Creole Fires (20 page)

“Much better, thank you.” She watched the woman for signs of derision but found none.

“I don’t suppose you’d be able to help me?” Clarissa asked. “Our engagement ball is only two weeks away, and I’ve a list of unfinished details a yard long.”

Nicole’s stomach tightened. “Just tell me what needs doing.”

They made their way into the drawing room, where Clarissa had spread out her lists. Nicole was to help organize the servants. Most appropriate, she thought, and almost smiled.

By week’s end every detail had been handled. Alex had been called away on business, or at least that was what he had claimed. He would be returning the night of the party. Nicole’s ball gown arrived the day before,
Grand-mère
having insisted on the dress some weeks ago.

“Try it on,” the old woman gently commanded, smiling broadly, obviously pleased by the finished creation, a sheer white organdy shot with gold. The bodice dipped low in front, while the skirt, outrageously full, was gathered in swirls above an underskirt of gold brocade. It was the loveliest gown Nicole had ever seen.

And it sickened her to wear it.

“It’s beautiful,” she told Rachael, who sat rocking before the chamber window, where sunlight stole in to light the room.

“You make it beautiful,” Rachael said.

Nicki tried to smile, but her bottom lip trembled.
“They’re all going to know about my past,” she said softly.

Grand-mère
sighed and shook her head. “There is no way to keep the servants from talking. They will know, but it does not matter. You are a St. Claire and under our protection. They will know that too.”

On impulse, Nicole reached over and caught the old woman’s hand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. But first I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Rachael waved away her words with an impatient hand. “I have done little worth mentioning. What is it you wish?”

“When will you be leaving Belle Chêne?”

“Sooner than I planned, I fear. A friend has fallen ill. I received word just this morning. It appears she will survive her sickness, but her recovery will be long and difficult. I will be leaving for France a week from today.”

“Take me with you.”

Grand-mère
arched a thin gray brow, but didn’t seem put off by the notion. She sat rocking quietly while Nicki waited, holding her breath.

“I think that is a fine idea. I cannot imagine why I did not think of it myself.”

“Oh,
Grand-mère!”
Nicole threw her arms around the old woman’s narrow shoulders and hugged her until she worried Rachael’s fragile bones might break. “You won’t be sorry. There’s much I can do to help out. Anything you need. Anything.”

“Hush, now. Do not talk nonsense. You will come with me, and I will introduce you into society. Your past will be unknown there. Somehow we will manage to keep it that way. We will find you a husband.”

That wiped the smile from Nicki’s face, but she said nothing to
Grand-mère.
One problem at a time, she thought. First she must leave Belle Chêne, her indenture, and Alexandre du Villier a continent behind.

Alex leaned over the rail of the
Saratoga
, a small, sleek sailing vessel that carried passengers to the towns along the coast. He was on his way home from Mobile, on his way back from his second voyage to that city in the last few months. But unlike the first, which involved Belle Chêne business, this trip was personal.

He had come to seek the help of Bayram Sit, the friend he had run into on his first journey. Ram had been working the docks, healing from a leg injury he had suffered at sea. Fortunately, by now the leg wound had healed, but Ram had not yet signed aboard another ship.

“It is good to be at sea again,” Ram said, running a hand across his smooth, clean-shaven skull, “if only for a few short days.” The big Turk splayed his legs against the roll and sway of the ship, his muscular arms clasped behind him. He wasn’t a tall man, but few were more powerfully built.

“You’re sure you won’t mind spending some time in the
Vieux Carré?”

Ram just laughed, a hearty rumbling sound that moved his drooping black mustache. “I’ll enjoy the chance to live high on the hog for a while.”

Too easily, the Turk had agreed to return with him to New Orleans. Alex wondered if his friend had read the look of desperation that haunted him from the mirror.

“About the girl,” Ram said, seizing his attention once again. “Maybe you should tell her the rest.”

Alex released a weary sigh. “She’s got enough to worry about. Hopefully, she’ll never have to know.”

Ram nodded. They stood by the rail in silence, each lost in thoughts of his own. “Think I will go below,” Ram finally said, “join the men in a game of chance.”

As his friend disappeared through the low wooden hatch, Alex watched him absently. He glanced across the waves, his thoughts still in shadow. Only a sliver of moon reflected on the water, while a soft breeze fluttered the sails above his head. In the distance, tiny yellow dots of light beckoned from the far away shore. The vague outline of houses reminded him of hearth and home, and that brought fresh thoughts of Nicole.

I thought I loved you. How could I have been so wrong?
Her words had plagued him for days. Nicki was young and naive, foolish enough to believe in love. He only wished he hadn’t been the one to destroy her girlish dreams.

Alex rarely doubted himself or his actions, but this time he regretted bitterly what he had done. He should have been clearer in his intentions. Nicole was an intelligent woman. Surely she would have seen the wisdom of his plans. When she calmed down, he told himself, he would speak to her again,
make
her understand.

But even as he said the words he wondered what wisdom there had been in taking a young girl’s virtue? In convincing her to trust him and then destroying that trust?

Alex pulled his collar up against the bite of the wind. He had to stop thinking about Nicole, start
worrying about his family. It was almost certain now that without Clarissa’s help, he wouldn’t be able to repay the money François had borrowed from Fortier. They’d lose everything.

He had his grandmother to consider, his brother, the children he would one day raise. He owed them something. He owed his father. He couldn’t loose Belle Chêne.

Alex’s hold tightened on the rail. It occurred to him then that without Nicole he had nothing of value to lose.

The music of the orchestra drifted in from the ballroom, located in the far right wing of the house. They were playing a Viennese waltz, a lovely song that reminded Nicole of the balls she had attended back home. Those had been gay times, wonderful times filled with fanciful visions of the future.

The merriment tonight only saddened her. As if the gods who pulled her strings were up there somewhere laughing at her.

With a heavy sigh, she checked her appearance in the mirror, noting with distant satisfaction that she had never looked better. Fixing a smile in place, she headed out the door.

It took all her courage to walk down the wide staircase. She should have gone down earlier, joined a group of party-goers and slipped in unnoticed. Instead she had waited until the last possible moment.

From the foot of the stairs the music sounded louder, and she smelled the fragrance of gardenias. Huge bouquets of flowers filled the entry and lined the halls. Frederick stood beside the open doorway in
a crisp white shirt and satin-lapeled black tailcoat, ramrod straight. He grinned at her and winked.

It was a small bit of encouragement, but one she needed. She smiled back at him and headed toward the ballroom. Few people noticed her entrance into the huge, flower-filled room until the orchestra finished the waltz. After a light round of applause, a dozen couples swung their attention in her direction. Several more people noticed her, then several more. Was it her imagination, or was the room a little too quiet? It seemed scores of eyes were fixed on her, and not one smiling face.

The sound of a chair scraping against the black-and-white marble floor drew her attention to a tall man who came to his feet beneath the crystal chandeliers and began striding toward her. Another approached with equal haste. François du Villier reached her side an instant before Thomas Demming. His smile of understanding was the greatest gift she had ever received.

“Mademoiselle St. Claire,” he said, bowing over her hand. “You are without doubt the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’ll second that,” said Thomas. His smile, too, looked warm. “Since it appears François has claimed the first dance, I should be honored if you would allow me the second.”

“I’d like that very much.”

As the orchestra began another song, François looped her arm through his. He turned to the crowd with an air of subtle warning.

“I see you have found an escort,”
Grand-mère
said with an approving smile as she walked up beside
them. “François will be the envy of every man in the room.”

“Thomas is already jealous,” François said.

Nicole felt a rush of warmth at his words. “It is I who am fortunate,” she said, and meant it. She was coming to like François, to read in him a gentleness she hadn’t seen before.

François led her onto the dance floor and by his actions forced the others to accept her presence. He was a wonderful dancer, the most graceful she had ever known. His touch was gentle at the small of her back; the hand holding hers felt slender but strong. His soft smile and light conversation distracted her from the unpleasant scene of her arrival, and eventually helped her relax. She didn’t realize she was searching for someone until she heard the amusement in François’s voice.

“He’s out on the terrace,” he told her, bringing a shot of color to her cheeks.

How could she be looking for Alex? “I wasn’t sure he’d gotten home,” she said lamely.

“He made it, but none too early. We had to send a carriage for Clarissa. She was fuming by the time he got downstairs.”

She couldn’t help smiling at that. “A marriage made in heaven.”

François laughed aloud, a boyish, rippling sound. The dance came to a close, and Thomas arrived to claim the next. He had just pulled her into his arms when Alex appeared in the doorway, Clarissa close beside him. The smile Alex had been wearing faded, replaced by a hardness Nicole knew only too well.

He doesn’t like me dancing with Thomas
, she realized with a jolt of satisfaction. Thomas was wealthy,
handsome, and unattached. Alex respected his longtime friend’s intelligence and sense of fair play. In short, Thomas Demming was tough competition for any man. Well, almost any man.

She glanced again at Alex. In the past she would have withered at a look as black as that. Tonight she was Nicole St. Claire. She bowed to no man.

Smiling up at Thomas, she said something that made him laugh, and they waltzed off among the crowd. The mirrored walls reflected a swirl of organdy and gold, a handsome blond gentleman in black, and a scowling Alexandre du Villier.

For the first time in days, Nicki’s spirits lifted. Alex wasn’t one bit happy about her choice of partners. And if Alex wasn’t happy—Nicki was. She laughed at Thomas’s repartee, flirted outrageously, and smiled even more brightly. When the music ended, Thomas whirled her up to where Alex and Clarissa stood.

“Enjoying yourself?” Alex said to Thomas a bit stiffly.

Thomas grinned. “More every minute.” He smiled at Nicole, who had the good sense not to smile back too warmly.

“I see you finally made it,” Alex said to her. “I wasn’t sure you were up to it.” She didn’t miss the note of challenge.

“We all have our crosses to bear.” She glanced pointedly at Clarissa, who was busily discussing the sugar harvest with a gentleman beside her.

Alex looked handsome in his tailored black evening clothes, perfectly fit to the width of his shoulders. In just one week, she had forgotten how tall he was, how tanned and smooth his skin. It made her ache
inside just to look at him—which piqued her temper even more.

“Congratulations to you both,” Thomas put in, kissing Clarissa’s cheek.

“I believe this dance is mine,” Alex said to Nicole, his eyes still baiting her.

Thomas answered for her. “Only if Miss Endicott has one left for me.” At Clarissa’s nod of agreement, Thomas placed her hand in his and the two of them waltzed away.

Alex extended an arm to Nicole.

“I’m sorry, m’sieur,” she said with an air of satisfaction, “it seems my card is already full.” With a triumphant smile, she turned to leave, but Alex caught her arm, his grip insistent.

“You’ll dance with me here,” he warned, “or I’ll drag you out on the terrace and you’ll dance with me there.”

Nicki set her jaw, her aqua eyes snapping fire. “This is your engagement ball. Since you, m’sieur, are the host, I suggest you pay attention to someone who enjoys your company.”

“And I suggest you dance with me before I make a scene.”

She knew he would do it. There was very little Alex would not dare. Holding her tongue against another biting retort, she let him draw her stiffly into his arms.

“We need to talk,” he said without preamble.

“If the discussion involves becoming your mistress, there is nothing left to say.”

His hand tightened on her waist, and he pulled her indecently close. “Sooner or later you’re going to hear me out, if I have to tie you up and gag you. Now,
you can make this hard on yourself or easy. But I suggest you agree to listen. Because if you don’t, everyone in this room is going to know there’s something going on between us.”

“Nothing is going on between us. Not now. Not ever.”

He smiled, his eyes dark and mocking. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said softly. But he shifted his position until they were once more dancing as proper etiquette deemed.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he said, knowing the party would last through most of the night. “Two o’clock, in my study.”

“Oui, m’sieur,”
she agreed in perfect imitation of Danielle. “After all, what am I but a lowly servant?”