Gallant Match (26 page)

“I can guess your reasons for taking the job, for what good they did you. But tell me, why is the lady's welfare so important?” Rouillard glanced over his shoulder at Tremont before turning back again. “Just how well do you know my betrothed, Wallace? What happened between you in the days between the sinking of the
Lime Rock
and yesterday afternoon?”

“Nothing that need concern you.” It was the truth as far as it went. Sonia's innocence or lack of it had not, apparently, been of paramount importance in Rouillard's offer for her hand. Why should it matter now?

Yet Kerr knew full well that it did matter. That the bride-to-be would be untouched was implicit in the arrangement; it had been that way for centuries. If Rouillard learned she had been thoroughly touched indeed, and by him, might even now be carrying his child, the bastard would be fit to be tied. Women had died for that breach of trust.

“I will deliver Rouillard his bride, one unharmed, unsullied…”

He had failed to keep his solemn vow. He should be horsewhipped for it.

Rouillard turned to Tremont once more. “What do you say, my friend? You saw them together aboard ship
and again when you stopped the diligence. Should I be concerned?”

Kerr met the dark eyes of the erstwhile sugar planter, seeing in them the swift weighing of evidence, the sifting of advantage. He frowned a warning, or tried. Tremont had been attracted to Sonia, had walked and talked with her, laughed with her, knew her rare combination of beauty and spirit. Surely he would say nothing that might put her in danger?

The man against the wall lifted a shoulder, the picture of callousness. “Who knows. But you're unlikely to get the truth from Wallace. My suggestion would be to ask the lady.”

No!

The protest shouted in Kerr's mind, though he clenched his teeth to keep it inside. Sonia would never deny it. Such discretion would not serve her, or so she thought. She would throw the truth in her betrothed's face in hope of release, if not for the satisfaction of it.

And whatever the result, Kerr thought as he closed his eyes, he would have to live with it. At least long enough to wipe from the face of the earth the man who dared hurt her.

S
onia stood at the window of the bedchamber to which she had been brought in the night, staring down onto the street below. It was alive with people: mestizo women with braided hair and colorful skirts swishing around their ankles, boys and girls racing here and there, vendors of coffee and vegetables and herbs crying their wares, gentlemen on horseback and men and ladies perched behind them with their heads covered by scarves instead of bonnets. In the gutters were vultures, great black and gray scavengers she had heard called
zopilotes
in Xalapa, birds tolerated because they served to keep the streets clean.

Across the rooftops she could see the blue gleam of the sea, also the port guarded by the gray mass of Fort San Juan de Ulúa.

Nothing held her attention. She might as well be blind. All she could see was Kerr lying in the road with his blood turning the sandy dirt to rust-red mud.

Was he dead? Could he be, and she not know it? He
seemed too strong for such a puny fate, too indomitable of will and spirit.

She could hardly believe what had taken place. Tremont, of all people, riding to stop the diligence and make off with her. He had not hurt her in any way, but his vigilance had not relaxed for even an instant during the long ride to the city. She had found no chance to get away from him.

They had traveled hard through what remained of the day and half the night. His arms had been around her, she had been forced to lean into his body. She had been as close to him as a woman could be without the kind of intimacy she and Kerr had shared. Regardless, she had felt nothing. His day's growth of beard had prickled against her scalp, his chest had been too narrow, his arms too tight.

Nothing about it had been remotely like being held by Kerr.

Oddly enough, she had not felt threatened by their former shipmate. He answered no questions, gave her no inkling of his intentions, but neither did she have the feeling he might harm her.

Where he was taking her had been a mystery right up to the moment when they rode into the courtyard of this walled house in Vera Cruz. He'd answered no questions, barely looked at her. It was as if retrieving her was an unpleasant duty, one he wished to be done with as soon as possible. The most she had gotten from him was the admission that this house belonged to Jean Pierre.

Like the Casa de las Flores, it was a large edifice in
typical Spanish colonial style. The scale was grandiose, however, with furnishings in the overdone opulence that was sometimes mistaken for taste. The thought that she might be forced to pass the remainder of her life within its walls was almost intolerable.

She couldn't leave, not yet. First, she must speak to Jean Pierre. He had not been in the house when she arrived. She had thought to wait up for him, but sank into sleep moments after falling into the bed in this chamber. She had to tell him…

Tell him what? What could she say that would not make matters worse if Kerr was alive? And if he was dead, what did it matter anyway?

A tap sounded on the chamber door behind her. She swung her head toward the sound, pulling the wrapper closer around her that she had found on the foot of the bed. Before she could give permission for entry, the door was flung open.

“Ma chère!”
her aunt cried as she rustled toward her with open arms. “At last you are here! I have prayed so for this moment that my knees are sore and my rosary in pieces. If I had been told last night, if only I'd known—but no one came to inform me, no one said a word.”

The warm arms, the scented bosom and dear, familiar face brought a hard knot of tears to Sonia's throat. She sniffed valiantly as she clasped her aunt, accepted and gave the ritual kiss on either cheek. “I missed you, too,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“I had almost given you up, I swear it. You have no
idea how I despaired when the lifeboat filled and you were not there, or when the Mexican captain sailed from that accursed spot and you and Monsieur Wallace were not among the rescued. I had seen you swimming, both of you, but lost sight of you in the waves. My one hope was in him.”

“Tante Lily, you know I can swim.”

“Yes, yes, but truly,
chère…
”

“You are right. I owe Kerr my life.”

“Where is he that I may thank him? He did bring you?”

The tale must be told from the beginning since her aunt would never rest until she had every detail. Hearing about the snake and huge scorpion and the night spent in what might have been an ancient temple, she looked appalled. On learning of the discovery by Doña Francesca's woodsmen, the arrival in Xalapa and the holdup of the diligence, she sank onto the bed with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide.

“Oh,
chère,
such an adventure. Yes, and such horror, the stuff of nightmares. I've felt such terror myself, night after night, reliving the sinking of our steamer, worrying about you, where you were, what was happening to you. To think you were in such distress makes me feel quite ill. Are you—are you all right?”

“As you see.” Sonia's smile was no more than a quick movement of her lips.

“No, no, my dear child. I mean, that is to say, you have spent considerable time in company with a man while alone and under great strain. It would not be surprising if, that is, if you were…if you were not intact?”

At one time, Sonia would have told her aunt everything. Now she felt oddly protective of the moments spent in Kerr's arms. She gave her a straight look. “I can't believe you would ask such a thing.”

“Well, depend upon it, your betrothed will wish to know,” her aunt returned in warning tones. “He has been like a madman. I don't know what was worse in his mind, the thought that you might have drowned before becoming his wife or that you may have been saved from it by a man he holds in dislike. Though to be sure, I didn't realize he and Monsieur Wallace were acquainted until I arrived here.”

“They had not met before,” Sonia returned, and told her with as little circumlocution as possible about the connection between them.

Her aunt's face turned grim. Rising, she moved to the bellpull, which hung beside the bed, and gave it a sharp tug.

“What are you doing?”

“You must bathe and dress at once. It will not do for your betrothed to see you looking so unkempt.”

Sonia turned back toward the window. “I have nothing to wear.”

“Indeed you do, for I have been to the shops since I arrived here. I know your measurements as surely as my own, and there are always decent garments to be had for these emergencies.”

“I also don't much care how Jean Pierre sees me.”

“But you must, really, you must! It's armament, as I've told you before. A woman barricaded behind
whalebone and layers of petticoats is a different proposition from one who is naked under a mere wrapper.”

“You feel I require armor?”

“I'm sure of it. I didn't wish to tell you, but…”

Sonia's heart kicked against her ribs in response to the dread she saw in her aunt's face. “Tell me what?”

“Monsieur Rouillard is frightened of your Monsieur Wallace, I think. If an injury has been done to him, then he is the cause. I heard him say to Monsieur Tremont that someone must be stopped, though I had no idea who was meant at the time. Now, if you are without your protector, if he is—”

“Don't say it!”

“No, no, but don't you see that the first question Monsieur Rouillard will ask when he sees you must be about what took place while you were with Monsieur Wallace? If you are to pass through the ordeal unscathed, you must be ready for it.”

Her aunt was correct; Sonia saw that easily enough. What was not clear was just how she would answer the all-important question.

It was less than an hour later, as Sonia sat before her dressing table in a gown of brown-and-gold-striped silk while a young maid put up her hair in a braided coronet, that the door burst open. It smacked against the wall and bounced nearly shut again, so that Jean Pierre slapped it out of his way as he strode into the bedchamber.

“Get out.”

The vicious order was for the maid, who scurried from the room with a frightened glance over her shoul
der. It may have been intended for Tante Lily as well, but that intrepid lady blithely ignored it as she hung Sonia's wrapper away in the corner armoire that already contained another day gown, an evening costume and shawl and, on the top shelf, a hat and bonnet.

If her fiancé expected her to cower before such a violent entry, Sonia thought, he would discover his mistake. She did not rise, but turned on her stool, sitting it like a throne. “As charming as ever, I see, Monsieur Rouillard,” she said in opening attack. “I cannot be surprised since you had me snatched from the Xalapa diligence and delivered to you like a crated pullet.”

He blinked and stopped where he stood. “I do beg your pardon. I was eager to see you. You should have been with me long since.”

“Yes, and would have, no doubt, except for running afoul of a Mexican warship. A small matter, but vexing. Where were you last night that you weren't on hand to greet me?”

The guilty flush that rose to his face told its own story. “I had an engagement.”

“No doubt,” she said in repressive tones. “I hope she was pretty and not too greedy.”

“Mademoiselle Bonneval!”

“Are you shocked? Ah, well, I can see how you might be. We are barely acquainted, after all, so you have no idea of my character. Perhaps you will explain why you thought you must have me and no other as your wife?”

A pinched look appeared around his nose. “The arrangement suited me when it was made, and that's all
you need to know. Whether it pleases me now is another matter.”

He had regained his composure and sense of male privilege with it. That was not a good sign. She got to her feet, reaching for a fan that lay on the dressing table. Unfurling it, she gave her attention to the crudely painted cotton stretched over the wooden sticks. “I'm sure you will tell me when you decide,” she said negligently.

“That will depend on your answers to my questions. I demand to know what passed between you and Kerr Wallace while the two of you were without a proper chaperone.”

“You demand?” she said softly, raising the fan to her face in mock coquettishness, gazing at him over top of it.

“It's my right to know.”

“If you had come to call upon me in New Orleans and courted me in the usual form, if we had spoken solemn vows at the cathedral before sharing this tragic sea voyage, you would not have to ask.”

“Naturally you would have been overjoyed to have my proposal,” he said, a snide look appearing on his round face. “You would not even allow me a space on your dance card five years ago.”

She had not recalled that incident until this moment. He had been like a bluebottle fly buzzing around her, ignoring all polite efforts to avoid him. She had been forced to resort to the polite lie that Bernard had commandeered all her free dances. Obviously it still rankled with him. She might have realized except the incident had been so insignificant, at least to her.

“That's the reason you applied to my father, to pay me back for denying you a dance?”

“Added to the fact that he could hardly refuse the favor.” Self-satisfaction lit his smile, and he clasped his hands under his tailcoat, rocking back on his heels.

Could hardly refuse…

That phrase presented her with a stunning possibility. Was it possible her father had not wished to be rid of her, had not been happy with the betrothal he had arranged? “What do you mean?”

“Why, only that he is a partner, silent, of course, in my import concern. He entered into the arrangement willingly enough since it carried no stigma for him of dealing in dirty commerce. That we should become in-laws was only a single step more. He would not, I felt sure, attempt to discredit his daughter's husband since to ruin me would be to ruin you.”

“Why should he wish to discredit you?”

“Nothing that should concern you, only a minor disagreement over sundry items being shipped. In the end, I was able to make him see that he would be more suspect than I in any investigation, given his wealth and social standing. Who would suppose he was not the brains behind the scheme?”

Sonia stared at him while the chill of stunned comprehension shivered down her back. “The rifles,” she whispered.

“You know about them?” Amazement twisted his face and he flung a hunted look at Tante Lily. “But why not? Yes. Tremont said Wallace found them, after all.”
He stepped closer, caught her wrist in his plump, moist fist. “What else did he tell you, and what were you doing while this American bastard talked about my business?” He gave her wrist a hard wrench. “Were you spreading your legs for him? Is that it?”

Agony burned its way to Sonia's elbow. She bent at the waist in an attempt to ease it while frantic thought moved in her mind. At the edges of her vision, she saw Tante Lily turn from the armoire and start toward them. “You must be mad!”