Sweet Bravado (22 page)

“Ah, there you are,
ma chère”
Crawley exclaimed as he entered and placed their refreshments on a table. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

“Joseph,” Nicole began nervously. “I wonder if you would think it too bad of me if I asked you to take me home…”

“Take you home?” He sat down beside her and clasped her hand. “But we have just arrived. The evening is young.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I seem to have developed a splitting headache.”

“No, no, my dove, you do not escape me so easily.” He began to press Nicole back among the sprawling pillows.

“Joseph!” she exclaimed indignantly, resisting him.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do not call me that!”

“And why not, my love?” He imprisoned her in his arms.

“Stop it!” she demanded.

“Why do you thrust me away from you?”

“Why? Need you ask?” Her voice was full of reproach.

“Do not tell me you are going to remind me that you are a married woman?” He laughed mirthlessly. “That farce!”

“How dare you!”

His hold tightened as he sought her lips.

“No, you must not,” she cried against his lips.

“Why mustn’t I? You and I are kindred spirits. After all, we are after the same thing.”

“What do you think I am after?”

“What else—the ruination of Ardsmore!”

“Oh no, you are wrong,” she wailed. “Ruin my husband! Why… why do you hate Valentin so much?”

“I hate him for more than one reason. Ever since our days at school and later during our regiment days. Always the leader—the
hero! And calling me out as a cheat over cards. But it is much more than that. Much more. Our families have detested one another
ever since your husband’s father killed mine in a duel.” He was breathing heavily, and there was rage in his eyes.

“Killed your father?” Nicole whispered.

“Yes, killed him over a woman… my mother. Harrison Harcourt thought he could carry on the affair with impunity, but my father
sought to avenge his honor. Didn’t you know?”

Nicole shook her head numbly.

“My mother committed suicide leaving only me to redress the wrongs done my family by those damnable Har-courts. And finally
I will have my revenge.” He leaned toward her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You, my lovely, will bring us full circle. Viscount Ardsmore’s wife my mistress.” He threw back his head and laughed. What
had she done? Why had she not listened to the warnings of so many? Bent on showing Valentin her independence, she had placed
herself, the family, and her husband right in the middle of a new scandal. She must get out of here!

“And now my sweet, it is pay-up time.” He pulled her back into his arms.

“Joseph, you are my friend.” She tried to reason with him.

“Never! I am no friend of any Harcourt! I planned this right from the beginning when I first met you. Why do you think I introduced
you to the maestro and encouraged you to dance? I knew your history. It is unfortunate that it had to be you. I could have
cared for you. But you must be ruined along with your husband.”

She struggled against him. “No, oh please, no.” Gathering her last remnants of strength, she wrenched herself free and fled
the box.

“So there you are!” It was Valentin who was mounting the stairs in an angry fury.

“Val!” she cried breathlessly and flung herself into his arms collapsing against his chest. “Please, take me home,” she whimpered.

Instinctively his arms tightened about her, and she felt the security of that embrace, but the moment was shattered by the
emergence of Crawley from the lounge.

“Ardsmore!” he snarled, dark color suffusing his face.

A man and woman about to enter their box stopped to watch the spectacle taking place.

“So, Ardsmore, the triangle is at last complete.”

“I should have finished you the last time we met,” Valentin seethed. He attempted to step forward, but Nicole clung to him.

“No, Val! He is mad! Nothing happened!” she pleaded. Her fear was more for Valentin than herself. “Please believe me.”

“You expect him to believe that?” Crawley laughed.

Valentin’s eyes narrowed dangerously and thrusting Nicole aside, he smashed his fist into Crawley’s jaw sending him sprawling.
“I will be back,” he rasped icily, and grasping Nicole firmly about the waist, he forced their
way through the gaping onlookers. He was not finished with Crawley, but this was not the place to settle the issue. First
he must get his wife off the premises. Then he would take care of that menace, Crawley, once and for all. Either he or Crawley
would walk away from their next encounter—but not both of them.

Valentin was not surprised to see Danforth and Bram-well hurrying toward them. Harry must have gone to Gordon. There was sure
to be gossip. Helen Bramwell could not be expected to remain silent for very long, and who could blame her? Nicole’s behavior
had laid them both open to further speculation by the
ton.
How could she stomach Crawley? It was hard to believe Nicole despised him so much that she would make up to his most dangerous
enemy. But she had! That was what was so galling!

Valentin was dragging Nicole down a side street to a waiting curricle, but she did not complain. The violent expression on
his face kept her silent although she desperately wanted to explain.

Nodding curtly to the sheepish greetings of his two friends, the Viscount turned abruptly to Nicole and commanded, “Get in.”

“Are you coming with me?” she asked in a whisper.

“I have unfinished business!”

“No, Val, I beg of you…” She clutched his arm, but he thrust her off and jeered, “You—begging? Who are you trying to save
by this untimely intervention?”

There was an audible cough from Danforth which brought an end to their bitter exchange.

“I will meet you inside, Gordon,” Bramwell cut in as he left them.

Watching him go, Nicole cried, “Let me explain, Val.”

“Isn’t it a little late for explanations?”

“I have been wrong…”

“You certainly have,” he claimed in a barely controlled voice. Then he continued in clipped tones, “Gordon, will you see my
wife home?”

“Think of the scandal!” she wailed.

“Nicole is right. Val, you cannot afford the scandal. Use your head,” Danforth pleaded. “You would be playing right into Crawley’s
hands.”

Before Valentin could reply, Nicole cried out and pointed behind him. Crawley had followed them from Zarelle’s. All reason
had collapsed once Crawley saw his ultimate goal failing and he was driven by only one thought—Ardsmore must die! Extracting
a pistol from his vest, he leveled it at the Viscount.

Whirling about, Valentin stepped aside and lunged for Crawley’s pistol hand, jerking it up and wrenching the weapon from his
grasp. Not easily overpowered, he flung himself at the Viscount, forcing him to stagger backwards. Recovering quickly, Valentin
drove into the Baron throwing a blow to his mid-section, doubling him up. Crawley gasped loudly as he was seized by the lapels
and a swift sharp right, then left, landed on his chin. Crawley slipped to the ground at their feet, apparently senseless.

Quickly surveying the situation, Danforth grabbed Valentin and began pushing him toward the stricken Nicole. “You two get
out of here! There will be a crowd in a few seconds. I will handle this,” he spoke urgently.

“Val, look out!” Bramwell shouted, but it was too late. As Valentin turned, the Baron fired, hitting him in the shoulder.
He staggered, and Nicole reached out for him.

Rushing forward, Bramwell kicked the pistol
irqm
Crawley who still knelt on the ground. “You bloody coward!” Bramwell shouted as he leveled his own gun at
him. “I knew he was up to no good as soon as I saw him coming this way.”

“It’s lucky for me that you did,” Valentin winced as he straightened and moved out of his wife’s embrace.

Danforth assisted Nicole into the curricle and came to Valentin saying, “We can handle this. You must see to that shoulder
immediately.”

The Viscount nodded, but before joining Nicole, he instructed Danforth to make arrangements for him to meet Crawley.

“I will see to it. Now get going.”

The curricle moved forward with its unhappy passengers.

“Let me see to this…”

Valentin shrugged loose of Nicole’s hold on his injured arm. “It’s all right!” he growled.

“But you are bleeding!”

“I’ve had worse.”

“If only you would let me…”

He cut her off. “I’ll live! In spite of your wishes. Now just leave me alone!”

Nicole’s lips quivered, but she kept back the threatening tears.

Upon reaching the house on the Rue d’Anglais, Valentin managed to stumble from the curricle and steady himself beside it.
Without a word Nicole offered her arm and reluctantly he accepted it.

The startled butler was told that the Viscount had sustained an injury requiring immediate attention, and that Madame Lafitte
should join them in the Viscount’s room. Anxiously, Nicole followed him upstairs and paused at the door wondering whether
to enter his room. As if anticipating her thoughts, he said, “You had best come in and help me off with my jacket since my
valet is not
here.” Breathing deeply, he sat down wearily and let Nicole remove his jacket. He winced, and she mumbled an apology for hurting
him, but he ignored her.

“I will have to rip the shirt.” Nicole waited for him to confirm her statement, but when none came forth, she repeated herself.

Vehemently he replied, “Just get on with it, will you!”

Annoyed by his curt demand, Nicole ripped the shirt carelessly. At his intake of breath, she looked down into his pain-filled
eyes and was immediately penitent. How she wished to comfort him, but he wanted none of her sympathy. Unsteadily she proceeded
to pour water into a basin and began to sponge the wound. Nicole suggested a doctor be called, but he insisted it was only
a scratch.

“Quel dommage!
What has happened?” Madame La-fitte scurried into the room.

“An accident, madame. Can you bind it for me?” he asked, pushing Nicole’s shaking hands away.

As the Viscount turned from his wife, Madame Lafitte observed the crushed look on Nicole’s face and the grim determination
on the man’s. Both were very pale.

“Nicole,
ma chère,
get his lordship a brandy and one for yourself. You both look faint.”

Nicole did as she was bidden and handed the glass of brandy to him. His. eyes held Nicole’s for a second; then he quickly
closed them and gulped down the brandy.

“Drink yours, too,
mon enfant,”
Madame Lafitte insisted as she took the bottle from Nicole’s numb fingers. “And give me the bottle.”

“I hope you do not intend to drink from the bottle, madame,” Valentin joked feebly.

“You are too bad,
mon Colonel,”
she smiled. “This brandy will sting. Perhaps you would like to hold your wife’s hand, eh?”

Hard blue eyes scorched one, then the other woman as he replied curtly, “Just do it quickly.”

Nicole held her breath as he endured in silence. Madame Lafitte moved quickly and soon the wound was bound. “Ah,
fini,”
she concluded with satisfaction.

“Thank you, madame.” He rose and, purposefully focusing his attention on Lafitte and ignoring his wife, he said, “I can manage
the rest.”

“But,
non,
your valet… he is not here,
n-est-ce pas?”
She was undaunted by his steely blue eyes. “So your wife will help you, yes?” And she swept from the room closing the door
behind her.

Unsteadily he took a step forward. Nicole, who had remained unobtrusively in the background, came quickly to his aid placing
her arm about him. He stared bleakly down at her upturned troubled face. Then his eyes glazed over and he shook free of her
saying, “I’m all right. I said I can manage.”

“Will you not let me help you?”

“I don’t understand this concern you are showing. The wildcat suits you better. Don’t change character in midstream, I won’t
know how to deal with you.”

“Will you not believe me? I never wanted it to come to this. I did not realize how outrageous Crawley could be. I thought…”

“Enough, Nicole, it is too late for a display of contrition. You have had plenty of opportunities up until now. But no, you
blindly tore at the fabric of our relationship until there was nothing left.”

“That is not true! Don’t say that!” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I know I have been headstrong, but Val, surely I am not all
to blame.”

He relented slightly. “I am too weary to think clearly or discuss it any more tonight. Go to bed, Nicole. That is
what I intend to do.” He held the door open for her, but she did not move. “Good night, Nicole,” he said with cold authority.

Her head bowed, Nicole left his room and blindly found her way to her own. Dismissing the maid, she sat before the dressing-table
and stared at herself in the mirror. In, a sudden shaft of clarity she realized what she had done. She had lost Valentin.
It did not really matter about Tessa or Valentin’s mockery on their honeymoon. What did Lady Eleanore or Cecily’s snobbery
matter? Even her mother’s hatred and revenge did not matter. Nicole halted her reverie, clutching the table fiercely. It was
true! The hatred and revenge instilled in her by Sylvie Harcourt had driven her to this empty pit. Nicole had always been
at war with herself: loving Valentin yet hating the Har courts. Madame Chenier had asked her about revenge being her motive,
but she willfully denied it. Madame Lafitte had pleaded with her numerous times, and even the good Marquis’s warnings had
been ignored as she blindly persisted in destroying her chances for happiness! For what? A bitter, empty revenge she no longer
desired.

Defeated, Nicole crawled into bed too miserable to weep.

Morning brought no relief from her shattering discovery, for Valentin would not receive her when she went to his room. His
valet met her at the door and informed her that his lordship left strict instructions to admit no one. Anxiously she asked
about his wound and was told that except for a slight fever, he was well enough. A grumbled oath from the Viscount terminated
the conversation.