You and No Other

by Cynthia Wright

  "Yes, I seem to, though I hadn't thought of it until you said the words. Suddenly now, I can remember it all but rather indistinctly—the deaths, and women all alone, and living with hardships. But I simply cannot see faces in my mind, or recall names."

  They were silent for a moment, then Caro, eyes wide with frustration, blurted:

  "I don't even know where we are!"

  "That is easily enough answered. We are in Connecticut, nearing its western border and the Hudson River. We will follow that to New York town, and then journey on south to Philadelphia."

  "But, if you are a man of means, why are you here in the woods with only a horse? Isn't the war over now?"

  "Yes, it's over. And, Caro, you mustn't let Ivan hear you speak of him as though he were of no consequence!" He had lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You see, he believes he is absolutely the finest horse ever born—the superior of any man." He paused. "Except me, of course."

  "Of course!" Caro giggled, and Ivan peered at them suspiciously from the other side of the fire. Alec squeezed her shoulder and continued:

  "To answer your question, I was inspecting a farm I recently acquired in northern Connecticut. It was left to me by one of my comrades who died at Yorktown. I am used these days to traveling light. It's been a pleasure to be responsible to only myself; to go at my own pace and to enjoy the woods in autumn before returning to city life. Besides, I have friends in this area that I enjoy visiting. We'll be staying with them in the Hudson River Valley, and I'm hoping to borrow a horse for you."

  "We will go on horseback all the way to Philadelphia?"

  "No, my coach will be meeting us in New York."

  "I have only one more question. Who will you say I am?"

  Alec smiled with satisfaction.

  "Actually, it all fits together brilliantly. You are the poor orphaned daughter of my friend from the war. Much to my surprise, you came with the farm! You'll be my ward, and it will all be cozy and respectable."

  Caro felt her eyelids drooping and she smiled to herself contentedly, snuggling against Alec's broad chest.

  "Well," she murmured drowsily, "I suppose I shall have to trust you...."

  Excerpt from

  Spring Fires

  Special Author's Cut Edition

  Beauvisage Novel #2

  (A Beauvisage/Hampshire/Raveneau Novel)

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  Spring Fires brings back beloved couples from CAROLINE, TOUCH THE SUN, and SILVER STORM! The story centers around the indepedent beauty, Lisette Hahn, who owns a CoffeeHouse in 1793 Philadelphia with her ailing father, and dashing Nicholai Beauvisage, who has lived in France for a decade and lately has been embroiled in the bloody revolution in Paris. This excerpt opens with a party being given by Alec and Caro Beauvisage in honor of the newly-elected Senator Lion Hampshire. Lisette has agreed to provide desserts for the party and has come to Belle Maison's kitchen in spite of her father's worsening health.

  March 25, 1793

  Servants were posted in Belle Maison's entryway to greet the guests and take their wraps before they proceeded into the stairhall to greet the host, hostess, and the guests of honor.

  Among the first to arrive were Alec's parents. Jean Philippe's hair was snow white now, his face more deeply creased, but he continued to exude a magnetic charm despite his nearly seventy years.

  Antonia was past sixty now, still petite and lovely. Strands of silvery white were scattered through her russet hair and tiny lines were etched around her mouth. The dashing Frenchman's Russian bride had come to him as pirate's plunder over forty years ago. Although their love remained deep, their life was quieter now. With the latest dark developments in France, both Jean-Philippe and Antonia seemed to move under a cloud of worry.

  Caro kissed them and asked, "Is there news?"

  "Well," replied Antonia, "Natalya writes that she is certain a baby is on the way! But as for Nicholai... we have heard nothing."

  They went on into the brightly lit parlor just as Anne and William Bingham appeared in the doorway. They were little changed since the days when Meagan had lived in the servants' wing of their luxurious Mansion House as lady's maid. Since the government had come to Philadelphia, Anne had been known as "Queen of the Republican Court," and it gave Meagan a sweet satisfaction to stand in the receiving line and greet the beautiful, snobbish Mrs. Bingham. For a moment, she felt a surge of her usual mischievousness return.

  "I hope you do not mind that I brought a guest along?" Anne inquired a trifle haughtily, pulling forward a pale, birdlike girl with a nervous giggle. "This is my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall, who is visiting us from England. Ophelia, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Beauvisage and Senator and Mrs. Hampshire."

  The girl tittered again before offering her hand. She stared openly, first at the dark, rakish Alec, and then at the dazzling new senator.

  Marcus Reems managed to distract Ophelia, coming up from behind to wrap a familiar arm around her narrow shoulders. His amber eyes met the clear blue ones of his half brother, Lion Hampshire. Only Meagan was aware of the real reason for the feud between the two men, and although Lion could not be accused of stirring up trouble, the darker sibling was constantly looking for some new point of conflict.

  Lion was the bastard son, reunited with his father and brother upon his mother's death when he was fourteen. He should have been the outcast, but Lion proved to be the brighter and more magnetic of the two sons. The father had favored him, and though the old man was long dead, Marcus had never stopped trying to eclipse Lion.

  As he watched his half-brother chatting with Anne and Ophelia, Lion slanted a sardonic look at Meagan and whispered, "Marcus is as dense as ever. He thinks to make me envious of his social connections, when in fact I pity him for having to endure the company of those two."

  "You know that Anne's influence is considerable," Meagan reminded him with a teasing smile.

  "I can do without it," he snorted before straightening to shake the hand of Philadelphia's mayor, Samuel Powel.

  The Powels were followed by President and Mrs. Washington, a fact duly noted by Meagan and Caro. Gossip was thick concerning the close friendship between the coquettish Eliza Powel and the aging president. No one cared to suggest they were lovers, but they enjoyed each other's company to an unseemly degree.

  Musicians were tuning up and people milled about, spilling into the south parlor and the huge dining room, where food was already being arranged. As the late arrivals tapered off, Alec and Caro took the Hampshires to join the party. When they appeared in the parlor, the musicians began to play. The harmonious mixture of harpsichord, violins, flute, and harp set the tone for the lighthearted evening ahead.

  * * *

  Back in the kitchen building, Lisette was alone. The last of the servants had disappeared into the house and only she and the desserts were left, though Pierre had promised to return to carry the tortes.

  Usually, Lisette had little time for melancholy, but tonight she could feel it steal through her body in uneasy waves. Music and laughter drifted back from the house and each window was ablaze with candlelight. Looking down at her simple sky-blue frock and the full-length cream apron that covered it, she wondered what the elegant women guests were wearing tonight. Were their upswept curls studded with jewels? Did they smell of jasmine or gardenias?

  Tiredly, Lisette pushed loose tendrils from her brow, set down the wooden frosting spoon, and closed her eyes. Images flickered through her mind of the richly garbed people dancing, laughing, and chatting with witty sophistication.

  I don't envy them, she reminded herself, but tonight... it would be nice to feel beautiful, to be free of worry and responsibility, to feel alive... even to be in love.

  The last thought was so out of character that Lisette smiled at herself and what she decided must be utter fatigue. She opened her eyes, blinked in disbelief, then took a second look.

  A strange man stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned indolently agains
t the frame, regarding her with emerald eyes that sparkled like real jewels.

  Lisette's heart quickened. The man could not be a guest, for he wore a soft leather coat over a casual dirt-streaked shirt, fawn breeches, and riding boots that were mud-spattered. His face and hands were deeply tanned, dark hair curled where his shirt was open at the neck, and his flashing smile was as rakish as a pirate's.

  "Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he said in a husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her back.

  "Are you employed here, sir?"

  He seemed to find this question highly amusing. "No, I am not."

  Lisette wondered with a start if he was a highwayman or a criminal of some sort. Perhaps he meant to rob the guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her physical harm.

  "I must insist that you tell me who you are," she commanded, "and why you are here!"

  Slowly, with graceful strength, he crossed the kitchen's planked floor. In the firelight, Lisette could see that his hair was a dark chestnut color. It was not queued, but cut into ruffled layers that grew away from his face and curled negligently over his collar. There was a long fresh gash across one dark cheek. In spite of the dusty condition of his clothing, Lisette realized that the man beneath was quite clean. Tall, lean, and muscular, he smelled pleasantly of salt water, horses, and night air. To her surprise, the stranger reached out to catch her flour-smudged hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that startled her by its sensuousness.

  "Nicholai Beauvisage, at your service, mademoiselle," he said with wry jauntiness.

  Lisette was stunned as she tried to absorb this news. "Nicholai Beauvisage?" she echoed. "I—but—why, I don't believe you!"

  "You don't?" Both eyebrows flew up. "I am devastated to hear you say so. And, now that we have that matter settled, I believe it is my turn to insist that you identify yourself."

  Seated, Lisette felt at a disadvantage. The man towered over her, seeming to mock her somehow, so she wiped her hands on her apron and stood up. It was disconcerting to find herself only even with his wide shoulders, for Lisette was taller than most women.

  "My name is Lisette Hahn."

  "Hmmm... that seems to—" He broke off, snapping his fingers in amusement. "I have it! Hahn's CoffeeHouse. I was there tonight for a jug of ale and I was surprised to learn that I could get supper as well. The stew was like ambrosia after the food I ate at sea. Are you one of those Hahns?"

  "As a matter of fact, I am. I am pleased that you enjoyed my stew, sir."

  "Why the devil are you here?"

  "As a favor to your alleged brother and sister-in-law. I made these tortes for this party tonight." When he moved to the window, gazing toward the house, Lisette persisted, "I still don't believe you are Nicholai, but if I did, I would want to know how you came to be here tonight."

  He looked down at the lovely girl who stood at his shoulder. Moonlight streamed in through the window, shooting her long pale curls with silver lights. He was unaccustomed to seeing a female in public with her hair loose and flowing this way, and there was a direct, intelligent glint in these blue eyes that he found intriguing. She smelled of vanilla and butter, yet was utterly appealing: slender and graceful, with an exquisite neck and soft rose-tinted lips...

  "It is quite simple, Lisette. The situation in France has become rather uncomfortable, so I decided the time was ripe for a visit home. My ship docked tonight. Since my house in town is closed up, I went to my parents' to see them and fetch the key, only to learn they had come here. So, I procured a horse and rode out. When I saw the light on back here I thought I might find some soap and water before venturing into the fray –" He gestured toward the lights, music, and laughter. "Where are Mrs. Forbes and Pierre and all the rest?"

  "They've all gone to the main house. Dinner will be served momentarily, so they are busy with that. As you can see, I'm left with the last course—and I had better finish up before Pierre returns to fetch these."

  Nicholai's eyes lit up at this. "Pierre is coming? Bon Dieu, it will be wonderful to see that old elf. Do you know, I've been gone ten years... and it suddenly seems a lifetime."

  She regarded him from the corner of her eye as she assembled the last torte. He certainly did sound authentic. "I don't think you will find your family much changed. Have you been in touch?"

  "Letters, yes—until a few months ago, when I was forced to leave my chateau for Paris. I've been duly informed of all the births, weddings... and Grandmere's death." He perched on the edge of the table and stared into the fire. As she spread orange icing, Lisette's eyes wandered over Nicholai Beauvisage. There was a chiseled strength about his profile that was very unlike the description Katya had given of her brother. Fun loving, easygoing, vulnerable—those were the adjectives people had used in reference to the younger Beauvisage brother. But if this was indeed Nicholai, it was obvious that the decade he had spent in France had carved out a very different man. The lines of his body were steely; muscles and tendons showed in his bronzed neck and were outlined beneath the clothes that concealed the rest of his body. All outward signs of a harder inner man, Lisette thought.

  "You are staring, mademoiselle," Nicholai told her sardonically. "Do you find me odd looking?"

  The last torte was done; Lisette put the wooden spoon into an empty bowl and gave him a wry smile. "Not at all, Mr. Beauvisage. I was thinking that, although you may not see many changes in your family, I'll wager that they will be surprised by the transformation you have undergone!"

  Excerpt from

  Natalya

  Special Author's Cut Edition

  Beauvisage Novel #3

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  The year is 1814. Natalya Beauvisage, daughter of Caroline & Alec, is in France at her ancestral chateau in the Loire Valley. She is 26, an independent author, and she now longs to return home to America in spite of the war that makes travel dangerous...

  "I'll find a way," Natalya insisted. "And I'm not motivated by stubbornness, or a whim. Something inside"—she pressed a hand over her heart—"tells me it's time to go home. It's the same inner voice that bade me leave Philadelphia and travel to Europe after my twentieth birthday. Whether it is God or my own best instincts, I trust it enough to do my utmost to obey."

  Everything Natalya did and felt seemed to be bigger than normal, Lisette thought as she formulated a tactful reply. However, before she could speak, Marie-Helene appeared in the doorway.

  "Madame, there is a stranger outside, insisting that he speak to M'sieur Nicholai." The little maid's eyes were wide with trepidation.

  "M'sieur Nicholai and James have not yet returned from their ride to Saumur?"

  "No, madame."

  "Well, I'm sure that they'll be back momentarily. It's started to rain, hasn't it? You must ask our visitor in, give him a drink, and assure him that M'sieur Beauvisage should arrive home within minutes."

  Marie-Helene looked pained. "Madame, this man is... a stranger."

  "Whatever do you mean by that?" Lisette was losing patience. "If he is a friend of my husband's—"

  "He does not look like any friend of M'sieur Beauvisage's that I have seen before. He looks almost—dangerous...." The maid began to wring her hands nervously.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Natalya exclaimed, "I'll go down and deal with the man!"

  Standing, she drew her shawl close around her slim shoulders and hurried out of the room. Marie-Helene scuttled along behind, head down. They descended the curving, white marble stairway, Natalya's fingers skimming the rail of the intricately carved, black wrought-iron balustrade. At the bottom stretched the chateau's long gallery, magnificent with its floor of black-and-white marble squares and its renaissance tapestries. Through the gallery's long windows, which overlooked terraced gardens, Natalya could see the stranger who struck such fear into Marie-Helene. Clad all in black, he stood inside the arched doorway to the chateau's east wing. A slight breeze billowed his cape and caused him to lift his head
, giving Natalya a glimpse of a rakish, dark, bearded face.

  Baby hairs prickled along the back of her neck, a novel sensation that startled her.

  "Voila!" hissed Marie-Helene. "You see? He is a devil!"

  Natalya blinked. "I see nothing of the kind. Your imagination is driven wild by this ferocious weather."

  "Je t'implore, do not open the door to him!" the maid cried.

  As she crossed the stone entry hall, Natalya realized that Marie-Helene was scurrying in her wake like a child trying to hide behind her mother. She put her hand on the latch and warned, "You needn't cling to me if you're so terrified of this person. I can deal with him on my own."

  "Mais, non! I cannot leave you, mam'selle. I am here to serve you with my very life, if need be!"

  Natalya stole a brief glance heavenward and tried not to smile. "I'm sure I don't deserve such blind devotion. You'd better brace yourself, then. I'm going to open the door... now!" She was nearly laughing as she pushed back the bolt, lifted the latch, and dragged open the heavy door. Her eyes were sparkling with merriment, and a silken honey-gold curl came loose to brush the side of her cheek.

  Then, Natalya focused on the stranger. Her body stilled and her smile faded, while the pounding of her heart grew deafening. Never before had she seen so striking a man. The effect was intensified by the angry twilight, which hurled raindrops, faster and faster, at the black-clad giant.

  Perhaps he wasn't really a giant, Natalya amended, ever aware of her tendency to embellish reality; but he was bigger than her father or Uncle Nicky, both of whom were tall and broad-shouldered. The stranger's size was made more menacing by his black cape, which swirled out over worn trousers stuffed into muddy black boots. Most arresting of all, though, was his proud head, with a profile that bespoke arrogance and danger, and a keen intelligence. Natalya was struck by his wild, wet black hair, which was laced with silver, and by his pale face with its sculpted bone structure and steely eyes. He wore a trim beard, and his mouth looked sensual and hard all at once.