Feeling even more uncomfortable and coming as close to squirming in his chair as was possible for one of his nature, Christopher brushed her compliments aside. “It was my privilege, and, I assure you, nothing of great magnitude.”
“Oh, but Christopher!” she cried. “What if she had found herself in the clutches of someone who would have”—her voice dropping to a mere whisper of horror—“destroyed her innocence? It doesn’t bear thinking of! She is most, most fortunate that you were the one. Anything could have happened to her.”
Christopher had never been in a more invidious position in his life, and hastily he turned the subject. “Yes, well that is all behind her now.”
He drew a long breath and shifted in his chair as he began the delicate part of his deception. Briskly he said, “Naturally I want to see her restored to her family. I think it important that we see that she is returned to England, despite this unfortunate war, just as quickly as possible.”
A little pucker of worry on her forehead, Mrs. Eggleston murmured, “Christopher, I don’t believe it will be that simple.”
Hating himself for leading her exactly where he wanted, yet feeling strongly the necessity for it, Christopher acted surprised. “Why, what do you mean, madame? We shall have to see that she is brought up to scratch, but you shall be able to do that.”
Her frown growing, Mrs. Eggleston said slowly, “I wasn’t thinking so much of that as I was of the scandal that will result if it is learned that Nicole has been sailing disguised as a boy on a ship these past years.” Earnestly, she continued, “My dear, it just will not do! She would be completely ruined. We simply cannot allow that to happen.”
“What do you suggest?” Christopher asked in an expressionless tone.
She glanced at him nervously. Feeling that if she hadn’t left Nicole, this wouldn’t have happened, she was willing to do anything to set things right—even tell a lie, which went strongly against her principles. Because she didn’t want Christopher to think she was the kind of woman to whom deceit came easily, she toyed with the worn lace about her neck and finally said with a rush, “We could tell a lie—we could say that she has been with me!”
Disliking himself very much, Christopher expertly took the conversation away from her and said crisply, “Yes, of course. I should have thought of it. Let me think of an appropriate tale, and then if it doesn’t offend you overmuch, we shall use it to cover Nick’s misadventures.”
Thankful to have the decision made for her, she smiled gently and inquired, “How soon shall I give notice to the Dumas?”
“Today,” he stated bluntly. “I want you out of this house by evening.”
When she showed signs of being obstinate, he convinced her that time was imperative, that every day Nick did without her chaperonage the more improper it was. Her tender heart was moved by the thought of poor little Nicole’s possible disgrace, and without further argument she began to pack.
She left a note apologizing for departing from their service so abruptly and begged that they forgive her. Leaving in this manner went against her nature, but with Christopher giving her no chance to change her mind, she was swiftly and effectively whisked out of the Dumas’s house.
Christopher and Mrs. Eggleston remained in New Orleans only two more days, attending to various tasks. He left off the measurements taken by Mauer at the dressmaker’s and by guile and coaxing convinced Mrs. Eggleston that if they were to do the thing properly, she, too, would need an entire wardrobe.
She protested at first, horrified at the idea of any gentleman buying her gowns, but Christopher, so very innocently agreeing, went on to say. “Of course, you are right. I hadn’t thought of how you would feel. I just hope that no one comments on Nick’s extensive wardrobe and believes that you have denied yourself for her. Remember, no one will know of your straitened circumstances, or that you have been earning your own living. So that there is not a great deal of difference between you, we should cancel some of these gowns I’ve ordered for Nick and have some different ones made up. You know, something more serviceable and durable.”
Thinking of how much poor little Nicole had done without all these years, Mrs. Eggleston felt wretched, as Christopher knew she would. Searching Christopher’s carefully bland face, she said distressfully, “Oh, no! I don’t think that will be necessary. Little Nicole deserves something gay and frivolous after her boy’s garb.”
Christopher said nothing, and after struggling with her conscience for a few minutes longer, she murmured weakly, “Rather than have little Nicole do without, perhaps I should have just a gown or two to fill out my wardrobe.” Her eyes brightening, she added, “I shall reimburse you from the very fine salary you are paying me.”
Hiding a grin, Christopher watched her walk briskly to the back of the dressmaker’s fashionable little shop. While Mrs. Eggleston was busy being measured and being shown swatches of material for her new gowns, Christopher had a satisfactory conversation with Madame Colette, the modiste. By the time Mrs. Eggleston discovered his underhanded methods it would be too late, for she would find several more items of clothing than she expected—and what can one do with garments that have been made exclusively for oneself except wear them?
Besides seeing to the ladies’ wardrobes, Christopher spent several hours with his banker and his business agent, discussing the conduct of his affairs for the six months he would be out of the country. He managed to see Jason Savage for a few hours in the evening before leaving for the plantation.
After a pleasant dinner Jason said with satisfaction, “It appears you are wasting little time and that your plan is well on its way to success.”
Christopher grimaced. “Oh, yes. I’m becoming adept at gulling unsuspecting old ladies.”
His eyebrow raising, Jason asked, “Finding it heavy going?”
“Very!” Christopher said with feeling. “I didn’t think using her would disturb me, but I find that it does. The only comfort I can discover is that it is for a worthy cause and she will benefit from it.”
Those few words pleased Jason. It was risky, what he was doing, and even though he had Jake’s report on Saxon and his own instincts to guide him, it was a relief to find that Christopher was not as calloused and unscrupulous as he appeared. Jason wondered exactly what sort of man Christopher really was. A gentleman of good family, a privateer, a plantation owner, a gambler, an associate of Lafitte’s and now…patriot or spy? Which was the truth of the man? His green eyes wandering thoughtfully over the hard, unhappy face, Jason finally decided that there were hidden depths, places sealed away from others in the man. Time would tell how wise he had been in enlisting Saxon’s aid. Putting aside such thoughts, he asked Christopher, “How soon do you think you’ll be able to depart? You must give me a certain amount of warning, for I have to find a ship that is willing to risk running the British blockade of the Gulf.”
“I will have to hold out for at least a month, but weather permitting, I think we can leave by the middle of February. Nick is not quite the urchin I feared. Mrs. Eggleston and I shall have the six weeks at sea to finish her transformation. The weather is going to be more of an uncertainty than Nick’s progress.”
Jason nodded, remembering with a shudder his own winter crossing some years ago. “Yes, I agree. I shall start casting around for a ship’s captain willing to risk British capture to take you. There is no reason to wait till the last minute.”
Christopher shrugged. “It may be that your task and mine shall be completed at the same time. Having to leave a week or two earlier than originally planned would not be amiss.”
“Yes. I cannot tell you how uneasy I am at the delay, assuming I had the ship and captain at my fingertips this instant,” Jason admitted.
“I thought we had decided that there would be no determined effort before the fall at the earliest, and that is saying Napoleon is finally beaten in Europe,” Christopher said.
“Oh, you are probably right, but I dislike uncertainty,” Jason complained w
ith a wry twist to his lips.
Christopher merely smiled in commiseration; he was not overjoyed with the difficulties ahead of him. The venture was filled with too much uncertainty. “If we had more to go on and a known person to seek the information from, I’d like it better myself. But as we don’t, I’ll just have to blunder on my own and hope all comes out right in the end.”
“True,” Jason murmured unenthusiastically.
“Come, now,” Christopher said exasperatedly, “if I could outsail the British, which I could, I see no reason to doubt my ability to outfox them on land.” Grinning he added, “They have no brains anyway.”
Dryly Jason remarked, “You forget, I am part English and you are totally of English blood.”
“Yes, but you see, we had the good sense to realize how lacking in clear thinking they are, and we quickly allied ourselves with our new homeland,” Christopher shot back, mocking amusement dancing in the depths of the gold eyes.
Jason only grunted, “I was born here.”
The gleam of amusement increased as Christopher murmured, “So was Benedict Arnold.”
Laughing out loud, Jason shook his head. “You have a ready tongue—and a telling point.” But his laughter died and he asked, “Speaking of traitors—how did you manage to desert Lafitte without being branded one?”
Christopher hesitated, not pleased with the turn of the conversation, but with a shrug he said, “I was never involved in the smuggling; I am not trying to dissociate myself from Jean to excuse myself. I was a privateer. Granted I knew the items from my prizes would be smuggled into New Orleans, and I suppose that made me technically a smuggler, but I know little of that portion of Jean’s activities. Jean knows I would not betray him, even if Claiborne were to raise the reward for him one hundred times. Jean is a good friend to me and to Louisiana. He feels that he is offering something the people want, and perhaps he is. Certainly, he does not lack for buyers.”
“But he breaks the law with every load of contraband that flows into the city,” Jason argued. “Claiborne is not going to put up with it.”
“I know. I told Jean when I left that he, too, should pull out, but he will not. In a showdown between them, I’m not so sure that Jean wouldn’t emerge the winner.”
“Perhaps, but he grows more flagrant with every day, and Claiborne cannot be expected to overlook such outrageous behavior forever.”
It was on this strained note that they parted.
Chapter 9
In the week since the disastrous confrontation in the dining room, Nicole had managed to master her hurt fury. She had come to realize bitterly that Christopher would never allow any woman to mean anything to him; she resolved to put all thought of him out of her mind. She concentrated grimly on allowing Mauer to transform her into a lady.
“Do not stride about like a man, ma chère! Non—do not sit in the chair like a mushroom, petite, s’il vous plaît! You must move gracefully, like a flower in the breeze—oui! Non, non! Not that way—like this!” And so it went. At first hurt and angry, she rebelled, storming from the room, muttering a black curse under her breath, only to return shortly, contrite and somewhat ashamed at her outburst.
Higgins had remained behind this time, for Christopher had not quite trusted Nicole after the scene in the dining room. Not so strangely, Nicole was almost content in the company of the onetime first mate of La Belle Garce. Higgins was familiar to her, and she had always liked him when they had been shipmates together. With Higgins she could reminisce over events of the past five years, laugh at remembered pranks of the crew; mostly she could be herself. It was with Higgins that she could sit on the floor with her long legs crossed in a decidedly unladylike fashion, winning and losing huge sums of money, all imaginary, as they diced.
Unfortunately Christopher and Mrs. Eggleston arrived one afternoon when the two were particularly engrossed in the dice. They were sitting on the floor in front of the fire. The rug was rolled back slightly so that the dice could bounce and slide with ease on the hardwood floor. Nicole, leaning forward eagerly, her eyes intent on the latest throw by Higgins, was unaware of their arrival. At the sound of Christopher’s icy, “Are we disturbing you?” Higgins, a guilty look on his face, leaped to his feet, muttering something about how he had better see to the unpacking, and disappeared with remarkable haste.
Making no attempt to rise to her feet, Nicole leaned back on her hands, and slanting a provocative look up at Christopher’s thunderous face, she murmured, “Oh! You’re back! I wish we could have finished the game. I’m losing right now and I owe him half a million pounds.”
His lips tightening, yet fighting back a regrettable desire to laugh at her outrageous behavior, he hauled her to her feet and said to Mrs. Eggleston, “You see, your task will not be an easy one.”
And Mrs. Eggleston, regarding with dismay the tall young goddess before her, put aside forever all ideas of “little” Nicole. But then seeing the very becoming and stylish gown Nicole was wearing, a soft green finely spun wool that clung gently to her slender body before falling into a graceful full skirt, and the burnished hair arranged so tastefully in soft curls around her shoulders, she was somewhat reassured that Nicole was not a complete hoyden. And Mrs. Eggleston was thankful that Nicole looked a lady.
Her head held slightly to one side, a gentle smile on her lips, Mrs. Eggleston said quietly, “Hello, dear Nicole. Who would have guessed when we said good-bye that day at Ashland that we would be meeting once again in this new country? And I must say, how very like both your mother and your father you have grown to look.”
Shrugging out of Christopher’s grasp, Nicole grinned at her, an impish grin that hid the sheer delight at seeing her old friend again. “You were, as I remember, always very tactful,” she said.
But despite her smile Mrs. Eggleston was extremely tired from the journey, and her conscience was still uneasy about the lies they were going to tell!
Seeing the weary droop to her thin little shoulders, Nicole walked quickly over to her, and placing a warm arm around Mrs. Eggleston’s frail body, suggested, “Will you let me show you to your room? I’m certain you must be longing to put your feet up before the fire, which I shall see is lit this instant.”
“Oh, yes. I would indeed!” Mrs. Eggleston replied with heartfelt relief.
“Perhaps even a cup of tea, too, would not be remiss?” Nicole tempted her.
“Oh, my, that would be most delightful. Dear Nicole, so thoughtful and so kind of you.”
Christopher watched this little scene with sardonic amusement. But he was satisfied that the two women hadn’t taken an instant aversion to each other, and he was devoutly grateful that they had discovered Nick in no greater transgression than dicing with his valet! Higgins had better have a good excuse for the little tableau discovered just a few minutes ago—it could have so easily given Mrs. Eggleston a distaste for Nick and ruined his plans completely!
But Mrs. Eggleston, escorted by Nicole, was pleased to see that dear Nicole had not lost the warm spontaneity that she had possessed as a child. It was always so much pleasanter to instruct a pupil one was fond of, and Mrs. Eggleston was very fond of Nicole Ashford. She was sure she could teach Nicole everything she would need to know.
Nicole, too, was almost happily resigned to the first step in her eventual return to England. She had secretly dreaded meeting Mrs. Eggleston again. She did not know what she would have done if Mrs. Eggleston had snubbed her.
She realized now how outrageous her behavior had been. Looking back on it, she wondered at her own temerity and was deep inside overwhelmingly grateful that Christopher was, for whatever reasons, smoothing her path back to England.
Suddenly and unaccountably depressed, she gave a tiny sigh as she showed Mrs. Eggleston to her room.
It was a room admirably suited for an elderly lady—a cozy room, with soft pink walls; a thick carpet of muted pinks, blues, and greens on the floor; several small comfortable chairs in rose damask; and a very invitin
g bed draped in the palest pink imaginable.
The fire had already been lit by the efficient Galena, and after helping Mrs. Eggleston with her outer garments, Galena inquired in her soft voice if Madame would care for something hot to drink.
Nicole left Mrs. Eggleston in her room after seeing that she was comfortable and tea was prepared. “I’ll see you at dinner,” Nicole said, tactfully withdrawing to allow the older woman some time to rest and to gather her thoughts after the long journey.
Some minutes later, sipping an excellently steeped cup of tea, her feet resting comfortably on a small velvet footstool, Mrs. Eggleston stared thoughtfully at the fire. She was not as entirely satisfied with Christopher’s story as she pretended. She had known him from a child and knew, as clearly as if he had told her himself, that he was lying. Some of what he had related to her, she was certain, was true, but she knew that Christopher was shrewd enough to include a trace of truth in his tale.
But where did the lie begin? And why? With an ease that would have startled Christopher, almost absent-mindedly she considered the possibility that Christopher had dishonored Nicole. Sighing, she set her cup down. She didn’t want to think that he was capable of such a thing, and remembering with a smile his treatment of herself, she pushed the thought aside as unworthy.
Yet, there was definitely some tension, some attraction between her two young people. After all, she had known them both from the cradle, and she had watched both change from toddlers into a young man and a young woman on the threshold of adulthood. She shook her head slowly and wished for the millionth time that she and the Colonel had not been away when Annabelle had told her spiteful story.
Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3) Page 11