Spring Fires (22 page)

Lion rose abruptly to his feet. "I'll get dressed, then Lisette and I will ride up to Wadelands." When Meagan opened her mouth, he firmly laid his hand over it.
"No!
I will not allow you to get involved." Then, more gently, "You know that you could come, if not for the baby."

Lisette walked to the back window and surveyed the graying sky. "It's growing lighter," she hinted urgently.

Lion nodded in reply and left the kitchen.

"Would you like more tea?" asked Meagan.

"Yes. Please." She returned to her chair. "I feel terrible, disturbing you this way."

"I truly don't mind. I admire the way you have acted, rather than weeping in your bed; I understand that. And, as for Marcus, we do feel a certain responsibility for him."

"You have never shied from challenges yourself, if the stories I hear are true."

"Thank you for not putting me on the shelf. I'm only a few months older than you, but of late I have felt quite matronly."

"You look
beautiful
!" Lisette protested. "A baby... I think it is wonderful. As for me, I shall probably be a spinster. Adventure is not routine for me, I assure you. I spend all of my time working in the CoffeeHouse."

"But you are very proud of it, aren't you? You are the undeniable equal of the men who are your patrons."

Suddenly, Lion's shout came from the entryway. "Lisette! Let's go!"

Meagan hurried after the taller girl. In the doorway, she grasped her husband's hand. "Lion, promise me that you will not do anything dangerous."

"I shall try to think of a plausible reason to interrupt and stop the duel." He kissed her quickly.
"Don't worry
,
sweetheart. And stay here!"

Lion had brought a yellow post chariot around to the front door; he explained that it was merely a precaution in the event that anyone was injured. Before allowing him to help her in, Lisette went over to her horse and took something out of her saddlebag.

"The jewels. Marcus forgot them last night in his rage. I don't like having them around, especially after hearing your story. You must decide what to do with them..."

Lion lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he took the bulging pouch back to his wife, spoke to her softly, then hastened back to the post chariot.

Moments later, Meagan watched the graceful yellow vehicle roll swiftly down the drive. Dawn was rushing in from the east, and as she felt the weight of the jewels in her hands, a foreboding chill prickled the back of her neck.

* * *

The Schuylkill River had turned violet by the time Lisette and Lion sighted Wadelands. The handsome country house had been purchased by Marcus Reems as an inducement to Priscilla Wade to marry him instead of Lion. Now empty most of the year, it looked rather unkempt, its lawn ragged and garden overgrown.

Lion stopped the post chariot well away from the grounds and tied the horses to a tree overlooking the river. An anxious-looking Lisette joined him.

"I can see the sun coming up..." She gestured to the east. "Do you know where the meadow is that Marcus spoke of?"

"Yes. Just beyond that long hedge that borders Wadelands. Look, you can see the fresh path beaten down across the grass to that space between the bushes. Someone is already here."

Lisette matched Lion's quiet sprint as they crossed the lawn. Never had she known such terrible panic. What if Nicholai was dead? That agonizing thought even blotted out Lion's revelation about the true reason for Nicholai's visits to the CoffeeHouse.

A few feet from the hedge, Lion stopped and withdrew a well-made pistol with engraved brass trim. "Shh," he cautioned. "I hear them talking."

Lisette gaped, horrified, at his weapon. "You aren't planning to use that? You told Meagan—"

"Quiet!" Lion hissed. "Fair play is not a philosophy to which Marcus subscribes!"

With that, he took Lisette's clammy hand and led her along the high bushes to the opening. Both of them peered around the branches just in time to watch Nicholai and Marcus handing their coats to their seconds, Randolph Edwards and William Bingham. In return, each was presented with a dueling pistol. Lisette could guess why Nicholai had chosen Randolph as his second; a more intimate friend or relative would never stand for this foolishness.

A long area had been cleared of brush; the center and each man's twenty paces were marked. Now, the two duelists stood back to back against the fire-streaked sky, linen shirts fluttering in the breeze. Randolph and Bingham retreated to a safe distance just a few feet in front of the sleepy-looking Dr. Wistar and his medical valise.

"Your diversion!" Lisette whispered to Lion.

"It's too late for any more diversions," he replied softly. "It was too late four years ago, but I was too blind to see." Someone was counting, slowly, and the two men began to walk in opposite directions while Lion checked his pistol. "Don't worry about Beauvisage. Marcus was never very good at this... or anything else."

As the distance widened between the men, they fell silent. Lisette's heart was hammering so hard that she felt she might suffocate; her palms were wet and icy.

"Seventeen..." Randolph intoned, "eighteen, nineteen...
twen—"

Lisette gasped in horror when Marcus Reems wheeled around and took aim a split second before the command to fire was given. Nicholai had just begun to turn when there were two staccato cracks, two puffs of smoke in the pink sunrise—one from Marcus's gun, one from Lion's—and two men crumpled to the ground.

Chapter 20

April 26, 1793
.

Meagan was upstairs, freshly garbed and brushing her hair,
when she heard the clattering wheels of the post chariot in the drive. It took all her willpower not to race madly down the stairs; she took the rail and descended as quickly as she dared.

Throwing open the front door, her eyes fell on the yellow carriage and the vivid drops of blood spattered across its side. There was movement inside; heads shifting in the muted dawn light. It seemed that whoever had driven was now leaning in the far door.

"Lion?" Meagan whispered the name, afraid to hear the worst.

Instantly, his head appeared inside the coach. "I am fine, sweeting." Sweat and dust streaked his face. "It is Nicholai. Will you go upstairs and turn back the covers on our bed?"

A lump of relief swelled in Meagan's throat as she hurried to do his bidding. She was arranging the pillows when Lion and Dr. Wistar appeared, arms around Nicholai's back. A crimson stain blossomed over the left shoulder of his linen shirt and his skin was bleached under its tan. Carefully, they eased him onto the bed. Nicholai's eyes were closed, his handsome face clenched with pain. He made no sound as Lion began to cut away his clothing and the doctor prepared to remove the lead ball embedded in his shoulder.

Meagan stepped out into the hall. To her surprise, she found Lisette at the top of the stairs, leaning against the baluster and sobbing wretchedly.

"Oh, Lisette..." Meagan went to her and embraced her. Something that Caro had said came back to her...
"I
happen to know that Nicholai has an interest in Mistress Hahn himself."
It occurred to Meagan that Mr. Beauvisage may have had another motive for visiting Lisette aside from spying on Marcus. "You mustn't cry for too long—you will make yourself sick. Here, sit down."

They sat together on the stairs and Lisette rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her man's shirt. "Oh, that felt good. I have been in agony, but I couldn't let Nicholai know."

"Tears are hard to keep inside," Meagan agreed. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Marcus Reems is dead," answered Lisette tonelessly. She pressed slim fingers to her hot eyelids and cheeks.

"B-but—dear lord! I—how? Often those pistols are so inaccurate that neither man is hit—"

"Nicholai didn't shoot Marcus—Lion did. Marcus fired before the signal was given; we were behind some bushes, and when Lion saw what was happening, he raised his pistol and shot."

Meagan paled in horror. "Oh, my God... how terrible. Did Marcus know?"

"Yes. The strange thing was, he didn't seem surprised. When Lion and I came forward, I saw the look in Marcus's eyes. Calm. I went to Nicholai, but I saw Lion kneel and lift Marcus's head... he only said one thing before he died. So odd. It was 'Thank you.' "

Meagan shivered visibly. "I suppose we underestimated Marcus; perhaps he had no more control over his actions than Lion did... and was waiting to be stopped." Her eyes pooled with tears.

"The doctor says Nicholai will be all right," Lisette was saying. "I pray that he's correct. All that blood... the pain in his eyes..."

"I am certain that Dr. Wistar is right. A shoulder wound should heal easily enough with the proper care. If everything is kept clean, the dressings changed, and Nicholai rests and stays quiet, there shouldn't be any problem at all."

"If anything happens to him..." she whispered to herself.

"I—didn't realize you two were so involved." Meagan hated herself for prying, but she couldn't instigate her plan unless she was certain.

"Oh, well—" Suddenly, Lisette was flustered; blood rushed to her face. "Involved is not the right word. I just feel that the duel was partly my fault, since I was the cause of their argument."

"Mmm. Yes." She struggled not to smile. "You mustn't think that way. If the blame were to be divided, all of us would receive a portion."

As she nodded, another tear trickled down her cheek. "It is so hard to realize that that silly quarrel last night could have ended this way. That a life can be lost so quickly... and Nicholai—it's impossible to believe that someone so strong could be disabled so easily."

Meagan put an arm around her again. "You are exhausted. When Dr. Wistar is ready to leave, I think that you should go back to Philadelphia with him. Perhaps he can give you something that will help you sleep; I'll wager that a few hours in a soft bed will do you a world of good—"

"No! Oh, please, I can't leave Nicholai. Please, let me stay!"

Their eyes met and Meagan knew the truth. "Of course you may stay. Absolutely."

At that moment a door closed down the hall. Lion and Dr. Wistar paused there, talking, then started toward the stairway. Without a word, Meagan rose and went to her husband. She was well aware of the turmoil that brewed under his calm exterior; the hand that took her own was cold and tense.

"Well, ladies," Dr. Wistar was saying, "I have done all I can. He's an exceptionally strong man and I have every hope that he will come out of this without lasting damage. I will write down a list of instructions about his dressings and pain medication. I have a few things from my bag that I will leave—salves and such. Don't expect him to be alert for two or three days. Before that time, he will need the laudanum to keep the pain at bay; sleep will be a kindness for him." The doctor fixed accusing eyes on Lisette. "If you want to see Mr. Beauvisage just to reassure yourself, I have no objection. He was looking for you."

"He was?" She seemed on the verge of tears again. "I will go to him. Excuse me."

As she hurried down the hallway, Dr. Wistar went to the parlor to prepare his instructions, and the Hampshires slipped into a sitting room to steal a few minutes alone.

Opening the door to the room Nicholai occupied, Lisette thought that she scarcely knew herself. All her carefully structured defenses had broken apart, and the result was total chaos. She wanted to weep with abandon, as if to share some of his pain, and then cry even more just for the fact that she cared so acutely.

Sunlight streamed into the chamber; morning was just beginning. Lion and Meagan's bed was enormous and beautiful, with embroidered bed hangings that were open to let in the light. Almost in the middle, his chestnut hair gleaming against a white pillow, lay Nicholai. Lisette made her way around the bed slowly. She felt impatient yet fearful. The top third of Nicholai's body was uncovered. Although his dark skin contrasted with the snowy linen, he was paler than usual. Clean bandages hid his left shoulder, as well as a portion of his arm and chest, from view. Lisette was shocked to see how large an area had been affected, but she took comfort from the rest of him—lean muscled, warm blooded, and unmistakably alive.

"Nicholai?" she whispered, starved for the sight of his bright emerald-green eyes and the appealing sound of his voice. "Nicholai, I am here. It's Lisette."

Finally, she realized that he was not resting or lightly drowsing, but asleep, and her heart throbbed with anguished disappointment. She stared at his splendid face, which, even in repose, had an undeniable strength. There was a vulnerability, too, that was new to her. His firm lips, parted to allow the passage of warm breath, offset the square line of his jaw, while his cynically drawn brows and chiseled nose seemed less harsh in view of the thick eyelashes she had never noticed before.

"I am not going to worry about that one," a voice announced from the foot of the bed. Lisette drew a surprised breath and turned to find Antonia Beauvisage. Nicholai's mother wore a mask of stoic composure that couldn't disguise the anxiety in her eyes. "Nicky is strong."