Lady Vixen (88 page)

***

One
sunny March day a note was delivered to Christopher from his overseer, Bartel.
As he read it, an idea began to take shape. The note was brief, mentioning only
that the spring planting had begun, but that there were several things he
wanted to discuss. Usually Bartel would come into the city, but Christopher,
his mind instantly made up, decided he would remove his household to Thibodaux
House. Perhaps there, faced only with each other's company, and without the
distractions of the city, he and Nicole could find their way back to each
other. His decision made, he wasted little time in informing the staff and,
more importantly, his wife.

There
was an air of purpose about him, a new and dangerous vitality that Nicole was
instantly aware of when he entered her room, a few minutes later. Gone was the
polite man who had been her husband these past months, and in his place was the
arrogant, infuriatingly attractive man she had first married.

His
gold eyes enigmatic, Christopher stared at her as she sat in a small chair by a
window that overlooked the courtyard below, a shaft of sunlight flaming the
sable curls and intensifying the topaz gleam of her eyes between the black
curling lashes. Appreciatively his gaze roamed over her, making no attempt to
hide the appraisal in his eyes.

The
russet gown she was wearing today was rather lower cut than usual and displayed
an enticing amount of smooth, milky flesh, and Christopher felt a tremor of desire
sweep through him. Damn the little vixen, he had only to look at her and his
body was instantly aflame, he thought with a small spurt of anger. And he had
denied himself too long, he decided sourly. It was time Madame learned that
this was certainly not how
he
had envisioned their marriage.

Made
uneasy by the prolonged stare of the gold eyes, Nicole rose to her feet, and
still unable to drop completely her haughty air, she asked coolly, "Yes?
What is it?"

Christopher
grinned, leaning negligently against one of the posts of her bed.
"What?" he mocked. "No welcoming embrace? No sweet greeting from
my bride?"

Nicole's
head went up angrily, forgetting immediately her resolve to end the
estrangement between them. "If you have come merely to taunt me, then I wish
you would leave!" she replied heatedly, a becoming flush staining her
cheeks.

It
was tempting to continue baiting her, but Christopher stifled the desire and
remarked idly, "I thought you would like to know that the war with Britain
is officially over. I've just come from Jason's and we've seen a copy of the
treaty." Unable to help himself, he added sneeringly, "Rest easy that
your beloved Allen will not hang now."

Nicole
couldn't quite hide the relief that swept through her, and seeing it, all the
jealousy he had tamped came surging to the fore, until he could taste it, like
burning gall at the base of his throat. It had not been easy for him to allow
Nicole to see Allen, but he had been trying to show her that he loved her and
that he trusted her, that he could, and had, overcome his raging jealousy. But
it hadn't mattered; all the pain he had suffered in winning the terrible battle
within himself had been for naught—Nicole had gone gladly to see Allen, but she
had not softened, nor made any indication that she realized the reasons, or
even the effort it had cost him to allow that meeting. And now he could no
longer control the bitter rage and jealousy that had eaten him for months. He
had tried being compassionate, being understanding, tried to explain himself,
had ignored his baser instincts and treated her gently, hoping in time she
would see his outburst for what it had been. But it had availed him nothing and
he was through being the polite, courtly gentleman!

Staring
at her almost with dislike, he said cruelly, "I wouldn't look quite so
happy if I were you—he'll still stand trial and more than likely will spend
several years in prison. Hanging might have been preferable."

Her
face draining of all color, Nicole grasped the back of a chair for support. Not
looking at Christopher, she asked in a low voice, "Can you do nothing to
help him?"

"Why
should I?" Christopher jeered. "I can't say that he has ever done
anything to endear himself to me! Now, perhaps in your case it's
different."

Looking
squarely at her husband's dark face, Nicole said slowly, "He saved my
life, once. We were swimming in one of those lagoons in Bermuda, and a shark .
. ." She stopped as the horror of those moments washed over her. Forcing
herself to continue, she said, "Allen didn't have to dive in to save me.
He was safe. But he risked his life for mine, and if he had not been there or
if he had hesitated a second, I would not be here this moment—I would be just
poor Nick who had got eaten by a shark off Bermuda. Now do you see why I will
do just about anything for him? It's not love, you fool," she cried hotly.
"It's
gratitude!
And you're too pigheaded to realize it!"

The
shaft struck home and Christopher stiffened, seeing again where his own
blindness had led him. Instead of burning with jealousy over the undeniable
affection between Nicole and Allen, he should be thanking God that Allen had
been with her that day. It was ironic, he thought bitterly, that the one man he
had viewed as his most dangerous rival had, in fact, given Nicole to him.

Nicole
could tell nothing from his face. Christopher pushed away from the post and
said, in a voice that was carefully bland, "Well, then, it seems I must do
something for Mr. Ballard, mustn't I? After all, without him you wouldn't be
here now."

Warily
she watched him, unable to take any comfort from his words. Cautiously she
asked, "What do you intend to do?"

Christopher's
shoulders squared but his voice was weary. "Oh, I'll have a word with
Jason, and perhaps through him we can see that something is worked out. I'll
see to it this afternoon." He started to leave the room, but then he
turned and looked back at her. "What I really came up to see you about,
though, was to tell you," he said slowly, "that we will be going to Thibodaux
House at the end of this week. Please have your maids start packing whatever
you think you will need."

Nicole
nodded mutely, uncertain whether the news was pleasant or unpleasant. In a way
it would be a relief to leave New Orleans, but to return to Thibodaux House
with the future unsettled between them was daunting.

Christopher
had not been making idle conversation when he had said he would speak to Jason
about Allen. But he had known there was really very little he could do. Allen
had been caught as a spy, and even the cessation of the war between Britain and
America did not lessen that fact. And Jason told Christopher as much, when he
brought the subject up that afternoon.

"Hmm.
I don't really see that we can do anything,
mon ami,"
Jason had
said. "In this case, I am afraid that justice must run its course.
Monsieur Ballard is not just another prisoner of war, you understand. I will
see what I can do, but I doubt my intervention will accomplish a great
deal."

And
that seemed to be it. But not one to give up easily, Christopher paid a call at
the calaboose. He did not visit Allen at first; instead, he spent an inordinate
amount of time viewing the outer walls of the calaboose itself, and then
appeared to be having a serious and important conversation with one of the guards.
An observant man might have noticed the wad of notes that were quietly passed
between them, but no one paid any attention.

The
interview between Allen and Christopher was brief and, to a certain degree,
strained. The two had very little to discuss, and Allen had the curious
conviction that Christopher was more interested in the construction of his cell
than in talking to him. And Christopher's parting words left Allen staring
after him with bewilderment. What in the hell had he meant by, "I certainly
hope you are as quick-witted as I think you are"?

That
night, Madame and Monsieur Saxon dined at home together for the first time in
weeks. Their conversation was stilted and wary, but it was a conversation,
something they had not had in months. Nothing was resolved between them;
Christopher disappeared immediately after dinner, presumably to one of the
coffee houses or gambling rooms.

Sitting
alone in her bedroom, Nicole regarded herself angrily in the mirror as
ruthlessly she brushed the curling sable-fire hair. What in hell's name was she
to do? She had to break down the walls between them someway, and glancing at
the tall, slender body reflected in her mirror, she smiled a secretive catlike
smile. It was brazen and without scruple, but somehow she was going to get
Christopher into her bed, and then she would show him without words how silly
was this continued estrangement.

Making
the decision to deliberately seduce her husband was easier than actually doing
it. She would have preferred to do it gradually, to let him see in little ways
that she was now ready to accept his advances, except she knew in her heart
that they had gone beyond that point. No, she was going to have to take very
blunt and forthright action; Christopher wasn't about to let her take the easy
way out. She quailed at the thought of rejection, of the cool contempt she
might find in his eyes, and so for the next few days she did nothing.

The
night before they were to leave for Thibodaux House she steeled her spine and
prepared for battle. She scented her bath with a musky odor of forests and
spices, brushed her hair till it crackled, and carefully dressed in a flimsy
gown of emerald silk.

She
waited impatiently and with growing apprehension in her veins for Christopher
to return home that evening, and when at last she heard his movements in the
next room, her heart leaped into her throat. Rising from her bed, she took one
last look in the mirror, suddenly shocked at the gown's transparency. Her skin
gleamed like ivory through the folds, the faint rose of her nipples was
obvious, the darkened shadow between her legs was hazy and mysterious. She
swallowed, then straightened her shoulders. She wanted to enflame him, didn't
she?

There
was no hesitation in her walk as she approached the doors that separated their
rooms, and with a steady hand she reached for the knob only to have the doors
suddenly swing wide.

Christopher,
in a robe of dull gold, stood there, apparently as surprised as she, but then
as enlightenment dawned on both faces, he grinned and murmured, "Your bed
or mine, madame?"

Nicole
caught back the splutter of laughter in her throat; a fierce gladness rushed
through her veins that all unknowing they had met halfway. Melting easily into
his arms, she whispered, "Yours, I think. Mine has memories enough, while
yours has none... yet."

His
eyes suddenly blazing with the love that had been hidden these past months,
Christopher swept her up into his hard arms. Against her mouth he promised
softly, "Oh, we'll make memories tonight, love. We'll make memories to
last a lifetime."

He
kept his promise, his body taking hers with such gentle fierceness she would
remember it through all the years of their lives. Years that would be spent
together in love and tenderness, for there was no longer doubting that—it was
there in every movement of his body, in every kiss, in every caress.

Sometimes,
Nicole thought sleepily, when at last they were both satiated with the other,
sometimes it's easier to say things without words, to say them with actions,
with your body and your eyes, with...

How
long she slept she didn't know, she only knew that dawn was still only a
promise when Christopher rudely prodded her awake. Groggy, she stared at him
uncomprehendingly, noting vaguely that he was already dressed in breeches and
top boots.

His
teeth very white in the darkness of his face, he teased, "Get up, lazy
bones! We have one last task to do before we leave the city today."

"What
are you talking about?" she complained, attempting to roll back over and
bury her head beneath the pillows.

But
Christopher would have none of that, and callously he ripped away the covers
and grasped her shoulders. "Wake up! Wake up or I'll leave you behind and
you'll never know what happened to Allen."

Wide
awake in an instant, Nicole stared at him. His eyes were filled with lazy
amusement, his mouth tilted in a reckless smile.

Pointing
to the pitcher of water on the washstand, he murmured, "If you hurry, you
won't miss it."

Without
a word she leaped from the bed splashed water over her body, and scrambled into
the pair of breeches and shirt Christopher handed her. Puzzled, she looked at
him. "Breeches?"

"Breeches,
my love. I don't want anyone to guess at those very feminine curves."

"But
why?"

"You'll
see," was his infuriating answer.

They
left the house within seconds and slipped across the deserted courtyard to the
stables. There were three horses saddled, and with something like bemusement,
Nicole was thrown carelessly onto one of them.

They
rode in silence through the empty, spongy streets. Christopher led the third
animal, the horses' hoofbeats muffled by the still-damp ground. It was only as
the calaboose came into view that a suspicion of Christopher's intentions
crossed her mind, and the full import of the third horse and the stout rope across
his saddle burst across her brain like a rocket.