Despite being used to her father's firm rule since the
early death of her mother, the lovely and headstrong Sonia
Bonneval vowed to find a way not to be sent off like
baggage to Vera Cruz, Mexico to marry the despicable Jean
Pierre Rouillard. After all, war is looming with Mexico
and so far her father hadn't found anyone suitable as a
traveling companion to protect her on the journey.
Sonia sensed things were going to change when a tall,
rugged Kaintuck, Swordmaster Kerr Wallace applied and got
the job. They were set to leave on the "Lime Rock", a
steam packet sailing in a few days. Despite her entreaties
and tears, he held firm with his acceptance to take her on
that fateful voyage.
While Sonia thought him a heartless oaf, Kerr felt his
heart go out to her. What kind of father would send off
his daughter like this? But, he had to hold firm and get
her to Rouillard for she was the very pawn that would let
him get close to his elusive enemy -- the evil killer of his
younger brother.
Sonia knows full well the dictates of the Vieux Carre
society in New Orleans that a French Creole lady like
herself must follow or risk losing her reputation; yet,
with a wink and a nod from her Tante Lily, a lively widow,
Sonia strays close to the edge in her efforts to outwit her
protective guard. Seeking support from the gallant Gervaise
Pradat and the overly attentive Alexander Tremont, Sonia is
so intent on her plans to get out of her arranged marriage
that she doesn't think about the consequences for others.
Checking out the "competition", Kerr is surprised at
finding Tremont opening cases of illegal arms in the ship's
hold and thinks the planter must be more than who he says,
but leaves that thought as he struggles with his own
fantasy and jealous feelings. Exhausted from guarding
Sonia and thinking they are safe on the open Gulf waters,
Kerr relaxes his guard only to be roused from sleep to find
the ship under attack and Sonia is missing. Can he find
her? With her distain for her "traveling companion", would
she care what happens to him?
With her excellent research and lush descriptions,
Jennifer Blake instantly pulls you into 1846 New Orleans
society and the wilds of Mexico in this captivating and
spirited tale. The story line is very well developed and
the repartee sparkles and clashes as the characters fence
with each other. Kerr Wallace makes for a terrific hero and
it speaks to his strength of character and personal
vulnerability when deprived of the very weapon that he had
long sought mastery of in order to achieve his
goal. "Gallant Match" is a very intriguing tale of honour,
vengeance, love and allegiance that you won't want to miss!
Kerr Wallace has spent years studying swordplay, preparing
to challenge his sworn enemy and avenge his brother's death.
The scoundrel Rouillard, now living in Mexico as a
profiteer, has decided to take a wife, and the lady requires
an escort to Veracruz. Kerr seizes his chance—he will
deliver the bride…and dispatch the groom.
If only it were so easy. Headstrong Sonia Bonneval will do
anything to escape this doomed marriage to Rouillard.
Coquettish ploys cannot melt the iron resolve of her
damnable escort, however, and the voyage with Kerr becomes
an exhilarating battle of wills. But a very real declaration
of war forces them into even closer quarters—and greater
temptation—in a fight for survival. Before the end, both
must choose between duty and freedom—vengeance and passion.
Excerpt
New Orleans, Louisiana May 1846
The rain
fell with the dreary persistence of a widow's tears. Sonia
Bonneval stared through the silver streams that poured from
the barrel-tile roof, splattering over the tough leaves of a
palmetto and into the courtyard below, joining the small
river that swirled along the open stone drain leading to the
porte cochere. The droplets slanting down made a copper haze
around the pitch-pine torch at that dark, tunnellike
entrance to the courtyard. From her concealment behind a
tangle of wisteria growing up the gallery post of the
garçonnière, Sonia searched the opening. At any
moment, her father's secret visitor would appear from the
blackness like some demon from Hades. Just moments ago, the
dangling bell beside the wicket gate had rung its summons.
Eugene, her father's majordomo, spare, precise in his
movements and with features older than his thirty years,
descended the outside staircase in answer. She could hear
him speaking now in deferential greeting, hear a deep voice
in response that resonated with strength and purpose. The
footsteps of the pair grated on the stone paving, one set a
shuffle in slippers designed for quiet, the other a steady,
booted stride.
Shadows shifted in the dim mouth of
the entrance. They elongated as the two men passed the
flaring torchlight and emerged under the arcade that edged
the courtyard.
Sonia drew a sharp, silent breath of
alarm.
The newcomer was enormous, an impression
increased by the long, caped greatcoat that billowed around
his ankles. Raindrops glistened upon wool-clad shoulders so
wide they seemed to fill the archway. His bell-crowned
beaver hat came close to scraping the brick ceiling, and he
wore it set straight across his forehead, without the least
tilt to give it style. It was impossible to see his features
from where she stood above him, but he gripped the cane he
carried as if it were a weapon.
Formidable, the man
was formidable.
Abruptly, he turned his head, his
gaze fastening on the shadows where she stood. He could not
see her—surely it was impossible—yet some animal instinct
seemed to guide him. She felt nailed in place, as if she
might never move again. Her breath stopped in her throat
while her heart throbbed against her breastbone with frantic
haste. Her skin prickled as at some primitive warning of
hazard. The night seemed to grow still,
waiting.
Eugene reached the stairs that led to the
interior gallery of the town house. He paused, the dim light
from the rooms above sliding over his walnut-colored skin as
he looked back at the visitor. "This way,
monsieur."
The man glanced toward the
majordomo. He hesitated a moment longer, then followed after
him.
Sonia put a hand to her chest. Her breath rasped
in her throat as if she was running, fleeing instead of
standing there watching the stranger's unhurried ascent to
the second-floor living section of her home.
She
should not be here, was not meant to know about the arrival
of this midnight guest. How very like Papa to keep it from
her, as if she had no say in the matter that brought him. He
expected to present the gentleman as a fait accompli, no
doubt, relying on good manners to overcome any objection she
might make when he was finally introduced.
That was
her father's mistake, not that it was surprising. He had
never understood her, never had the time to make the
effort.
It was always possible the latest applicant
for the position her father had in mind would fail to gain
favor, that he would be questioned and sent away like all
the others. She prayed it transpired that way, but could not
depend upon it.
This one was clearly different. He
had no look of the vagabond adventurer, Captain Sharp or
gambler in need of passage to a more salubrious port. He
moved like a man of purpose, one more than capable of
fulfilling the duty that might be entrusted to him. He was
the very essence of masculine danger.
Sonia drew her
India-woven shawl more closely around her shoulders as a
sudden chill moved down her spine. That someone suited to
the task would appear had always been inevitable, but she
had thought to have more time. Her plans must be set in
motion at once. She could delay no longer.
The steam
packet that traveled between Mobile and New Orleans would
make port in a day or two. Pray God an answer from her
grandmother was on it, for she knew not what she would do
otherwise.
Or was that strictly true? She paused as
an idea flickered to life in her mind.
Suppose the
gentleman could be dissuaded from accepting the position?
That might happen if he took an aversion to his charge, she
thought with a frown of concentration. Few gentlemen
appreciated a harridan, still less would they care to be
cooped up with one for days on end. She could be such a one
if necessary. Yes, indeed.
Fortitude and daring might
gain her another week, possibly two, though her father's
wrath would be difficult to face. She shivered a little at
the thought of his cold withdrawal, so much more deadly than
simple anger.
She had always dreaded it as a child,
the feeling that she had disappointed him and embarrassed
herself. She would have done anything to gain his smiles
again. It had ceased to hurt so much once she realized his
whole purpose was to insure her abject obedience, making her
malleable and dependent, but it troubled her all the
same.
Dwelling on it served no purpose. By the time
he discovered the full extent of her deception, she would be
far away. Besides, some things were worth the
risk.
On the gallery across the courtyard, Eugene and
the visitor paused outside the door of her father's study
and smoking room. Eugene relieved him of his outerwear along
with his cane, and then opened the study door so he might
enter. The gentleman raked a hand through his hair, set his
shoulders and walked into the lamp-lighted
chamber.
The glimpse Sonia had of his face made her
throat close. It was arresting, almost harsh under a thick
cap of hair the rich brown color of oak leaves in autumn.
His eyes were deep-set, appearing cavernous in the uncertain
light, though with a flashing sheen of silver. She
recognized in the angular planes of his face and determined
jut of his chin a harsh and powerful, almost primitive, form
of male beauty that was beyond her experience. And she was
appalled at the immediate clench deep in her abdomen in
response.
He was American, she thought, most likely a
Kaintuck, as the French Creoles called those from
the wild mountain country of Kentucky and Tennessee. They
were a breed apart, so it was said, less mannerly, less
gallant in their approach to females than their counterparts
in the Vieux Carré. Some were outright ruffians who piloted
their keelboats laden with hogs, corn and corn liquor
downriver. They used the money they made to carouse through
the more squalid sections of the city, drinking, fighting
with fists, feet and teeth, indulging in the most disgusting
debauchery.
Others of their ilk, Americans from the
North and East, might have more polish but still lacked
social grace, wit or civilized conversation, seemed to care
for nothing except adding to their wealth. Priggish and
puritanical, they looked down their long noses at what they
considered to be the ungodly habits of French-Creole
society. And why, pray? Merely because the gentlemen of the
Vieux Carré amused themselves rather than chasing after
every piastre, because their ladies were fond of
fashions à la Parisienne and aiding nature by the
delicate application of cosmetics.
They also objected
to the practice of theaters and gaming houses remaining open
on Sundays, these Americans, and to the genteel habit of
hostesses providing music for dancing when they arranged a
Sabbath soiree. What arrogance, to assume that sitting and
staring at each other with plain, solemn faces while
buttoned up in unfashionable clothing was more virtuous than
dressing well and seeking amusement after one had made one's
peace with le bon Dieu.
It would be just
like her father to select this man for his background alone.
Papa would be certain nothing in the man's mien or manner
could attract her. He was exactly correct in this
instance.
Mère de Dieu, but she must do her
utmost to prevent the Kaintuck from being
chosen.
Stepping back into her bedchamber, which lay
behind her, Sonia moved to the fireplace and lit a paper
spill at the glowing coals in the grate. She took the flame
to the candles in girandoles on either side of her
dressing-table mirror, setting them alight. In their bright
glow, she appeared pale in contrast to the auburn gleam of
her hair. Her eyes were like burning blue holes in her face,
circled by lavender shadows. The cause of the strain of the
past weeks, she knew, for they had not been easy
ones.
Disposing of the spill, she returned to the
dressing table. She considered her father's guest a moment
longer, her lips set in a thin line. What would he think,
she wondered, of a painted harridan?
With sudden
resolution, she dropped her shawl and caught the edges of
her bodice with both hands, tugging it lower to expose more
of the white curves of her breasts. The effect was almost
wicked, she thought, which was all to the good. Next, she
reached for the small packet of red Spanish papers that lay
on the tabletop. She pulled one free, brushing it across her
cheekbones with heavy, deliberate strokes and moistening her
lips with a quick flick of her tongue before pressing it to
their damp surfaces. Still it was not enough. Greatly
daring, she brushed the paper across her eyelids, down the
curve of her neck and into the cleft shadow between her
breasts. There, that was better.
She was using an
artist's brush and a little oil to paint the line of her
lashes with lampblack when the door opened behind her. She
flinched, almost dropping the brush.
"Chère!
What are you about? You look the very image of a
wanton!"
Sonia directed a defiant look at the
reflection of the soigné older lady in the doorway. "My
exact intention, Tante Lily."
"What can you mean?
Your papa will be scandalized."
"It will be worth it
if the gentleman with him is the same. Besides, you will
know just how to charm Papa and smooth over the
situation."
Her aunt and duenna of many years stepped
inside and closed the door. "But, no, chère," she
said, her features puckered with concern. "Subtlety is
everything with such aids to beauty, as I've told you time
and time…" She paused in midlecture. "Gentleman? What
gentleman is this? I know of no gentleman."
"An
American, a Kaintuck by his looks. They prefer
their women wan and frail, I believe, and covered to their
throats like nuns. Painting one's face is frowned upon as
the devil's handiwork."
"You wish to give this
American a disgust of you? In the name of all the saints,
why?"
"So he will refuse the position Papa is
offering as we speak. Why else?"
Her aunt put a hand
to her temple. "Tiens, another candidate as your
guard? Perhaps this one will be sent away like all the
others."
"I fear not. He is… different."
"But
a man all the same, or so one supposes. Should he find favor
with your papa, I suspect he will accept the post tout
suite in hope you may be the loose female you appear.
No, truly, chère, this will not do."
Sonia
gave her handiwork a doubtful look before meeting her aunt's
gaze again. "You think I've gone too far?"
"Most
assuredly."
Tante Lily was better acquainted with
such matters than she. Her aunt had been married twice,
widowed twice and was still a fine-looking woman with a
number of older gentlemen in regular attendance. These
suitors vied for the honor of holding her fan or dance card,
offered their arms for assistance with stairs and
curbstones, appeared on her visiting days and entertained
her with charming discourse.
They received little
encouragement in return. Independent of nature and means,
Tante Lily merely enjoyed being courted, Sonia thought. She
might have married a third time except she had given up her
household to act as chaperone to Sonia, only child of her
sister who had been dead these many years. Her figure was
superb due to the efforts of her corsetière and
dressmaker. Her lustrous hair gave no sign of the strong
black coffee used to maintain its golden-brown color and the
darkness added to her lashes rivaled nature. It was Sonia's
dearest ambition to be just like her at the same age. Though
she would, if possible, avoid a first marriage, much less a
second.
"The effort must suffice," she said now, "for
I have no idea how else to discourage the man." Leaving the
mirror, she scooped up her shawl from the floor. "With any
luck, he will be as moralizing and disapproving as the rest
of his kind. Wish me bonne chance?"
Her aunt
might scold but made little effort to actually curb her
charge. "With all my heart," she said, a worried look in her
fine brown eyes, "though I still think you're making a
mistake."
"If he won't be put off by this display,
then I shall have to arrange something else, yes?" Sonia's
smile was satirical as she looked back over her shoulder at
her aunt. Drawing a deep, sustaining breath, she sailed out
the door.
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