The Worldly Widow (7 page)

He had expected an argument about whether or not she would accept the locket from him. "What a delight you are,
"
he murmured, and turned her to face him.

His lips, as soft as swan
'
s down, brushed the small dark mole which had tempted him beyond endurance. Surprise held her
captive. He moved closer.

A shout went up from the courtyard below. There was the sound of shattering glass and booted feet running on flagstone.

A shot rang out, then pandemonium erupted in every quarter of the Palais Royal.

"Les Prussians! Les Prussians!
"
The cry was taken up and rang out through the gardens.

"The Prussians? What does that mean?
"
asked Annabelle, instinctively edging closer to the shelter of Dalmar
'
s body.

He groaned. "Trouble,
"
he said. "Come on. Let
'
s get the hell out of here.
"

Chapter Three

T
he cry of warning acted on the bystanders as if someone had screamed the word
fire!
In the resulting hysteria, shoppers spewed onto the gallery, searching frantically for a way of escape. In their wake, canny merchants were dousing lanterns. The sound of bolts being shot home only added to the panic.

Down below, scores of soldiers in Prussian blue were streaming into the gardens. Their furious onslaught did not go unchecked. From every part of the
Palais
Royal, the officers of the Bourbonist
garde du corps
unsheathed their short swords and rushed to meet them. With mingled cries of
"Jenna
"
and
"
Vive la France,
"
men went at each other as if the signal to join battle had been given.

There was no question of descending to the lower level, thought Annabelle. Already the Prussians, who vastly outnumbered the
garde du corps,
were cutting off the exits.

"
Au toit, au toit!
"
someone cried out, and the press of people surged to the stairs, which would take them to the roof and away from the scene of slaughter.

"Steady,
"
said Dalmar in Annabelle
'
s ear as she tried to push past him. His left arm captured her shoulders protectively. In his right hand gleamed the wicked-looking short sword which most gentlemen in Paris seemed to affect. Annabelle had presumed it was mostly for decoration.

Every instinct urged her to flee with the herd. Her eyes searched Dalmar
'
s face, and by degrees her panicked heartbeat slowed. His air of confidence seemed unshakable.

He smiled down at her. "May I offer you my protection, Mrs
.
Jocelyn?
"
he murmured in her ear.

She felt her knees buckle and leaned into him for support. "Oh David,
"
she answered shakily, "this is no time to joke.
"

She caught the quick flash of his teeth before he answered her seriously. "We
'
re going through the gardens. Don
'
t argue. Just keep close and do as I tell you.
"

In that moment, if he had told her to follow him through a river of fire, she would have obeyed him. "All right. But how?
"
she asked, her eyes traveling to the staircases, which were dangerously choked with people.

She was released. She heard the shatter of glass before she realized what he was up to. Behind her the window of the shop they had been browsing in minutes before was completely demolished. He used the hilt of his sword to smash the few remaining shards of glass which protruded. She grasped his hand tightly as he helped her over the sill.

"The back stairs,
"
he told her before striding away to the back of the shop. Annabelle, not daring to linger, hurried to keep up with him.

Their descent was torturous. They made so many twists and turns that Annabelle lost her sense of direction. It was evident that the man she followed knew exactly where he was going. And then she heard it—the clash of steel on steel and the hoarse cries of the combatants. Her steps faltered.

"Why don
'
t we stay here?
"
she asked the back of his dark head, but before he could answer, she heard the rush of booted feet on the stairs behind her. Retreat was impossible.

"Stay close!
"
he shouted, and burst through the archway into the courtyard.

The scene which met Annabelle
'
s eyes would remain with her forever. Nothing in her experience had ever prepared her for such carnage. Nor could she comprehend how men who professed to be civilized could be so filled with hatred of each other. She could almost smell the blood lust in the air.

Though her limbs remained frozen, her mind quickly registered several facts. The confrontation had spread to the upstairs. She wondered if Dalmar had surmised that it would. A troup of gendarmes had arrived to augment the
French officers, evening the odds somewhat Nor were the British left idle. With something like relish, they turned on Prussian and French alike.

Her arm was seized roughly. "I said stay close!
"
Dalmar barked at her.

His harsh command galvanized her into action. Shutting her ears to the groans and cries of the wounded, she quickened her steps after him.

Two things happened simultaneously. From the darkest part of the gardens where the lights had been doused, a woman
'
s scream pierced the air, and Annabelle was grabbed from behind. Her own shocked cry went unheard.

She was brutally manhandled, but whether the hands which closed over her breasts were French or Prussian was impossible to determine. Nor did she care. There could be no mistaking the design of the man who dragged her into the cover of bushes. She was spun to face him.

"Fü
r
Berlin,
"
he snarled, and his hand grabbed at her collar and tore her garments from throat to waist.

"David,
"
Annabelle warbled. Then on a shriller, more compelling note as those strong, callused hands kneaded her breasts, "Da - v - id!
"
Oh God,
she thought,
oh God, please
…

He loomed out of the darkness like a furious avenging angel.

She was thrust aside as the Prussian swung around to meet him.

"Get your back to the wall,
"
Dalmar shouted at her before lunging. Annabelle scooted to the side of the building and pressed herself against it.

Everything happened at once. Another form materialized from the shadows and attacked Dalmar from the rear. She cried out a warning. With the grace and speed of a cat, he circled, his sword arm slashing and parrying unerringly as he warded off the double attack.

From halfway up the stairs, an English voice hailed him. "Dalmar? It is you, you devil! I thought as much! Leave us poor blighters some of the action!
"
and one of the officers of the Horse Guards lightly vaulted over the railing and lookups position beside him.

"Mercer? Just like old times, isn
'
t it?
"
said Dalmar without
once breaking stride or deflecting the furious slash of his sword arm.

Shoulder to shoulder, they met the frenzied assault of the Prussians head on. Even from her obscure vantage point, Annabelle knew from the furious and frantic pace that no quarter would be asked or given. Never in her life had Annabelle been so close to such unbridled violence. For a horrified moment, she thought she was about to swoon away.

She saw one of the Prussians go down. As Dalmar deliberately wiped his bloodstained blade against the leg of his pantaloons, he calmly asked of the man called Mercer, "Need any help?
"

"Don
'
t you dare!
"
laughed the other man, and in one savage assault, he ran his adversary through without compunction.

Annabelle was shivering with terror. Only a sudden blooming of anger saved her from having a fit of the vapors. Damn if these men weren
'
t enjoying themselves!

"Do me a favor, cover my back,
"
said Dalmar casually, and with a quick, searching glance at Annabelle
'
s stunned expression, he gathered her closely to him. "I
'
m conveying the lady to safety.
"

"I
'
ll be right behind you,
"
promised the other.

They crossed the courtyard unmolested. The incongruous note of the cascading waters of one of the fountains could be heard intermittently even above the noise of the pitched battle.

As they reached one of the doors, Mercer called out, "You
'
re on your own. Here comes another!
"
and he turned away to meet the furious attack of a black-coated civilian.

The words
vive
l
'
empereur!
trembled on the air as Annabelle was pulled roughly through the door.

"A Bonapartist,
"
grunted Dalmar. "
That
'
s all we need.
"

She felt him stiffen and heard the hiss of his breath before she saw the figure blocking their path.

"We
'
re Engl
ish. Let us pass,
"
said Dalmar.

In that moment, Annabelle
'
s relief at having fled the combat zone died within her. It was an officer of
the
garde du corps
who confronted them. In his hand he held a sword stained with blood. At his feet lay the body of a Prussian officer, his blade still grasped in one hand. In Annabelle
'
s mind, the scene was
made more grotesque by the shadows cast by the few lanterns which hung on the walls.

"Dalmar,
"
breathed the Frenchman on a note of mingled disbelief and triumph. "Last time we dueled with pistols. At that time I was compelled to concede that you were the better man. This time the choice of weapons is mine.
"

Annabelle
'
s hand was grasped, and a key was pressed into her palm. In an urgent undertone Dalmar said, "At the top of the stairs, you
'
ll come to a door. This is the key to that door. Use it.
"
In a more normal tone, he addressed the Frenchman. "I
'
m still the better man, Livry, whatever the choice of weapons.
"

"Shall we put it to the test?
"
drawled the Frenchman, and as if to underscore his point, made several sweeping slashes with his sword high above his head. The sound was like the crack of a whip and just as terrifying. Annabelle flinched and he laughed softly, his eyes insolently sweeping over her disheveled figure.
"
En garde,
Dalmar, and to the victor go the spoils!
"
His meaning was unmistakable.

Annabelle had never felt more helpless in her life. Though she was perfectly sensible of the Frenchman
'
s threat, her most pressing fear was for the safety of the man she regarded as her champion. The skill of the French with the short sword was legendary. Dueling was one of their favorite pastimes. And this particular Frenchman exuded a confidence that made her blood turn to water. She wondered if the man beside her had brains enough to be frightened.

As the two adversaries warily circled each other with flashing blades, she tried a last-ditch, forlorn attempt to avert disaster. "Excuse me,
"
she said, addressing both gentlemen, "if either one of you so much as scratches the other, I shall report you both to the authorities.
"

A gleam of mingled surprise and amusement momentarily registered in the Frenchman
'
s eyes. Again that soft laugh fell from his lips. "Dalmar,
"
he taunted, "where do you find them? This one, I look forward to taming.
"

"The woman is mine,
"
said Dalmar, studiously casual. "If you want her, you
'
ll have to kill me first.
"

"With pleasure!
"
Livry ferociously lunged and lunged
again, driving Dalmar ba
ck till he was pinned against th
e wall.

The hilts of their two swords locked. In a burst of strength, Dalmar wrenched the Frenchman round till their positions were reversed.

"Now!
"
he shouted over his shoulder to Annabelle. "Quick! The stairs!
"

Clutching her hatbox in one hand and the key to Dalmar
'
s rooms in the other, Annabelle scampered past the duelists. As her foot touched the first step, the combatants broke apart. She hesitated.

"Get going!
"
Dalmar snarled at her, and immediately made a slashing arc with his blade, forcing Livry to stumble back. Dalmar was on him in an instant.

Annabelle quickly mounted the stairs, but on the first landing she halted. Though she was shaking like a leaf and wanted nothing more than to find a safe hole where she could find refuge, everything in her rebelled at leaving Dalmar to his fate. Torn between a fear for his life and a fear of disobeying his commands, she faltered.

She glanced over the stairwell, and though she was not in a position to see the contenders, her eyes were drawn to the grotesque spectacle of their shadows on the wall—gray wraiths which seemed to be engaged in a deadly pas de deux. Only the ring of steel on steel, their harsh breathing, and their soft footfalls gave any indication of the awful reality. Mesmerized, Annabelle sank to her heels, her eyes riveted to the moving pictures on the wall.