Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (48 page)

“I sympathize with the nameless
signore
,” said Roxton. He beckoned to a lackey who held
their frocks and cravats. “I was a poor adversary, my dear. I
apologize.”

“Not at all. You’re a worthy opponent at any
time! Damme, I have to have the better of you at something!”

“Believe me, Vallentine, you do,” said the
Duke. He gave over his sword into the servant’s hands. “Since your
departure from Paris I’ve not had a decent opponent. Édouard
Flavacourt lacks the experience and Du Barrie, the talent. I see I
must concentrate a little more or you will have the better of me at
every turn.”

Lord Vallentine laughed and shook his head
as he rolled down his sleeves. “I don’t blame you. You’re mind is
on other matters, and that’s understandable, ain’t it. Between you
and me, and with all due respect to my lovely wife your sister,
you’re a damned lucky man, my friend! Damned lucky!”

“Luck, my dear Vallentine?” the Duke
drawled, a glint in the black eyes. He threw the cravat about his
neck but did not tie it, and left the white linen shirt gaping at
the throat. When the lackey offered him his frock he waved it
aside. It was a fine cloudless day and he was still warm from the
exercise. He had the servant follow them within doors. “What were
you so eager Antonia should not know?” he asked Vallentine.

“Don’t want to alarm the girl
unnecessarily,” said Lord Vallentine with a sudden heavy frown.
“The news ain’t pleasant.”

“So I presumed. Go on.”

“Had the story from my cousin Harcourt, who
had it from a friend of his staying with the De Chesnays in Paris,”
said his lordship. “Of course we had heard it before then. Our
first night back in Paris and who should come scratching on Estée’s
door but Thérèse Duras-Valfons! She whispered the whole in Estée’s
little ear. I took m’self off to Rossard’s to hear the story from
the mouth of a gentleman. Can’t trust a female tongue to stick to
the facts. And not one dripping with jealous spite.”

“Go on,” said Roxton, ignoring a significant
side-long stare from his friend.

“Well, when I walked into Rossard’s I swear
they expected to see you at my back. What an unholy uproar! And do
you think they believed me, your brother-in-law, when I told ’em
I’d no notion of your whereabouts? Jesus! You could’ve heard the
scuttle of a cockroach when I told ’em that!”

The Duke stood aside to allow his lordship
to go up the stairs before him. “The news?” he prompted.

“Aye. I’m getting to that. It won’t surprise
you to know that when Salvan announced the cancellation of his
son’s nuptials all Paris was stunned. Only topic of conversation
for days. Not only Paris but at Versailles, too. King Louis had
Salvan up before him to explain himself. He ain’t been back at
court since. Got leave of absence from his duties, so he says.
Though it’s whispered he’s in disgrace.”

“And the explanation given for the
cancellation of nuptials?”

Lord Vallentine paused by a long window in a
passageway that had up on its walls ancient members of the Hesham
family. “You ain’t going to like it one bit, my friend. The rumor
in Paris is the Vicomte is in a state of total nervous collapse
because you robbed his prospective bride of her—virtue. He ain’t
been seen for weeks. Rumor has it he’s in the country, but De
Chesnay is adamant he saw him in Paris just a week or so ago. And
there’s another thing…”

“Yes?”

“Madame de Salvan is dead.”

“Is that so?”

“Thought that would surprise you. She died
the very day her grandson was to be married.”

“How unfortunate.”

“For whom?” said Vallentine dryly. “Salvan’s
been shouting from the rooftops the old woman died of a broken
heart, or some such absurd notion, all because of the shame you’ve
brought upon the family name—kidnapping and seducing Antonia, and
ruining his son’s future happiness. You know Salvan’s style. I
reckon that damned little gnome is as pleased as can be that his
mother up and died on that of all days.”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally,” spluttered his lordship. “Now
listen, Roxton. All this don’t go well for you and your bride.
Especially so for her. That cur didn’t tell the world you up and
married the chit. And of course it don’t matter a whit to your
reputation one way or t’other. In fact not an eyebrow was raised
concerning your conduct. As for Antonia—all Paris frowns on her
because she allowed herself to be seduced by you! Jesus! The girl
is being blamed for it all! Even the death of old Grandmother
Salvan. Truth be told the old hag choked on a fish bone. But that
don’t fit the tragedy, do it? And one other thing—”

Roxton looked bored. “There is more?”

“Aye!” said Lord Vallentine and leaned
against the wood paneling. “The court harpies have lapped up this
scandal like sweetened cream. Duras-Valfons, de La Tournelle and
the rest. How do you think Antonia is going to be received by the
likes of them, eh? And when they discover she is Madame la Duchesse
de Roxton, what then? Tell me that!”

“Oh do spare me the lecture,” the Duke said
with bitterness.

“Can’t stay at Treat forever, dear brother,”
Lord Vallentine announced, catching the Duke up in the Saloon.

Roxton had the lackey deposit their frocks
and swords on a chair and leave them. He came away from the
sideboard with a decanter and two glasses. “I do not wait on the
world, Vallentine; it waits on me.”

Vallentine accepted a glass with a grin and
a shake of his head. “You’re so damned arrogant.”

The Duke raised his glass in a toast. “It is
my most endearing quality.”

They both laughed and some of the old
easiness returned. But the smiles were wiped from their faces when
Estée ran into the room crying, and cast herself against her
brother’s chest. Roxton held her off with a frown. But Lord
Vallentine gathered her up in a comforting embrace and patiently
coaxed her down from a high passion.

“What has happened to bring this on,
lovedy?” said Vallentine in a soothing voice. “We didn’t mean to
leave you like that, but y’know what your brother and I are like
when we get together. You didn’t lose your way, aye?”

“Forgive me. I did not mean to—to be so
foolish,” Estée sniffed. “But I am frightened for the child.”

“Antonia?” the Duke said sharply.

“No! Yes! I do not know what is happening!”
she said on a dry sob and put out a hand to clutch her brother’s
sleeve. “You must be careful with her. She must not have an upset.
She is delicate, and in her condition the slightest—”

“What condition?” asked Lord Vallentine and
released her, looking from brother to sister.

The Duke snatched at his sister’s sleeve.
“She has spoken to you?”

Estée shook her curls at her brother’s
enquiry. “We have not had the opportunity to speak. But something
she said at breakfast alerted me to the possibility and then her
maid, she assured me it is so.”

“Damme! What are you babbling about, Estée?
What condition? What’s wrong with the chit? Eh?”

Brother and sister ignored him.

Estée kissed the Duke’s hand and smiled
through her tears at his look of total confusion. “Did you never
consider such an eventuality?”

“I never suspected… She hasn’t said a word.
She—she can’t be, can she?” he asked. But when his sister smiled
and burst into joyful tears he quickly turned away and refilled his
glass.

Lord Vallentine gave a low whistle. “Look
here, Estée,” he said near his wife’s ear. “You’re not seriously
telling us that the girl—that Antonia—is with child?
Already
? Well! Well!” he exclaimed and slapped the Duke’s
back “Trust you to make quick work of it! Damn your impudence!” he
laughed. “If that ain’t the devil’s own luck!”

“Lu-cian!” scolded his scowling wife, her
cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Where is Antonia?” asked the Duke.

“I do not know,” she said in a small voice
and avoided looking at him. “Your lackeys, they are insolently
stupid! And Duvalier, he is just the same. He refuses to tell me.
He will speak only to you.”

Lord Vallentine grinned. “She’s playing a
game with us, I’ll swear! And I’ll wager Duvalier is in on it.
Crafty old fox! If he was thirty years younger I’d warn you against
him. He and your valet both. They’ve got a soft place in their
hearts for your wife, Roxton. Damme if the chit isn’t playing hide
n’ seek with us.”

The Duke did not smile. “What did Duvalier
tell you, Estée?”

“Nothing! The maid Gabrielle, she came to me
with some tale of intruders in the library with pistols and
swords—”

“What is going on here?” exploded his
lordship.

“Do not shout at me, Lucian!” shouted his
wife and burst into fresh tears. “How do I know what is going on in
a house where the lackeys are-are insolent and closed-mouthed, and
do not have a civilized tongue in their heads? Since I returned
from our ride all has been upside down in this place! I got lost,
and no one will speak to me of the Duchesse, and oh-oh—” She fell
into her husband’s arms. “Lucian, Lucian, I am very worried for the
little one.”

“Hush now. I’m certain it’s all a pack of
flim flam.”

“But do you not remember what is being said
in Paris? We should not have gone to London but come straight
here!”

“That was Salvan merely raving on!” argued
Vallentine. “It’s too fantastic to be believed. You know your
cousin better than I, Estée, and I say he’s as mad as the rest of
his family.” He refilled the Duke’s glass but it was not taken.
Roxton had turned to the large looking glass over the sideboard and
was tying his cravat, a tremble in his right hand prolonging the
task. “Roxton,” he said kindly, mindful of the shake, “I wish you’d
drink this. It will help y’know.”

The Duke drained the glass and put it aside,
then shrugged himself into his riding frock. “Estée. What did
Antonia’s maid tell you?” he asked quietly.

“It was a jumble, all of it! She-she said
there are four men in your library with another, their leader, and
they have swords and pistols and were waving them about threatening
Duvalier! And she does not know Antonia’s whereabouts, and somehow
the valet, he is mixed up in all of this too!”

“Jesus! Who are these fools? Hey! Where are
you going with that sword?”

“Excuse me, my dear. I—er—must greet my
guests.”

“Not without me! Wait up!” cried his
lordship, struggling to put on his sword and follow his friend at
one and the same time. “I’m coming with you.”

“No. I go alone. Madame, you will wait
outside.”

“You ain’t going to face a pack of damned
ruffians without me!”

Roxton strode through one antechamber then
the next, and disappeared down a long dark corridor. Lord and Lady
Vallentine followed him.

“You’d be lucky to steady a pistol least of
all a sword!” called his lordship close at the Duke’s back. “So you
won’t argue with me! Do you hear? Besides, you can’t deny there’s
sport in two on five, eh?”

“Lucian! Lucian!” called his wife, unable to
keep up the pace and cursing her high red heels. “You must be
careful! Oh! Will you not slow down! I will lose a heel!”

“Wait outside as Roxton says,” he bellowed
over his shoulder. “There’s naught for you to worry about. We’re a
match for any pack of scum Salvan cares to throw at us!” He gave a
crack of laughter. “And I ain’t braggin’, damn it!”

Estée stumbled and decided to give up the
chase. She slumped down on a hard-backed settee and tried to regain
her breath. “
Mon Dieu
, do not kill him!” she shouted shrilly
as husband and brother stormed through a set of doors which had
been locked from the inside.

The Duke had traversed half the length of
the library when he checked himself. Lord Vallentine cursed and
pulled up short, tripping himself up and almost crashing into his
friend’s broad back. Swiftly his hand went to his sword and stayed
there, the knuckles white as he gripped its hilt hard. But the Duke
did not move or go for his sword. He stood quite still, his face
masked of emotion, the errant hand thrust in a breeches pocket.

The Comte de Salvan, in heavy jack-boots and
travel stained riding frock, stood by a dying fire in the grate of
the big marble fireplace, a heel on the hearth. To his right four
musketeers, similarly attired, kicked their heels. They lounged on
the furniture and stared absently out of the long windows that had
a view of the velvet lawns. They looked the pack of ruffians Lord
Vallentine had branded them, and just as dangerous as the maid
described. All wore swords; two carried pistols. Yet it was not
this that had caused the Duke to stop mid-stride. In the Comte de
Salvan’s gloved hand was Antonia’s parasol.

Salvan pointed the parasol at the closest
musketeer and spoke a sharp sentence the Duke did not catch. The
man responded with an oath and his fellows laughed at his expense.
The Comte did not laugh. He frowned and swore at them and thumped
the hearth with his heel. He was about to bark out something else
when he sensed a presence and swirled about to stare into the face
of his cousin. His frown dissolved, replaced by a smile that
broadened his painted face.

“
Mon cousin
! At last we are
reunited!” he declared with outstretched arms and a sweeping bow.
“It has been an age since last we met—at the Maison Clermont was it
not? Yes! I am sure of it! You with the fair flower of the Orient
and I? Poor Salvan to content himself with one of the less
accomplished bawds—”

“Where is my wife,” the Duke asked
softly.

The Comte gave a short, bitter laugh. “Ah,
yes, your
wife
,” he said caressingly and dropped the parasol
as if it was something unclean. “Your so lovely, and very young,
wife.”

The gesture was too much for Lord
Vallentine. In a blind rage, and within not more than a blink, his
sword was out of its scabbard, its sharp point thrust up under the
Comte’s throat to gently tickle the ravaged skin.