Gallant Match (31 page)

Soon, too soon, the yellow-brown waters of the Mississippi River invaded the blue of the gulf and they were drawn up its mighty flow as if through a giant straw. The stunted oaks, shell mounds and endless sea of saw grass of the lower reaches gave way to moss-draped giants dressed in summer green. Plantation houses appeared amid fields of waving cane and shining cotton. Fishing shacks drifted past, giving way to flatboats and warehouses until finally they rounded the great crescent that marked the city. And there were the endless ranks of steamers ready to sail, the ships at anchor, the bobbing dinghies, canoes and pirogues. There was the dear and dusty Place d'Armes and the beloved cathedral. There was home.

No one was on the dock to meet them. Her father did not know they were returning, much less when they would arrive. Time in Havana had been too short to write, since they had been certain to arrive before a letter. Sonia could have written from Vera Cruz in the days while they waited for a ship, but what could she say? To explain on paper was too difficult, too open to misunderstanding. All that was left, then, was to gather their belongings once more, her and Tante Lily, and descend the
gangway. They might as well walk the short distance to the town house since they had so little to carry.

Sonia turned away from watching the steamer dock. Picking up her skirts, she moved back in the direction of the cabin where Tante Lily was packing.

“Wait.”

Sonia halted, her throat tightening at the sound of that deep, rough voice. Her lips trembled into a polite smile of the kind she and Kerr had been exchanging for days as she made herself face him.

“Were you going to leave without a word, without even a polite goodbye?”

He leaned on the bulkhead with one shoulder, his hat in his hand and a small valise at his feet. The breeze off the river ruffled his hair into a wild mane and narrowed his eyes to silver gleams. He was far too attractive, and too dear, to be dismissed, and she didn't try.

“No, never.” She stepped toward him, holding out her hand. “I am pleased to have this chance to thank you yet again,
monsieur.
You have been everything that is kind and generous on this journey, the perfect escort. I owe you more than I can ever repay. And you may be sure that I shall never…never forget you.”

He took her hand, lifted it to his lips as he executed the graceful bow he had learned at some point during their venture together. “That sounds as if you expect never to see me again.”

“Does it?” She had thought she probably never would, except perhaps from a distance. Abruptly, that seemed insupportable. Her ambivalence of the past
several days fell away as if it had never been. Between one breath and the next, between her greeting and farewell, she knew what she must do. “I do apologize,” she went on with scarcely a pause. “There is one last duty as my escort and protector that you may perform, if you will.”

The straight line of his mouth lifted into a wry smile, one that brought the slashing dimple in his cheek to life. “Command me.”

“Command me…”

She felt a little faint as her memory brought forth the last time he had said those words. Her face went hot, and she thought her very bones would melt. The answering heat in his gaze gave her hope, and courage. “I would be grateful if you would see me and my aunt to the town house.”

He sobered. “I'll be—”

“This isn't a part of the job you undertook, I know,” she went on before he could say more. “I'm sure you have other things to do, other things you're anxious to see about now that you're here.”

“Truly,
mademoiselle…
”

“It isn't that I'm afraid to face Papa or to confess that I'm not married, or even—”

He released her hand, placed a finger to her lips. “I never intended anything else,” he said when she fell silent. “Your father should have a report from me of just what happened in Vera Cruz.”

“You meant to come.”

“I would not leave you to face him alone.”

“You feel responsible. I might have known.”

He hesitated, then gave a determined nod and clapped his hat on his head. “It's time we put this behind us. I'll be at the top of the gangway when you're ready.”

He meant to go on with his life once his part in the arrest of Jean Pierre was explained, once she was settled. She could hardly blame him. Still, she had one last chance left to make things right. Pray to
le bon Dieu
it was enough.

T
ante Lily's smile was roguish as she came toward him, as if she knew a secret but would not tell. Kerr gave her a bow and took the carpetbag she carried, but looked immediately to Sonia who walked a step or two behind her aunt.

He had been right earlier. She was pale again this morning, and her gown, admittedly not from the hands of the most fashionable modiste in the world, was looser than it had been when they left Vera Cruz. She had not been eating well, this he knew; little she had said or done in the past weeks had escaped his notice. Her skin was so translucent he could see the network of blue veins under it, and the shadows under her eyes matched the lavender ribbons that tied her bonnet.

Kerr frowned as he thrust her aunt's bag under his arm, picked up hers and his own valise in the other and followed her and her aunt down the gangway. She was not looking forward to the confrontation with her father, he was sure, but he hadn't thought she'd make herself sick worrying over it.

He should have been more attentive. She had seldom been out of his sight, but he had kept as far from her as possible and still be on the same ship. To be near made him ache to touch her, to touch her made him ache to have her, to feel that desperate need was to act upon it—and that wouldn't do. He had served his purpose for her in that manner. She needed nothing more from him. And he couldn't breathe the same air and be satisfied with less.

He'd thought it best that he keep his distance. Now he wasn't so sure. She still might have need of a protector.

At the foot of the gangway, he handed off the bags he carried to a pair of young black boys hanging around for that kind of custom, passing out a coin with each bag and directing them to the proper addresses. Giving an arm to each of the ladies, he headed toward the rue Royale.

It occurred to him, when halfway to the town house, that Monsieur Bonneval might not have returned from his trip upriver. Sufficient time had passed for the journey itself, but there was no way of knowing how long his business might have required. The question in Kerr's mind was whether the expedition might have some bearing on his association with Rouillard. If so, the gentleman needed to be made aware of certain facts. He also required instruction in the worth of his daughter and how she should be treated.

The carpetbags of the ladies arrived at the town house before them. Kerr flipped the boys who had brought them another coin, then followed Sonia and her aunt inside. The butler, called Eugene by Tante Lily as he
grinned a welcome, mounted the stairs ahead of them with the bags while telling them over his shoulder that Monsieur Bonneval was in the salon. He left them at the door to that chamber, which stood open to the mild air of early summer.

Sonia's papa had heard them coming, it seemed. He was on his feet when they stepped through the door, a ponderous frown pleating the skin between his brows. Folding his news sheet with precision, he set it on the table beside his chair before coming toward them.

“What is this?” he asked in blank reproof as he exchanged bows with Kerr, kissed his sister-in-law on either cheek and performed the same perfunctory ritual for his daughter. “Please tell me you have not thrown away the expense of your wedding journey and your trousseau and shamed the man you were to marry. Explain to me at once why you are here instead of with Jean Pierre in Mexico.”

Sonia turned white and swayed where she stood. Kerr, taking her arm, guided her to a settee and stationed himself behind its back. It was Tante Lily who rustled forward, answering as if the extraordinary questions had actually been civil. “You would not believe the adventures we have had,
monsieur!
What frights, what indescribable terrors. We have been shot at by a Mexican warship, shipwrecked—”

“Shipwrecked,
madame?
”

“But, yes. You are amazed, as who would not be, but I swear it's the truth.” She walked to the bellpull beside the fireplace and gave it a tug. “I was myself taken
prisoner aboard the Mexican man-of-war as well, and that is only the beginning. Let us have sherry and perhaps cake and savories to sustain us, and you shall hear all about it.”

The recital took place much as Tante Lily outlined. She did most of the talking, applying to Sonia or to Kerr only on rare occasions as an aid to memory. An excellent job she did of it, too, sidestepping all mention of his and Sonia's separate escape from capture. That was, until she got to the part where the two of them arrived at Rouillard's place, and he was clapped in a makeshift cell.

“One moment, if you please,” Bonneval said, raising his hand to call a halt, his gaze searching Kerr's face. “Why was this? What cause had you given for it?”

“None,” Kerr answered, his voice a low growl.

“I find that difficult to believe. Monsieur Rouillard is not an unreasonable man.”

Sonia's aunt drew breath, her eyes snapping with annoyance, but it was Sonia who replied.

“On the contrary, Papa, he is so unreasonable he thought he could get away with running guns to Mexico, also with abducting me and trying to have Kerr killed. You arranged my betrothal to a scoundrel, one who has been arrested for his crimes.”

“Ridiculous. I will hear no further such insult on your lips. But there is something here I don't understand.” He turned to Tante Lily. “Where was Monsieur Wallace that he did not arrive with you,
madame?
How could Rouillard have cause to put him in chains when
he had never set eyes on him? What possible reason could he have for such action?”

“The answers to your questions are quite simple, Papa,” Sonia answered in her stead. “Monsieur Wallace and I were not with Tante Lily. We were alone in the Mexican jungle for some little time, then again at the home of the Mexican lady who gave us shelter and then while traveling to Vera Cruz by diligence.”

Her father reared back his head in shock. “
Mon Dieu.
Your fiancé sent you back to me because you had been compromised.”

“Not at all. He was quite willing to marry me in spite of it.”

“Then you will return to Mexico at once and become his wife. There is nothing else for it, nothing for you.”

“Now there is where you're wrong,” Kerr drawled. “Dead wrong.”

“You will keep out of this,
monsieur.
You have caused quite enough trouble.”

“More than you know, Papa. He is the father of the child I will have in something close to eight months.”

Bonneval seemed to swell where he stood. Taking a quick step toward his daughter, he raised his hand.

Kerr moved with the deadly swiftness of a parry in a duel's heat. He caught Bonneval's arm, twisted it down and then up again behind his back. He could have broken it, might have if he had not realized, suddenly, what Sonia had said. Shoving Bonneval into a chair, he turned to face her.

She was going to have his child, yet she looked
thinner than when he had first seen her, first touched her by wiping black tears from her face. It didn't seem possible. Regardless, he wanted it to be true with a fierce longing that stunned him, left him naked and defenseless in his need.

“If she marries anyone,” he said, feet spread and knotted fists at his sides, “it will be me.”

Behind him, her father gave a harsh laugh though his features were pinched and gray. “Impossible. I'll have no
Kaintuck
for a son-in-law. I'll disinherit her and her bastard with her. No spawn of such a one will have a penny of what's mine.”

“Keep it,” Kerr said. “We won't need it.”

Soft rose color rose in Sonia's face. Rising, she came to stand beside him, putting a hand on his arm as she turned with him to face her father.

“You are in no position to dictate terms, Papa,” she said, her voice a little husky but steady. “The fate that came to Jean Pierre could also come to you. A gentleman we met on the
Lime Rock,
Monsieur Alexander Tremont, used his good offices to see to it that your name was not mentioned in connection with these contraband weapons imported by Jean Pierre. It was a matter of friendship, you see, his friendship with Kerr. But he knows, we all know, that you were closely involved.”

“Nonsense,” Bonneval croaked.

“I don't think so. Rouillard tried to talk his way out of the trouble he was in, you perceive. He told Tremont that you were closely involved, that you arranged to
have the guns shipped from upriver while on these business trips of yours.”

“It was an investment, no more,” Bonneval said, grasping the arms of his chair, pressing back as if to get away from the accusations. “I had no idea what was being bought and sold at first. Then it was too late. Rouillard said, he threatened—”

“How it happened makes no difference,” Sonia told him, her voice gaining strength as her father's bombast faded. “What matters is that it should stop. With war officially declared, the business could well become a hanging matter. And I don't believe my future husband would care to have that kind of scandal in his family.”

The silence was instant and complete. Bonneval stared at his daughter. Kerr did the same while wild elation spiraled up inside him. She was valiant and intelligent, this woman of his, and she knew how to fight for what she wanted. He had no idea if what she needed was him or simply any man not Rouillard, but he intended to find out before either of them was a day older.

“Have it your way,” her father said. He looked away from her, his face settling into lines that made him seem suddenly old. “Maybe you're right, maybe this is best. I was never happy sending you to Jean Pierre, but he came from good stock, and placed great value on having you as his wife.” Papa Bonneval stopped, steadied his voice that had developed a quaver. “He hinted at ruin, you know, if I looked elsewhere for a husband.”

“You were afraid of him.”

Her father tried to grimace. “Rather, of what he could do. Once he was married to you, so I thought, our family name would be safe. I had no idea he would ever lift a hand to you. If I had, you would never have left New Orleans. I could not bring myself to watch you leave, even as it was.”

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered, and went to kneel before him, taking his hands in hers.

It was not the kind of thing a stranger should witness. Kerr stepped away and walked from the room.

He didn't go far, only to the far corner of the gallery. Putting his shoulder to the post there, he pulled a leaf from the wisteria vine that twined around it. He stood shredding it, dropping bits into an empty bird's nest just below the railing, as he watched the noonday shadows grow shorter in the courtyard below.

He knew to the second when Sonia left the salon at last and began to walk toward him. Turning, he watched her approach, the graceful glide of her walk, the rippling edges of her skirts, the way she smiled, the way she held her head—not with pride as he had once thought but with confidence. His body reacted in the way he'd grown used to, with sudden hardening and a drawing ache of yearning. But beneath it was something different, something richer and truer that approached reverence.

That he had held her in his arms and made love to her in all the myriad ways that a man with time on his hands could imagine was a miracle to him. He would never forget it as long as he could draw breath. That it might
never happen again was a desperate darkness in his mind. But he could not allow her to sacrifice herself to his desire in this any more than he could have, finally, in Mexico.