Authors: Lorena Dureau
His passion ignited her own. A surge of new energy was
stirring through her veins. She longed for him to go on, yet dreaded
that moment when he would draw back from her as he had always done in
the past.
Suddenly she put out her hand and held him at bay. "I
think what we need to do is go to the courts… as soon as
possible… tomorrow perhaps, if we can," she said, trying to
keep her tone as matter-of-fact as she could, despite the way her
insides were trembling at that moment.
Miguel
was taken aback, his ardor momentarily dashed to the
ground. "The courts?" he echoed incredulously. Her words were obviously
a blow to him. "Then… then you've decided you want me to
step down? You no longer want me to be your guardian?"
"No," she replied tartly. "I don't. For I'm afraid that as
long as you're my guardian, you'll never really make love to me. You'll
keep pushing me away, thinking of me as a child instead of a grown
woman, and I can't bear that any longer!"
Miguel looked at her with mouth agape. He had all he could
do to digest what she had just said. "Why, you mischievous little
darling… to tease me so!"
"I'm not teasing," she said in the same tone. "I'm very
serious. If your being my guardian is an obstacle between us, then I'd
prefer you'd step down."
His arm tightened around her and he took that impish face
between his trembling hands, scrutinizing it eagerly. "Are you sure, my
dear, really sure?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I am. It might surprise you to know just
how long I've been sure!"
"And you don't care anymore about my being Spanish and not
French?"
"I find it increasingly difficult to go on hating someone
I love so much," she confessed as the dimples in her cheeks began to
deepen.
"By all the saints! I think the child really is a woman at
last!" he exclaimed, the joy surging through his being giving renewed
impetus to his passion. "Believe me, you'll never complain about my
pushing you away again, I promise you that!"
His lips were on hers… hungrily…
possessively. Eagerly she closed her arms around him and clung fast.
She could no longer deny the longing she had carried in her heart for
so many months. She loved this proud, fiery Spaniard and she could no
longer fight her overpowering desire for him.
The tumult that had been raging within them since that
night of the hurricane swept over them, stronger than ever now. This
time there was no checking its momentum. They were caught up in the
storm… carried along on the wave of their own churning
emotions. Their tongues leaped to find each other, restlessly flicking
and darting, even as the treetops bend and twist to the fury of the
wind.
"Mona,
mi vida
… my
life!" He was showering her with kisses… her eyes, her lips,
her throat…
"Then you no longer see me as a child?"
"As an adorable, unruly child that I hope will always be
in the heart of the woman I love!" His tongue was tracing the tracks of
her earlobe, sending little flecks of delight up and down her spine.
Weary as she had been only a short while ago, she was filled now with
renewed life. Her whole being was vibrating… eager.
He was removing the singed cape, the tattered
gown… tossing them impatiently aside. The cones of her
breasts stood high and expectant, yearning for his lips.
He had waited for so long… he was swollen with
desire, ready to burst from want of her, but he was resolved to be
gentle… to lead her into womanhood with a tender passion
that would make this, her first time—their first time
together—a memory they would both treasure for the rest of
their lives. He wanted to wait until he had that sweet body of hers
awakened—every fiber of her singing—before he'd
take her.
Slowly he lay her back against the pillow, one arm around
that slim little waist, his free hand lightly cupping her breast.
Already he could feel how she was responding… quivering to
his slightest touch. What a wondrous, sensuous woman lay there in his
arms ready to be born—an adorable, passionate woman who was
to be the
alma de su alma
, the very heart of his
innermost being!
Gently he circled one of her breasts with his hand and
lifted its fullness to meet his lips, slowly coaxing its rosy peak to
life with the flutter of his tongue. Finally he closed his mouth over
it and didn't let go until the sweet torment racked her
being… and even then it was only to catch the other between
his lips and begin all over again…
Monique buried her fingers deep into the dark mass of his
thick black hair and pressed him eagerly, spasmodically, to her breast.
She could feel him swiftly slipping off the rest of her clothing and
his fingers running like quicksilver now over her bare skin, tracing
the rounded contours of her hips and thighs, the soft swell of that
patch of golden hair. She closed her eyes the better to savor every delightful
sensation all the more… to feel his lips exploring now every
sensitive corner of her body, awakening it with feathery thrusts of his
tongue until her whole being was aglow, longing for him to go on to the
very core of her and make her completely his at last.
"Oh, Miguel, I do love you… I love you so!" she
murmured softly, her breath coming quickly now, matching the velocity
of that restless, inquisitive tongue.
Suddenly the warm firmness of his flesh was brushing
against her own, and she knew he had tossed aside his garments as well.
It was a pleasant, exciting sensation, and she reached out impulsively
to explore with trembling curiosity the wonder of those smooth,
well-muscled forearms, the rise and fall of those broad shoulder
blades, the rippling length of that long, supple spine…
Timidly she opened her eyes to admire at last in the dim
candlelight that tall, lean body she had so often tried to imagine
flexing beneath the impeccable cut of his stylish garments. There were
those dark curling hairs that had fascinated her whenever he'd open his
shirt to the summer heat, and now there were new ones to intrigue her
peeping out from the hollows under his arms. She brushed her lips over
his bare shoulders and chest, delighting in the strength she could feel
radiating from him. Her whole being was filled with the scent of
him… the taste of him. He penetrated every pore of her body.
Slowly he was molding his flesh to hers, and the throbbing
hardness of him set her afire. She didn't know exactly what she should
do, but she ached to give herself completely to him.
"My precious, passionate little woman," he whispered
breathlessly as he felt her body arching longingly against him. "So you
really love and want me, then?"
She murmured her reply against his lips. There was an
urgency in her now that matched his.
"Don't be afraid, my sweet," he said huskily. "I love you.
Trust me."
The hard cords of his thighs pressed against hers, gently
separating them. Her heart pounding wildly, she locked her arms
instinctively around his neck and yielded, willing to follow him
wherever he'd lead. The hardness of him was suddenly plunging into her
being… thrusting forward…
She gave a startled gasp and her eyes flew open. He
paused, his breathing labored, while he kissed her tenderly. "It's all
right, my dear. You're a woman now, that's all," he reassured her.
"Trust me."
She lay there tense, wondering whether that was all, yet
strangely excited, still aware of that throbbing hardness deep within
her. Then, to her surprise, he began to move again… slowly,
sinuously, thrusting with a sensuous rhythm that seemed to invite her
to follow his lead. They were pulsating as one now, that burning
hardness deep in the core of her being setting the pace. A part of her
was awakening that she'd never before suspected existed. She realized
she'd never really been alive until that moment.
His rhythm was accelerating now, and she clung to him
passionately, swept along on the powerful current of their unleashed
passion, rushing at last to fulfillment. She knew this was the moment
she'd been waiting for. Ever since that night in the black-ness of the
hallway, surrounded by the fury of wind and rain, this was the moment
they had both been living for! It was as though he had plunged the eye
of that storm into the very center of her being, where it would come to
culmination at last!
That final thrust was like a shaft of lightning charging
the heavens… bursting into a blinding climax that fused them
at last into one!
A throaty cry of ecstasy burst from Miguel's lips, and
with a husky sob he fell forward and buried his head between her
breasts, momentarily spent with the force of his passion.
"You're mine, Monica… really mine!" he
murmured, his breathing still labored but a great joy throbbing in his
voice.
They lay there a few moments longer, locked in passionate
embrace, the length of his body still molded to hers. Monique's whole
being was one great sigh. She felt complete now. All the anguish and
tears of earlier that day… all the prejudices and doubts of
the past… they had all dissolved in that wave of passion
that had swept over them.
It was as though a great weight had been lifted from her.
The war that had raged within her for so long had finally ceased, and
she was at peace now with the world… with Spain…
with Miguel Vidal… and, most of all, with herself, for love
had set her free.
She stirred a little, delighting in the feel of flesh
against flesh, the imprint of Miguel's kisses still covering her body.
She had felt not only his great desire for her but a deep abiding
tenderness in every touch of his hand, in every pressure of his lips.
She was sure now that he really loved her.
He turned a little and shifted her gently into the crook
of his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked gently, brushing
her temple with a kiss as he stroked her hair back from her forehead.
She snuggled in closer to him and gave a little purr of
contentment in reply.
"I love you, Monica. God, how I love you!" His voice was
still husky with emotion.
Suddenly she sat bolt upright in the bed as a thought
occurred to her. "Oh, Miguel, do you think we'll have to wait very long
before we can marry? I want to be with you like this always…"
He chuckled. "Don't fret, my sweet. As your guardian, I
certainly will give my most consent."
He ran his hand caressingly down the white smoothness of
her back from where he still lay reclining against the pillow.
"But let's not fret over anything right now," he told her.
"Tomorrow at dawn I have to see the governor, and in the afternoon I
have to talk to your grandmother about us, but tonight…
tonight, my dear, is ours."
He pulled her back down beside him and their passion
surged anew.
In the story of New Orleans, the Spanish regime seldom
receives the recognition it deserves. Yet it is an ironic fact that, in
retrospect, many modern-day historians have come to the conclusion that
the Louisiana colony often fared better under its Spanish rulers than
it did under its French ones.
The year 1794 was particularly crucial for New Orleans.
The colony was plagued not only by elements of
nature—hurricanes, crop failures, and devastating
fire—but also by the political upheavals of the times. France
and Spain were at war, and, technically, Louisiana belonged to Spain,
yet in spite of its elegant Spanish exterior, New Orleans was still
fervently French at heart. Although
Iron Lace
is
a historical romance, primarily meant to entertain, the symbolism is
there for those who wish to look for it.
The changeover to the cultivation of sugarcane, begun
skeptically in 1794, is, of course, a part of Louisiana history and was
one of the major factors in giving birth to the Golden Era of the South
that followed in the nineteenth century.
Less known, however, is the narrow escape New Orleans had
from the Spanish Inquisition. In his personal correspondence to Spain,
Governor Miró speaks of how and why he secretly deported a commissary
sent to New Orleans to establish the Inquisition there. Nevertheless,
the fact that a torture chamber, obviously meant to be used by such a
tribunal, remained hidden beneath that city's old calaboose didn't come
to light until fifty years after the Spanish regime there had come to
an end.
Several leading Louisiana historians refer to the
discovery of that dark secret in the mid-nineteenth century when the
old calaboose was finally torn down.
Strange things came to light [says Lyle Saxon in his
Fabulous
New Orleans]
. There were found secret rooms, iron
instruments of torture, and other indications that a private court had
held meetings there. These things were never explained satisfactorily.
In addition to this, old newspaper files tell of the discovery of an
underground passage which led from the rear of the Cathedral or from
even beyond… [and] ended somewhere under the
Calaboose… One day the paper tells of the discovery and
promises further disclosures… But it is evident that some
pressure was brought to bear on the Editor, for there is not a line in
any of the later editions of the same paper regarding the discovery.
One can only draw his own conclusions.
So, using these intriguing data as inspiration for its
climax,
Iron Lace
draws its own conclusions. Who
knows… perhaps it really did happen the way saucy little
Monique Chausson "lived" it!
Lorena Dureau
New Orleans, La.
LORENA DUREAU
lived for over 15 years
in Mexico City before returning in 1977 to New Orleans, where she was
born. She has pursued careers as an opera singer, editor, photographer
and writer, and has published newspaper and magazine articles
worldwide. She is the author of the historical romances
The
Last Casquette Girl
and
Lynette
, and
is currently at work on her fourth novel.