Before Julian could comment, Mercy rushed to Anton’s side. Oh, mon Dieu, she thought, this was madness, a repetition of her nightmare with Philippe! “Anton, no, you mustn’t challenge Julian! He’ll kill you!”
But Julian’s cynical laughter cut her dead. As she whirled to face him, he drawled bitterly, “My, my, what a touching scene. At last I see how things really stand here.” His expression hardened to one of utter contempt. “You know, it’s not every husband who’ll take back an adulterous wife. However, you’ve crossed the wrong man, my dear.”
Before Mercy could protest his cruel accusation, Julian pivoted, pointing a finger at Anton. “I’m staying at City Hotel, Gerard. By all means, have your second call on me. Your death will be my pleasure.” Turning back to Mercy, he added ominously, “It’s on your head, my dear.”
And he strode out the front door, slamming it resoundingly behind him. Anton and Mercy returned to the parlor, in their agitation not seeing the item Julian had left behind in the silver tray on the pier table—a calling card edged in black.
***
An atmosphere of hysteria prevailed as Anton and the Dubois tried to think of a way to protect Mercy from her villain of a husband. The three paced the parlor, discussing options, while Mercy sat numbly on the settee.
She couldn’t believe that Julian had actually come after her! Clearly, he was motivated only by a thirst for revenge, after she had insulted him by walking out without a word. She seethed at his audacity in accusing her of committing adultery with Anton; in reality, he was the adulterer, the one who had betrayed her with Justine.
Yet, despite all her outrage, seeing him again had turned her inside out emotionally, proving to her how powerless she was against his magnetic pull. Blackhearted scoundrel that he was, she still hungered for him; she yearned for the healing and forgiveness that she knew they would never find together, and the love that would forever elude them both.
Now they were in a terrible quandary, as a duel between Anton and Julian appeared imminent.
“Mercy, you must not go near that terrible man again,” she heard her grandfather order sternly.
Drawn from her thoughts, Mercy stared up at Gaspard’s lined, anxious face. “You’re aware, Grand-père, that Anton just challenged my husband to a duel?”
“Indeed,” he said forthrightly, nodding his approval to Anton. “It’s a matter of honor now, and we must depend on our nephew to defend you.”
Mercy surged to her feet. “But he could be killed!”
Anton strode toward her, smiling indulgently. “I’ll be fine, dear. It’s your welfare that’s at stake here.”
“Indeed,” Hélène chimed in. “We must not let that villain simply abscond with you.”
“Have you all lost your minds?” Mercy stammered, gesturing in frustration. “Don’t you care at all about Anton’s life?”
Hélène and Gaspard exchanged a brief, guilty glance that clearly said Anton was expendable, while Mercy was not.
Anton stepped into the gap, patting Mercy’s hand reassuringly. “Dear, why can’t you simply trust me to resolve this?”
Mercy could only shake her head sadly. “I must speak with my husband at once, and implore him to see reason.”
“No!” all three of her relatives cried in unison.
“Mercy, how can you be considering such idiocy?” Anton demanded. “You know nothing will satisfy that man short of your going back with him.”
At this, Mercy surprised even herself by saying, “Then perhaps I should.” Before the astounded others could comment, she went on intently, “I could never live with myself if either Anton or Julian was killed on my account. Besides, I’ve been putting off dealing with my marriage for long enough.”
“Mercy, you can’t be thinking of returning to New Orleans with that cad!” Hélène pled in anguish.
Mercy shook her head sadly. “I’m not sure, Grand’mère. However, I do know that I can no longer hide behind you and Grand-père, nor can I remain here simply to assuage your guilt over my mother.”
“But, my dear, that’s simply not true!” Gaspard denied, his eyes full of hurt. “We both love you dearly.”
“I’m sure you do,” Mercy conceded. “I’m fond of you both, as well. But Natchez is not my home.” Resolutely, she tilted her chin. “I’m going to go see my husband now, to beseech him to end this madness. And I must warn you all that if you should try to stop me, I’ll find a way to meet with Julian on my own.”
Chapter Thirty-one
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The others stared at her in devastated silence; all three realized that they were powerless over the terrible determination now gleaming in Mercy Devereux’s eyes. Ultimately, the Dubois allowed Jerome to drive Mercy to City Hotel, rather than risk having their granddaughter venture forth on her own. Anton offered to accompany her, but Mercy soundly refused him. As she prepared to leave the house, she turned to him and said vehemently, “Anton, I swear, if you proceed with this duel, I’ll never speak to you again.”
He could only wave his hands.
Downtown at the hotel, Mercy dismissed Jerome and swept inside the large, elegant lobby. The young desk clerk gave her Julian’s room number, and she politely declined his offer of an escort upstairs.
On the second floor, Mercy paused on the Oriental runner outside Julian’s room. Her hands were clammy, her heart racing. Warring emotions surged inside her. She realized ruefully that Julian had managed to box her into the very same corner that he’d maneuvered her into several months past, when he had insisted that she marry him. Now—if she didn’t want to be responsible for his death, or Anton’s—she had no choice but to once again do his bidding. As much as this knowledge galled her, in a way she was relieved to have the impasse ended.
At last she gathered her courage and rapped softly on the door. Julian promptly answered her knock, and at the sight of him her heart went into a crazy spin and she swayed momentarily on her feet.
He had removed his coat and cravat, and his appearance was arrestingly male, with his pleated linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the crisp dark curls on his chest. His gold satin vest hugged his trim torso and waist. He held a snifter of brandy in one tanned, beautifully shaped hand, and a single, sexy curl dangled across his forehead. A dark line of whiskers had grown along his jaw in the lateness of the day. As always, he appeared masterful, dangerous, and wickedly sensual.
Mon Dieu, why did he have to be such a captivating devil? she wondered, still reeling. Indeed, she found his more casual appearance now even more threatening and unnerving than his earlier rigid formality.
They stared at each other in the ensuing, tense silence, and for a confusing yet wondrous moment Mercy thought she spotted a glimmer of joy in his blue eyes. But soon the spark faded, replaced by his usual cynical veneer.
Actually, Julian had felt glad to see Mercy at his door, so happy that for a treacherous moment he’d forgotten all about her betrayal. Then, at last sanity had returned, reminding him that she’d not come out of love or wifely loyalty. She’d not come to offer a reconciliation—but only to beg for Anton Gerard’s life. Hurt and anger choked off all the tenderness in his heart.
“Why, Madame Devereux,” he drawled at last. “What a heartwarming surprise. I suspected you might appear here.”
“Indeed, after you offered me no choice,” she returned testily. “May I come in?”
He bowed extravagantly. “By all means.”
Mercy swept past him into the room, catching an enervating hint of his masculine scent. As he closed the door behind her, she swallowed hard and stared at the four-poster bed standing squarely at the center of one wall. She grasped the back of a nearby armchair to hold on to her equilibrium. She realized that this cozy retreat was the worst possible setting for confronting her husband.
Julian swept back to her side. “A brandy, Mercy?”
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured. Perhaps the brace of the alcohol might help buck up her courage.
He moved toward the dresser and, irresistibly, Mercy watched him. She almost winced as she drank in the broadness of his shoulders and observed the fabric of his trousers pulling against his tight buttocks. Desire squeezed in her belly, intense, appalling, and relentless. By the saints, why did she have to lust so shamelessly after this heartless villain?
Watching him pick up an empty snifter from the silver tray next to the brandy decanter, she muttered sarcastically, “I see you were expecting someone this afternoon.”
“Indeed, someone. You.”
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she snapped.
Ignoring her flash of temper, he gave her a thorough and insulting perusal that made her heart skitter into an even crazier rhythm.
He smiled mockingly at her discomfiture. “While I didn’t mention it earlier, you look beautiful, as always, my dear. Take off that shawl and bonnet. I wish to see more of you.”
At his insufferable arrogance, Mercy was sorely tempted to storm out of the room. Unfortunately, though, she couldn’t afford the luxury of affronted pride right now. With ill-concealed resentment, she removed her bonnet, shawl, and gloves, and laid them over the back of the chair.