“What do you think I’ve been doing, you little fool? I have stayed away, trying to ignore the desire that gnaws at me every time I see you. Do you know what it has been like having you here, within reach, yet unreachable? Unlike the man of your dreams, I am flesh and blood, so I suggest you go into your room now, petite, and close your door. And lock it, for I’m no saint,” he concluded dangerously.
“And I’m not a child,” she raged, refusing to retreat. “I am a woman, Alain de Vallière, and I want to be treated like one.”
“My pleasure,” he said hoarsely, driven to the brink of fury by her words. Sweeping her up into his arms, he kicked the door fully open and carried her into the bedroom. “Is this what you had in mind?”
Breathless, aroused, and a little frightened, Simone could not find her voice to answer as she was borne to the bed in strong arms.
Placing one knee on the bed, Alain put her down with surprising gentleness, then stretched out on top of her. She could feel his full length pressing against her as he braced himself on his elbows so he would not crush her, his forearms forming a tender cage on either side of her head as he dipped his head to kiss her.
“Is this what you wanted, chère, to be treated like a woman?” The anger was gone from his voice.
He watched her intently through the darkness. Almost fearfully, she met his dark eyes. Staggered by the yearning he saw, Alain lifted her to meet his fiery kiss. His mouth slanted across hers, taking insistent possession. She responded with an intensity to match his own, wrapping her arms around him.
After a moment, he drew back to look at her in wonder. Her face had lost its earlier uncertainty, and she looked up at him, her eyelids heavy with desire. Trailing kisses along her jaw to her ear, he asked huskily, “Do you want me, Simone?”
“Oui,” she whispered, her fingers feathering lightly along his spine, creating delightful spasms of sensation.
“And I want you,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair. “I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you at Lisette’s. But when I learned you were a virgin, I couldn’t take you. Just as I can’t take you now, though all of me cries out for relief.” He rolled to lie beside her on the bed, struggling for control.
Simone lay still, rigid at his rebuff, as he sat up and said hoarsely, “If I take you this way tonight, I fear you will hate me, and yourself, in the morning. And I don’t think I could bear it.”
Looking down at her, he knew he had to go before he gave in to what his body demanded. “We will talk in the morning, my darling, when I—and you—can think straight. Bonne nuit.”
His lips brushed her forehead, and then he was gone, leaving her miserable and aching with a strange, hollow emptiness.
Simone hoped she was too late for breakfast and for Alain’s promised talk. She was not sure she could face him after her brazen behavior the night before.
“Bonjour, sleepyhead,” he greeted her in the dining room.
“Bonjour.” She sank into her chair without meeting his eyes.
“I was beginning to think I would have to wake you if I wanted to speak to you before I left for the day.” His tone was casual as he filled a coffee cup and slid it across the table toward her.
“Merci,” she muttered, staring down at it with exaggerated interest.
Alain watched her toy studiously with her spoon, then he ordered softly, “Simone, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she lifted her troubled gaze to his and found his eyes held concern, not judgment. In fact, he said approvingly, “You look lovely this morning.”
“Merci,” she said, suddenly shy.
“We need to talk, you and I,” he said.
“I’m sorry about last night, Alain,” she blurted out.
“I’m not.” He smiled unabashedly. “Now I know you want me as much as I want you. And I do want you, Simone, for my wife.”
“Your wife?” She stared at him through wide eyes.
“Oui. I love you. Will you marry me?”
She wanted to cry out in joy, to accept at once. But she could not. The words of the voodoo queen returned to haunt her. Loving Alain would bring danger to him. “I... You must give me some time, ‘Lain.”
“If you wish.” He had thought, somehow, after last night it would be easier. Rising, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Think on my proposal while I’m gone and know that I love you.”
“I will,” she promised, reaching out to smooth his lapel in an unthinking, intimate gesture.
He captured her hand and kissed the palm tenderly. “Until this evening,” he murmured, unable to resist another kiss in farewell.
“Until this evening,” she echoed breathlessly as he departed.
It was not until Alain walked away from the house along the sunny banquette that he realized she had not said she loved him.
Throughout the day, Simone pondered her problem, deciding at last that she was not a superstitious person. Voodoo magic made no difference. She loved Alain.
She prepared a special meal, dismissed Batiste for the evening, and dressed in a pale green silk gown she knew Alain would like. When she was ready, she started downstairs to await his return.
Passing his study door, she heard voices and stopped. The deep voice could only be Alain’s. She hadn’t heard him come in. The other voice belonged to Serge, and he was saying, “Why did you never mention you had found your little ward?”
“It never came up,” Alain answered blandly. “What did Baudin say?”
“He agrees to meet at dawn at the Dueling Oaks, but he insists first blood is not enough.”
“Then it will be to the death.”
Simone threw the door open and glared at the two men, who turned to her in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me Marcel was back, Alain?” she demanded.
“He only returned today.” He set his drink on the mantel and walked toward her.
“And you wasted no time in challenging him. Please don’t fight him. I don’t want you to.”
“Serge, this is the reason I didn’t mention finding Simone.” Taking her arm, he led her to stand before the fencing master.
Serge regarded her incredulously, then in amazement. “Jean-Paul,” he breathed. “But . . . but... No wonder you did not want anyone to know, Alain. The girl could be ruined after living in my salle.”
“You do not have to talk about me as if I am not here, maître,” she informed him even as she curtsied politely. “Bonsoir. It’s good to see you again.”
Serge smiled ruefully. “I must say, you’ve become an even finer lady than you were a fencer, little one. And curls and gowns become you more than swords. But why ever did you come to my salle?”
“I was trying to evade Marcel Baudin’s notice, and Alain’s.”
“You did not do so well in the latter, I think. Though I must say, you had me fooled. I feel like a buffoon to have mistaken a pretty girl for a little boy.”
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to insult you.”
“Have no fear, mam’selle. I would not challenge a woman to satisfy my wounded dignity. Besides when you fight, you are a--”
“A spitfire?” she supplied coldly. “I believe that’s what you once called me. If you’ll pardon me...” She stalked from the room.
“Jean-Paul had big ears,” Alain told the bewildered man, “and he listened to many of our conversations. My own words still come back to haunt me.”
“It seems to me, mon ami, that you have a bigger problem than Jean-Paul’s ears. I will see myself out and leave you to deal with la belle Simone. Until dawn, at the Oaks.”
CHAPTER TEN
When Serge had gone, Alain’s thoughts returned to his confrontation with Marcel. He had met the handsome Creole in Exchange Alley that morning. Marcel had returned to New Orleans only the day before. Fresh from his bedside vigil with his mother, who had lingered beyond all expectation, he was restless and irritable.
“What do you want, de Vallière?” he had snarled when Alain hailed him.
<
br /> “You and I have a matter of some importance to settle, Baudin, on the field of honor,” Alain said without preamble.
“I have no idea what matter you mean.” Marcel’s silky voice had been menacing nonetheless.
“You have made repeated threats toward my ward, Mademoiselle Simone Devereaux.”
“Your—your ward? You bastard! You’ve been hiding her all the while I’ve looked for her, haven’t you?” Marcel screamed in rage. “I’ll meet you under the Dueling Oaks, and I’ll kill you. Simone is mine.”
“She belongs to no one, yet,” Alain rapped out. “But I hope to make her my wife.”
Marcel laughed insinuatingly. “I said I would make her my mistress, and I will. But even I wouldn’t seduce her with fraudulent promises of marriage.”
“I intend to marry her, Baudin,” Alain said stonily.
“Not if you’re dead, de Vallière.”
“My second will call on you this afternoon,” Alain had responded coldly. Then he had gone into the salle d’armes to ask Serge to serve as his intermediary in the complicated negotiations that followed a challenge. Finally he had visited his attorney, Dominique Cuvillion.
Though he was now weary, Alain could not rest until he reassured Simone. As he tried to collect himself, mentally rehearsing what he would say to her, he faltered. His own fate was too uncertain to press for an answer to his proposal now. But just once he longed to hear Simone speak the words he wanted to hear. He needed to know she loved him.
Hearing a light tread outside, he opened the study door to discover her, wrapped in a black cloak, stealing down the stairs. She stared at him guiltily as he stepped out onto the gallery and demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Lifting her chin resolutely, she returned his fearsome glare. “I am going to see if I can talk some sense into Marcel.”
“Are you mad?” Alain was at her side on the stairs in an instant. “You would hand yourself over to him after all you’ve been through—all we’ve been through—to keep you safe?”
“If it will keep him from killing you.” She gnawed a bloodless lower lip to keep her composure.
“Thank you for your unflagging confidence in me,” he snapped, “but you are not going anywhere.” Dragging her upstairs, he thrust her into her room. “You will stay in this house if I have to sit on you to keep you here.”
“You overgrown simpleton!” She ducked under the arm blocking the door and nearly escaped.
“Ah, tender words from my beloved, how sweet they are to the ear,” he muttered grimly. Catching her by the wrist, he yanked her back and closed the door. “Get rid of this,” he advised, loosening the tie at the neck of her cloak and watching the garment fall to the floor. “You are not going anywhere.”
“You don’t understand,” she seethed, prying at his fingers.
“No, I don’t,” he said flatly. By simply flexing his arm, he hauled her close to his chest so her feet almost left the floor. “How can you think I would allow you to live in fear of Marcel when I have it in my power to protect you? For months we’ve waited for this. After tomorrow, you’ll be free.”
“Or you’ll be dead.” She dissolved unexpectedly into deep, wrenching sobs. “Marie LeVeau told me I would bring danger to the ones I loved. Don’t you see, Alain? I cannot let you go.”
The scowl on his face was gradually replaced by the dawning of hope. He relaxed his grip on Simone’s arm but did not release her. Placing his other arm around her shoulders, he drew her against him gently. “Are you telling me that you love me?”
“Of course, I love you,” she wept. When he freed her wrist, she slid her arms around his waist and buried her face between the lapels of his jacket.
“I love you, too, mon amour,” he murmured. “Don’t cry, not over some silly voodoo nonsense.”
“Alain, I do not want to take the chance that Marcel might kill you.” Her voice was muffled against his broad chest.
“He won’t kill me, especially now that I know I have every reason to live.” Tilting her face toward him, he kissed each eyelid lovingly, savoring the salt of her tears, before seeking her mouth.
When Alain’s lips left hers at last, Simone drew a calming, hiccuping breath and nestled closer. Smiling fondly, he went to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping an arm around her waist. She regarded him uncertainly for a moment and, reassured by the tenderness she saw, twined her arms around his neck and lifted her face for another kiss.
Joyfully he obliged her and felt a shudder of arousal when her tongue met his, timidly at first, then with more boldness. He laid his big hand against the smoothness of her cheek, his thumb tracing delicate circles on her chin.
He leaned back on the bed, never allowing his lips to part from hers, then rolled so she lay next to him. His hand drifted downward, pausing to stroke the warm, soft skin of her neck before sliding down to the pliant mounds below.
At the intimate touch, Simone gasped, her breath mingling with Alain’s, and laced her fingers in his hair. Her body arched reflexively, and her tingling breasts, seemed to swell and strain against the bodice of her gown. Even through the thick layer of satin, his hands on her body were like fire, and they moved lower and lower, igniting a desire that had only smoldered before tonight.
Awed by her response to his caresses, Alain drew back to gaze at her. Her lips were swollen, evidence of their passion. She opened heavy eyelids and looked up at him.
“Please don’t stop,” she whispered entreatingly.
“Do you know what you are asking?” He nearly choked on the question, but he had to ask it. She was so young, so innocent.
“I know.” Her fingertips traced his mouth. “And I believe what you say, that all will be well tomorrow. But when you go, I want you to be certain of my love.”
His dark eyes riveted hers with a look that made her tremble, not from fear but anticipation. Rising, he pulled her up to stand beside him and began to undress her, his fingers made clumsy by uncharacteristic nervousness. Stepping behind her, he cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the long line of hooks down the back of her dress. She felt the cool evening air on her skin when the gown gaped open. Leaning against him, she reveled in his touch as he trailed his fingertips over her shoulders to the exposed curves of her smooth, firm breasts.
Slowly, deliberately, Alain removed her dress. By the dim lamplight, Simone could see the passion in his eyes as she stood before him in only her undergarments. She sought to free him of his jacket and waistcoat, her inexperience exciting him more than proficient dexterity ever had.
Untying the ribbon that held her petticoat in place, he pushed it down over her hips, so it fell to the floor with a whisper of sound. Taking her hand, he helped her step out of it and led her to sit on the bed. He stood beside her, his eyes never leaving hers, as he untied his cravat and dropped it.
Simone’s breath caught in her throat when he removed his shirt, baring the well-defined muscles of shoulders and arms and the impressive mat of black chest hair, which tapered into a line that disappeared into his trousers, leading her eye to the bulge that clearly showed his need for her.
She smoothed his dark hair tenderly as he knelt beside her and removed her shoes. Slowly, he unfastened her garters and rolled her stockings down, his hands caressing her calves. When his intimate task was completed, he rose and pulled her again to her feet, removing her camisole and pantalettes.
Carefully, Alain laid her on the bed and removed the rest of his clothing. The planes and angles of his body gilded by lamplight, he looked down at her.
“Dieu, you are beautiful,” he breathed wonderingly.
“So are you,” she answered, her voice husky with desire.
He joined her on the bed, his expert hands remembering their skill as passion mounted and his mouth claimed hers in ardent possession. She returned his kisses hungrily, molding her body to his, touching him everywhere as he touched her, giving back instinctively as much pleasure a
s she received.
She shuddered and a moan escaped her when he slowed his explorations and poised to enter her.
“Gently, my own,” he whispered against her ear, “it will only hurt for a moment.”
“I’m not afraid,” she answered, and indeed she was not as she began to experience sensations she had never dreamed of.
Holding her against him, Alain pushed his way gently into her waiting, welcoming warmth. As desire burst into white-hot flame, the world around them melted away, leaving only the heat of passion to consume them, to meld them into one.
A long time afterward, as they lay together, limbs intertwined, near sleep, Simone murmured, “Je t’aime, ‘Lain.”
“And I love you,” he whispered, his arms tightening around her. He lay awake for hours, grateful for the gift of herself that Simone had given him and hopeful that she would love him for the rest of their days.
Simone stirred, a mild, unfamiliar soreness in every part of her body. “Alain,” she murmured, the memory of the night just past bringing her fully awake. She reached toward his side of the bed, but he was not there, and the sheets were cold.
Sitting up, she peered through the baire at the dim room. The heavy draperies over the windows made it impossible to tell whether it was night or day. Getting up, she drew on a robe and rushed downstairs in the muted predawn light.
Hearing a sound from the kitchen, she entered hopefully and found a grim-faced Batiste.
“He’s gone,” he said before she could ask.
“Why didn’t he wake me?” Her voice quavered unreliably.
“He said when he looked in, you were sleeping. He hoped to be back before you knew he had gone.”
Simone regarded Batiste uncertainly for a moment. He did not know what had happened last night. Alain had not told even his faithful servant.
“Batiste, we could--” she started.
“I know what you’re going to say, little friend,” the big man interrupted. “It would do no good to follow Alain to the dueling field, and probably harm. I promised him I would keep you here if I had to lock you in your room.”
The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance) Page 16