Lady Vixen (27 page)

"Aren't
you taking a risky chance? How can you be certain I won't betray you?"
Christopher asked curiously.

"You
could," Jason admitted freely. "I may be taking a foolish chance. But
I know your feeling for the British. I know, too, that you own lands here in
Louisiana, lands I doubt you would like to see devastated by war. You made a
place for yourself here in New Orleans, even before the war started."

Christopher
still looked skeptical. And then Jason smiled that very charming smile of his
and said gently, "And there are times when I must trust my own
instincts."

"How
much time do I have before I must depart?"

"Naturally
I would prefer you to be on the next ship we can get out of port. But you must
have a legitimate reason for returning to your homeland, or have you overlooked
that fact?"

Christopher
pulled a face. "The thought had occurred to me, and I do have an idea that
might work. The problem is time. I'll need at least a month or two."

Frowning,
his black brows meeting over the wide forehead, Jason asked heavily, "You
realize that time is an important factor?"

"I'm
aware of that! But by the same token, nothing is going to be moving very fast
this time of year, and for now we know where the enemy is. You yourself admit
that we don't know for certain that New Orleans is their target. With that in
mind, I would hazard a guess that, whatever is planned, nothing definite will
be set in motion before next fall, and that assumes Napoleon
is
beaten
on all fronts in Europe. Until he is contained or completely annihilated, the
British and their allies have their hands more than full." Christopher
paused, trying to gauge the effect his words were having on Jason.

Jason
was watching him intently, and Christopher had the curious conviction that
despite Jason's earlier words, he was on trial. Picking his way with care, he
continued, "If you agree with my assessment of the situation, I think
you'll concede that as long as I arrive in England by the middle of April, I
should have enough time to discover what is planned and to return ahead of the
enemy. I'll admit, I could be cutting it fine, but without a
very
legitimate
reason for returning to England, I am useless."

"Just
what is this plan that takes two months to perfect?" Jason asked dryly.

Christopher
hesitated. It was a flimsy idea, but at the moment it was all he could think
of, and it depended upon so many different things. Not the least, Mrs.
Eggleston and Nick. And he didn't like explaining himself to someone else. He
was too used to doing what he damned well pleased!

Jason
could guess at some of Christopher's dilemma. After all, Christopher knew very
little of him. And from what Jason knew of Saxon, Saxon was not a man used to
answering to another.

Having
come to a decision, Christopher said in a perfectly expressionless tone,
"Last night I met an old friend of mine, a Mrs. Eggleston."

"The
governess to the Dumas girl?"

Startled,
Christopher stared at him—was there anything that Savage didn't know? And
nodding his head he admitted, "The same. Only when I knew her, she was
living not far from my grandfather's estate and was the wife of a retired
colonel."

"So?"

Quickly,
keeping the facts to a bare minimum, Christopher explained about Nicole
Ashford—leaving out their personal relationship. But Jason caught the slight
change of inflection in Christopher's deep voice when the girl's name was mentioned
and drew his own conclusions— young Saxon wasn't entirely indifferent to the
chit. But his words gave away little as he asked thoughtfully, "You think
you can eradicate the last five years in a few months and have her presentable
by March?"

Christopher
shrugged. "It shouldn't be impossible. After all, her first thirteen years
were like those of any other young lady, and I think Mrs. Eggleston will be up
to smoothing off the rough edges."

"Well,
we can only hope. I give you credit for quick thinking."

Christopher
bowed; his features lightening and a smile hovering about his lips, he
murmured, "Thank you. I trust you will find the remainder of my activities
as satisfactory."

An
eyebrow rose in mockery. "Oh, I'm certain you'll get the task done. I am not
often wrong in my dealings with my fellowmen, and I definitely don't intend to
be this time."

Christopher
merely nodded his head. Jason rose from his chair and said with surprise,
"We seem to have covered the most important items in a remarkably short time.
For the present, you will set about with your own plans, but keep me informed
of any problems or setbacks. I will keep you abreast of any new developments
that may necessitate our moving faster."

"Agreed.
I'll meet with Mrs. Eggleston as I planned on Wednesday, and depending on the
outcome of that meeting, I shall be returning almost immediately to Thibodaux
House."

After
Jason had departed, Christopher roamed the library like a caged jungle beast.
At one point he decided he must be the biggest fool alive even to consider
becoming involved in such a scheme, but he knew it would put to rest the
dissastisfaction that had been plaguing him, while allowing him to do something
for this country that he had adopted—or that had adopted him, he thought wryly.

Though
he did not consider himself a patriot, New Orleans was
his
city. And he
would hate for his lands to be destroyed by war. The thought of the British
boot on Louisiana soil was intolerable, and he would be damned if he would
meekly stand by and let it happen. He silently congratulated himself on having
been able to concoct the plan to return the heiress Nicole Ashford to her
rightful place.

Jason
Savage, also pacing his own elegant library, was plagued by uncertainty.
Saxon's plan to return Nicole was admirable, but Jason, older and less
impetuous than Christopher, saw several pitfalls. After staring at the fire for
some time, he seated himself behind his desk and began to write to the
secretary of state, James Monroe. It was a brief letter, and after rereading
it, he sealed it. Christopher, he decided, need not be apprised of his action.
If it came to nothing, it came to nothing; but if Monroe fell in with his
suggestion, he would have something of value to offer the young man.

Christopher,
meanwhile, continued to view the plan from all angles. He distrusted it as
much, if not more, than did Jason, but for the moment it was all he had.

Nick
would give him no trouble. Mrs. Eggleston should be willing to fall in with his
idea,
if
she accepted the story he gave her. Naturally he could say
nothing of his real reasons for wishing to return to England, nor could he tell
her the truth about his relationship with Nicole.

Seeing
Mrs. Eggleston last night had been a shock. He still wasn't certain whether it
had been unpleasant or pleasurable.

As
a youth, left often to his own devices by parents more concerned and involved
with the antics of the
ton
than their own offspring, it had been to Mrs.
Eggleston that he had turned, and she had provided the only deep human affection
he had ever known, except for his irascible grandfather. He had been barely in
his teens when his parents were killed in their coach as it hurtled over a
cliff. That tragedy had made him cling even more to the warmth and sanity that
she represented. Perhaps, he mused, if she hadn't been away with the colonel
that disastrous summer, he never would have fallen under Annabelle's dark spell
and his uncle would never have been able to trap him so neatly.

It
was unfortunate that he was going to trick Mrs. Eggleston, but he consoled
himself with the knowledge that she would be much better off under his care
than in her present situation.

He
was still turning over half-formed plans on Wednesday when he set out for his
meeting with Mrs. Eggleston. They met in front of a well-known dressmaker's
shop, and after a little conversation, Christopher persuaded her to enter his
carriage.

He
had come to the conclusion that he would wait to spring Nick's presence on her.
Once Mrs. Eggleston was under his protection, he could, he hoped, present a
plausible story of why Nick was currently at his plantation, unchaperoned, and
why she had been with him for the past five years.

Although
he would admit to Mrs. Eggleston that he had done his share of privateering
with Nick in tow, there was no need for her to know of his connection with
Lafitte, or that he had sailed under the name of Captain Saber. No, Christopher
decided thoughtfully, there was no reason for him to divulge everything.

He
didn't doubt his ability to carry it off; the real problem would be later, in
convincing Mrs. Eggleston to agree to lie about her own activities these past
five years and to say that she and Nicole had been together. His first step
must be to prize Mrs. Eggleston out from under the thumb of Miss Leala Dumas.
He had decided that he would offer her the protection of his home, her position
being much that of a favorite aunt. In this he was sincere, and even if Jason
Savage had not called, Christopher would not have allowed her present situation
to continue.

Now
he would be able to use her dependent state, although, to give him credit, this
was not what he had originally planned for her. Mrs. Eggleston would not be
harmed in any way by the deception, and when it was complete, he would still
see to her welfare. But first he must convince her that she was welcome under
his roof.

He
presented the idea to her in the politest and most graceful way possible, and
was so certain of success that he had planned to have her settled in his home
on Dauphine Street that very evening. But he had not reckoned with Mrs.
Eggleston's gentle determination to make her own way.

Her
eyes filled with tears at his kind words, and a tremulous smile quivered on her
lips. "So kind," she whispered, but gathering her failing emotions
she said sadly, "I cannot, Christopher. It would not be convenable.
Someday you may marry and come to regret this fine and noble gesture you make
now. I have managed so far, and while some of my charges have been—" She
hesitated before saying, "high-spirited, I contrive to make myself
amenable to whatever fate sends me. I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice
and saddle yourself with the care of one old woman. I have a little aside, and
when the time comes that I can no longer find employment, I shall be able to
keep myself, if not with the elegancies of life, at least with the
necessities."

"And
in the meantime," he bit out explosively, "you are at the beck and
call of a supercilious young wench who is not worthy of sweeping the floor in
front of you. By God, madame, I had thought better of you! Why must you act the
drudge when I am offering you most sincerely a way of escape?"

His
plan aside, he was genuinely furious that she would not accept his help.

"Such
temper, Christopher!" she reproved gently. "I had hoped that you
would outgrow it."

Nearly
strangling on the hot words he longed to hurl at her small white head,
Christopher snapped his mouth shut. Controlling his temper with an effort, he
said in carefully enunciated tones, "Madame, you are behaving in a most
unreasonable manner! You are saying you would
rather
continue at the
mercy of spoiled beauties and be tossed from pillar to post as they marry and
you are again looking for employment. Is this your desire?"

With
a tremor of unease, she said, "Well, not precisely. I would love to have
the charge of some dear little children and be able to stay in one family for
the rest of my life." She sighed. "But everyone wants
young
nannies—
they say I am too old and perhaps they are right. You see, there is nothing
left for me but to act as companion or governess. Miss Dumas is not dreadful,
Christopher. I had been companion to an elderly French
emigre
lady in
Canada, and she
was
a trifle wearing on my nerves." Encouragingly
she added, "Miss Dumas is an angel beside Madame Bovair," innocently
giving Christopher a very clear picture of what must have been a hellish
existence. Unaccountably moved, he concentrated on his horses, not trusting
himself to speak. Mrs. Eggleston timidly laid a blue-veined hand on his arm and
asked in a small voice, "You are not angry with me?"

He
was.
Very
angry with her. But he didn't allow himself to say so. Coldly
he replied, "Of course not. I enjoy having my generosity thrown back in my
face." He meant it. Inexplicably he wanted to care for her, he who cared
for no one, or so he had convinced himself long ago, and she would not let him.

Stricken
at his words, she glanced away. They continued thus for several seconds; then
unable to stand the sight of her obvious distress, he asked in a milder tone of
voice, "What is it you actually object to? Living in the same house with a
bachelor? If that is so," he said impetuously, "I will give you your
own house. But let me assure you that we would not be in the way of each other.
I confess that it would be pleasant to share my meals with another and to know
that there would be someone waiting for me when I returned."

She
smiled slightly and remarked, "If that is what you want, why not marry?
Surely a wife is the one you would wish to have waiting for you—not an old
woman." Then she gave a little sigh and said, "It is too bad that you
are not married and have not set up your nursery—
you
wouldn't consider
me too old to be a nanny."