Midnight Flame (27 page)

Her mouth set in a grim line. When she reached home, she would beat that stupid Flossie until the girl was black and blue. Imagine the dumb thing believing anything old Cidra said. The woman could barely hear. What was worse, she, herself, had believed the tall tale. Simone had allowed the rumor to circulate about Laurel through Flossie, even ordering the girl to tell every slave she met for miles around, knowing the gossip would eventually reach the ears of the plantation owners.

Everything had gone exactly as planned until this evening. Tony had become the fly in the ointment, ruining all with his protective attitude.

“Oh, why couldn’t he have gone into a rage and slapped her face in front of everybody!” she ranted to herself.

A shiver racked her. She had told Seth that her plan was foolproof. Now she would be the one to look foolish. Calming down a bit, she thought about Seth Renquist. He wanted the same thing she did, and she wouldn’t question why.

When Laurel Duvalier was out of Tony’s life forever, Simone would breathe easier. Indeed, Seth would prove most useful to her in her new plan. She must depend on him now to woo Laurel away from Tony. The fact that Laurel was having Tony’s child didn’t matter to her. Accidents did happen. Women miscarried babies every day.

Once that stumbling block was out of the way, she could turn all her energies into winning Tony and becoming the next Madame Duvalier.

~ ~ ~

“My, but you look pretty tonight!” Gincie beamed at Laurel who stood in the center of the bedroom, arrayed in a pink negligee that was barely more than a web of lace at her breasts and gauze elsewhere. A lace robe swirled around her in diaphanous folds and skirted the floor. She had unbound her hair, and the dark, silken strands hung down her back in a riot of soft waves.

However, Laurel didn’t feel pretty or even care how she looked at the moment. Her heart was heavy and fairly bursting with emotion. Tony had been humiliated over the incident with Madame Fusilier. Now everyone knew the truth, and she couldn’t bear to think that he had had his nose rubbed in it in such a devastating way. Tony valued his privacy, and that had been destroyed. But she would never forget the way he had reared up to his full height and stared everyone down, defending her honor. He had lied to protect her virtue, and there was no adequate way she could ever repay him except to love him. And she did love him.

“Is Tony still downstairs?” she asked Gincie.

“He’s in the study, havin’ a drink with Mr. Jean. Should I go fetch him and tell him you’re ready for bed?”

“No, Gincie. I’ll wait up for him.”

She dismissed Gincie for the night and was just about to get into bed when a tiny knock sounded on the door. Pauline entered at her summons, holding a black silk shirt in her hands.

“I heard you were looking for old clothes, madame. I have one of Monsieur Tony’s that was on the floor of his chifforobe. It is torn and a button is missing. I could mend it for you if you would like to give it to someone.”

“That’s kind of you, Pauline. But the people I thought were in need of the clothes didn’t need them. Perhaps you might like to give it to one of the servants.”

“Oui. I shall do that. Merci, madame”

Pauline turned to leave, and Laurel caught the glimmer of gold on the shirt front. Something caused her to stop Pauline in her tracks. “Wait, Pauline! Let me see that shirt a moment.”

The woman handed the silken garment to Laurel. Laurel’s hands shook as she saw the row of gold buttons reflecting the candlelight. She barely glanced at Pauline, her attention riveted on the shiny objects all engraved with the initial
A.
Pauline spoke to her, but Laurel didn’t hear her, and after a few seconds, Pauline fled the room, thinking that Madame Duvalier was acting rather strangely.

The blood rushed to her head and deafened her with a pounding that surged through her brain like a storm at sea. She walked to her dressing table and opened her jewelry box with trembling fingers. She pulled out the velvet lining and searched until she found the button she had hidden so long ago—the button that perfectly matched the ones on the shirt.

“A”
she spoke dumbly, unable to comprehend her own stupidity. The initial stood for Antoine. Antoine Duvalier. Her husband. Tony. The man she loved. The man who had kidnapped her.

A low moan gathered in her throat. How stupid she had been, how trusting. Of course the man who had kidnapped her had been Tony. She hadn’t connected his first name to the letter on the button since no one ever called him anything but Tony. Never in a million years had she thought Tony was the man who had plucked her from the carriage because she had expected him to be at Petit Coteau in Simone’s arms. Instead he must have changed his shirt, and since she hadn’t expected him to be thundering down the road in a violent rainstorm, she hadn’t realized he was the man who had loved her in the cabin, had saved her life only to now cause her untold misery.

She should have known it had been him by the smell of smoke that surrounded him, the way he had disguised his voice. Who else would have had reason to lure her to Petit Coteau and then to spirit her away in the dark of night but Tony?

Yet she must know for certain if he was the man related to Auguste St. Julian, the man who had wanted to harm Lavinia. Throwing the shirt on the bed, Laurel ran down the hall to where Denise slept in Tony’s bedroom. She threw open the door and nudged Denise, who was sleeping soundly.

Sleepy eyes settled on Laurel, and Denise looked up at her. “What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Laurel didn’t waste words. “I want to know if Tony is related to Auguste St. Julian.”

Denise yawned. “St. Julian?
Oui,
chérie
. St. Julian was married to Tony’s aunt, his mother’s sister. But the old man died some months ago. Why?”

A bitter sob gathered and died in her throat. Barely able to speak, she shook her head and left, closing the door behind her. When she reached her own room, she found Tony already there.

His powerful muscles rippled as he threw off his shirt, and he looked like the figure of a Greek god she had seen in a museum once. But Tony was far from godlike, and a bitter pain entombed itself in the pit of her stomach.

His black eyes danced when he beheld her. Laurel was so beautiful that his hands and arms reached out for her, ensnaring her in a viselike embrace. He nuzzled her ear. “I couldn’t wait to get up here. Jean can talk a blue streak when the mood moves him.”

His breath held traces of brandy, Napoleon’s brandy to be exact. The same brandy she had smelled on her kidnapper’s breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her mind screamed. How could he have done this to her? He had kidnapped her, made love to her, and given her a child. Yet, he hadn’t told her that he had been the one to whom she had given her love. Would he have ever told her? she wondered.

“No response,
chérie
?” he asked and tilted her chin. His fingers traced the teardrops that spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Laurel. What happened tonight is done.”

She broke away from him. “You think it’s all ended. You’re wrong, Tony, or should I say Antoine? I had forgotten that was your given name since everyone addresses you as Tony. If I had remembered that then, I would have realized the truth about this!” Laurel picked up the shirt from the bed and threw it at him.

“My shirt,” he said, not comprehending. “So?”

“A button is missing.”

“Sew it back on.”

“Don’t you recall how the button was lost? Think, Tony, think.” She walked over to him and opened the palm of her hand to show him the button she had saved. “I’ve kept this button ever since that night in the cabin when I ripped the shirt from my lover’s back. A memento of a glorious night of passion, of ecstasy. I wanted to know who the man was who had shown me paradise, but you couldn’t discover his identity. I thought it strange that you weren’t able to find my kidnapper; now I know why. Tell me this shirt isn’t yours, that you didn’t lie to me. Tell me!”

Her fists pounded against his chest, and tears streamed down her face. “I hate you for what you’ve done! You wanted to punish Lavinia but got me instead. Your stupid plan went awry. And now you’re married to me, and I’m having your baby. The only thing you’ve ever admitted to is the baby. I thought you were so noble to lie downstairs tonight, and all the time you were telling the truth. I
am
having your baby!”

Tony lunged for her, dropping the shirt on the floor. “Laurel, I love you. I wanted to tell you the truth.” He reached out to her, but she twisted away and ran to stand on the opposite side of the bed.

“Why didn’t you?” she spat with so much venom that his heart flip-flopped in his chest.

“I was afraid I’d lose you. I hadn’t intended to harm you. I honestly believed you were Lavinia.”

“Of course, Lavinia. I suppose you would have made love to her, but since I was the only female available, you took your perverted vengeance out on me. Should I consider myself fortunate?”

“Dammit, Laurel. I love you.”

“You don’t know what love is. For months I’ve felt guilty about what happened that night, and all the time you let me believe a lie. I won’t ever forgive you for this, Tony. Never!”

Something in the tone of her voice caused him to halt and abandon his plan of forcing her into his arms. He had never heard her sound so hurt and angry, or look so betrayed. Her green eyes stared like two warning beacons, seeming to defy him to touch her. A sinking feeling gathered in his chest.

“You can’t mean that,” he mouthed.

“I can and I do.” Laurel spoke firmly, though she trembled violently and clung to the bedpost for support. “I’m leaving you, Tony.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Try and stop me.”

“You’re my wife, Laurel, no matter what has happened. I won’t allow you to leave Petit Coteau with my child growing inside of you. Promise me you won’t do that.”

Laurel was ready to shriek that she would do what she damned well pleased, but a thought occurred to her, and she nodded much too quickly. “I promise I won’t leave Petit Coteau with your child growing inside of me. And that is the only promise you’ll get from me, Tony Duvalier. As far as I’m concerned, our marriage is over. We sleep in separate rooms from now on. You may take as many mistresses as you wish. I don’t care.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe anything you just said.”

“Believe it!” she shot back. “Do you remember the agreement we signed before our marriage? Well, now we make a new contract. I will stay here, Tony. You have my word on that. I want you to live up to the terms I just set forth about the sleeping arrangements, and the fact that I shall stay here because I’m carrying your baby. Do you agree?”

Tony felt as if he had just been buffeted by a raging hurricane. He had never seen Laurel like this, so vindictive and hurt, but he would have done anything to appease her and perhaps win back her love. For the moment he wasn’t thinking straight, and he promised to abide by the new agreement.

“Good,” she whispered through a voice filled with tears. “I truly have your word?”

“For now, but you’re a passionate woman, Laurel. I doubt you’ll stay away from me for long.”

“And you’re much too arrogant, Tony!
I’ll
honor our agreement to the letter, and I expect you to honor it, also. I’ll preside over Petit Coteau as mistress; I’ll see to the dinner parties, the running of the household. In front of people I’ll allow them to think that we’re happy, the perfect couple. But at night we sleep alone, or you may sleep with whomever you choose. I don’t care.” Tony winced, but Laurel continued on. “I’ll raise our child here and will love this baby with my whole heart. This child will be more mine than yours! I’ll see to that.”

“Over my dead body!”

He made a move toward her, but she held up a warning hand. To judge from the fire that flared in the depths of her eyes, he was wise to halt.

“You promised me you’d abide by the terms. Are you going to renege and prove to me what a loathsome man you truly are?”

She had him there, and he knew it. He wanted to make all up to her, but he knew it was too soon. Her hurt and ire must abate. Determination welled within him to win her and their child.

“I’ll agree to any damned thing you want!”

“Get out of my room, Tony. Leave me alone.”

“Laurel?”

“Get out!”

Reluctantly he grabbed a shirt and stalked from the room. He was determined to make Laurel want him again and somehow make things right between them. However, the hard, unyielding woman he had just left presented a great challenge, and for the first time in his life he didn’t know if he could overcome
this
woman’s resistance.

After Tony left, Laurel’s bravado disappeared, and she slumped onto the bed like a limp rag doll. The storm of tears she had managed to quell now spilled forth in a vicious assault upon the bedcovers.

“I hate him,” she sobbed over and over, but she couldn’t convince her heart of that.