Rogue's Mistress(60)

Chapter Twenty-seven


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On a warm mid-August morning, Mercy Devereux stood on the high promenade of the River Princess. Tall and slender against the railing, she was dressed in her blue serge traveling frock and matching bonnet, her flame-red curls cascading down about her neck and shoulders.

The steam packet was chugging upriver, approaching the metropolis of Natchez. On either side of the wide river, the banks were heavily forested; Mercy could smell the dusky scent of the wet soil and ripe vegetation, and she could hear birds calling from high in the trees.

She thought of how her life had changed in the last few days. After the cruel morning when she had spotted Julian with Justine, she had gone home and packed her bags. Shortly after dawn, she had sent Rubin to the St. Louis Hotel with a message for Anton Gerard, telling him that she was willing to depart immediately with him for Natchez.

Within an hour, Anton had called for her. The two had left at once for the levee, and were fortunate enough to claim the last two empty cabins on the Princess, just as the vessel prepared to depart.

That had been three days ago; now, they would soon dock at Natchez-Under-the-Hill.

Mercy thought of the time they had spent together coming upriver. Anton had proved to be a true gentleman as well as a marvelous confidant. At his patient prompting, Mercy had gradually spilled out the basic facts concerning Julian and their troubled marriage, including how Julian had betrayed her with Justine. Feelings of loyalty toward her parents had restrained her from telling Anton about the true, shameful circumstances of her father’s death, and Julian’s role in it; instead, she’d told him that Julian was a friend of the family’s who had become her guardian following the deaths of both parents.

Nevertheless, Anton had been stunned to learn that Julian had forced Mercy into the marriage, and even more shocked to discover that her husband was now continuing to consort with his mistress. He had urged her to seek a divorce as soon as they arrived in Natchez, and had offered to handle the legal aspects himself. He had also assured her that the Catholic Church would grant her an annulment, since the circumstances of her forced nuptials to Julian had comprised a deficiency of consent on her part, which was grounds for dissolution of marriage according to Catholic doctrine.

Now, Mercy soberly considered the prospect of divorce. Did she truly want to dissolve her marriage to Julian? Her fingernails dug into the weathered railing. Every time she remembered watching him embrace Justine over Arnaud’s bed, jealousy and anger stormed her heart anew. She knew now that Julian would never love her, could never be faithful to her. After all, hadn’t he shunned her bed all night long to sleep with his mistress? What greater insult could be hurled at a wife? Perhaps she should seek a divorce now and start a life of her own.

Yet it angered her that every time she considered this possibility, she wanted to burst out crying. It infuriated her even more that, despite Julian’s heartless betrayal, she still loved the cad. Indeed, she loved him almost as much as she hated him.

Would he come after her? she wondered in a moment of poignant weakness. No, she quickly answered, fighting tears. He’d doubtless be delighted to learn that she’d fled to Natchez, since this would give him the freedom to live openly with Justine.

Still, for Mercy, starting over in Natchez would mean depending on her grandparents, the Dubois—and this idea chafed her pride. Certainly, on the voyage from New Orleans, Anton Gerard had tried his best to convince her of the sincerity of her grandparents’ regret over the way they had treated her mother. In due course, Mercy had found herself wavering in her feeling toward them. Still, she felt great reluctance and anxiety at the thought of meeting them. If necessity had not forced her to leave Julian, she wondered if she would have come to Natchez at all . . .

“My dear, how lovely you look,” came the sound of a deep masculine voice.

Mercy turned as Anton Gerard approached. He looked quite dapper in his gold velvet frock coat, buff-colored trousers, and stylish top hat.

He paused beside her, resting his arms on the railing and smiling at her amiably. All in all, he was quite a dashing gentleman, she mused; yet to her chagrin, his presence stirred no feelings of excitement in her, as Julian’s nearness always did.

“Are you packed?” she asked.

He nodded. “We’ll be rounding the bend and approaching Natchez at any moment now.”

“I see,” she murmured, biting her lip.

“Dear, are you still feeling anxious about meeting your grandparents?”

She shrugged and tilted her chin proudly. “I’ve told you repeatedly, Anton, that I’m not promising I’ll forgive them.”

He flashed her a kindly smile. “I realize that. But you are willing at least to hear their side of the story?”

“Yes.”

He nodded in satisfaction. “They’re going to love you, you know. I saw a portrait of your mother once, and I must say that you’re the exact image of her, except for your red hair.”

“Perhaps I’ll be an unpleasant reminder to them of Mama,” Mercy interjected defensively.

“Not at all, dear,” Anton hastily assured her. “The Dubois really did love Corrine, although they acted imprudently.”

“Indeed they did.”

The two fell into silence as the steamer rounded a bend and approached the high bluffs of Natchez. Studying the pillared mansions atop the hill, contrasted with the squalid debauchery of the port beneath, Mercy couldn’t help but recall her honeymoon, when the riverboat had paused at Natchez-Under-the-Hill and she had turned herself into the safety of Julian’s arms, telling her husband fiercely that she never wanted to see her grandparents.

How close the two of them had been back then. And how radically and tragically their lives had changed. Now Mercy glanced at Anton; he was her friend, but she could never see herself rushing into his arms for comfort. Hell that is was, she could never see herself loving anyone but Julian Devereux, the very villain who had broken her heart.

She turned again toward Natchez, swallowing the painful lump in her throat. Perhaps she would find a new life here—although hers would be only an existence, with no true serenity or peace. After enduring the heartbreak of her marriage, life would never be the same for her.

Anton, too, was immersed in thought as the Princess prepared to take its place in the long line of vessels docked at the port of Natchez. He had designs on Mercy Devereux, and while he realized that discretion was in order, he very much intended to have the girl.

Anton was a working-class lawyer in Natchez, a man who existed on the fringes of aristocratic society. All his life, he had resented being a poor relation of the powerful Dubois family. His mother, a shop girl from Natchez-Under-the-Hill, had died soon after his birth; his father, a local saloon keeper and the half-brother of Hélène Dubois, had been killed ignominiously in a bar fight when Anton was only ten. Thereafter, the Dubois had taken him in and reared him, sending him off to fashionable boarding schools and later on to eastern universities to study law. But he knew that in their eyes he would always be a poor relation, an inadequate substitute for their beloved, long-lost Corrine, the heir who had betrayed them so long ago.

Having the Dubois ask him to go to New Orleans and fetch back their granddaughter had been a godsend for Anton. Now, Mercy Devereux offered him his chance at last—a golden opportunity to achieve great wealth as well as true entree into Natchez society. For he knew that with just a little persuasion, the Dubois could be induced to award Corrine O’Shea’s substantial trust to their granddaughter. Anton was well aware that there was over half a million dollars sitting in that trust now, money he felt was rightfully his. After all, he was the one who had taken care of the affairs of the Dubois for so long; their worthless daughter had foolishly deserted them to marry a penniless Irishman.

Now Mercy Devereux was going to obtain the trust for him; he would convince her to divorce her cad of a husband back in New Orleans, and then the two of them would wed. Since they were but distant relations, there would be no impediment to the marriage. Even the Dubois could not object, he reasoned, since the marriage would bind Mercy to Natchez, and to them.

He glanced at the girl surreptitiously; she was gazing out at the port of Natchez-Under-the-Hill, her green eyes filled with both pride and fear. He hadn’t expected her to be such a lovely creature; truth to tell, he would have willingly married a pit-faced cow in order to gain control of Corrine’s fortune. But this girl . . . Ah, yes! Given Mercy’s pride and passion, she would be a pleasure to bed. Indeed, the mere thought of claiming her lush body sent hot arousal through his loins.

And bed her he would, after they were wed—or perhaps even sooner, to ensure that her honor was compromised and her cooperation secured.

***

Half an hour later, Mercy and Anton departed the stable in Natchez-Under-the-Hill in his stylish folding-top curricle. Anton worked the reins and clucked to the handsome chestnut horse; the little beast could only plod laboriously through streets of deep red mud.

Batting at the pesky flies that kept diving at their faces, Mercy glanced about curiously as they left the loud, cluttered docks behind and proceeded down the potholed expanse of Water Street, with its weathered cotton warehouses sagging on stilts. About them, the boardwalks teemed with humanity—colorful river men, gaudy gamblers, mean-faced drifters, flashy prostitutes, and Indians in store-bought clothing. All mingled freely with the better-dressed merchants and free men of color who ran shops or mills in the bustling, bawdy community. The air oozed the powerful stench of garbage and manure, and throbbed with the sounds of revelry spilling from the various grogshops. Mercy could only shake her head; the area was even seedier than the docks in New Orleans.