Merline Lovelace (12 page)

Daniel rose and crossed the room. “You’ll not stay to take dinner with us?”

“I cannot,” she lied, scrambling for an excuse. “I tell Helene Thibodeaux I will return early, and it is already late. Me, I do not wish to worry her.”

“I could send a message.”

“It is best I go.”

“I’ll walk you back to Doumaine Street.”

“There is no need. Truly.”

She had to leave before jealousy and want stripped
away her smile. Folding the towel in two, she laid it over the back of a chair.

“I walk here. I will walk to Doumaine Street. There’s no need for concern,” she added when he looked as though he would insist. “I bring my skinning knife with me always, in this so-handsome pouch James buys for me.”

Daniel’s face tightened as she slid the drawstrings of the elaborately embroidered and tasseled purse over her wrist.

“I went to see the lieutenant this afternoon,” he said stiffly.

“James? But why?”

“To discover if he is sincere in his desire to marry you. I have not forgotten my vow to Henri to have a care to you.”

“I see. What did you discover? Is the lieutenant, how do you say? Sincere in his desire?”

“Yes.”

Louise might have taken a secret, shameful pleasure in the grim cast to his jaw if she hadn’t already tasted jealousy herself and found it bitter beyond words.

“I can’t fault him for his choice,” Daniel said, lifting a hand to draw a knuckle down the curve of her cheek. “All I can do is tell you he’s not man enough for you.”

As brief as it was, his touch seared Louise’s skin. She savored the heat, took it into her heart. But when she saw the same emotions she’d battled just moments ago cross Daniel’s face, the fist around her
heart gave another cruel squeeze. It was the same for him. The hunger. The resentment. The vicious want.

No, not the same. He was the one chained by vows. How strange that Henri had offered her the chance to bed with other trappers and she’d refused. Now, the one man she desired desperately to take into her body was bound by his own brand of honor to a woman who could not give what Louise ached to so fiercely. Numbly, she turned away and groped for the bonnet she’d left lying on the table.

“
À bientôt,
Elizabeth. Goodbye, Daniel.”

Daniel stood in the middle of the room, his fists balled at his sides. He hated the passions running loose and wild inside him. Hated this fierce hunger for what he couldn’t have. Damning himself for a thousand kinds of a fool, he turned and felt a blow as swift and stunning as a rifle butt slamming into his chest.

His wife watched him. Her hands were still clasped loosely around the pewter tankard. She still sat silent as a shadow in her chair. But she’d fixed her eyes on him with what looked from this distance like a faint glimmer of reason.

“Elizabeth—”

He took a step toward her. Only a step. That’s all it took to douse the light. Slowly, she turned her head back to the window and stared through the thick, wavy glass.

He’d found another.

The thought forced its way through the mists of Elizabeth’s mind.

Daniel had found another. A young, vibrant woman who could give him a child, a babe like the one Elizabeth had seen carried on its mother’s shoulder only this afternoon.

She couldn’t bear the anguish, couldn’t bear the grief. Slowly, she forced all thought, all pain from her mind until only the gray shadows remained.

“D
o you have it, Simons?”

“Almost, Lieutenant. Almost.”

Chin angled upward, palms planted on his knees, James occupied the stool in front of his dressing table. While his batman struggled with the folds of his starched linen stock, his gaze roamed over the rich crown moldings and ornate plasterwork decorating the ceiling. The owners of Belle Terre had spared no expense in building their home. It rivaled any plantation in Virginia or Maryland.

Normally, James would have taken quarters in town with the other officers in his company, but the recent death of his mother had moved the general to house him here, where father and son could assuage each other’s grief. Which they might have done, if not for this damnable business with Burr.

Feeling much like a raccoon caught in a bear trap, James wondered how in Hades he would emerge from this disaster without having his neck stretched. He could hardly claim ignorance of the conspiracy
now being trumpeted in every newssheet in the nation. His father had confided his grandiose dreams to his sons as early as the fall of 1805, after Colonel Burr’s visit to St. Louis.

James gripped his knees and stared at a plump plaster cherub on the ceiling. They’d come so close, Burr and his father. So very close. How unfortunate the general had been forced to betray his friend to save his own neck. As a consequence, he was now pinning all his hopes on his younger son. The general’s dreams of an empire hadn’t died, James thought with a flutter in his stomach. They’d merely become centered on a new dynasty, one James himself was intended to found.

A sudden rap on the door to his rooms caused him to start, ruining the intricate knot the slim, somewhat dandified corporal who acted as his batman was trying to achieve.

“Enter,” James called, while Simons smothered an oath.

The valet tugged the creased neck cloth free and tossed it onto the bed, where it joined a half dozen other discarded stocks. He had a fresh length of starched linen in his hand when the general strolled into his son’s room.

The elder Wilkinson’s brow lifted as he surveyed the litter on the bed. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze on his son. “Do I intrude?”

James gave a nervous laugh. “No, sir. Simons is merely experimenting with a new knot.”

“It’s called the ‘cascade,”’ the batman put in.

“Hmm.”

The cool response had both officer and valet instantly abandoning any desire to achieve the complicated knot.

“Perhaps, Corporal, you’ll be good enough to continue your experiment later. I’d like a word with the lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gathering the discarded neck cloths, Simons beat a hasty retreat. James knew the general intimidated his batman almost as much as his own son. Uneasily James waited for the door to close behind his batman. He guessed what was coming.

Sure enough, his father went right to it. “How do matters stand between you and Chartier’s widow?”

“They, uh, progress, sir.”

“Has she accepted your suit?”

“Not yet.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, the general fixed him with one of his unnerving stares. “Have you kissed her?”

“No, sir.”

“Held her close in the dance?”

“I haven’t felt it proper to attend any dances while in mourning for Mother.”

“Well, have you done anything besides buy the woman bonnets and posies?”

“No.”

“Contrary to your assessment,” his father snapped, “matters don’t appear to me to be progressing at all.”

James dug his fingers into the tendons of his knees and fought to keep a tremor from his voice. “It doesn’t pay to press this particular female too hard, sir. She’s very high tempered. Half savage, if you’ll remember. You should have seen her go after Private Huddleston with a knife.”

“Damn it, I’m not suggesting you rip off her clothes and attack her. Unless—” The general cocked his head, considering the matter. “Do you fancy to have her that way? We can certainly arrange matters so she won’t resist. A drop or two of laudanum or distillate of opium in her wine and she’ll open her legs to you fast enough.”

Heat shot into James’s belly. He could picture Louise Chartier spread-eagle on his bed, her blue eyes blurred, her slender body his for the taking. He opened his mouth to say yes, he would most definitely have her that way. Then, imagining her fury when she came out of her stupor, he shut it again with a snap.

“I don’t think we have need to resort to such measures yet, sir. I just need a little more time to woo her.”

“We’re fast running out of time! I shall have to leave soon to testify at Burr’s trial.”

The general took a turn about the room, his hands still clasped behind his back. “That fool, Jefferson, says I must explain my actions in this damnable tangle. As if I would give the prosecutors any further details and incriminate myself! But God knows what
scurrilous countercharges Burr may level against me.”

He stopped his pacing and turned to his son. “If I must hire lawyers and mount a defense, I shall need access to more funds than the paltry amount Spain has supplied. I want you to shorten the leash on this rich widow, James. Bring her to heel. Quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Satisfied his message had been delivered, he left his son to his thoughts and his crumpled neck cloths.

When Simons poked his nose through the door again, James snapped at him churlishly. “Get with it, man. I’ve a widow to woo this night.”

Louise had just finished dinner with the Thibodeaux family when James was announced.

While at dinner Marie and Bertrice had chattered happily about their day, but their houseguest had contributed little to the conversation. She’d had no appetite for the chunky turtle soup or braised veal with mushrooms served at dinner, and merely picked at the lavishly creamed syllabub served in the parlor with cinnamon-sprinkled coffee.

Her meeting with Daniel’s wife earlier that day had given her much to think about. As Marie treated her family to a selection of tunes on the flute, Louise settled onto a settee next to Bertrice and plucked at the ribbons adorning her long skirt.

She felt edgy and restless, and jealous of a woman who had done nothing to stir such feelings. Henri had taught her too well, she thought ruefully. She
had tasted pleasure in his arms. Not always, and not without considerable effort on her part. Now she craved more than a mere taste. She hungered for this man who could not,
would
not, satisfy her yearning.

It was need, raw need, that made her breath catch when the sound of the knocker thumping against the front door echoed up the stairs. Perhaps Daniel had come to see her. Perhaps he, like Louise, was driven by the need for one more touch, one more word.

She’d twisted the delicate fabric of her skirt into a tight knot by the time the Thibodeaux’s manservant came upstairs to announce the arrival of Lieutenant Wilkinson.

“He asks your pardon for the late call,” Thomas relayed to Helene Thibodeaux, “but begs the favor of a few moments of private conversation with Madame Chartier.”

Helene looked to Louise for guidance. Louise knew the merchant’s wife thought the lieutenant exceptionally well mannered, but Louise had expressed some rather unflattering opinions of the young man when she’d first arrived.

“It is rather late for a call,” the older woman commented. “I can make our excuses. Or do you wish to see him?”

“No. Yes. Oh, it matters not.”

“Well, what word shall I send down?”

Louise blew out a long breath. “Tell him to come up.”

“Escort the lieutenant to the Blue Salon and serve
him a glass of port,” Helene instructed her manservant. “Madame Chartier will join him there.”

Madame Thibodeaux had furnished the small parlor at the top of the stairs with every extravagance allowed a wealthy merchant’s wife. Blue velvet window and wall hangings lavishly embellished with gold tassels gave the room its name. Paintings, portraits and miniatures framed in gilt adorned the walls and tabletops. Lieutenant Wilkinson sat in a graceful French rococo chair, his boots polished to a glossy shine and his uniform coat fitted tight across his shoulders. His expression could only be described as glum as he stared down into the glass he held loosely in his hands.

Louise stopped just outside the salon, no more enthused about this visit than her caller apparently was. Another long breath feathered out. Lifting her chin, she summoned a smile and joined him.

“You come late tonight, James.”

He jumped up in his nervous way and issued an apology. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you.”

“No, we listen while Marie plays the flute. She is very good. Almost as good as the shaman in my uncle’s village. That one calls the birds from the trees when he plays.”

She seated herself on the striped settee and clasped her hands in her lap. Instead of retreating to his own chair, the lieutenant crowded beside her on the settee. Louise smothered a stab of annoyance and tugged
her skirt from under his thigh before he crushed the soft kerseymere.

She’d no sooner pulled it free than he grasped her hands in both of his. His eyes as beseeching as those of a puppy, he begged her to open her heart to him.

“Tell me what I must do to make you agree to marry me.”

“James—”

“I would see you’re well provided for.”

“Henri has done that.”

“Chartier didn’t give you children. I will.” A touch of desperation colored his voice. “I don’t wish to be indiscreet, but, well, I’ve fathered more than one babe. The latest was on one of my mother’s house slaves, and a lusty, well set-up child it is.”

“I don’t doubt you are much a man,” Louise lied.

“Very much.”

The grip on her hands tightened. Before she realized his intent, he’d dragged her across the settee. She sprawled half in his lap, her body twisted at an awkward angle.

“James, what do you—?”

His mouth came down on hers. Wet and urgent, his tongue pushed against her teeth. Louise set her jaw and resisted the probe, but couldn’t pull her hands from his. She tensed her muscles, considered fighting and scratching her way free, but decided to simply wait him out. His actions were annoying, to be sure, but unlike with Private Huddleston, she felt no fear with James.

Nor any desire, she thought as his lips moved in
sistently over hers. He had not the skill of Henri. Nor the passion of Daniel.

Her womb clenched at the memory. One kiss under the stars, and Daniel had stirred everything that was female in her. One glide of his knuckle against her cheek, and her skin burned where he’d touched it.

She heard a small moan, not realizing it had come from her until James gave a grunt of triumph and raised his head. His cheeks wore a red flush. His pale blue eyes held a heat she’d never seen in them.

She was gathering her breath to flay him with a few well-chosen words when he set her away from him and slid off the settee onto one knee. His voice growing hoarse with urgency, he pleaded his cause yet again.

“Madame Chartier. Louise. I beg you to say you will be my wife.” He rushed on, seeing the answer in her face, giving her no chance to voice it. “I have leave coming to me. I’ll take you to our home at Dauphin Island. And to Europe, once this war between England and France is done. We’ll travel to Spain and Italy and Greece, as far away from my father as we may get.”

He caught himself. The flush on his cheeks deepened as he hurried to explain. “Far away from this damnable coil my father’s become involved in, I mean. You’ll like Italy. And the Italians will surely fall in love with you. They are so dark themselves, they’ll take no notice of your skin.”

It took her a moment or two to understand his
meaning. When she did, her back stiffened. “I have no shame for my skin.”

“So you should not!” he said hastily. “I merely mention it because Sergeant Major Morgan made such an issue of your Osage blood when he came to see me yesterday.”

“Daniel spoke of this?”

“Indeed, he did. He seems to think your mixed heritage presents an obstacle to our union, but I assured him my consequence is such that it will stand the test of marrying you.”

Louise felt stabbed by a thousand small daggers. Daniel had said this? Daniel?

Her ready anger rose to add heat to the hurt, so hot and fierce that the force of it brought her to her feet. She rose so abruptly that she almost tumbled the lieutenant back onto his heels. Her eyes flashing, she twitched the skirts of her gown to straighten them.

“Perhaps,” she said haughtily, “I do not wish to join with a man of
your
heritage.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Get up, James. You look beyond anything foolish on your knees, begging like a dog.”

His cheeks, so red a moment ago, went pale at the insult. Louise had no care for his anger and no further patience with his clumsy attempts to woo her.

“Let us speak no more of marriage. I will call Thomas and have him show you out.”

With a swish of her skirts, she turned on her heel and left him.

After providing Helene with a terse explanation for the lieutenant’s abrupt departure, Louise retired to her bedchamber. She dismissed the maid Helene had assigned to help her with her toilets. She was in no mood to have creams rubbed into her face this night or to sit still with her hands folded in her lap while the maid pulled a brush through her hair one hundred times. Yanking the pins from the dark mass, she grabbed the comb, sank down on the bed and attacked it herself. With each pull, the lieutenant’s words echoed in her head.

He would take her to wife despite her dark skin.

He had no care that her Osage blood tainted her.

The lieutenant’s foolish notions bothered her not at all, but the idea that Daniel might consider her unsuitable to be a wife to James cut her to the quick. Could it be true? Had he said such things of her?

She might have adopted the dress and mannerisms of her father’s people, but her mother was of the Osage. Louise knew well many whites held those with red or black skin in fear and some contempt. It was always thus with a people stronger or more devious than another. The Osage themselves disdained the more peaceful Wichita and had driven them south, far from their traditional hunting grounds.