Midnight Flame (6 page)

“Is it usual for a traveling companion to go on ahead?” he asked.

“I have much to attend to there before Miss Delaney arrives. Now if that is all,” Lavinia finished, a bit peeved that Duvalier’s interest was only in Laurel.

“Thank you. Please tell her I shall call on her later in the day.”

The door abruptly closed in his face. Tony stood outside, his gaze on the dark oak wood. He had sensed Agatha Malone’s interest in him and thought this woman was a chameleon. As he walked down the stairs to the main floor, it wasn’t the red-haired siren his mind dwelled on. It was a woman with dark hair and green eyes, a woman who might have caused his uncle’s death, a woman who had caused his aunt much pain.

He left the hotel, wondering how someone with the face of an angel, the prim disposition of a schoolteacher, could possibly be a heartless witch. He had kissed her only a few days ago and had felt the desire within her for him.

He walked along the piers and knew he must quench this desire for that dark-haired vixen, Lavinia Delaney. Soon she would be at his mercy, and he would make her suffer for his uncle’s shame. She would feel great humiliation for what she had done, for loving a married man old enough to be her father. For killing him with her passion, her greed, and giving nothing in return.

Still the actual impression he had received of Lavinia Delaney was different from the one he had built in his mind. The two images were at such odds that, as he glanced at the waters of Bayou Cortableau, he felt almost as if Lavinia were two different people. He even felt remorse for having to hurt the vulnerable side of her, the one that would capture his heart if he weren’t careful.

Unwillingly his loins tightened in recall of the way her hand had slid onto his chest that night on the boat. Her lips had tasted like nectar, drugging him with their sweetness, almost causing him to forget his purpose. Her body had molded to his, and he remembered thinking how well their bodies fit together.

Tony shook himself to drive the memory from his mind. He could almost understand how his uncle had been taken in by this deceiving temptress, who appeared fragile and trusting and inexperienced. He still remembered the crimson stains on her cheeks when she drew away from him. He would have believed Lavinia was innocent if he didn’t know better. The reports from the investigator had been thorough. Lavinia Delaney led a wild existence, and her father had been glad to be rid of her. Tony had discovered that she would be on the
Cotton Blossom,
and he had followed her. The woman he had met was nothing like what he expected, but beneath her pristine exterior beat the heart of a wanton woman. His uncle was proof of that.

Squaring his broad shoulders, he walked away from the bayou. He must drive the angel image from his mind and replace it with the one of the whore. When he did so, he wouldn’t feel so guilty, he decided, because soon his plan would be set in motion.

~ ~ ~

Lavinia disappeared in a flurry of dark taffeta skirts and delighted blue eyes as the coach door closed behind her. She barely managed a wave to Laurel before the coach sped away, leaving Laurel standing alongside the street.

The afternoon sun disappeared behind a large gray cloud, bringing a gentle breeze in its wake. But seconds later the cloud skittered away, and once again the sun shone brightly in the heavens and warmed Laurel with its intensity.

“We could do with some rain.”

She turned at the sound of Tony Duvalier’s voice behind her. “It is rather warm for this time of year,” Laurel remarked.

He fell into step with her and walked in the direction of the hotel. She felt terribly small alongside of his six-foot frame, and when he gallantly took her elbow to escort her across the street, she realized how strong his hand felt. In her mind flashed the picture of his face bent to hers, his mouth devouring hers in a kiss, and caused her to feel much warmer than the weather actually was. A wanton kiss. A kiss that even now made her heart beat faster just to recall.

She saw he was looking down at her with an amused glint in his eyes, and she flushed. It was almost as if the man could read her mind. “Am I so amusing to you, Mr. Duvalier?” she asked somewhat waspishly. “Or is my bonnet on crooked?”

Tony stopped walking and peered down at her. His hand snaked out and touched a wayward dark curl that rested near her cheek. “Your bonnet is fine, but I think you’d be more comfortable without one. You do have beautiful hair.”

Her voice sounded breathy, almost catching in her throat when she said, “Thank you.”

A warm smile engulfed his face. “I appreciate a woman who can take an honest compliment and not pretend modesty.” He took her elbow again and escorted her back to the hotel. When they were in the lobby, he turned to her. “I have plans for us tonight.”

She blinked. “What plans?”

“A surprise, but I expect you to be ready at seven.”

He started to turn away as if the matter were settled. She tugged at his coat sleeve. “I can’t make plans for this evening. I must pack for my trip, and I have to check on Gincie.”

“I was just at Doctor Mornay’s. Gincie has a touch of pneumonia, and he thinks it best that she not travel right now.”

“Oh, my!” Laurel placed a gloved hand to her lips. “I must see her.”

“Don’t worry,” he consoled her. “I’ll take you out there if you wish.”

She nodded, and soon they were in Tony’s carriage heading for the Mornay cottage. When Laurel entered the house and saw Gincie, she realized that the woman wouldn’t be able to travel to San Antonio with her. Though Gincie was talkative, she coughed a deep aching sort of cough that sounded painful.

“Don’t worry over me, Miss Laurel,” Gincie told her when they were alone. Gincie sat on a cot with a pillow propped behind her back. “Doctor Mornay and his wife take real good care of me. I ain’t goin’ too far with the way I been feelin’ lately. But you got to get to San Antonio and see your uncle before the Lord takes him. You have to go.”

Laurel sighed, realizing again that Gincie was right. She had to go. “I’ll visit Uncle Arthur for a while, then on my way home, I’ll come get you, and we’ll both return to New Orleans.”

Gincie’s dark eyes settled on Laurel’s face. “You don’t have to do that, my baby girl. I know how you been lookin’ forward to this visit. Just take your time. If I ain’t here when you start for home, either I went on ahead to New Orleans or the good Lord took me. Either way, you don’t worry over old Gincie.”

Tears misted Laurel’s eyes, and she hugged Gincie. “What am I going to do with you? But I know one thing, you better not go off to heaven now or in the near future. I need you to look after my children one day.”

This comment brought a grin to Gincie’s lips. “You figurin’ on marryin’ and havin’ babies soon, Miss Laurel? You considerin’ marryin’ that handsome Mr. Duvalier?”

“No, well, hush now, Gincie. It was just a comment. Don’t start making anything over it.” Her face grew warm, and she fiddled with the string on her reticule.

After she had hugged Gincie again and paid Doctor Mornay for her care, Tony rode with her to the hotel. During the ride back she could barely look at him. Each time she did, she remembered Gincie’s question about marrying Tony Duvalier. It was absurd even to consider such a thing. She barely knew the man, had kissed him only once, but that one kiss she wouldn’t soon forget.

Soon the carriage halted at the hotel, and when he helped her out, he said again, “Seven o’clock,” before she had the time to protest.

Before Laurel went to her room, she spoke to the hotel manager and inquired about the availability of another coach.

“There won’t be one until the day after tomorrow. Because of Mardi Gras and the riffraff who plague the roads, no coaches will leave until then. We’ve had some trouble with the criminal element in the prairie area, and after some people celebrate for too long…” His voice drifted off. “Let’s just say it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I understand,” she said, though she felt impatient to be on her way to San Antonio. It seemed events had conspired against her and that she was to remain in the bustling town of Washington along Bayou Cortableau longer than she had planned. She decided that she might as well enjoy herself and avail herself of Tony’s company.

She had been in her room for half an hour when a knock sounded on the door. On opening it, she saw a plump woman with graying hair and a broad smile. Over her arm was what appeared to be a skirt and a blouse. Without saying a word, she pushed past Laurel and entered the room.

“Who are you?” Laurel asked indignantly. “I didn’t invite you in here. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the manager.”

The woman turned to her, the smile still on her face. “You are Mademoiselle Delaney? Oui?”

Laurel nodded.

“I am in the right place. Monsieur Duvalier sent me to dress you for the masquerade dance tonight.”

Laurel looked at her uncomprehendingly. “Dance?”

“You know,” the woman said and hummed a few notes of music, moving her surprisingly tiny feet in time to the rhythm. “A dance, mademoiselle, in honor of Mardi Gras.”

Laurel now recalled Tony’s mentioning something about a surprise, but she was caught off guard when the woman, who identified herself only as Lulubelle, ordered up a bath for Laurel. Laurel glanced hesitantly at the skimpy-appearing garments that the woman laid on the bed. Her parents had gone to a number of elaborate carnival balls, and she could recall the beautiful gowns her mother had worn, the feeling of heady excitement that had pervaded the house as her parents came down the stairs in their formal regalia, and how awestruck she had been. But she had never attended any dances, and certainly not in costume. In fact, if Lavinia hadn’t arrived with trouble in tow and if Uncle Arthur hadn’t become ill, Laurel knew that she would have been on the arm of Philbert Anderson this very night at an elegant but stuffy affair.

The thought of Philbert with his long, thin fingers resembling the legs of a crab caused her to giggle. If she had to choose between Tony and Philbert as escorts, she would choose Tony any day.

When Laurel had finished her bath and was attired in her costume, she looked at herself in the cheval glass and wasn’t certain she should be seen in public. The costume was fashioned in the gypsy style, and Laurel thought she resembled a woman of loose morals. The skirt fell to just above her ankles in a swirl of lavender-and-gold-printed silk, the hem edged with golden beads, and a split up the side revealed a shapely thigh. Her breasts, usually well concealed, now strained against the thin, cream-colored peasant top and swelled high above the white lace edging of the low neckline. She had never worn such an outfit before and felt indecent.

Lulubelle didn’t catch the shocked look on Laurel’s face as she made clucking sounds of approval and clapped her hands in delight. She then brushed Laurel’s waist-length hair and pulled up the right side and fastened it with a pink rose. Next she clipped large golden loops to Laurel’s ears.

“Magnifique!”
Lulubelle exclaimed and stood back to view her handiwork. “Monsieur Duvalier will be so pleased.”

“Are you certain he chose this outfit for me?”

“Oui,
mademoiselle. That Tony has an eye for pretty ladies, and you are the prettiest of them all.”

“Monsieur Duvalier has a great many lady friends?” Laurel asked, turning from the mirror.

“Of course. He is a Duvalier, and like his father and grandfather, he is the heartbreaker.” Lulubelle smiled impishly. “I was Tony’s nurse, and I can tell you that he was a scamp even as a child and twisted poor Lulubelle around his finger.”

Laurel wasn’t certain why this news about Tony’s love for the ladies distressed her. She wondered why he had picked such a daring costume for her.

“I can’t wear this,” Laurel told the woman. “It isn’t decent.”

“Pooh, mademoiselle! A lady is a lady, no matter her clothes. A whore will always be a whore even dressed in the finest silks. I have a feeling that you are hesitant about enjoying life. Am I not right?”

Laurel nodded, fastening her eye on her reflection again.

“Then it is time you lived a bit. Here. Wear this and no one shall recognize you.” Lulubelle took a small black mask from a bag that rested on her ample hip. She turned Laurel to her and positioned it on Laurel’s face, then tied the strings at the back of Laurel’s head. “Voilà, look in the mirror again.”