The Paris Affair Part 35

"No. Yes. d.a.m.n it, Malcolm, you barely let on you're feeling anything and then you open up like smashed crystal."

"It's not the sort of thing-"

"That comes easily to you? No, I know. That's why it touched me so much." She kissed him again, lightly. "You're a remarkable man, Malcolm. I don't deserve you."

"I wasn't asking for a like declaration. If you're thinking of Frederick Radley-"

"Radley makes my skin crawl," she said truthfully. "I can't imagine what I ever saw in him." But she could not deny that at one time Radley had stirred her, in the crude way cheap wine or raw spirits could provide an escape. Lovemaking was never so complete an escape with Malcolm. He took it too seriously for that.

"It's not the sort of thing I could very well have said before," he said, in that same tone that indicated he was picking his way through a treacherous landscape of possible words. "It would have been putting another demand on you. And whatever was between us, I wanted it to have as little as possible to do with demands."

She moved back into his arms and put what she couldn't say, wouldn't ever be able to properly say to him, into her kiss. She dragged his shirt over his head with clumsy fingers, while he found the strings on the back of her gown. They fell back against the coverlet. His kiss was urgent, yet tempered as always by care. She gave a laugh that was half a sob, or the other way round, and lost herself in his embrace.

She would have sworn sleep would elude her tonight, but she must have slept, because suddenly a burst of sound jerked her awake, all senses alert to respond to whatever crisis had woken her. Not a cry from Colin. Not gunfire. Pounding. On the door.

CHAPTER 24.

"Forgive me, sir. Madame." It was Valentin outside the bedchamber door.

Malcolm was already out of bed. "Dressing gown," Suzanne said, throwing his to him, for he was stark naked. As was she. She fished her dressing gown from its spot at the bottom of the bed, beneath the tangle of their discarded clothing. She ran to the door, fumbling with her satin sash, as Malcolm opened it.

"Forgive me," Valentin said again. His eyes were sleep flushed above the candle he carried. "But the Comtesse Talleyrand has called and says it's a matter of urgency. She's in the salon."

A faint gray light leached between the curtains. Four o'clock, perhaps four-thirty. "Thank you." Suzanne touched Valentin's arm. "Perhaps you could have coffee sent in."

Dorothee was on her feet in the salon, pacing back and forth. She wore a spring green pelisse with the frogged clasps askew and a French bonnet of satin straw tied in a lopsided bow. As they stepped into the room she ran towards them and gripped each of them by the arm. "Thank G.o.d. I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to find you. I couldn't think who else to turn to. It has to be stopped."

"Of course." Suzanne took her friend's hands in a firm clasp. Dorothee's pulse beat wildly. "But first you must tell us what."

"It's all my fault. I should have kept them apart. I should have stayed in Vienna. I should never have let Karl-"

"Com-Doro." Malcolm touched her arm. "Has your husband challenged Clam-Martinitz to a duel?"

Dorothee's gaze jerked to his face. "I never said, did I? How did you-"

"It seemed the sort of idiocy to account for your concerns."

"I never thought Edmond would go so far. I never thought he cared that much-at all-Why? Why would he care about whose bed a woman shares when he has no interest in the woman herself?"

"Some men consider it a question of pride," Malcolm said. "Or honor, which is much the same."

"If only Karl had refused the challenge-"

" 'I could not love thee, dear, so much'-" Malcolm shook his head. "That would have marred his own honor."

"Of all the impossible idiots." Dorothee spun away, hands pressed to her face, then turned back to Malcolm. "I'm so afraid he'll kill Karl."

"We won't let that happen." Malcolm drew Dorothee to the sofa and pressed her to sit down. "Do you know where the duel is to happen? And when?"

"The Bois de Boulogne." Dorothee's fingers worked at the clasps on her pelisse. "This morning. I'm not sure when precisely. Karl left me a note in case-in case he doesn't return. My maid gave it to me before he told her to. Thank G.o.d."

"Does Talleyrand know?"

"Not from me. He wouldn't interfere." Dorothee swallowed. "As you say, it's an affair of honor. I should never have let Karl-"

Suzanne dropped down beside Dorothee on the sofa and gripped her friend's wrist. "Karl is a brave and able man. He makes his own decisions."

"If it were Malcolm you'd be just as worried."

"Probably more so," Malcolm said. "I imagine Clam-Martinitz is considerably more skilled with weapons than I am." He glanced at the window. The sliver of sky visible between the curtains was still only pale charcoal. "We have a bit of time, but we'd best be off. Suzette-"

"Don't you dare suggest I stay at home, Malcolm."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I suspect it will take all of us to stop this lunacy. I was going to suggest you and Doro drink some coffee while I order the carriage."

Dorothee looked at Malcolm as he moved to the door. "I didn't think-Castlereagh and Wellington won't look kindly on your interfering in a French and Austrian quarrel, will they?"

Malcolm gave her one of his unexpectedly warming smiles. "Perhaps not. But it's a family matter."

Valentin brought in the coffee as Malcolm left the room. Suzanne stirred liberal amounts of cream and sugar into a cup and pressed it into Dorothee's hand. "You need something bracing."

Dorothee forced down a sip. "I've been appallingly selfish."

"Seeking happiness isn't selfish." Suzanne gulped down a swallow of coffee herself. Black. She needed a good strong jolt.

"It is when one does it at the expense of others."

"For what it's worth, I'd never have expected Edmond to behave so."

"Of course not. You aren't a man." Dorothee stared into her coffee cup. "I was living in some mad sort of dreamworld. I used to worry about scandal. Now all I want is to see Karl again alive. I'll never forgive myself if he comes to harm."

For a moment visions of what might happen to Malcolm if the truth about her was revealed swam before Suzanne's eyes. The circ.u.mstances were different. The fear was the same.

A quarter hour later the three of them were settled in the barouche. Paris, so active in the early hours of the morning, had gone silent now, just before dawn. Street sweepers moved through the gray world and hawkers were beginning to set out their tables in the boulevards. Mist hung over the Bois de Boulogne, swirling round the tree trunks, giving the wood a desolate aspect for all the soldiers encamped among the trees.

Dawn light began to rend the gloom. Dorothee sat bolt upright, her gaze fixed out the window. Malcolm seemed to have given the coachman a predetermined route to follow. They wound along the paths, slowing occasionally. At last Dorothee gave a cry, and then Suzanne saw it as well. The gathering light clung to the white shirts of two men moving over the green and glinted off the sabres in their hands. Three other men stood to one side, one with a surgeon's bag by his feet.

Malcolm rapped on the roof of the carriage. The coachman drew up. Dorothee fumbled for the door handle before the steps could be let down and sprang onto the gra.s.s. Malcolm jumped after her and caught her arm before she could run forwards.

Suzanne jumped from the carriage after Dorothee and Malcolm. The sabres clanged, sc.r.a.ped, disengaged, met again. The duelists were too intent on each other to have noticed the new arrivals. Clam-Martinitz's arm shot forwards. His blade slid along Edmond's and broke Edmond's guard. The tip of Clam-Martinitz's sabre darted to Edmond's cheek. Edmond parried the blow, but blood dripped from his face.

Dorothee screamed, wrenched herself away from Malcolm, and ran forwards.

Clam-Martinitz spun round. "Doro, for G.o.d's sake-"

Edmond lunged towards Clam-Martinitz, sabre poised to drive into his opponent's back. Malcolm, already running flat out, landed on Edmond in a flying tackle and took him to the ground.

"Rannoch?" Edmond said in disbelief as Suzanne ran forwards. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"Stopping you from committing murder." Malcolm kept Edmond pinned with his body.

"This is an affair of honor."

"Not very honorable to stab a man in the back."

Dorothee was clinging to Clam-Martinitz, sobbing. "For G.o.d's sake, my darling," he said. "You shouldn't have come. I'll never forgive Brigitte for giving you the note early."

"Thank G.o.d she did. Oh, Karl, how could you be so foolish?"

"This is nothing to do with-"

"Don't say it's nothing to do with me. You were fighting over me. Do you know how wretched that makes me feel?"

Edmond got enough purchase to land Malcolm a blow to the face.

Malcolm sat up, nose streaming crimson. "Satisfied now you've drawn blood?"

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d-" Edmond pushed himself to his feet, looming over Malcolm.

"Don't be an idiot, Talleyrand." Malcolm sprang to his feet, putting himself between Edmond and Clam-Martinitz. "Don't you realize it makes you look more an idiot to fight a duel over a woman who has no interest in you?"

"She's my wife."

"A fact of which you've seemed singularly unaware."

Edmond took a step forwards, blood spurting from the cut in his cheek. "By G.o.d, Rannoch, I'll-"

"What? Challenge me? I won't accept. Believe me, I have no fear of being branded a coward."

"You-"

"You've fought, monsieur le comte." Suzanne moved between the men and gave a handkerchief to Malcolm. "Surely you can consider honor satisfied."

"Madame Rannoch, you can have no conception-"

Suzanne fished another handkerchief from her reticule and gave it to Edmond. "All that blood is making a mess of your coat. I suggest you let this very capable-looking surgeon tend to you."

Dorothee pulled away from Clam-Martinitz and took a step towards her husband. "Do let the surgeon see to you, Edmond. Before the cut becomes infected."

"What do you care?" Edmond faced his wife, sword dangling from his fingertips.

Dorothee looked into his eyes, chin lifted. "You're the father of my children. I never wanted you hurt, Edmond."

Edmond gave a short laugh. "That's a d.a.m.ned-"

"I never thought I had the power to hurt you."

His gaze locked on hers for a moment, angry and at the same time puzzled. Then he turned away. But he thrust his sword back into its scabbard and moved towards the surgeon. Dorothee breathed a sigh of relief. Clam-Martinitz moved to her side and touched her arm.

"There's no way this will stay secret," Suzanne said, going to stand beside them. "Not with the cut on Edmond's face, and the way gossip spreads in Paris. You shouldn't be seen leaving the park together."

Clam-Martinitz nodded. "Very wise, Madame Rannoch." His gaze moved to Malcolm. "Rannoch-"

"I'll see the comtesse safely home." Malcolm took the handkerchief down from his nose, glanced at the fresh blood, then pressed it back to his face. "As far as anyone need know, she and my wife and I merely went out for an early drive. Eccentric perhaps, but hardly scandalous."

"Thank you." Clam-Martinitz looked down at Dorothee. "I never meant to embroil you in scandal."

Dorothee reached up and touched his face. "I'm only relieved you're unhurt. You are unhurt, aren't you?"

"Not a scratch."

"I'll see you at Wellington's ball tonight."

"Are you sure-"

"It's imperative, my love. Suzanne's right. Talk will be all over Paris. We have to brazen it out."

Clam-Martinitz gave a quick nod. "See her home safely, Rannoch."

Malcolm helped Suzanne and Dorothee back into the carriage. Dorothee folded her arms, gripping her elbows. "Sacrebleu. If I hadn't distracted Karl-"

"If you hadn't been there, the duel wouldn't have ended when it did," Malcolm said. "And G.o.d knows what the outcome would have been."

She flashed a smile at him. "I always wanted a brother."

Rays of sunlight slanted into the carriage as they pulled out of the park. They'd be home before Colin was up for breakfast, Suzanne thought.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, throwing them against the squabs. "What on earth-?" Dorothee said.

Malcolm opened the window and leaned out. Thuds and raised voices streamed into the carriage. Suzanne heard her husband draw a sharp breath. "Stay here," he said over his shoulder, then opened the door and sprang to the ground. Suzanne poked her head out the open window. She could only see a portion of the street ahead, but she could see enough to tell that some sort of brawl was in progress. She watched her husband run into the fray and take a blow to the chin.

"Stay here," she said to Dorothee, and sprang to the ground herself.

Five men seemed to have turned on one, a fair-haired young man who had lost his jacket and had blood spattered on his shirt. Malcolm had at least momentarily distracted them. "For G.o.d's sake-," he said.

"Stay out of this," a burly sandy-haired man said. "He's a Bonapartist."

"Then he's been dealt far worse a blow than you can deal him." Malcolm edged between the attackers and the fair-haired man.

"Filthy spy. G.o.d knows what he's plotting." A tall dark-haired man lunged towards the fair-haired man. Suzanne stuck out her foot and tripped him.

"What the devil-"