Rogue's Mistress(65)
Chapter Thirty
Back to Contents
On an overcast afternoon a few days later, Mercy sat in the parlor of her grandparents’ Natchez home; she was perched at the cabinet grand piano, scowling at a sheaf of music and doing her best to blunder her way through a Bach Polonaise. Across the room on the silk damask settee, her grandparents and Anton sat sipping tea and listening raptly. Mercy was tempted to roll her eyes at their blissful attentiveness; she mused that even the prisms of the crystal chandelier which rang mellifluously overhead, were much more palatable than her abominable playing.
But then, everything about her seemed to please Anton and the Dubois inordinately. If she sported the most wan smile, they all beamed from ear to ear; if she made an even passingly clever remark, they all broke into gales of laughter at her ingenuity. Their worshipful attitude could be cloying at times.
Actually, Mercy knew she had little cause to complain. Her grandparents had been wonderful to her, and even Anton had been a consummate gentleman ever since his indiscretion at the Dahlgreen dinner party a few days ago, as if he were trying to make amends for so crudely kissing her. Still, he and the Dubois seemed to have their heads together entirely too much these days, and sometimes she wondered what they might all be plotting.
“M’sieur Dubois, we have a visitor.”
At the sound of the butler’s voice, Mercy inclined her head toward the portal. As she spotted the familiar stranger standing there, her hands stopped in mid-air and her heart crashed in her chest.
Mercy was too stunned to gasp, let alone breathe. Julian Devereux stood poised in the archway, looking more handsome and formidable than ever! Dressed all in daunting black, he was staring at her with a chilling intensity that made her shudder. It was a terrifying, electrifying moment for her, an instant in which her entire world turned and careened and then came crashing down about her ears. She could feel the blood draining from her face, and a wave of dizziness swept over her as she continued to stare at him, transfixed.
Now he was starting toward her, blatantly ignoring the others. His jaw was set in rigid lines; his shoulders were broad and powerful; his muscled legs rippled against his well-fitting trousers as he stalked her.
At last Mercy caught a frantically sharp breath. Her heart galloped faster with each aggressive step her masterful husband took. Then he paused before her, and as his scent wafted over her, her senses suddenly swam with him. Hot tears suffused her eyes, and she realized quite insanely that, more than anything else, she wanted him here; she had missed him terribly. Irrationally she longed to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness. He looked tired, older and yet more menacing and good-looking than ever. She felt like a fawn stalked by a ruthless hunter—and yet part of her yearned to be captured.
His blue eyes were coldly remote as they bored into her. His features seemed chiseled from stone, so frightful and intimidating and devastatingly handsome. He looked as if he might kill her as easily as he might crush a flower.
Julian was far from unaffected by his first glimpse of his wife in over a month. Oh, Mercy was a beautiful little traitor, he mused; she looked like a sparkling jewel in her lavish setting. She was dressed in a sumptuous, long-sleeved frock of black and white taffeta, with a low, ruffled bodice. A double choker of pearls graced her lovely neck. Her thick red hair was pulled away from her face and cascaded in lush curls down her nape and shoulders. Her slim hands were perched over the piano keys, and her upturned face, with its classically perfect features, had never looked lovelier. Hot desire and fierce longing stabbed him at the sight of her. For a moment, he was tempted to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless—the others be damned.
But then he glimpsed the guilt and fear in her beautiful green eyes, and noted the vulnerable trembling of her lush lower lip. The fires of anger flared in him anew. She was not happy to see him! On the contrary, she looked like a thief caught in the act.
In the stunning silence that lingered like a bad dream, Mercy could not have spoken if someone had pressed a gun to her temple. Soon enough, though, Julian filled the void. With a mocking bow, he drawled, “Hello, my dear. I note that your piano playing is irredeemable, as always. Perhaps, though, you’ve improved in other areas?”
At his cynical words, Mercy at last came to her senses. She lurched to her feet and glowered back at him. Julian was still an insufferable scoundrel. She was about to inform him of her ill opinion of his person when she heard her grandfather’s alarmed voice.
“Mercy, who is this stranger?”
Mercy’s grandparents and Anton hurried across the room. The three gathered protectively about her, all glaring at Julian with open hostility.
In coldly formal tones, Mercy said, “Grand’mère, Grand-père, M’sieur Gerard, may I present my husband, Julian Devereux.”
At her announcement, all three gasped sharply. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, sir?” Gaspard demanded.
“Intrusion?” Julian laughed ironically. “I’m hardly intruding, sir. I’ve come to fetch home my recalcitrant wife.”
A collective cry of horror issued forth. Anton stepped forward, fixing Julian with his most scornful stare. “Sir, your presence here is most unwelcome. Furthermore, my cousin has no desire to see you.”
Julian sized up the other man dispassionately. “I take it you’re the M’sieur Gerard who stole my wife away in the first place and recently sent me divorce papers?”
As Anton colored deeply, Mercy was totally horrified, turning to him in shock. “Anton! You told me nothing of this!”
“I know it’s what you wanted,” Anton defended stubbornly. “Besides, your grandparents insisted I proceed at once.”
Mercy whirled, stunned, to face Hélène and Gaspard. “Is this true?”
Even as her grandparents’ guilty looks confirmed her suspicions, Julian cut in sarcastically, “Spare me your absurd protestations, Madame Devereux. You had to have known about the divorce proceedings.”
She turned to him, wide-eyed. “But I didn’t.”
“Then I presume you’ll be most eager to rush upstairs, pack your bags, and depart with me?” he inquired.
“No,” she retorted. “I won’t.”
At last Mercy glimpsed a spark of anger beneath Julian’s cold veneer, even as Hélène stepped forward regally. “M’sieur, my granddaughter has no desire to return to New Orleans with you.”
Julian turned on the woman. “And you, madame, have no claim on Mercy after you treated her mother so abominably. Besides, this young lady is my wife. She has no choice in the matter.”
“Of course she has a choice after the way you consorted openly with your mistress,” Anton flung at Julian.
Julian’s eyes gleamed with a murderous light as he glanced first at Anton, then at Mercy. “So you’ve aired our dirty laundry in public, my dear?”
Mercy clenched her fists. “Julian, please, just leave . . .”
“Oh, I intend to,” he snapped. “Indeed, I’ve booked passage on the first steamer tomorrow—for us both.” He pointed a finger at her and spoke obdurately. “You will be packed and ready to depart with me by dawn.”
“Or?” she challenged.
He smiled, speaking in a soft voice that made her blood run cold. “You really don’t want me to answer that.”
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, Julian Devereux turned on his heel and strode from the room.
***
Mercy had no time for the mortified comments of the others; she tore out of the room after him. “Julian!”
At the doorway, he paused and turned to her, raising a dark brow. “Yes?”
She stepped forward to confront him, somehow managing to keep her expression cool, her gait steady. She felt terribly hurt by his coldness. He’d come after her, all right—but only to chastise her. His attitude hadn’t changed at all.
“Julian, it’s over between us,” she said evenly. “Go home.” Pride forced her to lift her chin and add bitterly, “Besides, I have my own money now. I don’t need you.”
His features darkened in rage. “You’ve never needed me.”
“Then why did you come after me?” she demanded, appalled to be fighting tears again. “I know you hate me!”
“Hate you, do I?” he rejoined cynically. “Then perhaps you deserve to be punished.”
“I deserve?” she cried.
“Indeed. I’ve tolerated your willfulness for far too long. And, believe me, disciplining you will be my pleasure.”
“Ooooh! As always, you’re a contemptible scoundrel, and—”
“Sir,” interrupted a deep male voice. “I must ask you to leave these premises at once, or suffer the consequences.”
Julian turned with almost eager aggression toward Anton, who had joined them in the hallway. “You presume to keep me from my wife, sir?”
Anton’s nostrils flared. “Indeed. Either you leave Natchez now, or we’ll settle this between ourselves.”
Even as Mercy gasped in horror, Julian laughed. “And just how do you propose to stop me, m’sieur?”
Anton glared at the other man, pompously thrusting out his chest. “I’ll call you out. Do not doubt it for a moment.”