Lady Vixen (54 page)

The
long walks along the beach with only the murmuring surf and occasional gull
wheeling overhead had been good for him. The sea wind blew out the fumes of too
many nights spent drinking in smoke-filled rooms, the hot sun intensified the
bronze of his skin, and his eyes lost that world-weary cast that had been
evident of late.

One
week became two and Christopher found himself curiously loath to return to the
noise and crowds of London. He and Higgins had been alone and undisturbed the
entire time, except for Higgins's necessary trips to Rottingdean to replenish
their food supplies. The tiny cottage had been kept as meticulously as his
captain's quarters on
La Belle Garce.

But
at the end of the second week, the wound a thin red line of which he was hardly
conscious, Christopher made the decision to return to London. With a definite date
now for departure fixed firmly in his mind, he felt a compelling need to make
that last attempt to turn his ill-fated mission into a success.

Arriving
at his lodgings in London at dusk the next day, Christopher found a pile of
notes, cards, and invitations waiting for him. He glanced disinterestedly
through a few and then shrugged his shoulders. After dinner he would discover
if there was anything that merited his attention. He took a leisurely bath, and
then wearing only a brocade dressing robe, he sat down to one of his landlady's
excellent meals. A cigar and a glass of brandy polished it off nicely, and it
was only then that his attention turned again to the pile of correspondence
lying on the corner of a mahogany sideboard. Consequently it wasn't until after
ten o'clock that he discovered Nicole's message.

Frowning,
he reread it. What the devil did it mean? As he stared at the signature, his
frown deepened. He could think of only one reason for her to have signed it
"Nick." Whatever she had to see him about must concern Captain Saber.
And the damned note was two weeks old!

He
tossed aside his half-smoked cigar, and calling impatiently for Higgins, he
began to dress hurriedly. In an astonishingly short time he was on his way to
Cavendish Square. But to his frustration his quarry was not at home. Miss
Ashford, he was informed by Twickham, was attending an assembly at Almack's
with Lady Darby and Mrs. Eggleston.

Cursing
under his breath, Christopher sped down the steps, glancing at his watch. Not
yet eleven; with luck he would make it to King Street before the doors were
shut firmly against latecomers.
No one
was admitted after eleven p.m.—not
even the great Wellington himself. Fortunately he was wearing knee breeches,
for it was an inflexible rule that only knee breeches were acceptable. More
than one mortified gentleman in pantaloons had been loftily turned away at the
door.

Christopher
made it to Almack's by one minute to the hour. Leaving off his hat and gloves,
he entered the ballroom an instant later, his gaze searching for Nicole's
auburn head. He found her easily enough as she stood near one end of the
ballroom surrounded by a bevy of admirers. Her bare shoulders were pale apricot
above a gown of dull gold silk with an overdress of spangled gauze. The blazing
chandelier overhead brought to life the fiery glimmer of her sable hair.

For
a long moment Christopher stared at her across the length of the ballroom, his
intent gaze occasionally obscured by the constantly shifting kaleidoscope of
women in bright silk and satin gowns and gentlemen with white starched cravats
and velvet jackets. With something like shock he realized for the first time
that Nicole was more than just a tantalizing wench who had haunted his dreams
against his will. And the unpleasant thought occurred to him again, that he had
been a fool to put her out of his reach. But then he shrugged—women were women.
Yet even as that cynical premise crossed his mind, he noted Robert standing by
her side, laughing into Nicole's upturned face, and his eyes narrowed. His
nostrils flared like those of a tiger about to defend its territory against an
encroaching marauder; a swift and powerful emotion swept through his body. He
did not recognize the emotion; he only knew that he wanted his arms around that
tempting baggage, and he wanted her away from Robert.

With
a long, determined stride he quickly stalked across the ballroom floor and
approached Nicole just as Robert was about to lead her onto the floor for a
waltz that was beginning. A mocking gleam deep in the gold eyes, Christopher
deliberately blocked their way and, after bowing politely, murmured, "My
dance, I believe!" And before Robert or Nicole could guess his intentions,
he swept Nicole out onto the ballroom floor.

The
unexpectedness of his appearance, as well as the feel of that familiar hand
around her waist as they danced to the lilting music, made Nicole's heart thud
with short, rapid strokes, a fact she was instantly fearful that Christopher
would discover. But then meeting the audacious twinkle in the thick-lashed eyes
staring into hers, she couldn't control a spurt of genuine laughter. A hint of
amusement in her husky voice, she scolded, "Christopher, how could you!
Robert will be furious!"

With
a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Christopher shrugged his shoulders
as they whirled down the polished floor. "What do I care, as long as you
are not angry. Are you?"

Puzzled,
she looked up into the dark, handsome features just above her. There was
something about him tonight that was different, something she couldn't put a
name to, and as she continued to gaze at him, an odd expression flickered
momentarily in his eyes, making her suddenly giddy. "No," she said at
last. "No, I'm not." And she smiled up at him so sunnily and
naturally that Christopher felt a queer, startling leap in his veins, and he
muttered thickly, "When you smile like that at me, it's fortunate we are
in the midst of a crowd or I'm afraid I would not be responsible for my
actions."

Feeling
lighthearted, Nicole sent him a demure glance from under her long, curling
lashes. "Oh? Pray what do you mean?" she teased. Her breathlessness
increased at the glitter that flared in his eyes, and she looked away in
confusion as Christopher's grip tightened momentarily. But then recalling that
they were waltzing in the sacred precincts of Almack's, he relaxed and smiled
lazily.

"You
know very well what I mean, minx! Sharpen your claws on someone else!" he
said evenly, although the bright gleam was still in his eyes.

They
danced in silence for a moment, Nicole very aware of his body moving in
effortless rhythm with hers. He held her hand lightly in his clasp and his
touch was sure and deft at her waist. As they waltzed around the room Nicole
was suddenly beset by memories of those hands, hard and caressing, moving over
her body, and unconsciously she stiffened. As if reading her thoughts,
Christopher said softly, "Relax. I don't intend to pounce upon you."
Adding dryly, "You're safe enough,
here!"

Unable
to help it, she shot back tartly, "But not, I fear, in your grandfather's
conservatory!"

Christopher's
face tightened; his expression was cool and mocking as he answered readily
enough, "You always had a quick tongue, Nick. I seem to recall,
though," he continued crushingly, "that you didn't exactly repulse me
that day."

Nicole
swallowed painfully, torn between rage and shame. Not meeting his derisive
eyes, she hissed, "Why do you remind me of what we had both best
forget?"

"Because,"
he snarled savagely, "I can't forget it! You're a devil of a
temptation," he went on in a hard voice, "to any man, and for all my
faults I am very definitely a man!"

Both
of them were disconcerted by his vehement words. Christopher looked away,
appalled at the admission, and asked abruptly, "Why did you want to see
me?"

"Jennings-Smythe
from that English packet you took last year is here in London!"

Christopher
betrayed no surprise, although his eyebrows drew together in a slight frown,
but then aware of the eyes on them as they danced, he appeared unworried. His
voice was crisp as he asked, "Are you certain?"

Nicole
nodded vigorously, oblivious to those who might be watching. "Oh,
yes!" Then suddenly recalled to the danger of the situation, she gripped
his hand tightly. "He is here tonight, Christopher. I saw him
earlier."

He
appeared unmoved by her disclosures, and she could have slapped him for his
indifference. For the benefit of any onlookers, she smiled at him and said
through clenched teeth, "He may recognize you, as Saber, have you thought
of that?"

"No.
But you obviously have. Do you think he will denounce me? If he does, you
should enjoy it! What a revenge you will have then, watching them drag me away
in chains. There is, I think, still a price on my head. Why, you might be able
to collect it for yourself!"

"Oh,
be quiet!" she snapped, hating and loving him at the same time. Almost
pleadingly she raised her eyes to meet his sardonic stare. "Christopher,
be careful. Jennings-Smythe is
here
tonight, can't you understand that?
And if he were to see you and realize who you are, you
would
be dragged
away in chains!"

"And
would you care?" he asked gently, his eyes holding hers steadily. All her
hard-won composure, her infatuation for Robert crumbled in an instant, as she
thought painfully, it would be heaven to admit, yes! Yes! I would die if
something happened to you! But caution checked her passion, helped her fight
her instincts, as she replied carelessly, "Well, it would be awkward, you
know. After all, if you were arrested, someone might wonder at my connection
with you."

His
face froze, his eyes were suddenly icy.

"Oh,
Christopher . . ." she said contritely, hating herself for disrupting
their intimacy, wishing she had bitten her tongue before telling such a brazen
lie. But the damage was done, and as the waltz ended he promptly returned her
to Robert and bowed without a word. As he turned, he looked back at her and
said, "Thank you again for telling me of Lieutenant Jennings-Smythe's
presence. I must go and make his acquaintance!"

Frightened
by Christopher's recklessness, conscious only of danger, she said sharply,
"Don't be a fool!"

But
Christopher only smiled, not a nice smile, and walked away, leaving Nicole
feeling at once furious and scared half silly. The stubborn ox-headed jackass!
she thought with a quiver of fury. But her anguished heart screamed silently,
"Oh, for God's sake, Christopher,
don't!"

There
was no stopping him, though, and uncaring that Robert was staring at her with
open speculation, she watched with dull misery as Christopher sought out an
introduction to Jennings-Smythe. Nicole's hands clenched and her body went
rigid with anxiety, as she watched a smiling Christopher shake hands with the
slightly startled Jennings-Smythe.

Nicole
could not hear what was said, but it seemed that her apprehension and terror
had been unnecessary. Jennings-Smythe did not recognize the tall, lithe
gentleman standing so negligently before him.

Incensed
and yet relieved, Nicole looked away at last. Robert Saxon, upon whom nothing
had gone unnoticed, remarked carefully, "My nephew appears to have upset
you."

She
sensed that it was imperative to turn Robert's attention away from what had
passed between her and Christopher, but she was too distraught to think of
anything to say. But then realizing that as Robert stared, others were doing
the same thing, she gathered her twisted emotions together and sent him a
blinding smile. "Oh, fudge! I'll admit though, that your nephew is
outrageously arrogant. Imagine, whisking me away in that manner, he is so
droll!"

Robert
subjected her to a probing stare, but Nicole had a tight rein on herself once
again and her unconcerned countenance allayed his jealously. But with the
knowledge burning in his brain that Nicole was meant to marry Christopher, it
was all he could do not to ask her outright if there was in fact a match
between her and Christopher. He knew that a crowded ballroom was hardly the
place for that kind of conversation, and he was certain that Regina would be
bearing down on them any second, so he lightly changed the subject.

Nicole
was almost unbearably thankful when Lady Darby swept up to her a moment later
and suggested in a tone that brooked no argument that they leave. Meekly Nicole
followed her from the ballroom. At Cavendish Square she declined a proffered
cup of chocolate and retreated to the privacy of her room.

If
she was distracted and uncommunicative, Mauer thought nothing of it as she
helped her undress. Miss probably had a headache and would be her usual
spirited self in the morning. Alone, attired in a soft cambric nightdress,
Nicole prowled unhappily throughout her rooms; sleep eluded her as her thoughts
raced angrily around her brain.

What
a damned bloody fool he was to court danger so blatantly, she decided
scornfully. And she was a fool to have worried over him. Let him hang! I'll
dance under his gibbet with glee, she promised, her eyes bright with temper and
unshed tears.

While
Nicole fumed in her rooms, Christopher was beating a rapid retreat from
Almack's. After his first rush of black, savage anger at Nicole's provoking
prattle, he knew that by seeking out Jennings-Smythe he was courting danger.
However, approaching Jennings-Smythe at a moment when he was prepared and the
other man was not had been the wisest course open to him. But having made his acquaintance
and remained unscathed, he intended to avoid that young man in the future.