Celine (16 page)

Celine squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them, hoping she was casting emerald green shards into every pore of Trevor's body.

Her hands had begun to tremble when he'd had the audacity to blatantly eye the other females in attendance right in front of her. But when he'd brazenly turned his scrutiny toward her, as if he were deciding to take his pick, she could not control their shaking. She hid her hands behind her back. “That's all you have to say to me, that Madame Charmontès has created a beautiful gown?”

He stared over the heads of the crowd. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Trevor, I do not understand. We had such a beautiful morning and afternoon together, and now you act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like an arrogant, presumptuous cad. What happened? I think you owe me an explanation.”

“First I owe you an apology. Now I owe you an explanation? Reality can be such a terrible thing, my naive little bird. We suspended it for a bit today, but it seems to have descended upon us once again. And with a vengeance.”

If she didn't walk away right this minute, she would weep. Or slap him. Without a word, she stalked off, elbowing her way through the crowd. Memories of their shared intimacy in the loft trailed through her consciousness. She couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

Her attempt to make an exit was intercepted by an aggressive beau-in-waiting, asking for a dance. Giving it a moment's thought, she decided Trevor would be the last person to tarnish her evening. She noted the tall blond man standing hesitantly in front of her. He was rather handsome.

“I would very much enjoy a dance with you, sir.”

The stranger took her in his arms and swung her onto the dance floor.

Trevor felt as though he'd sliced himself to ribbons as well as her. She hadn't deserved his ugly diatribe, yet his wounded pride wouldn't allow him to back down. He had to do something to mend the situation—and fast.

But before he could make his way to Celine, Felicité cornered him, begging for a dance. Grudgingly, he led his verbose little sister to the dance floor.

“Oh, I am having such a wonderful time, Trevor. This is a fairy tale come true, in spite of the mess I made of things this afternoon. I thought I was in for it this time, but Cameron and Celine saved me.
Merde!
”

“Do not curse,
ma soeur.
It does not become you. And from what little mess did Cameron and Celine rescue you?”

He whirled her around the dance floor, his interest piqued. As they danced, he tried to catch a glimpse of Celine. He decided to apologize for his belligerent behavior as soon as he was through dancing with his sister.

“Please promise not to tell Papa?”

Impatiently, he nodded his head, still scanning the room for Celine. “Get on with it.”

“I took
Maman's
garnet earrings. I didn't see any harm since they are meant to be mine one day. But I took them with me to Celine's cabin, which, by the way, she says I am not allowed to visit for some silly reason. Anyway, I don't know what happened, but I misplaced them ... the earrings, that is. Then, Cameron told Celine what I did, and did she ever get furious. And then Madame Charmontès got mad at Celine because she took off with that ninny Cameron to find them. And I don't know what the private matter she had to talk to him about was, but she had her temper up and then—”

“Whoa, Felice, take a breath.” Relief washed away his anger. He led his sister off the dance floor and over to where Cameron stood holding Celine's drink.

“What's this about having to find lost earrings today, Cam? Felicité's been trying to tell me, but I'm not quite following. Did you or did you not find my mother's earrings?”

Not that he gave a damn about the bloody earrings.

Felicité clapped her hands together. “Yes, yes, they did, Trevor. They found them, but hush, or Papa—”

Cameron looked down his nose at his young cousin. “Oh,
you
hush, little goat. There you go again with that nasty little habit of yours.”

“What nasty habit?” She stuck out her bottom lip.

“Breathing.” He sniffed and turned his nose up at her.

“You aren't one bit humorous. And guess what, Trevor? Celine got quite angry at him, called him a ninny for treating me the way he does. And then Madame Charmontès started ordering everyone around, including me, and Celine got mad at her, too, and started shouting at everybody, telling us we ruined her birthday, and then she threatened to stomp off to her room and not talk to anyone until we calmed down. I've never seen her in such a fit.”

Felicité's eyes widened with her exaggerated performance until Trevor broke into hearty laughter.

Cameron snorted. “Speaks English rather well when she wants to, wouldn't you say?”

“Would you two excuse me. I have some unfinished business . . .” Trevor began a visual search of the room.

Cameron groaned. “Oh, please. Don't leave me here to child-sit, I beg of you.”

“Ninny.” Felicité turned and walked off.

“Why does that sister of yours have to follow me on my coattails day and night? She's like a sore toe in tight boots. And where the devil did Celine go? This punch is growing mold it's been in my hand so long.”

“Don't have the slightest idea on either count. Wait here, Cameron. I'll find her for you.” Trevor smirked at his cousin. “Ninny, eh? Hmm. I have a feeling that moniker is going to stick for a while.”

He patted Cameron on the shoulder and went looking for Celine—with no intention of finding her for his cousin. In fact, he was eager to apologize and then transport her somewhere secluded.

An urgency to get to her, to hold her, hit like a gale. He intended to have a full heart-to-heart talk with her. He believed what they'd shared in the loft had been genuine. He needed to know if it meant as much to her as it had to him.

But he never got that far. He spied her on one of the settees in the upper hall, sitting close—too close—to a blond man. She was gazing into his eyes the way she'd looked at Trevor up in the loft.

 

 

Celine was still blazing with anger when Trevor hiked up the stairs. Damn him! She planted a kiss on her surprised companion's cheek. He wasted no time returning the favor.

Trevor stopped in his tracks. His eyes, like black clouds cast over a moon, bored into her.

And then he retreated.

Celine made her way over to the railing to get a full view of him. The Widow Beaudrée stood at the bottom of the curved stairway, one hand resting on a seductively turned hip, the other holding a fresh drink.

Trevor paused midway down the stairs, one foot poised over the next step. He leaned against the railing and openly appraised the widow.

Celine's heart caught in her throat as Giselle raised her drink to Trevor in toast. A sultry grin curled the corner of his mouth, then spread over his dark visage before he swaggered down the stairs toward her and drank from the glass she held to his lips.

Madame Charmontès came out of nowhere and laid a hand on Celine's shoulder, startling her. “Come. You have a small tear in your gown.” She turned to the man sitting next to Celine. “Please excuse us while I see to Mrs. Kirkland.”

If Celine had wanted to refuse, she couldn't have. The grip Madame Charmontès had on her was like a vise.

Once inside the bedroom, Madame sat Celine gently down in the window seat. Too gently. Madame was not her high-strung, aggressive self. Not at all.

“What do you think you are doing, toying with that man's emotions in such a wicked way? It is not what will turn him into a suitor.
Non,
it will only drive him off so quickly you will not know where he has disappeared to. There is so very much you have yet to learn.”

“That little kiss I gave that man meant nothing, and I couldn't care less about him as a suitor.”

“
Non,
Madame Celine, I do not speak of the young man, Charles. I speak of your other suitor, the one you spurned with your false show of affection toward this one who means nothing to you.”

Celine's spine stiffened. Nervous fingers stroked the jewels on her gown. “What do you mean?”

“I speak of Trevor, madame.”

“He is hardly my suitor. Nor will he ever be, by . . . by mutual consent . . .” Her words trailed off in a small whisper.

The dressmaker reached out and covered Celine's hands with hers. Celine saw wisdom shining through pensive, wizened eyes.

“Ah, that is not the truth as I see it. Trust one who has the gift of vision, one who knows a well-finished garment long before the pattern has been cut. Believe me, little one, the pieces of the pattern here are just barely being fitted between the two of you. It will take time before they are in final form. Have patience.”

Celine leaned forward and rested her head on Madame's shoulder, feeling suddenly weary. “This is all too much for me. I am nothing more than a plaything to him. He . . . he—”

“Frightens you?”

Celine stiffened. She started to protest, but instead, at Madame's resolute manner, she slumped. “I suppose you are right. I am completely incapable of conquering a man such as he. I am so inept at all of this.”

“So inept that you give up before the first piece of the pattern is cut? Ah, did it ever come to mind that he is as much afraid of you as you are of him?”

“That's absurd. Why should Trevor Andrews, of all men, be afraid of me? He's been with women the world over. And then there is Madame Beaudrée—why, I can't even begin to compete with her.”

“Hear my words, and hear them well, madame. You have no competition from her. Be as you are, and do not hold back in fear.”

Madame tapped a bony finger emphatically on her own chest. “Trust what I tell you. The beast of fear is your only competition, and it is sad to see that the monster attacks both of you. You have great presence, Celine. And you have a certain ... mystery about you. But when you are afraid? Ah, that is when the light in you wavers. And I tell you, this suitor of yours whom you deny, I have known him since his birth, and I will share a secret—Trevor is terrified of love. You must show him he has nothing to fear from you.”

Madame stood and exited so quickly, Celine had no time to respond. She was left with a myriad of unanswered questions. Frustrated, she twisted the gold bracelet around her wrist and heaved a great sigh.

Fear? She thought about Madame's words and then about Trevor. Her memory was so sharp and clear, she could recall, in each of her senses, his very essence.

And then she knew. She cared for Trevor far more than she wanted to admit. But she was barren and he was a restless man who sailed the seas. What could they possibly want with one another other than an affair? Her pulse speeded at the thought. Blast it all. Despite everything, she still wanted that one night with him.

 

 

Celine left her room, deciding to ask Trevor to dance so she could make amends. But he was nowhere in sight. Neither was Giselle Beaudrée.

“There you are,” Justin said.

“I slipped away to my quarters for a moment's rest.”

“Ah, and here I was looking for you so I could ask for a dance.”

She forced a smile. “Please do.”

After two full dances, neither Trevor nor
that woman
appeared to be anywhere in the ballroom. Celine's heart fell as she slipped quietly onto the veranda.

The night was clear, the air warm. Stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. With soft strains of the orchestra riding the night's still air, she meandered aimlessly about the garden, wishing she could go back in time, crawl into her grandmother's lap, and grow up differently. Perhaps then she wouldn't be so blasted sensitive.

Wandering to the edge of the garden, she caught sight of a golden shaft of light streaming from the stable. Either the stablemaster was waiting up to hand off carriages to departing guests, or he'd left a lantern lit. She went to investigate.

The huge door stood slightly ajar, allowing Celine to slip through. “Thomas?”

She saw them.

Giselle was stretched out languidly in the hay, her body still clothed, but half hidden under Trevor's. Her triumphant smile was directed at Celine.

“Won't you join us, darling?”

Stunned, Celine could not tear her eyes away from the scene before her. Trevor rolled onto his back, his face hidden in shadow.

With all the calm and control she could summon, Celine breathed deeply, then exhaled very slowly, remembering Madame Charmontès's instruction about fear. “Why, Trevor,” she said, “I thought you only rode thoroughbreds.”