Rogue's Mistress(26)
“Thank you, madame,” Mercy said, her eyes meeting Madelaine’s briefly. Feeling a new stab of guilt over her planned treason, she tore her gaze away and studied the striking gown. The frock was divine, the low bodice and gathered sleeves edged with delicate white lace, the full skirt embellished by dramatic scallops which revealed a sumptuous white lace underskirt.
“Is something wrong, Mercy?” Madelaine asked.
Mercy’s head shot up. “Why would anything be wrong?”
Madelaine smiled kindly, stepping forward to adjust the angle of a curl. “It’s just that you look rather anxious.”
Did she ever—and Madelaine could not possibly know why! “Well, madame, it is my first time to appear in society—at least, on an occasion of this magnitude,” Mercy hedged.
“You’ll perform brilliantly, I assure you,” Madelaine replied with a wave of a slim hand.
Ah, yes, she would perform brilliantly, Mercy mused. But it would hardly be the type of performance Madame Devereux had in mind.
“I wanted to bring over Grand’mère’s sapphire necklace for you to wear tonight,” Madelaine continued with a small frown, “but Julian vetoed my plan. I can’t imagine why.”
Mercy could. Indeed, she inwardly seethed as she thought, Because the scoundrel doesn’t think I’m deserving of your family’s jewelry. With great effort, she managed not to blurt out the words—but this new evidence of Julian’s callousness only reaffirmed her vindictive purpose.
“Will Julian be coming to get us soon?” Mercy asked Madelaine casually, fingering a fold of her luscious satin skirt.
“Ah, no, dear,” Madelaine replied awkwardly. “Since I wanted to come over and assist you, Julian is taking my place as host at the St. Louis, to greet any early arriving guests. My escort for the evening, M’sieur Townsend, will arrive here shortly to fetch us both to the festivities.”
At this pronouncement, a treasonous disappointment rose in Mercy, quickly squashed by a surge of anger. So the insensitive cad wasn’t even escorting his own fiancée to her engagement party. Add another nail to Julian Devereux’s coffin, she decided grimly.
***
Half an hour later, M’sieur Townsend was striding past the columned, gaslit portico of the St. Louis Hotel with Mercy on one arm and Madelaine on the other. Madelaine and the dark-haired Robert were laughing over some bit of gossip.
Townsend was an entertaining escort, Mercy had to admit; he had enthralled her and Madelaine during the drive by describing the new Park Row shopping district in New York City and telling them all about the latest Paris fashions displayed there. As the owner of an eastern cloth factory, Townsend was well educated on all the newest styles. Indeed, he had raved over the fine fabrics and exquisite detailing of the women’s ball gowns, to the delight of both. Now, as Madelaine made a gay remark to Townsend concerning the mild weather, Mercy suspected that the widow was more than idly interested in this slim, middle-aged bachelor with his warm gray eyes and elegant goatee.
Inside the posh hotel, the threesome proceeded straight to the rotunda, which was the site of both slave auctions during the day and society affairs at night, particularly subscription balls. At the edge of the enormous circular salon, Mercy thanked M’sieur Townsend for his escort and stood for a moment gaining her bearings.
The huge salon was spectacular, the walls composed of tall, magnificent archways and enormous fluted columns which towered up to the high round ceiling with its Italian textured panels and breathtaking domed skylight. On one side of the room, a fabulous buffet was laid out on linen-draped tables; white-gloved manservants waited behind the silver chafing dishes. The scent of hot fish, fresh bread, and spicy Creole sauces filled the air. On the other side of the room, a small orchestra was warming up on a dais, the wiry little conductor rapping his baton impatiently in a heated exchange with the head violinist. Flowers were everywhere—sprays of fragrant gardenias gracing the pillars, giant magnolia blossoms swimming in crystal bowls on the tables. Chairs were arranged around the walls to offer respite for the weary, while the center of the large room was left free for dancing.
No guests had arrived as yet, Mercy noted. She frowned. Where was—
“A lady as lovely as you should not be left alone.”
At the sound of this commanding, familiar voice, Mercy whirled to see her fiancé standing beside her. Her heart fluttered wildly, and then seemed to jump into her throat. Mon Dieu, Julian was such a handsome devil! Tonight he was formally dressed in a black tailcoat and matching trousers, his shirt, vest, and cravat of snowy white linen and silk. His black hair gleamed in the resplendence of the gaslights, and his blue eyes had never looked more brilliant or compelling. His fresh scent filled her senses, turning her mind into a jumbled haze and her fine plans into violent disarray. Suddenly, just breathing was a struggle.
Luckily, Julian stepped forward to fill the gap. “You look beautiful tonight, Mercy,” he said sincerely, eyeing her in a direct, appreciative way that made her heart pound even more fiercely.
Then, worse torture, he took her gloved hand in his and lightly brushed the back with his mouth. Even through the lace fabric, a delicious burning shot through her at the merest touch of his lips, and, as his solemn eyes met hers, she felt as if a flame had just seared her innermost parts.
“Thank you, Julian,” she somehow managed. “You look fine yourself tonight.”
“I’m sorry I was not able to come fetch you,” he continued, at last releasing her hand. “But Mama prevailed upon me to fill in as host until she arrived.”
His words pulled her from her stupor, reminding her of her avowed purpose. Ignoring the fact that her hand still seemed to burn where his lips had brushed her, she said recklessly, “It is no tragedy, I can assure you. Actually, M’sieur Townsend was a lively escort for your mother and me.”
Julian grinned. “Perhaps I should feel jealous?”
“Jealous?” she countered flippantly. “Of M’sieur Townsend? Actually, I think he has his eye on your mama—and vice versa.”
Julian raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m pleased to hear of it—although I’d be reluctant to lose Mama to an Easterner.”
Mercy waved him off. “He’s rich as Midas. But then—so are you, n’est-ce pas?”
“Is that why you’re marrying me?” he teased, moving closer.
“We both know quite well why I’m marrying you!” she snapped, fighting her own appalling response to his charm and nearness. “And it isn’t by my choice.”
He sighed. “Mercy, may we have a word alone, outside?”
“Outside?” At once, she felt intensely flustered.
But Julian was already grasping her hand and leading her toward the back of the salon. “We’ll just have a little chat out on the veranda,” he said firmly. “ ’Twill be quite proper, you’ll see.”
Julian led her through an archway, then they paused on the shadowy veranda which adjoined the courtyard area of the hotel. Mercy noted that the courtyard beyond was enchanting, filled with perfumed greenery and a tinkling fountain. The looming walls surrounding the patio afforded a feeling of intimacy. Softly glowing gaslights cast a dappled glow on the scene, and high balconies with iron railings offered the hotel guests a view of the lushness below.
Mercy realized that Julian was staring at her. She managed to meet his gaze evenly. “Why did you bring me out here?”
He drew an oblong velvet box from his breast pocket, handing it to her. “I brought this for you to wear tonight. ”
Pleasantly surprised, Mercy opened the box. She gasped as she glimpsed a fabulous necklace of gold-capped sapphires. She knew at once that this extravagant piece was worth a small fortune. So that’s why Julian had insisted that his mother bring her no jewelry!
She stared up at him in awe. “This was your grandmother’s?”
“Non.” The word in French rolled off his tongue like the silkiest caress. “I bought it for you.”
“You bought it for me? But why?” she asked in a stunned voice.
“To celebrate this occasion.” His smile grew devastatingly intimate. “And because you’ve been behaving yourself lately.”
“I beg your pardon?” she managed over her thundering heart.
Julian touched the delicate curl at one ear; unwittingly, she shivered. “Didn’t I tell you that I’d buy you a bauble or two if you could so persuade me? Well, your modest conduct over the past week has persuaded me.”
Charmed by his words despite herself, Mercy stared down at the spectacular necklace through the sudden sting of tears. The last thing she had expected was for Julian to be kind to her tonight—and his solicitude was now devastating to her resolve. After all, she’d only been behaving herself lately to get him to lower his defenses, so she could play her trump card.
Julian was holding the glittering chain in one hand. He caught Mercy’s chin between the fingertips of the other hand and spoke with an intensity that was equally unnerving. “I wanted to bring you something new tonight, Mercy, not something from the past. And I did so because I was hoping that we can put the past aside tonight, once and for all, and go forward from here. Would that be so difficult, chère?”