Rogue's Mistress(75)

He stood with hat in hand. “Because your husband needs you, madame.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Does he?”

“Indeed. He spends much of his time in seclusion at his home—drinking and brooding. He has utterly neglected his duties at the Exchange—and frankly, madame, I need him right now. I’m hoping you will go home and bring him to his senses.”

Mercy tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat. “But if he needs me, why hasn’t he told me?”

The Creole smiled kindly. “Madame, while it may not always seem so to the fairer sex, a man is a very proud and sensitive beast. And the fact of the matter is, following the duel, you turned away from your husband in favor of another.”

“B-but my cousin was wounded.”

He held up a hand. “I realize this. Nevertheless, you spent most of the day with M’sieur Gerard, even though his wound was not mortal. Think of how your husband must have felt, madame.”

“After he risked death for me.”

“Indeed.”

She smiled gratefully at André and again offered him her hand. “Thank you for coming to tell me these things, m’sieur.”

He shook her hand warmly and bowed. “You will go see him then?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

***

Mercy returned to her room and dressed in her finest fall frock of sapphire-blue watered silk. She curled her hair with a curling iron and styled it down about her shoulders, as Julian liked it.

She mulled over her amazing conversation with André Beaufort. She realized that throughout her marriage to Julian, she’d often thought of him as cold and angry, when in reality, he had been hurt and needy.

A proud and sensitive beast, André had called him. She knew now that her husband was certainly that, and that she had hurt him terribly by turning away at the duel. She’d just been too blinded by her own wounded pride and chafed feelings to see this before, especially when Julian had lashed out at her afterward. Now there was no doubt in her mind that she must go to Julian, that he did need her desperately.

Of course, there was still the matter of Justine and her pregnancy. Yet if Julian was still sleeping with her, why would he spend all his time shut away at his town house?

Then, too, hadn’t she been wrong the last time she had made an assumption about her husband and Justine—so wrong that she had hurt him grievously? What if Julian had been telling her the truth all along? What if he and Justine were, indeed, just friends? Wasn’t it possible that Justine had found someone else by now?

Her toilette completed, Mercy gathered a light wool shawl, bonnet, gloves, and reticule, and left the parish house.

Outside on the banquette, she had Old Hugo hail her a hansom cab. She directed the driver to take her first to Charity Hospital. She had some business to finish with Anton before she went to her husband.

At the hospital, Anton smiled in pleasant surprise as Mercy crossed the sunny ward toward his bed. “Mercy! I’ve wonderful news. The doctor is releasing me tomorrow.”

She paused at his bedside and touched his hand. Anton had gained weight and was beginning to display the vigor of returning health.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said sincerely.

“I’m impatient to get out of here. Then I’ll book us passage back to Natchez, and—”

“No, Anton,” Mercy cut in firmly. “I’m not going back with you.”

“What?” he cried. “But—”

“I’m staying with my husband,” she informed him just as adamantly. “If he’ll have me.”

“But you can’t!” he exclaimed, his expression crestfallen. “I’ll need your help on the journey—”

“Not so,” Mercy cut in with a shake of her head. “I’ve already spoken with your doctor, and he told me you’ll be in fine shape to make the journey alone in a few more days.”

Anton threw up his hands in despair.

“Go home, Anton,” Mercy told him gently. “Tell my grandparents that I’ll come to visit them, but my place is here with my husband.” Absorbing his devastated expression, she quickly added, “And there’s something else.” She flashed him a rueful smile. “Assuming my husband does not toss me out on my ear, I want you to have my mother’s trust.”

“You what?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s more yours than mine,” she explained, “since you’re the one who has stood by my grandparents all these years and helped them with their affairs.”

Mercy was touched to actually see tears in Anton’s eyes. “My dear, I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.

She squeezed his hand. “Say you’ll go home and be happy. It’s all I could want for you.”

He smiled. “I’ll try my best.”

She leaned over, kissing his forehead. “Good-bye, cousin.”

“Good-bye, dear.” He grinned. “Tell M’sieur Devereux for me that he’s a very fortunate man.”

“As is his wife. Wish me luck, Anton.”

“Oh, believe me, dear, I will,” he replied feelingly.

Watching her leave, Anton shook his head. He couldn’t believe his cousin had just promised him her fortune.

Since he’d been wounded, he had had much time to reconsider his life and his motives. Now he found it truly ironic that, in the end, all his schemes and machinations had been for naught. Ultimately, Mercy’s generosity of spirit had brought him success where his own manipulations had failed. There was a lesson to be learned here, he was sure . . .

***

Mercy found the town house on Royal Street eerily quiet, the servants nowhere in sight. She walked from room to room, searching for Julian.

She found him in his study. She paused in the doorway, her heart pounding with wild longing.

He was asleep, slumped on the narrow settee, his muscled form outlined in a beam of sunshine, his boots propped on the tea table. His face was heavily bearded, his shirt rumpled and hanging agape. He looked so forlorn and vulnerable that her heart twisted with love for him.

She went to the settee and boldly sat next to him, drinking in his dusky male scent as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He began to stir as she stretched upward and gently kissed his lips.

Julian’s eyes blinked open and his arms moved to encircle her. Her pulse pounded as she watched joy flicker across his dark gaze. Then his expression grew shuttered and proud, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked like a very handsome and fierce beast just awakened from a lengthy slumber.

She forced herself to smile up at him. “I’m home.”

“You’re home.” His deep voice shook as he repeated her words, but his guarded expression did not waver.

She reached up and began buttoning his shirt, watching him swallow convulsively at the touch of her fingers on his bare chest.

“André Beaufort came to see me,” she explained. “He told me you needed me.”

“Did he?” With trembling hands, Julian nudged his wife off the settee. He stood and walked over to his desk, picking up the brandy decanter.

“Julian, please don’t have a drink now,” she implored. “Talk to me.”

He set down the decanter and turned to her with glittering eyes.

She crossed the room to face him. “Julian, why did you spare Anton at the duel?”

He laughed dryly. “So André told you?”

“He did.”

Julian shrugged. “I spared your illustrious cousin because I want your happiness, chère,” he informed her cynically. “In fact, why aren’t you with your precious Anton now? He is the one you ran to, after all.”

Mercy touched his arm and stared him straight in the eye. “Only because he was hurt. I wanted to go to you.”

His proudly gleaming gaze bored into hers. “Did you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Oh, yes!” She clutched his arm and spoke passionately. “Julian, I don’t want to be with Anton. I never slept with him! You must believe me!”

He thrust his fingers through his hair. “Actually, I never thought you slept with him,” he admitted, surprising her. “You always honored our vows, at least outwardly. Still, I knew you were planning to return to Natchez with him—”

“But I’m not,” she cut in firmly. “Anton will be returning to Natchez alone. I’ve also promised him my mother’s trust. So, you see, I’m destitute now. You have to take me back.”

Julian was so astonished that for a moment, he could only stare at her. Then the familiar suspicion and cynicism tightened his features. “Bravo, Mercy,” he mocked. “I commend your display of wifely loyalty. And I’ll always provide for you, my dear—even though I know your heart is not truly in this marriage.”

“Damn it, Julian!” Mercy said. “Do you think you’re the only one who has suffered doubts or jealousy? Don’t you know that over the last week, I’ve been going insane wondering if you were with Justine?”

“Justine?” he repeated with a rueful laugh. “For your information, Justine just married Henrí.”

Mercy gasped in mingled surprise and relief. “So that’s why . . . Then the two of them must have been lovers all along! Oh, Julian! I feared that it was your child Justine carries.”