Lady Vixen (33 page)

An
uncertain smile trembling on her lips, she walked slowly to her usual chair and
shyly murmured, "Good morning," in Christopher's direction. Sanderson
poured her a cup of the strong chicory-flavored coffee Christopher preferred,
and then he departed, presumably to see after her breakfast.

Alone,
they stared at each other from the opposite ends of the table, and Nicole was
suddenly horribly aware that she couldn't think of a thing to say. What
did
one
say to a man after having shared the night with him—especially after a night
like last night, and particularly to a man like Christopher?

Christopher
was dressed in buckskins and top boots in anticipation of the trip up the river
to New Orleans, and taking a surreptitious look at him, she saw with dismay
that his face wore a closed, shut-in expression that filled her with dread. Yet
when she noticed at the same time the heavy-eyed look that denoted a sleepless
night, a pleased little smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. She
knew
what
caused that lack of sleep!

It
was a secretive, satisfied sort of smile that curved her lips. Christopher
recognized it and could only remember that it was exactly the same kind of
smile her mother had worn when she was especially delighted with something—
Annabelle had worn it quite frequently in those days prior to Christopher's
betrayal.

Staring
grimly at the soft curve of her lips, he was suddenly enraged at how easily he
might have fallen in the same trap again. But that smile reminded him vividly
and painfully of something he preferred not to think of and harshly he snapped,
"Something amuses you? I could use a good laugh this morning."

She
was startled at his ugly and sarcastic tone, and her smile vanished. "I
wasn't smiling at anything in particular. It's just a lovely morning," she
said. Wary of his mood and not knowing what had angered him, she sipped her
coffee, wishing there were some way that she could disperse the dangerous
currents she sensed in the room.

But
Christopher was not to be denied the argument he was spoiling for, and he asked
nastily, "Do you always smile just because its a lovely morning? Must you
sit at the end of my table simpering like some half-demented idiot!"

Nicole's
cup clattered against her saucer, her volatile temper flaring like a summer
storm. Trying not to start an argument, yet not willing to ignore his
provocative manner, she inquired levelly, "Are you always in such a foul
temper first thing in the morning?"

"Can't
you remember, Nick? It isn't that long since we were on
La Belle Garce.
Surely
a few weeks hasn't made you forget what I am like after a night of
whoring!" He snarled the last words, his anger at himself driving him. He
was beyond reasonable thought; all he could assimilate was that Annabelle's
daughter sat there before him— Annabelle's daughter, lovely, possessing a
beauty and warmth that would have outshone Annabelle's shallow shell as
effortlessly as a diamond would eclipse a glass bead.

He
was terrified—and unable to trust his instincts, for they had betrayed him once
already. He was floundering, and at the same time furious—furious that Nicole
had awakened emotions he thought long dead, and furious that he could not judge
accurately whether these emotions were real or false. He wanted most intensely
to regain his usual indifference to women and to convince himself that last
night had not happened.

At
his ugly words something snapped inside Nicole. Seeing her dreams destroyed,
stunned by his word
whoring,
she erupted into the worst tantrum of her
entire life. "How dare you!" she choked. She was vibrating with the
force of her anger, literally scintillating with it, and without thinking, she
closed her hand around the fragile china cup that she had so recently set down.
With a cry of outrage she hurled it willy-nilly at Christopher's head.

He
ducked and the cup missed him, but some of the hot coffee splashed him as the
cup sailed by. He, too, leaped to his feet, and they faced each other across
the long expanse of the white linen-covered table.

"That
will be enough of that!" he thundered, his temper barely leashed.

And
Nicole's lips curled in a sneer as she spat, "You think so? I haven't even
started!" With that, the saucer whipped by his head, and he barely dodged
the heavy silver-plated pepper mill that swiftly followed it. He was so
astounded and at a loss that he wasn't quite quick enough to miss the deadly
aim of the matching saltceller, and it struck him in the stomach like a kick
from a mule.

Nicole's
rage added to her strength. Encompassed by fury, she searched angrily for some
other object to hurl at her tormentor. Her eyes alighted on the beautiful
wrought-silver candelabrum that dominated the middle of the table, and with an
oath that would have done one of the crew members proud, she hurled it in
Christopher's direction. It missed its destination fortunately, but
unfortunately it smashed into the wall just as Sanderson innocently walked into
the room with Nicole's breakfast.

Nicole
wasted no time and wrenched from the startled Sanderson the silver tray on
which he carried her plate of eggs and bacon. With unerring aim she pitched it
at Christopher. "Bastard!" she spat. The plate caught Christopher
full in the chest, the eggs clinging to his shirt front until, rather gingerly,
he flicked them off.

His
eyes wide with disbelief, Sanderson watched Christopher casually dab with a
napkin at the mess on his shirt and jacket. Calmly Christopher said, "You
may leave now, Sanderson, Miss Nicole and I will finish with breakfast shortly."

Sanderson
stared at Christopher, but he simply said, "As you wish, sir," and
departed.

Silence
reigned in the dining room. Christopher's calm words had pierced the red mist
of Nicole's fury, and with slightly horrified eyes she surveyed the shambles.

Christopher
eyed her warily. He had known spitfires before, but Nick undoubtedly took the
prize. While one part of him was furious at her, another part of him was
fighting with a desire to laugh. He didn't really blame Nick for her outburst.
He had been on the prod for a fight from the moment he had awoken this morning
and he had gotten it! And thinking of the ludicrous figure he cut, he asked,
"Is the storm over or shall I run for cover?"

Nicole
was ill. The fury had left her as quickly as it had come, and now she just
wanted to crawl off someplace and die. Blindly she stumbled toward the door,
but Christopher caught her arm. "Don't go, Nick," he said softly.

Her
distress was so obvious that he was unaccountably moved. "Ah, Nick, I'm
sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did." Smiling almost tenderly he
continued, "I'm in the devil's own temper this morning, darling. Forget
what I said just now and let's start again."

Nicole
stared up at him consideringly, not trusting the coaxing note in his voice, or
believing the warm light that flickered in his gold eyes. He had tricked her
too many times in the past, and she couldn't forgive him for belittling
something that had been a momentous occasion for her. Even though her first
outburst of temper had abated, she was still very angry.

"No,"
she said quietly. "We won't start anew. You've made your attitude very
clear. Things are exactly as they were yesterday afternoon. Last night was a
mistake. You may be sure it won't happen again!"

Firmly
she removed his arm and said politely as she walked to the door, "I hope
you have a pleasant trip and I look forward to meeting Mrs. Eggleston—she was
once a very good friend of mine." Then she was gone, leaving Christopher,
his face pale and tight, gazing at the shut door with real dismay and not a
little anger. He was left with the uncomfortable feeling that he had damaged
something irretrievably. Uneasily he discovered that he wanted the chance to
relive these past few minutes. But he quickly recovered himself and with an
effort reminded himself of Annabelle's perfidies, and then with a spurt of
temper he cursed all women—Nick most vehemently.

What
was the matter with him? he mused later as the pirogue moved slowly upstream
toward New Orleans. What the
hell
was happening to him? Nick was on his
mind continually! And he discovered emotions he had thought slain by
Annabelle's cruel actions awakening with a vengeance. He didn't want
anyone
to
get behind the hard front that concealed the inner man. And he decided
resolutely that he would set Nick at a distance. He was not going to be
beguiled into falling in love with her, not at his age, and certainly not with
her!
During the remainder of the journey to New Orleans he proceeded to arm
himself against Nick. Meticulously he erected in his mind a very high, very
cold barrier between them, and he was firmly convinced that he now had the
situation well in hand.

Believing
that, he was very pleased with himself when he went to call on Mrs. Eggleston
that same afternoon. The Dumas family was gone for the day and Mrs. Eggleston
was enjoying a respite from her willful charge. Miss Dumas had been
particularly trying the past week, and Mrs. Eggleston was almost ready to sink
her pride and take whatever Christopher had to offer.

Christopher's
tale of Nicole's plight touched Mrs. Eggleston and she was eager to accept his
employment.

She
sat mesmerized as Christopher spun out his story of Nicole's adventure.
"That Nicole Ashford!" she finally said with a twinkle in the faded
blue eyes. "She was always a little hoyden. And while I am very shocked
that any young lady of her impeccable background would do anything so unseemly,
I must admit I am not surprised. She was made most unhappy by the deaths of her
family, and her guardians, the Markhams, were not very kindhearted people.
Certainly, I shall be most happy and more than willing to chaperon her."

Shaking
her white head, with an approving eye on Christopher that made him decidedly
uncomfortable, she continued, "You are so good! And Nicole is most fortunate
that it was you who discovered her masquerade. How terrible it would have been
if she had fallen into the hands of some unscrupulous monster who would have
taken advantage of what was, I am positive, only childish rebellion."

Feeling
even more uncomfortable and coming as close to squirming in his chair as was
possible for one of his nature, Christopher brushed her compliments aside.
"It was my privilege, and, I assure you, nothing of great magnitude."

"Oh,
but Christopher!" she cried protestingly. "What if she had found
herself in the clutches of someone who would have"—her voice dropping to a
mere whisper of horror—"destroyed her innocence? It doesn't bear thinking
of! She is most,
most
fortunate that you were the one. Anything could
have happened to her!"

Christopher
had never been in a more invidious position in his life, and hastily he turned
the subject. "Yes, well that is all behind her now."

He
drew a long breath and shifted in his chair as he began the delicate part of
his deception. Briskly he said, "And naturally I want to see her restored
to her family. I think it important that we see that she is returned to
England, despite this unfortunate war, just as quickly as possible."

A
little pucker of worry on her forehead, Mrs. Eggleston offered hesitantly,
"Christopher, I don't believe it will be that simple."

Hating
himself for leading her so blatantly exactly where he wanted, yet feeling
strongly the necessity for it, Christopher put an expression of great surprise
on his face. "Why, what do you mean, madame?" Then, deliberately
misunderstanding her, he conceded, "Of course, we shall have to see that
she is brought up to scratch socially, but you shall be able to do that!"

Her
frown growing, Mrs. Eggleston said slowly, "I wasn't thinking so much of that
as I was of the scandal that will result if it is learned that Nicole has been
sailing disguised as a boy on a ship these past years." Earnestly, she
continued, "My dear, it just will not do! She would be completely ruined.
We simply cannot allow that to happen!"

"What
do you suggest?" Christopher asked in an expressionless tone.

She
glanced at him nervously. Feeling that if she hadn't left Nicole, this wouldn't
have happened, she was willing to do anything to set things right—even tell a
lie, which went strongly against her principles. Because she didn't want
Christopher to think she was the kind of woman to whom deceit came easily, she
toyed with the worn lace about her neck and finally said with a rush, "We
could tell a lie—we could say that she has been with me!"

Disliking
himself very much, Christopher expertly took the conversation away from her and
said crisply, "Yes, of course. I should have thought of it. Let me think
of an appropriate tale, and then if it doesn't offend you overmuch, we shall use
it to cover Nick's misadventures."

Thankful
to have the decision made for her, she smiled gently and inquired, "How
soon shall I give notice to the Dumas?"

"Today,"
he stated bluntly. "I want you out of this house by evening."

When
she showed signs of being obstinate, he quickly convinced her that time was
imperative, that every day Nick did without her chaperonage the more improper
it was. Her tender heart was moved by the thought of poor little Nicole's
possible disgrace, and without further argument she began to pack.