Midnight Flame (17 page)

“Octave is in the fields,” Madam Dauzet told them. “The rain last week was so heavy that the crops almost drowned, but thank the
bon Dieu
that all shall be well. Octave will bring you the yield as soon as he can.”

Tony waved a hand in a dismissive gesture and chucked the baby under the chin. When Madame Dauzet asked him if he would like to hold her son, Tony eagerly reached for the child, surprising and delighting Laurel. He had a way with children. No sooner had he situated the baby on his lap, then the baby stopped crying.

Madame Dauzet laughed. “You always made my little ones smile, Monsieur Tony. When my Hippolyte was a baby, he would hold out his arms to you each time he saw you. Now that boy is almost a man and such a trial at times.”

“What’s the problem with Hippolyte? He’s nearly seventeen now and must be eyeing all the girls.”

Madame Dauzet shook her head. “It is nothing.” She smiled gently at the baby in Tony’s arms and patted the dark head of her son. “You shall make a good father one day.”

Tony coughed and handed the baby boy back to his mother, aware of Laurel’s soft gaze upon him. They bade her adieu and once more toured the plantation.

“Do the Dauzets work for you?” Laurel asked as they rode past a field where some men furrowed the land.

“More or less. They crop on thirds. I supply the land, which is used for pasture, the house and barn, and the livestock. Each family gives me a third of their produce, and I pay the taxes. Most of the families have been here for generations. Many of them are like my own family. Octave Dauzet and I played together as children.”

“Then you’re also a landlord?”

Tony nodded.

“And a lover of children?”

Tony colored but covered up this apparent fondness by saying, “You’d have seen what a lover of children I am if the child had wet on me. He’d have been tossed into his
maman’s
arms but fast.”

Something in the warmth of Tony’s voice, the slight smile that crimped the edges of his mouth, tugged at Laurel’s heartstrings. She couldn’t help but think that Madame Dauzet was correct. Tony Duvalier would make a good father. She looked away when he glanced in her direction, hating the way her heartbeat speeded up. She expected him to say something to her, perhaps to mention the incident that morning in her bedroom. He didn’t. Instead he grinned at her, softening the anger she had felt toward him earlier.

The carriage leisurely covered the distance around the plantation. Large elm trees shading the gravel-lined road cast soft splotches of shadows across their faces as Tony urged the horse along. Laurel felt contented, more at peace then she had been in the last two weeks. She didn’t understand her reactions to Tony. Sometimes he could infuriate her with just a glance; other times, like now, just a flicker of his dark gaze, wreathed in warmth, could set her silly heart to pounding. What was wrong with her? she worried again. Was she a foolish woman like Lavinia? Or wanton like her? Why was it that she couldn’t separate the coursing sensations of warmth flowing through her body each time Tony looked at her from the passionate memories of the night with a stranger in the bayou cabin? She knew she couldn’t go on like this much longer. Perhaps if she left soon for San Antonio, she could bury these feelings and get on with her life.

After Tony had stopped and showed her his cattle, giving her a lengthy dissertation on the merits of the Brahman breed, and after she had been introduced to his foreman, Leon Rabelais, Laurel noticed a cluster of ramshackle dwellings across the fence line. On the porch sat shabbily dressed men and women, who fanned themselves with torn dishrags. In the yard scantily attired and dirty children played with a thin-looking mongrel.

“Tony, who are they?” Laurel asked, instantly pitying them, especially the children.

Glancing in the direction of her gaze, Tony’s face hardened. “Poor white trash. Don’t bother with them or offer them your sympathy, Laurel. The men don’t work, nor want to work. They swill wine all day long and wonder why their children go hungry, why their wives and daughters must wear rags for clothing. If they would get off their behinds and make a decent living, they could buy food and clothes. But they don’t care.”

Tony’s harsh attitude bothered Laurel. “Aren’t these people part of your plantation?”

“No. My property line ends there. I’m not responsible for any one of them, nor do I intend to be.”

“But, Tony, the children are so thin and dirty.”

“Don’t waste your sympathies on them. Their fathers could work to take care of them, but they don’t. There’s been quite a bit of stealing in the area lately. In fact the Vermillionville area has been plagued by cattle thefts. A few of my own herd have disappeared. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if one of those ne’er-do-wells on the porch had committed the crimes. Believe me, if I ever catch one of those thieves, it will be his last theft. Something is going to have to be done soon. Crime is rampant in the area.” He led her back to the carriage and, without a backward glance, headed for the house.

But Laurel couldn’t forget the faces of the children or the hardened, poverty-stricken ones of their parents. Something must be done for the children, at least. Yet Tony’s words about the crime element struck a worried note in her brain. Could one of those men, or a man like one of them, have kidnapped her? After a moment’s thought, she decided that was unlikely. The man who had kidnapped her and made love to her had been a man of refinement. As they drove by the fence line that divided the house from the fields, Tony abruptly stopped the carriage and jumped down, only to cross to one of the white posts and pick a handful of spring wild-flowers. As he sauntered back to her, Laurel felt the quickening beat of her heart. Tony looked so handsome in his shirt, which was unbuttoned almost to the navel and revealed a great deal of dark fur-planed chest. His broad shoulders defined his lean hips and powerful legs, which were encased in tight- fitting pants. With his ebony hair blowing gently in the breeze, Tony’s handsomeness wasn’t to be denied. Too bad he could be so arrogant at times that he set her teeth on edge.

Jumping into the carriage, he pressed the wild-flower bouquet into her hands. “Accept these flowers and my apologies for my behavior this morning, Laurel. I’m sorry. I know how hard it was for you to tell me about the incident. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Laurel was touched by the flowers, by the hope she saw in his expression that she would forgive him. Would she ever understand Tony Duvalier? He constantly kept her off guard. The slight breeze that passed over them ruffled the wisps of hair around her face, framing the large, green eyes and delicate features. A tremulous smile touched her strawberry-colored mouth.

“I accept your apology, Tony.”

Her simple, straightforward words, coupled with the fact that Tony found her to be unbelievably beautiful, sent a shock wave through Tony’s masculine frame. Her luscious red-tinged lips were but inches away from his. The enticing swell of her breasts were only a hand’s length out of reach. He ached to pull her to him, to feel her body pressed against his, and to taste the sweetness of her mouth again. However, Tony decided not to touch her. Somehow he must woo her and win her love for himself, not as the nameless, faceless man who captured her heart.

“Thank you, Miss Delaney. I shall endeavor not to upset you again.” He squeezed her hand, and Laurel laughed.

“So serious suddenly, Tony? You haven’t called me ‘Miss Delaney’ since before you found me in the woods.”

That was true, and Tony flushed. He had never called her by her own name because he had thought she was Lavinia, and that name had sounded too vile to even utter. But now as he gazed into her trusting face, green eyes dancing with amusement and warmth, Tony knew he wanted Laurel Delaney. And if Jean’s prophecy turned out to be correct, Tony would be out a fine horse, but he would come out the winner in the end.

Tony waited on the veranda, puffing on a Cuban cigar, until he heard Doctor Fusilier’s footsteps descending the marble staircase. Hurrying inside, he lifted his eyes inquiringly at the physician. Doctor Fusilier shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Tony, but there is nothing else to be done.”

Tony cleared his throat. “You mean Miss Delaney is completely recovered.”

Nodding, Doctor Fusilier took his coat from the rack alongside the stairs. “Don’t look so distraught
, mon ami.
You should be pleased the young lady is well again. Her throat infection was quite severe, but now all is clear. There is no reason for her to remain at Petit Coteau. Her health is good, and she is quite eager to be on her way to San Antonio.”

“I thought you were my friend, Alphonse.”

Alphonse Fusilier cocked an eyebrow in Tony’s direction and pushed his arms into his coat. “Indeed, I am. I delivered you, remember, and soundly spanked your bottom, which I think might be a good idea under the present circumstances. For some reason, known only to yourself, you wanted Miss Delaney sequestered here as long as possible. Well, she has been under my care for almost three weeks now, and she is recovered. My job is finished. In all good conscience, I cannot tell her she must not leave. That is your problem to overcome. And believe me, my young friend, you have no easy task. Miss Delaney is one headstrong mademoiselle.”

“She must remain at Petit Coteau,” Tony persisted.

Alphonse shrugged. “As I said, she is your problem, but I suggest the direct approach with her. Evidently you’re enamored of her. Tell her how you feel.”

Tony could see he was butting his head against a brick wall as far as Alphonse was concerned. The man had ethics and had completed his job. Laurel was headstrong and determined to leave for San Antonio as soon as the doctor gave his consent. Now she knew she was well again, and Tony knew she would soon leave. He had tried everything to change her mind. He had been kind and gentle, left flowers in her room, accepted her warm thanks as graciously as he could, and refrained from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her luscious lips. So far, nothing had worked. Laurel still wasn’t his lover. Tony groaned under the burden of knowing that soon she would bid him adieu.

“A fine friend you turned out to be. In matters of the heart, Alphonse, you have no feelings,” Tony groused.

Alphonse laughed and headed out the front door to his waiting buggy.

Tony glanced up the winding stairway to the elaborately carved balustrade that overlooked the vestibule. The door to Laurel’s bedroom remained closed like a white sentinel guarding the ice princess. He was tempted to believe she had no feelings, no heart, where he was concerned, but he knew differently. That night in the cabin when they both had lain drenched in sweat, clinging to each other and finding earth-shattering fulfillment, had proved to him that Laurel Delaney overflowed with fiery passion for him. Well, not for himself, Tony silently amended, but for her phantom lover. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t let her leave for San Antonio.

Tony went to stand outside again, his dark gaze taking in the green, lush sweep of his fields. The last week he had practically begged her to remain on the plantation until she was completely recovered, and perhaps for a longer time afterward. She had smiled at him, her face full of warmth, but her green eyes had held determination. “We’ll see, Tony.” she had told him, giving him a grain of hope that she would see fit to remain. Now, he realized she had never meant to stay there but was determined to catch the stagecoach to Texas.

A lot of wasted breath and energy on his part, he decided.

In the distance he noticed his foreman going through the paces with an Arabian mare Tony had recently purchased. He remembered when he bought her the horse had been skittish, allowing no one near her and bucking each time he managed to climb onto her back. What a challenge the horse had been. He had even named her Challenge. But then one day he had approached her in a no-nonsense way, with no more cajoling words, no more loving pats. Challenge had allowed him to ride her, and ever since she had recognized Tony as her owner. If only women could be trained as easily as horses, Tony mused.

Taking a long puff on his cigar, he suddenly realized that perhaps Laurel was a great deal like Challenge. The horse hadn’t taken well to loving gestures but had responded to a firm, nonchalant hand, and maybe Laurel felt the same way. She wanted to make up her own mind and not feel she was being tugged to make a decision. Could the whole answer be to allow her to decide for herself without his interference, and then, he hoped, she would come around to his way of thinking? It was worth a try. From now on, he would quit pestering her to remain at Petit Coteau. He would leave all up to Laurel.