Each Time We Love (48 page)

Lifting a haughtily sculpted brow, Charles drawled, "What's
the matter? Adam put a flea in your ear?"

Flashing him a wrathful glance, Betsey snarled, "Don't be
vulgar, Charles!" And while normally she would have been perfectly
content to turn her rage on Charles, or anyone else unfortunate enough
to cross her path, she was too angry to bother with such satisfaction
now. She wanted revenge. She wanted Adam to be punished, and Charles
could help her…

An ugly expression on her lovely face, and her limpid green
eyes narrowed and hard, she walked over to him and said fiercely, "I
want him dead! He insulted me!"

"I do hope you don't expect me to challenge him to a duel?"
Charles responded dryly. "He's reputed to be an excellent shot and pure
grace with a sword."

"Don't be silly! I don't want
you
to get
hurt—only him!" She frowned, thinking furiously. A gleam of excitement
suddenly leaped into her eyes. Almost gleefully, she suggested, "We
could hire someone! Maybe not to kill him, but some thugs to beat him!
Couldn't we?"

Charles gave her a thoughtful look. "Are you serious?" he
asked carefully. "You want me to arrange to harm your wonderful Adam?"

Betsey's mouth tightened in an ugly line.
"Yes!
I want him to learn that no one discards
me!"

Charles gave an ironic little laugh. "I wish you'd felt this
way earlier—hiring someone to beat him would have been much less
expensive!" When Betsey looked puzzled, he seated himself casually on a
small chair and admitted coolly, "When you seemed determined to marry
him in Natchez, I took matters into my own hands and spent a great deal
of the capital that we managed to salvage from Virginia on hiring a
thug to kill him." Charles's face twisted. "Unfortunately, the bastard
took my money and didn't hold up his end of the bargain, and now I'm
afraid that with our funds so low, I dare not lay out the amount of
money needed to hire someone else."

Betsey looked outraged at Charles's confession, and stepping
near him, she slapped him viciously. He flinched from the force of the
blow, but deftly catching her wrist in a crushing hold, he twisted her
arm until she cried out in great pain. "Don't
ever,"
he said glacially, "do that again. I've warned you for the last time."

Betsey began to cry pitifully. "Oh, Charles, you know I don't
mean to hurt you, but what are we going to do? I want him punished!
It's just not fair!"

He knew how she could work herself up into a frenzy,
culminating in tears, tantrums and sulks, making his life and everyone
else's around her miserable; and with the possibility of a proposal of
marriage from Pierre Michaud in the offing, it was imperative to
restore Betsey's spirits immediately. His irritation showing on his
handsome features, Charles released her arm and said, "I'll see what I
can do. I can't promise you anything, but perhaps I can arrange
something…"

Betsey was instantly all smiles. "Oh,
could
you?"

She lowered her lashes. "It would make me so much more
agreeable to tying myself to that mere boy!"

Charles snorted. "I'm sure it would!" He caught her chin in a
painful grasp. "But you're going to tie yourself to that mere,
rich
boy, aren't you? Whether I can concoct something unpleasant for St.
Clair or not!"

A sullen droop to her mouth, Betsey nodded. "I hate being
poor! It's, it's so uncivilized!"

"Well, just keep in mind that it is that mere boy, Pierre
Michaud, who can keep you in a
very
civilized
state!" Charles reported brutally. Seeing that Betsey understood, he
relaxed slightly and continued in a kinder tone. "And you should know
that while you were attempting to charm your way into St. Clair's good
graces, I received a message from Pierre. He is so eager to see you
that he has made plans to meet us here tomorrow morning and intends to
escort us to his home." Charles sent his sister a stern glance.
"Whatever your personal feelings, tomorrow morning I want you looking
your best and I want a beguiling smile on your lips when you see him."

Betsey pulled a face. Sullenly she muttered, "I could probably
be more resigned to Pierre if I knew that you would see to it that Adam
was beaten… and made arrangements so that I could watch it being done.
Oh,
please,
Charles!"

Charles sighed. Once Betsey got an idea in her head, there was
no swaying her, and unless he was prepared to watch her whistle the
Michaud fortune down the wind, which he wasn't, it was clear that he
was going to have to placate her. "Very well, little sister," Charles
said grimly. "If I can have your word that you will behave yourself
with Pierre, you may watch and I shall find the wherewithal to hire
someone to administer a sound thrashing to Mr. Adam St. Clair!"

It was late when Charles returned to their rooms, and from the
expression on his face when he entered, it was obvious that his errand
had been successful.

"You found someone!" Betsey squealed with pleasure.

"Yes, I found someone—a pair of river rats who would no doubt
slit their own mother's throat if the price was right!" Charles
frowned. "We do have a major problem, though—getting Adam to the
riverfront where those two will be waiting for him! I cannot conceive
of a reason
why
he would go there—and late
tonight at that!"

Betsey looked thoughtful. "What about a message concerning
that brother-in-law of his? You know, Jason Savage. Everyone in Natchez
talked about how close the two men are, almost like brothers. If Adam
received a note implying that Savage was in grave danger and that only
Adam's presence could save him, wouldn't that bring him?"

"Very good!" Charles said admiringly. "Since the message
wouldn't be directly from Savage, we wouldn't have to worry about him
recognizing that the handwriting is not his brother-in-law's either."

When the dirty, crumpled note that the Ashers had gleefully
concocted was delivered to Adam later that evening, he stood staring
thoughtfully at it for a long time. Savanna was still asleep in their
bedchamber and Adam had been alone in the salon when the message had
arrived.

He didn't believe the contents for a moment. Even if Micajah
had somehow managed to kidnap Jason, which was highly unlikely, it was
even more unlikely that he would bring him to New Orleans, or that,
having done such an inane thing, he would now want to speak with
Jason's brother-in-law! The note didn't make sense at all, but because
of all that had gone on previously, and knowing that Micajah and Jeremy
could still be in a position to cause trouble, Adam didn't see that he
had any choice but to follow the note's instructions and go to the
Broken Sword Tavern just off Girod Street near the waterfront at
midnight.

But there were a few things he could do in the meantime. A
hasty visit with the hotel's night clerk confirmed his opinion that the
Broken Sword was
not
a tavern patronized by
genteel society—far from it! A messenger sent to the Savage town house
returned shortly with news that came as no surprise to Adam: neither
Monsieur Savage nor his wife had been in residence lately, nor were
they expected to be at any time soon.

That the note was a trap was becoming clearer by the moment,
but there was still a niggle of worry for Adam. Just because the
meeting was at a tawdry waterfront tavern and Jason hadn't been in New
Orleans recently didn't mean that the note
wasn't
genuine, and therefore, he dared not ignore it.

Briefly Adam cursed the fact that Bodene was at Campo de
Verde. He would have felt a lot easier about the whole situation if he
had Bodene at his side. But since he didn't have him…

Not wasting a moment, Adam immediately dispatched an urgent
message to Bodene's henchman, Jake, at The Golden Lady. Bodene trusted
Jake implicitly and had informed Adam that if ever he needed someone to
rely on, Jake was his man. While he waited for an answer, he swiftly
changed into the plainest clothing he possessed, and when Jake arrived
a short while later, Adam quickly explained the situation.

Jake didn't like it any better than Adam. "I still think
you're wrong," Jake growled when he heard what Adam planned to do.
"You're a damn fool for not letting me and Dooley follow you down to
that place."

Adam smiled faintly. "I need you and Dooley here to watch over
my wife… and I need you and Dooley to rouse the alarm if I don't come
back from the Broken Sword."

"Don't think Bodene is going to like me letting you risk your
neck this way."

"I don't see that I have any choice!" Adam replied sharply.
"If the note
is
genuine,
I
don't want Jason's life put in further danger, and while I'm sure that
you and Dooley are the souls of discretion, I don't want to do anything
that might make our quarry nervous or suspicious. It's possible, though
unlikely, that the author of the note might recognize you as Bodene's
man and realize that I'm not following the instructions… and
if
Jason's life is at stake…"

Jake grunted. "I see your point, but I still don't like it one
bit."

"That may be, but I'm confident that I can handle the
situation. Besides, as I said, I want you and Dooley here to protect my
wife, just in case the note is merely a ruse to get me away from her."

For a moment, his face softened as he thought of Savanna. A
dozen times this evening he had very nearly blurted out his feelings
for her, but seeing the signs of fatigue, and aware of her pain and
exhaustion, he had ruthlessly tamped down his powerful emotions and
exerted himself to be a charming, undemanding companion.

His eyes fell on the note in his hand. He sighed. Well, there
was nothing for it—he would have to go to the Broken Sword at midnight
and hope to God that he could keep his wits about him and avoid
whatever trap he felt confident had been laid for him.

When Jake left to go get Dooley from The Golden Lady, Adam
checked on the sleeping Savanna several times while he awaited their
return. Standing there at her bedside and staring down at her face in
gentle repose, her flame-red hair flowing over the plump white pillows,
he felt his chest tighten painfully. If anything had happened to her!

In the salon, he swiftly wrote her a note, explaining where he
had gone and why, and when Jake and Dooley returned a few minutes
later, he handed Jake the note. With that done, he had no more reason
to procrastinate, and having already concealed a small pistol in his
waistcoat and a knife down the inside of one polished boot, he felt
that he was as prepared as he ever would be to meet the author of the
mysterious note.

Adam arrived several minutes before midnight, not at all
surprised that the Broken Sword turned out to be a rough-and-tumble
sort of place, the ceaselessly churning Mississippi River fairly
lapping at its sagging foundation. The small tavern was dimly lit and
the air was full of the sour scent of unwashed bodies, liquor and
several other offensive odors that Adam didn't want to identify. As he
had been instructed, he selected an empty table near the door and after
taking a careful glance around, he sat down and ordered a whiskey from
the slatternly tavern maid who approached him.

Having no intention of being drugged, Adam deliberately left
the drink untouched when it arrived and coolly lit a long black
cheroot. A thin line of blue smoke drifting upward near his dark head,
he smoked his cheroot and continued to watch the inhabitants. They were
just what one would have expected to find in a low place like this—an
obvious whore or two, a few trappers, some riverfront bullies and
several raucous members of a flatboat crew. His arrival had caused a
stir, but after a moment everyone had gone back to what he had been
doing in the first place. No one seemed the least interested in Adam
and as the minutes passed and he remained alone at his table, he began
to grow uneasy. Surreptitiously, he glanced at his pocket watch. It was
by now over a half hour past midnight and there seemed to be no sign of
the person who had written the note. Continuing to leisurely smoke his
cheroot, every nerve braced for danger, Adam took another long survey
of the room.

There were a few candles guttering here and there, and though
his gaze tried to pierce the dark shadows of the corners, he could see
nothing to alarm him. Growing annoyed and a trifle concerned at the
absence of the note writer, he eyed the untouched pale amber glass of
whiskey. Was it drugged? Was that why nothing had happened? They wanted
him groggy or senseless before they made their move? He smiled grimly.
Too bloody bad! He had absolutely no intention of accommodating them.
The minutes continued to spin out and slowly, like a snake oozing into
view, another possibility occurred to him: had the note just been some
sort of vicious prank? Perhaps he hadn't been wrong when he had
considered the note to be a ruse to get him away from Savanna.

Adam was on his feet in an instant. Carelessly tossing down
some coins on the battered table, he spun on his heels and barged out
the door. If anything had happened to her! If the entire point of the
note had been to get him away from her so that she could be kidnapped
or harmed…

It didn't bear thinking about, but he couldn't shake the
notion from his mind, Micajah's gloating features suddenly floating
menacingly in front of him. Heedless of anything but the frantic urge
to see his wife, Adam bolted down the uneven street, hardly aware of
his surroundings, and because he was distracted by thoughts of
Savanna's peril, he was not mindful of his own very real danger…

The first blow caught him totally by surprise, the viciously
swung cudgel striking him fully on his left side, the heavy club
savagely crashing against his head and shoulder. The impact nearly
drove Adam to his knees, and as the pain surged through him, he fought
desperately to clear the dancing black mist that seemed to explode
before his eyes.