Spring Fires (12 page)

Now, Nicholai padded naked across the Persian rug. The shaving stand was ready for his use and he made quick work of it, barely glancing at the mirror. Before the fireplace, his bath steamed invitingly, and in minutes
he was easing himself into it with a sigh of pleasure.

These lazy mornings were a luxurious contrast to those he'd spent at the chateau. For years he had risen with the dawn in order to make use of each daylight hour. From the planting of new vines to the latest superb vintage, Nicholai had contributed direct supervision and his own strong back to the creation of each bottle of wine.

But this easier life gave him no pangs of guilt. After the pressures of the Revolution in France and the squalid voyage across the Atlantic, he saw these weeks as his respite... and felt he deserved one as much as President Washington. He would let his life right itself, and in the meantime he fully intended to enjoy slow mornings, active days, and evenings filled with friends, good food, and wine.

Voices in the hallway attracted Nicholai's attention. His hair was just rinsed and a few quick squeezes of the sponge dispersed the last bits of soap from his shoulders and chest.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot allow you to enter the master's bedchamber," Oliver was saying.

"Look here, dear chap, you needn't concern yourself! I'll take the blame—I haven't time to spare,
waiting for your
master
to powder and perfume himself!"

As Nicholai recognized the British accent, his mouth quirked in amusement. What on earth could James Stringfellow want? Could this urgent mission be connected in any way with the mysterious Lisette Hahn?

He stepped out of the bath. "Mr. Stringfellow," he called, drying off, "I beg a moment's indulgence."

The wiry Englishman launched into an anxious exhortation, but before he could finish, the door opened and Nicholai waved him into the bedchamber. Stringfellow blinked; his host wore only a large white towel, which was knotted snugly against his flat belly. In his hands was a second towel, which was being applied with vigor to wet, dark chestnut hair.

"Good morning," said Nicholai, giving him a brief smile. "Have I forgotten our breakfast engagement?"

"Mr. Beauvisage, you know bloody well that I have no reason whatever to be here—that
you
are aware of." He followed Nicholai into his dressing room. "Hyla would have my head on a platter if she knew I was confiding in you, but this is one time when I think my instincts as a man are superior to hers."

Nicholai dressed slowly in buff breeches, brown boots, a white linen shirt and cravat, and a well-cut frock coat of wheat-colored broadcloth. As he drew on his clothing, he listened attentively to James Stringfellow's account of recent events at the CoffeeHouse. It seemed that Marcus Reems had been barging into the keeping room, unannounced and uninvited, with increasing frequency. Stringfellow declared that Reems was an overbearing sort whose manner rubbed Lisette the wrong way. Although she had refused his offer to buy the CoffeeHouse, he continued to badger her. Last night, he had arrived with Ernst Hahn's loan record, which he waved ominously under Lisette's nose.

"Hyla is especially agitated because she fears that Lisette is beginning to sway. I'm shocked to say this, but I think her self-confidence is slipping."

Nicholai brushed back his thick, gleaming hair. "Perhaps she's simply in need of some rest. Everyone has an emotional limit. Grief, overwork, and financial pressure may have brought your mistress to hers."

"That may be true, sir, but I never saw her waver before, so this is a devil of a sign. Lisette has always had a mind of her own and has never allowed anyone to bully her—"

"Stringfellow, what is it you want from me? Since that night Ernst Hahn died, you and Hyla Flowers have been glaring at me suspiciously, and I would think you'd both be overjoyed by my recent indifference toward your mistress."

The Englishman colored awkwardly. "We only want what's best for Lisette. Hyla doesn't trust you, but I've some intuition that tells me you're a decent chap. I thought that, if you had wronged Lisette in any way—as Hyla suspects—then you might want to make up for it."

"What sort of help do you mean? Emotional or financial?"

"That's for you and your conscience to decide, sir. Lisette is far and away too proud to ask for assistance from anyone, so I'm asking for her."

"I doubt that she'll appreciate your gesture of loyalty," Nicholai muttered sardonically. "All right, Stringfellow, I will pay another visit to Mistress Hahn—and if she does me physical harm with one of those evil kitchen tools,
you
shall suffer the consequences!"

* * *

Tendrils of golden hair curled softly around the oval of Lisette's face, framing her delicate features. For over an hour, she had worked with Chastity, Purity, and Hyla in the public room. Now that the floor, the hearths, and the tables were clean, she paused to lean against a banistered partition. Fatigue was hovering nearby but she could not allow herself to relax; too many things required her attention.

"Now that we've made progress in here," she said, "I'll see to the food."

"That's right, baby." Hyla nodded vigorously. "You sit yourself down and rest. There's lots of time yet."

Lisette only offered a crooked smile in reply. She went through the door to the keeping room, absently brushing the worst dust from her beige-and-gold-striped muslin gown, and was only a few steps from the worktable when her tired eyes focused on Nicholai Beauvisage.

"Good morning, Mistress Hahn," he greeted her with a slightly insolent smile.

Lisette stared in surprise. Nicholai was perched on one of the high stools in front of the worktable. He was coatless, the sleeves of his shirt turned up to reveal strong sun-darkened forearms. After his initial greeting, he returned to the array of turnips and potatoes he was slicing.

Recovering, Lisette demanded, "What do you think you are doing?"

"Oh, I was just passing by and thought I would visit you. Not wanting to make a nuisance of myself, I decided to help with your chores while I waited for you to appear."

She regarded him with frank suspicion, remembering the unconvincing excuse Stringfellow had offered when he left the CoffeeHouse that morning. She knew that he and Hyla had been worried about her, especially since her latest confrontation with Marcus Reems.

She fetched her apron from its hook and slipped it slowly over her gown. "Why so thoughtful and solicitous
today
,
Mr. Beauvisage? I've heard no more than a casual word of greeting from your lips in the space of a fortnight."

Nicholai set down the knife and a turnip and swiveled to meet Lisette's sly gaze. Without a word, he pulled her between his knees, facing away from him, and tied the apron strings into a bow. Caught off guard, she didn't try to break away. Nicholai's position on the stool put his head only a fraction above hers, and now he slid his hands all the way around her slim waist, easing her tense body back into his.

"So, you've been missing me, eh?" he murmured, gently teasing.

Lisette felt the steel of his chest and the muscular buff-covered thighs that held her prisoner. When his mouth touched her ear, she flinched and gasped. His warm lips grazed traitorous places along her nape, sending long hot shivers down Lisette's spine. Her head dropped back as Nicholai's mouth moved to burn a tantalizing trail over her throat, and when he turned her into the curve of his embrace, she helplessly received his kiss. Dizzy with passion, she felt the fiery throb swell within her body. The rigid evidence of his desire pressed against her, unmistakable even through her gown and petticoats, and her hips moved involuntarily.

Nicholai's mouth left Lisette's reluctantly, as he whispered hoarsely, "I am nearing the point of no return, my dear... but since, unfortunately, we are not in my bed with the door locked, I am forced to put this matter into your hands."

Icy reality jolted Lisette. Her eyes were like saucers as she pushed free of him, astonished and confused by her own behavior.

"What is
wrong
with me?"

Nicholai sighed. "I gather that means our interlude is at an end." With mock despair, he glanced down at his lap, then turned back to the vegetables. "You know, Lisette, at the risk of being put into the stew along with these turnips, I would have to say that there's nothing at all wrong with you. It's reassuring to know that you are human after all."

"Honestly, I cannot fathom what sort of demon must possess me—"

"It's the same demon that saw to it that you and I were created."

"That is
not
the same thing at all! I am not married to you, and furthermore, I frequently find your very presence quite unnerving."

"Really?" He finished the vegetables and transferred them to a plate, which he took to the kettle.

"No, no!" Lisette interrupted. "Don't put those in! I have to separate the meat from the stock first." After fetching a huge bowl and a long sharp fork, she joined him and allowed him to spear the meat while she held the bowl.

First came a large chicken, followed by a piece of boiled beef, and finally another type that looked rather like beef, yet...

"What is this?" demanded Nicholai.

"Bear." Lisette smiled.

"Bear!
What the devil are we making?"

Deciding to ignore the "we," she replied, "It's succotash. I've yet to add the pea beans and corn. One of the CoffeeHouse patrons brings me the bear meat when he visits Philadelphia, and since succotash is his favorite food, I make some to say thank you."

Nicholai eyed the meat doubtfully. "I wonder how grateful your other patrons would be if they knew what they were consuming?"

"You'll change your tune when you taste it. It's delicious." Her nose went up a bit, proudly. "I am an excellent cook and have yet to hear the feeblest complaint."

"I beg your pardon." Nicholai's voice was solemn, but mischief danced in his eyes. "And it would be a privilege to sample this latest masterpiece, but to do so I would have to remain here until the noon hour...."

She looked up at him with soft eyes. Bathed in fire glow, he was like a magnificent statue brought to life, cast in varying shades of warm bronze. She swallowed hard.

"You may remain until midday and share a plate of succotash with me, Mr. Beauvisage—on one condition."

"Name it."

"You must not take me lightly; I am quite serious about this. What madness possesses me when you—well—I mean that I do not have the time to ponder it, nor do I want it to happen again."

"It?"
Nicholai echoed in innocent confusion.

"You know very well what I am trying to say, so please do not force me to use more explicit language." Frustrated, Lisette bit her lower lip and averted her eyes from his. "You may stay and chat with me until the succotash is ready, but you must give me your word that you won't touch me again."

He gave a harsh sigh. "You are very stubborn, denying needs that are completely natural..."

"Call it what you will. As I told you before, I satisfied my
needs that night at your house, but I cannot allow an encore. If
your appetite is making demands, I suggest that you seek out a female who has already forfeited her self-respect."

A muscle moved in his jaw and his narrowed eyes bespoke his vexation, but he bit back a fresh argument. "I can see that it is hopeless to try to reason with you. Your head is as hard as that kettle." When she moved to walk away, he gripped her slim forearm and went on evenly, "I believe, my dear, that you've repressed more appetites than one. Don't you ever get hungry for affection... or laughter?"

"I cannot spare the time, sir," Lisette shot back. "Unlike you, I have more pressing worries than the gratification of every emotional craving."

"It's a pity you must neglect them completely, because that won't make them disappear. All those needs are inside of you, growing by the day, and the time will come when you won't be able to ignore them any longer—they won't let you."

Chapter 12

April 9, 1793

By two o'clock, Lisette's face was flour smudged, but the
keeping room was suffused with the sweet aroma of apple pie. Nicholai smelled of apples himself, for he had done all the slicing. Hours ago, he'd removed his stock in defense against the heat. Now Hyla and Chastity were busily spooning the last of the succotash onto plates while Lisette and Nicholai sat in comb-back chairs before the fire.

"Uhhoh..." she groaned, stretching white-stockinged feet. When her gown caught, displaying her right calf, she readjusted it with a rosy blush.

Nicholai sampled a mug of cold ale and regarded her with a wry smile. Lisette remembered then how
much
he had already seen and touched of her now-clothed body. Her blush grew hotter.

"That's a rather suspicious-looking smile on your face, Mr. Beauvisage," she remarked. "Are you plotting the downfall of another maiden?"

One brow arched high above the glint of his wide eyes. "Mistress Hahn, you
wound me!"