The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance)

by Karen Jones Delk

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  At the top of stairs, Simone stopped and smoothed the skirt of her forest-green gown. There was no reason to be nervous, she chided herself. She was only going to dinner with a man she had known most of her life. Hearing Rory’s voice coming from the second parlor, her brows knit in a frown.

  “Aurora Marthe Marie-Louise,” she scolded as she entered.

  “Oh, no.” Rory rolled her green eyes at Alain. “I’m in trouble when she uses all my names.”

  “I put you to bed half an hour ago,” her mother admonished her.

  “It was too early, Maman, and I heard Nonc’ Alain coming--”

  “And we had a good visit,” the man defended Rory staunchly.

  “Did you know he forgot my birthday?” the little girl asked in amazement.

  “He has had a great deal on his mind.”

  “That’s what he said, but he remembers now.”

  “I’d bet the farm he does,” Simone muttered, borrowing one of Tom’s old phrases.

  “He’s going to buy me a fishing pole. That’s what I want, so when we all go home to LaVictoire, we can go on picnics.”

  “I told Rory we could go fishing here in New Orleans,” Alain interjected smoothly. “I know a good spot out at the lake. Perhaps we can go next week.”

  “Can we, Maman?” Rory asked eagerly.

  “We could discuss it in the morning before I go to work . . . but you’ll probably be asleep, since you did not stay in bed tonight,” Simone answered with a dubious sigh.

  “I’ll go to bed right now. Bonne nuit.” Rory blew a kiss from the doorway as she scampered out.

  Alain watched her departure with a fond smile. “She is a wonderful little girl.”

  “And always in trouble for something,” Simone chuckled.

  “Just like another little girl I once knew,” he reminded her with a grin. “Shall we go?”

  Simone’s heart was unaccountably light as Alain walked her to the carriage, but she was disturbed by the effect his nearness had on her as they drove through the American Section to the Vieux Carré. Seated beside her, he smiled down at her companionably. She returned the smile, then looked away, strangely flustered.

  “Emeraude, me lovely,” a voice called as the couple alit on the banquette outside the restaurant. They turned to see Devlin Hennessey sauntering toward them.

  “Thought ‘twas you,” the Irishman said with a charming smile.

  “Dev Hennessey, may I present my old friend, Alain de Vallière.” Simone introduced the men who regarded each other through narrowed eyes. “Alain, Dev was a friend of Tom’s and mine aboard the Emerald Queen.”

  “A pleasure to meet ye, sir.” The gambler bowed politely before turning back to the woman. “I was sorry to hear of Tom’s death, Simone. Is there anything I can do for ye?”

  “Non, merci,” she murmured.

  “I can see I’m delaying yer dinner,” he said with a glance at Alain’s glowering face. “May I call on ye soon? We’ve a great deal of visiting to do.”

  “Stop by the house one evening, or come to the yard during the day,” Simone replied. “You remember where my office is?”

  “I do. I’ll see ye soon.” Dev kissed her hand, then nodded amiably to Alain. “Good evening to ye, sir.”

  “Bonsoir, m’sieur,” the Creole answered in clipped tones as he led Simone into the restaurant.

  “Who was that?” he growled when they were seated at the table.

  “Devlin Hennessey--”

  “I got his name. He looks like a lace curtain Irishman to me. And I’ve seen you with him before.”

  Simone frowned. “He’s an old friend. You saw us together some time ago at a banquette café. I know what you thought.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Alain scanned the menu, refusing to meet her eyes.

  “Alain de Vallière, you are behaving like a jealous man,” she accused incredulously.

  “Why should I be jealous?” he snapped.

  “Why indeed?” Her retort was just as nasty. “When you have Emilie Thibault to keep you busy.”

  “At least Emilie is a lady,” he rejoined, sorry the moment the words were out.

  Simone’s mouth tightened. “I will not argue about this again, Alain. I have made my position clear. I am what I am, and I am in business to stay.”

  “Stay at Franklin Steamboats, if you must,” he warned her, “but don’t interfere in Queen Enterprises.”

  “I am your equal partner, until death do us part or you sell out. But I thought we agreed not to talk about business tonight. Shall we order?” Simone smiled with sticky sweetness.

  Through dinner, Alain’s mind roiled with the things he wanted to say to her, but it was not until he drove her home that he brought up the topic that weighed most heavily on his mind. “Simone, we still need to talk about the night at LaVictoire.”

  “I would rather not.” She stared at the night sky with seeming fascination.

  “Then listen instead,” he persisted.

  “I said--” she began.

  “I know what you said, but there was nothing wrong with what happened between us.”

  Simone remembered another time he had offered the same reassurance. So many years, so many changes, but he was still explaining that what had happened was natural between a man and a woman. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “It doesn’t matter whether it was right or wrong,” she told him sadly. “It must never happen again.”

  “But why? I want to marry you—and not because of any promises I made to Tom.”

  “It would never work, Alain. You find me stubborn and independent and prickly—those are your own words—because I insist on being my own person. I don’t want to be protected from living my own life. I think Emilie is much more the kind of woman you need as a wife,” Simone concluded, trying to ignore the despair she felt at the thought.

  “Thank you for your kind advice,” he said sarcastically, stopping at her door. “But how do you know what I need or want?”

  “You’ve told me often enough what you don’t want,” she answered, her temper flaring. “And you don’t want me.”

  Illuminated by the light from the house, his gaze conveyed utter exasperation. “I’ve told you repeatedly that I do want you.”

  “But not as I am,” she insisted.

  “Simone--”

  “Please, Alain,” she said, preparing to go inside, “think on what I have said, and you will see that I am right.”

  Before she could step down, he caught her. His dark eyes held hers when she turned in surprise. Without warning, he drew her against him and kissed her. Just as abruptly, he released her and commanded, “Think on that, and you will see that I love you.”

  “You can’t love me,” she whispered, staring at him as if stricken.

  “I can, and I do.”

  “You can’t,” she repeated shakily. Then, stepping down from the carriage, she fled into the house.

  Alain swore under his breath. Nothing this evening had gone as he planned. Of course, when Simone was involved, nothing ever did. In a dark mood, he turned his team down the drive. Simone watched from a window until Alain’s carriage was out of sight. Then, slowly, she trudged up to her room, her emotions in turmoil. Alain loved her! her heart sang. But her mind told her she dare not love him in return . . . or she would bring danger to him.

  The next morning, Simone awoke when Rory crawled into bed with her.

  “See, Maman, I didn’t oversleep,” the child announced the moment her mother opened her eyes. “Now can we talk about going fishing with Oncle ‘Lain?”

  “What time is it?” Simone asked with a yawn.

  “Early,” Rory answered, snuggling beside her. “Not even Tina is awake yet.”

  “That is early.” Simone was still tired, for she had not slept until near dawn. As she tossed and turned, her mind had been full of Alain. Now, her arms around her daughter’s solid lit
tle body, she drowsed.

  Rory sat up suddenly. “Oh, Maman, do you know what today is? It’s Yvette Cuvillion’s birthday.”

  “That’s right,” Simone recollected with a sleepy smile. “You and Celestina are going on a picnic with the whole Cuvillion clan.”

  “I have to wake Tina so we don’t miss all the fun.” Rory squirmed from her mother’s grasp and let herself down from the bed, her original objective forgotten in the excitement of the moment.

  “You have plenty of time,” Simone told her with affectionate exasperation.

  “I don’t want to be late,” Rory contended.

  Moments after the child had padded out of the room, Jupiter came to the other side of the bed, whining to be let out. She might as well forget sleep, Simone decided without rancor. Rising, she dressed and went down to breakfast with her excited daughter.

  Obadiah had arrived to take Simone to the office by the time Bernadette’s family arrived. They waved from the drive as the wagon, laden with children, lumbered forth to the Lake. When Simone climbed into Obie’s small open rig, Jupiter paced on the shell-covered drive and whined pitifully.

  “He don’t wanna be left alone all day,” Obadiah said, bending to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

  Simone laughed when both he and Jupiter gazed at her entreatingly. “Oh, all right, he can come, but he’ll have to stay with you while I see Monsieur Leighton off.”

  Obie was already loading Jupiter into the space behind the seat. The big dog’s head jutted out one side, and his tail stuck out the other as the carriage rolled along.

  At her office, Simone found Devlin Hennessey waiting for her. “Bonjour, Dev. What are you doing here, so early?”

  “I have such fond remembrances of Obadiah’s coffee, I couldn’t wait for a cup,” Dev answered, his hazel eyes twinkling. “And I thought we might have that visit you promised last night.”

  They were chatting in Simone’s office when Alain appeared in the doorway.

  “Bonjour,” he said with the barest of nods for Devlin Hennessey. “Simone, I just came to remind you we must pick up Monsieur Leighton at four o’clock to take him to the boat.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Très bien.” He pivoted and stalked away, leaving Simone bemused. Alain had pointedly refused to visit her in her office before, and now he had come here twice in two days.

  Simone and Alain waved from the dock as the Queen of Hearts backed out of her mooring and straightened, her bow pointed north. As the big boat steamed upriver toward the wilds of St. Louis, William Clive Leighton waved excitedly from the stern.

  With a chuckle, Alain helped Simone into the carriage and turned it in the opposite direction from the office.

  “Where are we going?” she asked at once.

  “To my house.”

  “Why?” She glared at him suspiciously.

  “So we can talk privately.”

  “We can talk at the office.”

  “Not privately enough,” he countered in a tone that would brook no argument. “I told Obadiah you wouldn’t be back this afternoon.”

  She knew she should not go to a man’s home unchaperoned, but if she and Alain were to have another of their battles, perhaps it would be better if no one was around to witness it. Simone shot him an uneasy glance but said nothing as the carriage rolled along Esplanade.

  Certain the Vieux Carré’s gossip mill was already at work, she sat rigidly erect while Alain opened the carriage gate. When they alit on the drive, a young groom appeared to take the carriage to the stables.

  Turning to Simone, Alain offered his arm. “Come with me.”

  He led her through the sun-dappled courtyard to a small table near the fountain, set with crystal and linen and silver. Across one of the two plates lay a single red rose. Pleased with his morning’s preparations, Alain pulled out the chair for her.

  “What is all this?” Simone asked, perching on the edge of her seat.

  “An early supper,” he replied. “And the rose is a token of my affections for you.” His dark eyes seemed to caress her.

  She looked away, her face hidden by the brim of her bonnet, and said almost accusingly, “I thought you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I do,” he answered quietly.

  Though she did not look at him, Simone felt his gaze upon her as he stood beside her. “Did you want to talk about business?”

  “Not about business.”

  “I should not have come.” She rose suddenly, then wished she had not. He stood too near.

  “You’re not leaving until you’ve heard what I have to say,” he said gently. Untying the ribbons of her bonnet, he lifted it from her head. “You might as well be comfortable.”

  Simone knew she should protest. She should leave. But her legs . . .and her heart. . .would not cooperate. Her willpower deserted her when she needed it most. She raised her green eyes to meet Alain’s beseechingly. “Please, this is not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” His hands ran over her arms, his touch, even through the sleeves of her dress, making her shiver.

  She forced herself to concentrate, to remember her objections. “I don’t think it is a good idea for me to be here alone with you.”

  “I think it’s a good idea.” His grip on her arms tightened, and he drew her against him. “A very good idea,” he said softly as his lips met hers.

  For a moment, Simone neither responded nor resisted as Alain’s arms slipped around her. His lips on hers were tender and warm, heating hers with slowly smoldering passion. Yielding finally to the hot wave of desire that engulfed her, she hungrily molded her mouth to his.

  Alain fought the urge to crush her against him. Her willingness had come too hard; he did not want to rush her. Instead, he kissed her, leisurely, savoring the taste, the scent, the feel of her.

  Withdrawing with effort, he said hoarsely, “I have something for you.”

  Simone’s fingers trembled as she accepted the familiar box, containing the brilliant emerald necklace.

  “Will you put it on?”

  Nodding mutely, she tried to comply, but she could not manage the clasp.

  “Allow me.” Alain’s voice was low, his manner intimate as he stepped behind her to fasten it. When it was done, he pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, “Emeralds mean lucky in love, you know.” Turning her to face him, he was staggered by the glow in her eyes. “Je t’aime, Simone.”

  “‘Lain,” she whispered tenderly. Though she offered no words of love as her lips sought his, she could no longer fight it. Perhaps sanity would return later, and she would be sorry she gave herself to him, knowing it wrong . . . but so very right. It did not matter. At this moment, Simone wanted nothing more than their joining, body and soul.

  “I want you, Simone,” he said, his voice thick with passion.

  “I am shameless,” she answered with a sigh. “I want you, too.”

  “There is no shame in that, my only love.” Smiling down on her, Alain led her to his bedchamber.

  In the waning afternoon, the lovers came together, uniting joyfully, all doubts and questions set aside. The world faded away, and they knew only each other and the fulfillment to be found in their joining.

  Afterward, they lay together in the dusk, Simone’s head resting on Alain’s shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her.

  “I would like to spend every afternoon this way,” he murmured.

  “It is lovely,” she agreed lazily.

  “We could make love every afternoon if you would marry me.”

  Raising herself on one elbow, she looked him in the eye. “I’ve told you, Alain,” she said evenly, “I cannot marry you.”

  He pushed her back on the bed, rolling so he lay partly upon her, pinning her beneath him. “Listen to me. Simone. I love you. I love everything about you—your humor, your spirit, and, yes, damn it, even your independence. I find you infuriating and irresistible, and I wouldn’t want you any other way. And you love me. I know you do. Wh
y do you fight it?” His dark eyes sought to hold hers, but she would not meet his gaze.

  Simone struggled to hide the battle raging within her. She ached to give in, but she could not. It was too dangerous. Drawing a shuddering breath, she forced herself to say, “I do not love you.”

  Alain’s expression darkened. “Look at me and tell me that.”

  “Don’t you understand?” she asked, meeting his eyes hopelessly. “I don’t love you.”

  “Don’t . . .or won’t?” His voice was harsh.

  “I cannot love you.” Unexpectedly, she broke from his grasp and rolled from the bed, quickly gathering her garments.

  He got to his feet and stood beside her, watching as she hastily donned her clothes and raked her fingers through her tousled hair. “I would understand if you truly did not love me, but that you cannot is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I bring danger to those I love, and I will not bring it to you again,” she tossed over her shoulder, hurrying toward the door.

  “If you’re talking about my kidnapping,” he contended, catching her arm, “that had nothing to do with you.”

  “You were on your way to fight Marcel for me when you were taken. I will not allow you to put yourself in jeopardy again.” She jerked free of his grasp and fled.

  Pulling on a robe, he followed her down to the courtyard. “Don’t you think I should have something to say about this?” he demanded.

  So intent were they on their argument that neither heard footsteps approaching until Emilie Thibault emerged from the passageway to the street. The woman’s face paled as she took in the couple’s dishabille.

  “Simone,” she whispered in shock. “What are you doing here?”

  “Leaving,” Simone answered tersely, about to brush past her.

  “No, you are not.” Alain stopped her. Turning to Emilie, he asked mildly, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  Her colorless face suffused with red as she admitted, “I took Dom’s key. I. . .I swallowed my pride and came here to do what it seems Simone has already done. I have enough pride left, however, to know when to give up a losing battle.

  “Just tell me one thing, Madame Franklin,” she requested, turning to Simone. “I asked you once whom Alain loved. Do you remember?”