Midnight Flame (16 page)

“Tony,” she began slowly. For some stupid reason she relished the feel of his name on her tongue. “I told you already there can be nothing between us. Staying here much longer won’t change my mind about you. I admit you turned my head the night of the Mardi Gras dance, but there—”

He broke off her words by the harsh scraping of chair legs against the highly waxed wooden floor. Standing up, he towered over her, and Laurel noticed a hot flame in his eyes, not from passion but anger. “Dammit, Laurel, I asked if you wanted to see my plantation, not sleep in my bed! I know you think I’ve just crawled out from under a rock, though you’re too much of a lady to say that to my face. But you didn’t care what you told me the other day about your little tryst in the bayou when you needed a shoulder to cry on, did you?”

Laurel gasped in outrage. How dare he throw that back in her face. She had been overwrought, emotionally drained, and she had wanted to talk to someone about what had happened. She had made a monumental mistake in telling Tony. She knew that now.

“Arrogant bastard!” she screamed at him. “You’re not a gentleman to bring that up to me.”

“And you, miss, are not a lady to crave a stranger’s hands upon your body.” The fiery depths of his eyes held her to the spot for a moment before he grabbed her and pulled her from the mattress into the circle of his arms. His head came down in one fell swoop, and his mouth claimed hers, drowning out any protests she was about to utter.

Laurel felt his tongue invading her mouth, joining with hers in an age-old combat of wills. He wanted her response, and she wouldn’t give it to him. Once again, as on the night of the dance, when he had nearly claimed her beneath a rain-filled sky, she felt her traitorous body start to respond. She almost raised her hand to slap his face but stopped herself. Tony was the sort of man who enjoyed making women mewl from pleasure in his arms. Well, not this time, she told herself and willed herself to remain quiescent in his embrace. Did he think because she had given herself to that man in the cabin that he had the right to expect the same thing from her? Tears started in her eyes. Tony had treated her shabbily from the very first, insinuating things about her that weren’t true. And now just when she was beginning to like him, to think he had some redeeming qualities, he acted the brute. If he wanted a response, he certainly in hell wouldn’t get one from her, Simone would be more than willing. Let him go to her, for Laurel Delaney was no whore.

“Kiss me, Laurel,” he ground out savagely between mind-drugging kisses that threatened to turn her legs to jelly. “Kiss me back.”

She didn’t.

His hold loosened, and she fell weakly onto the bed. Tony glared at her for a few seconds, then started to walk away. She halted him with her voice.

“I would appreciate a tour of your plantation, however. My father owned one, and I should like to see how well yours compares with his.”

A slight sneer curled his lips, but his eyes held a glimmer of respect for her. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Laurel wiped her eyes free of the threatening tears, but even after Gincie had returned and helped her dress, she still felt like weeping.

~ ~ ~

Downstairs in the parlor, Tony poured a huge glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter on the sideboard. Never much of a whiskey drinker, he, however, enjoyed the feel of the liquid as it burned a path down his throat. Despite the fact that the clock in the foyer chimed ten times, he didn’t care that it was too early to indulge. He needed something to take the edge off his own pain, a pain that threatened to consume his very soul.

He cursed under his breath and sprawled on a small Empire chair, appearing incongruous with his long legs spread out before him. Tony swirled the liquid in the amber-colored glass and saw Laurel’s face within the golden depths. He hadn’t meant their conversation to take such a nasty turn. It seemed to him that ever since he had met her, nothing worked out to his advantage. Perhaps being denied Laurel’s love was his punishment for seeking vengeance upon Lavinia Delaney. And he wanted Laurel with an unquenchable passion as much as he still wished Lavinia to pay for his uncle’s death.

Downing the contents of the glass in one large gulp, he got up and poured another drink. Still he felt on edge. Didn’t Laurel realize how much he cared for her? Of course not. He hadn’t told her. Most certainly he could never tell her he was the man in the cabin. And the most absurd thing in the whole situation was that she couldn’t respond to him because she thought she loved another. A bitter, harsh laugh escaped him as he once more took his seat. Laurel was enamored of a phantom lover—who was himself.

Damn, he moaned to himself and swallowed the whiskey. What was he going to do? She would leave for San Antonio if she didn’t come to realize that she could very easily care for him, Tony Duvalier. He couldn’t let her leave now. He was protective of her. He had followed her the whole distance she had traveled in the woods when she escaped from the cabin. But she didn’t know that and would have to remain in the dark about that, just as she could never know he was the one who had nursed her back to health.

Laurel presented a challenge to him, and Tony appreciated a good challenge where women were concerned. Most of them gave in to his physical demands too easily. Laurel was different. She was in his blood, and he wouldn’t rest until she was in his bed.

The sound of footsteps on the gallery alerted Tony to Jean DuLac’s coming. Jean poked his head around the doorframe like a turtle in its shell.

“Ah, Tony, so you are in here,” Jean said and entered the parlor. “I thought your time would be taken up with your pretty gypsy girl.”

Tony motioned him to an identical chair beside him. “How do you know about Laurel?”

“Ah, such a pretty name. All of your neighbors know about her illness by now. Word travels fast among the slaves who are only too happy to tell their masters … and mistresses. Simone is much put out,
mon cousin.
I expect you’ll receive a visit from her shortly.”

Tony shrugged and stood up to pour Jean a drink. “Let her come. What Simone thinks is of little consequence to me.”

Jean looked surprised. “I thought you and Simone were to marry.”

“Simone would like everyone to believe that, but no, I have no intention of marrying her.”

Taking the glass offered to him by Tony, Jean surveyed his cousin. Tony looked worried, not at all like the devil-may-care man who could have any woman in the parish with a snap of his fingers. Something troubled him, and Jean was astute enough to realize the trouble was probably in an upstairs bedroom.

“I think you should impress upon Simone that there is to be no marriage. She can stir up a great deal of trouble if she puts her fluffy blond head to it. However, she appears to be the least of your worries now. Is this Laurel the reason for the sadness I see in your face?”

Tony grimaced and surveyed Jean in turn. They had grown up together, almost as close as brothers. Jean’s mother had been a Duvalier before her marriage to Jean’s father, and more than one duel had been fought over her. Hot blood had always run in the Duvaliers. It seems that Jean’s hot-bloodedness ran in the opposite direction than Tony’s. Tony never could understand why Jean wasn’t swayed by a woman’s charms. Many women had expressed interest in his fair-haired cousin, and Jean always treated them reverently, respectfully, and managed to keep them as friends. Something Tony couldn’t imagine, especially not with Laurel Delaney. He wanted her as his lover, not as a friend. But Jean was a good judge of character, and Tony valued his opinion.

“Laurel doesn’t seem to care for me. I’d give almost anything to make her want me.”

“Ah, I see. I spoke to her on the night of the Mardi Gras dance, and she seemed to care for you, Tony. Something must have happened to cause her feelings to change.”

If you only knew, Tony thought and turned away so Jean wouldn’t see the guilt he felt certain flooded his face. He heard Jean continue.

“Laurel is a lady, a true lady. She has values and will not be taken lightly by any man. You say you want her. What do you want her for?”

Tony turned to Jean. “I want her for my lover, of course.”

“Of course,” Jean said, a scoffing note in his voice. “You haven’t heard a word I just said. Laurel is not the type of woman to be your lover, or any man’s. She deserves much more, Tony. Have you considered marriage to her?”

Utter shock wreathed Tony’s face. Marriage? Jean must be mad. All the women he had ever known had been untrue, only wanting his money, his name, his reputation in the community, and his elegant home. He would never consider marriage before he was ready.

“Wedded bliss isn’t for me now, Jean.”

Jean shook his head and sipped his whiskey. “Then you shall never have your Laurel. Marriage is what she will require.”

“Why do all women have to have a price?” Tony intoned and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets.

“We all have a price,
mon cousin.
Even you. One day you will marry Laurel. Let’s wager, say, your best stallion, Domino.”

Tony cocked a dark brow. “What do you want if you lose?”

Jean considered a moment before a huge smile lit up his face like a brilliant candle. “I request your first son be named after me. Either way, I win.”

“Not an unreasonable demand.” Tony laughed and patted Jean on the back. The laugh quickly faded when he saw Laurel standing by the open doorway to the parlor, dressed in a pink-and-white-sprigged muslin day dress that molded to her curves. Her beauty nearly took away his breath; he had never seen a more beautiful and enchanting sight. She was silhouetted in the doorway, and he found himself thinking that she belonged to Petit Coteau, that the house had never looked so lovely until she stood there. He shook his head at the absurdity of the thought when she extended a slender hand to Jean. He wasn’t going to marry, if he could help it. That crazy, romantic Jean had put silly ideas in his head.

Jean bestowed a gallant kiss upon Laurel’s hand and put her arm through his, walking her onto the gallery, much to Tony’s chagrin. After a few moments of polite conversation, Jean departed but not without a whispered remark to Tony.

“I think you are jealous of me,
mon cousin.
But don’t worry. The lady is in love with you. I can tell these things.”

After Jean’s departure, Laurel turned to Tony. He leaned against the white railing, watching her with deep black eyes, and her heart speeded up a bit.

“You promised to show me Petit Coteau, I believe.”

“And so I shall if you feel up to it.”

She nodded she did, and within minutes Tony was lifting her into an open carriage and then taking the seat beside her and grabbing the reins.

The plantation was larger than Laurel had imagined, stretching in all four directions. The people working in the fields impressed her with their diligence and appeared well cared for. “No one is ever beaten on Petit Coteau,” Tony told her, reading her mind.

Wispy traces of hair curled around Laurel’s cheeks in the midday breeze. “I’m pleased to hear that, Tony. My father used an overseer to mete out punishment. That was the only part of the whole system he couldn’t stand. Papa couldn’t harm a fly. When I sold the plantation last year, I freed all of them. Most stayed on to work for the new owners since they knew no other life. Soon all of this will come to an end if the Northern states have a say. You know, when I was away at school, some of the girls shunned me and called me horrible names. I had a friend who defended me, and I shall be indebted to her for the rest of my days.” Laurel grew silent as his eyes came to rest on her. “How do you punish the slaves?” she dared to ask.

“Years ago, during my father’s time, the wayward ones, as he liked to call them, were imprisoned for a few days in a tiny house. When their punishment was up, they usually settled down and gave no more trouble. However, there were ones who ran away.”

“Were they ever caught?”

Shaking his head, Tony urged the horse along the dusty road that ran through the cotton field. “Not if we could prevent their return. My father didn’t have a liking for brutality, and he knew that if a runaway slave was found, he’d have to use severe punishment. So, he did the only thing he could. He freed all of them.”

Pleased surprise surfaced on Laurel’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me your people were free?”

“They’re not ‘my people.’ They belong to themselves. I suppose I’m lucky they work for me. Paying wages can take quite a bit out of the running of this plantation. But without the wages, there would be no Petit Coteau, and I couldn’t exist without this place.”

Laurel couldn’t help thinking, what an unusual man was this Tony Duvalier.

Soon they came to a large expanse of land, about thirty acres, on which Laurel saw a number of small Acadian houses. They stopped in front of one which was surrounded by a wagon and a buggy and an assorted mixture of cows, pigs, and chickens roaming about the place. A thin woman appeared on the porch, toting a crying baby on her hip. Her homespun dress was covered by a white apron, and on her head she wore a matching bonnet.

“Monsieur Tony,” the woman said and smiled. Laurel could see she had lost two of her front teeth, but that didn’t detract from the warmth that shone on her face. “Would you care for some tea?”

“Merci,
Madame Dauzet.” He helped Laurel down from the carriage, and they entered the small but tidy house and were instantly seated on two of the best chairs. Tony introduced Laurel to the woman, who served them tea without removing the baby from her hip.