The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Anne couldn’t help smiling, though the comers of her mouth trembled a little at the effort. It seemed like years since she’d smiled. “You’re a wonderful, incredible man, Lucien Delacroix.”

  He arched a brow. “Just a man? Not a hero? Not an idol, as Wycliff suggested?”

  Anne reached up and tenderly caressed his jaw. “You’ll always be my hero.”

  He looked away for a minute, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Even without the mask and the daring rescues?”

  Anne sensed his vulnerability, and it made her love him all the more. “Oh, Lucien, do you think Renard is all I love about you?”

  His gaze locked with hers again. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Then you’re a fool!” she scolded him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t you know that—against my will!—I fell in love with Delacroix, too?”

  Lucien grinned sheepishly. “He’s a scoundrel.”

  “I know,” she admitted, smiling back with glistening eyes. “But, mixed together, your diverse personalities make a very attractive man.”

  “An imperfect man,” he amended soberly.

  “An imperfect man who is perfect for me,” corrected Anne. She trailed her hands along his shoulders, admiring their width.

  “Then it wasn’t, as that villain Wycliff suggested, a sacrifice you gave me that night at the cabin?” Lucien said in a low voice.

  Anne’s eyes darted to his. She giggled involuntarily. “Heavens, no! I should think that was obvious!”

  “Or in the carriage, either?”

  She smiled seductively. “I sacrificed a little comfort, but I was well-recompensed in other ways.”

  He laughed and caught her in his arms again. Then he pulled back, took her face gently between his hands, and lowered his lips to hers. Sweet, tender passion flowed between them. Anne’s heart raced, and her knees felt as weak as water. She was always shaken to her toes by Lucien’s kisses, but tonight she felt a difference. There was a sort of reverence about the way he was holding her. She felt treasured, adored … loved?

  They pulled apart. Lucien’s gaze roamed her face, her hair, the substantial amount of white bosom showing above her torn gown. With his thumb he wiped away a tear that had fallen from Anne’s eyes when she’d squeezed them shut for his kiss. Finally his gaze lifted to meet hers. “Sweet Anne, my naughty angel … how I love you.”

  Anne’s heart soared like a bird just freed from a gilded cage. She had wanted to hear those words for so long! Now she knew. He loved her. He loved her! She pressed her face against his chest and smiled, the rest of her happy tears spilling out. Lucien simply held her, rocking her back and forth.

  That was how Armande found them, the angel and the outlaw, hugging each other in the midst of the cypress woods. He was leading Lucien’s horse. Lucien looked up, surprised.

  “Armande, I thought we were meeting at the split willow tree. Is something wrong?”

  “Oui, mon ami.” His eyes shifted to Anne. “There is word from Katherine. Anne must not go home.”

  She stiffened in Lucien’s arms. “What is it, Armande? Is it Uncle Reggie? Is he worse?”

  Armand nodded gravely. “Oui. He has the yellow fever.”

  Anne pressed her hand against her mouth, too stunned, too upset to speak. Reggie with yellow fever? She knew how bad it could be. She knew how many people died of that dreaded disease. She started shaking. It was too much to bear! Just when she thought all the people she loved were safe, this had to happen! Lucien tightened his arms around her, steadying her.

  “You’ll go, Armande?” said Lucien.

  “Of course. Katherine has specifically asked me to come. What will you do with Anne? Where will you take her?”

  “To the cabin tonight. Tomorrow, to Bocage.”

  Armande hesitated. A dozen obstacles to this course were probably tumbling through his brain. He mentioned the first one that came to mind. “Will your parents be there?”

  “Yes,” said Lucien. “And I want them to be there. Early tomorrow, they are returning to Bocage for a few days to plan a betrothal party for Renee.”

  Even in her present state of shock, Anne wondered at Lucien’s reasoning. How would Lucien explain her to his parents?

  “Good luck, Armande,” said Lucien. “Send Katherine my love.”

  “And mine,” said Anne weakly. “To both of them.”

  Armande nodded, then rode off. Lucien put his arm around Anne’s waist and led her to the horse. It felt good to be able to lean on him, to draw comfort from his closeness. Her happiness had been dulled by the distressing news of Reggie’s illness, but she would take solace in Lucien’s arms tonight and pray for better news on the morrow.

  When they got to the cabin, Anne was overwhelmed with memories of the night they’d spent together there two weeks before. So much had happened since then. She watched Lucien light candles, the room taking on a soft, seductive glow. He looked so handsome in his simple black clothes. Was it possible that this man—this incredible man—really loved her?

  Lucien turned and saw Anne watching him. She looked vulnerable in her torn, dirty angel’s costume, the wings twisted, the halo bent in two. But it was the question in her eyes that wrung his heart with compassion. He had withheld his confession of love from her for so long—long after she’d expressed her own devotion and commitment to him. But he hadn’t been completely sure of his feelings till tonight. He hadn’t been able to make a commitment before tonight, either—before Renard was put to rest forever. And now Anne had to be convinced that she was not just a passing fancy.

  “Come here, Anne,” he said, opening his arms to her. She came, nestling against his chest like a lost kitten.

  He took off her halo, smoothing her golden hair with his hand. “You must be tired, cher.”

  “I am, a little,” she admitted, not moving.

  “But first you need a bath, eh?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him inquiringly. “Here?”

  He chuckled. “But of course. Everything we need is here.” He took her hand and led her to a chair. “Sit and rest while I prepare your water, mademoiselle,” he teased, making a gallant bow.

  Anne looked embarrassed. “But, Lucien—”

  He lifted an admonishing finger. “No buts, Anne. I want to do this.”

  She closed her mouth and sat back, a small smile tilting her lips. Lucien dragged a large tin tub out of the corner of the room, then lighted a fire in the hearth and heated water he brought in pails from a large barrel of rainwater outside. As soon as he had enough hot water, he doused the fire to keep the cabin cool. He produced a bar of soap from the pantry cupboard and a squat, three-inch candle. Anne wondered what he was going to do with the small candle, especially when he went outside and returned with a large magnolia blossom.

  As Anne watched, Lucien nestled the candle quite securely in the deep petals of the blossom, lighted the candle, then set the decoration afloat in the tub full of warm water. He tossed in the soap, too, and instantly a flowery scent drifted on the air in steamy wisps.

  “Lucien,” she whispered wonderingly. “This is so romantic.”

  “Another side to me you didn’t know about, eh, cher?” he teased.

  “It might take me a while to get to know who you really are,” she admitted. “But I think I’ll like the process.”

  Lucien caught the slight tentativeness in her voice. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a little mystery in their relationship. Surprises could be very arousing. “I hope so,” he returned, moving toward her. “Now let’s get those clothes off, Anne.”

  Her eyes got as big as saucers. He was sure she was expecting a full-blown seduction, but she was in for another surprise. Slowly, carefully he undressed her. As each piece of clothing came off, he worshipped her with his eyes. He loved how her skin glowed with awareness of his nearness, the way goosebumps rose on her arms, and the way her nipples puckered and hardened with desire. But he didn’t touch her. />
  He helped her into the tub, then lathered her back, massaging the tight muscles till she slumped in the tub like a drooping flower—relaxed and rosy. He soaped his hands and slid them over the long length of her smooth legs. He even bathed her feet, kneading the arch of her foot till her eyes drifted shut with pleasure.

  After the bath, he toweled her off with a cool sheet of soft muslin and put her to bed. With a light blanket tucked under her arms to hide her nakedness, she sat up in bed and brushed the tangles out of her long, beautiful hair. Through sultry, half-closed eyes, Anne watched while he undressed and quickly bathed, too. Striding completely naked to the bed, suppressing his own arousal with much difficulty, he slid in beside her. He drew her into his embrace, their warm, clean bodies fitting together as if they’d always belonged in each other’s arms. Anne’s head rested just under his chin.

  Several minutes passed while neither spoke. Then Anne said, “Lucien? Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” he answered. How could he sleep with her delicious body so close to his? But, with the ordeal she’d been through that day and the news of Reggie’s illness, Lucien didn’t want to press her into lovemaking.

  “Can we talk a little? I can’t sleep.”

  “If you want to. I thought we should perhaps postpone talking till the morning, when you’re more rested.”

  She sat up, propping herself with a small, warm palm on his chest. Her breasts gleamed like alabaster in the candlelight. Despite his noble intentions, he felt himself tightening, hardening with arousal. Her eyes were luminous, glowing with love … for him. It was humbling. It was damned erotic.

  “I’m not tired anymore,” she said.

  Hell, that was just what he didn’t need to hear.

  “I want you to tell me about yourself. I want you to tell me how you got started being Renard, and why. There’s more to it than your abolitionist beliefs. I think there’s a more personal reason why you embraced the cause with so much passion.”

  Lucien’s ardor cooled—for the moment. But just knowing she already understood him so well, knew so much about him intuitively, gave him another reason to love her. His boyhood experience when he was forced to beat his friend Roy was a serious, painful subject, but he wanted Anne to know what had happened. He wanted to share another part of himself with her, a part he’d shared with few others. And certainly with no other woman.

  He told her. She listened with grave, sad eyes. She felt his remembered pain and shared his continued sense of injustice.

  Nestled against his chest again, she asked, “What will you do now, Lucien? I know you will still want to help the cause in some way.”

  He hadn’t planned to speak so soon about the future. But he had plans, all right. Plans that included Anne. Was now the time? he wondered. Was now the time to ask her?

  She rose again, propping an elbow on the bed, cupping her chin in her hand. She looked adorable, desirable. Her breasts pressed against his side, the hard nipples tantalizing his sensitized skin. She lifted a hand and languorously drifted her fingers through the soft swirls of hair on his chest.

  “Anne, if you keep this up I’m going to have to stop being noble and make love to you.”

  She smiled tenderly. “Who asked you to be noble?”

  “You aren’t too tired, too upset …?”

  “You’re the best medicine for anything that ails me,” she said. “I love you.”

  Lucien sighed and caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. He kissed the palm and was thrilled to hear her gasp with pleasure. He looked up into her starry blue eyes. “Anne, may I have your hand—”

  She grinned. “You have it already.”

  “—in marriage, cher. May I have your hand in marriage?”

  Her smile fell away. “Marriage? Do … do you mean it, Lucien?”

  “More than anything I’ve ever said in my life,” he assured her ardently. “But do you think you’ll like Canada?”

  She blinked. “Canada?”

  He grinned. “Is there an echo in here?”

  “You want to live in Canada? With me?”

  “I want you for my wife, Anne, wherever we decide to live.”

  For a long, agonizing moment, she didn’t reply. She simply looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. She searched his eyes, and he felt her intense examination at the very core of his soul. His feelings were laid bare for her to see, to believe. Finally she did believe. But how could any mortal man hide a love so strong?

  Vivid joy lighted her face like a hundred candles. “There is nothing I would rather be than your wife, Lucien,” she said with sweet fervor. Then she kissed him, and everything was forgotten in the ecstasy of Anne’s arms. Sweet, sweet Anne.

  Katherine had never spent a worse night. She’d had grief in her life—she’d lost three husbands and a child—but she’d never watched someone go through the hideous stages of yellow fever firsthand. And because it was her beloved Reggie suffering so much, it was killing her, too.

  By the time Armande arrived late that night, Reggie’s skin was yellow. He twitched and moved fitfully under the single layer of sheeting with which Katherine had covered him, moaning and calling out two names: Anne and Katherine.

  Katherine thought her heart would break. She spoke soothingly to him, bathing his forehead and wetting his parched lips with cool water. Armande mixed up some sleeping herbs that would help him rest. He was convinced that the most important thing they could do to help Reggie ride out the devastating disease was to conserve his strength through rest, and to keep his temperature down. Katherine believed him and trusted him implicitly.

  Reggie had been resting more quietly that morning, though he was still burning up with fever. Armande was dozing in a wing chair by the window, his chin resting on his hand. Even before coming to the house, he’d had quite a night. Between ministering to Reggie, he’d told Katherine everything that had happened with Bodine and the police, and about Anne’s appearance on the scene.

  Katherine clucked her tongue over her niece’s antics, but wasn’t surprised. She looked forward to hearing the whole story later, in detail, when Reggie was well. Reggie would have to be told everything sooner or later, too, including Katherine’s connection to Renard.

  Katherine stood over Reggie, watching him sleep. She was encouraged by his continued restfulness after bouts of vomiting and bleeding had passed. Armande’s sleeping herbs must have done the trick.

  When Armande awoke and checked Reggie again, Katherine said, “I wish I could do something to stop this. Lord, I feel so helpless!”

  Armande laid his hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “You’re doing everything humanly possible. He couldn’t have a better nurse. I’m quite sure, too, that if he’d had a choice, he would have chosen you to take care of him. And he’d have done the same for you.”

  “Yes, I know he would have.” Katherine’s vision blurred with tears. “I just want him to live, Armande.”

  “And if he does, will you tell him?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “That you love him.”

  Katherine felt a tear roll down her cheek and drip off the end of her nose. She didn’t care. “Yes, I’ll tell him. I just pray he doesn’t leave this earth before I get the chance.”

  Armande squeezed her hand, but said nothing. Then he moved to the dressing table where he’d neatly sorted out his herbs, and started mixing another potion.

  Katherine appreciated Armande’s compassion. Then she remembered, rather shamefully, that Armande had his own troubles, his own family worries. She looked over her shoulder at Armande’s straight, broad back. No one would guess that he was suffering, but he had to be. They now knew for sure that Christian was the one who’d been leaking information to Jeffrey. Lucien had suspected the troubled young man of dealing with Jeffrey to get money to support his opium habit. He’d tested this theory by telling him, and only him, last night’s rendezvous point.

  The fact that Jeffrey knew exactly where to take the police was
proof that Christian was the informant. Though he acted as if nothing was bothering him, Katherine knew that Armande had to be upset about this development. They’d trusted Christian and taken him into the organization to help the young man find a positive direction in life.

  “Armande?” she said.

  “Oui?” He turned and looked at her. Sensitive to his situation now, she could see the pain in Armande’s hazel eyes.

  “I’m sorry about Christian.”

  A flash of fresh anguish showed on his handsome face. For a minute she was sorry she’d expressed her sympathy, but then Armande said, “Merci, Katherine. I appreciate your interest. I’m grateful to you for not judging him.”

  “What can you do now to help him?”

  Armande sighed and turned back to his work. “I would like to get him away from here, away from the caste system that belittles him in his own eyes, away from a society that makes him turn to pipe dreams for escape from prejudice.”

  Armande finished mixing and turned around, folding his long arms over his chest. “Lucien and I have been talking. We are thinking about going to Canada. He will talk to Anne about it first, of course, and see if she agrees to such a move. But I think she will see the potential of starting fresh somewhere. I hope to persuade Christian to go with us.”

  Katherine’s tired face lighted up, her interest piqued. She laid one hand protectively on Reggie’s chest, the rise and fall of his breathing reassuring to her. “Tell me about Canada, Armande. I’ve been all over the world, but never there. Tell me everything you know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bocage meant “shady retreat.” Now that Anne was seeing it for herself, she thought the name perfectly suited to the beautiful plantation. Behind a curving line of ancient oak trees, the house definitely appeared to be a place of quiet withdrawal.

  She and Lucien rode up the front drive in his carriage, both of them dressed suitably for a formal visit to his family. He had ridden into town early that morning, inquired about Reggie, and returned to the cabin with clothes for them both. Anne was wearing a walking dress of plum-colored satin with fancy trimming.