Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)

by Shirlee Busbee

  The interview between Allen and Christopher was brief and strained. The two had little to discuss, and Allen had the conviction that Christopher was more interested in the construction of his cell than in talking to him. Christopher’s parting words left Allen staring after him with bewilderment. What in the hell had he meant by, “I certainly hope you are as quick-witted as I think you are.”

  That night, Madame and Monsieur Saxon dined at home together for the first time in weeks. Their conversation was stilted and wary, but it was a conversation, something they had not had in months. Nothing was resolved between them; Christopher disappeared immediately after dinner, presumably to one of the coffee houses or gambling rooms.

  Sitting alone in her bedroom, Nicole regarded herself in the mirror as she ruthlessly brushed the curling sable-fire hair. What was she to do? She had to break down the walls between them someway and glancing at her slender body reflected in her mirror, she smiled. She was going to get Christopher into her bed, and show him without words that they needed to end their estrangement.

  Making the decision to seduce her husband was easier than doing it. She would have preferred to do it gradually, to let him see in little ways that she was ready to accept his advances, except she knew in her heart that they had gone beyond that point. No, she was going to have to take blunt and forthright action; Christopher wasn’t about to let her take the easy way out. She quailed at the thought of rejection, of the cool contempt she might find in his eyes, and for the next few days she did nothing.

  The night before they were to leave for Thibodaux House she steeled herself and prepared for battle. She scented her bath with a musky odor of forests and spices, brushed her hair till it crackled, and carefully dressed in a flimsy gown of emerald silk.

  She waited impatiently and with growing apprehension for Christopher to return home that evening, and when she heard his movements in the next room, her heart leaped into her throat. Rising from her bed, she took one last look in the mirror, shocked at the gown’s transparency. Her skin gleamed like ivory through the folds, the faint rose of her nipples was obvious, the darkened shadow between her legs was hazy and mysterious. She swallowed, straightening her shoulders. She wanted to enflame him, didn’t she?

  There was no hesitation in her walk as she approached the doors that separated their rooms, and with a steady hand she reached for the knob only to have the doors suddenly swing wide.

  Christopher, in a robe of dull gold, stood there, as surprised as she, but as enlightenment dawned on both faces, he grinned and murmured, “Your bed or mine, madame?”

  Nicole caught back a splutter of laughter; a fierce gladness rushed through her that all unknowing they had met halfway. Melting easily into his arms, she whispered, “Yours, I think. Mine has memories enough, while yours has none…yet.”

  His eyes blazing with the love that had been hidden these past months, Christopher swept her up into his arms. Against her mouth he promised softly, “Oh, we’ll make memories tonight, love. We’ll make memories to last a lifetime.”

  He kept his promise, his body taking hers with such gentle fierceness she would remember it through all the years of their lives. Years that would be spent together in love and tenderness, for there was no longer doubting that—it was there in every movement of his body, in every kiss, in every caress.

  Sometimes, Nicole thought sleepily, when at last they were both satiated, sometimes it’s easier to say things without words, to say them with actions, with your body and your eyes, with…

  How long she slept she didn’t know; she only knew that dawn was still only a promise when Christopher rudely prodded her awake. Groggy, she stared at him, noting vaguely that he was already dressed in breeches and top boots.

  His teeth gleaming white in the darkness of his face, he teased, “Get up, lazy bones! We have one last task to do before we leave the city today.”

  “What are you talking about?” she complained, attempting to roll back over and bury her head beneath, the pillows.

  But Christopher would have none of that, and he ripped away the covers and grasped her shoulders. “Wake up! Wake up or I’ll leave you behind and you’ll never know what happened to Allen.”

  Wide awake now, Nicole stared at him. His eyes were filled with lazy amusement, his mouth tilted in a reckless smile.

  Pointing to the pitcher of water on the washstand, he murmured, “If you hurry, you won’t miss it.”

  She leaped from the bed splashed water over her body, and scrambled into the pair of breeches and shirt Christopher handed her. Puzzled, she looked at him. “Breeches?”

  “Breeches, my love. I don’t want anyone to guess at those very feminine curves.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ll see,” was his infuriating answer.

  They left the house within seconds and slipped across the deserted courtyard to the stables. There were three horses saddled, and Nicole was thrown carelessly onto one of them.

  They rode in silence through the empty, spongy streets. Christopher led the third animal, the horses’ hoofbeats muffled by the still-damp ground. It was only as the calaboose came into view that a suspicion of Christopher’s intentions crossed her mind; the full import of the third horse and the stout rope across his saddle burst across her brain like a rocket.

  “You’re mad!” she hissed.

  “Mmm, I agree, mad about you,” he replied softly.

  She reached for him, her fingers tightening around his arm. “Listen,” she said earnestly, “Allen is important to me, but not at the risk of your life. I love you, Christopher—you don’t have to do this. You could be shot, or just as bad, we could both end up in the calaboose with him.”

  Christopher grinned, his eyes bright and glittering with excitement, and the thought occurred to her that he was enjoying himself. But his voice was serious as he said, “It’s possible, but the sergeant in charge has been paid handsomely to ignore what is happening in a certain cell. Until, of course, Allen is free; then he is to fire a few warning shots in the air for the look of it.”

  “Christopher, you don’t have to, you know,” she repeated fiercely.

  A curious expression flitted across his face. “Ah, but I do, my dear. Now let’s get the good Allen out of there, mmmm?”

  Nicole waited near the huge old cypress where Christopher had left her, holding the reins of the extra horse. Helplessly she watched as he tied the heavy rope around the bars of one of the cells, and with her heart in her mouth, she unconsciously strained with his horse, as with a slow, steady pressure the bars one by one were pulled out.

  Allen’s head appeared and then his shoulders, and following Christopher’s instructions, Nicole urged her animal forward at a quick pace, dragging the unmounted horse behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a soldier coming around the corner of the building and threw the reins to Allen with a frantic, “Hurry, the alarm has been sounded.”

  Allen wasted not a moment and vaulted easily onto the horse’s back, and then wheeling about, the three of them galloped down the deserted dawn streets just as the first shots rang out. With something like horror Nicole felt her horse scream with pain, stumble, and go down. She was thrown clear, and before she had time to do more than to stagger to her feet, Christopher’s arm, like a band of steel, was around her waist and she was thrown across the saddle in front of him.

  They rode like the wind, leaving New Orleans miles behind. Christopher motioned Allen to follow him and turned the horses from the road into the apparent maze of cypress swamps. They rode in silence for several moments, following a barely defined trail that ran along a dark, sluggish bayou.

  Nicole wiggled and Christopher reached down and shifted her weight until she sat in front of him, her back resting comfortably against the steady beat of his heart. Eventually Christopher halted his horse and dismounted. He turned to Allen his expression unreadable. He said curtly, “You’ll find a change of clothing in that pack strapped to your saddle. I suggest yo
u get into them.”

  Allen’s nodded, his face equally as expressionless as Christopher’s, and disappearing with the bundle, he reappeared a few minutes later in a pair of breeches and a jacket.

  Warily the two men faced each other, and it was Nicole who broke the silence. Slipping from the horse, she walked to Christopher and, putting her hand in his, asked softly, “What do we do now?”

  Christopher’s hand tightened on hers, and he smiled down at her. The tenderness she saw there made her heart swell with love.

  Christopher glanced over at Allen before saying, “We go our separate ways now. We’re going to Thibodaux House and the good Allen will find his way to England.” Speaking to Allen, he said coolly, “You’ll find money in the right saddlebag, food and a weapon in the left. I trust I can leave the remainder of your escape to you?”

  Ignoring the other man’s provoking manner, Allen smiled wryly. “I think so. Since the war is officially ended, I shouldn’t have much trouble finding a ship for England and rejoining what is left of my regiment.”

  “Fine. You’ll excuse us? We have a long journey ahead of us and I still have to find another horse for my wife.”

  Christopher turned on his heel, yanking Nicole with him, but Nicole, casting him a pleading look, and ran to Allen. Throwing her arms about his neck, she gave him an impetuous hug. “Go with God, my friend,” she murmured. “Perhaps someday we’ll meet again.”

  A gentle hand on the burnished head, Allen agreed, “Perhaps someday. Be happy, Nicole.”

  She flashed him a blinding smile and then spun on her heel and rejoined her husband, who despite his best intentions was scowling. Nicole touched his cheek and a rueful grin twisted his mouth. Christopher mounted and reached down to pull Nicole up behind him. Allen mounted his horse and asked, “Which is the best way for me to go to escape the patrol?”

  Christopher nodded toward the east. “Follow this path about two more miles in that direction and you’ll find it lets out on a main road. From there follow it northerly and eventually you’ll find yourself in Baton Rouge.”

  They parted without any further conversation, Christopher and Nicole riding slowly away, Allen setting out with a brisk pace toward the east. Several moments later Christopher stopped their horse again and, dismounting, pulled Nicole down to sit on a fallen tree trunk.

  Holding her hand in his, the gold eyes warm and caressing on her face, he asked simply, “Questions?”

  “One,” she said with a smile. “Why?”

  His features troubled, he admitted, “I don’t know exactly myself. But I think I wanted to give him back his life, because he saved yours, and to try to show you how much I love you…to prove that I didn’t really believe all those things I had accused you of. Most of all to say I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being the pigheaded ass you’ve rightly called me so often.”

  Demurely Nicole murmured, “And you’ll never be so again?”

  Christopher shot her a considering glance. “Now that I can’t answer; I can only say I’ll try not to leap to conclusions, I’ll try to listen first to what you have to say, but I can’t promise that I’ll not be arrogant, and that I won’t ride roughshod over your demands. What I can promise,” he said huskily, one hand gently caressing her cheek, “is that I will love you until the day I die. You’re in my blood, Nicole, like a sweet wild magic that I don’t ever want to lose.”

  Her eyes locked on his; her own love shining and filling him with delight, she asked curiously, “And the past? My mother?”

  His face tightened. “The past is behind us. I was wrong there too—you are not like Annabelle in any way.” The gold eyes were bleak as he muttered, “I can’t say that the future will be all kisses and wine; I’m not an easy man to live with—I’ve shut people out too often and for too long to let you think I’ll change overnight into a perfect husband. I doubt I’ll ever be a perfect husband. But, Nicole, let my try.” Suddenly he pulled her to him, his mouth compulsively seeking hers. “Oh, Jesus,” he said softly a moment later, “I do love you…and that’s all I can offer you for a certainty.”

  But it was enough. In time, the past would be eradicated, and while the days ahead would be stormy, turbulent, filled with passion and fire, Nicole wouldn’t have traded one for a lifetime of tranquility.

  They remounted, Nicole seated behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around the broad chest. It came back to her that this was how their journey had begun all those years before in Beddington’s Corner. Her arms tightened more fiercely; then it had been to face a dangerous and terrifying uncertain future, but now, now there was Christopher and their love and a whole new beginning. A beginning and the glorious future they would find together.

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  Page Ahead for an Excerpt From:

  A Heart for the Taking

  A Heart for the Taking

  The Reluctant Brides Series, Book One

  The wharf was busy; carts and wagons of all sizes were loading and unloading; horses neighed and dogs barked, and a babble of conversation and shouts floated on the warm morning air. Several scarlet-coated British soldiers strolled by, as did a plainly garbed Quaker couple, the gentleman wearing a surtout about his shoulders, his wife's gown dark and worn with a white bib. A pair of fishermen in knitted red caps and heavy leather sea boots walked jauntily behind the Quaker couple, followed by a water carrier in a speckled patterned waistcoat and an old black felt hat, his back bent under the weight of the heavy wooden buckets he carried on a rod across his shoulders. A shopkeeper, an apron of green baize around his ample waist, hurried busily down the center of the wharf, and here and there an Indian with feathers in his hair or a frontiersman in rough buckskins sauntered through the shifting colorful crowd.

  An elegant carriage pulled by a pair of high-stepping bays suddenly swung onto the wide wharf and Jonathan said, "Ah, at last, there they are! My family has come to greet us."

  A knot of nervousness formed itself in Fancy's stomach. She knew it was silly. There was no reason in the world why she wasn't going to like Jonathan's family, or why they should take a dislike to her and Ellen. She took in a deep, steadying breath. She needed to remind herself that she wasn't just plain Miss Merrivale without fortune or in need of a guardian or husband anymore and hadn't been for a number of years. But old habits died hard, and fiercely she reminded herself that she was Lady Merrivale, the widow of a peer of the realm, and that she had a nice little fortune safely invested in the funds in England. If Jonathan's family proved obnoxious and inhospitable, well, so be it. She and Ellen would do just fine without them.

  Ignoring the flutter in her chest, Fancy watched as a tall gentleman, his hair powdered and tied in a black silk bag under a black ribbon bow, politely helped a woman in a gorgeous creation of green figured silk from the carriage. She guessed that the gentleman in the tan cloth coat trimmed in silver braid was Jonathan's half brother, Samuel, and that the woman was Jonathan's mother.

  Beside her, Jonathan quickly confirmed her guess as the pair made their way toward the ship. They made a distinguished couple. The gentleman, though over seventy, walked straight and tall, and even from a distance Fancy could see that in her youth Jonathan's mother had been lovely. Constance Walker was still an extremely attractive woman, even if she had celebrated he
r fifty-third birthday in May. Her figure was perhaps a trifle fuller than when she had been a young woman, but she moved with the grace of a maid. As was the fashion, her hair was curled and powdered beneath a charming calash of a darker green than her gown, her full skirts swaying gently as she walked beside her much older stepson.

  Intent as she was on Jonathan's relatives, Fancy became aware of a prickling sensation, an unease that she couldn't explain, almost as if someone were watching her and not kindly. She glanced around, seeking the source of her discomfort, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Surely Simmons's presence behind Jonathan didn't bother her? Of course not! She shrugged her slender shoulders, deciding that she must be letting the coming meeting with Jonathan's family disturb her, and she wondered with sudden amusement if for the first time in her life she was going to suffer a fit of the vapors.

  A faint, rueful smile curved her generous mouth. What a ninny she was being. These people weren't going to bite her, for goodness' sake!

  Still, the sensation persisted and, becoming irritated, she took another impatient look around her. It was then that she saw him.... He was on the wharf, standing almost directly in front of them, an expression of amused contempt on his handsome face as he stared boldly back at her.

  Fancy's heart gave a funny little start. From his garb, fringed buckskins and calico shirt, she took him to be a rough frontiersman, and he was certainly staring at them, her, in the rudest manner. Her chin lifted, but she couldn't stop staring at him, something about those fiercely chiseled features and that tall, powerful body holding her mesmerized. His thick black hair was unfettered and waved freely about his dark face and broad shoulders, giving him a feral, untamed air. A lion, she thought giddily, that's what he reminds me of, a black-maned lion. A lion, leashed but ready to spring on its prey in an instant. Fancy gave herself a shake and with an effort tore her gaze from his. A lion indeed! She was definitely fanciful this morning.