Out of the Dark

by Jennifer Blake

  Madame Decoulet favored him with a smile that was crimped at the edges. “I trust you will not regard my questions. I should be failing in my duty if I did not make some effort to discover the nature of your interest. To raise my poor stepdaughter’s hopes only to disappoint them would not be a kindness.”

  “That is not my intention,” he said with the surface politeness that often came to his rescue when his patience was most strained.

  “Indeed?” The woman gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  Lucien was not particularly gratified by her approval. He had few illusions about his eligibility as a future husband.

  Brought up by a harsh and overbearing father, he had spent a large portion of his younger years proving to all and sundry how unaffected he was by frequent applications of the whip. Then had come the string of duels, with the bitter feelings and whispered epithets that went with them. The only thing that had ended his wild career had been the deaths of his father and elder brother in a steamboat accident. Responsibility for his father’s vast holdings in land and real estate, in addition to the well-being of a younger brother and sister, had finally sobered him.

  Parents among the French aristocracy of New Orleans took careful note of such a wild past, however. It did not give him a good opinion of Madame Decoulet to realize she was willing to welcome a libertine, gamester, and notorious duelist into the family in order to be rid of her stepdaughter.

  His manner was barely polite as he spoke again. “Given your relationship to the lady, I quite understand that other matters take precedence over her welfare in your eyes. Should the situation warrant at a later date, it will naturally be my pleasure to discuss the matter with someone more closely related.”

  The bosom of the woman who sat on the salon’s settee across from him swelled with indignation as she took his point. She contained herself, however, most likely because giving rein to her annoyance might lose her a possible parti for Anne-Marie. Through stiff lips, she said, “You will discover that her father is guided by me in these matters.”

  “Nevertheless, there may be explanations required which I prefer to make to her natural guardian. Consider it a personal preference, if you like.”

  “As you wish.” The tone of the words did not match their content.

  He inclined his head. “If you are satisfied then, Madame, I will repeat my earlier inquiry: Is Mademoiselle Decoulet at home?”

  “She is about the place somewhere,” the stepmother snapped. “With such an odd girl it’s difficult to say where she might be at any given moment.”

  “Yet you have the responsibility for watching over her,” Lucien suggested with acid in his voice. “I assume she is not close by or you would have sent for her before now. If you would be so kind as to give me her general direction, I will save you the trouble of a search.”

  “You must do as you please,” Madame Decoulet said through pinched lips. “It’s possible you may run her to earth if you care to walk in the direction of the barns; there was some mention of a new litter of kittens. Don’t blame me, however, if the effort is for nothing.”

  “Certainly not,” he said, rising to his feet with a short bow. “I’m sure you are anxious for me to discover her.”

  Lucien did not find her at the barn, nor at the stable, the plantation hospital, the nursery, or the dairy. She was not in the kitchen garden or any other place a daughter of the house might be expected to visit. Still, he was able to inspect all these places in the course of his rounds, as well as the cooperage and the sugar mill. The exercise was sufficient to gauge the extent of the holdings owned by her father.

  Their size and prosperous condition suggested a reason her stepmother was so anxious to have Anne-Marie off her hands. The young lady would doubtless be heiress to a considerable fortune one day unless Madame Decoulet could find a way to separate her from her father. The circumstances meant little to Lucien, since he had no need for a wealthy bride, but it seemed that the young lady was in need of a strong husband to look after her interests.

  It was his experience that plantation children were always aware of everything worth knowing about what went on around a place. Since he had collected an escort of at least a dozen grinning youngsters, he finally resorted to asking for information about their young mistress. Several knew where to find her; that much was plain to see. It was also obvious they were not inclined to part with the information.

  “What you want with her?”

  The question came from a sturdy young black boy with a pugnacious stare. Lucien was diverted at having his intentions questioned again, this time from what appeared to be true concern. He lifted a brow. “I am paying a courtesy call, or trying my poor best. It’s customary after a ball, you know.”

  “You courting Mam’zelle?” There was no relenting in the dark, liquid gaze.

  Was he? Lucien was beginning to wonder. “Now that I can’t tell you. It’s remotely possible.”

  “Maybe she don’t want to see you. Maybe she don’t want to see no menfolks a-tall.”

  The questioner put his fists on his hips and pushed out his bottom lip. It seemed that Mademoiselle Decoulet had a protector. Lucien said quietly, “If she doesn’t want to see me, then I will go away again. I will not hurt your Mam’zelle, I promise.”

  The boy considered that for some seconds before he gave a short nod. “I’ll show the way. But Mam’zelle must say if she wants you.”

  That thought had intriguing possibilities. “What are we waiting for? Lead on, my friend.”

  “Name’s James.” Without waiting for more, the boy whirled and made off at a fast pace.

  The way led across the wide pasture that lay behind the barn, then across a creek and down through the woods. The boy James barreled through tall grass, weeds gone to seed, briars, and vines like a puppy on a home trail. Lucien fought his way past the impediments with the help of the sword cane he wore in place of a dress cane, but was ruefully aware of sacrificing his favorite boots to the quest.

  Topping a small rise after some minutes of walking, they came to a clearing under the shaded canopy of tall oaks. At the edge was a spring with mossy banks around which grew ferns so thick they blanketed the ground in rich, vibrant green. Cool and secluded, stippled by the sunlight striking through the foliage overhead, it was a perfect retreat. There they found Anne-Marie.

  She was frolicking in the middle of the clearing, running and tussling with what appeared to be a large dog. An instant later, Lucien caught his breath as he saw that the animal was no dog, but the shining black panther from the night before.

  The sun through the trees made a golden halo around her hair that spilled in loose waves down her back. It touched the skin of her face with the shimmering translucence of pearls. As she ran and romped in an old day gown that was minus hoops and petticoats, the light outlined the shape of her body with gentle fidelity. The pale nonentity of the night before, with the tight coiffure and tighter manners, had been replaced by a wood nymph.

  Free and graceful as that classical spirit of the forests, the turns of her arms, the curves of waist and hips, had a natural comeliness that surpassed mere beauty. Her smiles were quick and without shadow, her laugh rang out with the clear sweet sound of untrammeled joy.

  At the same time, there was a fey quality about her, something not quite of the mundane world with its worries about money and conventional behavior. It was not simply that she had no fear of the wild beast at her feet, but rather that she celebrated the wildness of its nature, and of her own.

  Lucien was lost in that moment. What’s more, he had the sense to know it even if could not help himself. It was a supreme irony, he thought, that after all the wiles and traps avoided over the years he must succumb to a female who not only had no use for him, but who actually despised him.

  A part of it was the challenge she represented, yes. But far greater was the invisible effect she exerted on his imagination and his emotions by her rare courage and spirit. These were things he had felt
as he looked into her face the night before. They had only been reinforced as he watched her protect and defend the maligned wild creature that had come among them.

  She was magnificent yet warm and human with it. He felt her attraction as a silent, irresistible beckoning. Like the great black cat he had wanted to move in as close as possible to her, to kiss her hand, even to eat from it, and never again to stray beyond the radius of her incomparable smile.

  Madness.

  She wanted nothing to do with him. She might have accepted his aid the one time, but she had no use for his hand or his kiss. He wondered what it would take to make her want them. And him.

  There was nothing he had ever desired in his life so much as he wanted now to come close to her wildness, to be touched by it and to answer it with the release of his own unfettered passion.

  A low rumble sounded behind him. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he recognized the sound. He had noticed moments before that the panther had left the clearing, fading into the woods. He turned with slow deliberation now to face the beast that had circled around to stalk him.

  “No, Satan!”

  It was Anne-Marie who had issued that sharp command. She came toward them at a run, with a hectic wash of color across her cheekbones and laughter warring with concern in her eyes. As she met his incredulous frown, she stopped abruptly and dropped her skirts about her ankles. All expression died from her face. She lifted her chin.

  Silence descended as they stood in a frozen tableau. For a single instant Lucien felt unendurably foolish as he and the boy James were held at bay by the panther while Anne-Marie stood with her hair floating around her and surveying them like a queen disturbed in her private quarters.

  In dawning chagrin, he recognized the reason for her humor as his brain began abruptly to function again. He spoke with resignation. “Your pet, I presume?”

  “You might call him so,” she answered cautiously.

  “I’m delighted to hear it since I have no wish to be his noonday meal.”

  She smiled, a slow blossoming. The words soft, she said, “He doesn’t eat his defenders.”

  Lucien felt as if he had received a great and long-coveted honor. And standing there, he vowed that he would have the lady also.

  He was not proud, nor was he overly scrupulous. He would win her, no matter how long it took. No, nor what means he must use to achieve it.

  “Did I do right, Mam’zelle?”

  It was young James who asked it, an anxious frown on his face as he looked up at her for reassurance. Concern for the boy’s feelings released Anne-Marie from her preoccupation. She would not have had him bring this particular man to her here for the world, but she could not let him know it.

  Speaking almost at random, she said, “Yes, yes, you did fine.”

  “You want him then?” the boy insisted.

  She saw the flicker of brief enjoyment in Lucien Roquelaire’s eyes. Unbelievably flustered, she lifted her hands to her hair, catching its fullness to wind it hastily into a knot at her nape; this she held with one hand while she searched in her pocket for her pins. Head bent so she need look at neither man nor boy, she spoke to James. “Never mind. You had best return to the house before you’re missed from your kitchen duties.”

  As the boy moved off with reluctant steps away, Lucien spoke. “I regret the intrusion if it upsets you, and apologize for it. Regardless, I would not have missed this revelation. Tell me how you tamed my namesake.”

  “He isn’t—that is, he was named long before—” She stopped as she saw the amusement in his eyes and realized explanations were unnecessary. Drawing a deep breath, she said instead, “You may have escaped Satan, Monsieur, but you run a much graver risk by showing even a slight interest in my welfare. My stepmother will leap at once to— In short, if you are found here alone with me, you will be compromised.”

  “Is that all it would take?” he inquired with a lifted brow.

  “I don’t speak in jest.” The words were sharp.

  “I am aware,” Lucien said with fleeting irony. “We have met, your stepmother and I.”

  “Then you can see it would be advisable for you to go at once.”

  He smiled. “I seldom follow advice. Besides, I believe it’s too late to avoid a certain amount of speculation, and you can’t expect me to leave until you have explained.”

  “About Satan? It happened much as you might suppose.” She moved away from him to a huge red oak nearby where she turned to lean her shoulders against it with her wrists crossed behind her back and her hands flat on the cool bark.

  “I imagine he was an orphan,” he said as he restored his sword cane to its sheath. Resting it on the toe of his boot, he waited for an answer.

  “I heard him crying from the house and found him here. Hunting the big swamp cats is considered great sport, you know. Often it’s a female with kits that is killed.”

  “But most animals rescued in that fashion return to the wild; there is no help for it. How is it you retained your Satan’s fidelity?”

  “I found him here in this place nearly two years ago, and here he remained. I joined his den, you might say, bringing food, making him warm and comfortable in familiar surroundings instead of taking him back to the house. He grew away from me, of course, especially this winter while we were in New Orleans; I had hardly caught a glimpse of him this summer. He is so much larger I was not sure it was he when I first saw him last evening. But he came, I think, because he was hurt and hungry and still looks to me for safety and comfort.”

  “Wise animal,” Lucien said. “You have been tending his injury this morning?”

  She nodded. “The paw was not as bad as I feared. I cleaned it and applied a salve, but I believe he has licked it all away.” She paused. “Monsieur Roquelaire—”

  “I would be honored if you would address me by my given name.” The look in his brown-gold eyes was steady as he awaited her reaction.

  “Monsieur Roquelaire,” she repeated with some emphasis. “We are not close acquaintances, nor are we likely to be. I was just going to say that you are free to go, now that you have paid your duty visit. Please don’t let me keep you.”

  “And what if I prefer to be—kept?”

  An odd fullness pressed against her throat so that it ached. She swallowed with difficulty. “There is no obligation to continue with your gallantry, sir. I am suitably grateful for the effort you have made, but I’m sure you have duties elsewhere. I bid you a good day.”

  His smile was wry. “I understand you want to be rid of me, but if I go now, will you permit me to call on you again in more formal circumstances?”

  “I have warned you of the consequences.”

  “And the warning was duly registered. If I should dare to brave your dragon of a stepmother, is it possible you will see me?”

  She opened her mouth, but had no idea what she meant to say until a single blunt word emerged. “Why?”

  His expression turned wary, though it was a momentary lapse. “You are an unusual young woman, and I would very much enjoy the opportunity to further our acquaintance.”

  “You mean I am an oddity you wish to inspect at greater leisure.”

  “I mean,” he said deliberately, “that I am intrigued by you. The leisure to become acquainted seems the next step.”

  “Toward what object?” she inquired.

  Exasperation crossed his face, and he ran a square, competent hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled. “What do you expect?”

  “I can’t imagine,” she said in clipped tones, “which is the reason I am asking.”

  “Suppose I said matrimony.”

  “Impossible.” She closed her lips tightly upon the word.

  He eyed her with the stiffness of distrust. “Impossible to believe, or impossible to contemplate?

  “Both,” she snapped, turning her head away from him to stare out through the trees.

  He took a swift step that brought him within arm’s length. “What if I
could convince you I mean what I say?”

  “Then I will tell you plainly that I have no high regard for a rake as a possible husband.” She turned back to him with a defiant stare. “A man who will keep me with child while he spends his time drinking, gaming, and pursuing other women is not my idea of bliss.”

  A shadow crossed his face, and its darkness lingered in his eyes. “You don’t want children?”

  “I would be delighted,” she said scornfully, “if they could be brought into the world by a father who truly cares for their welfare—or else without a man at all.”

  He tilted his head. “What of the pleasures of the marriage bed? I would not mention such a topic to a lady ordinarily, but your comment did glance upon it.”

  “A trifling matter,” she returned with a flare of color on her cheekbones. “At least, it appears so to me compared with the outcome of it. As my father’s housekeeper these last few years, tending the birthings in the plantation quarters has fallen to my lot. More than that, I watched my mother give birth year after year, burying pieces of her heart with the stillborn infants, all for lack of consideration in her husband. Then her few living children died one by one until only I was left, and I was not enough to hold her. And within weeks of removing the widower’s arm band from his sleeve, my father set another woman in her place.”

  “I am to be denied because your father was not worthy of the woman he married?” He reached out with apparent aimlessness to brace a hand on the tree trunk beside her.

  Blinking as if she had not considered that possibility, she said, “My father wasn’t—that is, he is at the mercy of his male nature.”

  “No,” Lucien said with finality. “It isn’t the nature of a man to use his wife without regard for her health and comfort, or to fail in supporting her. That excuse is only a convenience for a weak man.”