Creole Fires (11 page)

And just how well she would handle the fact when Alex was a married man.

For the next few weeks the days heated up and the humidity increased. Still, Nicki was used to the long, hot summers, and the big plantation house had been designed to capture the cool river breeze.

Clarissa stopped by occasionally to begin the early stages of her coming engagement ball. She had decided to hold the soiree in late September, since the fever season would be at an end and those planters who had left for the summer would have returned to their homes. Dedicated to Elmtree as much as Alex was to Belle Chêne, Clarissa was spending the hot summer months running her plantation.

“She’s picked Belle Chêne for the party,” Mrs. Leander told Nicki, “‘cause she wants to impress the high society folks. The ballroom’s a whole lot bigger and far grander than her own.”

Though she came to the house several times, Clarissa rarely saw Alexandre, since he was busy with his extensive work on the sugar mill. Once or twice
Nicole had crossed paths with her, but Clarissa, who rarely spoke to the servants directly, had barely noticed. Usually she just instructed Mrs. Leander in the tasks she wanted done and went on as though the rest of them didn’t exist.

It broke Nicki’s heart to think of Alex married to a woman like that. After all, she rationalized, she and Alex had become friends of a sort; she just wanted to see him happy. The unfamiliar feelings that twisted her stomach into knots whenever she saw the pair together was nothing more than dislike, an instinct that the two were ill-suited.

She wished she could come right out and tell Alex he was making a mistake, but it was hardly her place. And since their ride to the sugar mill, he always seemed to be leaving about the time she arrived, or too busy to spare a moment for conversation.

She hadn’t seen him for two weeks when she received a summons to the kitchen and was informed she would be helping to serve the evening meal. She was also cautioned that Clarissa would be in attendance, as well as François, and Thomas Demming.

So far, the day had been cooler than most, the night breeze fresh and pleasant. Maybe she would take a walk along the river when she finished, she thought, shoving open the door to the dining room.

“How is the work on the mill progressing?” François asked Alex as Nicki helped serve the first dish, a delicious-looking mock turtle soup.

“As well as can be expected.” Alex glanced up at her just before she placed the gilded porcelain soup bowl in front of him. She could feel his eyes on her, his expression warm with greeting though no words
were spoken. “It’s a major task, but we’ve got the best men possible for the job.”

“I’m sure everything will be ready on schedule,” Clarissa put in. “Alex never disappoints.”

“You can always count on Alex,” François added with a sarcasm impossible to ignore.

“Why must you constantly act like a spoiled little boy?” Clarissa chided. “Surely you have better things to do than make snide remarks to the brother who has done nothing but try to help you.”

François’s face turned red. “Oh, he helps me all right. Helps me to be a sniveling dependent.”

“François …” Alex began.

“Don’t humor him, Alex. You’re far too lenient as it is. If he were my brother, I should simply cut his purse strings. It’s amazing how quickly one’s ‘sniveling dependents’ fall back in line.”

“This isn’t the place, Clarissa,” Thomas Demming softly warned.

François cleared his throat. “Thomas is right,” he agreed in the first show of maturity Nicki had seen. “Please accept my apology, Alex.” A look of contrition replaced the hostility in François’s boyishly handsome face—as well as another emotion Nicole assessed as despair.

When François glanced at Alex, his features were schooled once more into indifference, but Nicki believed Alex had sensed his brother’s turbulent emotions even as François had tried to hide them. What was going on between the two? Did Alex understand his brother’s feelings, or was he just as baffled as Nicki was?

The conversation continued somewhat stiltedly through the main courses of the meal, a baked fillet of
fish, sweetbreads glazed with French peas, and a roast quail larded with jelly. As each sumptuous dish was served and cleared away by the servants, Nicole kept the water goblets filled. She had just reached Clarissa when the squat, middle-aged black man who was removing her plate overturned a half-f goblet of white wine, spilling several drops on Clarissa’s apricot satin skirt.

“You clumsy oaf—what is your name?” She dabbed furiously at the few damp spots with her white linen napkin.

“Joshua, ma’am. I’s awful sorry.”

“I daresay, Alex, your servants are much in need of discipline.”

“Need I remind you—”

“Joshua, you’ll work a full day on Saturday,” Clarissa interrupted. “Next time you’ll be more careful.”

“Saturday’s my little boy’s birf’ day,” Josh pleaded. “I promised him—”

“It’s all right, Josh,” Alex told him.

“It isn’t all right,” Clarissa cut in. “Your servants must learn proper behavior—and the sooner the better.”

For the love of God, who does she think she is?
Nicki could barely keep the words from sliding off her tongue. When Clarissa started ranting her displeasure again, it was more than Nicole could stand. With a grim smile of satisfaction, she lifted the water pitcher and dumped the contents in Clarissa Endicott’s lap.

The room fell silent.

“What … what …?” Clarissa leapt to her feet, the high-backed chair crashing to the floor behind
her. “Who is this … this … ill-mannered child?”

The expression on Alex’s face was priceless. He seemed torn between laughter and fury. François and Thomas Demming both looked ready to explode.

“My name is Nicki Stockton.” How she’d love to tell the spiteful woman the truth.

“Your parents must have been ill-bred, ignorant boors.” Clarissa mopped furiously at her skirts. “You will apologize this minute.”

A moment ago Nicki would have. It seemed little price to pay for such a triumph. Now, with the slur against her family, that was impossible. “No” was all she said.

“What?”

Nicole glanced across at Alex, whose stunned expression now looked grim.

“Apologize, Nicki,” he warned, “then go to your room.”

“I won’t apologize. This odious woman has slandered my family. But I’ll be more than happy to leave.” With a swish of her too-short, childish-looking skirts, she headed toward the door.

Alex shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “Nicki!” he called after her.

“I’m not leaving without an apology,” Clarissa stated flatly.

“And you shall have it—that much I promise you!” With those parting words he followed Nicki into the pantry, catching up to her before she could reach the back stairs. Wordlessly, he gripped her arm and tugged her down the hall toward his study. Once inside, he resolutely closed the door.

“Need I remind you that you are a servant in this house?” Alex said harshly.

“I know, Alex. I just couldn’t stand to see that woman—”

Alex cursed. “From now on you will address me as M’sieur du Villier.”

“Yes, m’sieur.” He was madder than she’d thought.

“I won’t go so far as to say Clarissa didn’t deserve exactly what she got.” He almost smiled. “But it’s hardly your place to decide. Clarissa Endicott will soon be my wife. You’ll have to learn to get along with her sooner or later.”

“As will you, m’sieur,” she reminded him.

“Exactly.” But he certainly didn’t look happy about it. “Now, you’ll go back in there and apologize and that will be the end of it.”

“I can’t do that.”

Alex’s eyes turned dark. “And just why the hell not?” His mouth had thinned to a narrow line, and a muscle bunched in his jaw. The old, familiar fear began to curl in Nicki’s stomach.

“Because she has insulted my family. Aside from that, she doesn’t deserve it. I have no intention of apologizing to that horrible woman—not now, not ever.”

Alex grabbed her arms and dragged her against his chest. He glowered down at her until her knees felt weak. “You are my responsibility. I have given my word that you’ll apologize and that’s exactly what you will do.”

Nicole shook her head. “I won’t and there’s nothing you can do to make me. You may beat me if you like, it won’t change a thing.”

Alex looked ready to murder her. “Beat you? That’s the best idea you’ve had since I met you.” He tightened his hold on her arm and dragged her toward the tufted leather sofa in front of the fireplace. This time when her face paled, and she looked ready to faint, he didn’t weaken.

“I should have done this before,” he said, draping her across his knees and pinning her against his muscular thighs.

This time she refused to beg for mercy. She felt her skirts being raised, then the room darkened as they billowed around her head, cutting off the lamp light. Nicki closed her eyes, torn between embarrassment and determination. At least she hadn’t cowered in fear as before.

Barely able to contain his fury, Alex tightened his hold on Nicki’s tiny waist, raised his hand—then stopped its descent in midair. One glance at the figure across his knees and Alex saw not the narrow, bony hips of a little girl, but the full, lush curves of a woman. Even the thin white cotton drawers couldn’t disguise her tantalizing bottom. Her narrow waist he’d noticed before, but the roundness of the tight little derriere that had been hidden beneath her skirts he hadn’t even imagined. Now that he knew, it was almost more than he could stand.

Nicki wasn’t a woman—and yet she was. It was infuriating—maddening! Alex felt a rush of blood to his loins—which only enraged him more.

With an anger directed more at himself than at her, he jerked Nicki’s skirts back down and hauled her to her feet. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, but she seemed no less determined than before.

“You’re going to apologize one way or another,” he
commanded, tugging her to the door. “Mrs. Leander,” he bellowed, “see that she doesn’t leave her room until she’s ready to apologize to Mademoiselle Endicott.”

Her expression said she’d be in there till spring.

“She’s to have nothing but bread and water,” he added, deciding lack of food ought to bring her around if nothing else would.

To Nicki he said, “You don’t run this house, I do. I know she deserved it, but that doesn’t alleviate the problem. Sooner or later you’ll have to face her. I want it to be sooner.” With that he stormed toward the dining room, only to find Clarissa had taken her leave.

“She says she won’t return until you’ve put your servants in their proper place,” Thomas told him.

“Damn,” Alex muttered.

François chuckled softly. “I’d have paid a thousand francs to see Clarissa get her comeuppance. Thank God you invited me tonight.”

“Don’t push it,” Alex warned.

“Since our dinner seems to have lost its appeal,” Thomas put in smoothly, “what do you two say to a trip into the Quarter? We can still make the nine o’clock boat if we hurry.”

Alex latched on to the idea like a prisoner reprieved from the guillotine. He’d spend the next few days with Lisette. He didn’t want to see Nicki suffer, nor make her embarrassment more acute. When he returned in a few days, the apology would have been rendered, the entire incident would be behind them, and things would be back to normal.

After a few brief instructions to Mrs. Leander, including orders for Nicki to be taken to Elmtree as
soon as she had seen reason, the men were on their way.

“You seem distracted,
mon chéri.”
Lisette ran a long-nailed finger down his spine.

They lay naked and sated on the big four-poster bed that had once belonged to his father. Except for the bed, which Alex had insisted upon, the chamber they shared in his town house, a room he’d allowed Lisette to furnish, was overdecorated and gaudy. Ruffles seemed to fill every nook and cranny. Sometimes he felt as if he might choke on them.

“It’s time I went home,” he told her. “There’s always so much to do.” In truth he’d discovered that three days with Lisette was far too long. They’d made love again and again, though each time he felt less satisfied than before. By the time he’d eased out of her this morning, he’d begun to wonder why he bothered. Maybe it was time he found someone new.

Alex brushed the notion aside. It would be expensive and time-consuming to farm out his current mistress and set up another. Besides, there was no one at present who intrigued him—except a child-woman he could not have.

At least he’d come to a decision about Nicki. His grandmother would be arriving from France in a couple of weeks to spend some time and attend the engagement ball. Together they could choose a proper boarding school for Nicki. When she returned to Belle Chêne in a few years time, if he still felt so inclined, he could make her his mistress.

“I wish you would stay a little longer,” Lisette said, throwing him what she believed was a devastating pout.

He doubted she meant the words. He’d ridden her long and hard this time. Demanded more and been less considerate than usual. She looked well-used and was probably a little bit sore.

“I think you’re not so sorry to see me go,” he said, allowing himself a smile.

“You do not need to gloat. It is unbecoming.”

Alex finished dressing, and Lisette followed him downstairs. She kissed him passionately, as if to insure his return. It was the furthest thing from Alex’s mind.

Making his way along the still-quiet cobblestone streets, the first rays of dawn beginning to heat the damp summer air, he reached the docks well before the first boat headed upriver. A short time later, he arrived at Belle Chêne.

Though the hour was still early, the grounds stirred with early morning activity as workers began their morning chores. After checking with Mrs. Leander, he’d have time for a full day’s work in the fields, then be able to spend the evening catching up on the paperwork in his study.

Already dressed in riding breeches and a clean white shirt, clothes he kept at his town house, Alex pulled open the carved mahogany door and strode into the entry of the big white plantation house.