Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)

by Shirlee Busbee

  Christopher remained silent, furious with both Eustace’s attitude and the knowledge that Savage had not informed him of Lafitte’s fate. Savage must have known, must have even sat in on this meeting that Eustace spoke of. Probably, he thought disgustedly, decided along with the others to authorize the attack on Barataria.

  He had known that he and Jason were on opposite sides when it came to Lafitte and his activities, but he had not thought that the Barataria situation presented such a problem that it required the efforts of the United States Army to solve it. He supposed he was not thinking clearly, but the news had been an unpleasant shock; he had a certain amount of loyalty to Lafitte. He was angry and bitter to think that while he had been in England, ostensibly with the same goal in mind as Jason and the governor, they had been plotting to destroy a man known to be his friend.

  It cost an effort, but Christopher said, “So Lafitte is no longer at Barataría and his men are in the calaboose. Very interesting, my friend. As you remarked earlier, things have been happening while I have been gone.”

  “Yes. And that brings me back to my original question. Mon ami, where have you been all these months?”

  Christopher returned a light answer, turning the conversation to less personal matters, and soon Eustace was passing on bits of tittle-tattle that Christopher barely heard, his mind on the news of Lafitte’s destruction. He finished his coffee, and in no mood to be entertained by Eustace’s chatter, he excused himself, claiming a prior appointment.

  Jason’s manner yesterday came back to him, and with a mirthless smile he recalled the advice not to jump to conclusions. Well, he wouldn’t, but Jason had better damn well have a good explanation, and he wasn’t waiting until Thursday to talk with him. Savage would see him today, or else…

  Jason was in a meeting when Christopher’s card was presented to him a few minutes later. Irritably he glanced at it, having a very good idea of why Saxon was here. He realized there was nothing for it but to see him immediately. He didn’t relish the thought of what Christopher could do if he pushed him too far. Murmuring an apology, Jason left the room and walked to the small salon where Christopher waited.

  One look at Christopher’s tight-lipped features was enough to tell Jason that his hunch had been right. Resignedly he asked, “You’ve heard about Lafitte, I take it.”

  “You’re damn right about that! Why didn’t you tell me yesterday? Why did you have to be so mysterious about it?”

  “Because, mon ami, I did not have time to soothe your indignant feathers. I do not have the time now, but you have forced this meeting on me. Take that scowl off your face while I explain things to you.”

  Feeling chastened and not liking it at all, Christopher sat down stiffly on a couch of red Moroccan leather. Common sense reasserted itself, and he said calmly, if coldly, “I apologize for inflicting myself upon you like this. And I am sorry if it is inconvenient. I can call at a more suitable time, but I intend to see you today. I want to know what happened and I am”—a wry smile crossed his face—“willing to listen to reason.”

  Christopher’s less aggressive tone, Jason replied easily, “I, too, owe you an apology. I should have told you immediately about Lafitte and not have let you find it out, along with all the half-truths, from someone else.”

  Taking a small gold watch from his vest pocket, Jason glanced at it, saying, “I shall be in this meeting until luncheon. Will you come back at, say, two o’clock? I really am afraid I cannot see you before that time.” He added grimly, “Claiborne is in such fidgets over that damned memorandum that my life is no longer my own.”

  Christopher inclined his head in agreement. Together the two men walked out into the hall, and after shaking hands, Jason strolled back to his meeting and Christopher departed.

  That first surge of anger had faded, and Christopher was able to view the event more sensibly. Lafitte was, despite his standing in the city, a smuggler, and he did break the law every day. There was no denying that in his crew there were men who could only be labeled outright pirates. I warned him, Christopher thought as he continued to walk. By God, but I warned him.

  That knowledge gave him little comfort, and without surprise he found he had wandered to the ramparts. Lafitte had a small cottage nearby, and shortly Christopher found himself standing in front of it.

  The wooden building appeared deserted, but as he remained there, the conviction grew that someone was watching him. A movement, barely discernible through the barred and shuttered windows, convinced him of it, and he walked boldly up to the door.

  At first there was no answer to his sharp rap on the door, but when he repeated it a second time, slowly the door opened. Stepping inside, without astonishment he stared at Lafitte, as he stood negligently by the door. Lafitte was the first to speak.

  “Well, mon ami, we meet again.” With an irrepressible twinkle in the black eyes, he murmured, “But in vastly different circumstances, hey?”

  “Very,” Christopher replied dryly, watching as Lafitte shut the door and walked over to a scrubbed oak table.

  Waving him to one of the sturdy wooden chairs placed near the table, Lafitte said, “Sit down, mon ami! Sit down and tell me why you have come to call. I do not think that I am in a very good odor with most people in the city these days, and I am amazed you bothered to seek me out.”

  “I did not know that you were here—I just had a hunch that you might be. I couldn’t imagine you running away with your tail between your legs.”

  “Ha! After Patterson and Ross were finished with Barataría, I almost didn’t have a tail to put between my legs!”

  “I know. And I’m sorry, Jean,” Christopher said quietly, adding, “I don’t want to insult you by offering you money, but if you need it, you know that I will supply you with it—that and anything else you may need.”

  A rueful smile curved Lafitte’s mouth. “I have not reached the point yet where I must exist on charity. But I thank you for your offer, and it pleases me that despite your yearning for respectability, you are not willing to desert me.”

  Christopher grimaced. “You helped me when I needed it—I am only returning the favor.”

  Lafitte nodded. “Yes, that is so. But come let us talk of other things. I presume you would like to know what happened to the good Allen Ballard, would you not?”

  “I had not given Mr. Ballard another thought. Did you release him as planned?”

  Lafitte looked smug. “I did better than merely release him, mon ami! I will not go into details, but the opportunity presented itself to me to place him in the hands of a few of his fellow British officers. I would guess that he is now somewhere on his way back to England…or more likely safely ensconced with the British fleet currently harrying us on the Gulf.” Sending Christopher a laughing glance, Lafitte murmured, “The shifts I am put to by my friends.”

  There were a dozen questions Christopher would have liked to ask about Allen’s return to the British, the first being the circumstances of Lafitte’s meeting with British officers. But Lafitte had already stated he would give no details, and from experience Christopher knew he would gain nothing by persisting. Lafitte had told him all he intended to…for the moment. Yet he could not let it rest entirely—there was something here that he did not like, something he could not put his finger on. The question of Allen’s fate aside, Lafitte’s attitude troubled him. Jean was too carelessly indifferent, too cheerful. A man who had lost everything did not act as Lafitte did—not when he was reduced to hiding in a small cottage near the ramparts. Frowning, Christopher demanded, “Jean, what are you going to do now? Let the Americans hound you from New Orleans? And what about Dominique You and the others?”

  A calculating gleam in the black eyes, Lafitte asked, “Do you ask that for yourself or for your friend Jason Savage? Savage who whispers into the governor’s ear?”

  His face hard, Christopher said levelly, “I think you know the answer to that question. I have told you before how I stand.”

&nb
sp; “So you have, mon ami, but considering the circumstances, you will forgive me if I am suspicious. After all, I have no reason to love the governor, and word has already circulated that you and Monsieur Savage called upon him yesterday. I wonder if you will tell me of that meeting?”

  Caught off guard, having forgotten that Lafitte’s spies were most adept, Christopher stared at him, wishing he had never started this conversation. Telling Lafitte of that meeting was out of the question, and yet if he did not, Lafitte would never trust him again. Trapped in an unpleasant situation, Christopher took the only way out that someone of his nature could; with his jaw set he said bluntly, “I cannot.”

  His answer seemed to please Lafitte. “I know that, mon ami. If you had told me what you know I would never trust you again. A man who will betray one secret will betray many.”

  “You are turning into quite a philosopher.”

  “Ah, yes, it happens occasionally,” Jean agreed. Studying his hands clasped together on the table before him, Lafitte said, “You ask what I am to do and I tell you I do not know. Barataría is in ruins; my warehouse, my ships are burned and in the hands of the Americans; many of my men are in cells in the calaboose. But I am not beaten. The Americans know nothing of the men that escaped and that are waiting my command at the Isles Dernieres, nor do they even guess that there is another, a secret warehouse of flints and ammunition easily accessible to me.” Bitterly, the black eyes bleak, he finished, “They will regret, mon ami, that they turned down my offer of help.”

  “Your offer of help?”

  Lafitte sent him a mirthless smile. “You have not heard? The British approached me, with the intention of having myself and my men join their ranks, and as you will guess, it was then I gave them Ballard. I did not give those same officers an answer instead, like a fool, I notified Claiborne that I was willing to repulse the British proposal and fight on the side of New Orleans if he would allow me to do so.” His voice thickening with injustice, Lafitte spat, “You see the result of my offer!

  Watching Lafitte’s ruthless face, Christopher stiffened. By heaven, Savage, I hope you and Claiborne know what you have done!

  He said as much to Savage when he met with him later. The two men were alone in Jason’s library and Christopher snapped, “I’ve seen Lafitte. Would you tell me why the governor refused his help? We need any help we can get, and you know that Lafitte’s men are already war hardened. My God! We know we will be outnumbered almost three to one, and you and Claiborne turn down a force of nearly a thousand men!’”

  Jason sighed. “I know. All I can say is that I did not vote with the others for the attack on Barataria. I believed those letters Lafitte sent were genuine. But Patterson and Ross had been preparing for the assault on Barataría for weeks and they overruled everyone else.”

  “Suppose you tell me what did happen,” Christopher said sourly. “From the beginning, if you please.”

  Settling back in his chair, Jason did precisely that. “The first I heard about it,” he began, “was when I received a note to come immediately to the governor’s house on the fourth or fifth of September. When I arrived there, I found that several others also had been sent a similar message. Major General Jacques Villere, Patterson, and Ross were present acting as Claiborne’s naval and military advisors; Collector Dubourg, in charge of the customs for the government in New Orleans, was naturally there, as well as one or two others. John Blanque was there too—his presence, I assume, comes as no surprise to you.”

  It did not. John Blanque, a lawyer-banker and a member of the legislature, was known to be sympathetic toward the Lafitte brothers. There were well-founded rumors that he had financed several of the vessels owned by the brothers, and there was no denying that he was their friend.

  At Christopher’s curt nod, Jason continued, “Lafitte had sent certain letters to Blanque of a purported British bid for his services, along with a letter to the governor expressing his desire ‘to return to the sheep-fold.’ He wrote, I remember exactly, ‘that the only reward I ask is that a stop be put to the proscription against me and my adherents.’ We all found it hard to believe. But before the meeting ended, I for one was convinced that letters of the British offer for his services were genuine. I did have some doubts as to his sincerity, but, as you said, a thousand armed men, even of dubious loyalty, fighting for the city was better than none at all!” Jason rubbed his forehead before saying tiredly, “I was willing to consider the matter, as were one or two of the other men. Unfortunately, Claiborne relied entirely on his military advisors, asking them only two questions: Did they think the letters genuine? And was it proper for the governor to enter into any correspondence with Lafitte or his associates?” Jason paused, his face somber as he said, “Villere voted yes, while Patterson and Ross voted no. And that ended it, mon ami. The governor decided that Lafitte’s expulsion from Barataria was more urgent than to give any credence to what might be a trick on Lafitte’s part.”

  “You didn’t think that.”

  “No. I did not,” Jason agreed. “But I am not the governor. He did as he saw fit. You really cannot blame the man for falling in with his military advisors. Patterson and Ross did not believe the letters genuine, and I cannot say that I hold it against them. Now, though, with what you have brought back from England, I am more certain that the British did attempt to bribe Lafitte and that those letters were, in fact, precisely what Lafitte said they were. Unfortunately, Lafitte is now our enemy, and we may come to regret bitterly that we acted as we did.”

  Christopher’s tone was thoughtful as he murmured, “Lafitte is not overjoyed at what has happened, but he may still be brought over to our side. And God knows we need him! He has men and more importantly a warehouse of flints and ammunition.”

  Christopher had debated telling Jason that, but feeling he would betray nothing that could be used against Jean, he felt safe in mentioning the men and arms. It might even help, if Savage was willing to listen to the plan taking shape in his head.

  “Could you find out if the governor is still unwilling to negotiate with Lafitte?” he asked. “It’s possible we may yet be able to turn this to our advantage.”

  The emerald eyes alert, Jason regarded Christopher. “You have something in mind?”

  “I do. But it depends on the governor.” Christopher frowned. “Or,” he said slowly, “Jackson.”

  Jason shook his head. “No hope there. Jackson knows everything about the entire business, and he has dismissed Lafitte and his men as ‘hellish banditti.’ He thinks they should have been run out of the Gulf long ago and applauds what Patterson and Ross have accomplished. You’ll not find him inclined to deal with Lafitte, I can tell you that! At least,” Jason tacked on, “not at present. Perhaps when he sees how poorly equipped we are to beat back a concerted British attack, he will feel differently. That memorandum of yours will certainly help convince him of how strong the effort to capture New Orleans will be. Claiborne sent it to him by special messenger immediately after we left yesterday. All we can do is wait and see what the general decides to do.”

  Christopher pulled a face. “That seems to be what I have been doing for months. First in England and now it appears that is what I shall be doing here in New Orleans—wait and see. It should be my middle name.”

  Jason laughed. “I know how you feel. It has been a trying time for us all. We know the British assault is coming; we know there is activity by the British fleet in the Gulf; but when or even where they may strike has everyone glancing nervously over their shoulders.”

  “At least now I hope everyone knows in which direction to look over their shoulders,” Christopher muttered. Straightening he said, “I won’t keep you, and I apologize for acting so angry earlier. Since we won’t have to discuss the Lafitte situation now, do you still desire my company at dinner Thursday?”

  “Why not? I did not invite you only to discuss Lafitte, you know.” A. smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Jason added, “I am most anxious to
hear of Nicole’s conquest of England. Do tell me, did you leave her well established, with every eligible male in London at her feet?”

  Christopher’s easy manner vanished; a certain wariness entered his bearing. Oh, Jesus, he thought, why didn’t I think of the all awkward questions that would be asked? There was no use lying about the situation—he had made no attempt to hide Nicole’s presence in his house, and Jason was bound to find out about it, sooner or later.

  His voice was void of any expression at all as he said, “As a matter of fact, I didn’t leave her behind. She is with me at Dauphine Street.”

  Jason regarded the hard, closed face, wishing that he had minded his own business. Christopher had made no mention of marriage, no mention of a wife, and his demeanor indicated otherwise; so evidently Nicole had returned as his mistress. And that, Jason decided regretfully, was going to be a problem. He had liked the girl, so had Catherine for that matter, and she had been introduced to some of the finest and proudest families in New Orleans, but now…What a cursed affair! It didn’t bother Jason a tinker’s damn that Nicole had become Christopher’s mistress, but one could not in all politeness offend other acquaintances not so broad-minded. There was a rigid social line between an eligible young woman and a mistress, and there were going to be a number of ruffled feathers when it dawned on certain people that the young woman they had met and admired as Christopher Saxon’s ward had returned as his kept woman.

  The pause that greeted Christopher’s words became noticeable, and Christopher demanded, “Haven’t you anything to say? No further questions?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Jason hedged, remembering suddenly how he had felt in those early days with Catherine, when he had been torn between the desire to put his hands around her throat and put an end to the torment she provoked, and the equal desire to possess her. He sensed that Christopher found himself in much the same position, and he sympathized more than a little. It was an exquisite torture that he would not wish on his worst enemy.