The Burning (3 page)

“I have been looking all over for you. Were you and your cousin Liza gossiping about me?” James teased.

“We might have been,” Angelica replied coyly.
She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

He danced stiffly, standing three feet in front of her, his grin frozen on his face, his silver gray eyes staring into hers. “Are the musicians going to play that new dance?” he whispered, leaning closer. “The waltz?”

Angelica gasped and narrowed her eyes coyly at James. “James Daumier!” she cried. “You
know
my father would never allow evil waltz music to be played in this house! What a scandalous thought!”

James frowned in mock disappointment. “I have heard that it is quite an enjoyable dance.”

Angelica started to reply. But James turned away as another young man tapped his shoulder. Angelica immediately recognized her other young suitor, Hamilton Scott.

“I believe this is my dance,” Hamilton told James with a polite nod. James made an exaggeratedly formal bow and, flashing Angelica one last grin, backed away.

Hamilton had curly red hair and a face full of freckles. Angelica thought he looked about twelve. But he was nineteen, a serious young man with strong political feelings.

While James liked to talk to Angelica about fashion and friends and the sleek thoroughbred racehorses his father raised, Hamilton lectured her on the morality of slavery and the trade policies of the French.

“I wish you could dance every dance with me,” Hamilton told her.

“I do not think my feet would survive it,” Angelica teased.

She spent the rest of the evening dancing with James and Hamilton. She knew she should be having the time of her life. After all, it was Mardi Gras, and after this party there would be another party, and then another. But she found her mind wandering.

Something was troubling her.

When the party had ended and the last carriage clattered off into the night, Angelica walked past the servants busily cleaning up the ballroom and stepped through the French doors into the garden.

It was a cool night, the air soft and sweet smelling. Paper lanterns with oil lamps inside cast pale yellow light at her feet. A heavy dew made the grass glisten. Angelica bent and pulled off her satin party slippers. Holding them in one hand, she let her stockinged feet sink into the cool wet grass.

I should be thinking of James or Hamilton, she scolded herself. Then why does that intense-looking stranger keep filling my thoughts?

I am eighteen, Angelica thought. Father wishes me to marry soon. He is impatient for me to decide between James and Hamilton. He will make me marry one of them.

Do I love James? Do I love Hamilton?

I
like
them both, she told herself.

I like them both for different reasons. James for his good looks, his charm, his mischievous sense of humor. Hamilton for his intelligence, his seriousness, his caring.

But do I
love
them? Do I want to marry either of them?

Deep in thought, gazing into the soft lantern light, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the magnolia blossoms, Angelica took a few steps into the garden.

She was too stunned to cry out when strong hands grabbed her from behind.

A
ngelica gasped and spun out of her attacker's grasp.

“Do not cry out!” he whispered.

“Y-you!”
Angelica stammered, her heart pounding. “Who
are
you? What are you
doing
here?”

“Do not be afraid. I will not harm you,” Simon Fear whispered.

“But how did you get into my garden?” Angelica demanded, her fear turning to anger. “Who
are
you?”

“My name is Simon Fear,” he told her, his dark eyes locked on hers.

Angelica bent to pick up her shoes, which in her alarm she had allowed to fall. But she kept her eyes trained warily on Simon. “You entered my party
uninvited,” she said, standing up. “Now you attack me in my garden. Are you a thief? Are you
mad?
What do you
want?”

“I want you to marry me,” Simon replied without hesitation. He pulled off his top hat and held it in front of him with both hands. His dark hair fluttered in the breeze.

Angelica started to reply, but only a startled laugh escaped her throat. “The answer is that you are
mad!”
she declared. “Will you turn and leave the way you came? Or do I have to call the servants to usher you out once again?”

“I saw you at your ball,” Simon said, ignoring her questions, determined to tell her what was in his heart. “I saw you standing on the staircase. And I knew that I was in love with you.”

“From one glance?” Angelica scoffed. “And how much champagne had you drunk, Mr. Fear?”

“Angelica, I knew at that moment,” Simon continued, “that you would be my wife.”

Angelica laughed again, but her laughter was tinged with fear. “Have you escaped from an asylum?” she demanded. “Are you dangerous? Can you hear a word I say?”

“You
will
be my wife, Angelica,” Simon insisted, his dark eyes glowing in the lantern light.

“I am going to call for help now,” Angelica told him, shivering. The hem of her long ball gown was wet. The wet grass had chilled her feet, and the cold ran up her body. “Please—”

“I will leave,” Simon offered, still holding the top
hat in front of him. “I did not mean to alarm you. But I
had
to come back. I had to see you. To talk to you.”

“You have said more than enough,” Angelica told him dryly.

Simon replaced his hat and began running toward the back fence, the fence he had climbed to enter the garden. Halfway there he turned back to her. “You will marry me, Angelica Pierce. Mark my words!”

As he climbed the fence and vanished from the garden, her scornful laughter rang in his ears.

Simon wandered dizzily through town. The Mardi Gras parade had ended, sending hundreds of costumed revelers into the streets. Lively dance music, the
strump
of banjos, and the happy cries of fiddles and harmonicas poured from every doorway.

Torches floated by, casting a wash of eerie yellow light over the shouting, laughing faces. A group of masked partygoers rolled a barrel-size keg of beer along the side of the street. Several bare-chested men, weaving arm in arm ahead of Simon, sang a sad song at the top of their lungs.

Simon didn't see any of it.

As he made his way aimlessly through the whooping, laughing crowds of the French Quarter, all he could see was Angelica Pierce.

Dazed and nearly delirious with happiness, he wandered until he left the noisy crowds behind. All torchlight disappeared. This old section of town
was dark, lit only by the sliver of moon overhead.

Where am I? Simon asked himself, noticing for the first time the low wooden buildings, all dark and silent. I seem to have wandered down by the docks.

The darkness brought darker thoughts to his mind.

Angelica, he had seen, already had suitors.
Two
suitors, to be exact.

After he had been removed from the party, Simon had doubled back and found a hiding place in front of the house. From his vantage point he had spied into the ballroom window.

Staring into the brightness, he had watched Angelica dance. He had seen the two young men who were her partners. Simon didn't know their names, but he would make it his business to find out.

Two worthy young gentlemen, Simon thought bitterly. But I am more worthy! I may not have their money or breeding—but I shall have Angelica!

His heart still pounded with the excitement of meeting Angelica. The dark streets appeared to tilt up to meet him. The low buildings grew darker. Behind the buildings he could hear the rush of water.

The docks must be on the next block, he realized. I have wandered into an unsafe neighborhood.

Just as he had this thought, he felt a heavy arm take hold of him. He felt a sharp pain as something sharp was pressed against his throat.

S
imon tried to cry out, but the pressure against his throat made him gag. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the blade of a knife pressed against his neck.

“I'll be taking your purse,” a raspy voice whispered close to his ear, so close Simon could smell the whiskey on his attacker's breath. “Or I'll be cutting your throat.”

Simon croaked out a helpless protest.

“A fine gentleman like you doesn't want his throat cut,” the man rasped.
Does he?”
Then the attacker eased back the knife blade just enough to allow Simon to speak.

“I-I'll pay you,” Simon managed to choke out.

I cannot die on this lonely dark street, Simon
thought, his legs trembling, his heart thudding loudly. I can't die now—I have just met Angelica.

“I have but little money,” Simon said in a trembling voice. “But I will give it all to you.”

“Yes, you will—and quickly!” the thief ordered. He loosened his hard grip on Simon, then gave him a hard shove in the back.

Startled, Simon cried out and stumbled to his knees on the hard cobblestones. He glanced up to see his attacker, a dark-haired young man with a red bandanna tied across his forehead. He was swaying drunkenly, squinting hard at Simon.

“What are
you
looking at?” he rasped angrily at Simon. “Your purse, or I'll cut you now!” He waved the knife.

“I-I'm getting it,” Simon stammered.

As he pushed his cape out of the way, a stud fell out of his shirtfront and Simon's silver pendant dropped into view. Simon never removed the pendant since his sister Elizabeth had given it to him back home in Wickham two years before.

With its three silver claws and mysterious blue jewels, the disk-shaped pendant had been in the Fear family for generations. A strange old fortune-teller named Aggie had told him all about the pendant and its powers. But Simon had resisted using it. He had no use for evil magic.

Climbing to his feet, Simon quickly grabbed the chain and started to tuck the pendant back into his dress shirt.

But the thief had spotted it. He raised his knife
menacingly, the long blade gleaming in the moonlight. “Do not try to hide the silver coin, mate,” the man growled. He stretched out his free hand. “I will take it, too.”

“It is not a coin,” Simon protested. “It is a family memento. Worthless to anyone except me.”

“Give it up!” the thief shouted impatiently.

Simon reluctantly stepped forward. Holding the silver disk tightly in one hand, he struggled to remove the slender chain from around his neck.

The silver disk felt warm in his hand and vibrated as he gripped it.

A gust of wind blew down the street, fluttering Simon's cape. He reached to hand the pendant to the thief.

But instead of dropping it, Simon suddenly shoved the disk hard into the man's face. The four dark jewels dug into his cheek.

The thief cried out, more startled than hurt.

“Hey—you
die
for that!” he cried, brandishing the knife.

Still gripping the silver pendant, Simon jumped back.

Dark blood trickled down the man's cheek from small puncture holes. With an angry snarl he came at Simon.

Simon dodged the knife.

The thief swayed, squinting hard, trying to keep his balance, cursing under his breath. He leapt forward again, forcing Simon back against a building wall.

A pleased grin slowly formed on the man's face as he realized he had Simon trapped.

He stepped forward, watching Simon's helpless attempts to move away from the wall.

And then he stopped.

A howl of pain escaped his lips. He let the knife drop to the ground and grabbed the sides of his face with both hands. “Help me! My face—it's on
fire!”
he screamed.

Even in the pale moonlight Simon could see the man's face darken, as if badly sunburned.

“Help me!” the man shrieked. “Oh, please!”