“Not at all, which is why I cannot understand why she deliberately ruined my chances with the American. And itwasdeliberate, although she still will not admit it.”
“Jealous?”
“Perhaps.” Antoine sighed. “If the girl had been only an ordinary beauty, Marie would not have interfered. But the Hammond girl was different, vibrant—”
“Hammond?” Lucas cut in smoothly. “I know a Mrs. Hammond. An American, too.”
Antoine stepped back from him. “You…you need not fear I have trifled with…an acquaintance of yours. I do not bother married women.”
“Sharisse.” Lucas threw the name out viciously and watched the Frenchman pale. “Sonofabitch!” Lucas growled, dropping the French they had been speaking.
Antoine was shocked. “You are an American, too?”
“Right. I think you and I better take a walk.”
“I do not understand.”
“Outside, Gautier, now.”
Antoine understood perfectly. His stomach turned over. The American’s incredible size had not gone unnoticed.
“Monsieur, I deplore violence. Be reasonable. I did the girl no harm.”
“I doubt she feels that way.” Lucas propelled Gautier toward the doors. “Don’t make a sound,mon ami, or I will break your arm,” he added in a deadly whisper.
“What…what is she to you?”
Lucas walked him into the garden, well away from the building. He let go of the Frenchman, who stood facing Lucas. What was Sharisse to him? The rage Lucas felt said it all.
“She’s my woman.”
“But you know I failed with her!”
“Only because of your wife’s interference. It was your motive, Gautier, that sickens me. To go after a woman because you want her is one thing, but to seduce her on a wager! Did she find out?”
“What?”
“Don’t push me, Gautier,” Lucas growled. “Did she know you pursued her over a bet?’
Antoine was too frightened to lie. “My wife did mention it in her presence, yes.”
“So she was humiliated as well as hurt.”
Lucas said it softly, so softly that Antoine was taken by surprise when he felt his nose break. He staggered back from the blow, falling into the bushes, clutching his face in agony.
“Please…” he moaned.
Lucas yanked him to his feet before he could finish. “Give this your best effort, pretty face, because I’m going to show you the same mercy you show your victims.”
Antoine did try, but there was never any question as to who would walk away the winner. Lucas was heavier, taller, in better shape, and furious enough not to care that it wasn’t a fair fight. He showed no mercy. Every punch was calculated to do as much damage as possible, especially to that pretty face.
It was over in a very few minutes, the Frenchman groveling on the ground, barely conscious. Lucas stood over him, wrapping a handkerchief around his bloody knuckles. He was still churning with anger.
“You can thank your wife that all I did was rearrange your face,” Lucas said. “If you had succeeded with Sharisse, I might have killed you. But I don’t think you’ll have such an easy time winning your disgusting wagers now, Monsieur Gautier. Next time you look in a mirror, remember me.”
Lucas walked away, his stride quickening with a new anger. She had lied to him, lied about her age, her name, her supposed marriage. He recalled her reaction the day they were married. Surprise? Bullshit! She had panicked. That meant she’d had no intention of marrying him. It also meant that he had been torturing himself with guilt all these months over nothing. She’d undoubtedly been delighted to hear he didn’t want a wife, and even more delighted when he told her an annulment was possible. Hadn’t she left immediately? And where the hell had the money to leave come from? Was her being destitute also a lie? Was any part of Sharisse not a lie?
His anger had reached a dangerous level by the time Lucas arrived at his hotel. But he hid his feelings expertly as always. The desk clerk didn’t suspect at all as he handed him a letter. It was from Emery Buskett and had taken five months to reach Lucas.
