Emerald Ecstasy (8 page)

Sitting up in bed, his eyes roamed the half-clad body of Dona Isabelle Hidalgo, wife of a close friend of the king. He had finished the painting that afternoon of the beautiful Isabelle, dressed properly in the latest court fashion. Daniel knew her illustrious husband would be well pleased with the demure image she projected on canvas. However, Daniel wondered the man's reaction if he knew that two-thirds of the painting had been executed while the voluptuous Isabelle posed lounging on the bed, her naked body waiting for him, enticing him to take her. What would his reaction be if he knew that this wasn't the first time Isabelle had joined her wanton flesh to his?

Daniel's body was satiated but his soul wasn't. Since leaving Ireland some months ago, he had traced Victor Dubois to a small Irish town where he found the man in failing health and deserted by his young wife. He discovered the name of the woman in the summer house, a name deeply ingrained in his memory. Lianne Laguens, Comtesse de la Varre. The widow of the son of Dubois' friend. Needless to say that Dubois wasn't glad to see him and blamed him for Lianne's running away that night. He hadn't seen her since and told Daniel he was lucky to be alive, that the whole incident had virtually destroyed his fragile health. He advised Daniel to give up the search, that women were faithless, as he had discovered.

Daniel pitied the old man, but didn't stop searching for Lianne. He picked up on any clue he could find, even engaged people to search for her. Thus, the lead in Madrid. A woman by that name had performed for a small opera company and then disappeared. After questioning a few of the players, he learned they knew practically nothing about her, but that she did perform at the palace the last time they saw her.

It was very little to go on, but Daniel remembered that de Lovis was an influential man in Madrid and very much involved in the arts. So, he decided that as soon as he finished his commission with Isabelle Hidalgo, he'd seek out de Lovis who was away in the country, secluded for some months.

Isabelle stirred and opened large, brown eyes.
“Mi amor,
how long have I slept? I must get home to Franco or he'll suspect something,” She quickly sat up and pulled the sheet about her, but Daniel stilled her. His mouth came slowly down upon hers, causing her breath to quicken.

“You have plenty of time, my Spanish rose. The sun is still high in the sky.”

“Oh, Daniel,” she said, wrapping them together in the sheet.
“Sí,
let the old goat wait.”

The next day Daniel waited for Raoul on the terrace of his country home. The peace and serenity of the Spanish countryside filled him, and he felt he was getting closer to Lianne, hoped that she was still in Spain. Perhaps de Lovis was familiar with her name, her face. Anything. He had to find her.

“Señor Flanders.” A servant motioned him to follow and Daniel walked behind him into the house and down a long hallway, stopping before Raoul's library. The servant opened the door, and Daniel entered the room which was encased in darkness. Except for a slight crack where the material met, massive drapes barred the sun's rays. In the darkness, Daniel heard Raoul's voice,

“Find your way to a chair.”

Groping his way to the sound of Raoul's voice, he found a chair and sat, anger and puzzlement building in him that he should be treated so shabbily by his wife's relative.

“How are you, Raoul?” he asked in a restrained tone.

He heard the creak of Raoul's chair. “Fine, my nephew. What can I do for you?”

You can pull the damn drapes he started to say, but stopped himself. He didn't wish to get into an argument with de Lovis. He only wanted any information the man had, and then he'd be on his way.

Daniel explained the reason for his visit, ending with, “If you can find this woman, I'd be more than grateful.”

“I see, my niece's husband. Tell me, are you involved with this woman?”

“No,” Daniel answered truthfully. He wasn't involved with her, but he wanted to be. “It is a personal matter. She was in a French troupe, playing in small Irish towns, then abruptly she left.” He cleared his throat, not going into detail. “Someone spotted her here, performing in Madrid. She is very beautiful with auburn hair and green eyes.”

For an instant, Daniel heard a deathly quiet invade the room. Raoul's breathing stilled. “What is this woman's name?”

“Lianne Laguens.”

After long moments, he heard Raoul draw breath. “I know of no such woman.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now, Daniel, I'm very busy. I'd advise you to forget this woman and to return home to your wife. This woman is not for you.”

Daniel sensed the animosity in Raoul's voice and decided that Raoul had figured his interest was more than personal and had offended his niece. He stood up. “Thank you for your time, Don Raoul, but I shall find her. Good day.”

Opening the door, Raoul saw Daniel's broad shoulders fill the doorway, then he was gone. Through the curtain crack, he watched Daniel mount his horse and ride toward Madrid. Raoul opened the drapes and allowed the morning sunshine to spill into the well-ordered study.

He lit a cheroot and sat behind his desk and blew smoke rings, watching them rise to the rafters. He smiled at the coincidence. Fate had decreed his meeting with the beautiful Comtesse and had pulled her from him. Through Daniel, the philandering husband of his unfortunate niece, he might find her yet.

He realized that Daniel must be the father of Lianne's child. There was no other explanation to the question which had nagged at him for months. He wasn't certain how they had met or what had torn them apart, but he knew Daniel was in love with her and would pursue her until he found her.

When Raoul had tried to discover her whereabouts from the bed to which he had been confined until a month ago, her lodgings in Madrid had turned up nothing. Pedro Alvarez wouldn't tell his men where Lianne Laguens had gone, but Pedro wasn't a problem any longer. His men had unburdened him of his silent tongue.

Raoul laughed bitterly and extinguished the cheroot in an ashtray. He touched the puffy eyelid which had been stitched closed by a court physician after his servant found him, lying in a puddle of his own blood. The doctor assured him the puffiness would clear. The infection had been a particularly serious and persistent one. Only recently had Raoul left his bed. He didn't think he'd ever get used to this abomination. For a man who once was physically perfect in every way now to be so hideous caused him to stop looking in the mirror. He hated his reflection and thought he looked grotesque.

The image of his mother flashed into his mind. Dolores de Lovis had been beautiful and fiery like Lianne Laguens. She had been touted as Spain's most beautiful woman and had completely captivated his father … and many other men, he later learned. Her unfaithfulness to his father had injured the young Raoul. Though she told her son she loved him, he never believed her. How could she love him when she besmirched the family honor, his honor also, by falling in love with a man far beneath his father? When she ran away with her lover, she destroyed any love he felt for her. He had loved her, adored her. Her betrayal had caused Raoul to mask his feelings. The cynic in him grew until a bitter and cruel man emerged. But Raoul knew that his mother would have been the only person to accept and love him, no matter how he looked at present.

Opening a desk drawer, he withdrew a black patch. He placed it over the offensive eye and tied the string around his head. The doctor had advised he wear it, but so far, he hadn't had a reason. Now he did.

For the first time since the injury he walked to the mirror and studied his reflection. He found his face to be thinner, and this thinness gave his nose more of an eagle-like quality which he decided wasn't unattractive. His dark hair was bountiful, and with the patch over his right eye, he appeared extremely forbidding. He looked like the type of man who could strike fear in the hearts of little children and bend women to his will.

He imagined Lianne with her flaming hair cascaded on a white pillow, her face, her body, his to take and to pleasure. Or to inflict pain. Whichever he deemed necessary. But he decided she'd be more humiliated if he pleasured her, forced mewling submissive sounds from between her coral lips.

Yes, that was it. He'd allow Daniel Flanders to find her. She owed him for the loss of his sight. She owed him for turning him into a grotesque-looking human being, less than perfect.

He rang for a servant and ordered his clothes packed. Wherever Daniel followed Lianne's trail, he'd follow behind … ready to take her when the time came.

Lianne's visit at Green Meadows was cut short by Philippe who insisted she return to New Orleans with him. He convinced her that he could arrange a meeting with the director of the opera company, that she didn't have to audition if she didn't wish. His uncle owned an interest in the company, and the director knew Philippe very well.

Lianne was perfectly happy at Green Meadows but wished to get on with her life. She had to support her child, and though Maria insisted she still had plenty of money, Lianne refused to take another peso from her. Though Lianne suspected Philippe was a braggart and might not even be that friendly with the director, she took a chance. To her amazement, she actually found herself liking him and looking forward to his visits to Green Meadows, and their intimate suppers together at Belle Riviere. Only once had he been anything but gentlemanly, and when he did have occasion to get a bit out of hand, he apologized for his behavior and was so charming that Lianne immediately forgave him. How could she help but like him when he always was so kind and sweet to her daughter?

However, Dera felt differently. “Watch out for Philippe,” she told her. “I don't trust him.” Lianne weighed her godmother's words, but couldn't find any good reason not to like him. So, the morning she left Green Meadows, she kissed and hugged Dera warmly.

“I shall miss you, but I'll try to visit soon.”

“Don't let Philippe pull the wool too far over your eyes,” she said and hugged her back.

With that warning in her head, Lianne, Maria and her baby were escorted by Philippe into a carriage he had refurbished. A sadness filled Lianne as she waved again to Dera who stood on the front porch. They drove along the river road toward the city. “I shall miss her,” she said sadly.

Philippe took her hand. Maria, who sat in the corner seat with the baby, sniffed. Lianne knew she didn't think any more highly of Philippe Marchand than Dera did. He gently brushed a stray wisp of Lianne's hair from her face. “I know, my love, but you have me to ease the pain. When we arrive in New Orleans, I shall show you your new home. I've already made arrangements for you to move into my town house which has stood empty for a long while. I think you shall be most pleased with it.”

“Philippe, I can't. It isn't proper.”

“Why not?” he asked blankly.

She whispered low. “It's almost as if you're keeping me.”

He laughed but his eyes were serious. “I wish that were true, my darling, except I want to keep you with me always. You know how much I love you, and want to marry you.”

She remembered all the ardent marriage proposals, but she wasn't sure. She was fond of Philippe, perhaps even loved him a little, but he didn't inflame her passions like the stranger.

She rubbed a thin finger across her forehead and looked at him with clear green eyes. “Let's see what happens, Philippe. Don't rush me.”

Amelie sat on the side veranda, completely obscured from view. She hid her clenched fists in the folds of her gown, wanting to scream about the unfairness of life. She had witnessed the touching farewell between Lianne and Dera. Dera, never overly fond of Amelie, had at least shown her affection—no matter how forced. But since the French woman arrived, she spent most of her time catering to her and playing with the child. No matter how hard Dera's disinterest was to take, Amelie convinced herself that she still had Philippe. And now he had gone with Lianne. Amelie felt abandoned.

As she swallowed the huge lump which formed in her throat, she sensed Claude's presence behind her chair. “Madam Amelie, shall I take you inside?”

The lump became a painful ache, preventing her reply. He moved toward the front, seeing her beautiful eyes awash with crystal tears. When she realized he watched her, she threw her hands over face.

“Please don't stare pityingly at me, Claude!” Her voice broke, and his heart nearly did too.

Bending down, he slowly withdrew her hands from her face. Never had she expressed her feelings to him, always pretending to be cold. He knew better. Amelie was the warmest person with the softest heart he had ever known. And this is what he loved about her.

“Madam … Amelie,” he spoke in his soothing voice. “Don't allow others to hurt you so. Sometimes people don't realize they're being cruel.”

He held her hands in his, unaware of the picture they made. She as white and beautiful as a Grecian goddess, and he, a dusky brown, as handsome as any man she'd ever seen. Claude's touch, his voice, calmed her. “Everyone has abandoned me,” she said.