Lady Vixen (79 page)

And
so with that determination firmly and stubbornly fixed in his brain, he had
proceeded to do exactly that. Unfortunately his actions had not given him the
answer he sought. His mouth curved with displeasure as he sourly acknowledged
he still wanted Nicole, wanted her as badly as he had last night.

And
the new and startling knowledge grew that not only did he want her body—he
wanted her! All of her, her thoughts, her laughter, yes, even her stormy fits
of temper. For just a moment he tried to envision a life in which there was no
furious, topaz-eyed vixen to hurl herself angrily at him. It was not possible.
Whatever Nicole was, he wanted her. And despised himself for doing so.

You
are
mad, he decided without rancor. Like Nicole, he found no solution to
his dilemma, only more confusion and uncertainty.

He
was still lying there, his mind exhausted and weary from the seemingly
unresolvable problem, when Higgins entered.

Glancing
at the bed and seeing that Christopher was awake, he said cheerfully,
"Well, good morning to you, sir! Would like some coffee brought to you or
would you prefer to wait until you have dressed?"

Christopher
merely grunted, and taking the sound to mean no, Higgins began to pick up the
clothing strewn about the room. Having put the room to rights, the little man
crossed to the shuttered windows and briskly opened them to let what daylight
there was come filtering into the room. Looking outside at the sky, Higgins
observed, "Hmmm, I think we'll have another day of rain, by the size of
those black clouds crowding the horizon. If you have any plans for going out,
I'd suggest that you cancel them."

Knowing
further concentration was useless, Christopher threw back the blankets and
walked over to a marble-topped washstand. Throwing some cold water onto his
face, he said disagreeably, "Since when has the weather ever deterred me?
And now since you're so goddamn eager to get the day started, make yourself
useful and lay out some clothes for me."

An
hour later a freshly shaved and bathed Christopher Saxon slowly sipped a cup of
strong black coffee and watched dispassionately as Higgins laid out his apparel
for the day. It was very fashionable town wear—a vest of flowered silk,
skintight pantaloons in pale gold broadcloth, and a long coat of dark forest green.

He
left the house about nine o'clock and sauntered to Maspero's Exchange. At this
time of the morning it was not very crowded, and with ease Christopher found a
table in one corner of the long wooden building and ordered
cafe au lait.

Christopher
did not remain seated by himself for long; his coffee had barely arrived when
Eustace Croix sauntered over to the table and joined him.

"Ah,
so you are back," Eustace began by way of greeting, a wide smile revealing
two rows of startling white teeth. "You know,
mon ami,
you have a
disconcerting way of disappearing and then as calmly reappearing. I have
remarked on it often during the years, but you always brush me aside. This time
I will have an answer! Where in the devil's name have you been for the past six
months or so? Exciting things have been happening in our city, I can tell you
that!" Eustace finished with a wink. His black eyes were bold in an olive
complexion.

A
heavy dark eyebrow was cocked at him. "Oh?" Christopher inquired
dryly. "What? A new cock that is the strongest and fiercest around? A
horse that can run like wind? Or, yes, it must be! You have a new quadroon
mistress!" Christopher ended with a grin, his gold eyes dancing with
mockery.

"Mon
ami,
you
wound me!" Eustace cried dramatically, his own gaze bright with laughter.
Sobering suddenly he said, "Have you heard of Lafitte? Of what has
befallen him?"

Christopher
stiffened, going very still. "No," he said casually. "What has
our friend Jean been doing lately."

"Hiding,"
came the blunt reply. "The so proper and patriotic Commodore Patterson and
Colonel Ross of the Army have destroyed Barataria. In September they attacked
the stronghold and overran the place." With a satisfied expression on his
face he added, "But the victory was not as complete as if should have
been—neither Jean nor Pierre was there."

"Pierre?"
Christopher queried sharply. "The last I heard he was in the
calaboose."

Eustace
grinned. "Ah, yes, for a while perhaps, but have you ever known the
Lafittes not to manage to free themselves? Pierre along with three negroes
escaped not many days before the attack on Barataria, much to the consternation
of the military. According to the rumors I have heard, though, Pierre is quite
ill. And Jean is in hiding—Dominique You and scores of the others are currently
cooling their heels in the calaboose, and Barataria is in the hands of the
military."

Christopher's
face was grim and hard as he asked, "And Claiborne? I suppose he is
extremely pleased with himself?"

"Now
there you have me,
mon ami.
I must tell you that there is some mystery
about the entire affair." Leaning forward confidentially, Eustace said, "I
have heard that Lafitte actually wrote to the governor prior to the attack.
Certainly it is known the governor called a meeting of his advisors to discuss
something very important to do with Lafitte, that I know. Gossip has it that
Lafitte offered to help defend our fair city, in the event that the British
actually attempted to descend upon us." Carelessly Eustace revealed the
Creole contempt for such an idea, "Me, I do not think such a thing is
possible. Claiborne is a nervous old woman, seeing wicked things where there
are none."

Controlling
his temper with difficulty, Christopher remained silent, furious with both
Eustace's attitude and with the knowledge that Savage had deliberately not
informed him of Lafitte's fate. Savage must have known, must have even sat in
on this meeting that Eustace spoke of. And probably, he thought viciously,
decided along with the others to authorize the attack on Barataria! Goddamn
him!

He
had known that he and Jason were on opposite sides when it came to Lafitte and
his activities, but he had not thought that the Barataria situation presented
such a problem that it required the efforts of the United States Army to solve
it! He supposed he was not thinking very clearly, but the news had been an
unexpected and unpleasant shock, and he had a certain amount of loyalty to
Lafitte. He was regretfully angry and bitterly resentful to think that while he
had been in England, ostensibly with the same goal in mind as Jason and the
governor, they had been plotting to destroy a man known to be his friend.

It
cost an effort, but after a moment Christopher said indifferently to Eustace,
"So Lafitte is no longer at Barataria and his men are in the calaboose.
Very interesting, my friend. And as you remarked earlier, things have been
happening while I have been gone."

"Yes.
And that brings me back to my original question.
Mon ami,
where have you
been these past months?"

Christopher
returned a light answer, adroitly turning the conversation to less personal
matters, and after a bit Eustace was busy passing on bits of tittle-tattle that
Christopher barely heard, his mind still on the news of Lafitte's destruction.
He finished his coffee, and in no mood to be entertained by Eustace's lightly
malicious chatter, he excused himself, claiming a prior appointment.

Jason's
peculiar manner yesterday came back to him, and with a mirthless smile he
recalled the advice not to jump to conclusions. Well, he wouldn't, but Jason
had better damn well have a good explanation, and he sure as hell wasn't
waiting until Thursday to talk with him! Savage would see him today, or else...

Jason
was in the midst of a meeting in his home when Christopher's card was presented
to him a few minutes later. Irritably he glanced at it, having a very good idea
of why Saxon was here. Wisely he realized there was nothing for it but to see
him immediately. He didn't relish the thought of what Christopher was capable
of doing if he pushed him too far. Murmuring an apology, Jason left the room
and walked impatiently to the small salon where Christopher waited.

One
look at Christopher's tight-lipped features was enough to tell Jason that his
hunch had been right. Resignedly he asked, "You've heard about Lafitte, I
take it."

"You're
damn right about that!" Christopher spat, his eyes gleaming gold between
the dark lashes. "Why in the hell didn't you tell me yesterday? Why did
you have to be so goddamn mysterious about it?"

"Because,
mon ami,
I simply did not have time to soothe your indignant feathers. I
do not have the time now, but you have forced this meeting on me. Take that scowl
off your face while I explain a few things to you."

Feeling
slightly chastened and not liking it at all, Christopher sat down stiffly on a
couch of red Moroccan leather. Common sense reasserted itself, and he said
calmly, if coldly, "I apologize for inflicting myself upon you like this.
And I am sorry if it is inconvenient. If you would like, I can call at a more
suitable time, but I intend to see you today. I want to know exactly what
happened and I am"—a wry smile crossed his face—"willing to listen to
reason."

Relaxing
at Christopher's less aggressive tone of voice, Jason replied easily, "I,
too, owe you an apology. I should have told you immediately about Lafitte and
not have let you find it out, along with all the half-truths, from someone
else."

Taking
a small gold watch from his vest pocket, Jason glanced at it, saying, "I
shall be in this meeting until luncheon. Will you come back at, say, two
o'clock? I really am afraid I cannot see you before that time." He added
grimly, "Claiborne is in such fidgets over that damned memorandum that my
life is no longer my own."

Christopher
inclined his head in agreement. Together the two men walked out into the hall,
and after shaking hands, Jason strolled back to his meeting and Christopher
departed.

He
had no inclination to return to Maspero's, nor did he wish to seek out Dauphine
Street and the unresolved situation that awaited him there. Instead he walked
aimlessly along the muddied wooden sidewalks, letting his feet take him where
they would, his mind on Lafitte.

That
first surge of irrational anger had faded, and Christopher was able to view the
event more sensibly. Lafitte was, despite his standing in the city, a smuggler,
and he did break the law every day. And there was no denying that in his crew
there were men who could only be labeled outright pirates. I warned him,
Christopher thought savagely as he continued to walk. By God, but I warned him.

Unfortunately
that knowledge gave him little comfort, and without surprise he found he had
wandered to the ramparts. Lafitte had a small cottage nearby, and a moment
later Christopher found himself standing in front of it.

The
wooden building appeared deserted, but as he remained there, the conviction
grew that someone was watching him. A faint movement, barely discernible
through the barred and shuttered windows, convinced him of it, and with a
determined stride he walked boldly up to the door.

At
first there was no answer to his sharp rap on the door, but when he repeated it
a second time, very slowly the door opened. Stepping inside, without any
astonishment at all he stared at Lafitte, as he stood negligently by the door.
Lafitte was the first to speak.

"Well,
mon ami,
we meet again." With an irrepressible twinkle in the black
eyes, he murmured, "But in vastly different circumstances, hey?"

"Very,"
Christopher replied dryly, watching as Lafitte shut the door and walked over to
a simple scrubbed oak table.

Waving
him to one of the sturdy wooden chairs placed near the table, Lafitte said,
"Sit down,
mon ami!
Sit down and tell me why you have come to call.
I do not think that I am in a very good odor with most people in the city these
days, and I am amazed you even bothered to seek me out."

With
brutal honesty Christopher replied, "I did not know that you were here—I
just had a hunch that you might be. And I couldn't imagine you running away
with your tail between your legs."

"Ha!
After Patterson and Ross were finished with Barataria, I almost didn't have a
tail to put between my legs!"

"I
know. And I'm sorry, Jean," Christopher said quietly, adding slowly,
"I don't want to insult you by offering you money, but if you need it, you
know that I will supply you with it—that and anything else you may need."

A
rueful smile curved Lafitte's mouth. "I have not reached the point yet
where I must exist on charity. But I thank you for your offer, and it pleases
me that despite your yearning for respectability, you are not willing to desert
me."

Christopher
grimaced and said carelessly, "You helped me when I needed it—I am only
returning the favor."

Lafitte
nodded. "Yes, that is so. But come let us talk of other things. I presume
you would like to know what happened to the good Allen Ballard, would you
not?"

With
a derisive gleam in the gold eyes, Christopher admitted coolly, "Actually
I had not given Mr. Ballard another thought. Did you release him as
planned?"