Lady Vixen (36 page)

"Very
well. That will have to do," Jason conceded grudgingly.

Christopher,
believing the meeting over, started to rise from his chair, but Jason waved him
to stay. "There was a reason other than Monroe's letter of introduction that
prompted me to send for you," Jason began, "but I'm afraid I let our
conversation stray from its main point. I have made arrangements with a Dutch
ship for you and the others to sail in about ten days' time. The ship is the
Scheveningen.
I am familiar with both the captain and the ship; you should have as
pleasant a journey as possible this time of year."

"You
don't leave me much time to see Lafitte do you?"

"No.
Your trip to England is more important than seeing him. If it causes too many
problems, concentrate on preparing to sail."

A
gleam of speculation in his gold eyes, Christopher asked, "I don't suppose
that while I am away at Grand Terre, you and your lovely wife would consider
taking Nicole and Mrs. Eggleston under your wing? After all, they know no one
in the city, and Nicole should be out socially."

Jason
flashed him a look of amusement shot with exasperation. Finally he said in a
tone of derision, "I'll give you this, you're very quick to take advantage
of a situation! Yes, damnit, Catherine and I will see to Nicole's further
education."

Openly
grinning, Christopher rose to leave. "Nicole won't destroy your credit
with New Orleans society." He added roguishly, "Of course, I would
not trust her where games of chance are played—she seems to rather like
gambling with my valet!"

Jason
closed his eyes in anguish, visualizing the consternation if Nicole should
invade the gaming rooms set aside for the gentlemen. "You had better bring
Nicole and Mrs. Eggleston to dinner tonight. Then I will let you know if I dare
give her my patronage."

"Very
well," Christopher agreed amiably. "What time shall we arrive?"

"Around
seven or so. And I hope I haven't destroyed my standing with my wife by
inviting last-minute guests. Good-bye—I
almost
look forward to meeting
your ward."

Whistling
softly and as close to being satisfied as was possible in his current position,
Christopher walked quickly to his own house. Flinging off his caped greatcoat,
he joined the ladies in the small salon near the rear of the house.

A
fire on the hearth dissipated the slight hint of dampness that managed to
invade the houses of New Orleans in the winter. Nicole was standing and staring
out a pair of French doors that opened onto the normally inviting bricked
courtyard, and Mrs. Eggleston was seated on a low, rose-damask sofa, her hands
busy with some needlework. Both women glanced over at
him
as he entered,
and Nicole, watching him as he strode across the room to sit beside Mrs. Eggleston,
thought it unfair that the very sight of his tall figure could cause her blood
to race so crazily. She despised this weakness of hers where he was concerned
and wished desperately that he possessed a squint-eyed and pockmarked visage;
then perhaps she would be able to combat the physical attraction that
continually gnawed at her. Wistfully she admitted to herself that, since Mrs.
Eggleston's arrival, he had been all that was polite, treating her with an
indifference and careless arrogance that hurt and yet enraged at the same time.
If only she could forget those moments in his arms, forget that his long, hard
body had taught hers the exquisite pleasure of being possessed by him. If she
were still the untouched virgin Mrs. Eggleston assumed, it would not have been
so painful, but now she knew the magic his mouth could arouse, and it was an
intolerable form of torture to have him act as if they were almost strangers.
But what else could she have expected from him, she wondered sadly.

Christopher
slanted her an appraising glance, taking in with appreciation the gown of deep
Prussian blue that fitted her tall, slender shape admirably. Her hair was in
loose ringlets that brushed her shoulders, and in the diffused light of the
room there was no hint of red, just a dusky wealth of curls. Her eyes were
veiled by the demurely lowered sable lashes, and he wondered how she was going
to take his latest news.

She
took the information about dinner this evening and the fact that he would be
away for a few days without so much as a flutter of those long lashes, but at
the news that they would sail within ten days, her eyes flew to his.

"Ten
days," she said in a small voice. "Will we be ready by then?"

"Oh,
yes, my love," Mrs. Eggleston broke in encouragingly. "You have nothing
to fear that you will give yourself away—and as Mr. Savage and dear Mrs. Savage
have offered to take us into society, you shall have a splendid opportunity to
perfect your manners." She added with a smile,
"If
they need
it!"

There
was nothing more for Nicole to say, and with a shrug she said carelessly,
"If you say so."

Watching
her closely, Christopher couldn't tell exactly how the news affected her; she
was becoming extremely practiced in hiding her emotions. For a brief second he
longed irrationally for one of "young Nick's" darkling looks to be
flung at him. This fashionably attired doll that had taken Nick's place
irritated him. He knew he should be overjoyed at the transformation, but
instead he was angry at it. And because he knew his thoughts were illogical and
ridiculous, he was angry at himself. With relief he viewed the unexpected trip
to Grand Terre; perhaps there he could find a solution to the situation in
which he found himself. Bleakly he hoped so.

Dinner
at the Savage's passed off very well. Catherine, a vision in a pale lavender
gown that intensified her deep violet eyes, immediately established a warm
rapport with Mrs. Eggleston. Nicole suffered a sudden and appalling attack of
acute shyness, but she soon found herself responding to the gentle flow of
conversation that Catherine kept running throughout the evening.

Leaving
the gentlemen to their after-dinner brandies and tobacco, Catherine ushered the
other two women into a spacious sitting room decorated in pleasing shades of
gold, her mind very busy with conjecture about the relationship between Nicole
and Christopher.

What
a beautiful girl! Catherine thought with a slight twinge of envy when she
compared Nicole's statuesque body to her own petite one. But then she
smiled—small women, like herself, invariably wanted to be tall goddesses, and
tall women, like Nicole, probably wished to be something else. She wondered
which Christopher Saxon preferred.

When
their guests had departed and she was preparing for bed, Catherine commented on
Nicole to Jason. Jason, lounging in an emerald robe that matched his eyes, was
watching her as she brushed her curling black hair. She made an entrancing
sight before her mirror, the heavy swath of hair hanging to the still narrow
waist— despite the birth of five children. Glimpsing her curvaceous body
through her gossamer night rail, Jason wasn't paying much attention to her
words until Catherine said in a troubled tone, "Nicole Ashford is one of
the loveliest young women I have ever met. I hope that Christopher Saxon does
well by her. I wouldn't want her to get hurt—you men can be such unthinking
devils!"

Crossing
swiftly to her side, his face suddenly very serious, Jason took her into his
arms. "I thought you had long since changed your opinion of me."

"Oh,
I
have
darling! I didn't mean as you are now, but I can't help
remembering how unhappy and miserable you made me at one time. I wouldn't wish
for her to endure such pain."

Jason
shrugged his broad shoulders. "They'll have to work out their own
differences. All I care about is you." Staring down into her face, he
muttered thickly, "I love you, Catherine—so much, so
very
much. And
right now all I want is to make love to you." Then he bent his dark head
and kissed her urgently, and Catherine promptly forgot about Nicole Ashford and
set herself to the far more agreeable task of proving to her husband that she
entirely reciprocated his sentiments.

Approaching
Grand Terre in a pirogue, Christopher sensed the difference in the atmosphere
even before he sighted the islands. There was nothing tangible to strengthen
his feeling that his approach was being watched by hostile eyes, yet
instinctively he knew that behind the scrubby foliage Baratarian lookouts
surveyed his passage. As he splashed ashore, the same wave of suspicious
belligerence hit him, even though outwardly the island appeared the same.

He
had discarded his elegant clothing and was once again dressed as Captain Saber.
He had not bothered to shave for two days and his face was shadowed with the beginnings
of a beard.

No
one stopped him as he walked to Lafitte's mansion, but again there was a
disturbing feeling of surveillance that told far better than words that the
pirates themselves were uneasy about this latest clash with the governor's men.
Gambling and whoring still went on, judging from the squeals and laughter
coming from the brothels he passed, and the bay was filled with as many ships
as ever, but there was undeniably an atmosphere of waiting—that and hostility.

There
were changes at the calaboose; a contingent of armed guards patrolled the area,
and Christopher had no doubt that Stout's men were held prisoner there. Armed
men, Dominque You among them, also slowed his progress to Lafitte's house, but
again no one halted him, many no doubt recognizing him as Captain Saber.

Jean
greeted him affably, but there was an unfamiliar air of alert watchfulness.
Knowing he would gain little by making polite conversation, Christopher asked
wryly, "I suppose you know why I am here?"

Lafitte
gave a careless shrug. "But of course,
mon ami.
I can think of only
one reason why you have returned at this moment, unless you have come to
inquire about the spy from
La Belle Garce?"

Christopher
shook his head.

"Ah,
I thought not. You have come to seek the release of the governor's men, have
you not?"

Risking
a smile, Christopher inquired, "Is there anything you don't know?"

His
eyes hard, Lafitte said softly, "There are many things I do not know. What
I don't know about you,
mon ami,
is how deeply you sit in Claiborne's
pocket."

The
smile wiped from his face, Christopher blazed angrily, "Oh, for God's
sake, you do not believe that I would change my coat so readily!"

Again
Lafitte shrugged. "Who knows? It has happened before."

Christopher
eyed him assessingly, for once uncertain in his dealings with the man. Lafitte
met his stare, the black eyes revealing little. Finally Christopher said
quietly, "If that is your attitude, I have nothing to say." He waited
a second, and as Lafitte made no response, he rose and asked, "Am I free
to leave?"

Rather
pensively, Lafitte regarded him, and then with a half-embarrassed, half-angry
expression on his face, he muttered, "Sit down! Do not be in such a hurry,
mon ami."

Wary
now himself, Christopher sank back down in his chair, but curiosity compelled
him to inquire, "Do you really believe Claiborne has bought me?"

A
snort greeted his words and Lafitte growled gently, "If I did,
mon ami,
you would not be sitting where you are now—you would not have set foot on
Grand Terre."

Knowing
it was unwise, but unable to help himself, his gold eyes gleaming with mockery,
Christopher taunted, "You think you could stop me?"

Lafitte
looked undecided whether to be angry or amused, but amusement won and he let
out a bark of harsh laughter. "One thing that I have always admired about
you, Saber, is your arrogance. And no, I'm not at all certain I could stop you.
Maybe yes, maybe no— who knows? But the question does not arise. You are here
and I bear you no animosity."

Relaxing
slightly, Christopher ventured, "Will you listen to what I have to
say?"

"Bah!
I know what you have come here for. You are here to beg the release of the
governor's men."

"All
right, so what if I am?" Christopher returned levelly. "Someone has
to negotiate for their return—why not me?"

"Ah,
very well then, we talk, but I tell you, Saber, I am very, very displeased with
your so pious and sanctimonious Claiborne."

"Jean,
you broke the law—you are still breaking the law—and you cannot blame the
governor for trying to put a stop to your activities."

Enraged,
his black eyes flashing, Lafitte leaped to his feet. "How can you say so?
What law do I break? A law passed by your too-fat American businessmen so that
they can monopolize the trade? I give you this for your law!" Lafitte
boasted, snapping his fingers in the air. "Me, I sell better and cheaper
goods to the citizens of New Orleans, and for that I am outlawed! Tell me why
the Americans should be favored and why I should pay an importation tax on my
goods?"

Grimly
Christopher said, "I'm not here to debate with you—I am here to convince
you to release the governor's men to me."

Sulkily,
Lafitte muttered, "Why should I? They make good hostages."