Reckless Seduction

by Jane Feather

  Somehow, Genevieve managed to walk past him with her head high, although the hot tide of humiliation continued to break over her in relentless waves. The entire episode had taken no more than five minutes, yet she found herself surprised to see that Elise still stood beside the long table where the servant was cutting a length of the cream satin as if nothing untoward had occurred. Elise looked at her sister, and Genevieve read considerable annoyance in the magnificent blue eyes. It was not hard to guess the reason for that annoyance. Genevieve had just had a tête-à-tête with Dominic Delacroix, something Elise had been endeavoring to arrange for days. In Elise’s opinion, it was yet another example of the younger girl’s ability to monopolize events, and for the moment she forgot that she would rather have dropped into a snake pit than have taken her sister’s place with the icily furious Dominic Delacroix. Then she noticed Genevieve’s pallor, the strain in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, and Elise shot an alarmed look at the man walking behind her.

  His face was impassive, eyes unreadable as he reached her. “Forgive me, Mademoiselle Latour, but I have pressing business to attend to. Please feel free to give Marcus whatever instructions you wish as regards the materials.” Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. Elise tried to read some special attention in the gesture, but no amount of self-deception could invest it with anything more than courtesy and, while his lips curved in a smile of sorts, she could derive nothing personal from it. The only satisfaction lay in the fact that he left the courtyard without so much as a glance at Genevieve, who might just as well not have been there.

  “Let us go home, Elise,” Genevieve said in a low voice indicative of her sudden weariness. “You cannot have any further business here.”

  “No, thanks to your interference,” Elise hissed. “Why must you be always meddling? I think it is just that you are envious. You cannot bear me to receive attention that you do not.” She turned away to give Marcus the address to which the materials should be sent.

  The accusation was so far from the truth that Genevieve could have laughed. Had Elise received the attention just bestowed upon her sister, she would be in screaming hysterics. She heard the instructions to Marcus in disbelief. Surely, after the events of this afternoon, Elise was not going to compromise herself further by accepting the privateer’s gift? But then Elise knew nothing except that Dominic Delacroix was courting her, and she probably drew no distinction in the game of gallantry between the gift of a nosegay of violets and materials worth perhaps thirty piasters. Looking at the beautiful, vacuous face, the large, bovine eyes, Genevieve discarded all thoughts of confiding her conviction that Dominic Delacroix was simply using Elise for his own, as yet unrevealed, purpose. She had intended to tell her of the conversation between Nicolas and the privateer that she had overheard last night, but now decided against it. Elise would not believe it, and would probably put it down again to jealousy on Genevieve’s part. The one thing Genevieve knew she could not do would be to reveal what had happened during those dreadful minutes in the storeroom. Such mortification one kept to oneself.

  It was time to confront Nicolas. Without the truth, she was fumbling in the dark, and one thing she had learned this afternoon, if she was to enter the lists against Dominic Delacroix: She would need the brightest illumination, or be utterly lost.

  Chapter Five

  Nicolas paced the apartments in the garçonnière that he had occupied since he had reached puberty. He did not think that he had ever suffered such mortification in those years as he had late this afternoon. Dominic Delacroix, with a blistering tongue, had stripped him of every last vestige of adult dignity, worse even than Victor Latour’s contempt. At least, with the latter, one knew that it was applied indiscriminately. But why should he, Nicolas St. Denis, be held responsible for his young cousin’s damnable meddling? It was not his fault that she had overheard their conversation last night, although Dominic seemed to think he should have known that she was in the cabinet. And it was not his fault that she had insisted on accompanying them to Maspero’s Exchange, either. What excuse could he have found for confining to himself and Elise a supposedly innocent walk about town? Genevieve would have guessed at once that there was a hidden agenda, and once something caught her attention, she worried it to death. Which was exactly what was happening now, and he had to stop it; find some way of allaying her suspicions, or keeping her out of the way. His instructions on this score had been crystal clear, and it would take a braver man than Nicolas to defy the orders of Dominic Delacroix. No threats had accompanied the edict, but those turquoise eyes had contained an expression that sent chills down his spine. He could still see it now.

  A sharp rap at the paneled door interrupted this miserable reverie. “Entrez,” he called, not sorry for the diversion. He was sorry, however, when his visitor marched into the room, closing the door decisively behind her.

  “We have to talk, Nicolas,” Genevieve said in uncompromising accents. “What is between you and Dominic Delacroix? This debt that you must discharge?”

  Nicolas was so taken aback that he made no attempt to deny the charge. What was the point, anyway? He knew what she had overheard. “It is my business,” he said with as much force as he could muster. “A private matter. I am entitled to some privacy, am I not?”

  “That rather depends,” Genevieve stated, perching on the arm of an overstuffed chair and swinging a sandaled foot nonchalantly. “But I think, in this instance, if your business involves others, and they are quite unwitting participants in the affair, then you are not entitled to your privacy. Why is Elise being pursued by the privateer? Why did he wish for an introduction to this house?”

  Nicolas pressed his fingers to his temples, feeling like a hunted animal under this remorseless catechism. “No one is going to come to any harm,” he said weakly. “Dominic wishes to do business with your father, that is all. But he needed to meet him before he could broach the subject, and it seemed more politic that he should do so initially at a social gathering.”

  Genevieve stared incredulously. “Dominic Delacroix doing business with Papa! You have windmills in your head, Nicolas, if you think Papa would agree to such a proposal.”

  Nicolas, who now knew the details of Latour’s reaction to the proposition, held his tongue. But his infuriating cousin continued to look at him expectantly, and he realized that she was waiting for an answer to her first question. “Elise will not come to harm,” he repeated. “I can say no more than that, but you must trust me.”

  “Trust you!” she ejaculated scornfully. “I would not trust you any further than I could throw you, Nicolas, after this business. If you will not tell me the truth, then I shall lay the whole before Papa.”

  Nicolas went the color of chalk. “You would not.”

  “If you force me to, I will,” she said definitely. “I am no tattle tale, as well you know, but something stinks to high heaven around here!” She let the inelegant statement lie between them, watching as her cousin resumed his restless pacing. At last, Nicolas seemed to come to a decision.

  “Why should your father not do business with Dominic? Why, when he buys his merchandise without batting an eyelid, should he consider it beneath him to provide a service for which he would be well paid?” There was a note of venomous anger in the question, and Genevieve began to perceive why Nicolas had lent himself to whatever nefarious business was afoot. He loathed his guardian, who, after all, had never given him reason to do otherwise. “He is not usually so nice when it comes to money, is he?”

  “No,” she agreed neutrally. “But what Creole would enter into an open partnership with such a notorious rogue? It would hardly be gentlemanly, now would it? What does the privateer want of him?”

  “A secluded anchorage on Lake Borgne, near the shipyard where his vessels can avail themselves of the facilities. The place Dominic has decided upon is situated on your father’s plantation.”

  Genevieve pursed her lips in amazement. “He would implicate Papa, then, in his
piracy. Surely you can see that, Nicolas. Papa would be a business partner, aiding and abetting in a business that only this war legitimizes. He would never agree.”

  “He must,” Nicolas said flatly.

  “Why must he?” She looked at him, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

  “Because, my dear little cousin, Dominic Delacroix wants it, and he will be satisfied with nothing less.” Nicolas gave a short laugh. “It is not possible to deny Delacroix.”

  “You do not find it so, at all events,” she said sharply, trying to ignore the little voice that told her Nicolas spoke only the truth. “He holds something over you.”

  “Yes.” Nicolas sighed. “But, believe me, Genevieve, I would not have agreed to play a part in this if I did not know that no harm would be done except that your father would be forced to swallow his pride, for once.”

  She heard Dominic’s voice of the previous evening: I do not recall you were in a position to do otherwise. Deciding, out of charity, not to challenge her cousin’s assertion, she asked, “What lever does he have, Nicolas?”

  “I lost heavily at play,” he told her, relief showing in his eyes as he finally unburdened himself. “I do not know how it happened, but my IOUs totaled more than twenty thousand piasters.” Genevieve gasped. “I was at my wits’ end, Genevieve.”

  “I can imagine,” she said drily. “Were you drunk?”

  “Probably.” Nicolas ruffled his hair in bewilderment. “There was this woman … Oh, I do not know, exactly. I lost my head, could not manage to keep her satisfied however much I spent. She took me to the gaming rooms … I … Oh, well, never mind. It is not a story for your ears.”

  Genevieve could not help her peal of laughter. “You are worried about the propriety of talking to me of whores, in the middle of this squalid little mess?”

  “It is not amusing,” Nicolas said stiffly. “Anyway, one day, when I did not know where to turn, Dominic came up to me in the salle d’escrime. He had bought up all my IOUs, and he wanted only a favor in order to destroy them.” He looked at Genevieve pathetically. “It was such a simple thing to do, Genevieve, just to arrange an introduction to Elise, and an invitation to the house so that he could meet my uncle socially. How could I refuse? Why should I have refused?”

  “Did you know why he wanted this?”

  “I did not ask, at first,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “I was so overjoyed at this stroke of fortune that I did not question my luck.”

  “But then you did find out?” she prompted.

  Nicolas sighed again. “Yes. And I still saw no reason why I should not go through with it. No one was to be hurt.”

  “You keep saying that,” Genevieve mused. “Why do I have the impression that you are trying to convince yourself? I can see your point about Papa. It will do him no real harm to do business with the privateer. In fact, I could enjoy as much as you the prospect of his defeat, but what does the privateer want with Elise?”

  “To … to persuade Latour should he prove reluctant,” Nicolas told her. “He promised me she would—”

  “Come to no harm,” Genevieve interrupted. “Yes, I heard you the first several times. How is Elise to persuade Papa? Her powers are no greater than anyone else’s.”

  Nicolas was silent for long moments, wondering if he could fob Genevieve off with some half truth that would satisfy her sufficiently to ensure her withdrawal from the arena. Thus would Dominic also be satisfied, and Nicolas could breathe easy once again. But creative imagination was not Nicolas’s long suit, and he knew that the longer he tossed ideas around under his cousin’s unnerving gaze, the less chance he had of convincing her that what he finally came up with was the truth.

  “Perhaps I can help,” Genevieve said suddenly. “Elise, for reasons that escape me, appears to find that arrogant bastard appealing. I am sorry if I have shocked you,” she said sardonically, seeing his face. “But there are no other words to describe him.” She could feel her cheeks warm at the memory of this afternoon’s encounter and found herself wondering how it was possible to feel such detestation for someone. Detestation, pure and simple? Was that what she felt? No. Not pure and simple. The recognition brought her up short, and for a minute she was silent. Then she forced her mind back to the subject at hand. “I do not believe that he is encouraging her just for amusement value. So …” Abruptly, her eyes widened. “What a fool I’ve been! I’ve been trying to prevent her from compromising herself, and that is exactly what he wants, isn’t it? Elise Latour, with a slur on her reputation, would be no wife for Don Lorenzo Byaz. I had seen that, but somehow had not taken it as seriously as I should have. You and I know that it is only foolishness on Elise’s part, but it could easily be made to appear much more than that. How is Don Lorenzo to discover his fiancée’s indiscretions? But then Papa will be told first, so that he may save the match by agreeing to work with Monsieur Delacroix. Is that not so?”

  Nicolas nodded eagerly. “It is not so very bad, is it? Elise’s foolishness is largely responsible, after all, and her father will put a stop to it quickly enough. No one will suffer except Victor, who will have to swallow his pride.”

  Genevieve shook her head slowly. “It is not bad enough, Nicolas. An occasional unchaperoned meeting, an inappropriate gift—the idle foolishness of a silly girl. The gossips could get hold of it, perhaps, and Lorenzo would be annoyed, but her true innocence would not be in question, and Papa is not fool enough to give in unless he recognizes the sword of Damocles.” Under the clear-eyed gaze, Nicolas winced. “So,” she said. “How is Elise to be compromised sufficiently for Papa to recognize the sword of Damocles?”

  What could he lose further by telling her? Nicolas thought with weary resignation. He was between the devil and the deep blue sea. Genevieve, when her mind was made up, was as impossible to resist, as impossible to circumvent as Dominic Delacroix. They were two of a kind, the privateer and Nicolas’s little cousin. That realization punctured his weariness and he blinked, as if to dispel the extraordinary concept—the extraordinary truth, rather. A flicker of amusement showed in his eyes, to be instantly, prudently doused. Let Genevieve match her wits against Dominic. Why not? Whoever won, Nicolas’s position could be no worse, so he might as well enjoy the contest.

  “I think that Dominic intends to invite her to an assignation that … that will perhaps be of a longer duration than she had expected,” he explained in roundabout fashion, having no fear that Genevieve would fail to understand him.

  “Overnight?” Outrage flared in the tawny eyes. “And you said he would not harm her!”

  “Nothing will happen to her,” Nicolas protested. “She will spend the night quite innocently. Dominic is no ravisher, Genevieve.”

  “You say that so vehemently, as if it were appalling that such a thought might have entered my head,” Genevieve retorted. “Anyone capable of concocting such a diabolical scheme simply to achieve some minor goal is capable of anything.” And after this afternoon—But that uncompleted thought she kept to herself.

  “It is not a minor goal,” Nicolas protested. “The perfect anchorage has to be utterly secret, with access to the main waterways, and close to facilities for keeping the vessels in good repair. Can you imagine how few places there are that will fulfill all those requirements?”

  “Well, what has he been doing up until now?”

  “His last hiding place was betrayed to the British,” Nicolas said. “There was an ambush, a battle, some of his ships were hit. His fleet at the moment is anchored in the river, but he does not wish to make repairs in public, and obviously he cannot have all his movements take place under the eyes of the entire population of New Orleans. Until he can find another refuge, his activities must be in abeyance.” A nervous smile touched Nicolas’s lips. “He is not a patient man, Genevieve, and cannot abide idleness. He has fixed upon the site on your father’s plantation and will be satisfied with nothing less.”

  “I do not care one way or the other whether
he hides his ships on the plantation,” Genevieve declared, getting to her feet with the determined energy that always alarmed her cousin. “And I do not care if Papa is forced to accede to the privateer’s wishes. He will be well served. But I will not stand aside while Elise is tossed between them like a piece of driftwood. And I still do not understand how you could have lent yourself to such a scheme. Has it occurred to you what Papa will do to Elise, if, because of her foolish vanity, he suffers such a resounding defeat? He will tear her limb from limb.”

  “No, he won’t,” Nicolas said, thankful that on this issue he was sure of his ground. “You are forgetting Lorenzo. Your father could not allow a breath of suspicion to reach him, and he could not possibly revenge himself upon Elise without Lorenzo wanting to know why and what for. No, Victor will simply encourage Lorenzo to hasten the date for the marriage. And that,” he added dourly, “would be no bad thing for anyone. Elise is not safe to be let loose.”

  Genevieve was silent, absorbing this. Nicolas was probably right about Victor’s reactions, she decided. But Elise, if subjected to a night of captivity, whether she was physically unharmed or not, was likely to lose her mind with fright. “We have to stop it, Nicolas.”

  Nicolas heard the “we” with sinking heart. It was one thing to stand aside while Genevieve joined battle with the privateer; quite another to be obliged to participate, particularly in opposition to Delacroix who had already told him in no uncertain terms to remove his meddlesome cousin from the scene in whatever manner necessary. “How do you propose going about such a thing?” he asked, evading the issue of partnership for the moment.

  Genevieve frowned, nibbling her bottom lip. “We cannot tell her, can we?” Nicolas’s headshake was automatic; the question had been really rhetorical. “Could we contrive to remove her from town? Back to the plantation? Or maybe she could go on a visit to someone.”