Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)

by Shirlee Busbee

  At his entrance she glanced up, and sending him a shy smile, put down the plate in her hand and asked, “Did you finish your business?”

  “Yes. The Savages have been informed, and I’m certain they will do their part to stifle any awkwardness that might arise. I don’t foresee any—after all, we have been back in New Orleans barely three days and you have made no social appearances. I doubt that anyone outside of the members of my household and the Savages even knows you are here. I’ve spoken to Sanderson to make certain none of the servants prattle. Few people are aware that I am back in the city, so I think we can put aside the worry of gossip.”

  Surprised at what had constituted the important business he had stated that he must see to immediately, she asked gravely, “Why are you concerned about gossip? You never have been.”

  Christopher gave her a twisted smile. “I’ve never had a wife to worry over, either, and I will not have you the object of every scandalmonger in the city. Especially since the fault of your predicament was largely due to me.”

  A warm glow spread through her body when she heard those words. More than she would have cared to admit she had dreaded the furor their unorthodox marriage would have caused. Not so strangely too, it gave her the unusual feeling of being protected to know that Christopher, abandoning his usual indifference to what people thought, had taken steps to insure that no one could create a disagreeable situation for her. With a smile hovering about her lips she remembered the old adage that reformed rakes make the best husbands. She hoped it was true.

  Seeing her smile, Christopher drawled, “That amuses you? The fact that I want no one to besmirch your name?”

  “Not that. I was just thinking of that saying about reformed rakes and wondering if you were going to run true to form.”

  Christopher seated himself beside her on the sofa, and lifting one of her hands, he pressed the palm to his lips. “I intend to try, m’dear. I intend to try.”

  Breathless, Nicole could find no words to say, and after a second Christopher asked quizzically, “Aren’t you going to say the same? That you’re going to try to to make our marriage work?”

  “Oh, I will!” she promised, leaning against him, her mouth unconsciously beckoning. Unable to help himself, Christopher caught her close in a fierce embrace, his lips searching hers, demanding a response. Nicole gave it unstintingly; the tip of her tongue slipped into his mouth, and with a smothered groan Christopher was the one who ended the kiss. “Witch!” he said in a husky tone. “This is not the time to start that kind of thing! Later this evening will be soon enough. I can tell you I do not intend to sleep alone in my bed as I did last night.”

  A teasing light in the topaz eyes, Nicole murmured, “Why did you? You’ve never let the lack of a wedding band stop you before.”

  A frown wrinkled Christopher’s forehead. “I admit being guilty of that. But knowing we were to be married today, I didn’t want the memory of the night before the wedding to interfere with the wedding night.” He smiled wryly. “A most odd sentiment coming from me, my love, but there you have it.”

  The suspicion that underneath the cold exterior the world saw of Christopher Saxon, lay a romantic heart was taking hold of Nicole, and a gurgle of laughter broke from her. “Christopher!” she spluttered. “Next you shall be telling me that you are sorry you treated me so cavalierly in the beginning.”

  Slanting her a mocking look, he retorted, “No, I am not sorry about anything I have done to you in the past. My only regret is that the moment I saw you I did not recognize my fate and haul you before the nearest minister and marry you instantly. I would have saved myself a great deal of heartburning and uncertainty.”

  Unable to help herself, Nicole taunted, “Did you suffer great heartburning?”

  Christopher pushed her gently down on the sofa, and leaning over her, his mouth barely touching hers, he muttered, “What do you think? First there was Allen to keep me tossing and turning in my bed, wondering if the two of you were together somewhere lying in each other’s arms. Then there was England. Yes, by God, I suffered heartburnings—heartburnings, jealousy, rage, hatred. I suffered the lot, you little devil!”

  His face had that shut-in expression she had seen often in the past; his eyes were cold as he stared down at her. She met that gaze this time without flinching, and gently her fingers traced the chiseled outline of his lips. “You didn’t have to, you know, you could have given me some sign of what you were feeling.” He started to twist away, but Nicole held him to her by the simple act of twining her arms about his neck. “Listen to me, you fool,” she whispered against his ear. “There was never anyone for me, except you. But how could I let you know? The one time I tried, you threw it back in my face. I was certain you felt nothing for me.” Her mouth curving ruefully, she added, “Except for a certain amount of animal passion.”

  It was Christopher’s turn to look rueful. “I felt a great deal of animal passion for you, my dear. I don’t deny it. But I had never wanted a woman to belong to just me. I had never felt compelled to protect one or see that her future was secure—even if it meant denying myself. And I had never experienced such a destroying emotion as jealousy before. I could have killed Robert and the other men for looking at you.”

  Nicole’s gaze traveled over his features. In a careful tone she said, “Robert was nothing to me, but a good friend. Later when I learned his part in what had happened to you, I loathed him.”

  Christopher’s face did not change, nor did he give any sign that he believed her and Nicole’s heart ached. There was so much that had to be said between them, but Christopher was not about to discuss the past. Confirming her thoughts, he sat up and said, “Enough of this. Sanderson will be informing us that dinner is ready soon. Would you like a glass of sherry or shall I pour you something stronger?”

  Reluctantly following his lead, she smiled with false brightness and indicated that a sherry would be fine. She studied the tall, lean body, as with his back to her, he decanted some brandy for himself and a light golden sherry for herself. He was so dear and handsome, and yet she knew they could not pretend that the past did not exist. She believed that he loved her—but she also knew he hadn’t wanted to love her and that he harbored certain suspicions and doubts about her. Doubts and suspicions that could destroy their fragile beginning. She wasn’t even positive that he believed her avowal of love. Last night there had been a gleam of cynicism in his eyes when she had blurted out what was in her heart. Today, despite their marriage and the way he looked at her, there was a hint of wariness in his manner, and she wondered with a shiver of sadness if he was already regretting not only what he had admitted to last night, but their marriage as well.

  That thought was uppermost in her mind all through the dinner that Ruth-Marie had prepared for them. Swallowing the last bite of a melting almond macaroon soufflé, she made a fierce vow to herself that Christopher was going to have to face not only the truth about her mother, but about Robert as well. Because until he did, they could never share the kind of love and marriage that she wanted—that she was determined to have. He had said he wanted no ghosts in his marriage bed, well neither did she!

  With a determined glint her eyes, she entered the main salon, expecting Christopher to follow her shortly. When an hour later he had not made an appearance, she summoned a servant to discover his whereabouts and she was nonplussed when the message was relayed to her that the master had gone out! Torn between the desire to laugh and the urge to throw a tantrum, Nicole spent the remainder of the evening by herself, speculating on where her new husband had gone.

  By ten o’clock and still no sign of Christopher, with a heavy step she ascended to her bedroom, wondering if that now she was his wife, he no longer wanted her, that she was doomed to endless evenings spent by herself. Common sense told her she was being silly, but their relationship was so delicate, so untried, that it took little to shake her confidence.

  Her room had been changed during the day; what clothing
and personal effects she possessed had been moved into a large elegant suite of rooms that adjoined Christopher’s. Ordinarily she might have taken pleasure in the spacious appointments, the thick ruby carpet, the gleaming yellow walls, and the rich velvet drapes of sapphire blue, but tonight none of them held her attention. Not even the warmth of fire leaping on a hearth of polished olive slate could melt the iciness that was running through her veins.

  Dismissing Naomi and ignoring the flimsy negligee of amber silk lying on the coverlet of sapphire velvet, she stared at the double louvered doors of natural oak that separated her suite from Christopher’s. How dare he do this to me, she thought bitterly. Slyly another thought slid into her mind—you believe he loves you, is this how you prove it? By doubting him? So soon?

  Angry with herself for being so quick to judge, so quick to look for slights, she turned away and walked to the bed. There was a good reason why Christopher had gone out tonight; he would tell her what it was when he returned.

  She stripped off her gown and, having bathed that evening before meeting Christopher in the salon, slipped into the amber silk negligee. From a fat crystal flacon, she splashed herself with a heady scent that reminded her of carnations. A tortoiseshell hairbrush in her hand, she seated herself on the rug before the fire and brushed the sable hair, the flames on the hearth bringing to life the fiery glow in the wavy mass.

  That was how Christopher found her when, a few minutes later, he opened the louvered doors that separated their rooms. She was bathed in gold, the fire flickering over her body and hair, turning her skin to molten gold, the amber negligee to the gold of a morning sunrise, and her hair to dark flame. He caught his breath sharply at the sensual picture she made—the negligee in the firelight revealing as much of the slender body as it hid, the steady stroke of the brush in the long silken hair spinning the flame-struck strands about her shoulders.

  He made some sound, never afterward certain what it was, her whispered name or the click of the doors as he shut them behind him, and Nicole turned to look at him. The blinding smile she sent him then left him lightheaded.

  He crossed the room to her side and kneeling on one knee, reached out to touch the sable-fire hair. With a catch in his voice, he muttered, “Ah, God, you are so beautiful. You remind me of some pagan goddess who has wrapped a golden chain around my heart, and no matter how I try, I cannot break it. You’re an enchantress!”

  The warmth and tenderness in Christopher’s eyes swept away all her earlier doubts. Because he was near her, his hand caressing her hair, his mouth just a heartbeat away, she was able to tease, “Is that why you went off and left me alone all evening? Because I am such an enchantress?”

  Amusement crept into the gold eyes. “Witch!” he mocked. “You have a wicked tongue too.” Seating himself on a chair near the fire, he extracted a narrow box from under his jacket. With a diffident quality to his voice, he said as he handed the box to her, “I had not gotten you a bridegroom’s gift. Every bride, even one as hastily married as you, deserves something from the man she marries to mark the occasion. And because, I did not think of it until after dinner tonight, I had the devil’s own time rousing a jeweler.” To cover his emotions, he drawled, “You have no idea of the trouble you have put me to finding this bauble. I hope it meets with your approval.”

  It did. Opening the box with a trembling hand, Nicole sat staring misty-eyed at the magnificent necklace and earrings. Suspended on a finely wrought chain of precious gold was a pear-shaped topaz surrounded by glittering yellow diamonds; the matching earrings of smaller stones had a loop of the yellow diamonds that would dangle and dance against her cheek when she wore them. “Christopher!” she breathed. “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Mmmm. I wanted a rare stone for you, but when I saw these, I was reminded so vividly of your eyes gleaming with the same color that I knew I had to have them for you.” The words were said softly, almost as if to himself, but Nicole heard him and, setting the box away from her, threw her arms about his neck.

  “I love you,” she said fiercely. “I think I have always loved you, even when I was a child and you were so brutal to me on La Belle Garce. I will love you until I die.”

  Christopher’s arms tightened around her, his mouth seeking hers. She was warm and yielding in his arms as never before. It went to his head like potent wine, and with a low groan, he moved to lay her down before the fire, his own hard body lying next to hers. Like a man savoring the taste of heaven, his mouth slid gently over hers, his tongue questing and probing between her lips, before moving on to explore and touch, to incite and arouse.

  With feverish hands Nicole pulled his jacket off; the cravat followed and brazenly she undid his shirt. Her fingers were like tongues of flame caressing the hard chest, the broad back. The pantaloons gave her trouble, her fingers fumbling for the fastenings, until with a smothered laugh, Christopher rolled away, and standing up, he removed the remainder of his clothing himself. Dropping naked beside her, he teased, “I can see that you haven’t undressed many men, my love.”

  The words were said lightly, but they struck a chill in Nicole, and sitting up and pushing her tumbled hair from her eyes, she said steadily, “I’ve never undressed any man.”

  The teasing gleam in the gold eyes vanished, and as if driven, he demanded, “Not even Robert?”

  Taking a deep breath, Nicole replied evenly, “Not even Robert.” But he didn’t believe her, she could see that from the faint gleam of skepticism that flickered deep in his eyes for just a moment. Exasperated, her voice sharpened, and grasping his shoulders, she shook him. “Christopher, listen to me! Why do you condemn me without even hearing what happened that night? We’ve never spoken of it; never once have you told me how you came to find out that Robert and Edward were both dead, nor did you ask me how I came to be there at Robert’s house.” Her eyes blazing, she said bitterly, “How can you possibly say you love me, when you don’t trust me? Believe in me?”

  Christopher’s face was expressionless, and he took her hands from his shoulders and said, “Very well, tell me what happened.”

  “Damn you!” Nicole cried. “No! Not when you’re prepared to doubt my every word. And you are! I know that look on your face too well. You’ve already made up your mind that I’m lying. That I am my mother’s daughter.”

  That evoked a response from Christopher; a spasm of what could have been pain crossed his face, and he raked his hand through the black hair. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he admitted dully. “I love you. I want you. But I cannot help but remember that your mother nearly destroyed me once—that she held me in her arms and whispered that she, too, loved me.” His lips thinned and he said harshly, “She taught me how to make love, how to arouse a woman, how to make her beg for a man, and all the while crying out that she loved me! That I was the only one who had ever made her feel that way.” He laughed without amusement. “And after I had left her, she met Robert, telling him the same lies, kissing him with the same passion and fire that she had me, giving herself to him with the same abandon. And you’re her daughter. Tell me, wouldn’t you be suspicious?”

  She couldn’t bear to look at him, to see the suspicion, the bitterness that she knew was in his face. He loved her, but until she was able to exorcise the past for him, to burn clean the ugly memories, there would be no peace for either of them. She stared at the fire, groping for the right words with which to answer him. There was no use in further protestations of her innocence. She could cry until the last trumpet that Robert had meant nothing to her and Christopher wouldn’t believe her—because he compared her to Annabelle. She had to convince him somehow that she and Annabelle were two different women, that she was Nicole. Nicole with her mercurial and volatile temper, Nicole who eagerly gave herself to him, not Annabelle, who lied and cheated and betrayed. It seemed a hopeless task, but as she sat there staring at the leaping flames, conscious of Christopher’s big body behind hers, an idea came to her. Taking a d
eep breath, she said cautiously, “You keep reminding me of my mother and what she did. You say that I am her daughter. I agree—Annabelle with all her vanities and vices was my mother. I cannot help that, but because she was my mother is it necessarily true that I must be exactly like her? Have I ever given you proof that I am not to be trusted?”

  Christopher stirred restlessly behind her. “Yes,” he said flatly. “The code books. Have you forgotten them?”

  Her fingers biting into the tender flesh of her palms, she admitted, “Yes. I had forgotten them.” Flashing him an angry glance, she said hotly, “All right, I tried to take them, but I didn’t betray you! Stealing those books was not harming you. They didn’t belong to you; you had stolen them in the first place.” Honesty made her add, “Feeling the way I did then, knowing what I did then, and given the same circumstances, I would probably do the same thing again. You had no right to them; Allen and I were merely returning them to their rightful owners. Besides,” she added honestly, “I wanted to get back at you. To thwart the omnipotent Captain Saber.”

  With a thread of sudden amusement in his voice, Christopher said softly, “Well, you did that, you little devil! You’ve done nothing but thwart me since Bermuda.”

  Her eyes shimmering with angry tears, she rounded on him. “Don’t you dare laugh! I’ve admitted why I tried to take the books, and I’ll even go so far as to say maybe I was wrong, but that doesn’t mean I’m like my mother.” Desperately she played her last card. “Because she was my mother you say I must be like her, but tell me, was Robert like your grandfather? The same adage should hold true—like mother, like daughter, like father, like son. Was Robert exactly like Lord Saxon?”

  “Of course not! You cannot begin to compare them. Robert was vile and selfish, while my grandfather is—” Christopher stopped, an arrested expression in his eyes. For a tense moment he stared at Nicole, his jaw taut, the heavy eyebrows meeting in a scowl. “I see your point,” he said at last.