Spring Fires (19 page)

Katya's laughter was gentle. "Let us sit down—here, in the corner."

He was grateful to obey. "If Ophelia Corkstall comes over here, you must pretend to be confiding a serious and
private
secret."

"Yes, Nicky!" Smiling, she settled down on the settee and appraised her brother's appearance. How handsome he looked; his clothes were expertly cut—pale yellow breeches with black knee boots, a short double-breasted waistcoat of smoky quilted silk, and a frock coat of dove gray over a snowy white shirt and a high cravat. In contrast, Nicholai's face was masculine and cynically expressive. He was the only man in the room whose hair was not queued. Nicholai's chestnut hair was cut and combed away from his face in appealing rakish disarray.

"Every female in Philadelphia must be pursuing you," Katya said bluntly.

He laughed. "At least! I believe there are a few from New York and Baltimore as well."

"I am glad to see you don't take it too seriously. I couldn't bear for you to become a conceited bore!"

"I appreciate your opinion!" Gathering a handful of candied nuts from a nearby dish, Nicholai said casually, "Katya, I know you have been busy with your wedding plans, but can you tell me how Lisette is faring?"

"Lisette—Hahn?" She peered at him harder. "You two are friends?"

"I wouldn't phrase it quite that way." He smiled sardonically.

"Frankly, I am ashamed to say this, but both my wedding plans and my time with Randolph have kept me from my friend. And I know that Lisette has been very busy as well. I have dashed in a few times while shopping this month, and found her with more than enough to keep her feet, hands, and mind occupied. Have you heard that she insists on preparing the food and cake for my wedding?"

This set Katya off on a long recital of her wedding plans. Nicholai listened indulgently. Love had certainly transformed his sister! Once, her only passion had been books. At the age of ten, she was devouring Shakespeare and translating Russian and French, but now he doubted that she could concentrate long enough to read one page. Yet, she was happy... for the present, at least.

As Katya started her description of the house she and Randolph would live in after their marriage, Nicholai stiffened at the sight of Clarence and Amelia Purdy entering the ballroom.

"What the devil are the Purdys doing here?"

Startled by his interruption, she broke off. "Why, I'm not sure. I believe Mrs. Purdy has been rather overfriendly to Maman lately. I think she even had them for dinner, so perhaps this is Maman's reciprocation." Appraising Amelia's appearance, she added, "That woman is certainly glamorous! Her black hair and white skin are dramatic enough... but I think she is trying too hard to compete with Anne Bingham."

Nicholai's smile was sickly. Seeing the way Amelia's carnivorous eyes scanned the room, he bent over and pretended to look for something on the floor.

"Oh—oh, Nicky, I think I see Anne herself coming this way, with that horrid English cousin in tow. Am I wrong, or are you their target?"

He sat up abruptly. Katya was correct; they were threading their way between the dancers, while, at the other side of the room, Mrs. Purdy was scrutinizing the crowd with growing agitation. "Beautiful sister, I believe you are right, and rude as it sounds, I'm not up to another discussion of the genetic flaws in the House of Bourbon." He stood up and kissed her hand. "I believe I shall escape into the garden for some fresh air. Why don't you tell Anne and her cousin, and anyone else who might ask, that I left because I felt another attack coming on."

"Attack!" Katya's eyes widened. "What sort of attacks do you have?"

Nicholai spluttered with laughter. "I don't have
any
sort, dear sibling! But, if you say that I do, looking serious and quite worried, it might scare them off!"

She laughed as he exited, quite inconspicuously for such a tall, broad-shouldered man, then murmured ruefully to herself, "I wouldn't depend on it...."

* * *

Walking down the stairway in the home where he had grown up, Nicholai felt strangely empty. Yet, even in the ballroom, surrounded by smiling people and sweet music, he had felt alone. The surfeit of romance rubbed him the wrong way. Everyone was so much in love, or at least in search of romance, that he felt out of place. Mary and Timothy, Katya and Randolph, Caro and Alec, and even his own parents. He couldn't question the validity of Antonia and Jean-Philippe's love, but as for the others, he wondered how long it would be before a few of the stars in their eyes began to dim. Lisette probably had the right idea... love was a troublesome affliction that only served to confuse the real struggle of life.

Pausing to refill his glass from a decanter on the table, Nicholai heard a soft giggle. Through a crack in the double parlor doors, he glimpsed Alec and Caro standing in that firelit room, bathed in coral shadows. Alec was passionately kissing his wife, all the while unfastening the back of her peach and cream muslin gown. When he shifted to bury his face in her neck. Caro laughed again and whispered a halfhearted protest. The sudden sight of one full gorgeous breast shocked Nicholai into turning his head, but before he continued out to the garden, he silently eased the parlor door closed.

Outside, he breathed deeply of the night air, conscious of his own heartbeat. Why were his thoughts full of Lisette? He knew that he felt more than a yearning to make love to her; the memory of her evoked feelings of anger, curiosity... even a strange sort of fear. Lisette was a mystery fraught with risks, not the least of which was rejection.

Comparing her with lovely, contented Mary, Nicholai realized why his former sweetheart held no stronger allure for him. In his mind, he could see and hear Lisette, eyes flashing with determination—standing before him to declare that
she could do anything! The searing heat of her sudden passion had branded him, and he remembered the soft, emotional confession she had made in his study as if it had happened only moments ago.

With a sigh, he sat down on a bench and gazed around at the starlit flowers. It seemed that Lisette was more exotic than any of these blooms, opening unexpectedly to dazzle him with a beauty much deeper and more complex than her outward perfection indicated—then, closing abruptly, just as he moved toward her for a closer look, a touch....

Plucking a blossom from a white moonvine, Nicholai inhaled the lemony fragrance and muttered with dismay, "Women!"

* * *

Stars glittered high above the CoffeeHouse as Lisette made her keeping-room rounds. Though the public room would remain open for two more hours, her work was done. Stringfellow had an ample supply of beverages, the last meal had long since been served, the dishes were washed, and the keeping room was clean. Bone-tired, she longed to bid this kitchen good-bye for a few hours. There were pigeon and chicken pies to make at dawn, but for now, her bed beckoned.

Still, after banking the fire for the night, Lisette lowered herself into the comb-back chair to watch the flames dwindle. Her thoughts drifted to her father. In his last months, Ernst Hahn had been a virtual fixture in this chair... she'd felt his absence much less than she'd expected. Obviously, the incessant routine of hard work had helped lessen the pain of her grief, yet—it wasn't right for her to push him out of her thoughts completely. Did her insatiable appetite for work leave no room for feelings?

Lisette pushed off her shoes and stretched delicate ankles and feet toward the fire. It didn't seem so long ago that her mama had been alive and all three of them were living in Austria. She had been less than five years old, but she could remember her parents laughing, her father embracing her mother, the times when they whispered their adult conversations rather than allow her to understand. Her mother had made room for both love and hard work, but then, she and Ernst had worked together; they had shared the same goals.

Stubbornly, Lisette reminded herself that her situation was different.

What was more easily recalled was the respect for work her parents had instilled in her. Her mother had been in constant motion, from dawn until long after dusk, and as a child Lisette learned the meanings of words like
constructive, discipline, satisfaction,
and
achievement.
Everything, it seemed, had been a result of her mother or father's labors—the bread she ate, the clothes she wore, the soap she washed with... in Austria, her father had even built their furniture. The love was ever present, but precious minutes were seldom wasted on frivolity.

Ambitious dreams had propelled the Hahns toward America. Lisette wondered now if her parents had tried for too much, and overstepped some invisible boundary. Her mama's death was marked by the snuffing out of a vital and warmth-giving light in the family. In America, Lisette grew to exquisite and charming womanhood, watching her father build the CoffeeHouse out of nothing but his own heartbreak. Work had kept him going....

She opened her eyes. The fire sent flickering shadows up to the beamed ceiling, where they danced as if cruelly amused.

"What did Papa get from his work, besides this place?" she whispered. "He never gave his heart another chance...." Her eyes brimmed with tears. Instinctively, she knew what had made her father keep life at arm's length: the uncertainty of what released emotion might bring. The risk of pain. She had learned all she knew about that from Ernst Hahn.

Remembering the barely-healed wound left by her married congressman, Lisette could comfort herself with the reminder that she
had
tried once. Yet, something gnawed inside of her. Expelling a ragged sigh, she drew up her legs, wiped her tears with her apron, and closed her eyes. Images of Nicholai seemed to taunt her... it had been a week since she had sat beside him in his study, but it seemed months. How could a man seem so tender and caring, then let an entire week elapse as if she didn't exist?

She escaped more thoughts by drifting into sleep. Later, Lisette would wonder what had awakened her. Only one thing was certain. When her eyes flew open, Marcus Reems was there, looming above her and poised like a powerful snake about to strike.

Chapter 17

April 25, 1793

"Mistress Hahn! I was just about to wake you!"

Tensed and alert, Lisette appraised Marcus Reems. In spite of the smile that curved his mouth, she felt threatened. The room was nearly dark except for an orange glow from the hearth that heightened Reems's eerie menace, and, conscious of his piercing gaze and formidable strength, Lisette could not decide how to react.

"I don't recall inviting you to come in, Mr. Reems." Her voice was cool, effectively masking the panic that made her heart thump against her breastbone.

"My dear Mistress Hahn, I confess that, when my knock went unanswered, I could not contain my impatience. You see, I would like to discuss a matter that is of grave importance to us both."

Lisette wondered if she should simply call out for Stringfellow. This game of intimidation Reems played was not at all to her liking. A fortnight had passed since Lion Hampshire had lent her the money to pay off this cad, during which Lisette had waited smugly for Reems to return and renew his offer. What had kept him away—and why was he here now, at this hour, smirking as if the CoffeeHouse had already been sold to him?

"Mr. Reems, before we have your 'grave discussion,' there is a matter I would like to settle first."

Marshaling her poise and courage, Lisette stood up. Her long braids were wound into a crown atop her head and she wore a frock of blue-sprigged muslin that flattered her lissome grace. Following her back to the study, Marcus wondered which of his jewels would look best on this splendorous creature. It did not occur to him that Lisette's beauty needed no embellishment.

There was one candle that continued to sputter in the small room. Lisette lost no time in using it to light the remaining tapers around the study, then stirred up the fire and added a log. When she finished, she turned to find Marcus sitting in the corner and watching her with undisguised lust.

"Mr. Reems, I do not appreciate your attitude. Do you imagine that I am some maiden who is made mush-brained by your forcefulness and rude ogling?"

Marcus removed his cloak and flung it onto the chaise, then grinned at Lisette in a way that made her shiver. "Your manner is quite entertaining, Mistress Hahn! We will pursue that topic in greater depth after we conclude the business at hand."

"I have only one thing to say to you." She opened the secretary and took out an envelope that bore Lion's seal. "Here is the money my father owed your bank. As far as I am concerned, that concludes our business. Can you find your way out?"

He went pale and snatched the envelope from her hand. His eyes seemed to burn into the familiar seal stamped on the back, and a long moment passed before he broke it and withdrew a sheaf of hundred-pound notes. Furiously, they were counted. Lisette waited, still feeling indignant and proud to have played her winning card so effectively. However, when Reems looked up and their eyes met, a wave of alarm broke over her.