Recently widowed after her husband lost a duel, most people
would assume that Lisette Moisant would loathe Caid
O'Niell, a member of the maitres d'armes. After all, he
was the one responsible for her husband's death, having
bested her husband in the duel. Most people, however,
would be wrong. If anything, Lisette is grateful to Caid
for freeing her from the horrible marriage she had to her
loathsome husband. So when attempts are made to kill
Lisette and steal her fortune, she turns to Caid for
protection.
Caid agrees to give Lisette protection because he feels
guilty for making her a widow. Soon though, someone begins
whispering about their association, making people wonder if
perhaps they had conspired together to kill Lisette's
husband. With the aid of his friends, Caid will do
anything to protect Lisette's reputation from ruin, even if
she won't. As their feelings for one another grow, so do
the accusations and the attempts at Lisette's life. When
the threats change from her life to Caid's and the lives of
her wonderful new friends, Lisette will do anything to
protect them, even face a killer.
DAWN ENCOUNTER is the second book in Jennifer Blake's
Master of Arms series. Based in New Orleans, Ms. Blake
makes the city come alive for you and you feel as if you're
there during the 1800's. A bit unbalanced at times, the
books focuses more on Caid and the maitres d'armes than on
Lisette and Caid's relationship and the threats to
Lisette's life. Though more of an action book than the
romance it's purported to be, DAWN ENCOUNTER is still a
great read and an excellent addition to any library. Fans
of the series will have to wait for a new year before they
get another dose. The next book, ROGUE'S SALUTE, doesn't
come out until January 2007, and it will feature maitres
d'armes Nicholas Pasquale.
Lisette Moisant is a widow, courtesy of the swordsmanship
of
Caid O'Neill, one of the city's legendary maitres d'armes.
He bested her loathsome husband in a duel, but now she is a
pawn of schemers who wish to steal her fortune and see her
dead. It is Caid to whom she turns for protection, and
guilt
leaves him no recourse but to agree to Lisette's request.
But soon a whispering campaign is being waged against them,
suggesting the two plotted to kill Lisette's husband all
along, that she is a woman of loose morals and he is
nothing
short of a murderer. In a society where reputation is
everything, the scandal and accusations threaten Lisette
and
Caid with ruin, and the person responsible will stop at
nothing until they have paid with their lives.
Excerpt
New Orleans, Louisiana March, 1840
To walk homeward through the cemetery after midnight was
Caid Roe O'Neill's personal penance. He did it not as a
reminder of his own mortality but rather to prevent
himself from becoming too fond of death.
For a man who wielded a sword for his living, the
possibility of a fatal blow, given or taken, was a
constant specter. The errant flick of a wrist, a second's
hesitation in parrying a clever feint, and it was over.
Then would come the broken sword, the black armbands worn
by his friends, the grim parade to the burying ground.
Sometimes, when darkness lay like a thick miasma over New
Orleans and the only sounds were the distant rattle of
carriage wheels and the occasional bark of a dog, it was
far too easy to think of that end as natural, or even one
to be accepted with gratitude.
Such introspection was not a sign of a melancholy mind.
Rather, it was the natural bent of Caid's Black Irish
heritage allied to a strict upbringing at the hands of
priests and nuns who thought a bog Irish kid needed a
close acquaintance with the more somber aspects of life.
They had been right in their fashion.
On an early morning just a month ago, Caid had felt his
sword pierce the heart of Eugene Moisant, and the
sensation had caused neither guilt, shame nor even
triumph, but rather the most unholy satisfaction. It was
not something Caid wanted to feel again.
He strode with his head up and his sword cane gripped
loosely in his hand as he glanced around at the white
marble tombs like small houses with their gables and
cupolas reflecting the star shine. He wasn't looking for
trouble, but neither would he shy away from it. It was
always dangerous on the streets at night but even more so
here in this so-called City of the Dead. The tombs that
were constructed above ground because of the low water
table, the tall monuments and marble mausoleums, provided
excellent cover for sneak thieves and cutthroats.
The oyster-shell path crunched under his booted feet,
while the billowing edges of his cloak brushed dust from
the dried weeds along its edges. He could smell that arid
mustiness, and also a whiff of the lime used to whitewash
the enclosing brick walls. The night was cool for early
March in these latitudes. The chill had seeped down from
the north earlier in the day, ousting the usual mildness.
Now his breath fogged a little as he kept his steady pace.
Turning a corner in this silent city whose narrow,
meandering pathways had been laid out at need instead of
with logic, he saw ahead of him the Moisant tomb. It was
of gray marble shaped like a large fainting couch and
surrounded by an iron fence wrought with the time-honored
mortuary design of a weeping willow. There was something
white lying on the tomb, something with a tender shape,
pale skin and flowing raiment�.
Caid halted. For long seconds, he stood perfectly still.
Then he drew a swift breath and moved forward again. The
grating of his footsteps on the shells seemed profane, as
if it might disturb the rest of the many carved angels
that surrounded him, including the one which lay supine
and white as alabaster upon the Moisant tomb. Drawing
closer, he saw the soft auburn-gold tresses that spilled
around her head and over the tomb's edge, the symmetry of
her features, her arching brows and finely molded
cheekbones. Memory clicked abruptly, producing an image
seen just once before. Regret twisted sharply inside
Caid's chest.
The woman was � had been � Lisette Moisant, young widow of
Eugene Moisant, the man he had killed less than a month
ago. If the death of the husband was on his head, then so
would be that of his lady.
Caid leaped the low iron fence then went to one knee
beside the tomb. With care, he reached to close his
fingers on Lisette Moisant's slender wrist and take her
hand in his own warm grasp. Cool, she was so cool to the
touch. Her lashes lay upon her cheeks, resting on their
own fanlike shadows. A soft breeze stirred the waves of
her hair so that a fine, auburn strand, fragile as a
spiderweb, lifted and caught on the wool of his cloak. He
knelt motionless, as if tethered, held fast by its
strength.
When last he'd seen Lisette Moisant, she had appeared pale
and unhappy in her mourning clothes of deepest black. She
had met his gaze for a single instant before recognition
flared in her face along with a wash of color. Her gaze
had passed over him then, and her lips had tightened. She
had refused to acknowledge him, and who could blame her?
Regardless, Caid had seen nothing, heard nothing since, to
indicate that she might come to this, lying still and cold
in her nightgown of fine virginal white, as if she had
taken too much of some sleeping potion. The choice had
been laudanum, he thought, for he could catch the faint
scent of it about her.
A suicide, and for the sake of a man like the late Eugene
Moisant. It was not a suitable fate for any creature, and
certainly not for such a lovely young woman.
Caid replaced her hand beside her and sat back, staring
for long seconds at the delicately curved lips and the
decided point of her chin that just prevented her face
from being a perfect oval. Such a tragic waste of life, so
much tender promise gone unclaimed, undeveloped. The pain
of it shifted inside him. Lisette Moisant had doubtless
been as wronged in her way by her lout of a husband as had
Caid's sister Brona. That fact deserved some
acknowledgment, some salute, however futile.
Caid leaned over the bedlike tomb and bent his head to
brush his lips gently across the soft, cool mouth of the
lady. As he drew back a little, his chest rose and fell in
a deep breath as he sought to relieve the ache in his
throat. And in return, he felt the faintest intimation of
a sigh brush over his cheek.
His eyebrows snapped together in a frown. Without
ceremony, he set his hand palm down flat between Lisette
Moisant's breasts, splaying his fingers over and around
the gently resilient mounds beneath their covering of
white batiste.
A heartbeat. It was there, that gentle throbbing, faint
and not quite even. He cursed his mooning stupidity and
waste of time even as he stripped off his cloak and laid
it over her, wrapping her in its voluminous folds. Then he
thrust one arm under her knees, the other behind her back,
and lifted her high against his chest. Swinging with his
burden, he kicked open the gate of the iron fence and
started off toward his lodging.
After three long steps, he paused. He could not carry a
respectable woman to his rooms, not even if she was dying.
Should she survive, she would be compromised beyond
repair, her life hardly worth living. To show up on the
doorstep of the Moisant household, the man who had killed
the son of the house, would hardly be wise, might even be
enough to get him hanged if Lisette Moisant failed to
live. The house of Dr. Labatut, the young physician called
upon to attend the injuries of the fencing salons, was
many blocks away, too far under the circumstances. What
was he to do?
A soft sound, like a cross between a gasp and a moan, came
from just beneath his collarbone. Caid looked down and was
snared by the wide gaze of the woman in his arms. Her eyes
appeared silvery-gray in the pale light of the moon, with
centers so dark and fathomless that they threatened to
engulf him. Angel's eyes, wide spaced, clear behind their
thick fringe of lashes, their expression was infinitely
beguiling. There was no fear in them, but only
bewilderment overlaid by wonder. Abruptly, she shivered, a
movement that seemed to catch her unaware. She reached
with her free hand to clutch the lapel of his coat under
his cloak as her lashes closed again, then turned her face
into his shoulder.
Caid felt his heart alter its rhythm. Heat flashed over
him in a surging wave. He stood with his legs braced while
he wrestled with a morass of impulses that were as amazing
as they were impossible to deny. He wanted to take the
woman in his arms away somewhere and hide her where she
would be forever safe from harm. He felt a strong need to
lie down with her on the nearest marble surface and sleep
for an eternity with her in his arms. He yearned to have
her lift her lashes and smile at him, to acknowledge him
and say his name. He was desperate for her forgiveness,
her absolution, her acceptance of him into the pantheon of
those she loved. He longed to be pure and noble in her
eyes. He wanted to turn back the clock so she might see
him as untainted by past mistakes or bloody deeds done in
anger. He ached to warm her cool lips until they opened to
him, until she turned to him in sweet passion, asking that
he possess her, make her safe and happy and whole by the
healing power of his touch, his�
He was an idiot.
Think. He had to think. He needed a refuge for the lady he
carried, some place where she could be cared for and kept
safe from harm. Safe from him and all he had done to her
sheltered world, all that he could well do to it.
The answer came to him as in response to a prayer.
Maurelle Herriot.
The Herriot town house was not far away, on the rue
Dauphine. Maurelle was likely to be up still, being like a
cat in her habits, keeping late hours and sleeping well
into the afternoon. She would not be entertaining this
evening, Caid knew, as he had received no invitation, nor
was she likely to be keeping an assignation. Maurelle
might affect a Bohemian lifestyle, but relied on her
impeccable lineage among the aristocratic French Creole
families, which allowed her that eccentricity; she was
much too circumspect to do anything that might seriously
jeopardize her place in society. Being at the center of
interesting events was meat and drink to her, however, and
she would not mind being disturbed for such a titillating
adventure. Even if she did mind, she would forgive him.
She had been Caid's friend since their first meeting in
Paris a few years ago. She always forgave him. Caid began
walking again.
Maurelle was dressed for an evening at home. Scorning the
simple Gabrielle wrapper preferred by most women on such
occasions, she had donned flowing Oriental robes of rust-
red silk brocade and a matching turban draped with pearls.
The exotic fashion suited her, lending mystery to her fine
dark eyes while subtly enhancing an opulent figure kept
comfortably rounded by a love for multicourse dinners and
chocolate bonbons. She swept forward in a flutter of
draperies as her butler showed Caid and his burden into
her second-floor salon.
"Mon Dieu, cher! What have you done? Put the poor thing
down there, on the settee near the fire." Turning to her
butler of many years, who hovered in the doorway, she
clapped her hands. "Hartshorn and water, Solon. At once."
"The lady requires a doctor," Caid said as he deposited
Lisette where he had been instructed, then knelt beside
her and began to chafe her icy hands. "Also a warm
coverlet."
Maurelle nodded at the butler. "You heard."
When the door had closed behind the man, Caid went on. "I
didn't harm the lady, in any case. She was in this state
when I found her." In a few brief phrases, he described
how that had come about.
"And you suspect this poor girl of drinking laudanum
because of Eugene Moisant's demise? Nonsense! Champagne,
possibly, but nothing more deadly."
"I'll admit to seeing no cause for her to destroy herself,
but it's entirely possible she may feel otherwise."
"The man had the sensibility of a clod," Maurelle said
with precision. "I would be surprised to learn that he
knew how to treat a wife. She should be profoundly
grateful for the release which elevated her to the
fortunate status of a young widow of independent means."
Maurelle believed in plain speaking, one of many things
Caid liked about her. Married at sixteen to an old satyr
nearly thirty years her senior, she had been widowed a
scant four years and many prayers for deliverance later.
As a consequence, she was no advocate of love and
marriage, another thing he found attractive since he need
not fear rousing expectations he could not fulfill. "Just
because you hummed the jubilant death song from Don
Giovanni while your husband was laid to rest doesn't mean
all women are so inclined," Caid said over his
shoulder. "But is the lady well-placed?"
"You were not here two years ago when Lisette Saine and
Eugene Moisant were wed, were you? Her late husband's
father, Monsieur Henri Moisant, was thought to have
achieved the coup of the season when he arranged the
marriage of his son to the Saine heiress. The properties
alone would have been enough to attract a baron for the
girl, if not someone more exalted, had Madame Saine cared
to travel to Europe. Too bad she didn't look higher for an
eligible parti."
"What are you saying?"
"Madame Saine drove a hard bargain, so they claim,
insisting that the bulk of her daughter's enormous dowry
remain in Lisette's control � this in return for paying
Eugene's gambling debts and making a sizable contribution
to the Moisant family coffers. Madame had little trust in
the Moisants, father or son, and thought to ensure that
Lisette would be well treated. It seems she knew she had
not long to live."
"Her efforts were not successful?" Caid's voice was
distracted as he studied the lady on the settee. Her
lashes fluttered a little, but she did not open her eyes
again. Alarm tightened his chest until he could hardly
breathe.
"Just so. One hears that Monsieur Henri Moisant was
dissatisfied from the moment the vows were spoken. He
thought it unseemly that his young daughter-in-law should
have so much wealth at her disposal, felt also that her
unwillingness to place her affairs in his hands showed a
disinclination to submerge her personality and become a
true Moisant. He had been sure he could persuade her to
sign a power of attorney giving him control of the monies
once he had her under his roof. Lisette proved less
malleable than expected. In fact, she was amazingly
obstinate about it."
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