Mystique

by Ann Cristy

  "I lied when I said they were only slightly insane," Luc said into Misty's ear. He chuckled and cooed at the baby. "They're all mad."

  "That's not true, Lucas Stuyvesant," his mother reproved him. "Hildebrand has a bit too much money and George tries to show him how to invest it, that's all."

  "George lost a half a million dollars in oil wells last year," Luc told Misty.

  "Yes, but I know for a fact that he gave an equal amount to charity," his mother supplied. She blinked rapidly at Misty. "My dear, you mustn't think my cousins gamble blindly." Her smile was indulgent as her gaze went from Misty to her son.

  "They might as well just throw their money away and get it over with," Luc said dryly.

  "Ah, but they have you, dear, to keep them steady." Mrs. Harrison glided away to speak to her other guests.

  Misty coughed, choked, then laughed out loud. "It's so wonderful to be with your family." She gasped as the baby cooed at her. "Isn't she beautiful, Luc?"

  "She's a heartbreaker," he agreed, sliding an arm around Misty's waist and leading her farther into the room.

  Betsy spied them from the piano, where Hildebrand was trying to show her how to place her fingers on the keys. "Misty! Hi, Luc." She sped across the room and hugged them, then began talking nonsense to the baby. "I'm not supposed to talk baby talk to her, but she's so smart already that I don't think it will make a difference. We took care of her yesterday when Deirdre had an appointment. Marcy read her a few pages from War and Peace. Jenny loved it, didn't you, lovey?" The baby gurgled and waved her fists in the air. Misty and Luc laughed. His hand tightened at Misty's waist, and he kissed her on the ear.

  "Oh, yuk." Betsy grimaced at them and assumed a long-suffering look as Misty's two other sisters joined them. "Are you going to drool all over each other this weekend?" Betsy asked. "I thought you were through with that stuff. You've been married for ages."

  "Six weeks is not ages." Luc tapped Betsy on the nose and hugged the other girls. "You three look like bona fide collegians. Tell me what's new on the campus these days."

  The three girls tugged him toward a group of chairs on one side of the room, leaving Misty alone with the baby. She chuckled as she watched her husband's family. Everyone was talking at once, all of them earnestly trying to persuade each other on whatever subject they were expounding. "It's just you and me, kid," she told the gurgling baby, who seemed to be growing restless and uncomfortable. She checked the diaper. "Ah, just as I thought. You need a change," she told Deirdre, who was still arguing with John and Ted.

  "Oh, there's a diaper bag on the bed in our room. The green wing," Deirdre explained, returning immediately to her argument.

  Misty shrugged. "I should be able to handle this," she said to herself. "What do you think, Jenny?" Jenny squeezed her eyes shut and let out a howl. No one in the room seemed to notice. Misty hurried out into the foyer and up the floating staircase to the second floor. From a past tour of the house she knew that the green wing was the biggest guest wing in the house. After making two false turns she finally opened the correct door into Deirdre and Ted's bedroom. The diaper bag was in the center of the bed.

  After placing the now squalling baby in the middle of the bed and putting pillows on either side of her, Misty stripped off the soiled diaper, disposed of it in the bathroom, and found a warm wet cloth with which to clean the baby. "Jennifer!" Misty wailed when she returned. A wet spot was spreading on the satin coverlet. "You weren't supposed to do that." The baby kicked her legs as Misty sponged her off and moved her to a dry portion of the bed, then pinned on the clean diaper. "I don't think your mother is going to appreciate my help," she told the child as she picked her up and gazed down at the dark spot in the center of the bedspread.

  As Misty carried the baby down the stairs, she encountered Luc near the bottom on his way up. "I was looking for you," he said. "Where did you go?"

  "Jennifer needed changing," Misty explained.

  "Of course, Deirdre couldn't do that." He shot an exasperated look over his shoulder.

  "I didn't mind. She's such a good baby."

  Luc studied her through narrowed eyes for a minute, then came up two more steps so that their faces were even. "You look beautiful holding her," he began, then frowned. "You're pale. What is it?"

  "Nothing." Misty looked away.

  "You're lying to me. Mystique, and I damned well intend to find out why and what about."

  "Jennifer needs her mother," she said, passing him, trying to escape his scrutinizing gaze.

  She hurried down the last steps and charged into the suddenly silent living room, almost tripping over the carpet in her haste. All heads turned toward her. Hildebrand rose from the piano. "Ah, here is the musician that Luc has married. A bit clumsy, I think." He turned to his cousin George for confirmation. "What do you say?"

  "Perhaps she's a bit uncoordinated. Probably the result of poor blood lines."

  "Ahhh," Hildebrand concurred, his index finger tapping the side of his nose. "That must be it."

  "Shall I hold the baby while you murder them, or shall I do the deed for you?" Luc asked at her back.

  "What did he say, George?" Hildebrand demanded, blinking at Luc in owlish dislike. "Lucas, must you always be so damned physical? So untidy." Hildebrand sniffed.

  "If you make one more crass remark to my wife, I'll send you to the hospital, cousin. Not even my mother will protect you from that," Luc announced coolly.

  Hildebrand looked for help, first from George, then from Luc's mother. "Althea, must I be subjected to this?" he demanded.

  "Oh, do be quiet, Hildebrand," Luc's father said testily. He crossed the room to Misty, a broad smile on his face. "Pay no attention to him. He's a twit."

  "Yes, I noticed that," Misty said clearly, the words reaching every corner of the room.

  Luc's bark of laughter overrode the sighs, groans, chuckles, and exclamations of "Well, I never" that rose from the assorted company. His hand settled at Misty's waist, kneading the firm flesh.

  "Perceptive little thing, isn't she?" Mr. Harrison commented to his son.

  "Very," Luc agreed. "Here, darling, let me take Jennifer. She must be getting heavy."

  "No," Misty said, her hands tightening on the baby. She gave her husband an apologetic glance. "I mean, I don't mind holding her for a bit longer." Unable to meet Luc's probing glance, she turned to his father. "She has your eyes," she observed, jiggling the baby in her arms and laughing out loud when she blew a bubble.

  "Yes." James Harrison's shrewd gaze went from her to his son. "The Harrisons tend to have brown eyes. Perhaps you and Luc will have a brown-eyed baby."

  "No, I don't think so," Misty said abruptly. "Excuse me. I must take Jennifer to her mother." As she hurried across the room, she heard Luc and his father, exchange surprised whispers, but she didn't stop.

  Deirdre was still holding forth with John, while Ted was listening and grinning. Misty coughed to gain their attention.

  "Ah, Mystique." Ted's grin broadened as he reached for his daughter. "How is Daddy's best girl?" Misty felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down at young James, laughing softly at his gap-toothed smile.

  "Would you like to play Indians, Aunt Masteek? Greg and me, we gotta fort."

  "Greg and I have a fort," Misty corrected absently, biting her lip as she recalled how many times her parents had corrected and criticized her. It had been so demoralizing never to hear an encouraging word from them.

  "You and Greg have a fort?" James looked at her, goggle-eyed. "I didn't know that."

  Misty chuckled and touched his cheek. She glanced around the room. Luc was still deeply absorbed in conversation with his father. Luc's mother and Alice were arguing about decorating. Misty's three sisters were comparing outfits. "Yes, I think I would like to see your fort," she told James. "Of course, I don't know if I can play Indians." Misty felt herself jerked forward by a strong five-year-old hand. She followed along behind, aware that Luc had lifted his head to watch her leave be
fore refocusing his attention on his father. He was irritated with her, too, she could tell. He hated the fact that there was something she wasn't telling him. How could she explain that she wanted his child but was afraid to have it? She couldn't bury her fear that somehow she was tainted with her mother's twisted tendencies.

  She shook off her dread as she followed James down a long hall and through the kitchen.

  "Hi, Mabel," he called to the cook.

  Misty said hello to the plump woman who was up to her elbows in flour. Her two young assistants smiled as James and Misty paraded past.

  "James, why don't you call me Misty instead of Mystique?" she suggested. "It might be easier for you to say." They stepped from the kitchen to a damp outdoor corridor. "Isn't it too cold to play outside?"

  "Yep. We're playing in the pool room. The pool is covered so it's okay to play there," James explained, leading her down a covered path to a huge bubble. "See, we could swim, but since no one is down here, the pool is covered. That way we won't fall in the water." He opened the door, letting out a blast of steamy air.

  Misty welcomed the heat. Standing just inside the door, she looked around her. The Olympic-sized pool was covered with a taut tarpaulin. She noted that it would be impossible for the boys to unhook the tarp from its grommets.

  On the far side of the pool Greg sat on the tile floor arranging twigs as if for a fire. "He isn't going to light that, is he?" Misty's eyes widened at the thought of what a fire could do in the enormous air bubble.

  "Naw. We aren't allowed to play with matches," James said matter-of-factly. "And we can't jump on the tarpaulin either, or Grandpa will skin our backsides."

  "Good." Misty sighed with relief and followed the boy around the tile deck to where Greg was sitting. He ordered them to be quiet as he placed the last twig in the pile.

  "There, it's done." He sighed and grinned up at Misty. "I didn't think you'd want to come, but James said you would, Aunt Masteek."

  "We're supposed to call her Aunt Misty now," James announced importantly.

  "Oh." Greg reached behind him and pulled a pheasant feather from a bag. He handed it to her. "Here. We found these on our farm. You wear it with this." He searched in the bag again and pulled out a garter, which he also handed to her.

  Misty lifted an eyebrow at the blue satin garter with pink rosebuds and ruffles. "This is a bride's garter." She paused at the sight of their guarded expressions.

  Greg shrugged. "It's ugly, I know, but it was all I could find in Mom's drawer. Grandma gave us these round ones. Aren't they neat?" He held up two more garters. "She said her mother used to roll her stockings in them." He looked puzzled for a moment, then shrugged. "I can't figure it out, but in the old days they did weird things."

  "Right." Misty was glad now that she and Luc hadn't changed out of their travel clothes. She had no trouble sitting with the boys around their "fire." She slipped the garter over her head, inserted the feather, and passed the peace pipe, an intricately carved meerschaum. She was afraid it belonged to their father or grandfather.

  "Ugh," Misty answered when Greg gestured that they stand and dance around the fire. "Whooo, whooo, whooo..." Misty chanted as she danced with half-closed eyes.

  "Good God, she's a primitive." Hildebrand's voice carried clearly across the room. Misty gasped and whirled around. The sight that met her eyes made her want to sink through the floor. Luc's whole family was clustered just inside the door, watching her with astonished expressions.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Misty paused with one foot in midair, her palm inches from her open mouth, her eyes going as if in slow motion from one member of the family to the next. She froze when she saw Luc, his arms folded across his chest, standing next to his mother. "How, paleface," she said, turning her palm outward in a greeting.

  "How," Luc murmured, raising one hand in imitation of hers.

  "Me Red Eagle," Greg said, thumping his chest.

  "Me Running Deer," James said with a fierce scowl.

  "Me Purple Chicken," Misty finished lamely.

  "Me Great Hunter coming to get Purple Chicken," Luc announced in deep tones, setting off peals of laughter among the family.

  George and Hildebrand tutted and muttered. "No one need know she's related to us," said Hildebrand. "We could say she's a bit soft in her upper works," said George.

  "Damnation, is that my meerschaum pipe?" Ted exclaimed.

  "Is that my wedding garter around your head, Mystique?" Deirdre asked shrilly.

  "What do you mean, yours?" Alice swelled with anger. "I let you borrow it. It's mine."

  Misty turned questioning eyes to the boys. They shrugged sheepishly. "Fine braves you are," she mumbled as she pulled the offending garter and feather from her head. "Now it's every man for himself, I suppose."

  "Just don't say too much," Greg whispered from the side of his mouth as the grownups came toward them from both sides of the pool. "Uncle Luc and Dad will take care of it."

  "Yeah. Act like it never happened, Purple Chicken," James advised.

  "Thanks, you two," Misty muttered as Luc ambled toward her, a gleam in his eye, his mother at his side.

  "Not that I don't think you look absolutely smashing with the feather, dear," said Althea. "I do. You have marvelous clothes sense, but I'm not sure how our other guests will react. Of course, when all is said and done, who really cares what others think?" She smiled reassuringly at Misty. "I think you're perfect for Lucas." She kissed Misty's cheek and glanced over at the boys. "You've made good use of those garters. What smart lads you are!" Her grandsons beamed.

  "They're brilliant," Luc's father insisted, skillfully inserting himself between the boys and their irate mother and aunt. "Come along with me, now. Mabel has a nice drink for you." He put his hands on their shoulders. As they walked away, Misty thought she heard him add conspiratorially, "Now, let's get out of here." But she wasn't sure.

  "After dinner I'll have Hawes remove the cover and take you swimming," called their grandmother.

  "This isn't the end of it," Deirdre warned her sons, glaring when her husband chuckled.

  "I do believe they're almost as bad as our sons were," Alice said thoughtfully.

  "Never," John denied, ushering his wife back to the main house. As the others departed, one by one, Misty and Luc were left alone.

  "Great Hunter think Purple Chicken very sexy." Luc leaned toward her and ran a hand over her suede-covered thigh.

  "It will cost you much wampum to flirt with Purple Chicken," she informed him.

  "Oh? How much?" Luc bit her earlobe and blew in her ear, sending tingles down to her toes.

  "The scalps of those two braves who left me holding the bag." With effort Misty suppressed a smile.

  "Old Indian maxim say: Never trust any of the Harrison tribe."

  "Heap good advice." Misty closed her eyes as Luc's mouth touched hers. The kiss deepened, and her body sagged against him. His arms took her full weight as they swayed in sensual enjoyment.

  "Shall I take off the tarpaulin so we can swim?" he suggested.

  "Could we?"

  "Uh-huh. I'll lock the door when we leave and tell Hawes what we've done. He won't let the boys in here alone." "But we need suits."

  "Hell, no." Luc held her back from him for a moment, his eyes serious. "You don't trust me fully yet, Mrs. Harrison, but you will."

  "Luc," Misty began, but he turned away from her and strode along the deck to a cabana, returning a moment later with what appeared to be a large wrench. He knelt down at the far end of the pool and twisted off several grommets with the tool. After releasing that end of the tarpaulin, he folded it over, then went from side to side, loosening the rest of the grommets. Misty tried to help him fold the tarpaulin, but she found the sagging canvas too heavy. Instead, he used a hand crank to lift it off the pool.

  "There. We'll leave it at one end like that," said Luc. "Hawes and a couple of the other men can put it away." He rose to his feet and stared across at her. "Come a
long, Mrs. Harrison. We'll undress in the cabana."

  "Luc, what if someone comes?"

  "Don't worry. I'll lock the door and put a sign on the outside." He held up an oblong cardboard that said in big letters: do not disturb—swimming nude.

  Misty gasped. "Where did you get that?"

  "John had it made for Mother and Dad as a joke, but they've actually used it a few times." He chuckled.

  "And you?" Misty asked sharply.

  Luc's eyes glinted. "I've swum nude with women a few times."

  "More than a few, I'll bet," Misty said tartly. "Darling, how you talk." He came around to lead her to the cabana.

  She struggled to control her anger and jealousy at the thought of Luc swimming nude with other women. But the emotions burned in her, like raging flames. When she tried to close the cabana door against Luc, he pushed it open. "No way. We undress together."

  Misty turned her back to him as she undressed, too upset to speak. The man had the power to make her temper go wild for no sensible reason! It angered and befuddled her to think that she was so easily riled by him.

  "Ummm, so nice. You have the most gorgeous skin of any woman I've ever known." Luc's hand feathered over her backside.

  "Spare me the detailed catalog of the women you've known," she snapped.

  "Am I getting to you, darling? I hope so." He hung her vest and blouse next to his trousers.

  She whirled around to retort, clad just in her briefs, but the sight of his naked body brought her up short. As she scanned his strong, muscular form, his skin taut and glistening, throbbing desire came alive in her. He took hold of her upper arms. "I hope I'm getting to you because you get to me. I'm frustrated. My wife is keeping something from me. Don't try to deny it."

  "I'm not," she mumbled.

  "And it makes me furious. So I dig away at you, trying to make you irritated enough to tell me what's buried under that red-gold hair of yours." Luc stared grimly down at her.

  "Luc, I... I have something to sort out."

  "Damn you, Mystique, why won't you tell me?"