Celine (4 page)

Despite her cutting words, relief flooded his chest, followed by a spike of guilt. “I beg your pardon, I misunderstood.” His grip on Celine relaxed, and he slowly let her arm down, never shifting his gaze from her cold green eyes, void of the golden flecks he'd seen before.

She turned and rushed into her room, slamming the door behind her.

A slow grin settled about his mouth. He'd deduced one emotion that made the color of her eyes shift about like a kaleidoscope. Now to figure out a few more. He whistled lightly as he strolled to his bedchamber.

Chapter Three

Celine paused at the bottom of the grand staircase and peered across the hall into the dining room. Her grip tightened on Lindsey's arm when she saw the family gathered in a small circle. Michel, on break from Jefferson University and full of the political bent of youth, held court. Trevor and his cousin stood with their backs to the entry. Thank God, no one noticed her. She wasn't up to being caught spying again.

She counted six people. Where the devil was Justin?

He emerged from the library. “Ah, Celine, there you are. And aren't you a sight to behold?”

“Thank you.” She relaxed now that he was at her side.

He moved in front of her, blocking her view of the others, regarding her with a gentle smile. “Your gown is beautiful. As are you, of course.”

She brushed a hand over the rows of delicate Belgian lace cascading from her waist to her toes. “I would have preferred something less dramatic, but Marie insisted. You know how she can be sometimes. At least the beige is a subdued color.”

She touched the narrow row of lace gathered around the top of the dress that left her shoulders bare and the top of her breasts exposed. There wasn't an inch to spare for slippage. The chocolate-colored silk sash tied around her corseted waist matched her doeskin slippers. She wiggled her toes just to feel the comfort.

Justin gave her hand a squeeze. “Relax. This is an informal family gathering.”

Lindsey fidgeted. “May I go to the others, Father?”

“As you wish.”

He bolted across the hallway like a horse let out of a paddock.

“That's what boys do at thirteen.” Justin chuckled and presented his arm. “Shall we join them?”

Celine slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and steadied herself. “Of course.”

The massive room never failed to impress her. Glittering candlelight danced off the prisms of the twin chandeliers overhead. Tall candelabras graced the table, high enough to allow the diners an unobstructed view. Roses, the color of a pink morning sunrise, floated in a shallow bowl in the center.

The others were assembled near the French doors and sipped either mint juleps or sangria. They turned in unison at her approach.

Her stomach gave an isolated lurch, and then quieted. Michel moved quickly to her side and blew a kiss across her cheek. “Aren't you a wondrous sight.” Removing her arm from his father's, he took it and whispered wickedly in her ear. “Come, allow me to introduce you to my cousin and his parents. You are going to drive Cameron absolutely wild.”

Celine's cheeks prickled with heat when she found herself standing beside a man who was unnervingly handsome. What appeared to be surprise flickered over Cameron's countenance before a cool, almost arrogant demeanor settled around him.

Trevor stood just behind and to the left of him. She ignored Trevor and focused her attention on Cameron. Sweet heavens. Except for the hazel eyes fringed with the same sooty lashes as Trevor's and the neatly manicured moustache, the two could be brothers. Cameron's height was nearly the same as his cousin's, his hair the same mass of thick black waves. His large frame showed to advantage in finely tailored clothing as well.

She shot a quick glance at Trevor. He gave her a small nod. Were they both haughty men? She went back to acknowledging Trevor's cousin while Michel made the introductions.

Cameron was all charm. No, arrogance was not what the two men displayed—this was power. And mischief. And confidence. Along with dazzling charisma. Lord, the two of them together must be a formidable force in business matters. And when they stepped out together in the evening, surely they melted hearts along the way. They wore their power like their clothing—impeccably.

She struggled to inhale. Drat the tight lacing on her corset. She extended her hand in greeting. Oh, wouldn't her daring friend, Dianah, have appreciated these two? And wouldn't Celine feel so much more comfortable with Dianah demanding all the attention.

Cameron took her hand and brushed the back of her knuckles lightly with his lips, his manner faultless. What a relief—his touch didn't burn her skin as Trevor's had. And his nearness didn't weaken her knees. She smiled at him. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“I'll bet you are,” Trevor said, studying her with those damnable heavy-lidded eyes.

She was forced to acknowledge him. “Good evening.”

Instead of taking her hand as Cameron had, Trevor clasped his behind his back and slowly regarded every inch of her. “Indeed, it is.”

His neatly combed hair appeared as black as his velvet jacket. His charcoal trousers were molded to his narrow hips and long legs. This Trevor was even more handsome and magnetic than the man who had left her so confused a few hours earlier. She had to force herself to breathe. What was the matter with her? For pity's sake, she wasn't a schoolgirl.

Something wavered in his countenance. “Excuse me.” He turned on his heel, and stepped out to the terrace.

What in the world had just happened to make him walk away so abruptly
?
Squaring her shoulders, she smiled and turned back to Cameron.

He slid his hand gracefully into hers, and guided her to his parents. “I'd like you to meet my father and his new wife.”

Celine exhaled softly, thankful Cameron was friendly—and that he didn't have the same effect on her as Trevor.

Cameron's father, Miles, was a younger version of Justin, the gray only beginning to appear at his temples. A short, squat woman stood next to him. Elizabeth Andrews bent her head to Celine when they were introduced, but said nothing. Her cheeks turned crimson, and she cast her gaze to the floor.

Cameron still held Celine's hand when Trevor returned a few moments later. An odd smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Nice to see you two have become fast friends.”

“Shall we be seated?” Justin broke in, ending Trevor's game.

Dear Lord, give me strength
. Celine slowly let out her breath and moved to the table. She stood behind the chair in front of a place card bearing her name.

“Ah, delightful.” Cameron pulled her chair out along with the one to her right.

“I believe that's where Michel is to sit,” Celine said, indicating the place setting next to hers. “Yours is to the right of his.”

Cameron nonchalantly switched place cards. “So it was.”

Lindsey scurried into his seat to her left as if he feared someone might snatch his place card away too.

Trevor sat down opposite her. Her fingers gripped the sides of her chair. She'd sneaked in earlier in the day and made certain he was seated as far from her as possible. How did the scoundrel come to sit directly across from her? It chafed her temper to know he would be in her direct line of vision the entire evening and there was little she could do about it.

Miles and Justin sat at opposite ends of the table, Elizabeth next to Miles. The chair to Justin's right stood empty. Justin glowered at Trevor. “Who changed the seating arrangement around?”

A corner of Trevor's mouth twitched. He raised the glass of sangria to his lips. It did little good—his eyes laughed at her over the rim.

Justin's demeanor shifted, as if he had second thoughts, and he mumbled, “Won't this be an evening worth watching.”

Felicité made her grand entrance dressed in a silvery blue silk gown trimmed in white lace, a string of perfectly matched pearls at her throat. She sat in the vacant seat next to her father and began to chatter in French.

“
Mon Dieu,”
her father muttered. Then his face brightened. “Elizabeth only speaks English. To speak in any other language would be tantamount to whispering behind her back. Would everyone agree?”

“That should hold the little one's tongue a while,” Trevor said dryly. Felicité's command of English was not yet strong. He was back to studying Celine as he spoke to his sister. “And stop pouting. It ruins your ensemble.”

Celine couldn't help herself. She laughed. The scamp.

A deep red wine replaced the sangria and mint juleps. Platters of crusty French bread appeared along with steaming tureens of jambalaya, shrimp gumbo, and crawfish étoufée. The air was redolent with the savory smells Celine had grown up with. The room took on a cozy air as everyone around her broke into noisy, relaxed conversation.

Cameron waved a servant off and filled Celine's plate. He tore a thick chunk of bread from a loaf still hot from the oven and made a soft, appreciative noise at the back of his throat. “There's nothing like good Creole cooking to bring back family memories.”

The chatter around the table and the clink of utensils against china faded into a backdrop for Celine's internal world. How alike he and Trevor were, but how differently each affected her. She wondered if they kissed alike.

Oh, Lord, where had such a wicked thought come from? She took up her wineglass, hoping to dismiss the bloom that must have appeared in her cheeks.

Cameron tore off another piece of bread and set the piece on her plate, openly studying her.

“Do you intend to feed her as well?” Trevor said dryly.

Something wild and playfully arousing swept through Celine. Fixing her eyes on Trevor, she picked up her spoon, dipped it into the savory jambalaya, and slowly, ever so slowly, brought the spoonful to her lips.

He stilled. Despite the bold game she played, she nearly swooned at the burst of robust flavors. He wasn't the only one who favored the brown jambalaya over red. It was thick with chicken, andouille sausage, and tasso—the spicy, smoky Cajun pork that gave this dish its rich color. The full-bodied taste penetrated her senses in layers. Memories of life in the French Quarter cleaved a path through her mind and tugged at her heart. She couldn't help herself; she closed her eyes in pleasure.

Trevor chuckled at her reaction.

She opened her eyes.

He pulled off a chunk of bread, dunked it into the thick broth, then dipped his head just enough to pop the laden piece into his mouth without spilling a drop. “Mmm.
Voilà comment savourer un plat digne des dieux.
” The only way to eat food from the gods.

How many times had she heard that phrase along with the first bite of anything Creole or Cajun in the French Quarter? But never had anyone performing that little ritual caused a wave of raw, pagan pleasure to grip her.

Perhaps those erotic books she and Dianah had read beneath her parents' oak tree held a mustard seed of truth after all. Odd, but tension that had held her back rigid drained from her, and she found herself suddenly enjoying the evening. “How is it your speech carries a hint of our Colonial French while Cameron has a decidedly English bent to his? I notice the two of you exchange colloquialisms from both England and the Quarter with ease.”

Cameron jumped in. “We spent our youth between the plantation and the French Quarter before I went off to school in England.”

“He had to go,” Trevor responded.

“They separated us,” Cameron put in. “God only knows what would have happened had we—”

“So, Mrs. Kirkland,” Miles interrupted. “I understand you are giving consideration to relocating to San Francisco.”

Trevor and Cameron shot speaking glances at one another and stopped eating. Trevor still held a piece of bread over his plate.

Cameron draped one arm over the back of Celine's chair and with an ever-broadening grin said, “Fancy that, so am I.”

Trevor brought his wineglass to his smirking lips. “On second thought . . .”

Cameron lifted his in toast to Trevor. “That's what you get for cheating when drawing straws, dear cousin.” He turned to Celine. “But why the move? Are you not content here?”

Justin took over the conversation. “Eustace Morgan built a luxury hotel in San Francisco, and relocated his family there.” He paused. “Surely, Trevor,
both
you and Cameron remember
Judge
Morgan?”

Trevor and Cameron exchanged knowing glances before Justin continued.

“Celine is close friends with his daughter and has been invited to live with them since she has no family left in these parts.” He paused and turned to Celine, his voice deepening. “However, since she has a home at Carlton Oaks for as long as she pleases, I do hope she decides to decline their offer.”

Cameron sat a little straighter at Justin's aggressive delivery, as though he'd just been given the cut direct, and signaled for more wine. “Do tell. Far be it for me to question life's little twists and turns.” He leaned toward Celine, his moustache tickling her ear. “However, I do hope you'll choose to become an intrepid traveler and move West. In the meantime, would you care to join me in a ride about the plantation tomorrow? It's been quite some time since I've seen the old place.”

His cheek was so close, she caught the scent of clean citrus laced with musk. His nearness did nothing to stir her senses. The man sitting directly across from her might as well have been the one whose cheek had just touched hers, for she could feel his heat, could recall his scent from where she sat.

“How did you come to know the Morgan family?” Trevor asked before she had a chance to respond to Cameron's invitation. “They lived in the French Quarter.”

“As did I,” she responded.

“Really? You're not French.”

A jolt ran through her; defiance followed. Oh, hell's bells, what did she care what he assumed of her meager upbringing? “Neither is Dianah. While she was born into wealth, I was raised in the Quarter by my grandmother. She was a dressmaker for the upper echelons of society, which could well have included your mother, Mr. Andrews. We lived behind her tiny shop.”