Lady Vixen (82 page)

Nicole's
whole body went very still, and nervously she toyed with the material of her
dress, wanting desperately to confess to that coaxing voice, wanting with all
her heart to believe in the note of tenderness in Christopher's tone. They had
fought too often and too bitterly for her to trust him, and yet she was
powerless to tear herself away from him, to destroy this suddenly fragile mood.
Even when the silence spun out and Christopher sat down on a couch before the
fire, gently drawing her onto his lap, she did not resist. She was frightened,
frightened and filled with an exquisite anticipation, a tantalizing feeling of
expectancy, that if she wanted, if she were clever and for once did not fly out
in a rage, she would discover something incredibly important.

Quizzically
Christopher prodded, "Aren't you going to answer me? Or don't you know the
answer?"

Nicole
swallowed, keeping her eyes on the leaping flames of the fire, giddily
conscious of his hard arms holding her next to him, of the muscled thighs
beneath her and the warm breath gently stirring the hair at her temple. One of
Christopher's hands began slowly to explore her arm, and she mumbled,
"Does it matter? I mean is it important whether I am in love with someone
or not?"

"It
might be," Christopher returned equably. "It depends on who it
is?"

Cautiously
Nicole replied, "Well, suppose I am in love with someone?"

"Hmmm,
well if it isn't me, then I suppose I would have to let you go,"
Christopher said, adding dryly, "Let you go and somehow help you be
reunited with your loved one."

Astonishment
swiveled Nicole around to look into the dark face. "You would do that? If
I said I were madly in love with . . . with . . ." she groped helplessly
for a name and when none came finished lamely, "well, with someone, you'd
let me go?"

Christopher
regarded her steadily for several moments and then, holding her gaze with his
own, said softly, "I'd have to, wouldn't I? You see when I marry, I want
no ghosts in my marriage bed. I want the woman that bears my name and
eventually my children to want only me, when she sleeps to dream only of
me." He was gambling, gambling everything on the mad chance that he had
not misread the cause of Nicole's sudden fury and the reason behind her angry
outburst.

Warily
they stared at each other, Christopher committed as far as he could go without
further encouragement from Nicole, and Nicole uncertain of how to reply. With
all her eager young body she yearned to fling herself into his arms and beg
that he let her be that woman, but the past had taught her caution, and
carefully she asked, "When you told me that we were to marry, just now,
did you think of me that way?"

His
eyes narrowed, and with a thread of amusement barely discernible in his voice;
he returned, "What do you think?"

Her
face was troubled as she looked searchingly into the mocking features. "I
don't know what you thought," she admitted honestly. "I've never
known how you felt about me." As Christopher opened his mouth to reply,
she broke in, "Oh, I know you wanted me, you've always made that very
clear. But I've never known
why
you wanted me. Except to use me as you
would a bought whore, and that's not a very good reason for marriage, is
it?" There was a note of sadness in her words that stung Christopher, and
harshly he said, "If I had wanted a whore, I would have bought one! Oh,
Jesus, Nicole, don't tell me you can't guess? Must I say it out in words of one
syllable?"

"Yes.
Yes, in this case, I think you do," she replied steadily, and with sudden
confidence leaned into him; her full mouth barely inches from his, she
demanded, "Tell me, Christopher! Tell me!"

The
soft, warm body was too much for him, driving out the last remnants of stubborn
pride, and thickly he said, "Witch! May God help me, but I love you.
Now
will you marry me?"

His
answer was in the ardent mouth that met his, in the fervent melting of the slim
young body against his. For a long time there was silence in the library except
for the crackle of the fire and the muttered endearments that lovers exchange.
Explanations could come later, explanations and understanding, and with those
forgiveness, but right now there was just each other—no tomorrow, no yesterday,
just the present.

They
were married the next day, a Wednesday, in a small town some twenty miles above
New Orleans, by a justice of the peace, with Higgins, grinning broadly, as one
of the witnesses. The justice's wife had been hastily summoned as the other
witness, and as she later told her husband, she had never seen such a handsome
couple or two people so obviously in love with each other.

Christopher
quite frankly could not keep his gaze off Nicole, almost as if he expected her
to vanish, and Nicole made no effort to hide the love shining out of the topaz
eyes. She could have wished that Lord and Lady Saxon had been there, but all
that really mattered to her was that Christopher loved her, loved her enough to
marry her, even if it was a hurried, secret, simple ceremony.

They
rode back to New Orleans in silence, the persistent rain making it a damp,
uncomfortable journey despite the warmed bricks to keep the feet warm and the
tight construction of Christopher's elegant carriage. Higgins, displaying his
usual tact, had elected to brave the weather; blandly ignoring Christopher's
and Nicole's protestations, he sat with the coachman during the four-hour
journey back to New Orleans. Ordinarily it would not have taken so long, but
the rain had turned the roads into quagmires of mud and silt, and the carriage
could gain no speed.

Inside
the coach the silence was companionable, both occupants for the first time in
their relationship almost at peace with each other. There were difficulties
still ahead of them, but with patience, understanding, and love they would
overcome them, provided, as Christopher had said with a laugh last night,
"We can keep from flying at each other's throat the first second one of us
says something the other takes violent exception to!"

They
arrived just before dusk at Dauphine Street, and Christopher wasted little time
in assembling his staff and presenting Nicole as his wife, and their new
mistress. Later he made it extremely clear to Sanderson that he would appreciate
it if the actual marriage was said to have taken place in England, today's
ceremony merely a reaffirmation of their vows.

His
features crinkling into a wide, white-toothed grin, Sanderson had replied,
"I understand perfectly, sir. There will be no gossip. I will see to
it!"

Christopher
had grinned, dismissing him with a careless flick of the hand. Nicole's
position was now secure as his wife, and Sanderson would see to it that no one
dared raise any awkward questions, either in his own home or in the homes of
others.

Before
he could put the present aside and concentrate on the far more agreeable
subject of his
very
new bride, he sat down and wrote two short messages.
One was sent round to Jason Savage's with the less-than-cryptic message that he
and his wife, Nicole, would be delighted to dine with them tomorrow evening.

The
second letter took a little longer to write and would take weeks, even months,
to reach its destination in England. It was to Lord Saxon; he wrote simply that
he was once again in New Orleans and that Nicole was with him —this time no
longer his ward, but his wife. After a fond inquiry as to the state of his
grandfather's health and that of Lady Saxon, Christopher closed the brief note
with the promise that come summer, he and his bride would return once again to
England. Tomorrow he would find out from Jason if there were any ships due to
run the blockade of the Gulf that might take the letter to his grandfather.

His
most pressing tasks seen to, he was able to sit back in the quietness of his
library and with a bemused expression recall that he was now a married man.

A
tender, half-amused smile on his mouth, with an eager step he left the library,
intent on finding that tempting creature, who was now his wife. He found her
sitting prosaically in the main salon, idly studying some dress pattern plates.

At
his entrance she glanced up, and sending him an almost-shy smile, she put down
the plate in her hand and asked, "Did you finish your business?"

"Yes,
I did. The Savages have been informed, and I'm certain they will do their part
to stifle any awkwardness that might arise. I don't foresee any—after all, we
have been back in New Orleans barely three days and you have made no social
appearances. I seriously doubt that anyone outside of the members of my
household and the Savages even knows you are here. I've spoken to Sanderson to
make certain none of our servants prattle. Few people are even aware that I am
back in the city, so I think we can safely put aside the worry of gossip."

Slightly
surprised at what had constituted the important business he had stated that he
must see to immediately, she questioned gravely, "Why are you so concerned
about gossip now? You never have been."

Christopher
gave her a twisted smile. "I've never had a wife to worry over, either,
and I will not have you the object of every scandalmonger in the city.
Especially since the fault of your predicament was largely due to me."

A
warm little glow of gratification spread through Nicole's body when she heard
those words. More than she would have cared to admit she had dreaded the furor
their unorthodox marriage would have caused. Not so strangely too, it gave her
the unusual feeling of being protected to know that Christopher, abandoning his
usual indifference to what people thought, had immediately taken steps to
insure that no one could create a disagreeable situation for her. And with a
smile hovering about her lips she remembered the old adage that reformed rakes
make the best husbands. She fervently hoped it was true.

Seeing
her smile, Christopher drawled quietly, "That amuses you? The fact that I
want no one to besmirch your name?"

"Not
that! I was just thinking of that saying about reformed rakes, and wondering if
you were going to run true to form."

Christopher
seated himself beside her on the sofa, and lifting one of her hands, he pressed
the palm to his lips. "I intend to try, m'dear. I intend to try."

Breathless,
Nicole could find no words to say, and after a second Christopher asked
quizzically, "Aren't you going to say the same? That you're going to try
too to make our marriage work?"

"Oh,
I will!" she promised instantly, leaning against him, her mouth
unconsciously beckoning. And unable to help himself, Christopher caught her
close in a fierce embrace, his lips searching hers, demanding a response.
Nicole gave it unstintingly; the fiery tip of her tongue slipped into his
mouth, and with a smothered groan Christopher was the one who ended the kiss.
"Witch!" he said in a husky tone. "This is not the time to start
that kind of thing! Later this evening will be soon enough. I can tell you I do
not intend to sleep alone in my bed as I did last night!"

A
teasing light in the topaz eyes, Nicole murmured, "Why did you? You've
never let the lack of a wedding band stop you before."

A
frown wrinkled Christopher's forehead as he said slowly, "I admit being
guilty of that! But knowing we were to be married today, somehow I didn't want
the memory of the night
before
the wedding to interfere with
the
wedding
night." Almost ashamedly he added, "A most odd sentiment coming from
me, my love, but there you have it."

The
most incredible suspicion that underneath the habitual cold exterior the world
saw of Christopher Saxon, lay a romantic heart was taking hold of Nicole, and a
delightful gurgle of laughter broke from her. "Christopher!" she
spluttered. "Next you shall be telling me that you are sorry you treated
me so cavalierly in the beginning."

Slanting
her a mocking look, he retorted bluntly, "No, I am not sorry about
anything I have done to you in the past. My only regret is that the moment I
saw you I did not recognize my fate and haul you before the nearest minister
and marry you instantly! I would have saved myself a great deal of heartburning
and uncertainty."

Unable
to help herself, softly Nicole taunted, "And did you suffer great
heartburning?"

Christopher
pushed her gently down on the sofa, and leaning over her, his mouth barely
touching hers, he muttered, "And what do you think? First there was Allen
to keep me tossing and turning in my bed, wondering if the two of you were
together somewhere lying in each other's arms!" The half-tender,
half-teasing note vanished as he said in an entirely different tone of voice,
"Then there was England." Harshly, he snarled, "Yes, by God, I suffered
heartburnings—heartburnings, jealousy, rage, hatred. I suffered the lot, you
little devil!"

His
face had that shut-in expression she had seen so often in the past; his eyes
were suddenly cold and inimical as he stared down at her. She met that gaze
this time without flinching, and very gently her fingers traced the chiseled
outline of his lips. "You didn't have to, you could have given me some
sign of what you were feeling." He started to twist away, but Nicole held
him to her by the simple act of twining her arms about his neck. "Listen
to me, you fool!" she whispered against his ear. "There was never
anyone for me, except you! But how could I let you know? The one time I tried,
you threw it back in my face. I was certain you felt nothing for me." Her
mouth curving wryly, she added, "Except for a certain amount of animal
passion."