Out of the Dark (10 page)

She said quickly, “So tell if you have heard from your letters to your family, and who among them we may expect to be present.”

“I had a long missive from my sister. She wishes us every joy, but is increasing, hoping to add a boy to the family of girls she and her husband have collected. Since it would unwise to travel, she won’t appear. My brother, ordinarily a sober citizen, fell off his horse and broke an ankle while involved in a drunken race, so sends his profound, and profane, regrets. My cousins who have been giving me house room are agog; they can’t wait to fire off a description of the nuptials to all their friends. That takes care of my family. But you know full well that was not my meaning.”

She did, of course. With great reluctance, she said, “I suppose you were speaking of your career as a duelist then. You are quite right; I see no need to go into it.”

“But I do. You called me a murderer some time back. To be condemned without a hearing seems hard.”

“My view of the pastime is not unbiased, as you know.” The words had a more placating sound than she intended.

“Certainly. But just as your brother had no alternative to appearing on the field of honor for the first time, neither did I. A loose-tongued fool raised the question of my mother’s good name and why she was killed by my father. Some things cannot be left unanswered.”

“I understand,” she said.

He gave her a dark glance. “I doubt it. She was innocent, my mother, her death a tragic accident that turned my father into a half-deranged drunkard whose punishment was mainly self-inflicted. Being hot-headed and only eighteen, I thought only of the slur cast on my family name.”

“My brother was also that age,” she said quietly.

“Then you should realize that once matters reach a certain pass, there is no way, save dishonor, to draw back. The difference between my case and your brother’s is that I was the one left alive when the thing was over.”

“That may be,” she said in neutral tones, “but it explains just one meeting.”

“You are interested in the others? My second was with the cousin of the first man I had bested. He demanded revenge for family honor, you see, and was carried home on a jalousie for a stretcher. The third was over a lady’s mistake. She began an affair with an actor who threatened blackmail when she tried to break it off. I intervened at her request, and her paramour objected. A puffed up Romeo with more ego than sense, the actor would not declare himself satisfied at first blood, and so he died. The fourth man was a young fool who wagered that he could break my winning streak—he still carries his arm in a sling in damp weather. The fifth was a card sharp who happened to be a relation of mine. He became offended when I dared speak to him about his habits. The sixth—but do I bore you?”

She gave him a straight look. “I do see your point.”

“I’m delighted. But having begun, I would like to finish the list for you. As it happens, it was somewhere around this time that it became the fashion to cross swords with the man people were calling the Dark Angel, and the next eight meetings fall into that category—my life was not my own until I managed to discourage that particular test of courage. My fourteenth meeting, however, was with a man I saw beating his servant boy with a riding crop. He now has trouble breathing due to a badly healed puncture wound in one lung. The fifteenth was with a sea captain whose mistake was thinking I would be less able with an old-fashioned cutlass than with my usual sword. Then there was the last man.”

“Number sixteen? I had not realized the count went so high.”

“Actually, it is a recent affair, one that I pushed without mercy. My opponent was an arrogant rake who seduced the daughter of an old friend, then watched her leap to her death from a steamboat deck after he denied responsibility for the child he gave her. I meant to correct his manners, and interrupt his career of seduction with a mark or two on the face, but he was as much a coward on the dueling field as in his private affairs. As the challenged party, he chose pistols. We were stepping off the normal ten paces when he turned at the count of eight and fired. He missed, and was killed by his own second for that breach of the rules—a second who happened to be his brother.”

“Dear Heaven,” she breathed with a shudder. “What a terrible thing dueling is.”

“It is. And you can be sure I remember every meeting, every man, every drop of blood spilled and last breath of life taken by those I fought. Yet the practice ensures that men remember their manners and deal fairly with their fellow men or suffer the consequences. It’s the inescapable code we live by. If I have killed, it is because the only other choice was dying. And I am not ready to die.”

“No,” she said in constricted tones, “but neither was my brother.” She could see him still in her mind’s eye, laughing, teasing, so full of life. Yet he had been bloodlessly pale and cool when they brought him back from his meeting in the dawn.

“For that loss, I am desperately sorry,” Lucien said. “I would take it from you if I could. But I am not to blame. Death is a natural thing, whether for a man or a panther; it always comes in its time. Whether it arrives early or late is in the lap of the gods. It is only left for us to feel gladness for being alive instead of guilt, to celebrate the joy rather than fear the pain.”

“Sixteen,” she whispered. “You fought sixteen times and survived every meeting.”

“And came to be named an angel of death for it.”

“Or an avenging angel,” she said in quiet contemplation.

“Perhaps, on occasion. But I am just a man, not an immortal, and I don’t want to fight any more.”

“It could be—” She stopped, uncertain of the wisdom of speaking the thought that had come to her. It was important enough, however, that it must be ventured. “You believe, then, that having a wife will give you an excuse to turn away from any further challenge that might be pressed upon you?”

“I pray that it will—but that isn’t the reason I am marrying you,” he said with emphasis. “It is you, the woman you are, who moves me. I wish you would stop looking for excuses and believe that simple fact. Or perhaps you do believe it, and are so disturbed that you are out here making up your mind to call off the wedding if your pet doesn’t reappear.”

“I gave you my word,” she said. Which was not the same thing as denying that he was right.

“So you did,” he said grimly, “but not without coercion or second thoughts.”

She barely glanced at him. What he said was true in a sense. She was marrying the Dark Angel for the sake of a cat. She must be the one who was mad. But if Satan did not come back, then it would have been for nothing.

Oh, but would it? Did her reasons really have anything to do with Satan, or was it something else entirely? Was she fated always to love what was dark and uncontrollable and dangerous?

Love.

In a some haste, she said, “Would you take it as proof that I am resigned if I told you I would like to leave for your home immediately after the reception?”

“Resigned.” He repeated the word as if it had a bitter taste.

“Anxious, then, if you prefer.”

“I do, infinitely, or would if I could believe it.” He paused, and then went on in more normal tones. “But what of the two weeks of seclusion required of a new bride to show her modesty? Madame
Decoulet
will be scandalized if you are seen abroad before they are over. Tongues will clack up and down the river about the depravity you have fallen into for my sake.”

“Yes,” she said on a defeated sigh.

“Of course,” he said in considering tones, “you would not be around to hear it.”

“You—wouldn’t mind if I became the subject of scandal?”

“My dear Anne-Marie,” he said, a corner of his mouth turned up in irony, “how can I fault you when I’ve seldom been anything else?”

“Very true.” Her gaze brightened as she straightened her shoulders. “Anyway, it would be a shame to rob everyone of their entertainment, don’t you think? They will be looking so hard to see if either of us do anything strange.”

“They may conclude, of course, that you were influenced by my wicked ways.”

“Would that trouble you so much?” Her gaze turned serious.

“Oh, desperately,” he said. “Though I’m sure that you can see to it that I am—resigned—if you make a diligent effort at it.”

He was teasing her in his grim fashion. She gave him a darkling stare while color rose to her hairline. “If you are expecting to be persuaded by a display of affection, then you will be disappointed. Such things are best left until after we are wed.”

He arched a brow. “Then I should expect a sudden change from coolness to fevered passion, is that it?”

“I never said—”

His smile turned feral. “But I think you did. And I await tomorrow evening with breathless anticipation.”

She met the dark amusement in his gaze for long, paralyzing moments before she turned her head. Her voice tight, she said, “You’re trying to distract me again. And just now you spoke of the death of—of a man or a panther. You really think Satan is gone for good, don’t you.”

He reached for her, gently drawing her close and encircling her in the comfort of his arms. She tensed for an instant before she relaxed, accepting his hold.

“I don’t know where Satan is and refuse to guess when there is no proof one way or the other,” he said, speaking against the softness of her hair. “All I know is that wild things risk pain and loss of life every day; it’s the price they pay for being free. But whatever happens, you have given your panther two years of love and caring. Because of you, he attained his full, splendid growth and gained the chance to prowl the woods, to mate and pass on his legacy of power to the next generation. That’s all any of us are given.”

“It isn’t enough!” It was a cry from the heart.

“No,” he answered as he stared over her head, smoothing his hand gently up and down her spine while his smile faded. “No, it isn’t nearly enough.”

It came, her wedding day, dawning bright and clear and hot. Perfect.

Anne-Marie thought of getting up quietly and leaving the house, of tracking through the grass that was wet with dew, making her way into the woods to Satan’s clearing. And then keeping on going until she could go no farther.

She thought of staying where she was without moving. When her stepmother came, she might turn her face to the wall while the woman ranted and raged at her to get up.

She thought of Lucien, and of what he would do when informed that she refused to leave her bed to be married to him. No doubt he would come storming up the stairs, fling into her room, and then...

She tumbled out of bed.

After that, it was not so bad. Since it was her day, she was cosseted with a breakfast tray in her room. When she had finished her coffee, the preparations began in a desultory fashion. There was no need to hurry since it would naturally be an evening wedding; it was considered too embarrassing to have newly-weds hanging around the house for long after the ceremony. She and Lucien would stay only to have their health and happiness toasted, to cut the wedding cake, taste the food, dance a few waltzes. Then they would leave in his carriage for Baton Rouge. A steamboat would be docked there overnight on its regular run between Natchez and New Orleans. Lucien, last evening after they talked, had sent to reserve a private cabin. There they would spend their wedding night. With the morning, they would be on their way down river to his home.

Anne-Marie would have preferred to have someone close to her to assist with her toilette. There being no one who qualified, she accepted the services of Madame
Decoulet’s
maid. Everything would be done as she wished it, however; she made that clear from the start.