PHANTOM IN TIME (40 page)

He
nodded.

Bella
looked around wildly. “Good heavens, let's get you off this stage before
whoever it is tries again!”

He
did not argue, and they raced off. A wild-eyed Etienne met them just beyond the
curtains at stage right. “Jacques, what on earth has happened?”

Jacques
shook his head in bewilderment. “You tell me, Etienne. During the scene change,
I heard a shot, then felt something warm trickling down my sleeve.”

Glancing
at the bloodstained linen, Etienne wiped his brow with his hand. “This is
terrible.” He hurried onstage, cupping a hand around his mouth. “Is there a
surgeon in the house?”

Amid
shocked murmurs from the spectators, a tall, gray-haired man stood in the third
row. “I'm a physician.”

“Good.
Please, come help us, sir.” As additional sounds of alarm rose from the crowd,
Etienne raised a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. We've had a
slight accident, but I assure you everything is under control. However, I must
ask you to remain quietly in your seats until the authorities can be called.”

Although
more comments rippled through the crowd, the spectators complied and did not
panic. Bella accompanied Jacques and the doctor to his dressing room. After
sending an usher to his buggy to fetch his black bag, the physician cut off
part of Jacques's sleeve and dressed his wound. Bella winced at the sight of
the ugly red groove slicing across Jacques's forearm.

“You're
a very fortunate man, Mr. LeFevre,” the physician pronounced. “The bullet
merely grazed you, so there's not even any lead to remove. With someone taking
potshots at you in the darkness . . . well, you could have been struck
anywhere, with possibly fatal results.”

“I
realize that,” Jacques said soberly.

Bella
gave the doctor an imploring glance. “Sir, would you please tell Jacques to
stay off the stage? Someone is trying to kill him.”

“So
it appears,” the man agreed as he wrapped Jacques's arm with a gauze bandage.
“You might be well advised to heed the young lady's advice.”

“I'm
more worried about her,” Jacques told him. “Someone tried to hurt her last
night.”

The
doctor turned to Bella. “Is this true?”

“Yes,”
she admitted, regarding Jacques defiantly. “But I only tripped over a wire—it's
not the same.”

The
two were staring at each other tensely when Etienne burst in. “Jacques, the
police are here and wish to question you.” He turned to the doctor. “How is he
doing?”

“He'll
live,” the man said, closing his bag.

“Will
he be up to performing?” asked Etienne.

“Etienne!”
protested Bella. “All you care about is your precious production!”

“That's
not true,” the director argued. “I'll hire extra security to make sure everyone
is safe.”

Bella
rolled her eyes.

Etienne
turned to the physician. “Well, doctor? Can he perform?”

Glancing
at Jacques, the doctor shrugged. “There's no physical reason why he can't
resume his duties by tomorrow—although if you want my advice, if he goes back
on that stage, he's got rocks where his brains should be.”

“He's
certainly hard headed,” agreed Bella.

Jacques
glared at her. Fighting a smile, the doctor left.

Etienne
heaved a relieved breath. “The police are interviewing all the spectators. I'm
sure we'll find the culprit.”

Jacques
laughed. “Not likely, since I'm pretty sure the shot was fired from the wings.”

Bella
uttered a cry of dismay. “Jacques, are you certain?”

His
expression troubled, he reached out to stroke her cheek. “Unhappily, yes,
ma
chère.
Whoever wants to kill me is surely a member of this company.”

“Oh,
God,” groaned Bella, as Jacques and Etienne fell into grim silence.

***

“Jacques,
you can't perform again! You can't!”

Half
an hour later, Bella and Jacques were in the alleyway outside the opera house,
approaching his carriage. She had every intention of going home with him, but
only so she could dissuade him from his mad insistence that he would continue
to sing at the St. Charles.

“Bella,
must we discuss this now?” he asked, guiding her toward his carriage.

“Should
we wait until you're dead?” she shouted.

He
flung open the door and used his good hand to assist her inside. He climbed in
beside her, shut the door, and shouted an order to Luis to take them home.

Wearily,
he rubbed his brow. “Bella, I've had a very trying night. I prefer to forget
about this incident for now.”

“Forget?”
she said incredulously. “Forget that your very life is in peril? That the
police have no idea who fired at you?”

“Perhaps
whoever did it has gotten it out of his system.”

“What
if it's a her?”

He
grinned. “Now,
that
is different. Women tend to be much more
persistent—and vindictive.”

Bella
threw up her hands. “You are impossible!”

He
wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. “Give me a kiss.”

She
pushed him away. “Oh, no, you don't! You're not distracting me now. Sometimes
you make me so furious. You
are
just like my parents, impetuous and
cavalier, giving up everything for the opera.”

“I'll
not give up your life!” he blazed.

“You
will if you're dead!”
Or would he?
The thought washed a shiver down her
spine as she remembered his ghost.

“I'm
not dead yet,
ma belle,”
he murmured, pressing his warm lips to her
throat.

Despite
the thrill of his kiss, she jerked away, seething. “Jacques, how can you even
think about sex at a time like this?”

“How
can I think of anything else?” he countered hotly. “Life-and-death struggles
tend to reduce things to a rather elemental level.”

“I
refuse to have sex with you until we talk,” she said stubbornly.

“And
I refuse to talk until we make love.”

“Oh!”
she fumed. “You're such a typical male, thinking every problem can be solved in
bed. It's just not that simple—”

“Oh,
but I intend to keep things very simple tonight,” he countered adamantly,
pulling her onto his lap.

His
nearness, especially after she had almost lost him, was devastating to Bella,
but her concern for him remained stronger. “Jacques, don't make me fight you,”
she begged. “I don't want to hurt you—”

“Then
don't fight,” he coaxed. His hot mouth brushed her cheek, and his hand cupped
her breast. “Bella, I'm willing to have our talk, just as you wish. But my
cooperation demands a price. I must feel close to you first. I want you to be
mine tonight—mine, with no reservations.”

“Jacques
. . .” Reeling, she clenched and unclenched her fists.

“I
nearly lost you tonight, Bella,” he whispered in anguish, planting tender,
reverent kisses all over her cheeks. “You think you were scared . . . but I
nearly lost you.”

“Oh,
Jacques . . .” Helplessly, she curled her arms around his neck and kissed him
back.

They
arrived at his town house and walked through the fragrant courtyard, holding
hands. Jacques's gaze burned into Bella's. That smoldering look told her how
thoroughly he intended to claim her, and the very thought left her weak. He was
right, she realized achingly. His brush with death demanded a reaffirmation of
both their lives, their love. Before they could communicate through words, they
needed to feel bonded through the most intimate communication of all.

Upstairs
in his bedroom, Jacques sat down on the bed, doffing his shirt and boots. “Come
here, darling,” he said, his voice rough with need.

His
husky tone and ardent gaze forced pulses of hot longing deep inside her. The
sight of his beautiful naked chest further heightened her longing. Stepping closer,
she gulped at the sight of the red-blotched bandage on his arm. “How is the
wound?”

Jacques
grinned, and deliberately undid the top button on his trousers. “Throbbing.” He
gazed at her hungrily. “Take off your clothes, darling.”

“Jacques—”

“It's
the only way you're going to get me to talk—but much later.”

Trembling,
Bella complied, slowly removing her dress, petticoats, chemise, and
undergarments. Jacques's gaze was riveted to her throughout, causing her
heartbeat to roar in her ears even as her womanhood ached in anticipation.

Jacques
opened an ornate tin on the bedside table and slipped his fingers inside,
intriguing her. “Come here,” he said wickedly. “I want to give you something
unutterably sweet.”

Curious,
Bella crawled up beside him on the bed. Jacques grinned and plopped a bonbon in
her mouth. As she slowly, sensuously chewed and savored it, he leaned over and
nibbled at her breast, exquisitely torturing her with his teeth. His hands
roved her bare spine, her bottom.

Bella
moaned. “I want something sweeter still,” she murmured, undoing the rest of the
buttons on his trousers.

She
heard Jacques's tortured moan as she took his hardness in her mouth. “Sweet . .
. so sweet,” she murmured, licking him delicately, then drawing him deep,
feeling him grow more rigid and distended.

He
buried a hand in her hair. “Ah, yes,
ma belle.
Yes!”

With
her lips pressed against the turgid tip of him, she stared up at him through
tears. “Jacques, I don't want to lose you.”

“You
won't ever lose me, Bella.”

“But
you don't understand,” she whispered brokenly. “I don't want you to haunt me,
Jacques. I don't want to love you as a ghost. I want you as a flesh-and-blood
man.”

“Ah
,
ma chère
!” The words bursting from him hoarsely, Jacques pulled Bella
astride him and slowly brought her down on his teeming organ. At her wanton
cry, he gripped her waist and rocked her deeper still.

“I'm
alive, Bella,” he whispered fiercely, his hands clutching her breasts. “Never
more alive than I am in your arms. Feel my flesh in your flesh. Hear my blood
roaring with my love for you.”

“I
feel it—I hear it—”

“Love
me now, Bella.”

“I
love you, Jacques . . .”

“I
love you, too. Give me all of yourself.”

“Oh,
yes, yes,” she whispered, sinking onto him deeply as he thrust into her with
the shattering power of his love . . .

Chapter Thirty-seven

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As
had happened yesterday, Bella awakened to see Jacques perched on his elbow beside
her, smiling into her face. She yawned and smiled back at him, her look of
pleasure quickly fading as she spotted the bandage on his arm, with its streaks
of dried blood.

“How
is your wound?”

“Fine,”
he assured her. “Just as the doctor said, a mere scratch. Now give me a
good-morning kiss.”

Bella
curled her arms around his neck and complied. “How long have your been staring
at me?”

Tenderly,
he stroked her cheek. “Ever since the sunrise . . . You're so beautiful, I
couldn't resist,
chérie
.
”

Sudden
tears filled her eyes at the poignancy of his words, and she turned away.

Jacques
nestled her close. “What is it,
chérie?”

In a
small voice, she confessed, “I'm wondering if we'll ever again know a moment
this sweet.”

“But
of course we will, darling.” He turned her in his arms and stared tenderly into
her eyes. “Bella, I want you to marry me.”

She
closed her eyes and groaned. “I can't.”

“But
why? Last night you told me you loved me. Was that a lie?”

Her
eyelids flew open. “Of course not! But you won't give up performing, not even
after someone attempted to kill you last night. We know you're going to be
murdered a few days from now, yet you blithely ignore my warnings. You're
headed on a course of self-destruction.”

Jacques
sat up on the side of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Bella,
I've explained my philosophy to you—”

“And
it stinks!” she cut in heatedly, sitting up beside him and gathering the sheet
around her.

He
frowned thoughtfully. “Would it make you happy if I stay away from the theater
on Tuesday night?”

Bella's
eyes lit with new hope. “Yes! Oh, yes!”

“But
what then, Bella? Even if we should manage to thwart the murderer this once,
won't he—or she—likely try again?”

She
frowned, smoothing the hair away from her face. “Jacques, we need time, time to
ferret out the murderer. Until we do, you're a fool not to proceed with extreme
caution.”

He
brooded on that thought. “I will consider avoiding the opera house that night,
then.”

“But
you won't stay away tonight?”

He shook
his head. “Not tonight.”

She
touched his arm. “Jacques, I can't save you from yourself, from your own
recklessness. My God, I don't even know how long I'll be allowed to stay here
with you.”

Flinging
the sheet aside, Jacques tumbled Bella back on the bed with him, clutching her
naked body close and pressing his lips to her hair. “Bella, you're not going
anywhere—not if I have anything to say about it. You're the one who should stay
away from the theater, and from that damned kaleidoscope that might take you
away from me again. Someone tried to harm you, too. I can't bear the thought of
anything happening to you.”

Bella
clung to Jacques, her mind deeply troubled. They seemed at an impossible
impasse.

***

On
her way to her dressing room that evening, Bella encountered Toby in the wings.
She could tell by the child's pinched features that something was terribly
wrong.

She
touched his tense shoulder. “Toby, are you okay?”

As
two laughing chorus girls dashed by them, Toby bit his lip. He took Bella's
hand and tugged her toward a small alcove in which various props were stacked.