With One Look (9 page)

Few even care that it's only a clever illusion. It's even better that way," she finished, turning away. "Enjoy."

The bidding began. Within minutes most men were priced out. All too soon only three bidders remained: two wealthy landowners and, to Sebastian's consternation, Don Bernardo himself. The price rose. Sebastian kept looking from Don Bernardo to Mary and back again. He shuddered and felt ill; the thought of that blackguard's foul hands on the sweet, beautiful lady sent the unpleasant taste of bile to his throat. Even if he didn't have to win Mary for Victor, he'd certainly not be able to stand by and let such a treasure go to Don Bernardo.

One of the landowners reluctantly opted out, his friends hissing with disappointment. Don Bernardo raised the other man's bid, accepting the help of Laffite, who no doubt would share in the spoils. The other man raised his cup to the pirate's last bid. A last call sounded. Sebastian waited for the final sound and just as he was about to double Don Bernardo's last bid, a voice from behind did it for him.

*****

All eyes turned to confront the tall man standing at the entrance. He needed no introduction. Dressed in black—black boots, black breeches and an open gray riding vest over a white shirt—his towering presence radiated a quiet, threatening air as his fine cold blue eyes focused sharply on the girl.

Jade jolted at the sound of the last bid. The American? Dear Lord, was it him? Of all the people in the world to see her like this—not him! Anyone but him!

The silence broke with a hearty bellow from Don Bernardo, and unhesitating, he bid again.

Murmurs rose in the crowd. Silence descended as everyone turned back to Victor, waiting.

Victor doubled the bid again.

The men turned to Don Bernardo once more. Followed by two of his men, Victor moved to Sebastian, who quickly explained. Victor stared at the Mademoiselle Devon whose Christian name Sebastian said was a plain Mary. "And she's worked here for over a year," Sebastian added.

"Has she now?"

Victor tried unsuccessfully to believe what he saw. A wicked amusement rose in his eyes as he tried to reconcile the startlingly beautiful and seductive woman with the charming and lovely young lady he had met at the opera. It was impossible! She had seemed so beguilingly... innocent. The extreme gentleness of her character so pronounced that it had become manifest in an amusing concern for the city's stray dogs, a riverboat man's impoverished morals. "Sebastian," he said under his breath, "it would have been easier to believe she was a convent girl."

"Easier perhaps, but not nearly as entertaining." Sebastian grinned, motioning to the bartender to pour another drink.

Victor chuckled as he raised his glass. "To Marie, who somehow always knows the secrets of my desire...."

Don Bernardo raised the bid again.

The price didn't matter; Victor would have Mary at any cost, but he wasn't going to waste any more time. Followed by his men, he approached the pirates' table. He offered Pierre the briefest nod as he leveled his gaze on the Spaniard and said simply: "I will ask you once: withdraw your last bid."

Laftite slammed down his cup. The explicit threat, its enormous arrogance, stunned him.

This was too much. "You go too far! Do you know who you're speaking to?"

"Rest assured," Sebastian said, "your reputation follows you like maggots to manure."

Two of Laftite's men jumped up, only to find Sebastian's rapier and sword pointed at their throats. Laftite motioned them down. The men slowly lowered back into their chairs.

"Look around you, Nolte," Don Bernardo said, unconcerned, rubbing his beard thoughtfully as he leaned casually back in his chair. "Even you must admit, the odds are not even."

What Victor did next shocked everyone in the room. He looked around the room, assessed the numbers, and he ordered Steffan and his other man out of the room. "There, now." He turned back to Don Bernardo. "I evened the odds for you."

Sebastian burst out laughing and Don Bernardo was just about to tell Victor to go to hell when Victor—who never fought fairly and never took the first blow—made his move. He kicked the underside of the pirate's chair, sent Don Bernardo falling to the floor in a most undignified manner, and before anyone jumped up, he turned the table into Laftite.

Victor bent over, swung around and up, and slammed a hand into one man's stomach while kicking another. Two men jumped him, but never came close as Victor merely anticipated, blocked and struck without mercy. Swords, sabers and an occasional fist or two slammed at him from all directions but only to find him ducking, jumping, escaping each blow and moving with lightning speed to disarm before his arms and more often his feet struck back.

At Victor's first move, John had sprung on Laftite, hoping to save Victor the added trouble of a particularly menacing opponent.

In perfect harmony with his first laugh, Sebastian struck the three men on his side, with a straight line of blood drawn neatly across their chests. He sliced off their shirts, rapier and sword flying simultaneously, and before a groan was uttered, Sebastian cut bright red X's into their chests. A mark more humiliating than painful, the cuts would scar, and so they'd be worn to the grave. Two other men never managed to withdraw their swords before they fell victim to his speed and skill.

He faced three long swords and a saber and the result was a furious clanging of metal....

The room had cleared to one side, allowing the men ample room to fight, and in typical New Orleans fashion, bets were placed on the outcome. Madame Charmane had, of course, called her bodyguards to the scene, but hardly knew which side to send them in on. Don Bernardo had always been a good customer but on the other hand she had always wanted Monsieur Nolte and his men's business. After watching for a few minutes, she shrugged and decided to let the men decide themselves. She left to see to Mary.

Victor finished off five men before he managed to turn back to Don Bernardo. The chair was empty, the pirate gone. He swore softly as, to the crowd's astonishment, he sat down at a table and passively watched Sebastian and John finish the group off.

Laftite lay moaning on the floor, his face bruised and bloody, and another man in a similar state lay next to him. John, with only a bloody nose and a bruised eye to show for his trouble, smiled triumphantly as he, too, took a seat at the table.

Sebastian's victims sprawled out in an almost perfect half circle around him. Blood covered everyone and everything nearby. While the motionless men looked headed for hell, the vast

majority of the wounds were superficial. Each wore Sebastian's red X. The last man, being no fool, tossed in his saber and ran from the room.

"I do hate cowards," Sebastian said breathlessly as he assumed a chair at the table.

John shook his head as he surveyed the scene with obvious disapproval. "You make such a bloody mess of them, Sebastian. It's archaic, cutting people up like that. Look at Vic's side, the bastards crumpled into neat piles, no blood ... hell, hardly a bruise."

Victor grinned in apparent agreement.

"It's the only way I know." Sebastian still sounded breathless and excited. Servants and bodyguards alike began clearing away the wounded and unconscious. Madame Charmane approached the three men. A servant followed behind her, carrying a tray with three glasses and the finest house brandy.

"That's her, the Madame," Sebastian said. "Yes. I recall."

"Congratulations." She smiled as though the fight were nothing more than a card game. "Brandy, gentlemen?"

"Where is the lady?" Victor asked in a demand. "She is upstairs, waiting for you in our best room."

Victor studied the woman for a brief moment, knew he did not like her, and not just in honor of Marie's sentiments. He did not hide the fact. "I'll have her at my house."

"As you wish," she replied, knowing Monsieur Nolte was not a man to be dissuaded. It didn't matter. She owned Mary's obedience now, and she had taken the concoction. "The pleasure will cost more, Monsieur."

Removing a money clip, Victor tossed three bills on the table. Madame motioned to the servant, who quickly swept up the bills. Then she left again, to give Mary new instructions before she lost all sense and coherency.

John shook his head as he splashed the brandy into a glass. "I suppose I've known my share of the working wenches, but I've never seen a treasure quite as beautiful."

"'Tis a flawed treasure after all," Sebastian said. "She's blind, you know." "Blind?" Like so many others, John reacted with surprise. "I knew there had to be

something," he said, repeating a common thought. "Nature does not create such perfection."

"Aye," Sebastian said, still somewhat breathless from his exertions. "Still, there is something more than a little odd about her being up there, do you not think so? Her beauty alone would open the wealthiest men's pocket-books, add to that her charm, intelligence, her humor.

Victor," he said, his voice lowering with suspicion, "that very same lady who just auctioned her flesh to the highest bidder was blushing like a schoolgirl at our rather tame story, as I recall. That Madame claimed her innocent was a well-acted farce but—"

"Well-acted farce?" Victor questioned, and then laughed. "One could not find a better performance in a London theater—she could make a fortune as an actress. And didn't I mention that I inquired into Monsieur Deubler's mistresses, only to be told he kept none. "This"—he motioned toward the room—"certainly explains their relationship."

"I don't know." Sebastian shook his head. "Just think of what she was wearing that night.

Remember? Now, granted her beauty makes advertising particularly unnecessary, but I've seen more seductive gowns on housekeepers—"

John shook his head, recalling many youthful mistakes he had made in the judgment of a woman's experience, expensive mistakes. "Lots of women play the innocent with absolutely no flaw or sign of the sham," he said, and laughed at the thought. "Why, one time I'll never forgot this pretty little lady ..."

Jade waited in a small room, her emotions raging and turbulent. Mercedes had given her a laced glass of wine to calm her down, but this was impossible. The afternoon's terror fueled the fires of fear and consumed all thoughts. The Madame had entered Mercedes's room and found them wrapped in an intimate, tender embrace, Mercedes crying in her arms. As if the Madame had suddenly realized her threats and Maydrian's screams were not enough to receive her obedience, she had taken her back to the basement and ...

Do not think of it.

Could it really have been he who had walked through those doors and called the last outrageous bid? Was it really him? Or was it some cruel trick played on her by her desperate mind? How could it be he, of all men in the entire world, to know her as a whore, a woman who bedded men and took money for her love?

Her thoughts felt fragmented. She struggled for a clear head, desperate to reason her way out, but somehow she tumbled into panic as she tried. She didn't know what she could risk, that she

could risk anything. Dear God, she was mutilating poor old Maydrian! "I will kill that old bag before anyone you might alert could find her. Remember it!"

Remember it, remember it…

Madame Charmane had instructed her to accompany the American to his house, to dissuade any suspicions he might have and to act in accordance with his pleasure. His pleasure. He would take off her clothes and—

Her hands went clammy, her legs felt shaky. How could she do that? Mercedes swore it "was usually very quick, a matter of minutes. A couple of minutes for Maydrian's life, but what

if ... what if Maydrian was already dead? She was so old, almost sixty and there would be so much blood loss. Remember it, remember it, remember it...

At the second sounding the Madame would send an escort to take her back. She struggled to think of how to save Maydrian. Fate was dealing her a card, she reasoned shakily. He had wanted to take her away from here to his house. This was the time to act. If she just pretended to be this, this woman who bedded men for money until she was safely away from here? Then if she alerted Mother Francesca and Father Nolte ... But weren't they far away in Baton Rouge? Or had they come back?

With alarm she realized she didn't even know what day it was. A distressed hand went to her forehead, only to realize she moved too slowly.

Think! It they were still gone and she could not appeal to the constable either, then who would save Maydrian? Would the poor woman be dead by then?

Think, think, think....

Thinking felt so taxing all of a sudden, like climbing a steep hill weighted with heavy packages. Her legs felt heavy, her heated blood seemed to slow and warm by degrees. She tried to imagine frail old Sister Mary and Sister Catherine marching into Madame Charmane's house of ill repute demanding Maydrian's safety, yet falling faint at the first sight of a woman's undergarments.

No, no, 'twould never do.

Who else, who else? She knew the mayor. She seized the thought. It was followed by the realization that she knew many, many people and by the time she told any one of them, Maydrian would be dead.

Dear Lord, she might already be dead from blood loss alone. She had begged to be taken to her but the Madame only laughed. "In due time, Mary...."

The words sounded in a curious slow echo through her mind. She wondered if she might faint. What was wrong with her? She felt hot and flushed, as if sitting next to a raging fire.

Just pretend until she was taken from this house. She'd tell the American... She'd tell him ...

She felt a servant's hand on her arm to escort her out. She started forward slowly, with great difficulty. Another hand came to her for support. They stopped. She found herself concentrating so hard on appearing normal that she didn't realize men were rising out of their chairs until she heard the American's greeting followed by introductions. She felt Victor's hand guide her to a chair. She closed her eyes, bit her lip and forced herself still as he studied her.