by Lady Vixen
Christopher eyed him coolly. "Now how would you know whether or not I am trained? I thought I did very nicely for myself."
Robert shrugged his shoulders and reached carelessly for one of the many foils that lined the walls of the studio. "Oh, no doubt you've picked -up a parlor trick or two," he offered contemptuously, running a limber, deadly rapier through one hand. "But I, my nephew, have killed my man in a duel."
"How?" Christopher inquired derisively. "A thrust in the back?"
"Damn you!" Robert snarled through clenched teeth. And not stopping to consider his actions, he flipped the button from the tip of the foil and then, without even giving the fencer's required warning "En garde," lunged at Christopher with the unsheathed blade.
Like a cat, Christopher leaped away, swiftly parrying Robert's wild attack. There was a savage flurry of rapid movements, but Christopher recovered quickly.
Concentrating on evading Robert's naked blade, Christopher retreated unhurriedly before several vicious feints, parrying them expertly, almost lazily. After a moment, when it was obvious that Robert meant to continue this uneven fight, Christopher commented in a level tone, "The button is off your foil, or hadn't you noticed?"
Robert smiled. "Really? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." He lunged violently forward on his right foot, launching a flying attack, but Christopher easily deflected the aim of Robert's blade.
Their faces momentarily close, Christopher, his own temper rising dangerously, taunted, "You'll have to do better than that, Uncle. Or is it only with the weak and foolish that you appear to advantage?"
Robert drew in his breath with a hiss of rage and disengaged their blades. "I can promise you, you will regret that statement."
"Oh. Another meeting with a press-gang, or did you have something more . . . ah . . . honorable in mind this time?"
The blades met with a clash, and Robert, his eyes cold and furious began a series of deadly and deliberately false attacks, attempting to lure Christopher into a premature parry.
Coolly, Christopher assessed the situation. It was inconceivable that Robert was so far from reason that he would attempt to kill him in a room full of gentlemen, but something was eating at the other man, making him totally irrational. Christopher spared a lightning glance at the oblivious chatting group at the opposite end of the room, but for the moment no one was paying them any attention. He could call for help, but he dismissed the notion the instant it crossed his mind—his pride would not allow it.
As they fought fiercely, Kettlescope suddenly shouted, "My God! Mr. Saxon, the button is off your foil! 'Ware! 'Ware!"
Kettlescope had been sleepily contemplating a fly on the windowsill when the furious tempo of the exchange between Christopher and Robert caught his attention. It happened occasionally that the buttons did come off foils accidentally, and Kettlescope not unnaturally assumed that this was what had occurred, as did the several other gentlemen who now looked in the combatants' direction.
Thinking that Robert would cease his attack now that attention had been brought to them, Christopher lowered his guard. Robert, unable to resist the tempting target, allowed himself a spiteful and deliberate lightning thrust; Christopher's quick and instant recovery deflected the aim, but the foible glanced along his arm, leaving a bright, welling red slash.
Kettlescope reached them first, and Buckley was not two steps behind him. The others, now alarmed, were streaming across the wooden floor.
There was, however, no doubt in anyone's mind that it was an accident—a terrible accident that could have happened to anyone. It had looked as if Robert, apparently unaware of his naked blade, had not stopped his last thrust. His sense of self-preservation overpowering the hatred in his heart, Robert was quick to take advantage of the misconception. Throwing his blade aside, a tragic expression on his face, he cried in a loud voice, "Oh, my God! I had no idea! Nephew, are you much hurt?"
It was all Christopher could do not to skewer him as he stood there, but the wound was not as slight as it appeared and he was losing blood at an alarming rate. Kettlescope, efficiently whipping out his large white handkerchief, was binding Christopher's arm, staunching the flow of blood, when Christopher said in a low, taut voice, "I'll live! Unfortunately for you!"
Kettlescope glanced up sharply, but Robert was already walking away and saying in a worried tone, "I must find a physician. Angelo, where is the nearest surgeon? My nephew must be seen to at once!"
Ignoring the adjurations of the group, Christopher grimly proceeded to change into his street wear, only consenting to remain still once the physician arrived.
The physician pursed his lips and looked sour when he examined the long, deep slicing wound in Christopher's muscled arm, but after dressing it with an antiseptic powder and rebinding it in soft bleached muslin, he stated gloomily that there was nothing wrong that a few weeks of rest would not cure. Giving Christopher the further instructions that the dressing should be changed twice daily for a few days and that the arm should be supported in a sling until the cut was healed enough not to break open again, he repacked his leather bag and departed.
Robert had used the intervening time to good avail; his face wore such an expression of avuncular concern that it set Christopher's teeth on edge. No one questioned Robert's apparent worry, and once Christopher, accompanied by his two companions, had departed, the incident was forgotten—after all, it was just an unfortunate accident, wasn't it?
The news of Christopher's wounding reached Cavendish Square before noon, and hearing of it, Nicole felt a queer lurch in her heart. For the briefest second it crossed her mind that she was in some way responsible for what had happened, but then telling herself it had to have been the accident everyone said it was, she was left with only the forlorn knowledge that Christopher still had the power to move her, whether she wanted him to or not.
Lord Saxon wasted little time in going around to Ryder Street to see for himself how his grandson was. Robert, intent upon excusing himself, had brought his father the news, but after a blistering explosion between them no one had any doubt that Lord Saxon blamed his son for the accident.
Christopher was resting fretfully in bed when his grandfather arrived. He was pale from the loss of blood and his eyes looked heavy and feverish, but seeing the concern in his grandfather's face, Christopher roused himself and sent the other man a lazy smile.
"What a silly thing to have happened!" he said with just the right note of ruefulness. "I don't know which of us felt more the fool—Robert for not realizing the button had slipped off his foil or myself for not being more nimble."
The light, careless words calmed the fear in his grandfather's breast as they had been meant to. The last thing Christopher wanted was for Simon to know of Robert's deliberate attack on him. The knowledge would only distress the older man, and so he determinedly set about making certain that Simon did believe it had been a careless accident. Robert he would settle with at a later date.
Regina, while sparing a thought for Christopher's wound, was almost delighted with the situation. With today's contretemps any chance of Robert asking for Nicole's hand was blasted away. Simon would never countenance the suit now! And surely Nicole's tender heart would be wrenched every time she thought of poor Christopher lying on his bed of pain?
But setting her lips in a straight, uncompromising line, she decided thoughtfully that it wasn't enough to hope that Christopher's illness would touch Nicole. She, Regina, must see to it that Robert was no longer allowed to run tamely about, free to court Nicole whenever he pleased.
It wasn't until Thursday morning, two days later, that the fact that she and Robert were to have no future private conversations was brought home rather firmly to Nicole. Robert often took her riding in the park, and at breakfast she said idly, "I'm so glad today is going to be delightful. I shall enjoy riding with Robert in the park today."
But Nicole was somewhat disconcerted when Regina said coolly, "I'm afraid you will not be riding in
the park or anywhere else in Robert's company for some time to come."
"I beg your pardon?" Nicole asked blankly. She knew Regina had been displeased with her conduct that night in Vauxhall Gardens, but after receiving a thundering scold and having suffered Regina's strictures on her unladylike principles for the last two days, she had thought the unpleasantness was behind her.
Regina, her eyes snapping impatiently, said bluntly, "You both have shown a deplorable lack of manners, and obviously you are not to be trusted. We have decided it best if you see less of my nephew."
Nicole's eyes narrowed and the soft mouth went hard. "You are forbidding me to see him?" she asked in an ominous tone.
"Oh, no, my dear!" rushed in Mrs. Eggleston gently. "Do not think so! It is just that his pursuit of you is most marked, and we feel you should not let him take up so much of your time. It is not seemly, you know."
Furious, and seething with rebellion and resentment, Nicole finished her meal; the toast tasted like sand and the tea like bilge water. If she had felt restricted before, this morning's conversation had rather forcibly pointed out how very little freedom a young woman of her station was allowed. Her fingers trembled with suppressed temper as she set down her cup with a decided snap. Hiding her anger, she asked woodenly, "Then if I am not to ride in the park, what am I to do?"
Mrs. Eggleston smiled at her kindly. "Come now, my dear, have you forgotten that Lord Lindley mentioned he would come to call this morning?"
Nicole pulled an unladylike face. She had forgotten, and she wasn't so certain that she wanted to encourage Lord Lindley's very definite interest in her. But shortly, when Lord Lindley and an acquaintance were ushered into the morning room, there was no hint of reservation as she greeted the two young men very prettily. Mrs. Eggleston, watching fondly, beamed at her, and Nicole could have stamped her foot with temper.
Usually Lord Lindley was a shy young man, but this morning he was full of enthusiasm, and it was all about the retiring gentlemen who had accompanied him. Fairly burbling, Lord Lindley said, "I do hope you forgive me for bringing Jennings-Smythe with me. But he has just returned from America and I am doing my best to make him feel at home in London. He is by way of being a hero you know." At Nicole's almost-bored look of inquiry, he continued, "It is true! Why just last year, a notorious privateer, a Captain Saber, attacked his ship and captured him. It was only by Jennings-Smythe's ingenuity that he was recently able to escape."
Hiding the trepidation and sheer fear that coursed through her body, Nicole sent the reticent young man at Lord Lindley's side a faint smile. Hoping desperately she had misheard Lord Lindley, she asked stupidly, "Is that true? Did this man capture you?"
Jennings-Smythe smiled eagerly, "Oh, yes, Captain Saber of La Belle Garce very nearly sank my ship and we were forced to surrender. I was taken with all the others to some squalid little island where eventually I managed to escape. It wasn't a prison I escaped from, merely some smuggler's den."
"Is that so?" Nicole returned with a blank smile. More frightened than she cared to admit, she asked carelessly, "Did you see him, this Captain Saber?"
Jennings-Smythe frowned, looking somewhat pompous. "Well, only once, but I can assure you I would recognize him again. He is not a man one forgets."
Smiling sickly, Nicole made some comment and was inordinately thankful when Regina and Mrs. Eggleston joined in the conversation, both ladies making much of Jennings-Smythe.
When she could at last escape, Nicole hurried to her rooms—her one thought that she must warn Christopher. Wary of putting too much in writing, she decided it would be best to tell Christopher in person. Consequently the note she bribed Mauer to have delivered to his rooms stated only that she must see him at once!
She had debated over the signature, and fearful that Christopher might not realize the urgency and importance of her summons, she signed it simply Nick, hoping he would understand that her request had something to do with Captain Saber.
It was only then that she realized with a jolt that was half elation and half fear that if Jennings-Smythe had escaped Grand Terre, Allen might have too! For the first time she felt a wave of guilty contrition—she had been so caught up in Christopher, in London, that she had given Allen little thought. That Allen might be free filled her with joy, that he might be in England was an entirely different matter.
Oh, Allen, forgive me, she thought with anguish, but please, please be safe and free somewhere else—anywhere but here in London where you would recognize Christopher!
Nervous and restless, she paced her rooms anxiously waiting for his reply. When it came she was both limp with relief and understandably vexed. Mr. Saxon, she was informed, was with his manservant in Sussex for an indefinite period of time.
CHAPTER 27
Christopher's decision to drive to Sussex had not come to him lightly. It was only in London that he had any hope of discovering any useful information, but London was not the best place in which to convalesce.
He had a lively horror of his great-aunt and Mrs. Eggleston descending upon him with possets, as well as having to suffer his concerned grandfather's calls nearly every day. His friends, he thought crossly, were more likely to cause a setback in his recovery than to speed it up. Determined to cheer him, they had crowded into his rooms, drunk his brandy, laughed and talked and finally passed out drunk as owls on his bedroom floor. No, London definitely was not the place for someone who needed several days of quiet and rest.
More importantly he had decided he had been chasing after a will-o'-the-wisp. It had been a half-mad dream of his and Jason's to think he could discover anything of importance. He had known that it was not likely to be successful before he had even consented to the improbable scheme, but he had been hopeful that somehow, someway, with a little luck he might be able to overcome the nearly insurmountable odds. Now even hope was gone, and he had come to the bleak conclusion that he had wasted enough time in England. There were things he could be doing in New Orleans, that would accomplish more than he could in England. It was a bitter decision, but his mind was made up, and if he were to sail back to New Orleans, he would first have to establish a point from which to depart—hence Sussex.
Christopher's wound gave him an excellent excuse to leave the city, and no one would think it strange that he wanted a few days on the coast for peace and quiet. He used the time to good purpose, despite the pain and discomfort of his arm, letting an isolated cottage on the beach.
He decided that once his arm had healed he would try for one last time to discover the British plans for New Orleans. He leased the cottage until the first of October, as September thirtieth was one of the dates he and Jason had decided upon for a rendezvous with the privateer. If he remained unsuccessful by that date, he would signal the ship and leave empty-handed, except for what rumor and current news he had.
Feeling at last that he was taking charge, he stabled his horses and carriage at the local inn -and actually did relax and rest. The time he and Higgins spent at the cottage passed swiftly; Christopher grew stronger with each passing hour. The days were spent idly exploring the coast; he even risked swimming in the cold ocean water, exercising his wounded arm gently; he rested afternoons on the rocky outcroppings near the shingle and evenings slept soundly after a day of fresh, invigorating sea air. The only jarring note came one day when he discovered, a few miles down the coast from his cottage, a handsome residence that he recognized instantly as the house Robert let while he stayed in Brighton.
He had forgotten that fact, and the house brought back memories of his youth, when with his grandfather he had come to Brighton in the late summer and had often visited with Robert's wife and children at that same house. How strange that he had forgotten it. But then he pushed it to the back of his mind, wanting no thought of Robert to disturb the peace he had found.
Christopher had much time for quiet reflection. Lying on the sand, his shoulders propped against the cliffs that faced the sea, the wind ruffling the dark hair
, he would watch the ever-changing ocean by the hour, sometimes his thoughts far away, drifting in lazy rhythm like the waves that pounded on the shore. He had no deep regrets for anything he had done so far in his life, he discovered with surprise. Oh, perhaps he wished he hadn't been such a silly young ass over Annabelle or that he had handled Nicole more gently, but even those were no more than merely passing quirks. His dislike of the role he was playing in England he dismissed cynically; if it had been truly distasteful to him, he simply wouldn't have done it, he told himself.
His thoughts did turn briefly to Nicole, but he was, despite everything, a ruthless young man, and he had locked her away in the deepest recesses of his mind. She should be grateful to me, he decided with sardonic amusement; I gave her adventure and excitement enough to last the rest of her life. When she's married to some dull and worthy gentleman, surrounded by a pack of brats, she'll probably remember me with fond nostalgia. Thinking of that, he gave a sudden harsh shout of mirthless laughter, frightening away a curious gull. And what did it matter? In little more than a month he would be sailing for home, and Nicole, well, Nicole would probably be deciding on which of her many suitors to bestow her hand and lissome body.
An unexpected vision of that supple body rose before his eyes, and with sheer fury he felt his body's instant response. Cursing, he leaped to his feet, stripped, and threw himself into the sea. The water was icy and numbing and his wounded arm made vigorous swimming awkward, but grimly he propelled himself through the water until common sense made him swim toward shore. He walked unconcernedly to where he had been lying and flung himself down on a worn blanket. The plunge in the sea had effectively banished Nicole from his thoughts, and now as he sat once more staring out to sea, his mind dwelt on Simon.