She reached the Viscount just as he was seeing Perry and Danforth out the door.
“My lord, I must speak to you.”
He turned to her, a brief frown creasing his features as he ushered her silently into a small salon and closed the door firmly behind them.
“What is it you wish to say, Nicole?”
“I must be frank with you, my lord.” She paused searching for the appropriate words. “I overheard part of the conversation between you and your brother…”
“That is unfortunate.”
Ignoring his remark, she continued. “And I… I think it concerned my mother, did it not?”
“Nicole, I feel it would be best if this matter were not discussed between us at this time.”
“But there was talk of a duel, was there not?” she persisted.
“Nicole…”
“But Perry would be foolish to acknowledge the intended insult.”
“My sentiments exactly—except that the young fool called him out.”
“You… you must stop him!”
“I quite agree with you.”
“But what will you do?”
“My dear Nicole, that is my business.”
“And mine.”
“No! I do not think so. I shall handle the situation. It need not concern you further.”
“But…”
“Please let me handle the affairs of this family. I especially do not want my mother to hear of this.”
“Surely you can tell me what you intend doing.”
“No, I will not… and furthermore, in the future you will oblige me by having confidence in my judgment.”
“How can I?” She hesitated before going on. “You must be the first to admit that the Harcourts are not known for prudent judgment.”
“Touché” he laughed scornfully. “But you will have to trust me. After all, I am to be your husband. Perhaps this leopard can change his spots. Now you will have to excuse me. I have a most pressing appointment.”
Nicole watched in frustration as her fiancé walked out the door.
Chapter V
According to their arrangement Danforth met the Viscount at the Chat Noir late in the afternoon because it was at this particular gaming hell that Lord Crawley spent most of his time since his arrival in Paris. Valentin and Gordon mounted the stairs to the second floor and unobtrusively entered the gaming rooms; the Viscount noted with satisfaction that few players were as yet in evidence. A scant handful were seated at round tables where they were quietly engrossed in faro or deep basset, and the muffled sounds echoing from the next room indicated that the roulette tables were also in use. However, it was the card table at the far end of the room that commanded the Viscount’s attention. Seated at this table was the imposing figure of Lord Joseph Crawley, Valentin’s target for the evening. Crawley was a swarthy man with heavy features that bore a look of perpetual cynicism but not unattractive withal.
Nodding to various acquaintances and passing a comment with one or two others, Gordon and Valentin walked across the room until they reached the game being played by Crawley and his three comrades. Noticing the glazed look in the gambler’s dark eyes, Danforth issued a quiet warning to Valentin. “Careful, Crawley’s been drinking.” To which Valentin remarked, “All the more fitting.”
When the play was momentarily broken by one of the players’ withdrawal from the game, the Viscount immediately assumed the vacated chair at the table.
“If you don’t mind?” Valentin smiled smoothly.
“Ardsmore.” Crawley eyed the Viscount suspiciously. “I didn’t think your game was faro.”
“My skill has never been questioned, but if you have some objection…” He left the remark unfinished.
“None! None!” Crawley claimed through tight lips. “The stakes are high, however,” he taunted.
“That suits me.” Valentin leaned back in his chair and reached for his money pouch.
“Pound points then?” Crawley sneered, his hard eyes daring the Viscount to accept.
Valentin nodded curtly as Crawley broke a pack of cards. The waiter poured fresh brandy into the glasses and play was resumed.
Valentin had observed his opponent at play several times before. He knew him to be a showy player who often took risks; he himself was a cool but daring gamester. Within the hour it was apparent that luck was running in Crawley’s favor, although Valentin had been able to hold his own. Toward early evening the other players began dropping out, claiming engagements else where until only the Viscount and his antagonist were left.
Valentin shuffled the cards, the sapphire on his small finger flashing in the glowing candlelight. Crawley called for a refill of brandy and studied the contents of his glass. Then gulping a mouthful, he turned his full attention to the Viscount. Some decision seemed pending.
“Well, Ardsmore, it is just you and me now.” A meaningful sneer had crept into his voice.
“As it was meant to be.” The Viscount’s rejoinder was low and ominous.
“Do you think you can afford to continue, my lord Ardsmore?” He scooped up the cards with a slight flourish.
“I’ll manage, Crawley.” Valentin’s eyes never left Crawley’s face.
“Will you? And on what resources? Or do you play with your future bride’s prospects in mind?”
Finally the opening had come. “Perhaps you would like to explain yourself, Crawley,” Valentin questioned quietly.
“I merely remark on your coming nuptials,” he replied smugly.
“As you did yesterday for my brother’s benefit?”
“Your brother is an impudent cub who interfered in a private conversation.”
“And you are an unprincipled scoundrel for accepting the challenge of a mere boy!”
Crawley pushed back his chair, knocking it to the floor as he jumped up. “No one calls me names!” he hissed.
“I just did. You are a coward as well as a scoundrel,” Valentin taunted deliberately.
“Coward? Scoundrel?” Crawley ejaculated. “You’ll pay with your life for those words!”
Picking up his glass, Crawley dashed the contents into Valentin’s face. There was an audible gasp from the few remaining occupants of the salon. But the Viscount only smiled contemptuously as he wiped the liquid from his face.
“I believe the choice of time and weapons is mine,” he spoke drily.
“It is!” Crawley spat at him.
“Then tonight. The Field House at ten, with swords.”
“Tonight? Impossible. I am meeting your brother in the morning.”
“Either accept or be known for the coward you are.”
“Ah, so that’s your game? Very well, Ardsmore. I’ll finish you tonight and your brother in the morning. You think you’ve outfoxed me, but you haven’t. I’ve waited for this a long time,” he growled angrily.
“So have I.” Valentin’s voice was cold with contempt.
Danforth stepped between them, fearing the blazing hatred would engulf them on the spot. “Gentlemen, until tonight” Danforth managed to get Valentin across the room and down the stairs to the foyer.
“You’ve accomplished the first part of your plan,” he murmured as they donned their greatcoats and walked out of the Chat Noir.
Valentin nodded, still caught in a fever of hatred. However, once outside in the evening air his anger cooled, and he spoke matter-of-factly.
“I have to cripple that right arm of his so he can’t use it in the morning against Perry.”
“Crawley will be out for more than just the drawing of a little blood, Val. That man had murder on his mind.”
Comprehension flickered briefly in Valentin’s blue eyes. Then he shrugged. “His enmity is nothing new. Sometimes it amazes me that Crawley still harbors a grudge that neither he nor I began, and one that should have passed on with our fathers. But since he chooses not to, some day it will end in death for him or me.”
Let us pray it is not yours, Danforth thought gloomily.
>
“Come, my friend, don’t look so downhearted,” Valentin cajoled. Then, changing the subject he asked, “Tell me, how is Miss Rutherford?”
Danforth shrugged. “I have not seen her for some time, but we are expecting to settle matters between us shortly after the New Year.”
“Then you too will be entering the bonds of matrimony. Ah, what the indolent gentleman is forced to do because of finances,” he mocked himself.
“I think the beauty of your fair maid will ease the pain,” Daaforth said roguishly.
“Touché” Valentin agreed. And for the moment both men were diverted from their encounter with Crawley.
That evening at the Hotel Belmontaine, Pierre scurried into the drawing room and whispered to the Viscountess. Her eyes flew open and she cast a worried glance at Nicole. Then rising stiffly from her chair, she issued a curt order to both Nicole and Cecily who were watching her. “Wait here. I shall return momentarily.” Lady Eleanore preceded Pierre out of the room.
Eyeing each other expectantly, Cecily rose and tiptoed to the door, opening it a fraction. Nicole could not resist the temptation to follow Cecily’s lead. Peering through the crack, Cecily gasped as Nicole reached her side. “It’s Tessa Von Hoffman!”
Over Cecily’s shoulder, Nicole glimpsed a rather tall dark-haired woman whose rich attire and haughty manner exuded an aura of glamor. She was gesticulating vigorously with one hand, but her voice was low and tremulous and her words were indistinct. Her tirade was apparently halted by Lady Eleanore, for the visitor was seen to pout haughtily and draw herself up with disdain.
Cecily eased the door shut and leaned against it eyeing Nicole slyly. Crossing to the fireplace before speaking, Nicole turned her steady gaze onto Cecily and asked, “Who is Tessa Von Hoffman?”
“Gracious, all these weeks and you still haven’t heard of the, beautiful widow?”
Nicole hesitated before replying. Cecily’s desire to have Nicole question her about the woman was transparent. Nicole forced herself to respond calmly as she seated herself in a wing-backed chair beside the fireplace. “No, so why don’t you tell me since you seem to be so well informed.”
“Perhaps I should not.” Cecily contemplated the nails of her right hand and eyed Nicole stealthily under downcast lids.
“Then do not,” Nicole retorted with some resolution. Intuition warned her she would be better off not knowing.
Still Cecily baited her. “Well, I suppose I ought to tell you. I mean—you really should know. After all, it does concern you directly.”
Nicole clasped her hands together before insisting with some impatience.
“Either get to the point, Cecily, or don’t bother telling me.”
“Well,” said Cecily, enjoying herself, “Karen Wexford, who knows just about everybody, says that Tessa Von Hoffman has been seen everywhere with Valentin.”
Nicole would not be drawn in. Shrugging her shoulders and holding Cecily’s gaze she asked, “So?”
Aggravated by Nicole’s indifferent manner, Cecily gave up the cat-and-mouse game and cried, “It’s common knowledge that she came back from Vienna with him.”
Except for her tightly clasped hands, Nicole remained outwardly calm. This is what she had suspected. “Rumors don’t concern me, Cecily. There is always gossip.”
Cecily cut in, “Oh for heaven’s sake, Nicole. Must I really spell it out for you?” Cecily came to stand over Nicole.
“I do not wish to hear any more,” Nicole protested, trying to rise, but Cecily placed a firm hand on her shoulder as she sneered, “Well, you’re going to.” And taking her hand off Nicole’s shoulder, she let the bitter, jeering words drop into the silence that had sprung up between them. “Tessa Von Hoffman is Valentin’s mistress!”
Nicole bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering and stared determinedly up into Cecily’s gloating face.
“Does it really shock you, my dear? You’ve grown quite pale. I don’t see why it should. After all, you and the Viscount are hardly a love match. It’s only a marriage of convenience,” Cecily taunted viciously.
Stung beyond endurance, Nicole retorted through bloodless lips, “That’s right. That’s all it is.” She continued to meet Cecily’s malicious glare steadily.
Still trying to inflict pain, Cecily cried, “Then you surely don’t expect him to remain faithful to you?”
Nicole refused to respond to any further venomous taunts. Already tormented by jealousy, she would never let Cecily know how hurt she was.
Her moment of triumph rapidly fading, Cecily withdrew to the window and stared moodily outside. Baiting Nicole was rather useless. Impossible to believe, but Nicole seemed to care nothing for Valentin. It was she, Cecily Fairfax, who agonized over his affairs. How she hated Nicole and her apparent indifference!
The muffled rattle of wheels and horses’ hooves brought Cecily out of her reflections. “She’s leaving. Aunt Eleanore certainly made short work of her.”
Nicole’s wilting body snapped to attention as the Viscountess entered the room. She had never seen the lady look so haggard. The usually taut facial muscles sagged, revealing the tell-tale lines of age about her mouth and eyes. What had taken place between her and Tessa Von Hoffman? Nicole felt a surprising rush of pity for the older woman. Yet she waited in strained silence for her to speak. However, even after seating herself before the fire, Lady Eleanore did not satisfy their curiosity.
But Cecily could bear it no longer and blurted out, “What did she want?”
“Be still!” Lady Eleanore’s voice cracked with exasperation.
“Aunt, everyone knows about Valentin and the merry widow.”
“Cecily!” Lady Eleanore hissed and turned an anxious glance to Nicole.
Having recovered her composure by this time, Nicole commented quietly, “You need not fear my reaction. I am well aware of the circumstances surrounding this marriage.”
Flustered only momentarily, the Viscountess replied, “Yes, well, it is a wise woman who does not plague a man for his past indiscretions. I am certain that the Viscount knows nothing about this… intrusion. It was a most unfortunate incident. Nevertheless, it is the future that must concern you. Once you are married to Ardsmore I’m sure you and he will handle the matter to everyone’s satisfaction.” The lady sighed wearily.
Never would Nicole accept with resignation another woman in Valentin’s life. Even if he were discreet, and it was accepted behavior by the beau monde. But she held her tongue, too disturbed by the knowledge of Tessa Von Hoffman to argue.
A rap on the door brought all three women to attention. However, they all relaxed at the sight of Madame Lafitte.
“Excuse me,” she said softly. “It grows late and I was wondering whether I was needed any more this evening.” She looked anxiously at Nicole.
“We were just about to retire, madame. Perhaps Nicole wishes something.” Lady Eleanore was once more in command of herself and the situation.
Cecily’s voice called across the room. “But you haven’t told us why that woman had the nerve to come here!”
Lady Eleanore hesitated before answering Cecily’s in sistent demand. “It… has all been taken care of.”
“You had best tell us, Lady Eleanore, for none of us shall be able to rest until you do,” Nicole demanded in turn.
The Viscountess paused and looked agitated once more. “Oh, very well, my son… Valentin, at this very moment is about to engage in a duel.”
“Oh, God,” Nicole cried—all forgotten but Valentin’s safety.
“And Madame Von Hoffman wished me to stop it.”
“You? Incredible. How?” They all spoke at once.
“Exactly! To think I would interfere in a matter of honor.”
“But why is Val involved in a duel?” Cecily questioned anxiously.
“It is all Perry’s fault,” Lady Eleanore stated.
“No, that is not true,” Nicole whispered almost inaudibly. The three ladies stared at her. “I am the cause.�
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“You! But how?” Lady Eleanore demanded.
“The past still haunts us, Cousin Eleanore.” Nicole’s voice cracked.
“The past?” Lady Eleanore paused, then shook her head as comprehension dawned: “You mean…”
“Yes, yes, Sylvie Harcourt, my mother. The poor lady still cannot rest in peace,” Nicole cried in anguish.
“Hush child, don’t become hysterical.”
“Your son might be killed over a scandal that should have died years ago. Oh dear Lord, what is the use? It shall never work.” Nicole closed her eyes and hung her head dejectedly.
“Now stop that talk, Nicole!” Lady Eleanore stormed. She crossed the room to sit beside the girl, a bright, brittle smile on her face. “Everything will be all right. Why, I have the greatest confidence in Ardsmore. Lord Crawley,” she snapped her fingers, “is no match for him. You shall see.” Mentally she shook off her own fears for the Viscount’s safety. “Believe me, I know my son.” She clasped Nicole’s hand with one of her own.
Startled, Nicole did not know how to respond. To accept it as a genuine gesture of comfort would be reassuring, but how could she trust this woman who so coldly planned the marriage of her son to a woman he did not love?
Before Nicole could decide what to do, Cecily broke in. “But how can we just wait and not know…” Cecily did not need to complete her question.
“I have already sent Pierre to the Chat Noir for the information we seek. Until then we must wait,” the Viscountess stated firmly. “Madame Lafitte, if you will read to us, I think the time will pass more quickly.”
The flickering torchlight and the wintry moon cast long eerie shadows across the freshly fallen snow and lent a disquieting effect to the restless figures gathering in the courtyard of the Field House.
Sweet Bravado Page 5