Duel of Hearts

by Anita Mills

She was silent for a long time, so long that he began to think she’d closed the subject and meant to ignore him the rest of the way. He released her hand and leaned back against the leather-covered seat with a sigh. He always vowed to himself to go slowly with her, and he always broke those promises to himself. “But I do not know what I wish to make of it. I cannot even decide if I like you,” she answered low as her throat tightened. “I am not of your world, and we have nothing common between us but money.”

  “I am more in your world than you would think, Leah.”

  There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of vehicles moving down the darkened streets. “Well, my dear,” he observed finally, “I believe we are coming upon the Palais Royal.”

  “How can you tell? There are no lights anywhere that I can see.”

  “You are on the wrong side. If you will but look out here,” he directed, “you will see they are strung across the building. At night, it is almost the only place in the city that is lighted on the outside.”

  The driver slowed as traffic merged and other conveyances vied for roadway. Leah stared out in fascination at the huge building that loomed ahead. “Why, ‘tis hung like Vauxhall or something.”

  “Or something. But ’tis nothing like on the inside except for the gardens. The rest is shops and cafés and cheap bedrooms. You must not appear too shocked when you see the demimonde parade themselves about, flirt and drink with unattached men, and go upstairs for pay.”

  “I thought all Paris came here to shop.”

  “They do. It’s an odd place, unlike anything in London, for you will find all manner of people, respectable and otherwise, rubbing together tolerably under the same roof.”

  Disgorged by an impatient driver and shouted at by those waiting to pull up, they climbed down and Tony tucked Leah’s hand in the crook of his arm. She hesitated, prompting him to lean closer and whisper, “I’d stay near me, were I you.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do not wish to be ogled by every man jack in the place, do you?” he hissed.

  “Of course not.” As she looked around them, she began to wish they’d stayed at Lady Oxford’s party, for there was a crush of all sorts vying to get in. One obviously intoxicated Frenchman leaned so close to her that she could smell stale wine and onions on his breath, and his eyes lingered suggestively on the slight décolletage of her gown. Her fingers tightened on Tony’s arm and she moved closer to him.

  “I tried to tell you how it would be,” he murmured, grinning above her head. “If we manage to see the place without my being forced to duel for your honor, I shall count myself fortunate.”

  The buck, a slim fellow, measured Tony speculatively and moved on. “Well, you might have said something to him,” she complained. “The only other person ever to have looked at me like that was you.”

  “The French, my dear, still smart from the war, and are only too eager to prove themselves with their swords on any available Englishman. The English, of course, always oblige them, choosing pistols instead, and by morning the streets are littered with the bodies of the hot-headed.”

  “I thought they welcomed us.”

  “We afford them amusement, I suppose, for the English ton has always aped them. I mean, look at that gown you are wearing now.” He glanced down at the expensive peach gauze she wore over a slim petticoat of silk dyed the same color. “You were assured by Cecile that ‘twas in the French style, were you not? Napoleon lost the war, but his people are the arbiters of what you wear.”

  They were walking down the shop-lined corridors, and Leah forgot her earlier apprehension as she was caught up in looking at the glittering lights and the gaily festooned stores. Tony stopped short outside one of them to study the display of jewelry that winked invitingly, reflecting color. His arm slid around her waist and pulled her closer to look, prompting the proprietor to come forward immediately with that universal deference common to jewelers of all nationalities.

  “Entrez-vous, monsieur,” he invited, waving expansively at cases that lined the walls inside. “Pour mademoiselle … ?”

  “What do you say, my dear?” Tony asked, turning to Leah. “I have not yet bought you a bridal gift.”

  “No, I—”

  “Nonsense.” He dismissed her refusal briskly. “It can do no harm to look at his wares.”

  Once in the small shop, the proprietor, having heard them speak to each other, switched to an imperfect English. “Ze laydee—she is your … ?”

  “Wife,” Tony supplied quickly, knowing that the sort of gifts available differed considerably from gaudy paste to fine gemstones.

  “Wife, then.” The fellow’s dark eyes traveled over Leah’s face and hair carefully, and unlike his earlier countryman, he did so respectfully. “Paul Revillon has ze diamonds, but zay do not do madame ze justice— madame weeshes colair, no?”

  “Yes,” Tony answered for her.

  This time, the jeweler studied him to ascertain his approximate wealth and, having duly noted the excellent tailoring of his lordship’s dark blue coat, the perfect cravat, and the large pearl studs that fastened what could be seen of his shirt, smiled broadly. “Ah, monsieur, one recognizes ze English Quality—you aire a nobleman pair-haps?” he asked to flatter.

  “I am Lyndon.”

  As though that were instantly recognizable, the fellow bobbed respectfully, urged his lordship to wait for a moment, and disappeared into the back, leaving them in the company of a clerk, who merely hung back and appeared bored. “Your fame seems to have spread,” Leah whispered to Tony while they waited.

  “No, but he thinks he smells gold.”

  She moved to look at the glass cases curiously, her attention drawn to a pearl-and-garnet brooch. “You know, I rather favor this one—’twould look nice on my black-trimmed pelisse next winter.”

  “Purchase it, by all means then, but do not think to deter me from getting you something more substantial.” He came up behind her to study the brooch. “Garnets are not what I had in mind for you.”

  Monsieur Revillon returned with a ring of keys and several locked cases, laying them on a countertop. “You weel behold my best, Madame Lyndon,” he announced dramatically. Selecting a key, he inserted it in a lock to open the first box. Lifting the lid, he revealed an exquisite sapphire necklace, explaining, “For ze eyes, madame—sapphires will become zose eyes.” To Tony he passed his jeweler’s glass, offering, “Pairhaps Monsieur Lyndon weeshes to examine zem before Madame sees zem on ze neck?”

  Tony lifted the double chain of sapphires with the large diamond-surrounded single pendant from the velvet-lined box and held it to the glowing light. Examining it under the glass, he turned it over several times, inspecting the stones carefully. “It’s quite fine,” he admitted.

  “Zat parteeculaire piece was ze Marchioness de Campignon’s before hair unfortunate demise in ze Terror. Revillon bought eet from hair zen, but she deed not escape ze guillotine.”

  “And you have had it all these years?” Tony murmured skeptically.

  “Mais non. I sold eet to a Bonapartiste, who pawned eet back to me when hees fortunes changed.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten zousand francs.”

  “No!”

  “Madame does not like eet?” Revillon turned on her with a decidedly injured air. “But Madame—”

  “ ’Tis too expensive. I would see the others.”

  Shrugging expressively, the jeweler opened the remaining cases to show in order an enormous pearl- and-ruby pendant, a glittering emerald-and-diamond necklace, and a very fine amethyst necklace, earrings, and brooch. “Would Madame weesh to try zem against hair skin pairhaps?”

  “No, but I’d like this brooch.” She pointed to the one she’d liked in the glass case.

  “How much for the amethyst set?” Tony asked, ignoring Leah’s gasp.

  “For Madame and Monsieur, sees zousand.”

  Tony lifted the ne
cklace out and held it up against Leah’s neck. “ ’Tis lovely, my dear.” Turning back to the jeweler, he offered, “Fourteen thousand for the sapphires and the amethysts.”

  “Tony!”

  “ ’Tis francs, not pounds, Leah,” he reminded her. Addressing Revillon, he enumerated his terms. “I have no wish to be robbed on the way back to the hotel, but if you will deliver them in the morning and bring your glass to ensure they are the same, I will pay you then. And we will take the brooch now.”

  “Eet eez but nine hundred francs, mi’lor’.”

  “Wrap it, and she will put it in her reticule.” Outside, she rounded on him. “Fourteen thousand francs! Are you mad, Tony? And nine hundred for the brooch! ‘Tis a fortune!”

  “It was a bridal gift, Leah.”

  “Bought with my father’s money! Papa would—”

  “Jeptha Cole did not pay for it—I did. Not one franc expended came from your father,” he retorted as his jaw twitched where he worked to stifle his anger. “And let me tell you something else, my dear Leah,” he bit off precisely, “nothing else I have spent on you is your father’s either. Furthermore, if I wish to squander my own money, ‘tis entirely my affair.”

  “The settlements—”

  “The settlements be damned!” he exploded, losing the battle against his temper. “Do you know what settlements I have had? I did not take your papa’s money, Leah—I borrowed seven thousand pounds at interest against a cargo of Jamaican rum!”

  “I know he offered you a fortune!”

  “Offered! Aye, there’s the word we need, my dear—he offered forty thousand pounds, to be exact! But I do have my pride, despite the insults you have flung my direction.” His blue eye blazed with indignation at her accusation. “What I took, however, was twenty thousand pounds settled directly on you and our heirs, and the loan.”

  She stared, stunned for a moment, unable to quite believe him. “But the rumors—’twas said you were done up . . .”

  “And there the word is ‘rumor’—because my ship went down, ‘twas supposed I’d lost everything. Well, I did not—I lost a large sum, but I was not even near dun territory, my dear. I never have been.”

  “You let everybody believe it!”

  “I did not choose to dignify the stories—there is a difference, you know. What was I supposed to say? ‘No, you are mistaken—Tony Barsett’s purse is far from let?’ And how many would have believed me if I had?”

  “But even your aunt Davenham—”

  “Now, there I plead guilty, for I wanted her to accept you, and I could not depend on her liking you before she’s had a chance to know you.”

  “But why?”

  “That should be obvious to you,” he shot back. “If you cannot forget you are a merchant’s daughter, how the devil do you suppose she can?”

  “Oh.”

  They were standing in a busy hallway, and when Leah looked away, she became aware they’d attracted a rather large crowd of curious onlookers, most of whom had no idea what they’d said. One fellow, rather lower-class by appearance, offered Tony advice in an idiomatic French she did not understand. In answer, her husband grasped her arm firmly and pulled her along to the first corner. Behind them, their audience broke into applause.

  “What did he say?” she asked curiously.

  “He said, madam wife, that I ought to take you upstairs and cease haggling over the price.”

  “He what!”

  “And if I were not afraid of the vermin, I’d do it.” He released her and started walking rapidly.

  She stood rooted for a moment, just long enough for an elderly man to ogle her thoroughly, and then she all but ran after him. “Wait—are you saying you did not take any settlement?”

  “I said it.”

  “Then why did you marry me?” She was having difficulty keeping up with his long strides as her narrow petticoat hampered her steps. “Will you wait for me at least?”

  He stopped so abruptly that she collided with him. “The reason, Leah Cole, should be obvious,” he snapped.

  “Well, it isn’t,” she answered peevishly. “I seem to be particularly obtuse on that head.”

  “All right, then.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable as he added significantly, “There did not appear to be any other way to get you.”

  “But we agreed … that is, ’twas decided that …”

  “That I would not storm the citadel? Quite frankly, my dear, I had not expected you to be so impervious to my efforts to win you. Clearly I was mistaken.” He started to walk again, flinging over his shoulder, “Your wish to remain indifferent has finally penetrated my conceit and will therefore be honored.”

  “Must you keep running off? I cannot keep up!” she screeched in exasperation. “And I am not indifferent!”

  That stopped him. Not daring to believe he’d heard her aright, he turned around. “What did you say?”

  A gaudily rouged woman, her full breasts exposed in a spangled gown cut deeply to her waist, stopped and gave Tony an admiring look, telling him that if the pale one did not wish his business, she’d take him. Leah’s face flushed as she looked across at her husband. A man did not have the right to appear quite so, she told herself as she took in that tousled blond hair, the handsome face, and his tall, muscular frame. The one eye that met hers was the most brilliantly blue she’d ever seen, and the faint, expectant smile that played about his all-too- sensuous mouth was far too appealing. Even the patch did not detract from his handsomeness.

  “I said I am not entirely indifferent to you.”

  “No, that is not what you said, Leah.” His voice, although softer now, carried as much as if he shouted.

  “Can I not just apologize for my mistake?” she asked, feeling helpless for the first time in her life.

  “No.”

  “Well, I am not indifferent to you, Tony—is that what you wished to hear?”

  “Above everything.”

  “And … and I thank you for the jewelry—’tis lovely.”

  “You are most welcome then, Lady Lyndon.” Offering his arm to her, he gestured toward a cafe that faced the gardens. “And now that we are civil again, I am told that there is a passable bouillabaisse, and excellent pot- au-feu, and a highly recommended duck to be had here.” The bright blue eye sparkled as he covered her hand where it rested on his arm. “And while we are enjoying our newfound candor, Lady Lyndon, I might as well tell you that I have not the least intention of being the last Barsett in my family.”

  24

  Both unnerved and strangely exhilarated by Tony’s earlier revelations, Leah undressed quickly, hurriedly pulled on a new nightrail, and let Jeanne brush out her hair. Wanting to be alone to sort out her very mixed thoughts, she dismissed Jeanne and crawled between the ironed sheets to relive the quarrel at the Palais Royal.

  The settlements be damned! I did not take your papa’s money … I borrowed seven thousand pounds at interest … I was not even near dun territory … He was not the gazetted fortune-hunter she’d thought him, and that changed the complexion of things greatly. But he was a rake. Even now she could remember the way the courtesans at the Palais Royal had looked at him—the open speculation, the admiration, and the regret when he’d ignored their lures. He was handsome, he was decidedly masculine, and he held a definite charm for females.

  In truth, it was more than charm. The memory of his devastating kiss flooded her yet again, sending a flush of embarrassment all the way to her toes. She’d clung to him with abandon, letting him plunder her mouth and her senses, acting as reckless as the women they’d seen tonight. It was no wonder he’d dared to think that she was little better than a Cyprian when he’d met her—he knew what she had not even suspected, not until he’d kissed her the second time.

  “Leah?” He stood in the doorway with that half-smile, that easy lift to one side of his mouth, and apologized: “Your pardon for not knocking louder, but I did not think you w
ould wish me to raise Jeanne.”

  Her heart thudded all the way to the mattress and she could not help her sharp intake of breath as she stared at him. He’d discarded his coat and his shoes, and his shirt hung open where Blair had removed his studs. He seemed to fill the whole opening, blocking it as a means of escape. She moistened her lips with her tongue nervously and tried to keep her voice calm.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I did not wish Blair to see my eye in its full glory, but it still burns like the very devil. If it would not trouble you excessively, I’d like you to look at it.”

  She looked down, conscious of the thinness of her nightdress, and colored with embarrassment. It was but an excuse—they both knew why he’d come. Resolutely she nodded and reached for her wrapper.

  He closed the door softly and crossed the room. “I’d thought of a cold cloth perhaps.”

  Tying the wrapper, she turned around. He was but inches from her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body. “Well, you will have to take off the patch at least. And if he got that for you, I cannot see why you would not let him look at the eye, my lord. You’ll have to sit.”

  “Tony.”

  She could feel his breath when he spoke. Reaching up to untie the ribbon that held it, he let the scrap of black silk fall to expose an eye swollen nearly shut. She gasped at the sight of it.

  “I know,” he murmured wryly. “I have not had one of these since I engaged in fisticuffs with a stableboy when I was a child.”

  “Yes, well, I hope it was equally deserved.”

  “I hope you mean to offer more sympathy to the children.” He leaned back and closed his good eye, not daring to watch her reaction.

  Her hands shook with the tension between them as she poured water into the washbasin and wrung out a clean cloth. Coming back, she leaned over him. “You will have to lift the eyelid that I may rinse the eye,” she decided. “ ’Tis probably burned by the soap.”

  Using his thumb and forefinger, he complied, revealing an extremely bloodshot orb. “Watch it—even the light pains it.” He blinked as she dribbled water that welled and then ran like tears down his cheek.