Celine (14 page)

She lifted her head in surprise, but he only smiled and eased her cheek back to his chest. “My father can be infuriating with his controlling ways, but he can also be very wise. This is a special day for you, Celine. Let's neither one of us be so foolish as to muck it up.”

He gave her a quick hug and then stepped back. “What are your immediate plans?”

“None, at present. I am supposed to take a long nap this afternoon so I'll be presentable, or so Madame Charmontès says. If you think your father is controlling, humph. One would think this was Madame's ball the way she pays attention to every detail. She even insists on dressing me personally. Marie says it's because the woman has been a friend of the family for over twenty years and used to dress your mother. I very much wanted to take in everything today, but she says it's rude to follow the workers around as they make ready.”

“I know a private place where you can rest and still observe the goings-on.”

Celine pulled away from him, her interest piqued. “And just what other
secret
little places besides my closet do you know?”

“Up in the loft, over the stable. The hay is soft, and the loft door swings open toward the house. It's a vantage point unsurpassed.”

“Oh, and I suppose you would have to escort me to this observatory to make certain I get there safely?”

“But of course.”

“That's indecent.”

“Only in your mind. I have no ulterior motives other than to share the day with you.”

Celine gaped at him. “Only in
my
mind? And only in the minds of everyone else, should we be discovered. My word, a day in the hayloft with you would be most inappropriate.” Not to mention dangerous. She didn't want today to be the day she gave herself to him. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Trevor grew suddenly serious. “Have you never done something simply because you wanted to, and the rules of society be damned?”

Celine thought of Dianah and the books they'd hidden in her parasol. She laughed and stuck her chin out in defiance. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Ah, a little mystery? You'll be perfectly safe with me today.”

He was sincere, she could sense it, yet she searched his face for signs of betrayal. His breath fell rhythmically onto her lips as he patiently allowed her to study him.

“Yes, I believe I am safe—for today. But you are not.”

Trevor smiled that devilish, easy smile. “Go. Remove those earrings and necklace. They're rather inappropriate for hay lounging. In about a half-hour's time, wander through the garden, and then make your way to the stables.”

He gave her a chuck under the chin, and then strode off.

 

 

Was she daft to be doing this? Celine pushed open the door to the stable. Inside, she paused while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Hazy shafts of sunlight filtered through the loft from above. Peaceful silence hushed her uncertain heart.

Along the way to the loft's ladder, she stopped at the stall holding Trevor's horse, Panther, and ran a hand over his velvet nose. He nickered softly. What awesome power. Even Trevor's horse held a dignity above the rest of the beasts in the stable.

She climbed the ladder, lifting her skirts as she went, glad she'd left behind her hoops and half her petticoats—another defiant act.

Where in heaven was he?

She knew he was up there, could sense him. And yet, there was only silence. Biting her lip, she continued on, refusing to allow doubt to creep in.

Apprehension vanished as she stepped on the final rung of the ladder. There he was, lifting her up with surprising ease. In one swift motion, he helped her off the ladder and onto a quilt spread flat upon the hay.

He looked even more at ease than back in the dining room. He wore a blue chambray shirt and tan pants. At the edge of the quilt rested a basket of food and a bottle of wine. Off to the side stood his boots.

He'd fashioned a bed of sorts.

Trepidation set in. Was she ready for this?

“Stop looking like a bird about to become a cat's trophy. I thought the hay would be too harsh for your skin. If I had it in mind to bed you, I'd have found a more private place.”

She paused, and then she laughed at the absurdity of her apprehension. If he only knew. Stretching out on the quilt, she rested her chin on folded arms, peered out the portal, and mimicked Cameron. “You're quite right, Trev, old boy, this is quite a magnificent view.

“And you certainly thought of everything.” She nodded to the basket. “I ate practically nothing at breakfast.”

“I noticed.”

She went back to scanning the scenery, trying to ignore his clean scent. “Who do you suppose that is arriving by carriage?”

Trevor stretched out on his side next to her, and propped himself on an elbow. He slipped a piece of straw between his teeth and twirled it nonchalantly with his fingertips.

“The Verrettes. They're from upriver, remember? You were at their home for the soirée.”

“Of course.”

A desire to be physically closer to him swept over her with such a powerful force, it was as if a part of her detached from her body and moved into oneness with him. A churning in the center of her chest discomfited her.

Turning her cheek onto her arm, she studied him. His bold gaze caught her off guard. But this time, she put up no barriers.

He removed the piece of straw from between his lips and used it to tease a wisp of hair from her cheek. “Tell me what you intend to do with yourself once you reach San Francisco? What's out there that's not here, if you've no ties to either place? You aren't exactly a poor man's catch, you know. You could do just as well for yourself in New Orleans.”

Frustration swept through her veins at his remark.

Trevor ducked as she threw a handful of hay at him. “What did I just say that made you do that?”

She studied him for a moment. “I suppose I'm somewhat touchy about being termed someone's
catch.
The idea rankles me. I think that's the part I resent about being a woman.”

“What part?”

“The part about having to have a man in my life to be content. Can I not be happy left to my own devices?”

He shrugged. “Can you?”

“Tell me this, Trevor—if a man is unmarried, he is called a bachelor, and no one questions his state of well-being. But if a woman is not wed, she is referred to as a miserable old maid.”

“It doesn't sound like you have it in mind to marry again.”

“I don't.”

He frowned. “Was your marriage that bad?”

She tried to turn her head, but he would not let her. “Did your husband mistreat you?”

“Heavens, no. He was perfectly kind to me. It's just that . . .” She shrugged.

He squeezed her arm when her words trailed off. “Go on.”

“The accident not only took my husband and unborn child from me, it took the lives of any future children as well.”

“You're certain?”

She nodded. “The physician said the fever that followed took care of that.”

Trevor gave her hand a squeeze. “I am sorry.”

“Don't be. I don't wallow in self-pity. I prefer the reality that there are few men who would care to marry a barren woman—unless he has one foot in the grave.” She smiled. “And perhaps even then.”

“That wasn't funny, Celine. I think there must be numerous men who would welcome all your attention, and wouldn't miss having children. And what about a widower who already has his own family? Besides, I'm not so sure it's always in a child's best interest if both parents are so caught up in one another, the children are excluded. Perhaps it's only possible to have one or the other, but never both.” It was about time to bring this part of the discussion to a close—he was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Celine reached out and touched his arm. “Your thinking is skewed because of your own childhood.”

Now he was
really
uncomfortable. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Your father and I had many conversations while I was grieving, Trevor. I am quite aware of what went on in your family. Your father has much regretted his exclusion of you when he was so deeply in love with your mother. He knows you cherished your mother's time when you had it, and that you had no one after she died. At the time, your father couldn't comprehend that the love of a son is different from the love of a husband.”

“Are you insinuating that my father was jealous of a mother's love for her son?”

“It wouldn't be the first time such jealousy occurred. Perhaps it is more common than we realize. He certainly is deeply sorry, and has many regrets.”

“I never knew.”

“And that would be because you two never spoke of the past, which is typical of men.”

“Humph.”

For some strange reason, he needed her right then. He moved his body closer to hers, but was quickly aroused by nothing more than the simple curve of her back, and the smooth touch of her skin. He shifted to his stomach to conceal his growing ardor, and in doing so, his body touched the length of hers.

It set him on fire—the last thing he wanted to occur today. He fully intended to fulfill his father's request to treat Celine with dignity. Bedding her in the hayloft was not part of his plans. No, that he would do later.

Oh, hell. His body had a mind of its own. He got up and fumbled around in the wicker basket. He retrieved the bottle of wine and two glasses and settled back next to her.

She smiled.

For the first time, he noticed that her smile started out at the right corner of her mouth, the left corner lagging behind, giving it an ever-so-slightly crooked appearance before it appeared fully. The wonderful little flaw only accentuated her beauty. Without thinking, he leaned over and touched the crooked corner of her mouth with his lips.

She stiffened.

He pulled back. “Pardon.”

With only a slight nod, she set about watching the workers place the finishing touches on the outdoor decorations, seemingly unfazed by his action.

Trevor regarded her profile. “You're very pretty.” Christ, such trite words for the mighty feelings in his heart.

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”

He poured a little more wine in her glass. The ruby liquid spilled down the edge. With the tip of her tongue, she caught the overflow.

“Ah.” She smiled, and then held the glass to her lips.

He wanted to drink from the side she'd just caressed with her tongue.

She intrigued him, captivated him with her mind as well as with her sheer physical presence. His hand enclosed hers. He held it to his constricted chest and let his heart beat into her hand. How the hell was he going to let her sail off with Cameron?

His gaze swept over her length, touched skirts draped over shapely legs, up over a flat stomach and round breasts that moved subtly with her gentle breaths. Then his gaze came to rest upon her face again. He became brutally aware of the quickened tempo of her breathing.

The electricity in the air surged as though a storm had gathered. He regarded her for a long while, watching for some slight gesture or movement. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat, and he knew that one day very soon, they would have to have one another.

But not now, not in the purity of this moment.

A sudden ache in the hollow of his heart compelled him to reach for her. His voice was uneven as he spoke. “Have you ever wanted to be held, Celine? Simply held in a man's arms, and nothing more?”

Her lips parted and she took in an audible breath. “And have you ever wanted to hold someone, Trevor? Simply hold them, and nothing more?”

He embraced her—as if the embrace would discharge an entire lifetime of inconsolable hunger and emptiness.

She buried her head in his chest, relaxed into him as though her bones had dissolved. Then she pulled her head back, studied him for a moment. “What happened to you in New Orleans? You are ... different.”

“Shh. I missed you.”

In one languid movement, his mouth came down on hers, feather light, and then deepened into a passionate, complete kiss. It was warm and wonderful, drinking her in. Deeper and deeper into her essence he dove until he felt as though the ground gave way beneath them.

On the brink of losing control, he broke the kiss. “Time for the nap Madame Charmontès ordered,
ma petite.
” He held her, just held her until she drifted off to sleep.

 

 

Celine awoke with muffled sounds drifting up from below. Confused, she sat up, then realized where she was. Alone in the loft, she crawled over to the ledge and peered down.

Trevor was tending to Panther. She watched for a moment, beguiled by his gentle manner with the horse.

He glanced upward and grinned. “Sleepyhead.”

Her heart bloomed. How could he have grown more handsome in such a short time? She returned his smile, and then started down the ladder.

Trevor turned his back to her and continued brushing the horse. “You should probably help yourself down. You may save yourself some embarrassment that way.”

His honey-soft laughter rushed into her heart. His teasing was as intimate as a kiss.

She stood beside him, quietly observed as he swept a wide brush across the horse's shiny black coat. Soon, Panther became a mere backdrop to the sleek man at work. She checked an urge to reach out and sweep away the ebony locks tumbling over his forehead.

The air stirred with his movements, filled the space around her with the unmistakable, heady scent that was part of his allure. It was a timeless, intimate painting. She hung suspended in the magical moment.