Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

“Does… does that mean they are to duel?” she asked Jack, amazed at such a display.

He nodded. “Unless things have changed since I was here in August, dozens are fought every morning. The French are a hotheaded race, and with no war to occupy them now, our own idled officers are more than happy to oblige their thirst for violence.”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Did you fight any duels when you were here last summer?”

Again he nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “A few. I'd like to think I'm a wiser man now, though. For one thing, I've more to live for.” He winked at her.

Nessa felt chilled and warmed all at once. The very idea of Jack putting himself in such danger, doubtless over such trivial things as the cut of a coat or a turn of the dice, made her almost ill. In vain she reminded herself that he'd undoubtedly faced greater danger in the army. Somehow the thought did not comfort her in the least.

“Jack! Jack Ashecroft! Is it really you?” A shrill, feminine voice broke into Nessa's disturbing thoughts. With a swirl of puce skirts and heavy perfume, a plump, pretty blonde blocked their way. Seizing Jack by both arms, she planted a resounding kiss square on his mouth.

He grabbed her bare shoulders and set her away from him, looking more startled than upset, Nessa thought. “Peggy! I had no idea you were still in Paris.”

She appeared ready to launch herself at him again, when Jack continued hastily, “Pray, let me introduce you to my wife.”

The woman's rouged cheeks turned even pinker, as she noticed Nessa for the first time. “Your wife?” she cried, her blue eyes nearly starting from her head. “Say it ain't so, Jack!”

Jack released her shoulders, now that the danger of another attack had passed. “I'd rather hoped for congratulations, not disbelief. Lady Foxhaven and I were wed before Christmas.”

Peggy cocked her head pertly to one side. “Foxhaven? Weren't that your grandpa's name? So you're a markiss now, are you? Well, don't that beat all! Guess you had to wed so you could get yourself an heir, eh?” She nudged Nessa with her elbow, her eyes twinkling again.

Nessa managed a smile, both attracted and repelled by the woman's forthright, vulgar manner. “We're working on it,” she said brightly.

Both Jack and Peggy stared at her for a moment, then the other woman let out a loud peal of laughter. “Looks like you found yourself a right 'un, Jack! Glad to see you ain't stuck with some starched up society type. Bring her 'round tonight and I'll introduce her to the other girls.” With a saucy wink, she turned to sashay away from them down the street.

Glancing up at Jack, Nessa saw that his color had risen considerably. He cleared his throat a couple of times before meeting her eye.

“That was Peggy,” he said unnecessarily.

“So I gathered.” She couldn't helped being amused at his embarrassment, even if the encounter had been rather unsettling for her, as well. “A good friend of yours, I take it?”

“Just a… a casual acquaintance, really.” He didn't quite meet her eye. “Manners are freer here, and even the English who spend enough time in Paris tend to adopt them.”

“Ah,” she said noncommittally. “Shall we continue on?”

He nodded and they resumed their walk, but this was not the last such encounter. They had nearly reached the Louvre when a disheveled young man accosted them.

“Jack Ashecroft, as I live and breathe! And who is this pretty lady? 'Tis one I've not seen in Paris before. Did you import her from England, perchance?”

“Hello, Teddy. Still getting drunk before noon, I see. This is my wife, Lady Foxhaven.” Jack, Nessa noticed, was careful to interpose himself between her and this newcomer.

“So Uncle Luther stuck his spoon in the wall, did he? And you've become a sober married man. Guess there's no use in my suggesting a ménage à trois then, eh?” With an elaborate bow toward Nessa, he went off laughing.

Nessa looked curiously at Jack. “What did he mean?”

Again Jack began the throat-clearing that she now knew signified embarrassment. “Er, nothing. Teddy always was a nodcock. Wonder if his family even knows he's still alive?”

Though she suspected there was more to that comment than the literal meaning, “household of three,” she allowed the subject to drop. “I had no idea I'd married such a very popular fellow.” Nessa forced herself to speak lightly, though in truth she was rather unnerved by such flagrant evidence of his former lifestyle.

They entered the Louvre then, and Nessa forgot all other concerns in her awe at the artworks displayed there. They spent the next few hours lost in beauty and amazement, only recalled to reality by increasingly insistent hunger pangs.

Jack suggested Tortoni's for afternoon refreshment, and Nessa eagerly agreed. That celebrated establishment was crowded with people of all nationalities, but as Jack appeared to know several of those present, including the waiters, they were served in surprisingly short order. They had finished their meal and were just beginning the famed ices when shouting on the opposite side of the room rose above the general din.

A French officer and a man Nessa thought might be Prussian from his accent exchanged first words and then blows. A moment later, at least a dozen other patrons joined the fray. Chairs and tables were overturned, and a shot rang out.

“That is our exit cue, my dear,” said Jack urgently. “This way.” He ushered her outdoors, pushing his way through the crowd surging in the opposite direction to join or witness the melee. More shots sounded behind them, along with a piercing shriek.

“Goodness!” Nessa exclaimed shakily once they'd gone a safe distance down the street. “Does that sort of thing happen often in there?”

“There and most other places in this volatile city. Are you all right?” Jack examined her face with a concern that warmed away her fear.

“Perfectly,” she assured him. “I… had not realized Paris was such a dangerous place.”

“Debauchery and danger often go hand in hand.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and turned toward the Tuileries. “When people lose respect for themselves and their own lives, 'tis but a short step to losing respect for others, and fiery young men must have an outlet for their passions.”

Nessa swallowed. “And you were one of those?”

“I… suppose I was, though I pursued amusement more avidly than violence.”

She wasn't sure whether that made her feel better or not.

During the remainder of the day and evening, Nessa began to realize that her girlish fantasies about wickedness had had little basis in reality. Here, the actuality was all about her, impossible to escape.

Prostitutes— they could be nothing else— boldly approached passersby in even the most genteel sections of the city. Gambling dens appeared to occupy almost every corner, and shots rang out frequently, either close at hand or in the distance. Wild laughter floated from doorways, and the moans of what must be sexual couplings from open windows above.

No longer did she envy the freedom of the women she saw everywhere displaying their legs and bosoms. Instead, she felt almost ashamed to share their gender. The Tuileries and its gardens, just beginning to hint at spring glory, were lovely, and the Palais-Royal amazing in its colorful variety, but by midway through the evening Nessa was both tired and oddly depressed.

Jack seemed to sense something of her mood. “Why don't we return to our hotel and have dinner sent up to our suite,” he suggested as they completed the circuit of shops and cafés. “I think we've both had enough of Paris for one day, don't you?”

Though she hated to admit it, Nessa had to agree. No doubt her enthusiasm for new experiences would revive after a good night's sleep, but for now she confessed herself sated by them.