Her contented sigh drifted on the midmorning air. Tony stirred and glanced up at her. Their eyes met in a mutual smile.
“You look like a well-fed kitten,” he commented and kissed the tip of her nose.
She stretched luxuriously. Her arching back lowered the bedcovers to reveal her beautiful and well-shaped breasts to Tony. “I feel as contented as one.”
Warm fingers played across the globular curves and caused heat to gather in the center of Laurel’s womanhood. She moaned and settled herself beneath his hands for further exploration.
“I think I’ve married a wanton woman,” Tony joked. “Don’t you ever get enough?”
Green eyes, glazed with growing desire, peered into his dark ones, which already spilled over with hot passion.
“Not of you, my Tony, and I never will.”
He removed the sheet entirely, and his large body covered hers. Wrapping her legs around him, Laurel was ready for his entrance into her moist, soft center. Spearing her with a heated shaft that held the promise of uncontrollable pleasure, he whispered raggedly, “Then we’re evenly matched, chérie. I can’t think of anything but your luscious body writhing beneath mine.”
Laurel wiggled her bottom, urging him to take her more deeply. With quick, sure thrusts he did and both of them found fulfillment so intense that each lay panting and spent in the other’s arms until sleep overtook them.
~
“You know very well what I’m doing, Gincie. I told you about this the other day.”
“I know you been gatherin’ clothes together for that ‘white trash’ Mr. Tony told you to stay away from. He ain’t goin’ to like this one bit when he hears ‘bout what you plannin’ to do.”
“You’re becoming quite tiresome,” Laurel lamented. “You’d think Tony was a god or something the way you do everything he says. Anyway, Tony doesn’t have to know anything about this. What I do is my own business, and I’d wish you’d remember that.”
Laurel stood up and pulled the crate out of the chifforobe, then placed it on the floor. “Go get Picard and tell him I need some help carrying this and then to get the carriage ready.”
“I won’t! I ain’t gonna help you with nothin’.” Gincie folded her arms in a defiant gesture, which Laurel had seen her do for years when she wasn’t about to be persuaded to do something she felt strongly against.
Knowing there wasn’t much sense in trying to persuade Gincie, Laurel only shrugged. “If you intend to be so bullheaded, then I suppose I shall have to go for Picard myself. But remember that the ball is less than a week away, and I have a great deal to do. I suppose I’ll have to ask Pauline to help me, especially when it’s time to iron my gown.”
Gincie’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean that, Miss Laurel.”
“Yes, I do.”
“That French girl don’t know nothin’ ‘bout takin’ care of ladies’ dresses. She made a mess of those pretty new ones you bought in New Orleans before you left. I can’t have people sayin’ at the ball that the mistress of Petit Coteau ain’t properly looked after by her maid. I wouldn’t be able to hold my head up when I come across the help from the other plantations.”
“Well, Gincie, you know what you have to do.”
Gincie disentangled her arms. “Aw, shucks!” she declared. “I’ll go get that Picard for you.”
“Thank you, Gincie, dear.” Laurel smothered a laugh as she put on a large straw bonnet and tied the yellow ribbon beneath her chin.
Half an hour later, the crate was loaded in the buggy, and Laurel, with Gincie by her side, cantered along the road to the shanties. Picard had tried to insist he drive her, but Laurel had refused, believing that the fewer people who knew about her mission of mercy, the better off she would be.
Surprisingly, no one was on the porch, but a mongrel dog began to bark at the buggy, and soon Laurel saw a few faces peering at her from the open doorway.
A man of about fifty appeared, one of the same men who had been on the porch a few weeks earlier, drinking wine, and dressed in hardly anything better than rags. She barely recognized the man now, because instead of the raggedy pants and shirt he had worn, he now sported a pair of new trousers, held up by suspenders, over a white shirt, though his shirt was stained with fresh wine. He made an incongruous picture however, for his feet were bare and caked in mud.
Laurel reined in the horse and stopped before the man. “Hello,” she said and offered him her hand, which he didn’t seem fit to take. Nonplussed by this slight, she smiled at him. “I’m Madame Duvalier.
“Oui, I know that already.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Denis Jeanfreau,” he said. “What you want here?”
Laurel glanced back at the wooden shanty, seeing the form of an older woman, surrounded by children, in the doorway. She swung her gaze back to Jeanfreau and motioned to the crate on the back seat of the buggy. “I brought some clothes, which the children might need, and some for your wife and the young girl I saw here a few days ago.”
“I got clothes,” he said harshly.
Gincie tugged at Laurel’s arm. “Let’s leave,” she whispered, but Laurel ignored her plea and kept her eyes on Denis Jeanfreau.
“I see that,” Laurel said, “but I noticed that your children needed some warmer clothes. Winter will be upon us in a few months. There’s also some lightweight clothes to see them through the summer. And there’s a very pretty gown for your wife, and I have a nice pink dress for your daughter, which I think can be altered for her figure and then fixed after she has her baby.”
“Where’d you get these clothes?” Jeanfreau asked in suspicion.
“Some of them are mine,” Laurel said and almost faltered under the man’s condemning expression. “The children’s clothes are clean and serviceable. I got them from Petit Coteau.”
“You got ‘em from those Negroes, you mean. I won’t let no clothes worn by such as them touch these children’s backs. You get away from here. Now!”
The man’s eyes shot dark fury. At that moment a younger man came out of the house with a wine bottle in his hand. He was similarly dressed to the older man. Laurel couldn’t help but wonder how the men had gotten the new clothes.
“We don’t take no slaves’ leavings,” the younger man said. “Tell your husband that we don’t care nothing for his plantation or anything else.” However, from the lustful way this dirty-faced young man ran his eyes over Laurel, she wondered if she might be the exception. She shivered despite the warmth of the morning.
“But surely you can’t deny the children—”
Laurel’s words were cut off by the sudden appearance of the young pregnant girl she had seen once before. The girl’s hair was neatly combed, and she wore a very pretty blue print gown with a white lace collar and cuffs. The gown had been altered to accommodate her advanced state of pregnancy. Following behind her was the older woman and the children. All of them wore new clothes, but they still were in need of a good bath.
“Don’t talk to this woman, Jacques.” The girl spoke harshly to the young man, though her gaze stung Laurel with its venom. “She is married to Duvalier.”
Jacques shrugged, not about to take his eyes off Laurel. “So, Roselle? I hand it to Duvalier. He has a good eye for pretty women.” He took a long swill of wine and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “And Madame Duvalier is the prettiest of them all.”
Laurel turned her attention to the girl named Roselle. “I waved to you once. Perhaps you don’t remember me.”
“I know who you are!” Roselle spat. “And that is why I didn’t wave back. Why should I want to be friendly with the wife of the man who causes trouble for my husband and brother-in-law? Always he thinks we steal from him, but we don’t. We’ve seen him watching us from across the fence, sitting on that black horse of his like Lucifer himself. No, madame, we have no wish to be friends with either of you. Leave now and don’t insult us again by bringing clothes. As you can see, the children are w
earing new clothes and want for nothing.”
“Except a good bath,” Laurel stated. Laurel glanced at Denis Jeanfreau, ignoring the lecherous Jacques. “Is your daughter getting decent medical care? I can have Doctor Fusilier examine her, to make certain her child is fine.”
Jeanfreau’s face grew redder than a radish, and he looked about ready to explode. “Roselle is my wife!” he barked. “Now leave here, madame, and don’t come back.”
Laurel didn’t care for the threat she heard in his voice, almost as if he had a secret he didn’t want to be discovered. Apparently she had made a mistake in coming here. Clearly her efforts weren’t wanted or appreciated.
Grabbing the reins, she turned the buggy in the opposite direction and urged the horse into a trot. As she left the yard to seek the road, Jacques ran alongside the buggy. A nasty smirk was on his face. “If ever you grow tired of your rich husband, think of me, Madame Duvalier. I shall come to you!” His right hand waved the wine bottle in the air as Laurel whipped the horse into a gallop. The buggy flew down the road.
“I done told you not to go there, Miss Laurel.”
Gincie’s voice held no condemnation, only an acute sadness. Laurel realized Gincie had been right all along. Thank God that Tony wouldn’t discover what she had done.
~
Laurel was unaware of the handsome, fair-haired man with his hat slung low over his forehead, who lounged against the post in front of Mrs. Pratt’s Dress Shop. She breezed past him once she was out of the buggy, Denise by her side, and began to enter the shop. The two women were halted by the exit of Simone Lancier, followed by a dutiful Flossie.
Laurel managed a tight hello to Simone’s surprisingly ebullient greeting.
“Why, Madame Duvalier, how pleased I am to see you again. May I call you Laurel? Such a pretty name. I gather you’re here for your last fitting before the wedding ball. Mrs. Pratt shall deliver my gown tomorrow and declares that it is the most beautiful dress she has ever fashioned. I hope you won’t be too put out by it. After all, it is your night to shine.”
“I intend to look my best,” Laurel told the green-silk-clad beauty.
Simone stifled a chuckle. “I’m certain you shall. Please convey to Tony how much I’m looking forward to this celebration. Good day to you. And to you, Madame Abadie.” Simone grabbed her billowing skirts and swept past them.
“What do you think got into that one?” asked Denise.
“The devil probably,” Laurel observed.
“Be wary of Simone Lancier, ma chérie.”
Laurel turned to Denise, unaware that the man was listening, though he seemed to have his attention centered on the departing figure of Simone. “I don’t give her a thought. Simone can’t hurt me. I have Tony, and she must realize the futility of trying to win him back.”
At that moment Mrs. Pratt opened the door and gestured them inside.
~
So, that was Laurel Delaney, Seth Renquist thought and whistled lowly as he turned and watched her disappear into the shop. She was much more beautiful than Lavinia had led him to believe. Given Lavinia’s jealousy of any woman, it was no wonder he had no idea that her cousin was the actual beauty in the family. Seth cursed under his breath. Because of Lavinia’s stupidity, he had lost the gorgeous Laurel and her money.
He had arrived in Washington two days earlier with the intention of gaining information about Tony Duvalier and his new wife. As luck would have it, he had happened to be standing outside the dress shop at the time of Laurel’s fitting. Perhaps that was a fortuitous omen, he decided.
From the conversation he had overheard, he realized that Laurel was extremely happy with her new husband. Her happiness was obvious in the rosy bloom in her cheeks. Laurel might be contented now with her domestic arrangement, but from the dislike he had seen in that little blonde hellcat’s eyes, Laurel wouldn’t be happy for long. Apparently the woman known as Simone Lancier had a passion for Tony Duvalier.
Seth decided that before he paid an unexpected visit to Petit Coteau, he had better learn all he could about this Simone. And what better way to do that than to introduce himself. Simone Lancier might pretend to be a lady, but Seth had been around enough women to know when one had an itch for a man … and Simone certainly had one he intended to scratch before turning his full attention to the beautiful and wealthy Laurel Delaney Duvalier.
Moving away from the dress shop, he crossed the street to follow after the woman and her slave.
By that evening Simone was prettily ensconced in Seth’s bed at the Garland Hotel. Her many charms and her expertise with her hands and body delighted Seth. She was all woman, more than most men could handle, but he prided himself on not being like most men.
Simone sat up after an exciting but strenuous romp with Seth. Her long, blond hair hung in charming tangles down her back, and her large, blue eyes, which usually burned with unquenchable lust, were now calm. Clearly, she was a woman well satisfied at the moment.
Seth pulled her down by him, evoking a delighted squeal from her.
“Chéri, you cannot mean to want me again. I have to go home. My father will be quite concerned over me.”
“Make some excuse.” He nibbled on her ear. “I’m certain you never wanted to hurry away after Tony Duvalier finished with you.”
Simone’s flushed face turned white. “What do you know about Tony and me?”
Flashing her an impish grin, Seth toyed with one of her nipples. “Only that you’re hot to have him, but since he married, you can’t get him back. It seems that his wife has captured his heart.”
“You’re quite a clever fellow,” Simone said suspiciously. “Why have you been checking up on the Duvaliers … and me?”
“Let’s just say that I have a stake in whether the Duvalier marriage lasts or not. Believe me, I would derive great satisfaction if it fails.”
Simone was beginning to catch on to this handsome man’s game. She had discerned that he had a motive in being in Washington in the first place. She had also realized he wasn’t too well off. His tip to the waiter at their lunch after he had introduced himself to her had been quite frugal. And his room was on the third floor of the hotel, almost the attic. Too bad he wasn’t rich enough for her. Still, Seth Renquist was a fine figure of a man and had made her forget Tony for an hour. In fact he was almost as good a lover, but not quite. Tony Duvalier excelled in love play.
A wicked smile played about her lips. “You wish the marriage to break up for your own ends, I see. I won’t ask you why, Seth, but I want more than anything for Tony to leave this woman.” Her fingers trailed lightly over the taut muscles of his chest. “Let’s just say that as of tomorrow night when the wedding ball is over, the marriage will be over. Our alliance promises fruitful results. You will just have to convince Laurel that she needs a strong shoulder on which to cry in her coming times of trouble.”
Seth laughed out loud and gathered the curvaceous Simone into his arms. “You’re a mighty fine woman, Simone.”
“And you are one delightful lover.”
He fitted her on top of him, and without preliminary, in a haze of savage passion, Seth slipped inside Simone and took her to a rapturous paradise.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Simone’s plan, so cleverly and subtly hatched, had already been set in motion, but this wouldn’t be the cause of the trouble that happened on the night of the ball. However, Tony and Laurel knew nothing of the events to come as they dressed.
Tony, dressed in a black frock coat with matching pants and boots, a white ruffled shirt covering his broad frame, was breathtakingly handsome. He waited in the parlor, after he had finished dressing, for Laurel to descend the marble staircase of Petit Coteau and greet their guests together, as husband and wife. Anticipation seeped through him, eager for the dancing to begin when he could take his beautiful and bewitching wife in his arms and waltz her across the floor. He felt like a schoolboy suddenly and laughed at this image. Even as a lad he had possessed an eye for bea
utiful women, and Laurel was the most beautiful of any woman he had ever known.
Shortly before the first carriage rolled up the drive to the house, he saw Laurel standing on the landing. Tony gasped, unable to draw adequate breath. Never had he beheld such a heart-stopping vision as Laurel dressed in an ivory satin gown in an off-the-shoulder style. As she descended the stairs, holding out a slender hand to him, the yards of silk, encrusted with seed pearls surrounded by chips of sparkling emeralds to match her eyes, billowed around her. The soft swish of the gown was the only sound heard in the foyer other than the hard pounding of Tony’s heart.
A gentle and loving smile beamed on her lovely face, framed by wisps of hair. Her long tresses were pulled away from her face and held in place by ivory combs. Curls cascaded down her back like a rippling waterfall of dark brown locks. In her right hand Laurel held a white rose bouquet and reminded Tony of a bride. His bride. Never had he felt such love for anyone.
“My, you’re a handsome one,” Laurel whispered and kissed him tenderly when she reached the bottom step. “I can’t wait until we’re alone tonight. You know Denise and I conjured up this ball to bring you to my bed. But as fate would have it—”
He didn’t allow her to finish the sentence as his lips sought hers again and plundered them in a greedy kiss that promised much. “I knew you were a witch,” he breathed against her hair. “But you didn’t need a ball to lure me into bed. I’d have crawled on my hands and knees if you’d wanted me to.”
“I prefer you in quite another position altogether.”
“Laurel Duvalier!” Tony exclaimed in mock shock. “I’ve created a wanton.”
They laughed together and walked into the double parlor that had been turned into a ballroom for the night. Roses and early summer flowers, plucked fresh from the garden and placed in large vases, graced the mantel and tabletops. Green garlands of ivy were entwined around the chandeliers and doorframes. Servants bustled about, placing platters of warm ham, chicken, turkey, salads, and such varied concoctions of rich and creamy sweets that the nearby dining room was turned into a cornucopia of mouth-watering scents.
Midnight Flame Page 18
