Creole Fires (15 page)

“We have much to discuss, François,” Rachael
said pointedly. But she wouldn’t bring the subject up in front of Alexandre. François had displeased his brother enough these past few years. Discovering François had turned the St. Claires away in their time of need would only make things worse between them.

Clarissa’s burst of temper had lasted only a moment. “You can’t actually mean to allow this … this …
servant
to sit at your table.”

“She is a friend,” Rachael had said, silencing her with a single warning glance—at least for as long as the duchess remained at Belle Chêne to act as chaperone.

Thomas Demming had surprised her. He looked at Nicki the way the young men used to who came to call at Meadowood. Before the evening ended, he asked her into the city to attend a production of
La Fitte, the Pirate of the Gulf
which was playing at the St. Charles Theatre.

When she glanced at Alex, she found him glaring at Thomas with obvious disapproval. For an instant she fumed—and almost said yes. Then saner thoughts returned, along with the hurt in knowing Alex thought her unfit company for his friend.

With a few quiet words, she declined the invitation.

“Well, my dear,” Clarissa intoned at the end of the evening, drawing herself up and curling her lips in what pretended to be a smile, “enjoy your stay at Belle Chêne.” Her tone implied it would be brief. “It is unfortunate, under the circumstances, we got off to such an inauspicious beginning. But those things happen.”

It wasn’t an apology and they both knew it.

“Alex, darling, I’d be grateful if you would see me home.”

Alex inclined his head in agreement, and the party dispersed, Thomas and François returning to the city, Rachael and Nicole to their rooms upstairs.

“I told you things would work out,” Rachael said smugly.

As far as Nicki was concerned, that remained to be seen. “Good night,
Grand-mère.”
Wearily, she opened the door to her room.

The very next day, while Alex worked in the fields, Frederick announced a visitor. Nicki was surprised to find François waiting in the receiving salon.

“Good morning, m’sieur,” she greeted him formally. “Have you come to see
Grand-mère?”

“I’ve come to see you. Might we speak a moment in private?” Immaculately dressed in dark-gray breeches and a light-gray tailcoat, he seemed a softer version of Alex, only younger, and much less self-assured.

“Of course,” she agreed rather stiffly. She hadn’t forgotten the way he had treated her father, and the fate she had indirectly suffered because of his refusal to help.

François pulled the salon doors closed while Nicki took a place on the cream brocade sofa. François seated himself beside her. Arranging the skirts of her pale-blue dimity day dress gave her a little time to watch him.

“I know what you must think of me,” he said. The lines of his face looked taut, his eyes a little uncertain.

“I know my father came to you for help and you refused.”

The air seemed to hiss from François’s lungs.
“Dieu du ciel
, a hundred times I have berated myself for that meeting. I want you to know I never dreamed things would turn out the way they did. I was younger. Foolish. Overwhelmed with responsibilities. By the time your father came to Belle Chêne, the place was in terrible financial condition. I’d borrowed money to keep it running, and already spent most of that. There was really nothing left to give him, but rather than tell him the truth, I made it appear we were unwilling—unkind instead of unable.”

Nicole was surprised at the depth of François’s regret, but not at his troubles. Alexandre had made reference to the difficulties he had been facing since his return. “Is Belle Chêne still having problems?” she asked, worried about the added burden she might be.

“Alex has worked things out. He always does.” His voice held a note of resentment.

“Different people are gifted with different talents,” Nicki told him. “Alex has a talent for solving problems, managing a plantation. Your talents lay elsewhere.”

François’s dark head snapped up. “You know about my painting?”

That did surprise her. “No. But if that’s your gift, you needn’t be ashamed of it. Nor should you begrudge your brother his.”

“I know you’re right, but …”

“But what?” It felt good to know François was not the ogre she had once thought him. Merely a young man involved in a situation over his head.

“But it’s difficult always coming in second best. I
disappointed my father. Now I’m disappointing Alex.”

“I don’t think you give your brother enough credit. He loves you. I can see it in his eyes whenever you’re here.”

“We used to be close.” François looked wistful.

“You can be again. I know Alex would like that. It seems you want it too.” She smiled at him. “Now, tell me about your painting.”

François’s youthful face lit up. They talked for the rest of the hour, the younger du Villier relaxed and open with her in a way he hadn’t been before. It seemed another obstacle lay behind her, that she was climbing toward the light from the darkness in which she had lived these past three years. She wondered at the dissention between the two brothers, but hoped that sometime in the future it might be resolved.

Nicki saw Alexandre a great deal over the next few weeks. She expected he might be resentful of her deceit. Instead, he acted attentive, solicitous, and completely the gentleman.

Insisting that she accompany them, he took Rachael on a carriage ride around the plantation, intent on showing his grandmother the improvements he was making, though they still had not been completed.

“Every three hundred acres yields about two hundred hogshead of sugar,
Grand-mère.
Each brings roughly a thousand dollars per barrel. With our increased yield and finer quality, we should far exceed that projection.”

“Assuming the weather stays right,” Nicki put in,
knowing that the unpredictability of the weather was always a factor in any sugar crop.

“I stand corrected.” He flashed her a cheek-dimpling grin.

That night he escorted her upstairs to her room.

“I had a wonderful day,” she told him.

“So did I,
chérie.”

“You’re being awfully kind about this, Alex. I know it’s been a shock for you, but—”

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “I told you, what’s past is past.” Bending down he brushed her cheek with a kiss. Though he barely made contact, tiny goose bumps feathered up her spine and a hollow sensation rippled in the pit of her stomach.

“Good night,” she whispered.

When he discovered she could play the pianoforte, he insisted on a concert, then lauded her performance. “Talent as well as beauty,” he said.

“Mostly determination,” she told him, but warmed at the compliment. “My mother insisted. She said it was a woman’s duty to provide solace in the household.”

“There are many ways a woman can provide solace.” His warm brown eyes turned dark.

He was different around her now. Less distant than he’d been before. He was still as casually arrogant and self-assured; the change in him was subtle, hard to describe. It seemed there was a boldness in his eyes, a disturbing quality that hadn’t been there when he’d looked at her before. There was something about that look that made her heart beat faster, her insides feel liquid and warm.

When he walked her upstairs that night, his kiss on her cheek was far less brotherly. He stood closer and
held her hands, tracing a pattern with his finger on her palm until she trembled and moved away.

She found herself looking forward to their moments of conversation, the meals they shared with Rachael in the evenings. Whenever Alexandre was near, Nicole felt womanly, feminine in a way she hadn’t in years. She knew she was attracted to him. More every day.

Alex belongs to somebody else
, she told herself firmly, but a voice inside said,
He doesn’t love Clarissa. He isn’t engaged to her yet.

You’re a bond servant
, she argued. His
bond servant. You have a criminal record.
She thought of the displeasure on Alex’s face when Thomas Demming had asked her out. Alex felt he owed the St. Claires a debt and was trying to repay it. He bought her beautiful clothes, and she no longer scrubbed floors in his house, but the fact was he
owned
her. He had said nothing to change that; she wasn’t sure he would.

On top of that, she was no longer his equal in society, would never be again. It was a fact of life she had known all along, yet still had trouble accepting.

That evening after supper they went for a walk in the gardens. Nicki had been surprised by Alex’s suggestion, as well as
Grand-mère’s
approving smile.

“You children enjoy yourselves,” Rachael said. After a dutiful kiss on the cheek from each of them, she took her leave and went upstairs.

Alex chuckled softly. “You’ve won her over completely.”

Nicki smiled. “I love your grandmother. She’s one of the kindest women I’ve ever known.”

“And you’re one of the loveliest.”

Nicole felt the heat in her cheeks. She did look
pretty tonight. More than pretty. The dress she wore, a lavender silk with delicate puffs at the shoulders, swept low in front, exposing a sizeable portion of her breasts. She had worn her hair in soft curls beside her face with a lovely white magnolia above one ear. Alex wore a silver brocade waistcoat beneath perfectly tailored black evening clothes.

Moonlight shone on his satin lapels as they walked along the manicured rows of boxhedges to the tiny lake Charles du Villier had had built and stocked with swans. A cool breeze swept in off the river, keeping the insects at bay, and the temperature was finally dropping a bit.

“You’re just as I imagined you’d be,” Alex said.

Nicki arched a brow in surprise. “You thought about what I’d look like when I got older?”

“Often. Actually, you’ve exceeded my fondest expectations.”

She smiled at that. They talked about the weather. About his grandmother, about the crops. She didn’t mention her meeting with François or his painting, since he had asked her not to. They didn’t discuss the papers of indenture he still owned. They just discussed lighthearted, frivolous topics. The kind she might discuss with a suitor. But Alex wasn’t courting her—or was he?

Almost as if in answer, when they walked beneath the drooping branches of a willow, he turned her into his arms. He looked down at her and though his expression remained gentle the darkness had returned to his eyes. She found them mesmerizing to the point that she couldn’t look away.

It seemed so natural when he kissed her, so right somehow. It was a gentle kiss, undemanding. She
could taste the brandy he had drunk after supper, smell the spicy scent of his cologne. It occurred to her that she had wanted Alex to kiss her since that day in La Ronde. Wanted it every moment since she had been at Belle Chêne. Alex ended the kiss long before Nicki wanted him to.

And he knew it.

“We’d better be getting back,” she said, embarrassed he could read her so clearly. In her other life, it wouldn’t have been so. She had been sure of herself then, always in control.

“Tomorrow night we’ll take the steamboat up the river a ways.”

“The three of us?” she couldn’t help asking, certain
Grand-mère
would chaperone.

He shook his head and smiled indulgently. “The two of us.”

What about Clarissa?
she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Nicole awoke feeling a little out of sorts. Pondering the scene with Alex in the garden, she hadn’t slept well. She hated the tenuousness of her future, had worried all night about her unsettling emotions toward Alex and the disturbing doubts that nagged at her and would not go away.

With the details of the engagement party complete, Clarissa hadn’t been to Belle Chêne in weeks, but that didn’t stop Nicki from thinking about her. She wondered if Alex thought about her too.

Rising earlier than usual, Nicki dressed in a rust-colored riding habit—another of the garments
Grand-mère
had insisted upon—and headed out the door. The sky seemed bluer than normal, and a light breeze
blew puffy clouds along the horizon. The perfect day for a ride and the chance to spend some time alone.

“So it’s true.” Patrick stood in the open barn door. The sun had just risen, yellow rays that skimmed through the cracks lighting dust devils that swirled where he pitched hay.

“I’m afraid so.”

Patrick had been away on a breeding trip with one of the stallions. Today was the first time Nicki had seen him since her status had changed. She kept walking in his direction, drawn by the musty smell of the barn, of new-mown hay, horses, and well-aged leather. Smells she had always loved. “I hoped we might still be friends.”

Patrick surprised her by grinning. He propped his pitchfork against a stall door and crossed one worn boot atop the other. “Guess it really doesn’t matter. You never had eyes for naught but him, anyway.”

Nicki stopped dead in her tracks. “Why, Patrick, that just isn’t so!”

He laughed softly. Reaching down, he picked up a golden stem of straw and clamped it between his teeth. “Have it your way. To my recollection, you will anyhow.”

Nicki smiled at that. She was about to order Maximillian saddled when Alex strode into the barn.

“I thought I’d find you here.” As he moved beneath the open window, amber lights danced in his dark-brown hair. He looked handsome in his riding breeches and snowy cotton shirt. They were the clothes that suited him best, Nicki decided, noting the well-defined muscles in his thighs, the width of his chest and shoulders.

“There’s a breeze blowing in off the river,” she told
him, trying to ignore the memory of being held in his arms. She hadn’t forgotten the muscles that had bunched beneath her fingers, or the gentle way he had kissed her. “The air’s a little cooler this morning. I thought I’d take a ride.”

“Good idea. I’ll go with you.”

So much for her time alone.

The horses were readied, and Alex lifted her onto the sidesaddle, holding her longer than he should have. The heat of his hands stirred a warm sensation that slid through her limbs like warm molasses.