The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Of course, now and then he did show signs of being almost human; he had rescued her that afternoon, he had spoken feelingly and affectionately of his family that day in the cemetery, he even had good taste in his mistress and seemed to treat the lady well. But he always ruined these few favorable impressions by immediately afterward saying or doing something despicable or shallow.

  Anne sighed, squeezing a spongeful of water onto an upraised knee. The demoralizing truth of the matter was that, despite his infuriating, arrogant ways, Delacroix had the face and figure of an extremely well-favored man—a well-favored man who knew how to kiss rather splendidly. And Anne’s “primitive” side would like nothing better than to kiss him right back, no matter how despicably he behaved.

  Appalled at her own self-acknowledged lust, Anne sank down into the suds till she was completely immersed except for her eyes and nose. She had enjoyed Renard’s kisses, too. In fact, both men kissed rather splendidly. Very much alike. But she could understand her ardent response to Renard. He was worthy of being lusted after. Why had she responded with equal fervor to a scoundrel like Delacroix?

  Good heavens, she thought despairingly, is sultry Louisiana turning me into a fast woman?

  “Is she the one?”

  Lucien turned his head on the pillow and peered across the dimly lit chamber at Micaela. He lay fully clothed on the bed. She stood at the door in a filmy white nightdress, holding a tray of coffee and pastries.

  “What do you mean? Who are you talking about, Micaela?”

  “The blond lady in the alley.”

  Lucien tensed, the pleasant drowsiness replaced by bunched muscles and edgy weariness. But he tried to appear unaffected by her words as Micaela moved toward the bed, setting the tray on a table just next to it. She hiked a shapely thigh onto the mattress—stripped of covers—and leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on his chest “Is she the one you almost told me about weeks ago, when I suggested that you had found someone?”

  Lucien’s jaw set. He hated Micaela’s perceptiveness. He didn’t want to admit to himself, much less to her, that Anne had become so important to him that she’d made it impossible for him to make love to any other woman. It was a frightening thought.

  He hedged. “Micaela, you’re a beautiful, desirable woman. I haven’t made love to anyone else since I moved you in here.”

  Micaela shrugged, tracing slow circles on his hard chest with her fingertips. She was like that, very sensual and always touching. Why would any sane man find her undesirable? “Lately you are very tense, cher. You brood like a man with a heavy heart You might not make love to anyone else, but you haven’t made love to me, either. Not for many weeks.”

  Lucien forced a smile. “You used to complain that I was insatiable.”

  Her gaze trailed up and down his supine body, her long thick hair falling forward as she bent closer. “You know I enjoyed our lovemaking very much.” She looked up at his face and into his eyes. “But you will marry someday, Lucien. Is this English woman the one who will be your wife?”

  He laughed uneasily. “Lord, the man who marries that little termagant will rue the day.”

  But Micaela didn’t laugh. “I’m very serious, cher.”

  Lucien sobered, too. He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the palm tenderly. “Are you worried about your future? You know I’ve arranged to leave you the house and plenty of money to start off married life comfortably … and with someone worthy of you, I hope. Perhaps that young smithy I see ogling you at the market whenever we go there.”

  Micaela’s cheeks took on a delicate tawny color. A tiny smile curved her lips, then disappeared. “It’s not me I’m worried about, Lucien. It’s you. What if this English girl is the love you’ve been waiting for? What will you do about … about the other part of your life?”

  Lucien had never told Micaela about his alter ego, Renard. Their association had been caring and physically satisfying, but not intimate in the same way that two people in love shared thoughts and secrets. Neither of them had any romantic illusions about their relationship, but it was more than business. They were friends. And Micaela had an uncanny way of reading him. Was it possible that she knew he was Renard?

  He kept his face perfectly expressionless when he asked her, “What do you mean, ‘the other part of my life’?”

  Micaela’s gaze was steady. And sincere. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. And since you won’t confirm my suspicions, that’s all I’ll say. But someday, cher, you’ll have to make a choice. I’ve never seen you so taken by a woman as you are by this one. There have always been flirtations, of course, but I suspect that in this girl, you’ve met your match.”

  Lucien did not reply. Micaela hadn’t said anything he hadn’t already thought a million times. The conflict between his necessary masquerade and his consuming passion for Anne Weston was tearing him apart. Today in the alley he’d had another taste of heaven. But this heaven was fraught with hellish pitfalls for her and for him. The most tormenting yet satisfying result of their embrace was the conviction that for some odd reason Anne had responded to him. She had responded to Dandy Delacroix…

  But Anne was the last thing he should be thinking about today. Tonight he and Armande had another slave escape planned. It would accomplish the freedom of at least three more slaves living under intolerable conditions right there in the city. Their master viciously beat them. Lucien had been setting the groundwork for this escape for several weeks.

  He had been thinking, his gaze unfocused. The clock on the mantel struck the hour: six o’clock. Now his eyes sought Micaela’s. She’d been waiting, her expression solemn, expectant, caring. “Micaela, I would never tell you anything that might endanger you. Who I am and what I want are complicated questions right now. I won’t say Miss Weston isn’t important to me, but I don’t know yet whether she can be a part of my life.” He sighed heavily.

  “All I want is for you to be safe and happy, Lucien.”

  “I want the same for you, cher,” he told her, smiling affectionately. “But now I must get up and go home before I fall asleep.”

  Micaela sighed and stood up, smiling at him rather wistfully. “Sometimes, Lucien,” she said, “I wish you weren’t such an honorable man.”

  He gently grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m usually not nearly as honorable as I should be,” he said ruefully.

  She walked him to the door. “Will I see you soon?”

  Their gazes locked. They both knew that the next time he visited would most likely be the last. “Yes, Micaela, I’ll see you soon.”

  After dinner that evening, Anne and Katherine left Reggie and walked into the parlor to wait for Jeffrey Wycliff. Anne was especially glad to leave Reggie to his English habit of lingering over port because she wanted to talk to her aunt alone before Jeffrey showed up.

  Immediately after they’d sat down on the striped damask sofa near the fireplace, Anne said, “Aunt Katherine, I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

  Katherine had leaned her cane against the sofa and was busily arranging her skirt. She glanced up. “Well, of course, dear, if it’s at all possible.”

  Anne nervously smoothed her own silk burgundy skirt. “I hope it’s possible. I want you to somehow get Uncle Reggie to leave Jeffrey and me alone for a few minutes tonight.”

  Katherine’s busy hands stilled. Her sharp gray eyes fixed on Anne’s face. “Indeed? Might I ask why you wish to be alone with Jeffrey? Or is the answer obvious?”

  Anne bit her lip and squirmed a little in her seat. “No, the answer is not obvious if you’re implying that I want to give Jeffrey an opportunity to court me. I don’t.”

  “Then why do you want to see him alone? You’ll only encourage him.”

  Anne leaned close and said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He knows something about Renard—some information I’m dying to be told.”

  Katherine’s attention seemed
instantly caught. “You don’t say? What sort of information?” Then she turned away, twisting the knob of her cane in her large, elegant fingers.

  “Jeffrey has some information about Renard’s latest plan to help slaves escape to Canada. Isn’t that terribly exciting?”

  Katherine’s brows furrowed. “How can Jeffrey possibly know these things?”

  “He has connections.”

  “What connections?”

  “I don’t know.” She decided not to tell her aunt that Jeffrey actually had an informant inside Renard’s ranks. She didn’t think he meant for her to share that information. “Just some people who work as moles, grubbing out interesting tidbits for Jeffrey’s newspaper articles. He’s quite thrilled, though, because this time he actually seems to know Renard’s rendezvous point and when he plans to be there.”

  “And Jeffrey means to tell you all this?”

  “No, I imagine he doesn’t mean to tell me anything at all. He plans, I’m sure, to dangle his knowledge like a carrot in front of my nose without giving me the teeniest bite—the tease! My only hope of ferreting out the information will be if Reggie is out of the room.”

  “What can you possibly do with this information, Anne? I know you’re rather taken with the stories of Renard, but surely you don’t intend to chase after the fellow? He’s an outlaw.”

  Anne gave a huff of exasperation. “I’m not a simpleton, Aunt.”

  Finally Katherine grudgingly agreed to get Reggie out of the room. When Jeffrey arrived, Anne still didn’t know what Katherine’s plan was, but she trusted her clever aunt to come up with something. Reggie immediately joined them, nodded with stiff formality to Jeffrey, and said a perfunctory “How d’do?” Then he sat down to read the newspaper. Although Reggie was usually falsely cordial to Jeffrey, tonight he was downright rude. He had not forgiven the man for putting the idea of Congo Square in Anne’s head in the first place.

  Fifteen maddening minutes passed while Anne waited for her aunt to make her move. Finally she did. She fainted. After a start of surprise, Anne took her cue.

  “Oh, dear! Aunt Katherine! What’s the matter?”

  Katherine’s fainting scene was so believable, even Anne was a little alarmed. She might have thought her aunt was really ill if Katherine hadn’t winked at her while Reggie dashed away to fetch a restorative glass of watered wine.

  Katherine revived while Reggie hovered over her, patted her hand, and looked fit to be tied. He mentioned sending for the doctor more than once, but Katherine refused, finally convincing him that all she really needed was a bit of fresh air. It occurred to Anne that Reggie was more than a little upset by Katherine’s slight swoon, and that Katherine was really enjoying the extra attention he was giving her.

  Reggie assisted Katherine to her feet and, with much attention and care, guided her out of the drawing room and into the hall without an apparent thought or a backward glance at Anne and Jeffrey. Perhaps because she’d left her cane behind, or perhaps because she was still playing out the farce, the notoriously vigorous Katherine Grimms leaned on Reggie’s arm the whole way.

  “Well,” said Anne, chuckling softly. “That was some show!”

  “Anne, come here.”

  Anne turned around, surprised by the coy sound of Jeffrey’s voice. She discovered him sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion next to him. “Just what do you think you’re summoning me to do, Jeffrey?”

  Jeffrey grinned. “I’m not a dolt. I saw Katherine wink at you when Reggie fetched the wine and I know she didn’t really faint. There can be only one reason why you’d go to so much trouble to get rid of your uncle. I only wonder that your aunt was a party to the mischief.”

  Anne crossed her arms and arched a brow. “What reason is that?”

  Jeffrey shrugged. “So we can be alone. If this isn’t an invitation to kiss you again, what else can it be?”

  Anne shook her head and crossed the room to sit next to him on the sofa—but well out of arm’s reach.

  “You’re a conceited dog, Jeffrey. I’ve not got you alone to kiss you. Have you forgotten? You promised to tell me what you know about Renard’s planned escape tonight.”

  Jeffrey’s face fell. “Renard again!” he said with a bitterness that took Anne by surprise. “Is he all you think about? Or do you just think about him when you’re with me?”

  Anne’s own good humor instantly fled. Jeffrey’s sudden contemptuous manner of speaking about Renard confused her. It seemed ridiculous that he could be jealous of a man to whom Anne had absolutely no access, but … was Jeffrey jealous of Renard?

  “I thought we shared an admiration for the Fox,” she said in a reasoning voice. “I thought you enjoyed talking about him.”

  “Yes,” said Jeffrey, raking a hand through his hair. “I do admire him, and I do like discussing him with you. But, as I’ve told you before, I don’t like talking all the time, especially when I want to be kissing you instead of talking to you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Anne, a little nettled and afraid she was going to be denied her longed-for treat in hearing what Jeffrey knew about Renard, “but I didn’t get rid of my uncle so you could kiss me. I told you I’m not ready for that yet.” Silently she added, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready—not with you. “You told me you’d tell me all about Renard’s planned escape, and I knew you couldn’t tell me with Reggie in the room. That’s the only reason I asked Aunt Katherine to help me out.”

  Jeffrey sighed and shook his head. “Very well. I ought to be used to your missishness by now.” After a moment of heavy silence, he managed a grimacing sort of smile. Anne was relieved to see even this small sign that he was returning to his usual friendly manner toward her.

  “Let’s not waste any more time. Tell me, Jeffrey. Tell me what you know about Renard.”

  Jeffrey sat staring at his hands for some time, then looked up at Anne soberly.

  “Well?” she prompted, mad with impatience.

  He sighed. “I can’t tell you anything.”

  “You’re angry with me, and this is your way of getting back!” she exclaimed.

  “No, that’s not true. I really can’t tell you anything. It’s too risky, for you and for everyone involved.”

  “Then why did you say—?”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I was wrong to make you think I could tell you anything. I’d forgotten all about my promise to confide in you till you brought it up just now, ruining my more pleasing ideas about why you’d got rid of your uncle.”

  Anne frowned and was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Can’t you even tell me what time you’re going to be having this wonderful adventure? When the hour comes, I can think of you and imagine being there.”

  “You’ll be fast asleep by then. Believe me, you’re best off sleeping blissfully in your bed while we fellows face danger.”

  Anne decided to let this arrogant comment pass, then tried a different tack for prying information out of Jeffrey.

  “You will be careful, won’t you? It would be dreadful if you fell off your horse and broke your neck.”

  “You know I don’t have a horse, Anne. And—thank God!—I won’t be needing one to—” He stopped short and looked suspiciously at Anne.

  “Does that mean the rendezvous point is nearby? Perhaps inside the city?”

  “No more questions, Anne.” He stood up. “I know what you’re up to, and you won’t get another word out of me.”

  She looked up at him beseechingly.

  Jeffrey groaned. “And to be sure I don’t cave in to your little female tricks, I’m leaving.”

  Her beseeching look changed to a scowl.

  Jeffrey sighed. “You’re miffed with me, which is another compelling reason to make this an early evening.” When Anne didn’t answer, he reached for his hat. “Good night, Anne.” But when he began walking away, Anne felt guilty. She stood up and held out her hand.

  “Wait, Jeffrey.”

  He turned around an
d looked questioningly at her.

  She smiled. “Are we still friends?”

  For a long moment he just stared at her. Then he walked back, caught her chin in one of his large hands, and kissed her hard and full on the mouth before she had time to protest. He laughed at her surprised expression. “Anne, we’re more than friends.” Then he put his hat on his head at a rakish angle and strode toward the door. Seconds later, as she stood rubbing her jaw where Jeffrey’s fingers had pinched into her skin, Anne heard the front door close behind him.

  She should have been angry that he’d kissed her, but at the moment it was the least of her concerns. She’d barely registered the sensations of his lips on hers. She was thinking ahead. She was making plans, considering possibilities. She was going to be at that rendezvous point tonight right along with Jeffrey. There were ways of getting there without her friend’s help. Well, he would be assisting her, but he’d never know he was, and he’d never ever know she was there. Even if she was noticed some time during the planned escape, no one would recognize her. She was going in disguise.

  Anne excused herself early that night, her mind busy with thoughts of Renard and the adventure ahead. She’d told her aunt and uncle she was having the housekeeper, Theresa, mix her up a sleeping potion. She knew one or both of them would check on her in her room before they retired to their own bedchambers, and she planned to look sound asleep, although she had no intention of actually taking the medicine. Naturally Reggie had commended her good sense in wanting to get an undisturbed night’s rest.

  As she ascended the stairs to the upper floor, Anne’s only regret in leaving so soon after Reggie and Katherine returned from the garden was that she couldn’t observe how the two of them behaved toward each other after the “swooning” episode. She had a feeling that a turning point had been reached in their relationship. She was sure an attachment was growing between them.

  Reggie had been seriously alarmed by Katherine’s supposed indisposition, and Katherine had thoroughly enjoyed his gentle solicitude. Could two such disparate personalities be happy together? Anne thought they were almost as dissimilar in their attitudes and philosophies as she and Delacroix!