‘Ah-,-‘ a soft voice came from behind her, ‘the little lamb left alone to the wolf.’
Jules whirled about to face a man wearing a light gray cloak and a gray mask.
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‘Who are you, sir?’ she asked, not at all concerned.
‘I’ve been watching you all evening, my dear. You seem very sure of yourself, surrounded by all those people. I had almost despaired of finding you alone. It would appear that you’ve made quite a few friends.’
‘What,’ Jules said, suspicious now, ‘are you talking about?’
‘I must also tell you that you look more beautiful than I had imagined. Is it possible, my dear, that you occasionally miss me, think of me?’
‘Your jest, sir, is wearing a bit thin,’ Jules said sharply. ‘Have you perhaps visited the punch bowl too many times?’
‘Really, Juliana, don’t you recognize me?’ She did, very suddenly, and felt herself go cold. He didn’t have to remove his mask. ‘Get away from me!’
He lunged for her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her against him, away from the open windows. ‘NoP she shrieked, and felt his hand slap down over her mouth.
She struggled wildly and bit his hand.
He sucked in his breath, and for an instant his hand eased and she jerked her head back and screamed.
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‘You damned little bitch,’ he hissed in her ear. In the next moment she felt searing pain as his fist crashed into her jaw. Flashes of stark white exploded before her eyes, and then there was nothing.
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17
Thomas DuPres, quite satisfied with his latest skirmish with Penelope Stevenson, strolled through the chattering groups of people toward the long bank of French windows. He’d seen Jules going in that direction a few minutes before, and decided he wanted to talk to her. Lord, it was an opulent house, he thought, and like Jules, he’d cataloged and duly appreciated all the flowers arranged in huge pots throughout the ballroom. He saw Penelope waving imperiously to him, grinned to himself, and quickly eased out onto the balcony. It was no wonder the girl was spoiled rotten; he just might be also had he been raised as she had been, doubtless given anything she wanted. For the moment, he would let her suffer.
He looked about for Jules but didn’t at first see her. He called her name softly – just in case, he told himself, there were any lovers out here.
He suddenly heard a man curse viciously. He whipped about and searched the shadows at the far end of the balcony. He saw his sister struggling wildly with a man wearing a long
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cloak and mask. He watched in shocked horror as the man struck Jules and she crumpled where she stood.
He yelled as he sprinted forward, ‘You bastard! What the hell are you doing?’ Jameson Wilkes saw the young man
running full tilt toward him. He gave Jules one final look, so furious he wanted to howl. He started to draw out his derringer, but decided it was too risky. He’d heard her strike her head when she’d fallen, and for an instant he felt tearing fear that she was terribly hurt or even dead. ‘Dammit, no!’ He wasn’t certain if it was a cry to her or a cry to some unhearing god. He wrapped his cloak tightly about him and vaulted gracefully over the balcony railing.
‘Jules!’Thomas was only vaguely aware that the man had disappeared. He knelt beside his sister, saw that she was unconscious, and quickly lifted her into his arms. He drew to an abrupt halt just outside the French doors. No reason to cause a riot, he thought. Gently he eased her down and slipped inside. He found Saint speaking to Del Saxton.
‘Come quickly,’ he said. ‘It’s Jules. She’s been hurt.’
Saint felt fear ripple through him, tensing his muscles. He said nothing, merely hurried after Thomas. When he saw her, pale and
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small, lying unconscious against one of the long windows, he forced himself to be calm. I’d be scared silly, he remembered telling her when she’d asked him what he’d feel if she were ill. And he was.