Arms of a Stranger

by Danice Allen

  “Connected to that man? No,” said Anne, the ring of truth in her voice too strong to disbelieve.

  The commander nodded. “I see. Then maybe you screamed because you were afraid we’d mistakenly injured your swain?”

  “My … swain?”

  He grinned. “The cad whose eye you blackened. I guess you care about him more than you want to admit, eh?”

  Anne made a convincing show of maidenly consciousness, bowing her head, averting her eyes. The lieutenant chuckled, then looked over toward Jeffrey. “You’ll see she gets home?”

  “Of course,” said Jeffrey.

  Anne’s heart sank as the lieutenant turned and led his small posse out of the woods, headed for town. She wanted to call out to him, to beg him not to leave her with the monster Jeffrey had become, but she knew Jeffrey wouldn’t hesitate to implicate her if he was cornered. He was angrier with her than ever, and she thought she knew why…

  Slowly she turned and confronted him. One lantern had been left behind, and Jeffrey moved into its circle of light, standing perhaps three feet away from her. The cosmetics he wore were streaked by sweat, the blacks and whites running together for a ghoulish effect.

  “You know, don’t you?” she said.

  “That they got the wrong man?”

  Anne stuck out her chin defiantly. “Whether they got the wrong man is a matter of opinion. Bodine is a vicious rapist and murderer. He has deserved to be behind bars for a long time.”

  Jeffrey crossed his arms and took a step closer, standing straddle-legged, belligerent. “But we both know he’ll be incarcerated for crimes he didn’t commit.”

  Anne didn’t want Jeffrey to recognize how much he frightened her, but she took an involuntary step backward. “Renard’s crimes were justified. I wouldn’t even call them crimes. As I recall, you didn’t used to, either.”

  He uncrossed his arms, dropping his hands to his sides. “But I hate the man now. He’s still a hero. In your eyes, he’s an idol to worship. In fact, you’ve given him the biggest sacrifice of all—yourself. And now he’s getting off scot-free.” Jeffrey threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Dandy Delacroix is the Fox! He’s a clever one, all right. No one suspected, and now no one will ever know. It’s a closed case. Bodine is as good as locked up for life.”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone?”

  “Who would believe me with all this theatrical evidence?”

  “You’ve got the reward money, and the story. That ought to satisfy you.”

  He took one step closer. “But I’m not satisfied. Not yet. Sure, I’ve got a story, but no one will admire me for snitching on Renard. The police will be lauded and admired because they’ve been against Renard all along. But I’ll be seen as a turncoat. I helped capture a man whose life I just saved two weeks ago. Do you comprehend my dilemma? Do you see the problem with my credibility from now on? Do you see that my integrity will be in constant question?”

  “And rightly so,” Anne couldn’t help saying.

  “Yes, I’ll have to take my reward money and start fresh somewhere else—climb up from the bottom of the heap. But I’ll do it.”

  “Then you should be satisfied.”

  “No, Anne. No, I won’t be satisfied till I have one last thing. The thing that Renard had—the thing that Delacroix had, too—the thing I covet most of all. I want you.”

  “I told you, Jeffrey. I don’t love you. I don’t even—”

  He laughed, the sound harsh and cold. “I don’t want your love.” He suddenly sprang forward; grasping her arms, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. Anne was frozen with fear. “I just want this.” Then he bent his head and pressed his mouth cruelly down on hers.

  Chapter 21

  She had clamped her lips tightly together, but with his tongue and teeth, Jeffrey forced them apart, then plundered her mouth greedily. Anne thought she was going to be sick. Jeffrey’s large hands pressed her arms to her sides so she couldn’t scratch his eyes out as she dearly wanted to. Instead she twisted her head from side to side until he could no longer maintain his disgusting invasion of her mouth. He cursed and swung her around, pinning her against a tree trunk.

  “We’ve done enough kissing anyway, my little angel,” he rasped, his hot breath fanning her face. “I want some of the stuff you gave Delacroix in the garden. Or should I say Renard?” He laughed. “Do you like men in costume, Anne? Here’s your chance to prove it!”

  He yanked her arms behind her, making her cry out with pain. He held her wrists with one hand. With his other hand he grabbed her breast and squeezed painfully hard. Desperate and furious, she swiftly hiked her right knee up and caught him forcefully in the crotch. He yelped like a dog, but he didn’t let go. Face contorted with rage, he grabbed the front of Anne’s gown and ripped it, exposing her breasts to his lecherous gaze.

  Anne squeezed her eyes shut. She prayed fervently for Lucien to rescue her, as he had in the alley. Where was he now, when she needed him more than ever? Jeffrey was like a man possessed. She was afraid of more than rape; she was afraid he might end up killing her…

  There was a “whooshing” sound and a thud, like a large object falling. Then Jeffrey was literally yanked away from her. Anne opened her eyes. Lucien, dressed as Renard but without a mask, was holding Jeffrey up by the points of his collar against the trunk of another tree. This position made breathing impossible for Jeffrey, and even in the yellow glow of lantern light and through the runny coating of cosmetics, his face shone bright red.

  Lucien’s expression showed barely contained fury. “I ought to kill you, you bastard!”

  Jeffrey clawed ineffectually at Lucien’s forearms and made a choking sound.

  “Oh, you don’t want to die, do you? Well, the lady didn’t want the attentions you forced on her, either.” Lucien made a sound of disgust. “You’re no better than Bodine.”

  Clutching the tom material of her gown to cover her breasts, Anne watched as Jeffrey’s color changed from a flushed red to a deathly pallor. His eyelids fluttered. “My God, let him go, Lucien,” she whispered. “His lips are turning blue! You’re killing him!”

  “No, he’s just getting ready to pass out,” said Lucien grimly. “But I’ll put him down before that happens because I want him fully conscious to hear what I have to say. What about it, Wycliff? Are you ready to listen?”

  Bug-eyed, Jeffrey nodded. Lucien released him, and Jeffrey slumped against the tree, rubbing his neck, taking in huge, noisy gulps of air. Lucien stood over him, watching scornfully. “I want you out of New Orleans. No … I want you out of the state.”

  “Gladly,” said Jeffrey in a raspy whisper, pushing up from his slouched position. “I’ll be gone by tomorrow night. I want nothing more to do with you, or her.”

  “Watch what you say,” warned Lucien in an ominous tone. “If you do or say anything that hurts Anne, or her reputation, I’ll kill you. If you disregard this advice, and turn tail and run before I learn of your treachery, I’ll hunt you down. Do you understand, Wycliff?”

  Glaring at Lucien, rubbing his injured throat, Jeffrey reluctantly nodded again. With one last sulky glare at Anne, he staggered to his horse, mounted, and rode away toward town.

  Instantly Anne was in Lucien’s arms. With her face pressed against his chest, she said in a muffled voice, “Where did you come from?”

  He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, looking lovingly into her face. He inclined his head slightly to the side and tilted his chin, indicating the tree. “From up there.”

  “Were you there all along?” she asked, incredulous.

  “All along.”

  “You saw the police, everything that happened?”

  “Everything.”

  Anne knitted her brows. “What took you so long to get down here? You could see what Jeffrey was leading up to.”

  “Sweet Anne,” said Lucien with a sigh, an apologetic smile curving his lips
, “I’m only human. I was in the uppermost branches. I dared not start down till the posse left, and I dared not come down at a breakneck pace. If Jeffrey heard me, I might have been shot like some poor helpless tree possum.”

  Anne’s eyes widened. “Jeffrey had a pistol?”

  “Strapped to his right thigh.”

  “Why didn’t he use it just now?”

  “I took it away when I had him against the tree. I’ve got it in my back pocket.”

  “Thank God!” said Anne.

  “Yes, and thank God you didn’t get yourself killed this time. You must have a guardian angel, Anne, whose sole job through eternity is to save you from your own foolishness. How did you follow me tonight? After we parted in the garden, I watched you go inside the house. How did you know something was afoot?”

  Anne opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, but Lucien stopped her with a forefinger touched lightly to her lips. “Never mind. I know you’ve got a million excuses. I don’t want to hear them. You’ll charm me out of lecturing you, anyway.”

  Anne couldn’t help smiling, though the comers of her mouth trembled a little at the effort. It seemed like years since she’d smiled. “You’re a wonderful, incredible man, Lucien Delacroix.”

  He arched a brow. “Just a man? Not a hero? Not an idol, as Wycliff suggested?”

  Anne reached up and tenderly caressed his jaw. “You’ll always be my hero.”

  He looked away for a minute, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Even without the mask and the daring rescues?”

  Anne sensed his vulnerability, and it made her love him all the more. “Oh, Lucien, do you think Renard is all I love about you?”

  His gaze locked with hers again. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Then you’re a fool!” she scolded him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t you know that—against my will!—I fell in love with Delacroix, too?”

  Lucien grinned sheepishly. “He’s a scoundrel.”

  “I know,” she admitted, smiling back with glistening eyes. “But, mixed together, your diverse personalities make a very attractive man.”

  “An imperfect man,” he amended soberly.

  “An imperfect man who is perfect for me,” corrected Anne. She trailed her hands along his shoulders, admiring their width.

  “Then it wasn’t, as that villain Wycliff suggested, a sacrifice you gave me that night at the cabin?” Lucien said in a low voice.

  Anne’s eyes darted to his. She giggled involuntarily. “Heavens, no! I should think that was obvious!”

  “Or in the carriage, either?”

  She smiled seductively. “I sacrificed a little comfort, but I was well-recompensed in other ways.”

  He laughed and caught her in his arms again. Then he pulled back, took her face gently between his hands, and lowered his lips to hers. Sweet, tender passion flowed between them. Anne’s heart raced, and her knees felt as weak as water. She was always shaken to her toes by Lucien’s kisses, but tonight she felt a difference. There was a sort of reverence about the way he was holding her. She felt treasured, adored … loved?

  They pulled apart. Lucien’s gaze roamed her face, her hair, the substantial amount of white bosom showing above her torn gown. With his thumb he wiped away a tear that had fallen from Anne’s eyes when she’d squeezed them shut for his kiss. Finally his gaze lifted to meet hers. “Sweet Anne, my naughty angel … how I love you.”

  Anne’s heart soared like a bird just freed from a gilded cage. She had wanted to hear those words for so long! Now she knew. He loved her. He loved her! She pressed her face against his chest and smiled, the rest of her happy tears spilling out. Lucien simply held her, rocking her back and forth.

  That was how Armande found them, the angel and the outlaw, hugging each other in the midst of the cypress woods. He was leading Lucien’s horse. Lucien looked up, surprised.

  “Armande, I thought we were meeting at the split willow tree. Is something wrong?”

  “Oui, mon ami.” His eyes shifted to Anne. “There is word from Katherine. Anne must not go home.”

  She stiffened in Lucien’s arms. “What is it, Armande? Is it Uncle Reggie? Is he worse?”

  Armand nodded gravely. “Oui. He has the yellow fever.”

  Anne pressed her hand against her mouth, too stunned, too upset to speak. Reggie with yellow fever? She knew how bad it could be. She knew how many people died of that dreaded disease. She started shaking. It was too much to bear! Just when she thought all the people she loved were safe, this had to happen! Lucien tightened his arms around her, steadying her.

  “You’ll go, Armande?” said Lucien.

  “Of course. Katherine has specifically asked me to come. What will you do with Anne? Where will you take her?”

  “To the cabin tonight. Tomorrow, to Bocage.”

  Armande hesitated. A dozen obstacles to this course were probably tumbling through his brain. He mentioned the first one that came to mind. “Will your parents be there?”

  “Yes,” said Lucien. “And I want them to be there. Early tomorrow, they are returning to Bocage for a few days to plan a betrothal party for Renee.”

  Even in her present state of shock, Anne wondered at Lucien’s reasoning. How would Lucien explain her to his parents?

  “Good luck, Armande,” said Lucien. “Send Katherine my love.”

  “And mine,” said Anne weakly. “To both of them.”

  Armande nodded, then rode off. Lucien put his arm around Anne’s waist and led her to the horse. It felt good to be able to lean on him, to draw comfort from his closeness. Her happiness had been dulled by the distressing news of Reggie’s illness, but she would take solace in Lucien’s arms tonight and pray for better news on the morrow.

  When they got to the cabin, Anne was overwhelmed with memories of the night they’d spent together there two weeks before. So much had happened since then. She watched Lucien light candles, the room taking on a soft, seductive glow. He looked so handsome in his simple black clothes. Was it possible that this man—this incredible man—really loved her?

  Lucien turned and saw Anne watching him. She looked vulnerable in her torn, dirty angel’s costume, the wings twisted, the halo bent in two. But it was the question in her eyes that wrung his heart with compassion. He had withheld his confession of love from her for so long—long after she’d expressed her own devotion and commitment to him. But he hadn’t been completely sure of his feelings till tonight. He hadn’t been able to make a commitment before tonight, either—before Renard was put to rest forever. And now Anne had to be convinced that she was not just a passing fancy.

  “Come here, Anne,” he said, opening his arms to her. She came, nestling against his chest like a lost kitten.

  He took off her halo, smoothing her golden hair with his hand. “You must be tired, cher.”

  “I am, a little,” she admitted, not moving.

  “But first you need a bath, eh?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him inquiringly. “Here?”

  He chuckled. “But of course. Everything we need is here.” He took her hand and led her to a chair. “Sit and rest while I prepare your water, mademoiselle,” he teased, making a gallant bow.

  Anne looked embarrassed. “But, Lucien—”

  He lifted an admonishing finger. “No buts, Anne. I want to do this.”

  She closed her mouth and sat back, a small smile tilting her lips. Lucien dragged a large tin tub out of the corner of the room, then lighted a fire in the hearth and heated water he brought in pails from a large barrel of rainwater outside. As soon as he had enough hot water, he doused the fire to keep the cabin cool. He produced a bar of soap from the pantry cupboard and a squat, three-inch candle. Anne wondered what he was going to do with the small candle, especially when he went outside and returned with a large magnolia blossom.

  As Anne watched, Lucien nestled the candle quite securely in the deep petal
s of the blossom, lighted the candle, then set the decoration afloat in the tub full of warm water. He tossed in the soap, too, and instantly a flowery scent drifted on the air in steamy wisps.

  “Lucien,” she whispered wonderingly. “This is so romantic.”

  “Another side to me you didn’t know about, eh, cher?” he teased.

  “It might take me a while to get to know who you really are,” she admitted. “But I think I’ll like the process.”

  Lucien caught the slight tentativeness in her voice. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a little mystery in their relationship. Surprises could be very arousing. “I hope so,” he returned, moving toward her. “Now let’s get those clothes off, Anne.”

  Her eyes got as big as saucers. He was sure she was expecting a full-blown seduction, but she was in for another surprise. Slowly, carefully he undressed her. As each piece of clothing came off, he worshipped her with his eyes. He loved how her skin glowed with awareness of his nearness, the way goosebumps rose on her arms, and the way her nipples puckered and hardened with desire. But he didn’t touch her.

  He helped her into the tub, then lathered her back, massaging the tight muscles till she slumped in the tub like a drooping flower—relaxed and rosy. He soaped his hands and slid them over the long length of her smooth legs. He even bathed her feet, kneading the arch of her foot till her eyes drifted shut with pleasure.

  After the bath, he toweled her off with a cool sheet of soft muslin and put her to bed. With a light blanket tucked under her arms to hide her nakedness, she sat up in bed and brushed the tangles out of her long, beautiful hair. Through sultry, half-closed eyes, Anne watched while he undressed and quickly bathed, too. Striding completely naked to the bed, suppressing his own arousal with much difficulty, he slid in beside her. He drew her into his embrace, their warm, clean bodies fitting together as if they’d always belonged in each other’s arms. Anne’s head rested just under his chin.