Glittering Promises

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Another shout, unexpectedly close, pressed me into action. I ran across the field, trying to crouch, praying that God would shield me from view. But I heard a man exclaim behind me just as I reached the other side. I didn’t stop to look. I continued my wild pattern through the city, taking a left, running a block, then taking a right again. Over and over I looked to Vesuvius, gaining my bearings and hoping that the men who followed me were too stupid to do the same. With luck, I’d send them into endless circles.

  I had just passed another, small temple, one with a small piazzalike area before it, and stopped to catch my breath again. That was when I saw him.

  Nathan.

  He was only two blocks away from me. He ran with frightening speed in my direction. I dived into the nearest room and through its window, then down an alley. I went into a larger home, through its open courtyard and into another room. On and on, until I wondered if I would ever reach the end of this city. How big was the site? Had Pompeii really been this big?

  I’d just turned a corner when a hand grabbed my broken arm, wrenching me about. I screamed in agony, the pain threatening to make me drop in a faint. But then he had my throat in his hands and drove me back to the nearest wall.

  We both stood there, panting, glaring at each other.

  “Do you have,” he began, “any idea…what trouble you…have caused me?”

  “Sorry…to have…inconvenienced you,” I returned.

  Nathan smiled, and I glimpsed the handsome man I’d once met in far-off lands, connecting in our shared knowledge of Montana. And yet at that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone uglier. He was ugly on the inside—a leech bent on sucking me dry. A parasite.

  “Say I make certain you are paid,” I said, still trying to pry away his choking fingers.

  He abruptly dropped his hands and I crumpled to the ground. He put his hands on his knees, clearly trying to catch his breath.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “You cannot live a life in society,” I said after a moment, rising to my knees. “You’d be recognized.”

  “Society does not have such a great hold on me,” he said.

  “But you would live knowing you’d gained by ill-begotten means.”

  “I am not riddled with guilt by past sins as some are.” He straightened and stepped nearer to me.

  I stiffened, my back against the wall.

  “Nor do most of us wake to find we’re wealthy, rather than poor,” he said.

  He lifted me to my feet. He was terribly close. I looked to the right, as if he was a wild dog and I feared antagonizing him into biting me.

  “You have some means. To travel to Europe. Enough to track me down,” I spit out. I dared then to look him in the eye again.

  “Some,” he allowed. “But not nearly enough. You”—he took my arm—“are going to rectify that.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Nathan hauled me to the nearest thoroughfare, one of Pompeii’s ancient streets, where he spotted one of his men several blocks away. We turned and were heading toward him when a man came barreling out from between two buildings. He tackled Hawke, and the two of them fell to the ground, very nearly pulling me into the melee with them.

  It was Pierre! He had escaped!

  I stared at him in relief and hope, even as they wrestled, but when he pinned Nathan to the ground, he frowned at me. “Go, Cora, go!”

  Hawke made use of his distraction and turned over, managing to pin Pierre to the ground. But then they turned over again. With the other man coming fast, I did as Pierre said, running back into the maze of buildings. Instinctively, I knew the second man would follow me, and my running would give Pierre more opportunity to keep the upper hand.

  Out of breath, I made my way through another block, then turned a couple of corners and put my back against the wall, gasping for breath, trying to gain control so I could be silent in a moment if he might come near. My heart pounded in my chest.

  If they got me this time, something told me I wouldn’t get free again. I’d be under constant guard. After waiting another minute, and then fearing my pursuer had gotten ahead of me, I moved out again. But now I was cautious about turning each corner, my heart hammering in my chest. Would I ever make it to the end of this city that still echoed of death and memory and lives snuffed out in an instant?

  I had just glanced up at Mount Vesuvius again, now glowing with a faint pink reflection of the last of the sunset, when a hand closed around my mouth.

  I struggled, but the man shushed me and held me tight, and in a moment, I knew it was Pierre. I melted and then turned in his arms. He stroked my back, murmuring comforting words in my ear. “It’s all right, mon ange, it’s all right. They think we went to a different part of the city. We are almost to safety. I saved you.” He leaned back and took my face in both of his hands. “You are all right? Do you need to get to hospital?”

  I shook my head, and he again folded me in his arms and kissed me on the forehead. “I was so frightened, mon ange, so frightened that something would happen to you.”

  “And I, you,” I said, tears coming. They made me feel like a little girl, weak and dissolving, now that we were reunited. Now that I was no longer alone.

  “Shh,” he crooned, pulling from his pocket a handkerchief dusty from his scuffle with our kidnappers and handing it to me.

  I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, but still the tears came. It was all too much. Pierre backed away and held my face again, his expression one of compassion and relief.

  He smiled at me, his handsome eyes crinkling at the corners, and put an arm around my shoulders. “Come. We must get out of here and to someone who can get us to the police. Hawke may still have others looking for us.” He took my good hand and led me down the street, pausing at the corner to scout it out, and then we went down another. When we finally reached a modern road with motorcars and horses and wagons and people, I dared to take a deeper breath and then two, but I knew what Pierre did—with Nathan about, there was still an imminent threat. We could be taken, kidnapped, right here, just as neatly as we’d been taken in Tivoli.

  When we reached an empty storefront that had a big VENDESI sign, which I assumed translated as for sale, in the front window, we slipped inside. Pierre moved to one corner of the muddy window; watching and trembling, I stood close by, drawing comfort from his proximity. The rest of the rectangular room was bare, with cement walls. There was a door in back.

  “Come,” he said quietly, pulling me close to him again and stroking my back. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was not cold, but my teeth chattered.

  He kissed my temple again and gave me a squeeze. “It is all right, Cora,” he said. “From here, we can keep watch for Hawke and look for a policeman.”

  “And if we do not see the police?”

  “Then we shall go to the next store to see if they have a phone.”

  I nodded. Then I stepped away from him, suddenly aware that what I was doing was building an intimacy between us that belonged to me and Will alone.

  Pierre’s green eyes watched the flow of traffic, but more and more returned to me. He cocked a smile. “Now you have seen what I am made of, mon ange. I am not just a man who can throw the best parties in Paris or run a successful business.”

  “No,” I said slowly, uncertain what he meant. “I’ve always known you were more than that.”

  His eyes moved to the street and then back to me. “And now God has shown you that I can protect you. Fend off your enemies.”

  I nodded, but my eyebrows knit in confusion. Hadn’t we fended them off together? Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that I couldn’t have done it alone. But what was he trying to say?

  He turned away from the window and toward me, putting one hand around the back of my neck. I backed up toward the wall, feeling a wave of warning shoot through me, but he followed, his eyes filled with compassion and care. But also desire. That was what God was warning me about. Pierre had not yet given up his hope—thought he could convince me
…

  “Pierre, I—”

  “Shh,” he said, drawing close. He lifted his other hand to stroke my cheek, to push away a coil of hair falling over my left eye. Then he bent and kissed me, softly at first and then more demanding, his right hand moving to the small of my back, pressing me to him. Through it all, I froze and stood there like a dress mannequin.

  After a moment, he backed inches away and looked at me, frowning. “What is it?”

  “Pierre, no,” I said. “I can’t do this. I have pledged my heart—my life—to Will.”

  He let out a scoffing huff. “Will. Where was he through all of this? It is I who saved you,” he said, pulling a thumb to his chest and leaning toward me. “I was the one.”

  “Yes,” I said carefully, the hair standing up on the back of my neck, fear growing in the face of his sudden anger. “And I am grateful.”

  “Don’t you see?” he tried, his tone softening to pleading. “Surely, we are as ‘God-ordained’ as you and Will are. Providence has seen us through.” He picked up my good hand and studied it. “You must choose me, Cora. Me,” he said firmly, nodding so earnestly, it was as if he believed he could talk me into it. “Be my bride, and I will never let anything bad happen to you again.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “Pierre, no one can promise such things. Bad things happen all the time. To everyone, rich or poor. All we can do is to promise that we will find our way through together.”

  I belatedly saw my mistake. He thought I was speaking of us, and he was kissing me again, joy and passion in his movement. But again, I stood there, and when his lips no longer locked mine in place, I turned my head and waited.

  He froze and then, a second later, dropped his hands, but he stayed as close to me as he’d been before.

  He let out an exasperated sigh and then looked at me, bitterness lining his expression. “I have given you every opportunity.”

  “You have,” I said, willing to accept blame if this would end it.

  “Never have I pursued a woman as I have you.”

  “And you honored me with your pursuit,” I said, shaking my head, still surprised that he’d done all he had over the summer.

  “Papers around the world now wait for the outcome of our romance.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said, feeling guilty for pulling him into my world at all.

  “But still you would turn from me. Pierre de Richelieu.”

  His superior tone brought my head up. “It doesn’t matter to me, Pierre. Your titles, your wealth. You could’ve been a fisherman on that boat crossing the Channel, and I would’ve been drawn to you,” I said, pointing to the window. “But always, always, it was Will. You see, at the beginning, his uncle wouldn’t allow—”

  Pierre held up a hand as if every word out of my mouth burned him.

  But I had to try to explain myself, help him understand why I gave him opportunity even as Will and I were fighting what we felt for each other. I swallowed hard. “And my father—”

  “Stop,” he said, grabbing my shoulder.

  His sudden movement scared me, and my lips clamped shut.

  He looked down and shook his head. “Do you know how this shall appear?” he asked. “In the press?” He looked at me. “I shall be a laughingstock.”

  “Surely it won’t be as bad as all that.”

  “So that’s how you send me back to France?” he said with a sarcastic laugh. “After all this? With the hope it won’t be as bad as I fear?”

  I frowned. “What else can I do?”

  He lifted his head then and looked at me, moisture in his eyes. Then he nodded, and relief flooded through me that at last, at last, he had accepted it. He took my hand, gently, and led me to the back door. I wondered why he’d abandoned his plan to wait for a police car, but I wasn’t willing to question him about anything at that point, not when he was so…raw and…different. He opened the door a crack, its hinges squeaking their complaint, and peeked out.

  He looked back at me. “I’ll go for help,” he said. “You stay here where it’s safe.”

  I shook my head, not liking the odd expression on his face. Misery, I understood. The poor man had a broken heart. But was that guilt? “No, Pierre. Let’s stay together.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head and lifting his brows. “We were apparently never truly that. Together.” He was slipping out, and his words confused me.

  More than that, the idea of being alone in this cement room terrified me. “Pierre…” But even as I reached for him, he pulled the door shut firmly behind him, almost catching my fingers. I bent my head to listen, worried I’d hear a shout, or worse, a gunshot. But then a second later, a different sound made me draw back in surprise.

  He had whistled.

  Or had it been someone else? A passerby, perhaps? Or maybe the police?

  I scurried over to the window, thinking I might see a policeman on horseback or on foot. Maybe even in a motorcar. But traffic was sporadic and slow as the evening waned. Only two cars and a wagon passed.

  I thought I might take my chances and flag down one of them. Plead for help, even in English. I’d seen the Italian word for police back in Roma, on a building, nearly the same as our own: polizia. Even uttering that word would be enough.

  I reached for the handle, deciding that Pierre had chosen his path but I would choose my own, when the back door slammed open.

  I turned and saw Nathan Hawke pointing a pistol in my direction.

  I blinked, not willing to believe what my eyes told me. He waved me forward, to him. “Come, Cora. Step away from the window.”

  The hope of a ransom no longer shone in his eyes. Instead I saw murder there. Which made no sense. What good was I to him dead? Or was that his angle now? Shoot me now, and be long gone with the ransom money before Will and my family discovered my cold, dead body?

  But I could see it in his flat expression, his mechanical movement. To try to escape would certainly mean getting shot. Was I willing to risk that?

  No, it was better that he thought me beaten, cowed. Perhaps he’d forget whatever fury had changed his demeanor and return to his plotting to squeeze thousands of dollars from my siblings. Bending my head, I moved toward him. The big man from the car came through the door behind him, opening it wider.

  “That’s a good girl,” Nathan crooned, pleased that I was being so compliant.

  Pierre. It had been he who had whistled. He was the one.

  He had left me for them, a sheep offered to the wolves.

  Why? For what purpose? It made no sense.

  How could he?

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked meekly, not really interested, just buying a second. My tone sounded pleasingly beaten.

  “Somewhere—”

  I shoved him then, pushing his gun arm upward. The pistol fired, setting my ears ringing, but I ran through the open door and started to turn left, saw two others and veered right.

  I tore down the alleyway, Pierre nowhere in sight, drawing on my fury at him to strengthen me. I felt the impulse to weave, in case Nathan was aiming again, remembering how hard it was to shoot the darting antelope back home, who turned one direction and then the other as they ran. And a second later, a bullet hit the brick wall just over my left shoulder, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and a second after that, another to my right.

  Thank You, Lord, I breathed as I ran, trying to hold my injured arm close to my chest. Help me escape these men, Father. Guide me! Save me!

  Even now, I could feel them gaining on me, but I was nearly to the next street. If they wanted to kill me, they’d have to risk an audience.

  I was not going to give up.

  I was not going to give in.

  I was not going to wait for someone else to save me.

  God, I trust You alone to see me through this! Guide me! Show me!

  I turned the corner, and the only person I saw was a fat old woman sweeping the front porch of her shop, closing up for the night.

  My hear
t sank.

  I need a policeman, Lord! Or a lot of men! Help me!

  But again, I felt inexplicably drawn to the woman.

  I continued on toward her, slowing my pace, feeling as if I were lost to them already. Hopeless.

  “Signora, I need help!” I cried, in English. “Help!”

  She looked up at me and frowned, her chin settling firmly in the rolls of fat at her neck. She wasn’t even as tall as I! What was she to do? Fend them off with her broom?

  I looked back and saw the men, just a block away now—Nathan and the big man from the car—then back to the shopkeeper. “Help! They’re after me!”

  I hoped my tone and the sight of the men pursuing me would leap our language barrier. Perhaps we could take refuge inside the store, place a call, if she had a phone…

  She lifted a hand to my shoulder and glared at the men coming at us, her broomstick before her like a sword. “Fermata proprio ora!” she yelled at them. “Problemi qui,” she muttered to someone on the other side of the screened door, barely turning her head.

  “Come, signora,” I said, desperately pulling her arm toward the door. “Come inside!”

  But she remained where she stood, unwavering. Her dark brows lowered as the men pulled to a stop but steps away. I straightened my shoulders and stood slightly behind her. I didn’t doubt that these men would pluck me from my spot, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

  “It is all a misunderstanding,” Nathan said, lifting his hands, gesturing to me. The woman surely couldn’t comprehend his words any more than my own, but he was playing it as charmingly as possible. The role of the spurned boyfriend, or husband, perhaps.

  She frowned and glanced back at me, probably wondering if she were entering a marital spat, but I shook my head. And the presence of the second man seemed to steel her resolve against them.

  When a motorcar drove by at the end of the street, Nathan lost his patience, stepping toward me, but the woman lifted her broomstick and made a tut-tut sound.

  He grunted, sneered, and then reached for his pistol. But just as he drew it out, the man came through the store screen door, a rifle in his hands.