Lady Vixen (74 page)

Their
breathing was quick and hard as the fight continued. Robert barely parried a
lunging thrust aimed at his heart. He moved too slowly, and Christopher's blade
clashed against his, before sliding over his guard and slashing along his arm,
leaving a long, welling, bloody slit.

With
a tigerish smile on his lips, Christopher muttered softly, "I owed you
that, Uncle!"

And
because this was no simple duel to be decided by a single hit, to be ended by
first blood, neither checked, but each relentlessly wielded his sword against
the other. Hard pressed, Robert feinted in high carte and thrust in low tierce,
hut his blade met only the opposition of Christopher's.

Breathlessly,
but very clearly, Christopher asked, "Where is she?"

It
was Robert's turn to smile. "Upstairs in my bed . . . where else?"

He
regretted the words instantly, for Christopher's blade easily and deliberately
stung him on the cheek. "And how does she arrive there? What was Edward
doing here?"

Robert
had no strength remaining to waste on attack; he could only parry the
increasingly dangerous thrusts of Christopher's sword, his arm aching from
shoulder to wrist, the sweat rolling off his face.

"Answer
me! How does Nicole find herself here and with Markham?"

In
a gulping, panting gasp, Robert spat, "Markham abducted her and I got the
story from her maid. I overtook them and brought Nicole here."

Christopher
could figure out most of the gaps in Robert's story, but not all. And his eyes
narrowed in grim concentration; his point flashed under Robert's guard,
checked, and withdrew. "And your bed?"

Tauntingly
Robert panted, "Have you ever known me... to boast... of my . . .
conquests?"

It
was the last thing Robert Saxon ever said. He had no breath left with which to
speak; all his energies were concentrated on avoiding that final deadly thrust
he knew would finish this struggle.

A
moment later Robert saw it coming—a straight lunge aimed for his heart; he made
a desperate attempt to parry it, but was too late to deflect the fatal thrust.
Unerringly, Christopher's point sunk deep and deadly into Robert's heart,
ending forever the duel between them.

Unemotionally
Christopher viewed Robert's body, surprised to discover that he felt nothing.
Robert had been someone he had hated and despised for almost his entire life;
to win against him should have given a sense of victory, but he was empty,
numb, indifferent to the body lying there on the floor.

He
must have stood there for several moments, and what it was that eventually
roused him from his queer blankness he never quite knew. Perhaps it was the
crack of a burning log on the hearth or the crash of a breaker on the beach. At
any rate he gave himself a mental shake, realizing at last that the monstrous
hatred between him and Robert was finally over—but at a horrible and bitter
price.

The
chiming of the clock on the mantel roused him still further, made him more
aware of the passing time, of the ship that was waiting for him beyond those
same breakers pounding on the sand just below Robert's house. Grimly he
surveyed the scene, Robert dead at his feet, and Edward's body stretched out on
the floor not four feet away. It was the proximity of the bodies that first
gave him the idea—that and a deep-rooted desire to save his grandfather more
grief. Robert's death would be a blow enough without the added knowledge that
his grandson had killed his son. His mind made up in a lightning flash, he
walked over to Edward's body and deftly substituted his own sword for the sword
cane, unconsciously thrusting the sword cane into his waistband.

It
took him but a moment longer to unroll his sleeves, put on his boots, and slip
into his greatcoat. He glanced once more around the room, increasingly
conscious that he must leave—the tide was on the turn and time was passing
swiftly. But the thought of Nicole sleeping soundly in Robert's bed upstairs
would not leave him, and he knew before he could depart, he had to see her, to
see for himself that she was indeed the lying jade he had damned her for being.

A
timid knock interrupted his thoughts, and swiftly he crossed the room to press
himself flat against the wall near the door. The knock came again and after a
brief hesitation the door opened slowly.

Somewhat
cautiously Galena entered the room, her soft brown eyes wide with apprehension
and worry. What she was doing was unheard of, but nearly sick with worry about
her rash young mistress, she had whipped up her courage and was now intending
to confess to Master Robert what Miss Nicole had done. She had wrestled
unhappily with her conscience, but her concern for her mistress had won.
Perhaps, she told herself staunchly, Miss Nicole had misunderstood the
situation. Surely Master Robert was not in the same mold as that wicked Mister
Markham. And besides, she excused herself, if she didn't do something, Miss
Nicole was likely to freeze out there on the beach with no cloak, no pelisse.

Galena
had taken not more than two steps into the room, when Christopher, moving with
that pantherlike grace of his, shut the door with his shoulder and swiftly
clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Hush!"
he ordered softly in her ear. Shooting a sharp glance over to where the bodies
lay, he noted with satisfaction that from this angle, they were hidden by one
of the couches. Quickly he hustled a petrified Galena over to Robert's desk
and, still holding a hand against her mouth, spun her to face him.

Her
eyes opened even wider if possible, and silently her lips formed his name.

Placing
a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence, he slowly removed his hand.

"Master
Christopher!" she breathed with a sigh of relief. "I knew you would
come!" Then recalling instantly her reason for being there, she cried,
"Oh, Master Christopher, you must save her! She has run away down the
beach. You must find her and bring her back!" She added irrelevantly,
"She has no cloak to keep her warm."

Christopher
thought quickly, mistakenly assuming that Nicole had somehow learned of his
presence and was even now racing away to escape the retribution he would
undoubtedly deliver. Spying a piece of paper and a pen on Robert's desk, he
quickly scrawled a note to his grandfather.

Grandfather,

I
write to you in haste—leaving for France immediately as planned. I have Nicole
safe—but at a terrible price!

Christopher

Snatching
up Nicole's pelisse, he dragged Galena from the room, deliberately making
certain she had no view of the bodies, and hurried her along the path he had
followed such a short time ago. Reaching his horse, he literally pushed Galena
into Nicole's pelisse, pressed the note into her hand, and tossed her up onto
his mount.

"I
sure as hell hope you can ride, Galena," he said with a grin. "You're
going to go to Lord Saxon's and give him this note. Don't worry about your
mistress—I'll take care of her." He hesitated, then he said slowly,
"Galena, I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone but my
grandfather that you saw me here tonight. If anyone asks, you slipped away all
by yourself. Understand?"

Like
one in a trance Galena nodded; then Christopher slapped the flank of the horse,
and she clutched the reins as the animal sprang forward. Christopher watched
until she was well on her way and then turned and leaped down toward the beach,
his one thought to find Nicole and when he did . . .

Miss
Nicole Ashford was at the moment in a very unhappy predicament. She had grown
careless in her confidence and had to her disgust managed to stumble over a half-buried
rock in the sand and twist her ankle badly. The pain was excruciating, but that
was nothing to the burning humiliation she felt at being stopped by such a
silly and feminine accident. Fuming, she sat in the sand, having nearly given
up her futile attempts to climb to the small cottage just a short way above
her. Her ankle would not hold her weight, and beyond crawling on her belly,
there was little she could do except smolder at such an unkind fate. She was
determined to continue and had seriously considered traveling on her hands and
knees when she noticed a flash of blue coming from the ship she had seen
earlier. Mystified, she glanced back up at the cliff, and in the moonlight she
could make out the shape of a man.

For
one wild second she thought she recognized the shape but dismissed it as fancy.
Higgins wouldn't be out here at this time of night exchanging signals with a strange
ship. Or would he?

Suddenly
she jerked upright, remembering Christopher's mention of a cottage near the
sea—that and the fact that he was leaving. Intently, she stared out to sea, not
at all surprised when a few minutes later a small boat was lowered into the
water and the men aboard her began to row toward the beach.

Higgins's
appearance coming down from the cliff top not a second later she viewed almost
with amusement. Tonight was certainly her night for stumbling into one scrape
after another. Christopher would kill her if he found her here, she thought
with a half-hysterical giggle—but she would rather Christopher throttle her,
than live as Robert's wife.

Higgins
was just even with her, when she called to him, "Higgins! I know this is
an awkward time for me to call, but would you please tell Christopher that I am
here."

Higgins
not unnaturally nearly jumped out of his skin. "Miss Nicole!" he said
in an agitated tone, when he squinted in the moonlight and recognized her.
"Whatever are you doing here? Christopher is out looking for you— in fact,
he is going to miss the ship, because he is looking for you!"

With
something like horror, Nicole regarded Higgins's extremely apprehensive face.
"Oh, Lord!" she muttered softly, realizing precisely what must have
occurred. The thought of Christopher murdering her was no longer very funny,
especially since there appeared a very definite possibility that he would do
exactly that when he caught up with her.

Biting
her lip, she watched as the small boat drew nearer. "What are you going to
do?" she asked at last. "Tell them you aren't going?"

Higgins
shot her an uncertain glance. "No. I am returning with them. This ships
sails for America, for New Orleans, and Christopher has given me orders to make
it without fail."

"I
see," she answered slowly, seeing a great many things she would rather
not. This rendezvous must have been planned even before he had left New
Orleans, and the t ought that she was the cause of his failing to keep it
filled her with dismay. But damnit, she thought rebelliously, it isn't my
fault! I didn't ask him to go haring off all over the countryside looking for
me!

"Look!"
Higgins cried excitedly, interrupting her thoughts, and with a sinking heart
Nicole recognized instantly the long-legged figure striding so furiously down
the beach. It took him only a moment to reach them, and there was a curious
expression on his face when he looked at Nicole, still seated on the sand.

"Well,
well," he drawled sarcastically, "what have we here? A maiden in
distress? Or my uncle's runaway mistress?" Giving her no time to answer,
he swooped down and pulled her to her feet.

Warily,
she eyed him, ignoring the stabbing pain of her ankle. Almost meekly she said,
"I hurt my ankle, or I wouldn't be here. And Christopher," she went
on with quiet desperation, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Christopher
stared at her silently, a victim of so many conflicting emotions that he wasn't
certain what he felt. He had thought the only emotion she could arouse was
disgust and lust, thought he had said his final good-bye to her in the library.
But he discovered that some other indefinable feeling for her was tearing him
apart.

There
was a stiff breeze blowing now, lifting the sable-fire curls and tumbling them
wildly about her shoulders, molding the thin material of her dress against the
slim body, making Christopher remember things he wanted to forget. He didn't
want her, he told himself savagely. She was trouble—had been trouble since he
had first discovered her in that cove in Bermuda—and now she had nearly been
the undoing of months of planning. As the moments passed and still Christopher
said nothing, Higgins, with a discretion that further endeared him to Nicole,
left them and walked down to the surf to wait for the nearing boat to make it
through the breakers.

Nicole
swallowed, slightly unnerved by the hard, unrelenting features above her. For
once her temper had fled before the tightly leashed fury that emanated from
Christopher, and falteringly she said, "I... I..."

"You
what?" Christopher snapped explosively. "You're sorry? Isn't it a
little late for that? Two men are dead because of you! Jesus Christ, Nicole, I
leave you alone for less than a month and what do I find? Chaos and mayhem. And
now what am I to do with you?"

Her
eyes a stormy topaz in the moonlight, she flared back, "You aren't going
to do anything with me! I've managed to get this far by myself, and I sure as
hell don't need any help from the likes of you! Meet your damn ship!"

She
spun away momentarily, having forgotten the injury to her ankle. But a shaft of
tearing agony reminded her forcibly of it, and smothering the gasp of pain that
rose in her throat, she took another stumbling step before Christopher's hard
hands closed around her shoulders.