Creole Fires (27 page)

Ignoring the tender ache, he pulled on his breeches and buttoned them up the front. “So eager to get back home,
ma chère?”

“I don’t see that I have much other choice.”

None at all
, he thought, but didn’t say it. “Regrets?” he asked, and held his breath at her words.

“No, m’sieur. What I gave last night, I gave freely. You would have stopped had I but asked.”

She waited for his confirmation. “Yes … I was bent on seduction, not rape.”

Nicki looked relieved. “What we shared last night was given in affection for the care you have shown me, for the worry I may have caused.”

“Gratitude?” he mocked, reminding her she had said those words before.

“No. I wanted you too. But understand this, Alexandre, from now on, what you want from me you will have to take. I am a St. Claire. I will never be your whore.”

Alex cursed soundly. “No whore of mine has ever been shown the care I show you. Nor the worry. It is not as a whore that I treat you, but as my lady.”

“Clarissa will soon be your lady. What will I be then?”

“Clarissa will soon be my wife. You will still be my lady.”

“I think you may change your mind when you bring no willing mistress to your bed, but instead a woman who will fight you with her every breath.”

Alex released a long, weary sigh. It wouldn’t come to that, but she wouldn’t believe him, and after all she had put him through, he didn’t mind letting her think so. He raked a hand through his wavy dark-brown hair. “If that is the way you want it, so it shall be.”

Alex tied Maximillian behind the rickety wagon, lifted Nicole aboard, then climbed up himself. Though the sun shone brightly, a brisk fall breeze ruffled his hair. It would soon be time for harvest.

“Thank you, m’sieur,” Nicki said, interrupting his thoughts. “For old Zeke, I mean.”

“I would rather you call me Alex. As for the horse,
one more animal in the pasture is hardly a burden, though the stablemaster will surely think me a fool.”

Nicki smiled gently. “More a softheart, I imagine.”

Upon arriving in Montagne, Alex paid the liveryman for the use of the wagon and a fair price for Zeke. The animal’s ears perked up the minute they led him away from the stable.

“He must really hate that place,” Nicki observed.

Alex smiled warmly. “I believe he’ll appreciate the comforts of Belle Chêne.”

“As I have not?” she said with an accusing look.

Alex’s grin broadened until he dimpled. “I suppose you’ve shown your … gratitude … well enough at times.”

Nicki cast him an outraged glance, but said nothing more.

After hiring a lad to care for Zeke and Maximillian until the boat arrived, they walked up Front Street toward the constable’s office, a board and batten building set alongside the freighting office. By this time of day, the taverns along the street were in full swing, shrill laughter and bawdy songs coming from the open doorways, drunken river rats staggering arm in arm along the board walkways in front of the buildings.

“Are you certain this is necessary, Alex?” she asked as they walked along, wishing they could leave the matter alone. “The man I shot isn’t likely to report it. After all, he was trying to rob me.”

“That,
chérie
, is exactly the point.”

They kept on walking, Nicki’s small arm carefully looped through Alex’s big muscular one. She was dressed in one of the two muslin dresses she had brought with her, this one a delicate pale pink. Alex
wore a clean white shirt, fawn-colored breeches, and boots.

“He wasn’t really a bad sort,” Nicki finished. “I hope he’s all right.”

Alex muttered something beneath his breath. “Now you’re worried about a man who tried to rob you.”

“He would have let me go. He didn’t want anything but my money.”

“Then the man must surely be a fool as well as a thief,” Alex said darkly, throwing her a heated glance.

At the constable’s office, a no-nonsense establishment with two small oak desks, wanted posters on the walls, and a door at the rear that led to cells in the back, Constable Rhodes asked her for a description of the two men.

“What will happen to them if they’re caught?” Nicki asked. Rhodes was a slender man with too little hair, a long neck, and tiny eyes.

“They’ll spend the next few years in prison.”

Nicki swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I see.”

“Tell them what the men looked like,
chêne.
We’ve a boat to catch.”

“Well … it’s kind of hard to remember.” Alex’s gaze swung to hers, but she ignored it. “One of them was blond and skinny. The other was shorter. With graying hair and a beard.”

“A beard,” Alex repeated, looking at her pointedly.

“Yes.” It was hard not to glance away.

“Anything else you can remember?” the constable asked. “Somebody’s name, maybe?”

“Well … I—I think one of them called the other Ben.”

“Just Ben?” Rhodes pressed, scratching his sparsely haired head. “No last names?”

“Not that I recall.”

“I think we’d better go,” Alex said. After shaking the constable’s hand, he tugged her firmly toward the door. “If you need anything else,” he told Rhodes, “you can contact me at Belle Chêne.”

“Sorry for the trouble, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Constable Rhodes.” Nicki turned and walked out the door.

Alex caught up with her in two long strides down the boardwalk. “I want to know why you lied in there.”

“Who says I lied?”

“I do.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Don’t start with me, Nicki.” His eyes bored into her.

“All right, I lied. I didn’t want those men sent to prison. They seemed more desperate than mean. I wanted them to have a second chance.”

“A second chance,” he repeated, incredulous.

“Everyone should have a second chance.”

He watched her for a moment. “Including you?”

She just looked at him.

Alex had trouble turning away. “We’d better get going. We’re a long way from home.”

“If you’re speaking of the house on Toulouse Street, it’s your home, Alex. It will never be mine.”

At the dock, Nicki waited while Alex bought their tickets for the return trip downriver. The next boat in would be the
Hannibal
, a far more luxurious steamboat than the
Memphis Lady
she had traveled aboard to Montagne.

Around her, children laughed and pulled on their mothers’ skirts. The ladies, mosdy planters’ wives, wore fashionable dresses of silk, lace, or dimity, and gaily trimmed bonnets and snowy white gloves. Parasols danced beneath the fading sunlight. Though Montagne catered to gamblers and other disreputables, for many it was the closest riverboat stop to their plantations.

Upstream the
hoot, hoot
of the whistle drew Nicki’s attention to the gleaming white sidewheeler churning up a fountain of water, its smokestacks billowing thick black smoke.

“Steamboat’s a-comin’!” came the cry, and it never failed to stir excitement.

Along with the rest, Nicki’s heartbeat quickened just to look at such majesty. Gleaming red and white, rising four stories out of the water, the
Hannibal
paid
tribute to man’s determination to master speed and beauty. She could travel downstream at more than fifteen miles an hour carrying three hundred and fifty passengers and thousands of pounds of livestock and cargo.

“Ready?” Alex asked, walking up beside her.

She smiled at him. “I’ve never been aboard anything so luxurious.”

“Then we’ll make it an evening to remember.”

She didn’t remind him that neither of them was dressed for an elegant supper in the salon. Or that surely some of those present would know who he was, and of his upcoming marriage to Clarissa Endicott.

He was Alexandre du Villier, the Duke of Brisonne. He could dare anything—and usually did.

Alex guided her up to the Texas deck, where the first-class cabins were, but left her at the rail to enjoy the view.

“I’ll put away our bags,” he said, “then we’ll take a look around.”

She didn’t notice which cabin he disappeared into, but it depressed her to think of the battle they would wage at the end of the evening when he tried to make love to her. She had made her position clear on that score. She wouldn’t back down now.

“Ma foi
, it cannot be!”

With a flash of remembrance, Nicki whirled toward the sound of the softly spoken French words.

“Michele!” she cried, spotting the slender French girl who had been her friend since childhood. The women threw themselves into each other’s arms, laughing and hugging, wiping away happy tears.

“Ah non
, I do not believe it,” Michele said, pulling
back to survey Nicole from head to foot. “So often I have thought of you, wondered where you were. I heard stories ….” She shook her head and rolled her pretty green eyes as if what she had heard couldn’t possibly be true. The ash-brown curls beside her cheeks bobbed their agreement.

Nicki’s joy began to fade. “After you moved away, things got worse at Meadowood. Papa died.
Maman
not long after. There were debts, so many debts ….”

“I am sorry. I did not know ….”

Nicki forced a smile. “How could you? You were already gone.”

Michele nodded. “We had our troubles too. But in France, my father found good fortune. He was able to rebuild. Last year we returned to Louisiana. Papa bought a new plantation just north of Baton Rouge.”

“That’s wonderful. Your father always worked so hard.” She hugged Michele again.

“And you, Nicki, where are you living now?”

From over Michele’s shoulder, Nicki saw Alex watching them as he approached. In seconds he would join them. Michele would know they were traveling together, would surmise their scandalous relationship.

She swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. “I—I’ve been at Belle Chêne. You recall, my father and Charles du Villier were friends.”

“The lady has been kind enough to honor us with a visit,” Alex put in smoothly, striding up beside Nicole.

“Michele Christophe, this is Alexandre du Villier.”

Alex brought Michele’s slender, gloved hand to his lips.
“Enchanté
, Mademoiselle Christophe.”

Michele blushed prettily. “An honor, m’sieur.” She turned back to Nicki, who kept her expression carefully blank. “You are returning to Belle Chêne?”

“Mademoiselle St. Claire has a town house in New Orleans,” Alex answered for her. “And you, mademoiselle?”

“On my way to visit a friend in that same city. Oh, Nicki, is it not wonderful? We will be able to get reacquainted, spend some time together.”

“Yes …” Nicole hesitantly agreed. “That would be lovely.”

Michele pulled a black velvet ribbon from the pocket in the seam of her blue silk gingham gown. A small porcelain-faced watch dangled from the end.
“Je regrette”
she said, “I have to go now.
Ma tante
Laverne is waiting for me. I am afraid she has the evening already planned.”

“Where will you be staying in the city?” Alex asked. “I’m sure Nicole will want to visit.”

“Eight twelve Royale Street. But maybe if the evening ends early, I could drop by your cabin, Nicki. Which number is it?”

Nicole’s face paled.

“Room three hundred,” Alex told her. “Just a few doors down from mine.”

“If I do not see you later, I will see you in the city.” Michele hugged Nicki and hurried toward the stairs.

Nicole stared up at Alex. “That was a very gallant lie, m’sieur, but one which will prove false should she arrive.”

“Are you certain?”

Nicki almost smiled. “With you, Alexandre, one is never certain of anything.”

He laughed at that, a deep rumbling in his chest. “Nor with you,
ma chère.”

True to his word after all, Alex had reserved separate cabins for them. Nicole had never been more grateful. She felt exhausted and edgy. And the thought of battling Alex for the remnants of her virtue seemed almost overwhelming.

Surprisingly, the evening was pleasant and not too taxing. They supped in a quiet corner of the elegant main salon beneath Gothic, carved wooden rafters painted white and trimmed with gold leaf. She had never seen finer appointments, from the intricate pattern in the plush floral carpets to the stained-glass skylights reflecting light overhead.

The tables were set with linen and crystal. A huge sterling silver water dispenser rested at one end of the three-hundred-foot-long room while a massive gilded mirror decorated the opposite end.

Afterward, she and Alex walked the deck in the moonlight. Sensing her fatigue, if not the battle she waged with herself every time she was near him, he made gentle conversation, carefully avoiding any unpleasant topics, then escorted her to her room. Nicki bristled as he leaned toward her, but he only brushed her mouth with the merest touch of his lips.

“Good night,” he said, opening the door, then he closed it softly behind her.

Will I ever understand him?
she wondered, but was too exhausted to worry about it. She was almost too tired to conquer the interminable buttons at the back of her dress, but eventually she succeeded and readied herself for bed.