Creole Fires (41 page)

Alex kissed her tenderly. “And I shall never forget the precious gift of your love that you have given to me.”

Regretfully, Alex left for Belle Chêne that day, promising to return as soon as he could and no later than three or four days.

Even under the circumstances, Nicki felt light-hearted. Alex loved her. Until now she had both yearned for and feared the words, knowing how strongly they could bind her to him. They did so now, but with her own feelings out in the open, his love for her brought only joy.

Nicki refused to think much further than the few days ahead when Alex would return. Thoughts of his marriage, just a few weeks away, she pushed to the back of her mind.

Along with another fact she refused to consider. In truth, Alex’s guess had been right about the monthly she had missed. Part of her wanted to smile, knowing how self-satisfied he would feel. Alex’s arrogance at his coming fatherhood would know no bounds.

And yet he would never be able to acknowledge the child as his own.

She just wouldn’t think about it, she told herself firmly. Burying her problems was an achievement she had learned during her long days of indenture. She had become well versed.

Instead she worked on the Belle Chêne ledgers, busying herself with tasks that made her feel close to Alex and to the place she still thought of as home. It wasn’t until the morning of the third day that she began to notice something was wrong.

“Ram,” she called down to him. “Could you come up here for a moment?”

The big Turk sauntered up the stairs, unconcerned that he was being summoned to a woman’s bedchamber.

“I know you like to read,” she said as he stood across the desk staring down at the big leather volumes. “Are you any good at ciphering?”

“I’m afraid not. Why?”

“There’s a discrepancy in these two sets of books. The ones Alex keeps show a substantial profit over those kept by Louis Mouton. Of course, I’m not certain yet, but I soon will be.”

“How substantial?” Ram asked.

“Ten years’ worth. It’s a great deal of money, Ram.”

“We must tell Alexandre right away.”

“Not until I’m certain. Alex has worked with Louis Mouton for years. He trusts him implicitly. It wouldn’t be right to accuse the man of wrongdoing until we know for sure.”

“All right. We won’t tell him yet.”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Nicki smiled. “That is, if I stop talking and get back to work.”

Alex arrived early that evening. The worry lines had left his face and his body had already begun to lose its gauntness. His shoulders seemed broader, his back a little straighter. For the first time, Nicki felt as if she had done the right thing.

“Mon
Dieu
, it’s good to see you.” With one powerful arm, he swept her against him. “Three days seemed like thirty.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

They enjoyed a quiet supper alone. René had called for Danielle and the couple had gone out for the evening. Ram left with a sly look and a wink at Alex that said he had plans of his own.

After supper they sat by the fire in the parlor, Alex content, it seemed, just to look at her. But by the time he had finished his brandy, he once more seemed tense.

“There’s something I want to say to you,” he told her, his expression serious.

Nicki’s heart set up an uncomfortable rhythm in her chest. “What is it, Alex?”

“I want you to know that if I thought there was a chance, no matter how small, that Clarissa might
loan me that money without the wedding, I’d ask her.”

Nicki laid a hand on his arm. “I know you would, Alex.”

“I haven’t because I know how she thinks. To Clarissa this marriage is strictly business. She isn’t about to do me any favors unless I give something in return.”

“And that something is Belle Chêne.”

“Yes. I could give up the plantation, but that wouldn’t stop Fortier from taking over your contract. Even if I’d killed the bastard, you’d belong to his heirs, wherever they might be. It could take years before his estate was settled. God only knows what might happen to you in the meantime.”

“I understand, Alex. I know you have no choice.”

“Yesterday I went to see her,” he continued, and Nicki’s stomach tightened. “I asked her if she had any reservations, any concerns about going through with the marriage.”

“And?”

“She told me that as far as she was concerned our wedding—and our business arrangements—went hand in hand. She was looking forward to becoming mistress of Belle Chêne, and she hoped I felt the same about Elmtree.”

It was the first time Nicki had thought about the advantages, other than repaying his note, Alex would gain from marrying one of the richest women in Louisiana. Elmtree was nearly as large as Belle Chêne—to say nothing of the Endicott family’s engraving business and myriad other financial concerns.

“I know you did your best.” She swallowed and
glanced away. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t talk about it anymore.”

Alex just nodded. That night they made love as passionately as ever, Nicki careful to blot Alex’s grim conversation from her thoughts.

François arrived just as Alex was about to leave the following morning. They were standing in the foyer, Alex kissing her good-bye, when the soft knock sounded at the door.

“Hello, Alexandre,” François said with surprise as Frederick ushered him in. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

“From now on, you will find me here at every opportunity.” Alex grinned so wide that his cheeks dimpled. He winked at Nicole.

“I’m happy for you,” François said a bit forlornly. Today it was he who looked wan and pale.

“And you,
mon frère?
You’re looking a little under the weather. Is something wrong?”

François glanced at Nicole, who nodded her encouragement. “It’s just that I feel so useless. There are things I wish to do … things I feel I must do, and yet I cannot.”

“What things?” Alex pressed, beginning to look disgruntled.

François twirled the narrow-brimmed high hat he held in his hands. “I had been hoping to speak to you. I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He took a steadying breath. “I want to return to France, Alexandre. I want to paint.”

Alex just stared at him. “Paint?” he snapped. “If you want to paint something, return to Belle Chêne and I shall arm you with brush and pail.”

“Alex!” Nicki broke in. “What in God’s name is the
matter with you? François is telling you his wishes, opening himself up to you, and you are … are acting like an overbearing ass!”

Alex pinned her with a single hard glance. “Excuse me, Mademoiselle St. Claire. But I believe this conversation was between my brother and myself. Should you wish to speak in my stead, I shall leave you to it. Good day.”

“Don’t you dare walk out that door!”

But as usual he did dare, slamming it loudly behind him.

Nicki sighed in frustration. “I love him dearly,” she told François, “as stubborn and arrogant as I know he can be.”

“I told you this would happen.”

“So you did.” She laid a comforting hand on François’s arm. “But you mustn’t give up yet. Why don’t we have some coffee? Have you eaten?”

“I had that in mind when I came here, but I am afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

Nicki just nodded. “No one knows better than I how frustrating Alex can sometimes be.”

François pulled open the door.

“Let me talk to him,” Nicki said. “After he’s had time to think things over, maybe he’ll listen.”

“I doubt it, but I would appreciate it if you would try.”

Alex wouldn’t be returning for at least a few more days. In the meantime, Nicki went over and over the Belle Chêne ledgers. By Friday she was sure—Louis Mouton was stealing from the du Villiers and had been for years.

“We’ll tell Alex as soon as he arrives,” Ram said.

“No, Ram. Tve a better idea. If Alex discovers what Mouton’s been doing, he’s very likely to kill him—or beat him senseless at the very least. Mouton might never return the money. I think we should go to him. Threaten to expose him unless he returns what he has stolen—with interest. We’d have leverage—bargaining power. Mouton’s reputation means everything to him. To say nothing of the years he would spend in prison.”

Ram grinned, his olive skin growing taut above his smooth-lidded eyes. “With the money, Alex could repay Fortier. He wouldn’t have to marry Clarissa.”

Nicki’s smile was so bright it lit the room. “Exactly.”

“Why, that is absurd! Utterly preposterous!”

“Is it, M’sieur Mouton?” Nicki challenged. “I hardly think so.” She and Ram stood in Mouton’s elegant inner office, in front of his expensive Louis Quatorze desk.

“And who are you to question me?” Mouton demanded. “Alexandre’s latest mistress—nothing but a whore.”

Ram stepped forward, his powerful biceps bulging as he glared at Fortier. “I warn you—do not insult the lady. Before Alexandre discovers your mistreatment and beats you senseless, you will deal with me.”

Mouton sank down in his chair. He ran a fine-boned finger between his stiff white collar and his anger-reddened neck, then straightened the front of his snowy linen stock. “Who has come to you with such tales?”

“Your assistant gave Alexandre your set of ledgers,” Nicki said. “I am the one who has discovered your thievery.”

“You! But you’re a woman. Surely you know nothing of accounting.”

“My father was Etienne St. Claire of Meadowood Plantation. I learned from him.”

Mouton’s blue eyes looked glazed and slightly desperate. “In the first place, the ledgers my assistant gave Alexandre are … are not the current set. There are expenses not accounted for in them. The books he should have been given show the expenditures—legitimate expenses that used up the profits you speak of.”

“Is that so?” Nicki arched a brow. Brushing an imaginary speck of lint from the front of her fur-trimmed navy-blue silk faille day dress, she lifted her chin and fixed her gaze on Mouton. “And why was it necessary for you to keep two sets of records?”

“It … it was just a precaution—in case something happened to the other set. You do not understand the intricacies of this business.”

Nicki flashed an unpleasant smile. “If that is so, then I suggest we call a watchman. I’m sure the constable of police will be able to set the matter aright—with Alex’s assistance, of course.”

Mouton swallowed hard. “There is really no need for such extreme measures ….”

“No? There wouldn’t be—not if you paid Alex back.”

“But I tell you, I’ve stolen nothing!”

“Ram? A watchman, if you please.”

“With pleasure.” Ram turned to leave, but Mouton’s high-pitched voice, close to hysteria, stopped him at the door.

“No! If you are determined to cause trouble, then … then you leave me no choice. I shall see that Alexandre is repaid the money in full.

“With interest,” Nicki added.

Mouton groaned. “You will break me.”

“I doubt it. I’m sure the money—with your astute stewardship—has grown tenfold.”

“How shall I give it to him without his knowing about our … arrangement?”

“That’s up to you. Tell him a long-lost relative has died and left him an inheritance. Tell him whatever you wish. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Mouton nodded stiffly.

“After that, I’ll expect you to leave New Orleans.”

“Leave? I’ve spent years building up this business. How can you expect me to leave?”

“You’ve spent years cheating people out of their money. I doubt you’d have much business left—once they discovered the truth.”

Mouton’s shoulders sagged, his face pale and haggard.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep your ledgers,” Nicki added. “Just to be sure you abide by our agreement.”

“But how do I know you will not turn me in?”

“You don’t. You’ll have to accept my word. But I assure you, I value it far more highly than you do your own.”

“I’ll need a little time to raise the money.”

“A week,” Nicki told him. “Then I go to the authorities.”

“Do not try to leave,” Ram warned. “The law will find you—if they do not, I will.”

“Have a pleasant day, m’sieur,” Nicki said sweetly and turned to leave. Ram pulled open the door and they walked out through the outer office and onto the street.

Ram chuckled softly. “How does it feel to know you will soon be a duchess?”

Nicki grinned and hugged herself, twirling in pleasure beneath the bright December sunlight. “In truth, I hadn’t thought of it. I just want to marry Alex and go home.”

With Alex’s wedding only a few weeks away, Nicki waited impatiently for his return. She couldn’t tell him about her meeting with Mouton, but she could settle another matter that had been bothering her since his annoying departure last week.

He arrived on Wednesday evening, looking tired but glad to see her, and considering the temper he had left in, maybe a little contrite.

They talked of the weather, supped on
étouffé
, a heavy crawfish stew served over rice, then took brandy and sherry in the salon. Outside, the weather had turned colder as winter approached, but the evening skies were bright and clear.

Nicki took a sip of her sherry. “Have you seen François lately?” she asked with feigned nonchalance.