Fara frowned, too weary to be flattered. “But, he is not well yet. He is not awake.”
“No. But, he is better. He will be alert in a day or so, I should think.” He sidestepped Eric, and then approached her, gently grasping her arms. “You are looking pale and thin. You have been vigilant for far too long. Eric should have encouraged you to join us on deck more.”
Fara nodded. “He did try, Monsieur, but I was stubborn. It's because of me that Capitaine--”
“I know. Any good man would have done the same. You must be very grateful, but now you must think of your own health. Eric, if you would send some food from the galley for Mademoiselle Bellamont?”
“Of course.” Grant's manservant left the cabin to see to this need.
The doctor touched her head in a gesture that seemed fatherly. “The captain will be fine now, I promise. Can I persuade you to accompany me on deck? The sun would do you some good.”
She nodded. Her spirits lifted from his learned assurance, she let him lead her upstairs. Over the meal, the crew tried to keep her spirits up with yarns of their many adventures. Her mind, however, kept drifting to her so-called fiancé. Monsieur Bordeaux must be confronted, she thought. What he had done to Grant was inexcusable. She had been aboard La Voyageur for little over a week and no one had mentioned anything about the man who'd challenged their captain. It was time to do something about this.
That evening, Fara emerged after bathing. She dressed in a pale green gown and piled her auburn locks atop her head in a coronet. She had a brief moment of pride for managing without a lady's maid. She sought out Grant's valet to question him and found him on the ship's deck. From his hesitance in providing details, she knew he had information. “You found the location? Show me this man from the duel.”
“Mademoiselle, that is not a wise plan. It is getting late--”
“Do not argue with a lady, Eric. He nearly killed your captain, did he not? Take me to see him.”
He nodded gravely, but still frowned. “I have no carriage for you, Mademoiselle. Shall I send for a hired hack?”
She shook her head. “There is no time. What else can we use?”
He pointed to two beautiful Arabian horses tied up by the dock. “Do you ride?”
She grinned, wondering how Grant had acquired those. They would be stolen if they weren't taken care of. “Of course I do.”
Eric nodded and escorted her to the destriers. He helped her onto one of the destrier's backs and tried to hide a smile as she mounted the horse not like a lady, but like a man.
As he swung into his own saddle, she quipped, “Come now, Eric. We're on a mission! Try not to regard me as a lady. Agreed?”
He shook his head briefly, but relented. “Oui, Mademoiselle.”
Fara clucked her tongue and dug her heels into the destrier and Eric rushed to catch up with her. “Where is the place, Eric?” she shouted over the hoof beats.
He pushed his destrier close to hers. “I'll lead the way!”
She nodded and followed him down the streets of La Rochelle. When Eric pulled up outside a tall house lighted delicately, she stopped beside him. “This is it?”
“Oui,” he replied.
“I know you do not believe I should be here, but I must see him…”
“There are other reasons I believe you should not be here, Mademoiselle,” he said, gesturing to a man and woman who were leaving the house.
Fara squinted in the darkness to see the gentleman handling the girl less than delicately. He squeezed her breast while muttering something, and then he slapped her across the face. The woman cried out and fell to the ground. “Mon Dieu,” Fara breathed. “What is this place?”
“This is a gentleman's club, Mademoiselle. Several dames de la nuit are provided for the men to keep them content. This is just a poor example of how a man might treat a woman who gives her favors easily.”
A poor example, indeed? What else might a man be capable of? She remembered the bruise she'd acquired at the docks the night Grant had dispensed with those ruffians. A man could certainly take a woman for granted, as if she was only good for his pleasure.
Fara shivered, and then her fear turned to anger. Men thought they could do nearly anything they desired! No, she wouldn't be afraid. She would confront Monsieur Bordeaux and then leave this Godforsaken place. “Come, Eric. We have business to tend to.” He swung off the destrier's back and helped her down. They tied off the horses quickly. She headed for the house while Eric trailed after her.
Fara had no plan as she stepped inside the house, and she knew that was the bigger mistake than having come inside the club. She glanced around. Several gentlemen seated at hard wood tables tested their skills at card games. Others sat around, chatting and smoking cigars. Girls dressed in brightly colored gowns or provocative outfits that consisted of corsets and pantaloons -- hardly more than undergarments -- hung on most of the men's arms or lingered close, whispering in one or both of their ears. A bar stretched along one wall, a bartender standing behind it. A stairway followed up both sides of the room, climbing to the next floor. On the stairs, the same scantily clad women leaned on the banister or led men up to their doom. Simple prostitutes. Disgusting.
Fara suddenly felt out of place. She was a lady, not a dame de la nuit. A gentleman's club would never accept a woman of her stature. But, she might as well find the man and be done with it. Eric lingered at her side, acting as her servant. He couldn't do much else than protect her. It was her decision; therefore she had to find her fiancé. A woman carrying a set of drinks passed in front of her. “Pardon me? May I ask you something?”
The woman hesitated but looked Fara over with curiosity. “Ask away, doll. But you seem a little young to be setting foot in this place.”
“I was wondering if you knew of Monsieur Bordeaux's whereabouts…?”
She grinned. “Oh, that one. He usually stays in the back room. Entertains the ladies, if you get my meaning.” She tipped her thumb over her shoulder in that direction.
“Ah. Merci.”
“Sure thing, doll. Are you sure you're in the right place?”
Fara smiled. “Oui.”
The woman shrugged and went to serve her drinks.
Fara glanced around and noticed a closed door near the back of the room. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin by several degrees. “Come, Eric.” She headed toward the back room only to be snagged by a man seated at a card table. He looked rather familiar.
“Surely you came for me, looking all innocent and easy on the eyes…”
“No, Monsieur, you are mistaken.” She strained against his hold, but searched the youth in his features. He had grown a beard, but he was the same. Recognition came, followed by rage. “Why, Monsieur Le Croíx, it was so kind of you to leave me alone at the altar.” Not to mention how he'd set her up.
He stiffened considerably and there was a rumble of comments from the gentlemen at the table. It certainly made him look bad, to have left a lady alone at any time. “Fara?” he choked.
“Oui, Jean. I demand you release me at once or my valet will have your head.”
His eyes flicked to Eric, whose rapier suddenly found its way into the open. Eric lifted his eyebrows, chuckling as if he found the thought interesting. Jean let go of her instantly and stammered, “I'm sorry, Mademoiselle.” The man stared at her, but obviously he had more sense than to ask why she was in a gentleman's club. Besides, he had dropped from society for months. She could call attention to his nefarious schemes as well as he could hers.
“Forget it.” She turned away and headed for the closed door. When she reached it, she heard a man clearing his throat behind her. Eric.
“Petite,” he warned. “I'm sure the both of us can imagine what you'll find in there. It will be all right, though, if you decide to turn back.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Merci, Eric. But this must be done.” She turned the knob and opened the door. Inside the room lay a bed accompanied by two c
hairs. Two women, clothed as much as the ones in the main room, were seated, watching the display. A hideous display indeed, as a naked man and woman lay in the bed and the man viciously plundered the woman's body. But no, she did not seem to be in pain. She moaned and held him against her in mindless desire.
Though Fara was not accustomed to such acts, she had heard talk from servants in the past. She took a deep breath, cleared her throat audibly, and placed her hands on her hips.
The man stilled in his action. His head swiveled around, and his cold brown eyes pierced her. “Can I help you?”
“I'm not sure we've met yet. I suppose we should have, but--”
“I'm sorry,” he interrupted her. “I am in the middle of something here. Unless you're waiting for your turn?” He gestured with his head toward the seated women and grinned.
So he fancied himself as a ladies' man. She seriously doubted him on that account. Regardless of the women present, it certainly did nothing to raise her opinion of him. “Oh. No, Monsieur. I do have a question, however.”
“What's that?”
“Why did you challenge Capitaine Hill to a duel?”
He scoffed. “It was hardly a duel.”
“Then you admit you meant to harm him?”
“Only slightly.” He frowned, and then pulled away from his companion to cover himself with the bedclothes. From the look on his face, he knew her conversation was going to take longer than he'd expected. “Who are you?” he asked softly, but his eyes were still cold.
His indifference irked her. If they had been forced to wed, she doubted the marriage would have been a happy one. He probably would not have lasted the wedding night, she mused, considering her views about offish men. Then again, she wouldn't really have a choice in that situation.
She looked at the women in the room. They glared at her, as if she'd interrupted them. She supposed she had interrupted the evening's entertainment. “I apologize, Monsieur, for disturbing you. I am Mademoiselle Bellamont.”
His eyes widened and he cursed. “I am sorry you had to come to a place like this to speak with me, Mademoiselle. I promise to make myself more available from now on.”
She waved his words away. “I only came here about the duel. You nearly killed him.”
He nodded grimly. “Oui, however, if you had spoken to any witnesses, you would have discovered the duel was about you.”
Just as she had figured. She was, after all, the only connection Grant had to Nicholas. Fara shook her head. “You did not even know me, Monsieur.”
“You are my fiancé. I do not have to know you to fight for you.”
She groaned. “We are not betrothed--”
“But, aren't we, Mademoiselle? I thought your uncle made that clear.” He sneered. “Why do you think I challenged Capitaine Hill?”
She took a deep breath. “You were wary of losing your part of the bargain, I suppose. Yet, Monsieur, you never acted once as a fiancé might. You forget I had one before, if only briefly.”
“Oui, you may be right. I have not played your escort or even paid a visit to your home.”
“No,” she agreed. “None of that matters now. You had no right to confront him. It was no business of yours. And besides, Capitaine Hill has been respectful toward me. There was no reason to challenge him.”
“Was there not? He is not a legal guardian.”
She did not bother to answer him. He might be right, but that didn't mean his behavior was not still in question.
“I shall make my neglect up to you, Mademoiselle.”
“That isn't necessary.”
“I think it is, Fara Bellamont.”
She sighed. He would not be swayed, it seemed; nonetheless, who she married was now her decision and she needed time to decide. She couldn't help thinking his words carried a mild threat. She shivered. “I must be going.”
“Perhaps I shall call on you in a day or so?”
Disgusted by the company he kept, she tried to be nonchalant. “Perhaps, Monsieur. Dames,” she nodded to the women, “adieu.” Fara closed the door as she left the room. She survived leaving the establishment as well. Monsieur Le Croíx kept his gaze focused on his cards, never once making a move on her again. Once outside, Eric helped her to mount the destrier and turned to swing onto the other's back.
He put a hand briefly on her arm. “Please, Mademoiselle. Tell me you do not trust that man.”
“It is none of your concern, Eric.”
“Isn't it? Capitaine Hill--”
“Your maitre must not know we visited this place.”
“But, Mademoiselle--”
“Listen to me, Eric. I will tell him when it is necessary. He must not know otherwise.” She sighed. “We both know he would be very troubled I took it upon myself to find Monsieur Bordeaux. Especially since he had intended to somehow help me rid myself of that man.”
“Oui,” he agreed reluctantly. Then he kicked his horse into a gallop, looking back to make sure she followed, and led her in a moderate pace back to the ship.
After a change into a white nightgown, she made her way down the hall to Grant's cabin. She opened the door, set down her lamp, and sat on the edge of the mattress. Her gaze followed every line of his body, bronzed by the sun, and she sighed both in delight and perplexity. “Grant,” she whispered. “I did something crazy tonight. I went to see Monsieur Bordeaux. Unfortunately, I caught him at a bad time and still I demanded reasons for what he did to you. I almost wish I had been at that duel. What was said? What did you argue about?”
He shifted his position on the cot and she reached to feel his forehead. He was not burning up, as before, but only a little warm to the touch. Her experience with men was limited, but she knew they were less likely to catch a chill than women. She had learned that from her nursemaid.
“Grant, why did you accept his challenge? But, no matter. I am somehow connected to that man. I'm certain I could never get along with him. He's a hard man. He reminds me of my uncle. So arrogant.” She laughed bitterly. “Perhaps that is why he chose him as a suitor. He finally had found someone he could relate with.” She shook her head sadly. “Well. Goodnight then. Sleep well, Capitaine Hill. Perhaps there will be angels in your dreams tonight.”
She smiled and leaned close to press her lips to his temple. “Goodnight.” As she pulled away, she felt him stir.
“Fara,” he moaned softly, but then went still again. He remained in the darkness induced by his ailment.
She swallowed the urge to cry, and then took her lamp and left the room quietly.
Chapter Nine
Fara was not decent when Eric came running into her temporary cabin the next morning and shook her awake. “Mademoiselle!”
Her eyes snapped open and focused on him. “Eric?”
“You must come. It's Maitre!”
She gasped. Something had happened to Grant. “Is he--”
“No, no. Come see for yourself though.”
She nodded. “I must change.”
“Now, Mademoiselle. It is a thing to see!” He bounded out of the room then, seemingly oblivious to her state of dishabille.
Fara, perplexed, threw back the bedclothes, and reached for her dressing sacque. Fastening it at the front, between her breasts, she stepped into her slippers and started down the hall while running her fingers roughly through her tangled curls. When she reached Grant's cabin, she stopped short, shocked, in the doorway.
Grant sat up in bed, grumbling about the way his men were milling around him. He also complained about the physician, who was redressing his wound. When Grant's gaze fixed on her, his eyebrows snapped together. “What the hell is she doing here?”
She frowned. It was not the time for him to be upset when he was just getting over an illness. His mood was sour, it seemed. A part of her couldn't blame him, and in a way, she was responsible for how he felt. “Eric, please take the men outside whilst I update your captain on the current situation.”
Eric nodded. “Oui, Made
moiselle.” With a small gesture, the rest of the crew reluctantly followed him out the door.
“Why are you here?” Grant whispered, running his tongue over his fever-chapped lips.
She stepped closer to the bed. “I was informed after the duel. Eric practically begged me to come...” When he frowned, she went on. “He seemed to think I could perform some miracle on you. Nothing else seemed to accomplish the task.”
“There was a fever then?”
“Oui,” she agreed.
“During the fever, what did I say?”
She smiled. “You were aware of my presence, I think. You said nothing else.”
His eyes searched her face for moments and then he looked away. “Oui, I somehow knew you were here.”
“It is good that you are feeling better. Perhaps I can rest now.”
His sudden grip on her wrist conveyed self-conflict. “If I kept you from sleeping...”
“You didn't...I mean, I was worried that you would not wake up.” She did not tell him that she would have wanted to die if he had taken a turn for the worse. She sighed. “About Nicholas…”
“Forget the man. He challenged me, that's all.”
She tried to smile. “I believe he was jealous.”
“Perhaps. It is a pity that you are still tied to him in some way.”
She curiously studied his frown. He did not have to know she went to see the man. She would solve the problem herself; she would take care of her connection with Nicholas if she could. “The man has never approached me once, has never tried to act as my protector. However, I have no access to my funds or dowry until I am wed, or at least not for years down the road.”
“Then we must marry you off…”
With her hands on her hips, she frowned. She could not take his jest lightly. “We, my good sir, must do nothing about that. It is my life, as you well know.”
He agreed reluctantly; then he sighed. “I cannot believe you came here to care for me--”
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