Celine (10 page)

Suddenly, something caught in his mind. The old
garçonnière
in the woods. Of course, that's where Celine and Cameron were, damn it! The stream there was man-made, designed so a fresh, cool backflow from the Mississippi provided water for the old bachelor's quarters. And after last night's heavy rains, it would indeed be swollen and cold.

He stood, and rudely dismissed himself. His father, accustomed to Trevor's showing less than punctilious French Creole manners, scowled at Trevor's actions. Giselle wrapped up the paperwork, eager to join him.

“I'll see you out,” he said, ignoring the displeasure washing over her face. “I have some business I must attend to.”

He walked her to the carriage and then turned on his heel and headed for the stable. He intended to ride as far in the opposite direction from the
garçonnière
as he could manage in a day. To hell with both of them.

 

 

Trevor carried his foul mood to the dinner table, dampening everyone's spirits. He didn't bother to acknowledge Cameron's efforts to tease him into a more jocular mood. The only one he bothered to regard was Celine, and he did that with a coldness that even to him felt menacing.

She fidgeted openly and ignored him. There were shadows under her eyes.

“Tired, Celine?” he asked directly.

When she turned her gaze on him, it was without passion. “I find the evening to be strangely cool. Truth be told, I have a keen desire to curl up by a fire in my room and pull an interesting book from the shelf.”

Why, to get away from him?

She looked away.

Cameron asked Trevor a question. He didn't bother to respond.

“Well, Trev,” Cameron finally put in after another try at bringing him into the conversation, “the nice thing about apathy is you don't have to exert yourself to show you're sincere.”

Trevor twisted one corner of his mouth up and snorted lightly.

Cameron was delighted. “Well, then, it only took all evening, but I finally elicited a response from the grouch.”

Justin was unusually quiet, but he missed nothing. He rarely did. Irritation soured Trevor's stomach. His father was like a guard dog sleeping with one eye open.

“Well, now, how was, ah, Mrs. Beaudrée?” Cameron continued. “Does she have anything to do with your black mood?”

A flush crawled up Celine's neck.

“Don't ask,” Trevor snapped, and then a sardonic reply left his tongue. “Or I might tell you. And we wouldn't want to embarrass the ladies, now would we, Cam?”

“Oh, do tell.” Cameron leaned forward to refill his wineglass. “You know the old saying—if you can't say anything nice about someone, then you're probably delightful company.”

Felicité tittered. Cameron's perverse humor even elicited a small smile from Celine. She stood, though. “With that, I beg to be excused,” she announced. “I'm fatigued and would dearly love to retire.”

The men rose as she departed. Cameron turned to her. “I do hope you're feeling chipper by morning so we can take the ride we missed out on today.”

Odd, but when he heard the news that she was turning in, Trevor's mood lightened even more than when he'd learned she hadn't gone riding with Cameron after all. He took himself off to bed.

He tossed fitfully for what seemed hours before he finally slept. In his dreams a vision of Celine swam before him in a watercolor fantasy.

Her arms opened to accept him, her turquoise eyes huge pools of love and passion from which he drank thirstily. She floated forward and embraced him, pressing her lips softly against his. She spoke loving words he could not understand. She kissed him again, and then her mouth moved from his and traveled languidly down his body, coming to rest on his manhood. He hardened as her lips parted to accept him.

He awoke with a start, perspiring profusely, his body aching for release. Why hadn't he taken Giselle up on her offer to meet him in the stable? A few minutes in the hay with her would at least have taken away some of the pressure about to explode inside him. But that idea excited him about as much as a cold bath. What the hell had gone wrong with him since meeting Celine?

Agitated, he flung back the covers and removed himself from the bed. He prowled around his room like a caged lion. It was the third straight night he'd been awakened by the same dream. Try as he might, he couldn't get Celine out of his system. Even in sleep she haunted him.

He donned his robe and poured a brandy, eyeing the closet door as he paced back and forth, until, finally, he moved toward it, his body overtaking his mind. He opened the door, pressed lightly on one of the carved dados on the fireplace, and watched as a hidden panel in the wall separating the two closets slid silently open. He slipped through into Celine's room.

He sat in the wingback chair before the fire, watching her slumber. She had fallen asleep atop the covers, wearing only a filmy wrap. The night had grown cooler, and he could tell by the way she tried to tuck her feet beneath her and cradle her arms under her that she would soon stir.

 

 

Celine came awake slowly, her feet like blocks of ice. Her brain focused on the crackling of the fire, and she wondered how long she'd been asleep; she was surprised that the wood was still burning so brightly. She removed herself from the bed and padded sleepily to the fire, rubbing her eyes. Trevor sat calmly in the chair, sipping on a glass of brandy. She nearly tripped when she caught sight of him.

“Good Lord, it's the devil himself!”

She rushed first to the bedroom door, where the key was still in the lock, and then to the French doors, where the latch was secure. Returning to the chair, she planted herself directly in front of Trevor and narrowed her eyes.

“How did you manage to get in here?”

He leaned his head back against the chair, regarding her with heavy-lidded eyes, a lusty grin on his mouth. “My dear, with your hands on your hips and your hair hanging about your shoulders, you remind me of those wild Cajun women.”

Despite herself, a smile almost passed over her lips. Lord, but he had a way. She reminded herself of her anger. “And how would you know about wild Cajun women?” Her face heated. “Oh, never mind.”

“When you stand in front of the fire like that, one can see right through that flimsy material you're wearing.”

She looked down, could see her own parted legs silhouetted through the fabric as though she wore nothing. She flushed and moved aside quickly.

He lifted his glass in toast.

“What the devil do you want?” Instantly, she was sorry she'd asked.

“You.” His eyes crinkled merrily at the corners.

Not liking him was difficult when he was in such a playful mood. Celine responded with a smile in spite of herself. “You never give up, do you?”

“Come sit with me,
ma petite,
and I'll share my brandy with you.” He patted his knee.

Warm memories of him holding her through the night tugged at her core. How she would love to sit close, to feel his heat surround her. Desire washed through her.

“Don't be silly, I couldn't possibly fit next to you on that chair.” She suddenly wished there were room, for she delighted in his mood. He was certainly a dangerous man for her to be alone with, but she enjoyed his presence so terribly much.

Trevor caught her off guard, reaching over and grasping her wrist to pull her down onto his lap. “I didn't say next to me,
ma petite.
” He placed his brandy glass on the table, and then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter to him.

God, he felt good. That heated scent, his actual warmth. His arms. Her body filled so quickly and fiercely with desire, her thoughts scattered. Dangerous. This was very dangerous. She struggled to remove herself from his lap, but his arms only tightened around her.

“You had better let me go, or I'll call for Marie.”

He chuckled and nibbled at her ear, sending a delicious shock through her. “You do, and she's going to wonder how I got in here.” His eyes sparkled with merriment. “She'll assume you let me in, and then, not liking what you had gotten yourself into, called for help.”

Trevor's skewed reasoning made her laugh. “I've an idea Marie would think otherwise.”

He shrugged. He continually scanned every inch of her face, sending her senses reeling. She could barely manage words. “Aren't you the one full of mischief?”

“I try to be.” He ran a finger along her jawline. The tender act sent a quiver through her bones.

“I suggest you cease wriggling around on my lap, Celine. It's guaranteed to make trouble for both of us.”

She settled down abruptly and looked into his beguiling face. “How
did
you get in here?”

He blatantly ignored her question. “Just this once, Celine, relax. Remember our walk in the garden the other night, when I promised not to touch you?”

She nodded her head warily.

“Did I touch you?”

She shook her head.

“Well,
mon amour,
I extend a promise to you now that I will not make love to you.”

There was truth in his words. The clean scent of his clothes and skin sent her heart drumming. She yearned to snuggle against his neck and chest, to feel the same comfort he had given her the night before.

“Promise?”

“I think you instinctively know I am a man of my word.” He toyed with her hair.

She shouldn't, she really shouldn't. But, oh, it felt so wonderful to relax against his warmth. Being held was something she dearly missed—had missed for most of her life.

Cupping her chin, he lifted her face to his. His breath fell softly on her mouth, mingling with hers. “I won't make love to you. I want you too badly to have you any other way than wanting me without question.”

He raised a brow. “And when you surrender to your desires, which I truly hope you will, the sweet agony I have suffered will have been well worth the wait.” His voice rasped and his nostrils flared. “I know your lovemaking will be as sweet as I have imagined.”

Something hard pressed against her bottom, sending a delicious quiver through her. She should remove herself from his lap, she really should, but she dismissed the idea, so badly did she wish to remain. “You shouldn't speak of such things.” Her body gave a tiny, involuntary shudder as desire wended through her like slow-moving lava.

“Don't fight me, Celine. Enjoy the moment.”

They grew silent. She stared into the dancing flames. Again, she wondered what it would be like to lie with him. If only there was no pride in her, if only she didn't care that she would end up like the others. If only.

A thought of Dianah Morgan flashed through Celine's mind. She remembered what Dianah had done her last night in New Orleans. The young officer had been as much a womanizer as Trevor. Dianah, who knew how to have her way, bided her time, enjoyed the flirtations, teased the officer over dinners, danced too close to him at parties, but never quite stepped beyond the boundaries. Then, on the night before her departure for San Francisco, she sent for him, and they spent the night together. Celine had accompanied Dianah and her parents to the wharf the next morning. Dianah rode in the carriage, her head held high, with an air of mystery and serenity cloaking her.

She sailed off that morning, but not before she pressed the nosegay she carried into Celine's hand with a wicked little wink.

Of course, here was Celine's solution. There would be a last night before Trevor and she went off in different directions. She could savor the anticipation as Dianah had. And waiting until the last night would spare her from having to face him the next day.

She could do this.

She could bide her time just as Dianah had. And Celine's moments with Trevor would be far more satisfying than any novel. She would be left with irrevocable memories to carry her far into her winter years.

Trevor touched his fingers to the pulse beating at the soft hollow of her throat. Then he took her chin between his thumb and curled fingers and gently turned her face to his. “Something changed in you just now. What is it?”

Here she was, sitting on the lap of the most handsome, most devastatingly exciting man she had ever encountered, and she had decided to allow him to seduce her—in her own way. There wasn't a chance in Hades she was about to share such a revelation with him.

“I like your promise,” was all she said.

“Are you aware your eyes appear to change color according to what you wear, or your moods?” His voice was husky and low in his throat.

She nodded. “My grandmother always said that.”

His breath left him in a small laugh. “I doubt your grandmother could possibly have been aware that your eyes take on a certain dark turquoise coloring when you are filled with passion.”

Her fingers shot to her lips. “Oh, dear!” And then she reminded herself what she was about. A new resolve gripped her. Like Dianah, she would have what she wanted.

For the first time, she regarded Trevor openly, without guile. Their faces were so close, their breaths mingled. She did what she'd wanted to do since the first day she'd laid eyes on him—she touched her fingertips lightly to his bottom lip.

Trevor went back to playing with the tendrils of her hair, tickling her neck and ear with the ends, sending delicious shivers down her body. Her nipples stood rigid under her wrap. His lashes veiled his eyes as his gaze settled on her breasts.

His breath hitched.

Firelight danced on his skin, and she marveled at his male beauty.