Spring Fires (28 page)

"Lisette—"

She began to close the door, but he put out his hand to brace it open.

"You are going to ruin a wonderful day with your damned stubbornness. If you will just talk to me about this—"

"Get your hand out of the way!" She was sounding a bit hysterical.

"Look, Dr. Wistar said I could have a bath today, but I need your help to—"

"Oh! So you are just apologizing because you need me for your silly bath!" With a sudden burst of rage, she threw herself against the door and heard it click shut. "I hope you smell! I hope you rot!"

Nicholai did not attempt to reopen the door. "All right, you little she-wolf, I don't need to be beaten over the head with it. You've made your point."

Lisette heard him cross to his own room; total silence followed. After turning the key in the lock, she wondered why the taste of victory was so sour.

Chapter 25

May 6, 1793

The sunrise was spellbinding, but Lisette had been unable
to appreciate it. It seemed that she had scarcely closed her eyes all night; she was consumed with misery over her quarrel with Nicholai, particularly because he had made no further effort to smooth things over between them. Curled up, cold, and hurting in her bed as the new day began, Lisette realized that it was up to her to approach him. He was right; she had been unreasonable and stubborn.

The depth of her pain over this rift between them didn't alarm her as she had expected it to. It seemed that she had changed a great deal since the duel. What surprised Lisette most was the realization that she wasn't frightened by the thought of loving Nicholai... but when she imagined him not returning her love, or simply losing interest, she was terrified.

She dressed carefully, drank tea in the cool violet-shadowed kitchen, then prepared Nicholai's favorite breakfast of croissants studded with raisins and drizzled with icing, paired with perfectly timed fried eggs and several ripe strawberries.

It was still early when she carried the tray upstairs, but the suspense had grown intolerable. If their friendship was beyond repair, Lisette decided that it was better to know now. She found him awake, propped against the pillows and staring broodingly out at the pastel morning. Another book lay open on his lap, its pages moving unnoticed in the gentle breeze.

Her heart turned over as she came close enough to discern the spot of blood on his bandage and the somber expression on Nicholai's face. It reminded her of the way she had felt while lying awake in her own bed.

"I brought you breakfast."

His eyes flickered in her direction. "I am not hungry."

"There are croissants." Lisette wondered briefly at her own meek voice.

"I don't care for any."

Was he sulking to pay her back for her own pout yesterday? No. She sensed that he would never do such a thing—and the brief glimpses she had of his eyes told her this mood was deadly serious and not contrived.

"Nicholai? Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

He nodded and moved to make room for her on the bed.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday." Her voice almost broke; she let her hands creep into his large tanned ones and stared down at them as she spoke. "I behaved like a silly
girl,
which is something I never expected to become—"

"A girl?" Nicholai echoed, letting the smile sneak through his black mood.

"You know what I mean—a childish, lovesick brat."

"An apology from Lisette Hahn," he marveled softly. "Are you aware of how much you have changed?" He tipped her chin up and traced the outline of her face with eyes that seemed crowded with secrets. "Is it true, Lisette? Are you lovesick?"

She couldn't breathe. Panic paralyzed her. She wondered wildly what she should do and say. Could she admit the truth?

"Shh. It's all right." Nicholai's strong hands slid over the blue-sprigged muslin of her sleeves, across her fragile shoulders, and up the bare softness of her slim neck. They both moved forward until his mouth covered her own with such expert tenderness that she gave a smothered gasp. When his fingers worked the fastenings of her bodice, she began to tremble, then shuddered as his warm hands covered her eager breasts.

"Oh—I don't—" Her mouth seemed bruised already, yet she was ravenous for more kisses.

"Shh. Relax," he whispered, easing her back with him into the deep soft pillows.

Knock-knock.

Nicholai grazed Lisette's neck with scorching kisses.

Knock-knock-KNOCK!

She broke away, flushed and breathing quickly. "Stop! Someone is at the door!"

"I couldn't care less."

"It could be your mother, or Dr. Wistar—or the Hampshires! They could walk right in!"

"Lisette—"

She was already scrambling up, trying to fasten her bodice, tears stinging her eyes. Nicholai let out a groan, then capitulated and reached up to brush away her clumsy fingers. Moments later, modesty restored and curls hastily repinned, Lisette flew out of the room and down the stairs. When she returned, she was accompanied by Katya, Randolph, and a young man Nicholai had never seen before.

"Ah, good morning!" He welcomed them acidly, waving a hand at the plate of croissants. "Breakfast, anyone?"

* * *

It developed that Randolph's friend, an earnest young man named Hugo Kingsley, bred horses only a few miles away and had invited Katya and Randolph down for the day. Katya thought it would be just the thing for Lisette to get away from the villa for a few hours, so they had come to plead with her to join them.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly leave Nicholai—" Lisette objected lamely.

"But Nicky looks as if he is doing splendidly," argued Katya, "and I'm sure you must be thoroughly sick of the sight of his face."

"What is wrong with my face?" Nicholai pretended to be insulted. "Besides, Lisette is giving me a bath today."

Lisette went crimson and let out a shocked croak. "But—I'm not
giving
him the bath, just—"

"Oh, well, if that's all it is, Randolph and I could do that, couldn't we, Randolph?" Smiling sweetly, Katya patted her fiancé's arm. "I would much rather see Lisette get out and breathe the open air, away from this
sickroom,
and I know Hugo will be delighted to entertain her."

"By all means!" said Hugo brightly. "Delighted!"

Realizing how neatly his sister had cornered them, Nicholai grimaced satirically and said to Lisette, "Have a
wonderful time, Mistress Hahn."

* * *

By the time Lisette managed to return to the villa, night had almost blackened out the sky. Hugo's aunt and uncle had been at the farm as well, and she had been maneuvered into helping the forceful woman cook supper, then staying to eat her share. Knowing that Katya and Randolph had driven down in their own chaise, she was certain they would be gone, and indeed they were—but another vehicle was occupying the position vacated by Randolph's. Lisette's heart sank. She tried to smile as she told Hugo good-bye and suffered his kiss on her cheek. Doubtless he thought this was aggressive behavior on his part, for, drawing back, he seemed to wink at Lisette. She, however, could only think for the thousandth time that day that Nicholai Beauvisage was radically unlike any other mortal man she had ever known. It wasn't magic or illusion after all—her day with Hugo Kingsley swept away all doubts on that score.

After waving to the departing chaise, she stepped into the entryway and heard voices but not words. Recognizing the female pitch of one of them, her heart sank. Not again! There seemed to be only the two people speaking—Nicholai and his overeager visitor. Mustering her old assertiveness, Lisette strode up the stairs, into her own room, and knocked on the connecting door. That seemed good for dramatic effect; let the hussy know Lisette had a more intimate access to Nicholai's bedchamber than the hallway.

"Excuse me"—she swept into the room—"I thought you would be anxious to know I am back. I am sorry to be so late! Have you had supper, Nicholai?" Barely sparing a glance for his visitor, she started to circle the bed, then stopped, frozen.

"Well, well, Mistress Hahn... we meet again," cooed Amelia Purdy. She stood against the window, just a few feet from Nicholai, the curtains fluttering about her ebony curls, creamy face, and pink satin gown. "How good of you to play nursemaid to my Nicholai!"

Stricken, Lisette couldn't think what to do, how to behave. She fixed pleading eyes on Nicholai, who was dressed in breeches and a white shirt, sitting with several pillows against his back. Was it her imagination, or did he look upset—even irritated?

"Look, Lisette—" he began.

"Did you have your bath?" she interrupted. "I hope you were sensible and let Randolph wash your hair rather than trying to yourself. The strain on your shoulder—"

"No, I didn't have my bath. I sent them away. And... I would appreciate it if you would leave Mrs. Purdy and me alone for a few minutes." Nicholai's voice was even, his face unreadable.

She almost flinched; she felt as if he had stood and struck her across the face. Somehow she managed to turn and walk out of the room, her back as straight as it had been while working in the CoffeeHouse the day after Ernst Hahn's death and her own loss of maidenhood.

Nicholai waited until he heard her footsteps descending the stairs before returning his attention to Amelia Purdy. The expression on her face was somewhere between a smirk and panic.

"I wonder what sort of condition you will leave that girl in when you discard her?"

"Amelia, you ought to know by now that I won't be baited—especially by someone as pathetically obvious as you are."

"Well, it is clear to me what's going on out here, and just as clear that you are only putting me to one side until you tire of her uninspired bed games." She bit her full lower lip. "Or am I wrong? Are you going to marry the tavern maid? I understand that they call her the golden rose, because of all the thorns concealed by her beauty."

"That's enough. I want you to stay out of my life, Amelia. There is no future for us... and the past shouldn't have happened either. Go home to your husband. Put your energies into pleasing
him
in bed, and you just might find out what you've been missing in life."

She was ready to show Nicholai what
he would be missing in
his own bed, but when she had taken a few steps, the contempt in his expression stopped her.

"Fine! The city of Philadelphia is filled with men who would beg for a night in my bed, Nicholai Beauvisage... and I'll wager that after a few days or weeks with the Austrian ice maiden you will be among them!"

Nicholai looked bored as he examined his sleeve for lint. "Good-bye, Amelia."

The door threatened to crack in two when she slammed it; Nicholai spared a wry smile for the drama of her exit. He decided to wait a few minutes until Amelia was far away and Lisette had an opportunity to calm down before he went to look for her. With luck, she would spare him the effort. Closing his eyes, he remembered the intoxicating sweetness of the kiss they had shared that morning. Not only did every inch of his body ache for her, but the anticipation of making love to Lisette was warmed by a deeper glow than he had ever felt before. He had a sense of the web of emotions and budding desires, curiosities, and anxieties that clung together within her. Tonight, he wanted to hold all of Lisette in his arms and speak to her with not only his body, but his heart as well.

* * *

Irritating tears stung Lisette's eyes as she set the little deer-hide trunk on her bed with a soft thud. The room was dark and cold, which suited her mood. Stalking across to the armoire, she threw open the door and began to pull out the pretty gowns Antonia had brought to the villa. When she took them back and deposited them next to the tiny trunk, her frustration only mounted.

"Lisette?" a muted, drowsy voice called from the next room. "Could you come here for a moment?"

She stood still briefly, then crossed the rug and opened the door, just to be certain her words had the proper impact. "I would sooner jump off the roof,
Mr.
Beauvisage!" she shouted into the shadows before returning to her bed. Carefully, she picked the yellow gown out of the cluster of fabrics and folded it neatly. Into the trunk it went, using up nearly all the space.

Nicholai appeared, leaning against the door frame. She couldn't bear to look at him.

"What on earth?" he muttered hoarsely. "If you must behave like a madwoman, couldn't we at least have a proper fire? Perhaps you have frostbite—"

"Don't you touch my fireplace!" screamed Lisette. Suddenly, blinking back tears, she snatched at his sister's gowns and threw them at him with all her might. They made bright puddles on the rug several feet from where he stood.

Nicholai rubbed his eyes and peered at her. "Have you been into the wine?"

"I'm warning you! Don't come near me!" She brandished a little hard-heeled slipper.

"What?" He looked around as if expecting to find a threatening stranger behind himself. "I hadn't—"

"I can guess!" cried Lisette illogically. Then, to her own surprise, her face crumpled and out of her mouth came a great hiccupping sob.