Wanton Splendor

by Bobbi Smith

  "I want to be with you, Christopher," Katie whispered. "I love you."

  With a groan, he took her in his arms. "You're so tempting, Katie. But..."

  "Christopher," her voice was throaty and her whole body was on fire with longing, "we have to..."

  Moving a little away from him, she began to unbutton the bodice of her gown. Christopher watched hopelessly for a moment, then surrendered to the desire that flamed within him. He loved her and he could wait no longer to have her. In a surge of blazing passion, he guided her to their makeshift bed.

  Katie was lost in the splendor of his embrace as Christopher caressed her flawless flesh in long, smooth strokes that traced her from shoulder to thigh. She moaned in anticipation. it felt so right being with him. Molding her hips to his, she wrapped a slender bare leg around his still-clad thighs and moved eagerly against him.

  "Is it always this perfect?" she gasped as he pulled her even closer to his lean strength.

  "Between us, it will be," he said, his voice like velvet. "Always."

  LONE WARRIOR

  EDEN

  SWEET SILKEN BONDAGE

  THE HALF-BREED (SECRET FIRES)

  WESTON'S LADY

  HALF-BREED'S LADY

  OUTLAW'S LADY

  FORBIDDEN FIRES

  RAPTURE'S RACE

  THE LADY & THE TEXAN

  RENEGADE'S LADY

  THE LADY'S HAND

  LADY DECEPTION

  The Brides of Durango series by Bobbi Smith:

  ELISE

  TESSA

  JENNY

  BOBBI SMITH

  This book is dedicated to so many wonderful people that I can't possibly list them all. You were therwhen we needed you and your help will never beforgotten. Thanks.

  A special note of thanks to Mrs. Pamela Arcenceaux of the New Orleans Historic Collection.

  And a very special note of thanks to Dianne and Bill without whose phone, food, and friendship I wouldn't be quite as sane as I am right now!

  The Reason

  Late summer, 1855

  In the gaming room of the Bird of Paradise saloon, a strained silence reigned as the onlookers crowded around the main table to watch the poker game in progress. The air was stale with the scent of old cigars and too-sweet perfume but no one noticed as all attention was riveted on the scenario being acted out before them.

  "Damn!" The tense mood was fractured by James Williams's muttered oath. "I'm out," he proclaimed in disgust, throwing his cards face down on the table.

  An expectant hush fell over the crowd again as they waited to see who would be the next to fold in this high stakes game. That dubious honor fell to young Edward Courtois who followed his friend James's wise example and dropped out before it got too expensive even for his well-lined pockets.

  It grew quiet again. Only two players remained, Andre Montard, a local planter's son, and a Northerner, Christopher Fletcher, who was in town for a visit and was staying with Williams.

  The pot had grown to over $12,000 and everyone waited anxiously to see what the Yankee would do next. Sentiment was with the stranger for he had proven himself to be a true gentleman, while Andre ...well, he was his father's son-arrogant, loud, and often openly cruel.

  "I'll raise you $1,000," Christopher Fletcher spoke, his tone indifferent.

  Christopher had had enough of the game and of Montard. All evening he had successfully managed to ignore Andre's crude manner. But now, he was forced to contend with him and Christopher found the situation quite taxing. The man was a bore. Smiling to himself, he watched Andre across the green felt-topped table. The man was nervous. More confident than ever, he smiled serenely.

  "Andre? Your bet." Tapping the ashes from his cheroot, Christopher met his gaze evenly.

  Andre Montard looked at the self-confident Yankee pig sitting at the table with him with carefully concealed disgust. Anger filled him as he realized that this stranger had bested him in front of his friends. Glancing down at his cards, he knew there was no chance he could win. He had only a pair of jacks and an ace, not quite a winning hand. Trying to appear nonchalant, but not succeeding, Andre threw in his hand.

  "I'm afraid I'm out too."

  A surprised gasp ran through the crowd at the Creole's sudden capitulation. The visitor had just won over $12,000!

  Christopher continued to stare at Andre for a long moment. Then slowly folding his hand, he added his cards to the confused stack on the table. A second later, when Andre would have turned his cards over, Christopher quickly grabbed his wrist.

  "You only see my hand if you pay." His voice was quiet and deadly.

  Andre blanched. "I've paid enough!" he complained, eyeing the small fortune Christopher had just won, largely at his expense.

  "Not quite. It would have cost you another $2,000 to see my cards and you didn't want to chance it." Christopher spoke quietly.

  Livid with frustrated fury, Andre contemplated challenging this Northerner to a duel. It was only the memory of an earlier conversation that held him quiet. According to rumor, Fletcher was a crack shot and Andre was overly fond of living. Not that he would forget this moment. No, he would remember what had happened here tonight. But for now, it seemed sensible to excuse himself as quickly as possible. Rising from the table, he bid them all a curt goodnight and hurriedly left the saloon.

  James and Edward looked at Christopher triumphantly, "We knew you would do it!"

  Christopher smiled broadly at them as he pocketed his winnings. "You had doubts?"

  "None at all!" Edward reassured him.

  "What were you holding, anyway?" James asked, now that the crowd had wandered away.

  Christopher's grin was almost mischievous as he flipped over the five cards.

  "You're joking! A pair of eights?"

  "That's wonderful!"

  Laughing heartily, they clapped him on the back.

  "The rest of the evening is on me," Christopher offered and James and Edward accepted eagerly as they followed him to the bar, anxious to relax now that the card playing was over.

  It was daybreak the tinge of gold on the eastern horizon bringing an end to the stifling blackness that New Orleans called night. A predawn silence hung heavily in the humid air-as if the city were holding its breath in anticipation of another sweltering day.

  The three drunken revelers, however, took little notice of the oppressive heat or the brightening of the sky as they bid a fond yet boisterous goodnight to the ladies of the establishment. Echoes of their laughter rumbled through the still, silent streets as they made their merry, unsteady way to the waiting carriage.

  "Let's head home, Andy," James Williams called to his driver as he climbed inside ahead of his friends.

  "What a night!" Edward declared as he collapsed heavily on the seat next to James.

  "Especially the last game. Eh, Chris?" James smiled wickedly as Christopher joined them in the carriage.

  Christopher, who somehow managed to appear half-way sober, grinned at his drunken companions. "That last hand certainly was profitable."

  "I'll say!" Edward agreed enthusiastically. "Where did you learn to play cards so well?"

  "Around," Christopher answered absently.

  "Well, Andre Montard sure was upset," James added. "I don't think he's ever been beaten that badly before."

  Christopher shrugged his broad shoulders indifferently. "If he can't afford to lose, he shouldn't play," his clipped Northern accent a definite contrast to his cohorts' melodic drawl.

  The conversation lagged then as the carriage jolted forward on the familiar trip to the Williams's home.

  Gazing out the window, Christopher watched the passing buildings with little interest; his expression solemn. It was happening to him again, he realized,
and after only three weeks. He had hoped his visit with James and Edward would still his restlessness and it had, for a little while. But now, somehow, the endless nights of drinking, card-playing and wenching were taking on a repetitive sameness. No matter how high the stakes or how beautiful the women, he found little to amuse him. Christopher felt jaded and very weary of it all.

  Sighing inaudibly, he reflected on his life. Things had always been easy for him, too easy. As the only son of a wealthy Philadelphia couple, he had been pampered and spoiled. He'd grown to adulthood expecting and receiving only the best that life could offer. It wasn't until he was away at the university that he'd discovered the first real challenge of his lifegambling. For Christopher, the desire to win was overwhelming; he had to be the best. He played cards with a vengeance, matching wits with the best, until he'd perfected his skill to a fine art. But the glamor had worn off after a while. He didn't gamble because he needed funds and there had been little sport in taking money from his inexperienced fellow classmates. So, turning his attention back to his studies, he had finished school and returned home to Philadelphia, where he'd been welcomed into that very closed society with open arms. After all, he was a Fletcher.

  Darkly handsome and self-assured to the point of arrogance, Christopher had enjoyed to the hilt his new status as the most sought-after bachelor in town. Even now the memory of those marriage-minded mamas and maidens could make him smile. True, there had been pretty ones among the available young women, but not one had caught his eye. And so he'd played with them all, yet promised them nothing. In the end, frustrated in their attempt to maneuver him into the happy state of wedlock, they gave up one by one and married, in his opinion, a far less worthy quarry.

  It seemed to him, now though, that the wanderlust that plagued him had begun after his parents were killed in a tragic carriage accident some four years ago. Suddenly at twenty-two, he'd found himself footloose, fancy-free and the sole beneficiary of the Fletcher family fortune. After a suitable period of mourning, he'd left the family business in the hands of trusted advisors and had toured Europe, partaking of all the delights those cultured countries had to offer. It was there that he'd met Edward and James who were on their Grand Tour. They'd forged an immediate friendship and had finished their travels together. Upon returning to America, they'd gone their separate ways but somehow managed to keep in touch.

  Now, here he was with his friends in a very exciting Southern city and he was bored. Even the lucrative win from that Montard fool this evening hadn't improved his spirits. Dismissing his thoughts, Christopher turned his attention back to Edward and James and he almost laughed out loud. In spite of the bumpy ride, the hard seat and the now bright sunlight, James had managed to fall asleep. Edward, however, was busily staring out the window, watching the streets of New Orleans come to life.

  "Damn! I'm not ready to call it a night!" Edward insisted, turning to Christopher.

  "I think we should call it a day," Christopher said ruefully. "I could use some sleep."

  "No. We can sleep anytime. Let's celebrate!" Edward shook James unceremoniously. "Wake up! We're going to celebrate!"

  "Celebrate what?" James asked wearily, straightening up almost painfully from his cramped position. "I believe we've already toasted every occasion for the next ten years."

  "Well, we have to do something," Edward argued. "We just can't go home."

  "Ed," James was losing his patience. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

  "I'm afraid I've had enough for one night, too," Christopher said, knowing that unless he was firmly dissuaded, Edward would conjure up some obscure event for them to attend.

  "I've got it!" Edward shouted excitedly, ignoring James as he flinched. Hanging out the window, he shouted a change of instructions to Andy.

  "What are you up to now?" James asked irritably. "You know Christopher and I are both tired."

  "Don't you remember what Andre said?" Edward remarked in exasperation.

  "Andre said a lot of things and most of it was pure-" James started.

  "I know, I know, but don't you remember his telling us about the auction today? That big buck who's been giving them so much trouble up at Greenwood is going to be sold this morning!"

  "Do you mean Joel?" James frowned in concentration as he tried to recall the conversation.

  "That's his name! What do you say? Shall we go?"

  "I would like to see him.... I wonder if he's as bad as Andre said?"

  "I've learned to take everything Montard says less than seriously, but why would Joel, after a lifetime of faithful service turn on his master and try to run away?"

  "I don't know." James was truly puzzled.

  "Maybe he wanted to be free," Christopher put in.

  "Some slaves, possibly, but Joel has been with the Montards all of his life."

  "But you know, James, over the years I've heard things-bad things about the Montards..."

  "You're right..." James nodded in agreement.

  "How about it, Christopher? Have you ever been to an auction?"

  "No," Christopher answered flatly. The idea of buying and selling human beings was abhorrent to him.

  "Well, try it with us this once," Edward encouraged. "Who knows, you might enjoy it. Some of those black wenches are damned attractive and, lord knows, you've got enough money to buy any one that would catch your eye." Edward smiled at Christopher admiringly.

  It was in his mind to refuse. After the night he'd just passed, Christopher had no desire to witness the horrors of a slave auction. But Edward and James persisted, regaling him with the intimate details of what transpired there. Finally, only in an effort to shut them up, Christopher agreed to go. He felt cold inside after he'd made the decision, but he didn't want to insult his gracious hosts, who until this time had asked nothing of him.

  It surprised Christopher to find himself reacting so strangely to the thought of witnessing an auction. After all, slavery was a way of life here. Hadn't he been waited on by slaves ever since his arrival? It hadn't bothered him before.. .so why now? Dragging his thoughts back to what his friends were saying, he caught the end of the conversation.

  "It's agreed then. We'll stop at the townhouse so we can clean up a bit and then head downtown about nine," Edward stated.

  "Fine." Christopher found himself swept along in their plans and he was grateful when the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Williams's home. He needed time to think things through, so he could view the slave sale with studied aloofness instead of the revulsion he now felt. Christopher prided himself on being in control of his emotions and he fully intended to be unaffected during the auction.

  In another part of town, the dawning of the new day brought only terror. Crowded into the dark confines of a windowless shanty, the slaves who were to be sold this forenoon awaited their fate in fearful silence. The night had passed slowly. Each minute had seemed an hour, as the suffocating heat had held them paralyzed. Only the droning of the ever-present mosquitoes and the occasional cry of a babe in arms broke the deathly stillness.

  From his vantage point in the corner opposite the door, Joel watched the sun rise. His expression was bleak as he realized that the hour of the auction would soon be upon him. Sleep had been impossible as the turmoil of his emotions had kept him fully awake. Shifting painfully, he cursed under his breath as the chains that bound him, neck, hand, and foot, rattled loudly. All eyes turned toward him in the dim light, but Joel looked away, his humiliation too great. Never before in all of his twenty some odd years had he been in chains. And yet, here he was, the only one in the room who'd been beaten and bound. Joel could feel the others looking at him, but he didn't speak. He hadn't spoken since he'd been thrown in here half-conscious yesterday afternoon and he didn't intend to start now.

  A sudden tenseness settled over the room as the gate to the pen that surrounded the shack clanged open and the bellowing of the guards drew nearer.

  "Get off your lazy asses!" the guard gruffly comm
anded as he pounded on the outside wall. "And get out here where we can see you!"

  The blacks looked at each other nervously and then, afraid of the cruelty of the guards, they scurried out the door. They had seen what had happened to Joel the day before.

  The brightness of the morning sun was blinding as they poured forth from the haven of the little cabin. Joel almost thought it amusing. What good did it do to act the perfect slave for these men? These guards were poor white trash who couldn't afford to buy an expensive slave.

  Slowly, Joel got to his feet. The severe flogging he'd been dealt the day before left him dizzy and weak and he swayed momentarily. Concentrating solely on walking, he staggered toward the door taking care not to trip over the short length of chain that hobbled him.

  Moving outside into the small fenced yard, Joel waited, silently watching the guards with undisguised hatred. He had had no quarrel with whites before, but now he was filled with righteous anger. In the past seven days his whole life had been destroyed... all because of Andre Montard and his father Emil. The pain ran deep as Joel thought of the long years he'd spent working for them. He had been a loyal, faithful servant and had worked his way up to the respected position of head groomsman in the Montard's wellstocked stables. True, he had longed for freedom, but he'd seen what fate had befallen the other slaves who'd been foolish enough to try to revolt against the master. So, Joel played his role and reaped what few benefits he could.

  The Montard family was not known for their generosity or their kindness. Extremely wealthy, they worried little about the welfare of their slaves, for after all, they could be easily replaced.

  Joel himself had never experienced the Montards' cruelty until this past week. A week in which he had to stand helplessly by while Dee, his wife, had been made the sexual plaything of the younger Montard. In desperation, they had fled the plantation with their child, but their freedom had been short-lived. Hunted down by the patrollers and their dogs, they'd been dragged back to a gloating Andre. He'd ordered Dee and the baby taken to the quarters, while he had personally whipped Joel. And, in order to insure no further interference, Andre had instructed the overseer to have Joel sold downriver.