Lady Vixen (76 page)

"I
agree. But come now, with this memorandum we are certain to convince Andrew
Jackson that New Orleans is indeed in peril. And once convinced of that he and
his army will be here. Jackson is not about to allow the British to take
Louisiana."

Christopher
looked skeptical. "I trust you are right. In the meantime what do you
advise?"

Jason
leaned back in his chair. "I want you to come with me when I give this
memorandum to the governor," he said after a moment's deliberation.
"Since you were instrumental in obtaining the information, I feel it is
only fair to give credit where credit is due. And more importantly, the
governor needs every able man on his side." With a bitter smile Jason
added, "Our Creole population is, as usual, ignoring the situation, and
except for a few Americans most people in the city are pretending that there is
no danger. And that is part of what Claiborne is fighting against—apathy and
ignorance."

Christopher
pulled a face. "I certainly hope you know what you are doing—knowingly
sponsoring a ragtag privateer like myself to the governor! Aren't you afraid if
he finds out my connection with Lafitte it will ruin your standing with
him?"

A
peculiar expression crossed Jason's face, but then he seemed to recover
himself, for, the green eyes bright with mockery, he drawled, "My dear
fellow, it would take more than a scamp like yourself to ruin me! And you must
remember that part of my usefulness to the governor is the very fact that I
know so many ragtag privateers!"

An
answering gleam of mockery danced in Christopher's eyes. "In that case I
am at your service, sir!"

The
meeting with the governor was arranged immediately, and watching Claiborne as
he read the memorandum, Christopher was never quite certain whether the news
contained therein pleased him or alarmed him further. Claiborne's face was
totally expressionless as he finished reading the memorandum and laid it
carefully on the highly polished surface of his desk. Calmly he folded his
hands before him and with bright eyes regarded the two men seated in front of
him.

"Well,"
he said slowly, "if this doesn't rouse Jackson, nothing will! I only hope
he will realize that the British objective
is
New Orleans and not
Mobile. He and Monroe both believe that the British will try to attack through
Mobile, and consequently they are concentrating their efforts in that
area." Claiborne's soft Virginia accent, even after eleven years in New
Orleans, was still evident as he continued, "I myself am of the opinion
the attack will be from the coast. But then I am only a mere civilian," he
finished glumly.

There
was little either Christopher or Jason could add to what he already knew and
after several minutes of polite conversation, during which, much to
Christopher's discomfort, the governor praised his accomplishments, the two men
departed from Claiborne's house on Toulouse Street.

The
rain had stopped, but after glancing at the leaden skies above, Christopher
remarked, "If we hurry we might make it to our respective homes before
another downpour overtakes us. I suggest that unless you have something further
to discuss, we do precisely that."

Casting
a wary eye at the gathering rain clouds, Jason agreed. "From the looks of
the sky, we may end up swimming,
mon ami!
And for the moment I think we
have done all that we can. Claiborne will do what he has to, and as soon as I
learn anything, I will send you word." Jason hesitated, a curious
expression flitting over his face. Almost diffidently he asked, "Would you
care to dine with Catherine and me on Thursday? There have been certain events
that have taken place in the New Orleans area that I would like to talk over
with you. Now is not the time and I am not free until that evening."

Ignoring
the few splatters of rain that were beginning to fall, Christopher regarded
Jason consideringly. "Is it important? Something I should take action
on?"

Again
there was that odd hesitation about the other man, and Christopher had the
impression that Jason was holding something back. But before Christopher could
demand bluntly what Jason was hiding, Jason said, "You may consider it
important and you may feel compelled to do something." And as Christopher
frowned, Jason added, "I do not mean to be mysterious, but quite frankly I
haven't the time at the moment to go into a great deal of detail. You may hear
it before I tell you, and I ask that you keep an open mind and do not fly off
in a rage. Remember the Creoles love gossip, and rumors are not always the
truth of the matter."

Christopher's
jaw took on a stubborn slant and the gold eyes narrowed as he snapped,
"You may not be trying to be mysterious, but from where I stand you're
doing a bloody damn good job of it!"

A
brief smile tugged at Jason's full mouth. "I know, my friend, I know, but
bear with me. It is definite then? You will come to dine on Thursday?"

"You
know damn certain I'll be there!"

Jason
strode off and Christopher began to walk slowly toward home, his thoughts on
Nicole.

Hot-tempered
to a fault, a bewitching little slut, as beautiful as she was mercurial, and
probably hating the very sight of him, he wanted no other woman—at least not
for the moment, he thought hastily, unwilling to look beyond the next few
weeks... perhaps months?

He
absolutely refused to think too far into the future, obstinately determined to
take each day one at a time and not bother himself with what eventually
happened between them. He never had with any other woman, so why with Nicole?

Predictably,
Nicole was not in any frame of "mind to follow a course of "wait and
see." She was understandably furious at Christopher's actions—furious, and
yet on the other hand deplorably aware that with him was where she most longed
to be. But not like this, she thought angrily, not thrown over his shoulder
like some piece of booty and carried off to shame and disgrace.

If
the choice had been hers, if she had deliberately chosen to sail with him, if
he had said, "Come," and she had made the decision herself to follow
him, then she would not have resented so bitterly the position in which she
found herself. Shame and disgrace were something she could have faced, faced
gladly if Christopher had given her the choice. But he had not! He had
callously ignored her wishes, her emotions and literally torn her from England.
It was, she decided heatedly, another example of his arrogant, high-handed
actions.

Not
adept at hiding her feelings, her face grew stormy, and it was only when she
noticed the apprehensive expression on the face of the young black girl
hurriedly pressed into service as a lady's maid that she forced herself to
think of something else. Throwing the girl a charming smile, she said,
"Please, don't be frightened of me! I occasionally scowl rather blackly,
and I have a terrible temper, but I seldom vent it on my servants. Now, tell
me, what is your name?"

Shyly
the girl murmured, "Naomi, ma'am. Mister Sanderson says I am to be your
maid until he can hire someone else."

Watching
as Naomi deftly arranged for a bath to be drawn and reverently laid out one of
several gowns left behind for various reasons when she had sailed for England,
Nicole decided privately that the services of this girl were all that she would
need. There was no reason to hire another Mauer—this time she was not going to
be entering polite society. A mistress—and she was guessing that was the role
Christopher had picked for her—was a very different position from that of a
ward! A tiny tight smile curved her mouth, and she thought grimly that
Christopher would find her a damned uncomfortable ladybird! She'd make certain
of
that!

Naomi's
announcement that the bath was ready for her broke into Nicole's thoughts, and
pushing aside the problem of her future battle with Christopher, she let
herself be undressed and helped into the large brass tub.

The
bath was sheer heaven. After the many weeks at sea, of making do with hurried
saltwater sponge-downs, the hot fresh water was like paradise. Luxuriously
Nicole submerged her slender body, delighting in the caress of the delicately
scented water. Sighing with pleasure, she leaned back and, resting her head on
the rim of the tub, decided it was almost worth going without a bath for weeks
to have one feel this good. Eventually, though, the water began to cool, and
after scrubbing herself from head to toe, she had Naomi help wash her hair.

Feeling
cleaner and more relaxed than she had in weeks, Nicole sat wrapped in a large
fluffy towel before the fire in her room, as Naomi patiently brushed and combed
the long strands dry. The soothing constant motion of the brush nearly put her
to sleep, and once the waving hair was dried to Naomi's satisfaction, Nicole
decided to lay down for a while.

It
was late afternoon by now. The dark sky promised more rain before the day
ended, and the thought of stretching out on a
real
bed was more than Nicole
could resist. She slept soundly, waking to a darkened and silent room some
hours later. The thick feather mattress was like a cloud, and with a low purr
of enjoyment Nicole snuggled back down into its welcoming softness, unwilling
to leave the warmth and comfort. But Naomi's entrance just then, a lit candle
in her hand, put all thought of sleep from Nicole's mind.

"Yes?
What is it?" she asked.

"Oh,
ma'am, I didn't mean to wake you! Master Christopher just wanted me to see if
you were still asleep."

"You
didn't wake me. I was just on the point of ringing for you," Nicole
replied untruthfully.

Reassured
that she had given no offense and deciding that waiting on Miss Nicole was
going to be pleasant work indeed, Naomi lit the lamps and proceeded with ready skill
to help her new mistress dress.

The
gown laid out earlier was of soft worked muslin, in a particularly pleasing
shade of pale green. It was a beautiful gown, but Nicole, thankful to be out of
the hated bronze silk she had worn for the past several weeks, would have
adored it if it had been made of cotton sacks.

The
one item of clothing not left behind had been shoes, and staring at her bare
feet peeping out from under the flounces of her skirt, she was reminded
painfully and poignantly of that evening in Bermuda. How different my future
might have been if I had followed Allen's advice, she thought regretfully. And
again she wondered about Allen's fate. Christopher had promised he would be
freed, and in this instance she wanted desperately to believe he had kept his
word. There were bitterness and recriminations enough between them without
having the added burden of Allen's death dividing them. Allen
must
be
free—free and with the British. Deliberately Nicole closed her mind to any
other explanation, unable to think of Christopher intentionally lying to her
and coolly turning Allen over to the Americans to be hanged as a spy. There was
a great deal she would believe of Christopher Saxon, but not that!

The
problem of the lack of shoes was solved simply by wearing the slightly
disreputable bronze silk slippers she had brought with her. A spangled shawl
draped carelessly around her shoulders completed her attire, and after a brief
glance at herself in the mirror, noting with satisfaction the clean shine to the
gently waving locks, Nicole slowly descended the stairs to the main salon.

Christopher
was there before her as she expected, but what she hadn't expected was the
shaft of half pleasure, half pain that shot through her when she saw him
standing casually before the fire, one arm resting on the creamy marble mantel.

Glancing
up from his contemplation of the leaping flames, Christopher inquired politely,
"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes.
A genuine bed was something of a novelty after the accommodations provided by Captain
Baker," Nicole replied evenly, not certain of herself or his mood.

He
appeared very much at ease; his dark features were unreadable as she stared at
him. Dressed in a pair of slim-fitting yellow pantaloons and an exquisitely cut
coat of bottle green, he was enough to make any young woman's heart pound in
her breast, and unfortunately Nicole was very much aware of his tall, hard body
as he strode across the room and courteously offered her a chair by the fire.
She hesitated, then deciding that she, too, could act as if there was nothing
between them, graciously consented to be seated.

They
were both stilted in their movements and conversation, both acting much in the
manner of two strangers meeting for the first time. Civilly Christopher asked,
"Would you care for a glass of sherry? I believe we have plenty of time
until dinner is served."

Feeling
like a stuffed doll, a painted inane smile on her lips, Nicole murmured
quietly, "Yes. Sherry will be fine."

Christopher
walked to the other end of the room, to where a tray with several crystal
decanters was placed, and in silence poured out a small glass of the pale amber
liquid. Still in silence he came to her side and handed the sherry to her,
their fingers touching as the glass was placed in her outstretched hand. Both
reacted as if stung; Christopher's hand abruptly fell away and Nicole's fingers
nearly jerked the glass from his grasp.