Guarded Heart by Jennifer Blake Page A

lips moved and something about her expression and the way she clasped her hands in front of her, gave the unheard greeting Gavin witnessed the look of supplication.
    Madame Faucher stared at the newcomer for an aeon, or so it seemed, before rising slowly to her feet. Her face drained of color and Gavin thought she swayed where she stood. The Russian reached out as if to take her arm but she shook him off.
    â€œCondessa,” Gavin said, breaking in on the conversation of the lady and his friend Caid without compunction, “are you by chance acquainted with the woman to whom Madame Faucher is speaking?”
    Celina turned to stare across the way an instant. “She has been pointed out as the wife of a planter from upriver, though I can’t quite recall the name. I believe she has a daughter she is presenting this season.”
    â€œMadame Arpegé,” Caid supplied after a cursory glance. “Her husband and I are acquainted. She and Monsieur Arpegé have a houseful of daughters if the truth be known. Lisette holds the lady up to me regularly as an example of fecundity she has no intention of duplicating.”
    Even as they spoke, the woman could be seen turning away from Ariadne. She had not, apparently, been offered a chair or encouraged to linger. “What connection has she to Madame Faucher?”
    â€œWho can say? From her appearance, she might easily be a cousin of some degree.”
    It was true enough, Gavin thought; there did seem to be some resemblance. Nothing was more likely. Creole families were large and their branches torturously intertwined due to frequent marriages between cousins during the long years when the city was an isolated colonial outpost. As he watched, however, the intruder put a hand to her mouth, then turned and departed with drooping shoulders.
    â€œNot a close connection apparently,” he commented.
    â€œSo it would seem.” The agreement came from Caid.
    â€œMore might be brought to light with the exercise of guile.”
    â€œOr you could abandon it and just ask Maurelle,” his friend answered, his voice dry.
    â€œThe trouble with that suggestion is that she seems equally at a loss.” It was possible only Ariadne could satisfy his curiosity. And the chance of that happening was about as likely as having her respond to his more carnal inclinations.
    â€œMadame Zoe might have some idea,” the Irishman said after a moment. “She’s met practically everyone during one winter season or another.”
    â€œSo she has.” Gavin was thoughtful. The idea had one merit not present in the direct approach. Contrary to his client in the opposite box, asking the diva was not likely to result in an attack with a sharp weapon.
    It might be just as well if he didn’t approach the lady this evening after all. He could see she suffered few ill effects, if any, from her wound. Inspecting it could wait for a less fraught, and considerably less public, occasion.
    Accordingly, he and Caid gave up their places to other gentlemen waiting to pay their respects, withdrawing with Rio and also Denys Vallier, Celina’s brother, to the corridor outside the box. They stood in a male huddle where they talked of the latest news dispatched to reach the city, particularly those that dealt with the war drums that rumbled along the Mexican border.
    â€œYou heard, I suppose,” Caid said, “that Santa Ana was so irritated by the last message sent him from President Tyler, he issued a decree expelling all United States citizens from California and New Mexico?”
    â€œAlso that old General Waddy Thompson, our American minister, threatened to demand his passport and quit Mexico if it was enforced,” Rio said with a nod. “The decree is said to have been revoked within twenty-four hours, but that may be wishful thinking.”
    Caid tucked a thumb into his waistcoat pocket as he shook his head. “We can only hope Thompson