Iron Lace

by Lorena Dureau

  “Hold tight,” he said tersely in her ear. “We must hurry.”

  Monique obeyed, but only because her instincts wouldn’t let her do anything else. He was riding like a demon out of hell now. There was still so much she wanted to shout back at him, but she sensed that every moment counted at that point, so she sat there quietly fuming in his grip, while myriads of droplets stung her cheeks like tiny sharp arrows as they spattered against her face. The pending storm seemed like a huge invisible monster, howling and screaming in their ears, ready to overtake and devour them at any moment.

  Vidal’s arm was like a steel clamp around her waist, fusing her against his loins, as the added impetus of the wind pushed them ever forward, faster and faster catapulting them through the night past the grass-covered levee on one side and the almost endless row of swaying trees on the other.

  A flash of lightning zigzagged across the dark sky and a roar of thunder followed, sending a shudder through Monique’s body as Vidal tightened his grip on both the reins and her waist. He was doubly glad now that he had decided in favor of just the horse instead of the cabriolet. The animal responded to him better. Nevertheless, he slowed down now into a more cautious trot, since not only was the steady drizzle beginning to make the road slippery, but he also calculated that they must be nearing the Chausson plantation by now. Between the wind and rain blinding his eyes and the darkness of the night as the moon drifted in and out of the blackened skies, he feared he might overshoot the entrance. One thing he knew for certain, he’d have to take refuge at the very first shelter they passed. He cursed the stupidity of Maurice Foucher to have chosen such a night as this to try to elope!

  The roan was so skittish now, between the thunder and lightning and the increasing difficulty of the terrain, that he feared the frightened animal might lose its footing and throw them in a sudden fright. He was just beginning to consider dismounting and leading the horse, with Monique on its back, carefully by the reins over the pitfalls of the road, when suddenly he caught sight of the familiar gate in a flash of lightning.

  “The saints be praised!” he exclaimed in her ear over the shrieking wind. “We’re here!”

  He rode a short distance more and then dismounted in front of the large black wrought-iron entrance with its lacy arch spelling out the name of the Chausson plantation.

  Clutching her flying cloak around her as best she could against the angry, lashing wind, Monique continued to sit on the horse and steady it while through a curtain of rain she watched her guardian struggling to push open the gate.

  When he had finally succeeded, he held it against the wind so she could ride the animal through. Then, after latching the gate once more behind him, he caught the reins from her and continued guiding the horse with her still on its back up the oak-lined driveway toward the main house.

  High above the dark tumultuous lane, the trees tossed and twisted in agony as the wind howled and hacked its way through their tormented branches, sending the weaker limbs flying through the blackness like shrieking demons in the night. One of them came hurling against the already frightened roan with such force that it took the combined efforts of Monique and her guardian to calm it down once more before they could continue. But doggedly they pushed on against the wind… the manor, white and ghostly, their only guide, beckoning to them like a beacon at the end of that long black tunnel of gesticulating trees. They were in a shrieking inferno and there was no other way out but forward…

  By the time they finally came out into the clearing in front of the main house, the storm had burst in all its fury, and Miguel had all he could do to lead Monique and the horse to the first refuge at hand.

  Afraid to risk running the gauntlet of that long open flight of stairs up to the entrance of the manor at that moment, he lifted Monique down from the roan and pulled her and the animal into the shelter formed by the overhanging gallery and the wide staircase slanting upward to it. There they at least found some protection from the wind, although it still sounded all around them like a pack of hungry wolves stalking its prey.

  Miguel hitched the frightened horse to the nearest column supporting the gallery above them and stroked the length of its sleek wet body soothingly a few times to reassure it. Then, retiring even deeper into the relative safety of the niche under the stairs, he finally turned to his bedraggled ward.

  She stood there, completely drenched, her cloak thrown back wet and limp behind her, while the damp, disheveled tendrils of her hair, free now of the confining hood, cascaded in a tangled mass about her shoulders. In the darkness, only the whiteness of her skin and the pale gold of her hair were faintly visible in the reflection of the whitewashed wall behind them.

  It was pouring down rain now, and although the shelter offered them some protection, the wind lashed in at them from the sides, angrily spewing its spray against their faces.

  The fury within Monique, however, matched that of the storm around her. If it hadn’t been so dreadful outside, she wouldn’t have stayed there another moment. As it was, she hated the confinement of those close quarters that forced her to be so uncomfortably close to her guardian.

  Nor was Vidal in an especially understanding mood at that moment. After having spent three hours riding frantically across the countryside only to end up trapped under a staircase soaking wet with an ungrateful brat, he was not about to tolerate one of his ward’s tantrums. His best beaver hat sacrificed now to the winds and the dark ringlets of his windblown hair dripping down his flushed cheeks, he stood there glaring down at her, the scowl on his face matching her own.

  Monique shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, like a filly chafing at the bit to be off and away. “I suppose Celeste was the one who told you where to find me,” she exclaimed at last, unable to hold back her rage any longer. “Wait till I see her!”

  “You should thank her for it,” replied her guardian. “If you’d gone with that jackass Foucher, you’d probably be stuck in the mud out in the middle of nowhere, or perhaps even lying on the road with the carriage turned over on top of you by now!”

  The sound of the rain pounding on the gallery boards and stairs over their heads, together with the rush of the wind as it tried to search them out from their hiding place, was so deafening that they had to shout at each other just to be heard, yet somehow it all seemed to be in keeping with the mood of that moment.

  “Merciful heavens! How humiliating! To be dragged off like that with no regard for my feelings or wishes in the matter! You’re so arrogant! Maurice and I would have done very well without you. I wish that you’d stop your constant meddling in my life!”

  “Perhaps the trouble is I haven’t meddled enough,” he flared back at her. “What you really need is for me to turn you over my knee and give you that spanking I warned might be forthcoming.”

  She paled and eyed him apprehensively. “You… you wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, taking a step backward, as though fearful he might indeed carry out his threat.

  “Don’t count on it,” he warned, “for I’m at the limit of my patience with you right now. You’ve done some foolish things these past few months, but you’ve surpassed even yourself tonight. Do you see where your folly has led you—or rather, both of us!—this time? By all that’s holy! When are you going to grow up?”

  “If being my guardian really disturbs you so much, why didn’t you just let me go off with Maurice? Wouldn’t that have been the best way to solve everything?”

  “Best for me, perhaps,” he agreed with an exasperated sigh, “but not for you. Unfortunately I’m your guardian, and I couldn’t in all conscience let you go running off with someone like Foucher on just a whim.”

  “Why do you say whim? If I’d decided I loved and wanted to marry him—”

  “Bah! You don’t love that popinjay!”

  Monique drew herself up indignantly. “And how do you know I don’t? What do you know about me and my feelings?”

  “If I thought you really loved him, I wouldn
’t have tried to stop you. But you’re just a child. You have no idea whatsoever what love is all about.”

  “That’s not true,” she replied angrily. “The trouble with you is you can’t see I’m a grown woman with a woman’s feelings.”

  “Ah, so you think you’re all grown up, do you? You want to behave like a woman, is that it?”

  A flash of lightning brought a startled neigh from the horse nearby, and as the thunder roared its reply Monique caught a strange expression in her guardian’s dark eyes—one she had never seen before. Once again his nearness disturbed her, and even though the darkness had immediately descended on them again, she lowered her eyes before that penetrating gaze she could still feel fixed on her, though she could no longer see him. How was it that, even in anger, she continued to feel those same emotions he always roused in her stirring again? She resented that strange hold her guardian seemed to have over her.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that one of the main reasons for my running away might have been to escape from you?” she suddenly lashed out at him, tears of vexation mingling with the rain on her face.

  “Qué barbaridad! Do you hate me so much that you’d marry someone you don’t love just to get away from me?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it! I hate you! Why didn’t you just stay at the ball with that Ducole woman and go on dancing with her the rest of the night?”

  “That’s probably what I should have done,” he agreed, “for all the thanks I’ve gotten.”

  “I never asked you to come after me. I despise you and I despise that horrid painted woman you make love to… I despise you both!”

  Miguel tried to make out the features of that little round blob staring up at him with such smoldering intensity in the darkness. Suddenly incredulity swept over him.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous—jealous of me and Azema?”

  “I hate you!” she repeated lamely, not knowing how else to answer him. The hot tears coursing down her cheeks stung even more than the raindrops that the ever-increasing wind was hurling against her face.

  He caught her by the shoulders and bent toward her. “You foolish child! You dear foolish child! So you really are jealous! Monica, Monica…” He drew her close and pressed the length of his body longingly against hers, murmuring her name again and again as his mouth sought her out eagerly in the darkness.

  A fresh gust of wind lashed them together, whipping her wildly flapping skirts and cloak around them until they were entangled, bound together, their bodies molding instinctively one to the other, their lips pressing together long and hard through the misty veil of rain.

  Monique swayed and reeled unsteadily against him, the sound of her pulse pounding louder in her ears than the storm raging around her. Her body was singing with the wind and swelling with the joy of the new sensations sweeping over her. She was savoring the taste of him at last! There was no need to open her eyes and see his face. She knew it was Miguel. Her whole being told her it was him!

  Maurice had occasionally succeeded in robbing a peck or two from her on the sly, and Roget had boldly taken her mouth into his and given her a lusty kiss. But this… this was something entirely different. Miguel’s lips were pressing slowly, sensuously, against hers until she sensed instinctively that he wanted her to open them. Now his tongue was racing past her parted lips into the hidden recess beyond.

  She had never been so aware of her body before. It seemed to be awakening, flexing itself, swelling with expectancy. Like a leaf borne on the crest of the wind, she felt as though she were being swept along with the wave of emotions surging through her being, overwhelming her, carrying her she knew not where. The circle of his arms had suddenly become her universe… the long lean hardness of his body her only reality. She knew now she had never really been kissed before… not really. This was her first kiss—her first wondrous kiss of love!

  Miguel could feel her rain-soaked body trembling in his arms… swaying… readily yielding herself to him. Every fiber of his being ached to go on… to pour out at last all his pent-up longing for her… to show her how foolish she was to be jealous of Azema or any other woman. He bent to savor the sweetness of those fleshy little lips again, but even as he did, he knew how it would end if he kissed her that second time.

  The conflicting emotions churning within him racked his being, even as the roaring wind without continued to pound mercilessly against the boards of the gallery and stairs above them.

  Quickly, while he still had that last faint glimmer of reason to temper him, he tore himself away from the soft throbbing wonder of her and turned partially away, grateful now for the darkness that hid how those brief moments of intimacy had shaken him.

  Still breathing heavily, he cursed himself for his impulsiveness. The moment wasn’t right and he knew it. The fact that Monique had confessed a certain jealousy over Azema and responded with surprising ardor to his kiss had momentarily set his head spinning with wild hopes, but he realized he’d be foolish to act rashly because of one impulsive kiss. Though her woman’s body had responded to him and her sweet tongue had leaped to his mouth as her breasts pushed eagerly against his chest, she was still only a child inside. And where Monique was concerned, he had to be certain, for he wanted all of her—not just that lovely, exciting little body, but the sweet passion of her all-consuming love.

  He sensed her quickened breathing there in the darkness and knew she was still aroused. He’d been a fool to kiss her like that! His adorable, sensitive little ward was so vulnerable, so unaccustomed to the responses of her ripening body! Like a moth attracted to the flame of his passion, she was instinctively swaying toward him once more. If she only knew how that gesture of hers to return to his arms was setting him all the more on fire!

  Quickly… desperately… he stepped back from her, trying to stifle that burning desire gnawing at his loins… a gnawing that would not leave him in peace, no matter how much he tried to reason it away. Deliberately he reminded himself that he ought to be concentrating on more pressing problems… like getting them to safety.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “We’re going to have to make a run for it up the stairs to the door,” he told her by way of explanation for his reluctance to continue any further intimacy with her at that moment. In a way, he was glad that the urgency of their situation didn’t leave him any choice in the matter, for he doubted he would have had the strength to push her away like that again.

  Once they were inside the house, with a few more feet between them, it might be easier to keep things under control. But being alone like that with her in such close quarters… feeling her so warm and inviting within his grasp… the best of his resolutions would be for naught if he had to spend much more time with her under those stairs!

  “But the wind is still so strong, and the rain hasn’t stopped,” Monique objected with a skeptical glance outside to where the storm was still raging with frightening intensity. She was surprised her guardian would suggest that they leave the relative safety of their nook at such a moment. That niche under the stairs was so filled with Miguel’s presence now that it seemed warm and protective to her, far removed from the realities of the world twisting in torment without.

  “I know,” he conceded, “but at least it’s slackening a little, so I think we ought to get up the stairs now while we can. We may not get another chance.”

  “Couldn’t we just stay and wait out the storm here?” There seemed to be a slight note of longing in her voice, but perhaps it was just his imagination.

  “We’re not really safe in this spot,” he replied quickly, as much to explain the facts to her as to remind himself that there were also good practical reasons why he should resist the temptation to remain there alone with her. The passionate moments they had just shared still charged the atmosphere… the taste of her was still in his mouth.

  “This storm could go on for hours and get much worse,” he continued. “I don’t want to frighten you, but if the wind picks up too mu
ch, we could be sucked out of here on a strong current or even be struck by lightning.”

  With the key to the main entrance ready in his front pocket, he ordered her to wrap her cloak about her again and hold on tightly to his arm.

  “No matter what happens, don’t let go,” he cautioned her. “And remember, if we should get separated, grab on to anything solid you can find or try to crawl to the nearest shelter.”

  He led the horse even farther under the stairs where they had been standing, and then, putting one arm firmly around her well-cloaked shoulder and holding on tightly to her wrist with his other hand, he led her out from under the staircase and quickly around to the foot of the stairs. The force of the wind caught them by surprise, and he tightened his grip on her, fearful that her slight frame might be blown away from him if he were to let go even for an instant.

  Despite the combined weight of their two bodies clinging together as one, the wind was so strong that it seemed to be an invisible wall blocking their progress. With a startled cry, Monique fell to her knees from the violent impact of that unseen force. It was like a living, palpable thing, lashing out at her in the darkness.

  The rain was increasing in volume again and coming down in such torrents that she could no longer see the top of the stairs. She couldn’t even see the next step. All she could do was blindly cling to Miguel’s arm… his hand… his clothing…

  He was kneeling beside her now. “Crawl!” he yelled in her ear above the roar of the wind. “Keep crawling up and don’t let go!”

  She felt giant hands clutching at her, trying to tear her away from him, and she cried out his name to the wind. He was only a dark, barely visible shadow, devoid of form now, but she clung to him desperately. Her only sense of reality was the weight of his arm on her shoulders and the feel of his fingers digging into her wrist. They were bruising her flesh, but she didn’t care… it was her only contact at that moment with something tangible in a world that had suddenly turned to chaos.