The Wings of Ecstacy Read online

  Zena’s heart missed a beat, and because the Marquis looked not only extremely angry but also overpowering, she slipped her hand into Kendric’s.

  “I have already told him, Kendric,” she said in a low voice, that we belong to each other and that I will never leave you.”

  “Then surely that is decisive enough for you?” Kendric said to the Marquis.

  He spoke in rather a loud voice and Zena realised that he had had a lot to drink and was annoyed and affronted by the Marquis’s behaviour.

  There was a band playing, and Zena said, pulling at her brother’s hand,

  “Let’s go and dance, Kendric.”

  “Not so fast!” the Marquis de Sade countered. “I have already made an offer of jewellery to this pretty songbird and I presume you are expecting me to ante-up on the original sum I had suggested! Very well then, I will double it!”

  “I consider that an insult!” Kendric fumed.

  The Marquis smiled and it was a very unpleasant sight.

  “If I have insulted you, it will be quite easy for you to obtain an apology in the time-honoured manner.”

  As he spoke, Zena knew exactly what he was suggesting and gave a cry of horror.

  Even as she did so, she was aware that somebody had come to her side, and without even turning her head she knew who it was and felt a sense of relief that was also an indescribable joy.

  Without pausing to think she turned to move close to the Comte and say in a whisper she thought only he would hear,

  “Stop him! Please – stop him! Kendric must not fight a duel with him! Please – please – prevent it!”

  There was a note of agony in her voice as she realised in terror what it would mean if Kendric fought a duel and was wounded, and it was discovered who he really was.

  Because she was quick-witted, even as the Marquis had spoken and she had seen the smile on his lips, she knew he had been thinking that, if he disabled Kendric, it would be easier for him to take her from him.

  As if he understood what she was feeling, the Comte moved closer to the Marquis and said,

  “I must request you, de Sade, to stop making yourself objectionable to these young people who are friends of mine.”

  “How dare you interrupt?” the Marquis spluttered, diverted for the moment from his anger with Kendric. “What has it got to do with you?”

  “It has a great deal to do with me,” the Comte replied, “because I intend to protect Mademoiselle Zena from men like you who are treating her as if she was a piece of merchandise to be haggled over in a degrading manner that any decent man would resent!”

  The way he spoke was even more forceful than his words and the Marquis seemed to go almost black with rage as he snarled,

  “How dare you insult me and poke your nose into matters that don’t concern you!”

  “I have already said they do concern me,” the Comte replied, “and if you are intent on fighting anybody, then it would be more sportsmanlike to choose somebody of your own size – and fight me!”

  “I will fight you both, if that is what you want,” the Marquis shouted, “and when I have done so this young woman will be mine without any more argument about it.”

  “That is something she will never be!” Kendric shouted furiously.

  Zena realised that it was a mistake for him to say anything, and, as her fingers tightened on the Comte’s, she knew that he understood.

  “I think the best thing I could do would be to take Zena home,” he said to Kendric. “There is no reason why she should stay here and listen to a man who cannot behave like a gentleman.”

  “Thank you,” Kendric murmured.

  The Marquis gave a roar of rage.

  “Do not dare to be so high-handed with me!” he said. “Mademoiselle Zena has already promised that she will accept my protection and I will therefore take her home.”

  He held out his arm as he spoke and Zena shrank back against the Comte.

  “Come,” the Comte said and turned towards the door, drawing her with him.

  The Marquis, however, prevented her.

  He seized Zena by the wrist and put his arm around her waist.

  “You know on which side your bread is buttered, my pretty one!” he said. “Now tell these imbeciles once and for all that you have made your choice.”

  “No – No!” Zena cried and tried to release herself from the Marquis.

  Now she was thoroughly frightened not only for herself, but for Kendric who had moved forward angrily to push the Marquis away from her.

  “How dare you touch Zena!” he screamed. “Surely you realise she does not want you? If you don’t leave her alone, I will kick you out into the street!”

  The Marquis turned round furiously and raised his arm as if he would hit Kendric.

  Then as it flashed through Zena’s mind that a duel between them was inevitable, the Comte acted,

  “Kindly learn to behave yourself, Monsieur le Marquis!” he cried and slapped him across the face.

  Now the Marquis seemed to go pale with anger.

  “I will meet you at dawn,” he growled, “in the usual place and, when I have disposed of you, I am perfectly prepared to take on this young jackanape!”

  “I accept your challenge!” the Comte exclaimed, “and what happens afterwards remains to be seen!”

  The Marquis drew himself up with a look that told Zena he was very sure of victory.

  “At five o’clock then,” he snarled and walked away.

  Zena gave a little murmur of horror, but it was impossible to speak because the Comte was moving her down the steps from the salon into the hall.

  When he reached it he said to a servant,

  “Fetch this lady’s wrap.”

  The man bowed and waited for Zena to explain what it looked like.

  Then, as he hurried up the stairs, she turned to the Comte, holding on to his arm with both hands.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Say nothing until we are away from here.”

  Zena therefore remained silent until the servant returned with her cloak and she stepped into the Comte’s carriage that was waiting outside.

  As they drove away, she threw herself against him, and his arms went around her as she hid her face against his shoulder.

  “What can I say – how can I thank – you?” she asked. “It would be – impossible for Kendric to fight a duel – and anyway, I am certain that the Marquis would have been too – good for him.”

  “The Marquis is considered one of the best shots in the country,” the Comte remarked coolly.

  “Oh – no!” Zena cried, “in which case you must not fight him either!”

  “That is something I must do,” the Comte said.

  “ B-but he may – injure you.”

  “That is a risk I have to take, but let me tell you that I am not afraid.”

  “No, of course not, but I should not have – involved you in this. It was only that I was so desperately – worried for – Kendric.”

  She thought as she spoke that if only she could explain that Kendric was the Crown Prince of Wiedenstein it would be easier.

  “He is far too young to be involved with a man like de Sade,” the Comte said. “He is a very quick shot which is why he always wins his duels.”

  “But – you – ?” Zena asked in a whisper.

  “I can only hope that I am swifter.”

  “What can I – say to you? It was wrong of me, very very wrong to ask your help – but when you – appeared at that very moment it seemed as if you had been sent by – God to help us.”

  “Perhaps that is what happened,” the Comte said with a smile. “When I heard you were coming to La Païva’s tonight I obtained an invitation for myself and whatever happens I am very glad I did so.”

  “Do you mean that?” Zena asked.

  “Perhaps it is another way of proving how much you mean to me.”

  “If he – hurts you – I will never – forgive myself.”

&nbs
p; “Do not think of such things,” the Comte admonished her. “Believe instead that because what he was doing was wrong, overbearing and insulting, good will triumph over evil and I shall be the victor.”

  “I shall pray. I shall be praying with all my heart and soul.”

  The Comte’s arms tightened around her, but he did not kiss her, and they drove in silence back to the Rue St. Honoré.

  When they reached it, the Comte obtained the key from the concierge and took Zena to the bottom of the stairs.

  When she expected him to climb up them with her he said instead,

  “Go to sleep, my darling. Try to think of nothing but the happiness we shall enjoy together tomorrow when I show you the pictures in the Louvre.”

  Zena did not speak and the Comte went on,

  “I am going back now to see that de Villerny gets into no more trouble and to arrange my seconds. After that I shall rest.”

  “How can I tell you how – wonderful you are to – me?” Zena asked fervently.

  “I hope that you will be able to do that tomorrow,” the Comte replied.

  He took both her hands, and raised them one after the other to his lips.

  Then he said very quietly,

  “Goodnight, my precious love. Sleep well, but remember me in your prayers.”

  The way he spoke brought tears to Zena’s eyes, but, before she could answer or try to find words in which to express her feelings, he disappeared through the outer door into the street.

  Slowly she went up the stairs feeling as though when she had least expected it the roof had caved in and her dream-world was in ruins about her feet.

  Chapter Five

  Zena took off her ball gown and her evening slippers, but did not undress any further.

  She lay down on the bed, waiting with the door open for Kendric to return.

  She kept wondering how they could have got into such an impossible position as they were in now.

  It seemed cruel and inexcusable that she should have involved the Comte to the point where he was fighting the Marquis to save Kendric without understanding why Kendric had to accept it.

  The idea of Kendric being wounded and perhaps even killed in a duel in Paris was so horrifying that she found it difficult to think straight.

  She was quite certain that if he fought a duel, even if he was victorious, somebody would become aware of who he was, and they would then have to explain not only to their father, but to the whole Court in Wiedenstein what they were doing in Paris.

  Zena could not bear to think of what her mother would say if she ever learnt about the part she was playing. She could only lie tense, praying fervently that everything would be all right, that Kendric would escape recognition and the Comte would not be hurt.

  To know that he was fighting the most notoriously dangerous shot in France was an agony in itself.

  Supposing he was killed? Supposing he survived, but never forgave her for involving him in such a perilous situation?

  Then she remembered that anyway he would have to forget her, and, although she could never forget him, once they had left Paris, she would never see him again.

  Everything was frightening, horrible and depressing to the point where Zena felt that she must almost go insane because she could find no way out of their difficulties.

  Slowly the hours dragged by and it was nearly four o’clock when at last she heard the outer door open and Kendric come into the sitting room.

  She jumped off the bed and ran to him saying as she did so,

  “Why are you so late? What has happened?”

  Kendric threw his hat and evening cloak down on a chair, then put his arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s all right. Don’t work yourself up, but I admit I am damned glad I am not to fight the Marquis.”

  “The Comte is doing it for you.”

  “I know and I am very grateful.”

  “I asked him to save you and he did so.”

  “He is obviously very fond of you,” Kendric said, “and I feel I am behaving very badly in letting him take my place. But what else could I do?”

  He asked the question pathetically, almost as a small boy might have done.

  “I have been thinking about that,” Zena said. “I am certain that on no account could you fight the Marquis. Whether he wounded you or you wounded him, there would inevitably be a scandal about it. Then Papa would hear about us.”

  “You don’t suppose I have not thought of that?” Kendric asked. “At the same time, to tell the truth I am ashamed of myself.”

  “I shall pray, I shall pray with all my heart that the duel will not be serious, then everybody will forget it ever happened.”

  Kendric did not answer and Zena was aware that he was not very optimistic.

  He took his arm from her and walked towards his bedroom.

  “I have to change,” he said. “I am acting as a second for the Comte and, as he did not seem to wish any of his own friends to be told about it, I have asked one of Philippe’s, a man called Anton, to stand in.”

  “You are going to be with the Comte!” Zena said almost beneath her breath. “Then I am coming with you.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Kendric replied. “Ladies never attend duels.”

  “I am attending this one,” Zena said firmly. “How are you getting there?”

  “In the carriage I engaged last night. I told the coachman to wait so that he could take us home from the party and he is downstairs now, waiting again.”

  Kendric took off his evening coat as he spoke and Zena sat down on his bed too.

  “What I will do,” she said, “is come with you and stay in the carriage. I shall be able to watch the duel and then if we drive away immediately afterwards nobody will know I have been there.”

  “I have already told you that you are not coming – ”

  As he spoke, he looked at his sister’s face and said slowly,

  “I suppose the worst has happened and you have fallen in love with the Comte.”

  It was inevitable, Zena thought, because they were so close to each other, that sooner or later Kendric would guess her feelings.

  “I love him!” she declared simply.

  “Oh, God!” Kendric exclaimed. “That is all we need to make the whole situation completely impossible!”

  “I cannot help it.”

  “Is he in love with you?”

  “He says he is.”

  “Then swear to me on everything we hold Holy that you will not tell him who we are,” Kendric said. “I know he is a gentleman and I am sure he will behave like one, but you do realise that if inadvertently he revealed our secret to a friend, his valet or anybody else, we could be blackmailed in a very unpleasant manner.”

  Zena was silent.

  Then she said,

  “There is no point in my telling the Comte anyway. I realise that when we leave Paris I shall – never see him – again.”

  There was obviously a sob in her voice as she spoke the last words, and as if she was afraid of crying she ran from the room into her own.

  She dressed hastily in the plainest of the gowns she had with her and covered it with a cloak that was of a dark green velvet and therefore not at all conspicuous.

  She pulled the stars from her hair and, because she still felt like crying, washed her face in cold water before she went into the sitting room.

  Kendric was ready almost at the same time and, when he saw Zena’s expression, he put out his hand in a gesture of affection.

  She took it in hers and he said as he drew her towards the door,

  “Cheer up, dearest, things may not be as bad as we anticipate, and as we have both always known, one pays for one’s fun in one way or another.”

  They walked down the stairs hand-in-hand and when they got into the carriage, Kendric directed the coachman to where they wished to go in the Bois.

  It seemed as if the man knew the exact spot, and Zena had the uncomfortable feeling that in Pari
s it would be impossible to keep a duel of any sort secret from the gossipmongers.

  She did not say so to Kendric, but slipped her arm through his, feeling she needed the comfort of being close to him.

  “The Comte will be all right,” he asserted as if she had asked the question.

  “What shall we – do if he is – wounded?” Zena asked. “He has arranged for a doctor to be present and doubtless the Marquis will do the same. Whatever happens, they will both have proper medical attention.”

  ‘That would not be of much use,’ Zena thought, if the Comte was killed.

  She knew, because her father had often discussed what happened in duels, and she had also read about them, that it was customary for the duel to be more a ritual of honour than anything else.

  A very slight wound was considered satisfaction for the insult in most cases and, as far as aristocrats were concerned, it was considered both unsporting and ill-bred to injure a rival seriously.

  But she did not trust the Marquis knowing instinctively that he was both evil and dangerous, and she had the terrifying feeling that he would do anything however outrageous to get his own way where she was concerned.

  ‘If the Comte loses the duel,’ she thought, ‘Kendric and I will have to go home to – avoid him.’

  It was agonising to think that she might have to leave the Comte even sooner than she had expected and, as the carriage drove towards the Bois, she tried not to think about it.

  When they reached the place, which was a small clearing in the middle of a wood, Zena could see in the dim light there were already some men standing about.

  Dawn was just breaking and a few minutes ago the first rays of the sun had come up over the horizon.

  “Now swear to me,” Kendric admonished, “that you will make sure that nobody sees you. We shall be in worse trouble than we are already if anybody realises that I have brought you with me.”

  “You could not have stopped me,” Zena replied firmly.

  He touched her shoulder gently, then he stepped out of the carriage and closed the door carefully behind him.

  Zena watched him walk away, then with a leap of her heart she saw the Comte come through the trees on the other side of the clearing and meet Kendric.