Iron Lace (27 page)

"You know very well what woman. Azema Ducole. Who else?"

He put his hand to his forehead in despair. "God help me!
Am I never to stop hearing that woman's name on your lips?"

"After all your fine talk of love and pacts, you've gone
right on seeing her. You're nothing but a hypocrite!"

Miguel colored. "I swear I haven't been with Azema or any
woman… not since that night…"

"How can you stand there and lie to me like that when you
know very well you've been to see her heaven only knows how many times
in these past two months?"

He blinked confusedly for a second; then he thought he
understood. "It's true I've been by the Ducole town house a few times,"
he conceded, "but to see Henri, not Azema. You know very well he's my
associate. I can hardly stop seeing him just because I've broken off
with his sister."

"It's hard to believe that nothing passes between you and
that sister when she's the one who kisses you goodbye at the exit!"

Miguel's dark eyes narrowed. "Who's been filling your head
with such foolish gossip? It was that Foucher fellow, right? I wager
that's why you've been acting so strangely recently. Have you been
seeing that boy again behind my back?"

She held her ground defiantly. "What does it matter how I
know? The fact is you're still seeing her!"

"Not in the way you're implying," he insisted. His mind
was racing back over his recent visits to the Ducole town house, trying
to remember what could have happened "at the exit" that someone might
have seen and misconstrued or deliberately exaggerated.

Although Azema had seemed to accept with good grace his
decision to leave off the more intimate aspects of their relationship,
she had, nevertheless, made no secret of the fact that she would be
quite willing to renew their liaison any time he felt so inclined.
Miguel was beginning to remember now… that afternoon when
she had insisted on seeing him to the door… she had
coquettishly tried to kiss him goodbye. Someone must have seen them
standing there in the entrance… What rotten luck!

He took a pleading step toward Monique. "Please, my dear,
believe me. There hasn't been anything between me and Azema for over
two months now, and it's been that way because that's how I've wanted
it… because the only woman I want is you." If she only knew how he ached to take her in
his arms again! Even now, as he saw the swell of those fully ripened
breasts pressing so exuberantly against her tightly laced bodice, he
could remember the taste of those sweet nipples between his lips.

"Please, my dear, you must believe," he begged. She had
turned her bonneted head away and only the high velvet crown with its
rebellious French cockade confronted him.

"By all the saints, you have no reason to be jealous of
anyone. God in heaven! How I wish you were just a little bit older!"

She whirled back to him, her gray eyes stormier than ever.
"Yes, I know. You prefer more experienced women!" she exclaimed in
bitter anger. "I've always suspected that was the real reason why you
rejected me."

"Rejected you?" he echoed in disbelief. "
Qué barbaridad
! Is that what you've been thinking?"

Only the tragic expression on her face kept him from
bursting out laughing at the impossible position in which he found
himself. "Well, it seems I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't!" he
observed with an ironic chuckle.

But the tears of chagrin clouding her eyes bore witness to
the fact that she could see no humor in the situation at all.

He moved in closer and gently lifted that angry little
face so he could see it better. At that moment it looked more like a
doll's than ever, he thought, with the ribbons of her blue bonnet so
prettily framing it.

"Is that really what you think—that I rejected
you that night of the storm?" he asked incredulously.

"It… it has occurred to me," she admitted, her
chin quivering in the palm of his hand. "Especially in the light of
recent events."

"God's my witness! If you only knew what it cost
me… what it still costs me to keep my distance from you! I
love you, you precious unruly child! Don't you know that yet? But
you're robbing me of my wits. What am I to do with you?"

She continued to stand there, her tiny chin set, her
figure drawn up indignantly, despite the limp skirts hanging so
dejectedly about her limbs.

Bending down from his height, he peered beneath the brim
of her hat, and at the sight of those huge gray eyes swimming in tears,
a flood of mixed emotions surged through him.

"So you really do care!" he exclaimed. "Thank God, you
love me a little!"

She lifted her head and gave him an indignant glare. "Do
you think I'd have let you make love to me if I didn't?" Then suddenly
she melted and threw herself against his chest. "Oh, Miguel, I do
care!" she confessed passionately. "I only wish you really did, too! I
can't bear it when you pull away from me. You see what I mean? You're
doing it right now!"

Her words were like kindling thrown on the fire. He
stopped drawing back and instead caught her to him, throwing all
caution to the winds. "You think I don't want you? By all that's holy!
If you only knew!" He pressed his body despairingly against hers, and
the hard, throbbing reality of him sent a shiver of scalding desire
racing through her veins.

"No one can satisfy me but you," he murmured as he bent
his mouth to hers. "Just the sight of you… just the thought
of you… You say you're a woman, my sweet child. Can't you
feel how much I want you? God's my witness, I'm on fire for you day and
night!"

His hands were rushing hungrily up and down the curves of
her body now, his tongue boring desperately through her lips. The
force of his passion set her head to spinning, her knees to dissolving.

"Oh, Miguel, you'll never have need of any other
woman… if you'll just teach me…"

His hand was on her breast and already it was swelling to
his touch. "My sweet passionate little Monica, your doubts are so
groundless! I'm yours. Believe me, I'm saving myself only for you."

His breath was coming fast now, and the hard reality of
his desire pulsating wildly against her seared her very being.

He was trembling, too, now. With his lips on hers, his
hand still cupping her bodice, he lowered her to the sofa. He wanted to
draw out that sweet breast and savor the taste of it once
more… to find joyous relief from those long months of
bridled passion deep within the warm recesses of her.

But no… he tore his hands away from her and,
with the last vestige of willpower left him, forced himself to his
feet. "
Qué barbaridad
!" he gasped, his breath
labored with the passion racking his body at that moment. "But this
will never do! I started out reprimanding you as your guardian, and
here I am making love to you again! I tell you, I'm bereft of my senses
when it comes to you!"

"And would it be so terrible if you did make love to me?"
she asked from where she still sat on the sofa, breathless and somewhat
bewildered by the force of her own emotions.

"It's not the way things should be between us," he
replied, moving quickly over to the fireplace and stoking the flames
nervously in an effort to put some distance between them and give
himself time to regain his control. "We made a pact, and I think it's
important we keep it. I'm simply letting my desire for you as a man get
out of hand, that's all."

"Doesn't what I feel count?"

He turned to her with a tender smile, the poker dangling
in his hand. "Of course it does, my dear. That's the whole idea. I
shouldn't be pressuring you this way. You need time to find out what it
is you're really feeling. In part your jealousy springs from your
doubting yourself as a woman. Our love must be built on trust and
understanding, as well as passion. It would be folly for you to marry a
man you say you love one moment and then hate and mistrust so intensely
the next."

She started to rise in protest and go to him, but he held
up a pleading hand. "No, my dear. Please don't misunderstand me and
think I'm rejecting you, but I simply can't take any more proximity to
you just now!"

He must be mad! Whatever had he been thinking of? Why,
everyone in the household was probably just outside the door at that
very moment waiting for him to finish reprimanding her. This certainly
wasn't the time to let the situation between him and his ward get out
of control. He knew his role as guardian had to come first, at least
for now; yet how he longed to take her in his arms and make such
passionate love to her that she'd never again doubt how much he really
loved and wanted her!

Miguel
dreaded having to go see Henri, but it was already a week
into December, and he couldn't put it off any longer. He hoped this
would be the last time he'd have to go to the Ducole town house.
Perhaps he could persuade Henri to meet him elsewhere in the
future—at the Chausson town house, Le Rêve, or some
coffeehouse—any place where Azema wouldn't be.

It was embarrassing for both of them, especially since his
ex-mistress obviously still nourished hopes of reviving their former
liaison if she could. Most of all, there was no use fanning Monique's
jealousy to even greater heights than it already was. They had enough
obstacles between them without adding more! He hoped, however, that
once the girl knew he was no longer going by the Ducoles' for any
reason, she would accept the fact that her jealousy of Azema was
unfounded now.

His visit had begun pleasantly enough, with Azema retiring
after an effusive greeting to leave him and Henri alone to discuss
their "tiresome business matters". He had just resolved the matter of
their future meetings agreeably with a sympathetic Henri, when Azema
returned with a tray of hot chocolate, which she insisted would be
especially appropriate for such a cold, windy December afternoon.

Miguel gulped down his chocolate hurriedly and, setting
the cup on the tray again, rose to take his leave.

"I'm sorry to cut my visit short," he apologized, "but I'm
anxious to get home. I haven't been there in almost four days now."

"Then you came here direct from Le Rêve?" asked Azema,
obviously with the hope that he might remember how he used to stop off
there on his way home from the plantation to spend the day or night
with her.

"Yes," he replied, coloring in spite of himself. "I left
the plantation early this morning, so I'm anxious to get home now and
see what's been going on there."

Azema trilled a merry laugh. "My! But that ward of yours
has put a short leash on you, hasn't she?" she taunted.

"It's not that," replied Vidal, trying to keep his tone
polite despite his mounting impatience. "I'm the one who worries.
Something might have come up while I wasn't there and they might need
me, that's all."

"Your concern is truly touching!" observed Azema with a
disdainful shrug of her shoulders as she took another sip of her
chocolate. She looked exceptionally beautiful that afternoon in her
rust-colored velvet dressing gown, which Miguel suspected she had put
on for his benefit, and her long flaming hair falling freely about her
shoulders.

"If you'll be kind enough to ring for my cape and hat?" he
said, ignoring her sarcasm.

Henri rose uneasily. "Let me get you those figures I was
working on last night, Miguel, so you can take them with you and look
them over at your leisure. They're in my study."

He hurried out of the parlor while Miguel remained
standing, waiting for Azema to ring for his wrap. Instead, she set her
cup down languidly and took a few steps closer to him.

Miguel could tell she had perfumed herself a trifle more
heavily than usual and he suspected that, too, had been deliberate. He
realized it wasn't going to be as easy to leave as he had hoped.

"Really, Miguel, the way you run off from here these days,
you'd think we had the pox!" she chided. "It wasn't always that way,
mon
amour
."

She reached up and toyed suggestively with a fold of his
cravat. "Why don't you just sit back awhile and relax here by the
fire?" she suggested coyly. "I'll pour you another cup of chocolate, if
you like."

Miguel drew back stiffly. "Thank you, Zee, but I really am
in a hurry," he said, adjusting the crease in his neckscarf back to the
way it had been before she'd touched it.

Azema lowered discreet lids over the vivid green of her
eyes. "I miss you, my dear," she murmured. "It grieves me to think
you've forgotten all those happy hours we spent together so soon."

"I'll always remember fondly the time I spent in your
company," he replied gallantly. "You're a very beautiful and charming
woman, Zee. I hope we can at least remain friends."

"But you're so serious!" she scolded laughingly. "What
need is there really, all considered, for us to stop seeing each other
altogether? You know you're always welcome here. Of course, we can
continue to be friends… and more, if you like, my sweet.
After all, your getting married isn't the end of the world. What's
between us needn't change."

"I'm afraid you don't understand, Zee. Mine won't be a
marriage of convenience. It's a love match, and I hope to keep it that
way by not provoking problems."

"My, but aren't you the lovesick swain! I thought you more
sophisticated than that, Miguel, but we all make fools of ourselves
over the ones who are hard to get, don't we? I hope you can keep all
those fine resolutions once you're well yoked and begin to get bored
with your naive little ward."

Miguel sighed. He had no intention of discussing Monique's
more intimate qualities with his ex-mistress. He took Azema's hand
politely and brushed it lightly with a parting kiss.

But suddenly she caught the' hand that held hers and
quickly drew him closer.