grand’mère. However, I do know that I can no longer hide behind you
and Grand-père, nor can I remain here simply to assuage your guilt over my
mother.”
“But, my dear, that’s simply not
true!” Gaspard denied, his eyes full of hurt. “We both love you dearly.”
“I’m sure you do,” Mercy conceded.
“I’m fond of you both, as well. But Natchez is not my home.” Resolutely, she
tilted her chin. “I’m going to go see my husband now, to beseech him to end
this madness. And I must warn you all that if you should try to stop me, I’ll
find a way to meet with Julian on my own.”