Spring Fires (6 page)

"Nicholai. Please." He refilled both their glasses, and decided that she must be in such shock that the liquor served to cushion her from the stabbing pain.
He
damn well needed all the help he could get to survive the rest of this incredibly strange night.

* * *

Touring the house, Lisette commented on each room with all the polite grace of a society matron. The dwelling was narrow, three floors tall, and extraordinarily unique.

They looked at the handsome, spacious diningroom, then Nicholai led her toward the front door and the vestibule and waited for her reaction to the focal point of his home: an elliptical flying staircase that rose as if by magic to the third floor. She stared upward and let out one eloquent gasp. As they climbed the steps, he held a chamber stick aloft, and the single flame danced eerily over the curling carved balusters and railings.

"What an amazing house!" Lisette said, awed. "I confess I am more impressed by this than by potent grandeur. Once I went with Katya to the Bingham's Mansion House, and I found all that gold and marble overpowering."

As they entered the parlor which was built across the entire rear of the house, Nicholai echoed, "Katya?"

"Why, yes, your sister. She's my dearest friend."

"She is?" He cocked an eyebrow at this news, while circling the room to light a few candles. "I barely had a chance to speak to her tonight, but I must admit I found the change something of a shock. She was a little girl with a long fat pigtail when I left for France."

"I know... she's mentioned you often, but none of it seems to apply anymore."

"Everyone keeps repeating the same observation," he remarked with sardonic amusement, then fell silent as he set and wound a beautiful walnut tall-clock.

Standing next to him, Lisette looked briefly around the elegant shadowy parlor, then allowed her eyes to rest on Nicholai. An odd current of warmth ran through her body; she felt as if she had been transported into a fairy tale, complete with flying stairways and a dashing prince who had swept her up in his arms when she was unable to walk.

He studied Lisette in return, thinking how utterly delectable she looked, with her tousled moonlit mane and her great wide eyes the color of the night sky. Her body, even clothed, bespoke satiny, graceful length, and Nicholai wondered what her legs would look like if he could see them... or her derriere....

"Mr. Beauvisage," Lisette whispered impulsively, "you are looking at me in a way that seems suggestive!"

He showed no sign of embarrassment, but laughed aloud, white teeth agleam against the darkness of his face. "If my gaze is 'suggestive' of my admiration for your beauty, then I must plead guilty." One finger reached out to softly trace the long line of her neck, sending a deep and unexpected shiver through her.

"I—thank you for the compliment." Blushing, she looked away and stepped toward the doorway. "Is there another room on this floor?"

"A bedchamber. A suite, really, for guests." He crossed the hallway and threw open the door to a huge room, where he'd already lit candles and a fire. The bed hangings were soft white muslin, the counterpane green silk, and upholstered chairs circled the marble fireplace, complementing the needlepoint carpets and brocade drapes.

"I had the room done with my sisters and mother in mind in case they ever wanted to visit me, and on one occasion Maman actually did come for a night when she was angry with my father! Caro helped me choose the colors and fabric after she came to Belle Maison as Sacha's ward... but God knows
that's
another story."

Nicholai's voice was low and ironic, as if he was surprised at himself for mentioning Caro. "Would you like to rest here tonight?"

Lisette stared at the lovely bed until Nicholai put a hand to her cheek so that each fingertip brushed her skin individually. His gesture had begun as one of sympathy and comfort, but when he felt her velvet-soft skin prickle under his touch, a wave of desire broke over him.

In a cloud, Lisette looked up into his eyes and murmured with someone else's voice, "That is very kind of you, Nicholai, but I would really like to see
your
bedchamber."

* * *

Before she reached the third floor, Lisette realized that the brandy was having a definite effect. It had helped to numb her aching heart, but it also colored her cheeks and infused her with a reckless dizzying warmth.

As he lit the fire in his spacious bedchamber, Nicholai glanced over at Lisette Hahn and shook his head again in disbelief. Her hair gleamed like spun gold in the soft light; she looked like a runaway princess from a fairy tale. Sighing, he reached for his brandy and sat back on his heels to make sure the fire took hold.

"I love this room," Lisette remarked with a giddy smile. "It fits you. The house is really perfect; like a dream."

"Thank you—again."

Almost laughing, she trailed over to the massive Hepplewhite four-poster and perched atop the feather tick. The entire room was decorated in forest green and creamy tan, with brass and polished wood accessories, all underlaid by a rich jewel-toned Persian rug. Nicholai looked quite devastating in this picturesque setting. His shirt was partly open, and the firelight played over the chiseled planes of his face.

"Lisette," he asked, gently ironic, "what do you mean to do tonight?"

She looked fragile and somewhat forlorn to him, sitting in the middle of his bed with her tumbled curls and her wrinkled cotton frock. From the parlor below them came the echo of the tall-clock striking midnight

"If I ask you a favor, will you say yes?" Her tone was bold.

"It's entirely possible," Nicholai replied dryly.

"Will you come over here and kiss me? I mean
really
kiss me, until I'm weak."

Chapter 6

March 26, 1793

Nicholai blinked once; his left eyebrow arched, then slowly straightened again. Curiouser by the moment! he thought, but stood up anyway.

"If you are certain it will help, I'll do my best."

Lisette ignored the slight mocking note in his voice, her heart began to pound as he approached the bed. With deliberate, excruciating slowness, he lifted her to her knees and softly stroked her face, smoothing back wayward curls and tracing her delicate cheekbones and the curve of her throat. As his fingers caressed her, Lisette began to tremble. Briefly, she caught a last glimpse of his eyes gleaming in the shadows before his hard arms encircled her back and he bent to capture her mouth.

Nicholai kissed her thoroughly, with an intimacy that stunned her, until a sudden jolt of pleasure shook the center of her being. His strong, sure embrace, the clean male scent of his skin, the thrill of his warm lips moving over her own, his tongue probing her mouth in a way that made her answer, needing more... all these combined to ignite a brush fire of desire within her. Lisette was twenty-one years old, yet had lived the chaste life of a nun; the part of her that was meant to love had been frozen by heartbreak and ceaseless work. Now, as he kissed her, the fire spread, surging through her body, obliterating her grief, guilt, and fears.

Nicholai turned one brief wondering thought to Lisette's sudden abandon. She seemed ravenous; he could scarcely believe it was the same girl who had coldly accused him of flirting with her. Now, as she pulled frantically at his shirt, he almost disengaged himself to speak, but her mouth was too luscious, her slim vanilla-scented neck too tempting. He could already feel her breasts swelling warmly through the cotton of her frock.

After weeks of enforced celibacy, Lisette seemed an extravagant fantasy. She was artfully made, as delectable as rich caviar and the finest champagne, but she wouldn't let him savor her. Aggressively, she nipped at his collarbone, nuzzled his chest, and stroked the muscled expanse of his back as she returned to search his mouth with her tongue. Nicholai paused for a moment, then reached around to deftly unfasten her gown. If she wanted to play tigress, he thought, then he intended to match her frenzy.

Soon, Lisette's dress and muslin undergarments were removed, followed quickly by his boots and breeches. When he pressed her against the taut length of his body, it seemed that her own flesh caught fire. She had never been naked with a man before, but tonight she felt utterly mad and didn't care if sanity ever returned. As his lips slid over her shoulder, brushed the full curve of one breast, then kissed the taut nipple, Lisette heard herself gasp. She shuddered and clung to him as his mouth worked a blissful torment over her breasts; there was a frightening tingly cluster of sensations blossoming in the hidden place between her thighs. She gripped his gleaming hair, wondering if she would die. Pressing her hips searchingly against his body, she trembled and urged him back for kiss after kiss, drowning in the magic.

Nicholai, too, felt somewhat dizzied by the sheer force of Lisette's passion, but he forced himself to resist her urgency. With deliberate, lingering sensuousness, he alternately kissed and brushed his lips and tongue over the ripe curves and hollows of her body. She was never still or quiet; she gasped, moaned, and reached for him, but could not stop his progress. His mouth seemed to scorch her skin and intensified the aching fire in her loins.

"You are ravishing," he whispered hoarsely, tracing the line of her hip. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"No—please!" Lisette's voice broke on a sob and her fingers fluttered at his broad muscular shoulders. "Please! Love me.
Love me!"

She began to weep when he shifted upward, kissing her slowly as his hand explored the sweet wet place that yearned so desperately for something she couldn't name. "Please!" she implored, trembling.

"Don't cry,
cherie."
Faintly alarmed despite his own fever pitch, he paused to kiss away her tears. "Will you help me?" Gently he guided her apprehensively eager fingers to the hard length of his manhood. For a moment, Lisette was shocked by its size and pulsing warmth; then instinct took over. She pressed him between her legs, shifting her hips to receive him and crying out softly as he drove up seemingly to the core of her soul. Crazily, she welcomed the pain as a kind of purge, and as Nicholai's maleness filled her again and again, Lisette felt the grieving void grow warm. The fiery ache where their bodies joined intensified, and then finally seemed to explode in a tingling shower of sensation.

Her blue eyes were wide with surprise. A moment later, he tensed and she saw corded muscles tauten in his neck and shoulders. When he lowered his body to meet her tender breasts, Lisette realized that they both were covered by sheens of perspiration that mingled now.

"Shh," soothed Nicholai. He put up a hand to smooth her silky hair, sensing somehow that she was teetering on the edge of some precipice. Still holding her, he slid to one side, cradling her against his wide chest. Strangled small sobs rose from deep in Lisette's throat, and he assumed that she was thinking of her father. There was no doubt in his mind that she was far from the ice maiden she had first seemed to be, but he couldn't believe her a common tavern wench either.

Obviously, her abandon tonight must have been precipitated by her father's sudden death... Whatever the reason, this tumble they had taken together was unforgettable. Lisette's passion had almost cleared his mind of painful memories of other nights with—

"I'm so cold," she whispered, and indeed, Nicholai realized that she was shivering in his arms. Wordlessly, he disengaged to pull back the velvet counterpane, then the quilts and linen sheet. The bed smelled fresh and cool, and the sight of the plush pillows reminded him of his own bone-deep fatigue. The two of them crawled between the covers and Lisette allowed him to hold her close against his chest. Absently, the fingers that had touched her so intimately minutes before now caressed her brow as if she were a child.

She lay listening to the foreign sound of a man's heartbeat. As soon as she was certain he had fallen asleep, Lisette moved away from Nicholai's masculine warmth to lie alone, staring into the coral-gold fire.

* * *

A fine, dreary rain misted the windowpanes. It masked the sun, allowing Nicholai more sleep. When at last he did awake, his exposed torso was chilled and instinctively he burrowed back under the quilts before opening one eye.

Alec's borrowed clothes were scattered over the floor, but there was not a trace of Lisette. Had she left? It still seemed early. He was compelled to meet the chilly gray morning, rising to search for his waistcoat and the watch lodged in its pocket. Locating it, he stared in disbelief. Nearly eleven o'clock!

"Argh!" he groaned, and retreated to the warm bed. As he pulled back the covers, his eyes met an even more startling sight, for there were blood stains on the side where Lisette had slept.

"Oh, Christ... it couldn't be!"

Whipping up the velvet counterpane, he inspected the scene of their lovemaking, only to find two more definite reddish streaks. Nicholai got into bed, dazed. It simply was not possible... no virgin, especially one of twenty-one years, could be capable of such wanton passion. And when he had entered—she had displayed neither fear nor pain; in fact, she had seemed as sure of her movements as he was of his!