Celine (21 page)

But Celine couldn't find a graceful way out. Cameron and Trevor joined her and Justin in the carriage that transported them to the Garden District home of one of New Orleans's wealthiest patrons of the arts. If she begged off now, she might destroy what Justin had worked so hard to achieve. She couldn't take such a risk—the climate in the carriage was still prickly.

They were an hour into the festivities when Lola made her grand entrance dressed in a form-fitting red silk gown that defied fashion—and gravity.

She circled the room as though she glided on air, stopping at every man, whispering something private in each ear that brought a blush to the hearer's cheek. Sliding a gloved hand up and down a sleeve, she would tilt her head in provocatively. All the while, she virtually ignored the women.

Had Lola intended saving Trevor for last? She stopped in front of him, tossed her thick black mane behind her with a lift of her chin, and, breathing in slow and deep, she ran both hands up Trevor's arms until she circled his neck. When she blatantly brought her lips to Trevor's ear and whispered something Celine could not understand, anger stung like a bee.

Damn Trevor's nonchalance. He only smiled politely, but he did not retreat. Was he being polite to avoid a scene? Or was he actually interested? Emotions Celine couldn't identify swept through her like a maelstrom. Well, she wasn't about to stand there looking the fool. Where was Cameron? Or Justin, who'd disappeared into the crowd some time ago. It didn't matter, she would find her way back to the townhouse, even if it took a feigned headache to do so.

She gathered her wits about her, turned to Trevor, and spoke politely. “If you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now.”

Trevor's brow furrowed. “Why?”

Lola carved out a cold smile for Celine and then turned back to Trevor. She touched his arm and gazed into his eyes in a provocative manner that would have put Giselle Beaudrée to shame.

“I am delighted you have come to Lola, this evening, señor. I do hope you consider the night to be young, and you will remain to greet the sunrise with me.”

What kind of invitation was
that?

Trevor's smile was slight. “We shall see.”

“Your arrogance is astounding,” Celine said through her teeth. A sudden weariness flooded her to the point that she felt boneless. She'd had enough of Trevor's women. There was no getting around it—he was the kind of man women flocked to. After all, even she had succumbed to his charisma.

Trevor placed a hand at the small of her back and leaned to her ear. “Don't be a child. The lady means nothing by her antics. I merely humor her.”

“You call me a child, and her a lady? You call
her
a lady?”

Lola smiled and ran an insolent gaze up and down Celine that Trevor didn't catch with his head turned. The fool. Celine bit back a rude retort and stepped away.

Cameron appeared at Celine's side and took her arm, his face flushed with fury. “Would you care for a bit of fresh air?”

“Actually, I am rather tired of this ... this meaningless evening. I . . . I need to find my wrap.” She clasped her hand in the crook of Cameron's arm, and left Trevor standing alone.

Brushing Cameron's arm from her waist, she went in search of her cloak. She cursed herself, refused a servant's aid, and fumbled haphazardly through the sea of wraps in a room off the entry.
You are leaving in six days anyway, you stupid ninny. Keep your distance until then.

Trevor's words sounded behind her. “Don't go.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, leave me alone, Trevor.” Her voice rose, and a sob caught in her throat, but she turned to face him nonetheless. “Just leave me alone.”

He took her arm. “Please—”

She shrugged it off. “We really shouldn't be near one another,” she said, her voice now under control. “For some reason our personalities are like oil and water. The day I sail from here will be a propitious event in my eyes.”

“These things take time, Celine—”

She laughed, but it came out bitter. “Time? Time? We have no time, Trevor.” She made to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm again.

She struck out at him, her hurt and anger unleashed like talons. “Leave me alone!”

He pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest.

She struggled to get out of his hold.

“Stop it, Celine.” He shook her. “You little fool. Can't you see it is you that I—”

Cameron appeared from nowhere. “Leave her be, you selfish bastard.” He shoved Trevor against the wall and buried a fist in his midsection.

Trevor grunted, doubled over, and gripped his stomach. He dropped his hands, heaved in a breath, and straightened. His voice rasped low and dangerous as he stepped forward. “You shouldn't have done that, Cousin.” Trevor pushed, and Cameron stumbled backward into a curio cabinet. It toppled under his weight, sending glass shelves and the contents shattering to the marble floor with a resounding crash.

Women shrieked.

A crowd gathered at the doorway. Several onlookers rushed to separate the men, pulled them from the room and back into the main hallway.

Justin shoved through the crowd, his face a portrait of utter despair.

Lola instructed the musicians to play. She began a seductive dance, turning heads. But not before Cameron picked up a leather glove and slapped Trevor's face with it.

A wave of exclamations washed through the crowd.

Trevor stared at his cousin for what seemed an eternity. Then a cold fire rose in his eyes. He picked up the glove and handed it back to Cameron. “In two mornings' time.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Oh, God no, not a duel!

Justin took her arm. “I'm taking you home, Celine.”

Frantic, and her mind numb, Celine couldn't make sense of his words.

“Now,” he said. “Before things get any worse.”

“I don't think that's possible.” She shoved a loose curl behind her ear and froze with her hand on her right ear. “My earring. I've lost an earring.” She pulled away from him and raced back to where the conflict had taken place. She searched desperately, as if finding the bauble would somehow reprieve Cameron's soul. Her instincts told her Trevor would be the better shot of the two.

Exhausted, she finally gave up, and allowed Justin to take her to the carriage. “How inane of me to be looking for an earring when a man's life is at stake.”

Instantly, she was sorry for her remark when she saw how pale Justin had become. “Oh, Justin, you should have let me die under that wagon. Dear God, what a mess I've created in your life.”

He leaned over and squeezed her hand. “Don't blame yourself. We all have free will. It seems Trevor has his way of dealing with things, but Cameron?” He shook his head and his voice trailed off. “What fool thing has he done?”

“I am so sorry.” Celine's tears stained her cheeks and blurred the tapestry of the moon and stars above. They rode in silence, each contemplating the horrific enormity of the evening's events.

When Justin saw her into the townhouse, he finally spoke. “It will do no good to hold anyone in contempt. They each need our prayers now more than ever.”

 

 

A carriage pulled up to the grand Garden District home where Lola Montez had held court all night. “The St. Charles,” Trevor directed the driver. The fiery entertainer beside him smoothed one eyebrow with the tips of her fingers, then trailed them slowly through the wisps of dark curls at her temple.

He helped Lola into the carriage and slid in beside her. She placed her hand on top of his thigh. The heat of it burned through the fabric of his trouser leg.

Casually, she tilted her head and regarded him through luxurious lashes. Her dusky smile came soft and easy. “I believe this will prove to be a very interesting evening.” She gave a throaty laugh. “I correct myself on the word
evening
since the sun, it is about to rise, yes?”

Trevor studied her. Although he didn't consider her to be beautiful, he found her exotic. Her self-assured detachment held a certain mystery, and her uninhibited freedom offered a promise to explore whatever sensual pleasures he chose. Most of all, her nomadic lifestyle was appropriate for the direction the evening had taken.

“Your room or mine?” she asked in a husky whisper.

“I would prefer yours, madame
.
”

A barely perceptible shift took place in her countenance. Her smile grew vague. “Of course.”

She had to know what he meant by preferring her room over his. She had lived too long traveling from hotel to hotel, and from man to man, not to have learned it was the simplest way for a man to escape when they were finished with each other.

By the time they reached the hotel where both had rooms, Trevor's anger had gone through a metamorphosis. It had crawled back inside him, back into that cold cave he knew so well.

He stood at the window in Lola's hotel room, watching the first remnants of morning paint the night sky a pale pink. He could not bring himself to crawl into her bed.

“Señor Andrews. Who was the woman you intended to hold in your mind when you made love to me?” Her voice was soft, but knowing.

Trevor's cynical retort was flat, lifeless. “Make love? Is that what you'd call it?” He continued to stare out at nothing in particular.

Lola ignored the remark. “Someone will lose his life in this pitiful charade you are enacting. But you, señor, you seem already to have died.”

Trevor turned around and reached for his jacket. “I have to go.”

She patted the edge of the sofa. “Not yet. Sit for a moment with Lola. Please, sit.” He did not move from the window.

“The woman with the green eyes, she is the one you love, no?”

Her words stung. “Love? What the hell is love, anyway?”

“I will tell you what love is,” she said. “It is when a man makes love to a woman and gives her his soul. But then something happens to separate them. He tries to return to his old ways, but he cannot bear the intimate touch of another woman, so he keeps his secret by parading a different woman on his arm in public each night, while taking none to his bed.”

His jaw twitched. “You're mad.”

“Perhaps a little,” she said, smiling. “You are in love, but that is not your problem. It could be the solution, though.” Her voice grew compassionate. “She loves you as well, Señor Trevor.”

“Celine? You couldn't be more wrong. She detests me.”

“Aha, then there is hope!” Lola stood and helped herself to one of Trevor's cheroots from his jacket. She lit it and paced in front of him. She spoke quickly, punctuating the air with the cigarillo. “Do you know that hate is not the opposite of love?”

He needed to leave. Why the hell was he giving her another minute of his time?

“Apathy is the opposite of love. If this woman with the green eyes were indifferent toward you, then all hope would be lost.”

She inhaled the cheroot, lifted her chin, and blew a cloud of smoke in the air. “You should know something else,
mi amigo
—there are only two emotions when we care about someone—love or fear. Hatred and jealousy are merely the fearful sides of love. Your woman, she was very jealous of Lola tonight.” She ceased her soliloquy and waited for Trevor's response.

Damn it, he didn't want to make sense of her words. He reached for his jacket. “You're a fine actress, Lola. But you really should save it for the stage.”

She acted as though she hadn't heard him. “Someone has hurt you very deeply, yes?”

When he failed to respond, her voice grew soft. “You are much too young to have grown so bitter. If you do not heal these wounds that lie so deep in your heart, then very soon, señor, you will find yourself living a very difficult and lonely life.”

She tilted her head back, as if it gave her a deeper perspective into Trevor's soul. “That is, unless you plan to step in front of your cousin's bullet.”

His blood chilled. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I have to go.” He turned to leave, but she stepped around him and stared straight into his eyes.

A strange otherworldliness shone in her expression. “Your mother, she is not among us?”

“My mother is none of your concern.”

“She left you at a young age?” Her eyes narrowed. “You were a sensitive child, and her death broke your heart, yes?”

Trevor remained silent, not sure why his feet remained planted where they were. His heart pounded so loud he could hear it.

“And then there were others, were there not? Women who were like vultures, pecking away at an already dying heart.”

“What are you, some kind of goddamned witch? Leave me alone.” He stepped forward to make his exit, but she placed a hand against his chest.

“Will you permit me to ask you one last question before you go?”

“What?” His solitary word froze the air around them.

“When you take your last breath, whose hand will hold yours? And what will you see when you gaze into your loved one's eyes? Or will you die alone, and lonely?”

“I need to go.”

“Go to her. She will forgive you. This life you are leading now, it will be a lonely one, that I know. Take her for your wife before it is too late.”

With a jerk of his shoulder, he shrugged her hand off his chest, threw his jacket over his shoulder, and strode hard for the door.

“Señor.”

He turned and looked at her one last time before he walked out.