“As for you, Nikki, the choice seems to have been taken out of your hands. But all for the best. I spoke to Jean shortly after he left you. I’ve seen that glow in a few men’s eyes. It speaks more eloquently than words ever could. He wants you, my girl! He may even be in love with you!”
Gabrielle’s words dropped like heavy stones in the silence. Nicolette felt her heart soar for the tiniest instant before her Creole propriety forced it back into passive submission to the rules.
No! she told herself in stem silence. I don’t care for Jean Laffite! I never will. He’s an outlaw, an arrogant rogue who forces women to obey his will. How could I love him when he’s done such awful things to me?
Her aunt had rushed on ahead while Nicolette busied herself at regaining some measure of composure—false as it was.
“Most of the married Creole women I knew in New Orleans spent their nights saying their beads and wishing they were their husbands’ mistresses instead of their wives. Those quadroons along the ramparts are the ones who share the happy times, believe me. It won’t hurt you to bide your time, give Jean Laffite a chance, and search your own heart to find out exactly what you want for the rest of your life!”
Dawn had drawn the heavy curtains of shadow, creeping into the room while Gabrielle delivered her lecture. Nicolette sat in King Carlos’s bed—Laffite’s bed, she corrected herself mentally—hugging her knees to her breasts and biting her lower lip to hold back tears of uncertainty.
Gabrielle had retreated to the gilt chair, unspoken questions written plainly on her face. Maybe she was wrong. Perhaps Nicolette was not made of the same stout stuff as she. But she had to speak her mind—to find out.
She watched her niece out of the corner of her eye, thinking how very much she looked like Francine. Poor Frannie, forced to marry when what she really longed for was the convent life. Gabrielle might have laughed aloud, if the irony of that situation hadn’t been so bitter to her even now. Francine, unable to cope with the life pressed upon her, resorted to migraines and smelling salts. Gabrielle lived the mess that had been left of her life with a vengeance, not allowing a moment to slip by unsavored. And Claude-poor, dear Claude—took his pleasure with his placée on the ramparts, giving her children with coppery skin, and the love his wife refused to accept.
No! Gabrielle thought. I won’t allow that for Nikki! She’ll be a thousand times better off with Jean Laffite. To be only his mistress would be preferable to being the wife of most men I’ve met. Why, if I were ten years younger…
“Aunt Gabi, the man you loved… is he still in New Orleans?” Nicolette seemed to be receiving her aunt’s thoughts.
“He is.”
“Will you see him again?”
“Most assuredly!”
“Will you marry him?”
Gabrielle’s words came out in a wistful sigh. “If ever he is free to marry in my lifetime. We swore it to each other long ago.”
“But you married someone else. How could you have done that?”
“Nikki, my dear girl, I thought perhaps your time in Paris taught you a few subtleties of life. But I suppose your strict upbringing forbade your understanding. Yes, I married in spite of the fact that I loved another. But he was out of my reach. He may always be. My husband was much older than I. He offered me affection, a fine home, a good name, respect and companionship. We were the best of friends, before and after our marriage. He accepted me for what I was and what I could give him, never demanding more than he knew I was capable of offering. If the marriage wasn’t blissfully happy, at least we were content with what we had. That counts for something.”
“I don’t understand. I’m sorry, Tante. You tell me that you married a man you never loved, but you have warned me repeatedly not to do so.” Nicolette stared wide-eyed at her aunt, waiting for the secret to this riddle to be revealed.
“The difference, ma petit innocent, is that I chose the man I wished to be my husband. What your papa is demanding is all wrong. He shouldn’t be the one to decide with whom you will share your life… and your bed!”
Nicolette nodded slowly and whispered, “I see. But how does a woman know when she’s in love? Truly and forever!”
A slow smile curved Gabrielle’s rose-tinted lips. “Dearest Nikki, when love strikes, you won’t need to ask that question of anyone. You’ll feel such a stirring in your blood, such a pounding of your heart, such a quickening of your whole body when he’s near you that there can be no mistaking it.”
Nicolette drew in her breath sharply. She thought back to earlier hours. The odd hammering inside her head when Jean Laffite kissed her unexpectedly. The hot tingling in her thighs. The tightening of her stomach muscles. The faintness when he released her. Could it be?
Nicolette and Gabrielle shared a long, intimate silence. Without speaking a word, the young woman told her aunt what she wanted to know. Her niece longed for more than marriage—she wanted love!
Outside, the rain had stopped. The fat, gray clouds scudded away to allow April sunshine to warm the spring earth, turning puddles to rising jewels of mist. The moisture-laden air filled the early morning with green scents overlaid with traces of honeysuckle, jasmine, and sea salt.
Smells of home, Nicolette thought, though home was still far away.
When Sukey brought water for Nicolette’s bath, the morning bustle began about the mansion. Gabrielle went in search of Jean Laffite.
She found him on the wide veranda of his ballast stone mansion, leaning against one of the six gilt ships’ figureheads, which served as columns to support the cypress-shingled roof. He stood staring out to sea, smoking a thin, black cheroot. The blue-white smoke wreathed his rugged, bronzed face, making him look for all the world, Gabrielle thought, like a handsome apostle of Lucifer.
“Captain Laffite, she’s awake.”
“And feeling well?” he asked, frowning.
“Confused, I’m afraid. But that’s quite normal for one of her tender age and temperament… after all she’s been through.”
“She’s not the only one, Madame DelaCroix.” He stubbed out his cigar with the toe of his boot. “Damned if I’ve felt this befuddled in all my years! The woman’s bewitched me! I want her, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Gabrielle touched Laffite’s arm with a comforting hand and smiled into his emerald-gold eyes. “I guessed as much. I think she cares for you, too. But you must go slowly with her. She doesn’t quite realize what her feelings mean. She’ll be shy as a doe in her first season.”
“And I’m a tough old buck in my third,” he said bitterly.
“You mean your other two unfortunate marriages. Reyne told me. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? I’m almost afraid to look at another woman. My first marriage, of course, was arranged. Christina and I might have grown to love each other, if she’d lived long enough. But she died in childbirth. I’ve always blamed myself. She was frail. She never should have tried to have children.
“Bianca, that poor child, never even realized I was her husband. She lived through an attack by some of Gambi’s men, much like what occurred yesterday. But I didn’t know about it until she was brought to Grande Terre and deposited in one of the brothels with a dozen seasoned whores.” He bowed slightly. “Pardon my plain talk, madame.”
“I’ve heard and said worse, Jean. Go on.”
“Bianca was a Spanish nobleman’s daughter—the only survivor from the set-upon ship. Uncle Reyne learned of her fate from the men lining up to sample her tender young favors. I was wild when I heard what they were doing to a thirteen-year-old! I took her out of the house and married her on the spot—the only way I could insure her safety, since Gambi claimed her as spoils of battle. She might have come back to her senses, in time. But she was shot and killed in an accident. At least her suffering ended.”
He stood in silence for some time, his face clouded with painful memories. He cleared his throat and gave Gabrielle a smile that really was more of a grimace.
“That’s not for me to say, Jean. Only time and Nicolette can tell us that.”
“I’m not off to a very good start with her. I took some… liberties last night.”
“I know,” Gabrielle answered, unable to meet his gaze.
“Not what you’re thinking!” he snapped. “But Nikki seems to believe the worst and is terrified by what she imagines happened.”
Gabrielle looked at him oddly. Was Laffite lying to her, or had he really not made love to Nicolette? And, if he hadn’t, why on earth not? The man’s logic confounded her.
“It’s only natural for her to be frightened right now. She’s been through so much, and just when she thought her life was moving in its natural flow at last. But take my advice, Jean. Let her think what she will for the moment. It may be to your advantage.”
He stared at her for several moments. What could she mean? She actually wanted her niece to believe he’d ravaged her while she slept? But hadn’t his first inclination been the same—to take the blame himself rather than letting her know what Silas Browne had done to her?
“What if I’m in love with her?” he asked suddenly.
“Then I’d say you’re a lucky man, Captain Laffite.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “And I’d say that my niece is even luckier!”
She left him with those words.
His tormented expression wrenched her heart. She hoped Nicolette would find it in her heart to love this man. Laffite needed someone to add a soft side to his hard, lonely seafarer’s life… to make up for all the pain of his past.
Chapter Four
The next week followed in a procession of sun-warmed spring days ripening into the fullness of a semitropical Louisiana summer.
Gabrielle watched Laffite and Nicolette closely, hoping for some sign that the pair would experience a blossoming of deep emotions to match the greening of the island. But perhaps she’d hoped for too much.
Jean went about courting Nicolette in the accepted Creole fashion. He refused to be alone with her any longer, requiring Sukey or Gabrielle in attendance as dueñas whenever he and Nikki were together. He brought her bouquets of wildflowers, gave her small impersonal gifts, said the proper inane things, and, in general, kept his maddening distance, to Gabrielle’s way of thinking.
Nicolette responded in the manner of her upbringing. She smiled at him when required, offered demure thanks for his presents and flowers, answered his small talk with more of her own, and worked constantly at suppressing what she thought of as her shameless longing to taste his lips again.
To Gabrielle DelaCroix, they seemed like two actors playing assigned roles, taught carefully not to deviate from the written dialogue and prescribed actions. She complained bitterly to Reyne Beluche about his nephew’s impeccable manners. “Why doesn’t he simply sweep her into his arms and melt that simpering facade she’s thrown up as a barrier between them?”
The uncle replied with a teasing grin, “They don’t call Jean Laffite ‘the gentleman smuggler’ for nothing, Gabi!”
On the afternoon of April 30, the whole region of Barataria—from the islands in the Gulf up through the bayous—throbbed with preparation and excitement. To mark the first anniversary of the admission of Louisiana to the Union as its eighteenth state, the Baratarians planned a party on the beach, complete with barbecue, dancing, and fireworks after the sun went down.
Gabrielle sat at the far side of the spacious parlor that afternoon, absently alternating between working at her needlepoint and stirring the sticky heat with a palmetto fan. She’d tried concentrating on the conversation between Laffite and Nicolette, but soon found it so boring she almost nodded off. Perhaps, she thought, we should return to New Orleans. This simply isn’t working out!
Nicolette sat perfectly straight in a tapestry-covered chair, her ramrod backbone six inches away from its medallion back. The girlish smile on her face was frozen in place. These sessions had become a trial for her. She nodded occasionally as her proper suitor discussed music and literature. It was as if nothing had happened between them.
Had she imagined the fire in his kisses that night she arrived on Grande Terre? Had he really shared her bed not so long ago? Perhaps she had dreamed it all. Surely, if he had made love to her, she must have been found lacking!
She sighed deeply without realizing she’d done so. Laffite was out of his chair instantly, concern etched in his face as he asked, “Are you feeling all right, mademoiselle?”
The fact that he addressed her so formally instead of using her given name suddenly pricked Nicolette’s ire beyond endurance. She flounced out of the uncomfortable seat and said almost harshly, “No, Monsieur Laffite! I am not feeling well at all! If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure my aunt will fill in for me and listen to your endless chatter.”
Before Laffite or Gabrielle could say a word in response to Nicolette’s outburst, she had fled the room, furious tears staining her cheeks.
Laffite looked crestfallen. “What did I say?”
“My dear boy, you’ve said nothing worth listening to since you set out on this senseless courting campaign! What have you been trying to prove? That you’re capable of boring my niece and myself to distraction? Do you think for one instant that you’ve fooled us into believing that this is the real Jean Laffite? I’m sure Nikki feels by this time that she would be as well off with any man her father might pick for her. What is the purpose of this charade you’ve been playing, Jean? Or have you decided you don’t care for my niece after all and this is your method of driving her away?”
“Don’t care for her?” he blasted. “My God! I haven’t slept in weeks just knowing that she’s under the same roof. I take three cold baths a day to try and put down the rebellion of my own body. Tight britches were not designed for unrequited passion, madame! So what do you expect me to do? Haul her off into the dunes and ravish her?”
Gabrielle chuckled softly. “That might not be a bad idea. Certainly more effective than the heading you’ve set out on.”
His voice softened. “You know I can’t do that, Gabrielle. I care for her too deeply. She’s been through so much. I don’t want to frighten her or hurt her. I love her too damn much for that.”
“You know she thinks you bedded her that first night. She confided her suspicions to me only yesterday and said she suspected you found her a poor piece since you’ve made no further attempts on her virtue.”
“God! I can’t do anything right!” He stamped across the room and slapped his fist against the heavy wood mantel. “I actually set things up that first night to make her believe what she does… to protect her, I told myself. I want her so bad I can’t think straight. Every time I’m near her it’s torture! And I thought I’d lost her for sure. Now you’re telling me she wants me?”
“Well, I’m certain she wanted the Jean Laffite who kissed her on the levee in New Orleans and the one who came to her room our first night here. But you’ve forced yourself into this posturing mold that isn’t at all a good fit. Try being yourself, Jean. See what happens.”
Gabrielle gave him a reassuring smile before she left the room to find her niece. She’d given one of the lectures she’d been suppressing for days. Now she had other words of wisdom to impart to Nicolette.
Jean Laffite continued to pace the wide board floor of the parlor, his mind a maelstrom of uncertainty. How could he really know if Nicolette felt anything for him? What if he rushed ahead with a false move and alienated her forever? Could he bear to live without her?
“Damn it all, I’ve got to take that chance!”
He turned on his heel and headed determinedly down the wide hall toward Nicolette’s room. He knocked, but didn’t wait for an answer before he threw the door wide. Gabrielle was stopped in mid-sentence, Nicolette in mid-undress. She snatched up her lavender tissue silk gown from the king’s bed to hide the erect nipples peek
ing through the transparent batiste of her basque.
“If you please, Monsieur Laffite, I’m not dressed!” Nicolette said angrily.
Laffite gave her a nonchalant look and answered, “I’ve seen you in less,” then turned to her aunt. “I’d like a word with Nikki… alone!”
Gabrielle smiled, nodded, and left them before her niece could protest.
Laffite, his face now as darkly intense as storm clouds over the bayou, slammed the door shut and moved toward Nicolette.
She backed away until she ran out of floor space at the far wall. He eliminated the distance between them in two long strides.
“There will be no more chaperones!” he thundered. “Only the two of us… and the business at hand.”
Nicolette could feel his breath on her cheek, he stood so close. He scorched her with his hot, probing gaze. She felt like a nervous hare, hypnotized by the predatory stare of a snake, frozen to inaction, her limbs gone so weak that she couldn’t flee, even if quarter were granted. She experienced, at the same time, excitement and terror at his sudden show of dominance.
He snatched away the gown she was hiding behind. Then, slowly, his hands moved up her arms. Still holding her in a firm grasp, he let his eyes travel over her. They stopped at her peaked breasts. One hand cupped a firm mound, raising it, caressing it. He leaned forward and Nicolette gasped as she felt his lips brush the bare flesh above the top of her basque.
The room was silent except for his heavy breathing and the pounding of her heart. They seemed suspended in the vivid tongues of sunlight streaming through the window.
“I want you,” he said in a voice tense with desire.
When she didn’t answer, he pulled her to his body suddenly and held her so tightly that she had trouble catching her breath. Her heart’s regular beat seemed to be saying, Please… please… please…
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