Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)

by Shirlee Busbee

  Nicole smiled bleakly. “You see it, but you don’t agree?”

  With a gentle hand Christopher reached out and cupped her face. “I don’t know what to believe any longer. I’ve nursed this feeling against you for so many months that I can’t seem to let it go. Give me time, my love. Time to come to understanding within myself. Will you grant me that?”

  It was a humble request, and while he might have to battle within himself, there was no hiding the love she saw on his face. She nodded, knowing that time was on her side. Time and love. It gave her a queer feeling of tenderness to know that despite thinking she could be as wanton and wicked as Annabelle, he loved her anyway—loved her and married her. Perhaps, she mused, that was a greater sign of love than believing in her.

  Christopher drew her next to him and asked simply, “Tell me about that last night in England.” And hesitatingly at first, her voice growing stronger as she continued, she told the tale of kidnapping and trickery. When she finished speaking, there was a long silence; both stared at the flames on the hearth, as if the answer they sought was there in the leaping tongues of fire. His arms tightening around her, Christopher murmured into her hair, “I believe you, wildcat. That was too wild and improbable a tale for it not to be true. I wish I had known and had been the one to rescue you—not Robert.”

  Twisting in his arms to face him, she said gently, “Well, you did in the end, you know. If you hadn’t come along the beach just then I would have been in sorry straits. Higgins certainly wasn’t going to do anything with me. He was too intent upon catching that ship. So, you see, you really did save me from a fate worse than death.” Her voice husky, she said against his lips, “Living without you would have been like dying.”

  With a groan Christopher pulled her closer to him. “Keep loving me, Nicole. I’m a brute, a jealous madman where you are concerned, but I love you so much.” His voice breaking just a little, he muttered, “I’ve loved you it seems like forever—you were always in my thoughts. First as an impudent cabin boy I couldn’t help teasing and then as a wanton creature that haunted my every moment. Waking or sleeping, you were always there, a torment and an odd sort of joy.” Pushing her away slightly, he stared intently into her face. “I can’t put the past from me but give me time. Teach me to love without looking for motives, without questioning, without doubting what I see before my eyes. Teach me to trust you. And oh, Jesus,” he growled thickly, “love me and go on loving me.”

  His mouth descended on hers hungrily, urgently, and Nicole met the hard caress of his lips eagerly, her body aflame to know again that sweet-savage possession of his. There was no holding bac, no hiding their emotions, just the sweet enchantment of the other.

  As if he were discovering her body for the first time, Christopher’s hands slid over her, marveling at the silken texture of her skin. Lazily his mouth left hers, and a frankly sensual expression in the gold eyes, his gaze swept the slender body; the flickering firelight caressed her breasts, shadowing the taut stomach and turning to gold the long, slim legs. Entranced, he glanced at her face, the sable hair splayed out like a flame-shot banner of silk on the ruby carpet. Her eyes were half closed, the high cheekbones highlighted by the fire, the full mouth generous and waiting for his kiss. With a muffled groan, he sought her lips again, his hands caressing her bosom, delighting when he felt her nipples harden with hunger as consuming as his own.

  Nicole, the blood roaring in her ears, reached for him, wanting intensely for him to take her…this time, for the first time in love, not lust. She needed no arousing; her body already trembled with the hunger he evoked so simply and fiercely, her body arched up against his hands, telling him without words that she was on fire for him. He covered her, filling her, her body expanding to take all of him.

  It was like every time they had made love before combined into one urgent joining—their bodies meeting eagerly the thrust of the other, their hands seeking to pleasure the other, their mouths mingling and tasting the other. This time, this time when that shattering explosion of the senses was fading, when they became aware of the world again, there was just each other—Christopher cradling her body next to his, whispering soft words of love in her ear, and Nicole pressing herself to him, her lips tenderly slipping across his face.

  It was a beginning between them. The beginning of something so fragile that the merest breath could destroy it, and only the coming months, and perhaps even years, would tell if what was between them now could grow and gain strength, flourish and take root, until not even death itself could destroy it.

  Chapter 18

  There was little doubt in anyone’s mind that the British were determined to take New Orleans, seize control of the lower Mississippi, and open the subcontinent to the British crown. The peace talks in Ghent added to the British desire to take the city from the Americans; Lord Liverpool had remarked to the Duke of Wellington that “it is very desirable that the American war should terminate with a brilliant success.”

  Andrew Jackson was now very much aware of the British intentions with regard to New Orleans, and he had written to Colonel Butler that “there will be bloody noses” before he would allow the conquest of New Orleans. But Jackson made the dangerous assumption that when the attack came it would not be from the coast. He believed that the attack would be mounted from Mobile, and based on that surmise, he ordered mobilization of militia in Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky.

  Jackson was on the move from that point on. He ordered fresh supplies, men, and guns to a strategic fort on a long east-west spit that all but closed the mouth of Mobile Bay, reinforced Mobile itself, and sent more troops to Baton Rouge. On November seventh he marched into Spanish Florida and with some four thousand men stormed Pensacola, capturing Forts St. Rose and St. Michael; the English garrison withdrew to ships offshore after blowing up Fort Barrancas. That victory, while having diplomatic repercussions, gave the Americans their first view in months of the British in retreat. Feeling he had done his best to enmesh the British, Jackson departed for New Orleans to prepare the city for any eventuality.

  Christopher was seated in Jason’s library on the day the news came that the general was on his way to New Orleans. Straightening, he remarked, “Well that’s something! Maybe now our citizens will shake off their apathy.”

  Smiling ruefully, Jason commented, “Do you think so? I tell you, mon ami, I have my doubts. The legislators are bickering amongst themselves, the committee of public safety is competing with the committee of defense, and although Claiborne has mobilized the militia, that order has been ignored by anyone who does not wish to serve. We are in a sorry state, and I wonder if even such a magnificent general as Jackson can do anything to change matters.”

  There was too much truth in what Jason said to dismiss it lightly, and Christopher was mulling it over in his mind when they joined the ladies about half an hour later. Nicole, quick to sense his mood, sent him an inquiring glance, and while Christopher smiled at her reassuringly, she was not fooled.

  The Saxons’ visit to the Savages’ was a combination of pleasure and business. Christopher and Jason had disappeared into the library to discuss the latest military developments, while Nicole and Catherine enjoyed each other’s company. The friendship between the two women had grown rapidly, because they were English, and because they were married to provocative and dynamic men. At first Nicole had been shy with the older woman, but as the days passed, she discovered that behind Catherine’s ladylike air, was a lively sense of humor and some unorthodox ideas. They had not reached the point where they laid bare all the secrets of their pasts, but Catherine made Nicole feel relaxed and often made her giggle at the tactics she used so blatantly to circumvent her autocratic husband. That Jason Savage was like clay in his wife’s small hands and that she adored him grew more apparent each time she saw them, and wistfully she wondered if someday she and Christopher would be as close and so obviously in love as the Savages.

  After their call on the Savages Nicole and Ch
ristopher sat before the fire in one of the cozier rooms of the Dauphine Street residence. Nicole was concerned about Christopher’s preoccupation after his conversation with Jason, and she asked abruptly, “What did Jason tell you that was so worrisome?”

  Christopher glanced up in surprise from some business papers he had been reading. “Nothing very important, sweet,” he said carelessly. “Merely some political news, and nothing for you to bother your beautiful head over.”

  Exasperated, Nicole glared at him and snapped, “I am not an idiot! Why do you treat me like one? If you don’t want to tell me what was said, why don’t you just come out and say it?”

  Christopher sighed, staring at the charming portrait she made sitting across from him on a couch of rose damask. Her hair was demurely pulled back into a chignon of curls at the nape of her neck, revealing the fine delicate bones of her face, and a discarded embroidery frame lying near her gave the deceptive impression of domesticity. What was he going to tell her?

  He hadn’t meant to treat her like an idiot, and he didn’t blame her for being angry at his answer to her question. But by the same token, he had no intention of discussing the current situation with Nicole, for two reasons. First, he didn’t trust her; he was not sure where her loyalties lay. He knew it was unlikely that she would find a way to pass any information to the British, but he was taking no chances. His second reason was simply that he did not want her to worry; in fact, he would have preferred to install her safely at Thibodaux House until all danger was past, but he knew Nicole would want to be right in the middle of whatever overtook the city. Hiding in the background was not her way, and he would not have had her any other way.

  Seeing his smile, Nicole’s temper rose, and she demanded, “Well? Aren’t you going to answer me?”

  With a laugh Christopher said, “Calm down, spitfire! You have the hottest temper I have ever known. Yes, I’ll answer your question.” Rising the desk, he walked over to where she sat and joined her on the couch. With one arm along the back of the couch, he drawled, “I’m sorry you think that I treated you like an idiot, but I can’t see why you are interested in what Jason and I discussed.”

  Ashamed at how quickly she had grown angry, Nicole muttered, “I do not mean to be a prying wife and I don’t care what you two discussed. What I cared about was that you were obviously perturbed about the conversation. Is it so wrong of me to want to know what was disturbing you? If our positions were reversed wouldn’t you feel the same way?”

  She had him there. Reminding himself that what he had learned today would be common knowledge within a matter of hours, he said, “General Jackson is on his way to New Orleans. If all goes well, he should be in the city in about a week.”

  “Is that what was bothering you?” she retorted. “Don’t you want him here?”

  “Oh, yes, I want him and the troops he brings here. What worries me is the apathy and fear that is in the city. Even the best general cannot fight the combined forces of an enemy within as well as without.” It was more than he had meant to tell her, but it seemed he could keep nothing from her—not when she was determined to force it from him.

  Resting her head on his shoulder and absently playing with the gilt buttons on his bottle-green jacket, she asked in a small voice, “Is the city really going to be attacked? I know the newspapers have said so, and that the governor has called up the militia—you can see the troops drilling everyday in the Place d’Armes. But there aren’t very many of them, are there?”

  “Which question shall I answer first?” Christopher teased, more interested in the soft strands of hair under his chin. Nicole pinched him, and he said hastily, “All right. Yes, I believe the city will be attacked. I think Jackson is wrong in his belief that the British will start their campaign at Mobile, but he is a general and I am a civilian. And yes, there aren’t many troops. But Jackson will be bringing more troops with him, so I wouldn’t let it worry you. Satisfied now?”

  She shook her head. In a voice barely above a whisper she asked the question that had been at the back of her mind for days. “Will you be in the fighting?”

  Christopher smoothed the fire-dark head. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said honestly. “You wouldn’t expect me not to be, would you?”

  Her throat tight, she looked up at him. “You’ll be careful?”

  Christopher sighed. “When I have such a delightful bride waiting for me, you think I’m going to be taking any chances?” And then his mouth captured hers in a gentle kiss. At least it began gently, but her soft body so close to him was more than he could resist. His lips hardened with desire and his hands sought out the fastenings of the gown.

  Nicole responded as always to his lovemaking, yet conscious of where they were, she asked against his mouth, “Sanderson?”

  The glitter of passion in his eyes, he promised thickly, “Anyone opens that door and I’ll break his neck.”

  A gurgle of laughter shook her, and without another thought she gave herself up to Christopher’s demanding body.

  It was only later, much later that night, that she recalled the conversation and a little chill crept around her heart. Lying in her bed, Christopher’s sleeping form curved protectively next to hers, she touched him, as if reassuring herself he was still there, that the battle everyone knew was coming had not yet taken him from her.

  This wouldn’t be the first time they had been under fire, but this time it was different; this time he would be out there amongst the cannons and muskets, and she would remain behind. She considered disguising herself as a boy to follow him, but knew it was a wistful idea. Besides, if a British bullet didn’t kill her and Christopher found out, he would kill her.

  Her loyalties about the coming battle were unclear even to herself. She knew that she wanted Christopher unharmed, but whether New Orleans was in the hands of the British or Americans made little difference to her. She had been surprised and shocked to discover how deep Christopher’s feelings were about America, and Louisiana particularly. Feeling guilty that she could not summon up the same fierce loyalty that burned in Christopher, she sighed. She hated this war; it was as though brothers were warring against each other. It depressed her to know that perhaps some of the young officers she had met and liked while in England were going to be locked in mortal combat with her husband and her neighbors and friends.

  Not surprisingly she thought of Allen. He was in her mind frequently these days, not only because Christopher had admitted one night last week that Lafitte had turned him over to some British officers, but she would have liked him to know that she and Christopher were married, that her sacrifice hadn’t been such a sacrifice after all. Her mention of Allen had pointed out how far they were from erasing the past. Christopher hadn’t liked it when she had questioned him about it—his eyes had narrowed, and suspicion gleamed in the golden depths.

  She stirred under the quilts, thinking that while she and Christopher were closer than they ever had been, there were still a great many pitfalls in their path. Time after time she had seen how a thoughtless word could shatter the peace between them.

  Despite Christopher’s avowal of belief in her story of that last night in England, she wondered if he had really accepted it. An innocent mention of Robert’s name was enough for that shuttered expression to cross his face, and whether he believed she was like her mother she couldn’t tell. While they had loved gloriously these past weeks, they had also fought and argued hotly, both proud, both little wary of this acknowledged emotion between them.

  Christopher was the worst, she decided almost angrily. He shut her out whenever something he didn’t want to face was mentioned, and she was confronted once again by the cold and sardonic Captain Saber. But then she smiled. At least it was Christopher who made love to her, ending most arguments in the age-old masculine manner by making love to her until she no longer cared what the argument had been about or who had been right. It was only later, like now, that the doubts came back.

  Bedeviled, she twi
tched restlessly in the bed until she woke Christopher. Irritably he demanded, “What in the hell is wrong with you? I feel like a wiggling puppy has invaded my bed.”

  He propped himself up on one elbow, and when Nicole saw his tousled hair tumbling across his forehead, his muscled naked chest, she felt a wave of love sweep over her. Christopher caught the look and his irritation vanished, and with a smothered laugh he reached for her under the quilts. “If you wanted me to make love to you, why didn’t you say so?” he teased and proceeded to do just that.

  On December second General Jackson arrived in New Orleans and the inhabitants took heart. Some of the apathy disappeared, although the Creoles couldn’t seem to comprehend that they were going to have to defend themselves. Besides, they argued, New Orleans had seen so many flags flying overhead in the past, what did one more mean?

  On December third General Jackson reviewed the gorgeously beplumed battalion of New Orleans volunteers in the Place d’Armes. Tall, gaunt, his iron-gray hair worn long and drawn back from his sallow hawk-like face, he watched expressionlessly the pitiful number of men that marched before him.

  Christopher, too, stared at those same pitiful troops and decided to tackle Lafitte once more. First, though, he would have to see if Jason could put the general in a receptive mood.

  Jason was skeptical. “I know we need those men, but Jackson sided with Claiborne earlier. What makes you think he’ll have changed his mind?”

  “Because,” Christopher retorted, “he doesn’t want New Orleans to fall to the British and without those men, it surely will!”

  Jason regarded him sourly. “Very well. I shall talk to the general.”

  “Today?”