Iron Lace

by Lorena Dureau

  “No, I’m all right,” she assured him. “I’m just shaken, that’s all, but I’m not hurt, really I’m not.”

  She was silent for the last half block of their short walk home. The events of the day had overwhelmed her. It was as though she had been forced to live several years of her life in the span of one afternoon. Although it was true what she had said about not being hurt, she was still trembling inwardly at just the thought of all that had happened in those past few hours. Most of all, she was awed by the realization of all that would have happened if Miguel hadn’t been there to save her.

  She cast a curious glance up at her guardian out of the tail of her eye as she walked beside him, clinging to his hand while he steadied her with an arm around her waist. Smudged with soot and grime, his face seemed leaner than ever at that moment. That fine black woolen cape and those knee-high boots that he wore so well were singed and spattered now. She looked down at the outline of his sword swinging jauntily, by his side beneath the folds of his cloak and thought of how he had fought with Fray Sebastian… risked his life to save hers. It made the memory of him with his hand on Azema’s breast all the more painful… like a two-pronged arrow lodged deep in her heart. Although it seemed that the scene in the Ducole parlor had taken place weeks, even months ago, the pain was still there. Only she couldn’t hate him anymore. Her feelings for him were too complex now for that. All she could feel was one great hurt aching inside of her… a torment greater than any Padre Sebastian could have inflicted on her. No matter what had happened earlier that afternoon, she had to recognize that it was thanks to him she was safe and free again. She couldn’t forget that. He may have failed her as a lover, but he had most certainly left nothing to be desired as her guardian. When she’d needed him, he’d been there to protect her. Always when she needed him he was there…

  The babble of the crowd behind them and fragments of conversations from isolated groups of townsfolk they passed along the way echoed down the street after them.

  A group of men talking excitedly on the street only a few doors from the town house were waving their hands wildly and loudly discussing the fire.

  “Hundreds homeless… not a store left in town…”

  “… no more wood… only brick and tile…”

  “I tell you… worse than ‘88… almost whole city’s destroyed!”

  Miguel shook his head. “The usual exaggerations,” he muttered. Nevertheless, he gave a backward look at the smoking ruins of the fire-plagued city. It had burned swiftly, and it was truly a miracle that it hadn’t been leveled with the swamps. But that paradox of a city had a stubborn spirit, which might often give its rulers headaches but would undoubtedly be its salvation in the end.

  As far as he could judge at that moment, approximately a quarter of the town had been hit, including almost half of the square up to the cathedral. There would indeed be some shortages for a while in New Orleans, since the section that lay in ashes was where most of the shops had been located. Thank God they had the plantation to furnish them with their daily necessities!

  He looked down tenderly at the bedraggled little figure of his weary ward and slackened his pace even more to accommodate her. The poor child! She’d been through so much that afternoon! Now that the danger was gone, memories of earlier that afternoon were beginning to flood back to him. He could still see the shock and disillusion on that dear little face as she had fled the Ducole town house in despair… only to run straight into the greater torment of Fray Sebastian’s waiting dungeon!

  He’d rather stand up to one of those fiery reprimands of hers than see her suffering so! As soon as he had her in the safety of the town house, he would at least try to set her mind at ease on one score. He couldn’t bear to have her thinking he had betrayed her love. He only hoped he could make her believe him!

  Chapter Forty-one

  Still wrapped in her cloak, Monique reclined on the sofa in the town house parlor, trying to sort out her confused emotions while she watched Miguel dash off a hasty note to the governor and give the houseboy his instructions.

  ” ‘Regarding that matter… rest easy. But must see you in private. Will come to your home at dawn. Urgent.’ “

  Miguel quickly reviewed what he had written, then signed and sealed it. “You’re to put this in the hands of His Excellency the Governor and no one else, is that clear?” he told the boy solemnly. “If there’s no problem, go to your quarters when you return and get some rest. Tomorrow morning I’ll need the horses groomed and ready to ride to the plantation. Remember, I’m trusting you to find the baron before the night is over, no matter where he is, and give this message to him. If you do well, I’ll reward you handsomely, I promise. Now go… pronto!” He hurried the boy on his way and then bolted the door behind him.

  With a sigh of relief he turned toward the sofa where he had left Monique resting. But, to his surprise, he saw she had risen and was already halfway up the staircase, a candle in hand and her tattered cloak trailing dejectedly behind her.

  “Monica, what in the world are you doing?” he chided solicitously, running to overtake her. “At least let me help you!”

  “I… I’m all right now,” she insisted. “I can manage.”

  But he swept her up quickly in his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the room where she and her sister always slept. Carefully he set her down on one of the four-posters and, taking the candle from her, put it on the nightstand beside her. Then he turned and lay her tousled head back on the pillow, and, making use of the bowl of water on the table that had been left for her usual nightly ablutions, he gently bathed her face and hands, all the while trying to soothe her.

  The chamber was pleasantly warm with the crackle of a cheerful blaze in the fireplace, so Miguel made a move to remove her dusty, scorched cloak. But she drew away and instinctively pulled the wrap closer over her half-bared breasts, staring back at him with large, wounded eyes.

  Respecting her gesture, he turned away and went on to refresh his own face and hands. But finally he turned and stood there looking down at her tense, unhappy little figure, so tightly wrapped in her tattered cloak… so afraid to be hurt again… A wave of tenderness engulfed him. How he longed to take her in his arms and reassure her that she was surrounded by his love… that she need never be fearful of anything or ever doubt his love for her again! He yearned to kiss that adorable little body of hers from head to foot—every throbbing corner of it—and feel her warm pulse fluttering beneath his lips, responding to his every caress with that same passionate abandon, that same sweet trust, that she had given him before!

  He bent toward her and, resting one knee on the edge of the bed, gently lifted her into his arms. For a moment she let him hold her there, resting her pale gold head against the firmness of his chest like a frightened child longing to be comforted.

  “Thank God you’re safe again, little one,” he murmured into the tousled curls. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you!”

  Gently he reached into the recess of her cloak and sought out one of those magnificent young breasts that Sebastian had been about to mar so cruelly, and, before she could stop him, he kissed its rosy tip reverently.

  “I love you, Monica. Please believe me. I’d give my life for you.”

  But she had suddenly stiffened. Despite the pleasant sensations stirring within her at the feel of his lips on her breast, his action had reminded her all too vividly of how and why her torment of that afternoon had begun. That same hand cupping her breast so lovingly now had held Azema’s only a few hours earlier!

  Angrily she pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed. “Please don’t come to me with the scent of that woman still on your hands… on your lips…”

  “God as my witness, what you saw today was none of my doing,” he protested. “Azema was trying to entice me precisely because I haven’t wanted to be with her. You simply misconstrued what you saw. Actually, I’d stopped off to see Henri not only on busines
s but to arrange with him that, in the future, we’d hold our meetings elsewhere. I didn’t want to go to the town house anymore… I wanted to avoid scenes like that with Azema. The irony of it is that poor Henri doesn’t even have a town house now. It was right in the heart of the section hit by the fire!”

  But Monique only continued to sit there in the middle of the bed, clutching her cape around her and eyeing him with suspicion.

  “If what you say is true, why wasn’t Henri there, then?” she asked. “If you went there to see him, why were you alone with Azema in the first place?”

  “He’d only stepped out for a moment,” Miguel replied patiently. “I was taking my leave, and he went to his study to fetch some papers he wanted me to take with me.”

  “You’re very glib.” She smiled sadly. “Always you find a way to deny the evidence.”

  “It’s easy to do, since I’m telling the truth,” he assured her. He ran his hand despairingly through his hair, which was as tousled as hers was at that moment. What could he say or do to convince her? “You speak of evidence,” he went on. “Haven’t I given you enough proofs of my affection all these months… even this very evening?”

  She hung her head and nodded. “I have to admit you’ve been a very conscientious guardian,” she acquiesced, “and for that I realize I’m in your debt. I’m truly grateful for the way you risked your life to save me from Padre Sebastian. I—”

  “I don’t want your gratitude!” he interrupted, impatient for the first time that night. “My God, Monica! Don’t you know I wouldn’t have found my life worth living if I hadn’t saved you? I love you, my dear, foolish child. For me, you’re life itself!”

  He caught her in his arms once more and, before she could stop him, kissed her with all the desperation of his long-denied passion, pressing his mouth long and hard against hers, his tongue pleading to be let through the pout of those fleshy little lips.

  For a moment she resisted and tried to push him away, but he held her fast, and she could feel her lips parting in spite of herself. Why was it that, the moment he was near her, she couldn’t hate him even when she knew she should?

  “Monica, my life! My despair! If only I could make love to you! If only I could show you how much I really love you!” he murmured huskily against her lips. “God as my witness, I can’t take your hate and distrust any longer! I’m not speaking as your guardian… I’m only the man who loves you now!”

  His passion ignited her own. A surge of new energy was stirring through her veins. She longed for him to go on, yet dreaded that moment when he would draw back from her as he had always done in the past.

  Suddenly she put out her hand and held him at bay. “I think what we need to do is go to the courts… as soon as possible… tomorrow perhaps, if we can,” she said, trying to keep her tone as matter-of-fact as she could, despite the way her insides were trembling at that moment.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Miguel was taken aback, his ardor momentarily dashed to the ground. “The courts?” he echoed incredulously. Her words were obviously a blow to him. “Then… then you’ve decided you want me to step down? You no longer want me to be your guardian?”

  “No,” she replied tartly. “I don’t. For I’m afraid that as long as you’re my guardian, you’ll never really make love to me. You’ll keep pushing me away, thinking of me as a child instead of a grown woman, and I can’t bear that any longer!”

  Miguel looked at her with mouth agape. He had all he could do to digest what she had just said. “Why, you mischievous little darling… to tease me so!”

  “I’m not teasing,” she said in the same tone. “I’m very serious. If your being my guardian is an obstacle between us, then I’d prefer you’d step down.”

  His arm tightened around her and he took that impish face between his trembling hands, scrutinizing it eagerly. “Are you sure, my dear, really sure?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am. It might surprise you to know just how long I’ve been sure!”

  “And you don’t care anymore about my being Spanish and not French?”

  “I find it increasingly difficult to go on hating someone I love so much,” she confessed as the dimples in her cheeks began to deepen.

  “By all the saints! I think the child really is a woman at last!” he exclaimed, the joy surging through his being giving renewed impetus to his passion. “Believe me, you’ll never complain about my pushing you away again, I promise you that!”

  His lips were on hers… hungrily… possessively. Eagerly she closed her arms around him and clung fast. She could no longer deny the longing she had carried in her heart for so many months. She loved this proud, fiery Spaniard and she could no longer fight her overpowering desire for him.

  The tumult that had been raging within them since that night of the hurricane swept over them, stronger than ever now. This time there was no checking its momentum. They were caught up in the storm… carried along on the wave of their own churning emotions. Their tongues leaped to find each other, restlessly flicking and darting, even as the treetops bend and twist to the fury of the wind.

  “Mona, mi vida … my life!” He was showering her with kisses… her eyes, her lips, her throat…

  “Then you no longer see me as a child?”

  “As an adorable, unruly child that I hope will always be in the heart of the woman I love!” His tongue was tracing the tracks of her earlobe, sending little flecks of delight up and down her spine. Weary as she had been only a short while ago, she was filled now with renewed life. Her whole being was vibrating… eager.

  He was removing the singed cape, the tattered gown… tossing them impatiently aside. The cones of her breasts stood high and expectant, yearning for his lips.

  He had waited for so long… he was swollen with desire, ready to burst from want of her, but he was resolved to be gentle… to lead her into womanhood with a tender passion that would make this, her first time—their first time together—a memory they would both treasure for the rest of their lives. He wanted to wait until he had that sweet body of hers awakened—every fiber of her singing—before he’d take her.

  Slowly he lay her back against the pillow, one arm around that slim little waist, his free hand lightly cupping her breast. Already he could feel how she was responding… quivering to his slightest touch. What a wondrous, sensuous woman lay there in his arms ready to be born—an adorable, passionate woman who was to be the alma de su alma, the very heart of his innermost being!

  Gently he circled one of her breasts with his hand and lifted its fullness to meet his lips, slowly coaxing its rosy peak to life with the flutter of his tongue. Finally he closed his mouth over it and didn’t let go until the sweet torment racked her being… and even then it was only to catch the other between his lips and begin all over again…

  Monique buried her fingers deep into the dark mass of his thick black hair and pressed him eagerly, spasmodically, to her breast. She could feel him swiftly slipping off the rest of her clothing and his fingers running like quicksilver now over her bare skin, tracing the rounded contours of her hips and thighs, the soft swell of that patch of golden hair. She closed her eyes the better to savor every delightful sensation all the more… to feel his lips exploring now every sensitive corner of her body, awakening it with feathery thrusts of his tongue until her whole being was aglow, longing for him to go on to the very core of her and make her completely his at last.

  “Oh, Miguel, I do love you… I love you so!” she murmured softly, her breath coming quickly now, matching the velocity of that restless, inquisitive tongue.

  Suddenly the warm firmness of his flesh was brushing against her own, and she knew he had tossed aside his garments as well. It was a pleasant, exciting sensation, and she reached out impulsively to explore with trembling curiosity the wonder of those smooth, well-muscled forearms, the rise and fall of those broad shoulder blades, the rippling length of that long, supple spine…

  Timidly she opened her eyes to a
dmire at last in the dim candlelight that tall, lean body she had so often tried to imagine flexing beneath the impeccable cut of his stylish garments. There were those dark curling hairs that had fascinated her whenever he’d open his shirt to the summer heat, and now there were new ones to intrigue her peeping out from the hollows under his arms. She brushed her lips over his bare shoulders and chest, delighting in the strength she could feel radiating from him. Her whole being was filled with the scent of him… the taste of him. He penetrated every pore of her body.

  Slowly he was molding his flesh to hers, and the throbbing hardness of him set her afire. She didn’t know exactly what she should do, but she ached to give herself completely to him.

  “My precious, passionate little woman,” he whispered breathlessly as he felt her body arching longingly against him. “So you really love and want me, then?”

  She murmured her reply against his lips. There was an urgency in her now that matched his.

  “Don’t be afraid, my sweet,” he said huskily. “I love you. Trust me.”

  The hard cords of his thighs pressed against hers, gently separating them. Her heart pounding wildly, she locked her arms instinctively around his neck and yielded, willing to follow him wherever he’d lead. The hardness of him was suddenly plunging into her being… thrusting forward…

  She gave a startled gasp and her eyes flew open. He paused, his breathing labored, while he kissed her tenderly. “It’s all right, my dear. You’re a woman now, that’s all,” he reassured her. “Trust me.”

  She lay there tense, wondering whether that was all, yet strangely excited, still aware of that throbbing hardness deep within her. Then, to her surprise, he began to move again… slowly, sinuously, thrusting with a sensuous rhythm that seemed to invite her to follow his lead. They were pulsating as one now, that burning hardness deep in the core of her being setting the pace. A part of her was awakening that she’d never before suspected existed. She realized she’d never really been alive until that moment.