Mrs. Eggleston had known from the first moment she had heard the rumors that they could not be completely true, and remembering the almost gentle, sensitive youth Christopher had been and comparing the wary, hard man he had become, she hardened her heart against the dead Annabelle. She had always been aware that Annabelle was an unprincipled little harlot, but Mrs. Eggleston would never have guessed just how unprincipled until that terrible summer. That was all behind them, she thought thankfully. Now Christopher and Nicole were both adult, and perhaps something good and worthy would come out of this odd, yet providential meeting of the three of them so far from England! Her mind relatively satisfied, she dozed happily before the fire, truly at ease for the first time since she had left Beddington’s Corner all those years before.
If Mrs. Eggleston was at ease and Nicole resigned, Christopher was neither, for he knew that what lay ahead was not going to be as simple as it appeared to the two women. He was satisfied, though, with the way events were going—except for the situation between him and Nick.
And in the weeks that followed he was to curse again and again his growing preoccupation with Nicole. He was continually thrown into her company. Granted, Mrs. Eggleston was there beaming at them as Christopher would gracefully seat Nicole and then for a few minutes exchange the required polite conversation, only to have to do it again because Mrs. Eggleston felt Nicole had been too stiff, too unbending in her movements.
Smiling, her blue eyes kind, Mrs. Eggleston instructed, “My dear, you must learn to relax when in the company of gentlemen. Do not…er…poker up that way. Now we’ll try it again. You meet in the hall as before and Christopher will then escort you in to be seated.”
And so they did it again, and this time Nicole was able to move less stiltedly, yet all the time unbearably conscious of Christopher’s presence.
Grimly, Nicole threw all her efforts into eradicating the past five years. She learned to smile with just the right degree of friendliness at Christopher as he pretended to solicit her hand for a dance; she became adept at making polite conversation as the three of them dined together; and under Mrs. Eggleston’s guidance she overcame the intricacies of afternoon tea. Her scholastic education was not neglected either, although how much she could be expected to absorb in the time they had was questionable. And as Mrs. Eggleston had commented, young ladies were not particularly scrutinized for their well-educated minds! It was their graceful movements, their polite conversation, their pretty faces, and their delightful manners that counted in polite society.
It quickly became second nature for Nicole to expect the services of Mauer and Galena and the deferences shown by the other servants. And only occasionally did she yearn for the freedom that had been hers such a short time ago. But this way of life, too, had its compensations, and Mrs. Eggleston’s company made the situation with Christopher much easier to bear. And as the days passed and she exhibited more and more naturally the manners and conversation that Mrs. Eggleston felt were imperative, their social sphere at Thibodaux House widened.
The easiest, and by far the pleasantest, was the first time Hans and his young wife were invited to tea. With a grace and charm worthy of the role she played, Nicole made them at ease, acting just as if she really were Christopher’s ward. Dinner at a nearby neighboring plantation was next, and despite a certain nervousness at first, she passed without conscious effort.
Christopher viewed the emerging Nicole with half-admiring, half-hostile eyes, for while he was satisfied with the way she was quickly becoming a model of the wellborn young woman, he detested the apparent ease with which she accomplished it. Watching the way she smiled at him, as if he were nothing more than the guardian they pretended, he was reminded painfully of her mother’s deceit. So had Annabelle pretended in front of others, smiling at him so disinterestedly and then sneaking away to let him rain passionate kisses on her willing mouth. They were both alike, he thought contemptuously.
Yet, lying awake night after night, knowing she slept just down the wide hall from him, he wasn’t so sure. During the day he could cloak himself in indifference, playing the game for Mrs. Eggleston’s benefit, but the nights were long, and he found sleep particularly elusive, especially those evenings Mrs. Eggleston insisted upon Nicole’s ballroom graces being perfected. It was both an exquisite pleasure and a painful torment to hold her in his arms as they circled around the small ballroom that Thibodaux House possessed.
For Nicole, too, the intimacy of Christopher’s arms about her waist, her hand clasped in his, and their bodies almost touching, was an agony she didn’t think she could bear for any great length of time. Fortunately Mrs. Eggleston did not believe in spending many hours on such frivolities.
The day finally came when Christopher, after consulting with Mrs. Eggleston, decided that they were ready for New Orleans. Upon their arrival, Christopher immediately called on Jason Savage. Polite conversation quickly covered, Jason said, “You must have read my mind, for I sent you a message yesterday requesting you to return to New Orleans if Miss Ashford was at all presentable. I take it she is?”
Christopher nodded. “Yes, I believe so. At any rate I felt that whatever deficiencies were still to be eradicated, it could be done here in the city. She needs to be out amongst society and not just going through the motions in front of Mrs. Eggleston and myself.”
“Excellent! In your absence I have made several arrangements that I hope, will meet with your approval. I must apologize for one which we did not discuss, and I trust you will not consider that I have been rather highhanded.”
A certain amount of wariness flashing across his face, Christopher asked quietly, “What is it?”
The two men were seated in the library at the Savage town house, Jason behind his large desk and Christopher across from him. Jason picked up one of the papers from the desk and handed it to Christopher.
It was a short letter, and it took only a moment for Christopher to scan its contents. Keeping his features carefully bland, he said, “So, I am to go as an unofficial representative of the United States. What, may I ask, did you tell Monroe to get him to agree?”
Smiling, Jason leaned back in his chair. “I explained that I wanted to send my own representative to England, to have someone on the scene as it were, but that such an individual would be much more effective if he had some sanction from the State Department. And as you see, the secretary of state agreed with me.”
A wry expression about his mouth, Christopher said thoughtfully, “I can see to a degree that this will serve considerably better than my own plan—except that now I will definitely be branded in the American camp. Before there would have been suspicion of that, but with a letter of introduction from the secretary of state of the United States there will be no doubt on which side I have laid my wager.”
“Yes, I realize that. But this does not change our plans in any way, it only strengthens what I felt was a weak spot. You still have to accomplish the same task.”
“I agree,” Christopher interrupted quietly. “Official sanction will indeed pave my way, and perhaps if the English believe that I am nothing more than an observer, they will not be surprised when I ask certain questions. Hopefully, if I am very clever, they will not look too far beneath the surface. These letters of introduction Monroe writes of will make my task both easier on one hand and more difficult on the other.”
Dryly, Jason commented, “I’m sure you will rise to the occasion.”
“Naturally. Perhaps it will even impart an added appeal—running a rig before the British is something I have grown very adept at.”
“It will certainly give credence to your escorting and guardianship of Nicole Ashford.”
“Yes, that too,” Christopher said flatly, and Jason wondered at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice and the bleak look that passed swiftly across the dark, mobile face.
With apparent idleness Jason changed the subject, drawling, “As you have just returned to the city, I take it you did not attend the Lafitt
e brothers’ sale at the Temple?”
“No, I did not,” Christopher returned lazily, but his eyes suddenly narrowed and shadowed, he inquired, “Why this sudden curiosity about my connection with Lafitte?” His voice hardening slightly, Christopher added, “I am not a tool that will be used against Jean.”
A grimace of regret twisting his handsome face, Jason admitted, “You can’t blame me for testing you, especially not in view of what happened at this latest sale.”
His attention fully on Jason, his features betraying nothing except a certain alertness, Christopher asked, “What did happen? Something beyond the normal, I take it?”
“Oh, yes! Very much beyond the normal,” Jason grated. “Lafitte went a little too far this time—a temporary inspector of the revenue, a man by the name of Stout, and a force of twelve men were sent to stop the sale. Unfortunately they were ambushed by Lafitte’s cutthroats, and Stout was killed and two others mortally wounded. The remainder are prisoners at Lafitte’s stronghold on Grand Terre. And as you can imagine, the governor is beside himself with fury—and I don’t blame him. Lafitte’s actions are an outrage to New Orleans and Louisiana.”
“There are others who would disagree.”
Sharply Jason glanced at Christopher. “You?”
With his lips quirking in a smile of self-derision, Christopher murmured, “Oh, no, not I. Jean has become too closely linked with the pirates and, as you say, cutthroats at Grand Terre. He has changed from the days when the smuggling was done on a small scale and with a certain amount of respectability attached to it. I’ve warned him that his day is over if he will not change, but he turns me a deaf ear.”
“That is indeed unfortunate. There are many admirable traits in your Jean Lafitte.” Jason hesitated and then he asked, “Would you consider going to Grand Terre and trying to convince Lafitte to release the revenue men he holds…those that are still alive?”
“I rather expected that request,” Christopher confessed wryly.
“You’ll do it?”
Christopher shrugged. “Let’s just say that I have business of my own on Grand Terre and it will not inconvenience me to convey your request to Jean. I will not promise more—indeed, I cannot promise more.”
“Very well. That will have to do,” Jason conceded grudgingly.
Christopher, believing the meeting over, started to rise from his chair, but Jason waved him to stay. “There was a reason other than Monroe’s letter of introduction that prompted me to send for you,” Jason began, “but I’m afraid I let our conversation stray from its main point. I have made arrangements with a Dutch ship for you and the others to sail in about ten days’ time. The ship is the Scheveningen. I am familiar with both the captain and the ship; you should have as pleasant a journey as possible this time of year.”
“You don’t leave me much time to see Lafitte do you?”
“No. Your trip to England is more important than seeing him. If it causes too many problems, concentrate on preparing to sail.”
A gleam of speculation in his gold eyes, Christopher asked, “I don’t suppose that while I am away at Grand Terre, you and your lovely wife would consider taking Nicole and Mrs. Eggleston under your wing? After all, they know no one in the city, and Nicole should be out socially.”
Jason flashed him a look of amusement shot with exasperation. Finally he said in a tone of derision, “I’ll give you this, you’re very quick to take advantage of a situation! Yes, damnit, Catherine and I will see to Nicole’s further education.”
Openly grinning, Christopher rose to leave. “Nicole won’t destroy your credit with New Orleans society.” He added roguishly, “Of course, I would not trust her where games of chance are played—she seems to rather like gambling with my valet!”
Jason closed his eyes in anguish, visualizing the consternation if Nicole should invade the gaming rooms set aside for the gentlemen. “You had better bring Nicole and Mrs. Eggleston to dinner tonight. Then I will let you know if I dare give her my patronage.”
“Very well,” Christopher agreed amiably. “What time shall we arrive?”
“Around seven or so. And I hope I haven’t destroyed my standing with my wife by inviting last-minute guests. Good-bye—I almost look forward to meeting your ward.”
Whistling softly and as close to being satisfied as was possible in his current position, Christopher walked quickly to his own house. Flinging off his caped greatcoat, he joined the ladies in the small salon near the rear of the house.
A fire on the hearth dissipated the slight hint of dampness that managed to invade the houses of New Orleans in the winter. Nicole was standing and staring out a pair of French doors that opened onto the normally inviting bricked courtyard, and Mrs. Eggleston was seated on a low, rose-damask sofa, her hands busy with some needlework. Both women glanced over at him as he entered, and Nicole, watching him as he strode across the room to sit beside Mrs. Eggleston, thought it unfair that the very sight of his tall figure could cause her blood to race so crazily. She despised this weakness of hers where he was concerned and wished desperately that he possessed a squint-eyed and pockmarked visage; then perhaps she would be able to combat the physical attraction that continually gnawed at her. Wistfully she admitted to herself that, since Mrs. Eggleston’s arrival, he had been all that was polite, treating her with an indifference and careless arrogance that hurt and yet enraged at the same time. If only she could forget those moments in his arms, forget that his long, hard body had taught hers the exquisite pleasure of being possessed by him. If she were still the untouched virgin Mrs. Eggleston assumed, it would not have been so painful, but now she knew the magic his mouth could arouse, and it was an intolerable form of torture to have him act as if they were almost strangers. But what else could she have expected from him, she wondered sadly.
Christopher slanted her an appraising glance, taking in with appreciation the gown of deep Prussian blue that fitted her tall, slender shape admirably. Her hair was in loose ringlets that brushed her shoulders, and in the diffused light of the room there was no hint of red, just a dusky wealth of curls. Her eyes were veiled by the demurely lowered sable lashes, and he wondered how she was going to take his latest news.
She took the information about dinner this evening and the fact that he would be away for a few days without so much as a flutter of those long lashes, but at the news that they would sail within ten days, her eyes flew to his.
“Ten days,” she said in a small voice. “Will we be ready by then?”
“Oh, yes, my love,” Mrs. Eggleston broke in encouragingly. “You have nothing to fear that you will give yourself away—and as Mr. Savage and dear Mrs. Savage have offered to take us into society, you shall have a splendid opportunity to perfect your manners.” She added with a smile, “If they need it!”
There was nothing more for Nicole to say, and with a shrug she said carelessly, “If you say so.”
Watching her closely, Christopher couldn’t tell exactly how the news affected her; she was becoming extremely practiced in hiding her emotions. For a brief second he longed irrationally for one of “young Nick’s” darkling looks to be flung at him. This fashionably attired doll that had taken Nick’s place irritated him. He knew he should be overjoyed at the transformation, but instead he was angry at it. And because he knew his thoughts were illogical and ridiculous, he was angry at himself. With relief he viewed the unexpected trip to Grand Terre; perhaps there he could find a solution to the situation in which he found himself. Bleakly he hoped so.
Dinner at the Savage’s passed off very well. Catherine, a vision in a pale lavender gown that intensified her deep violet eyes, immediately established a warm rapport with Mrs. Eggleston. Nicole suffered a sudden and appalling attack of acute shyness, but she soon found herself responding to the gentle flow of conversation that Catherine kept running throughout the evening.
Leaving the gentlemen to their after-dinner brandies and tobacco, Catherine ushered the other two women into a spaci
ous sitting room decorated in pleasing shades of gold, her mind very busy with conjecture about the relationship between Nicole and Christopher.
What a beautiful girl! Catherine thought with a slight twinge of envy when she compared Nicole’s statuesque body to her own petite one. But then she smiled—small women, like herself, invariably wanted to be tall goddesses, and tall women, like Nicole, probably wished to be something else. She wondered which Christopher Saxon preferred.
When their guests had departed and she was preparing for bed, Catherine commented on Nicole to Jason. Jason, lounging in an emerald robe that matched his eyes, was watching her as she brushed her curling black hair. She made an entrancing sight before her mirror, the heavy swath of hair hanging to the still narrow waist—despite the birth of five children. Glimpsing her curvaceous body through her gossamer night rail, Jason wasn’t paying much attention to her words until Catherine said in a troubled tone, “Nicole Ashford is one of the loveliest young women I have ever met. I hope that Christopher Saxon does well by her. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt—you men can be such unthinking devils!”
Crossing swiftly to her side, his face suddenly very serious, Jason took her into his arms. “I thought you had long since changed your opinion of me.”
“Oh, I have darling! I didn’t mean as you are now, but I can’t help remembering how unhappy and miserable you made me at one time. I wouldn’t wish for her to endure such pain.”
Jason shrugged his broad shoulders. “They’ll have to work out their own differences. All I care about is you.” Staring down into her face, he muttered thickly, “I love you, Catherine—so much, so very much. And right now all I want is to make love to you.” Then he bent his dark head and kissed her urgently, and Catherine promptly forgot about Nicole Ashford and set herself to the far more agreeable task of proving to her husband that she entirely reciprocated his sentiments.
Chapter 10
Approaching Grand Terre in a pirogue, Christopher sensed the difference in the atmosphere even before he sighted the islands. There was nothing tangible to strengthen his feeling that his approach was being watched by hostile eyes, yet instinctively he knew that behind the scrubby foliage Baratarían lookouts surveyed his passage. As he splashed ashore, the same wave of suspicious belligerence hit him, even though outwardly the island appeared the same.
Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3) Page 12
