Reckless Seduction

by Jane Feather

  “My patience is wearing a little thin,” he warned, and her skin jumped in alarm as she felt his hand, flat and warm, come to rest on her buttocks.

  “Let me up,” she said. “I will tell you what I said. There is no need to hold me down and threaten me.”

  Dominic gave a short and not very pleasant laugh. “You had better have a reasonable explanation, my meddlesome, prying, little spy, or I shall do a great deal more than threaten.” But he removed his knee, allowing her to turn over and sit up. While the danger was far from receding, at least she did not feel quite so vulnerable.

  “I was not spying,” she protested. “And I am sorry I asked. I did not realize it would upset you.”

  “What was the question?” he repeated inexorably.

  Damn the man! Why did he have to have such an appalling and unpredictable temper? She never knew when a casual remark would arouse it, and she’d be knee-deep in quicksand. “I asked who Rosemarie is,” she said, meeting his eyes. “And I do not understand why that should be so upsetting.”

  “And just where did you hear that name?” he inquired, planting his hands on his hips, sublimely indifferent to his nakedness which did nothing to lessen the menace in the coiled tension of his stance.

  Genevieve licked suddenly dry lips. “I was looking at the books in your cabin on Danseuse,” she explained hesitantly. “I did not think you would not like it. You did not tell me not to touch them.” She shrugged helplessly, and when he offered no signs of reassurance, she continued stoicly. “There was a volume of Latin verse—Catullus. He’s one of my favorite poets.” Was there just the faintest hint of a melt in those iceberg eyes? “There was an inscription in the front. I couldn’t help but read it. I am sorry if it was wrong, but I was not spying, really I was not.”

  “Why did you not ask me about it before?” To her inexpressible relief, she saw that the frown accompanying the question was curious rather than threatening, and the tension had left his body.

  “I did not remember to,” she said frankly. “I forgot all about it until just now.”

  A slight smile touched his lips. “Perhaps you are not irredeemably inquisitive after all.” He brushed the tip of her nose with a manicured forefinger. “I was a little harsh. I am sorry. I made an overhasty judgment based on previous experience of your capacity for delving into matters that do not concern you.”

  Genevieve was not at all sure how to respond to an apology that really did not qualify as such. He had turned away and was pouring wine into two glasses. One he handed to Genevieve. Then, still without bothering to clothe himself, he found a cigar from the pocket of his coat and lit it, smoking in a thoughtful silence for a few minutes.

  “Rosemarie was my wife,” he said eventually, his tone even, as if he were imparting a piece of information that had nothing to do with him at all. Genevieve’s jaw dropped, but she kept silent, praying that he would continue of his own accord, for if he did not, she knew she would not dare to question him.

  “It was not a match that met with approval from either family,” he went on, his eyes strangely blank as if he were looking into some other existence. “I was twenty and a Delacroix. She was seventeen and an American—the daughter of a merchant.” Genevieve needed no expansion. A Creole aristocrat and the daughter of an American shopkeeper would be considered impossible marriage partners. “We eloped.” His lips quirked in a sardonic, self-mocking smile. “It did not occur to either of us that one could not live on love alone. My family disinherited me, and Rosemarie’s father said that he would accept her back into the fold on condition that the marriage was annulled.”

  Genevieve sat on the edge of the bed, breathless with the need to hear the rest, desperate at the thought that the story would end there and she would never find out because she would never be able to ask.

  But he continued, his words clipped, no emotion in his voice. “So, with a pregnant wife to support and a living to earn, I took to the high seas. An apprentice privateer under Claude Tourcelle.” A blue-tinged smoke ring wreathed in the air above his head. “I found it as entertaining a business as it proved to be lucrative, and came home full of self-importance with a pocket full of ducats and a trunk of the finest silks for Rosemarie, and a tongue bursting to regale her with the tales of my adventures.” A bleak look shivered in his eyes, bleak with a disdain that was clearly self-directed. “Rosemarie had died some two weeks earlier giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Out of loyalty to me, she had not sought the help of her own family, and had known better than to seek aid from mine. So she died without medical attention, except what was offered by an incompetent, self-styled midwife.”

  Genevieve wanted to reach out, to take his hand, to hold his head against her breast as the pain of relived memory now throbbed in his voice, hung in his eyes. But she did not know whether the comfort would be accepted. Perhaps it would be seen as yet further unwarranted interference. Dominic was so hard to understand, and the one thing she knew with absolute clarity was that she must not make the wrong move at this moment.

  “The Delacroix were more than happy to welcome the prodigal son back to the fold after his unsuccessful little adventure of love.” The bitterness burned like acid, and she shivered but still kept silent. “I decided that I preferred the life of a privateer—infinitely preferred it to the oiled hypocrisy that was the alternative. And, until you made your presence felt in my life, Genevieve Latour, I had never found room for another woman in those areas of that life not directly related to the simple fulfillment of mutual physical pleasure.”

  She went to him, then, slipping her arms around his waist, hugging him with an undemanding warmth, wishing that she were taller and generally larger and stronger so that she could somehow encompass him physically with her loving comfort. But he seemed to understand and to draw comfort, his hand stroking the ash-blond silk resting against his chest as the tautness left his body.

  “You are a very little thing, sprite,” he said softly. “But you have a very generous spirit. I was not at all kind to you, was I?”

  “I do find you a little intimidating, sometimes,” she confessed with a little laugh. “But I suppose I have earned the reputation for going where angels fear to.”

  “The auction block, and voodoo ceremonies, and the lower deck of a privateer …” he mused, but she could hear the rich chuckle lurking in the depths of the bland voice. “I have never met a woman like you, mon coeur, and that is very dangerous for both of us.”

  He had called her mon coeur again. She didn’t think he had noticed, and she tried to control the sudden wild pounding of her blood, to say naturally, “Why dangerous?”

  “Women and piracy do not go together, Genevieve.”

  “But that last voyage?” She raised her head, her eyes shining with memory. “There were only one or two moments when it was inappropriate for me to be there.”

  Dominic sighed. “Disreputable hoydens and piracy are one thing, ma chère. You cannot be forever a disreputable hoyden, and I am never going to be able to settle to an earthbound life.”

  Genevieve frowned. “I think you are jumping to too many conclusions. I would never expect you to settle to an earthbound life. It is the last thing I want for myself. Why cannot we simply enjoy what we are for as long as it is good for both of us?”

  “And when it ceases to be good for one or both of us?” he queried quietly, continuing to stroke her hair.

  “Then, we part—amicably and without regret. Each taking responsibility for themselves.”

  “You are still a child, sprite.” But he said it gently, as if unwilling to hurt her. “Such ideal prescriptions rarely come to pass. There is hurt and anger and confusion, and a legacy of bitterness that takes too long to lose its sting. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  “It will not,” she said fiercely, burying her head against his chest, inhaling his wonderful, familiar fragrance. “I am not the child you think me, Dominic. I take responsibility for my own happiness.”

&n
bsp; “Such confidence,” he murmured, tossing his cigar stub into the fire and lifting her into his arms. “I envy you the convictions of naivity, my Genevieve. But disillusion will come eventually. Until it does, or until circumstances intervene, we will enjoy what we have.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was a cool, pleasant Sunday morning in December when Victor Latour dropped his bombshell. He came into the salle de compagnie where his wife, Genevieve, and Nicolas were warming their hands at the fire after their obligatory sojourn in the drafty church of St. Louis.

  “I have something I wish to say to you two.” He indicated Nicolas and Genevieve. “Come into the cabinet.” With no further expansion, he walked out of the parlor.

  Nicolas looked alarmed and Genevieve glanced at the nervous Hélène. “What have we done? Do you know?”

  Her stepmother shook her head. “He has said nothing to me. I do not think he is angry, though. He did not sound it.”

  “He will be if we don’t hurry up,” Nicolas said with absolute truth. “After you, cousin.” With a mock bow, he gestured toward the doorway.

  “I think, in this case, such chivalry is actually unchivalrous,” Genevieve said with a grin. “You should surely enter his lair first. Being so much bigger and stronger!”

  “Now, Genevieve, do try not to antagonize your father,” Hélène pleaded. “If he is not in the mood for levity …”

  “He is never in the mood for levity,” her irrepressible stepdaughter chuckled. “I should be surprised if he knows the meaning of the word.”

  “Come on,” Nicolas urged impatiently, pushing her toward the hall. “I have a luncheon engagement which I do not wish to miss.”

  “Mademoiselle Benoit?” Genevieve inquired sweetly.

  “None of your business.”

  They reached the cabinet that served as Latour’s private office when he conducted his domestic affairs. It was not a room that either of them cared for, redolent as it was of painful scenes of the past. The door stood open, and Victor was seated behind his massive carved desk, riffling through a sheaf of papers.

  “Shut the door,” he instructed. “I do not wish the entire household to hear what I have to say.”

  Genevieve closed the door and adopted her customary posture in this room, hands clasped behind her, eyes on the floor. Nicolas, she noticed with an inner chuckle, had a remarkably similar stance.

  “Sit down,” Latour said brusquely.

  Genevieve and her cousin exchanged startled looks. Neither of them could remember ever having been invited to sit down in the patriarch’s cabinet. They sat hesitantly on the straight-backed, leather chairs facing the desk and waited.

  “It is time I considered naming an heir,” Victor announced into the expectant quiet. Nicolas’s head shot up. It had always been assumed that, in the absence of a son of his own, Victor would make his heir the son of his distant cousin, the child he had brought up from babyhood, trained in the shipbuilding business and the management of the sugarcane plantation. But nothing had ever been said.

  “It does not suit me,” Victor said with his customary lack of softness, “to have my property inherited by one who is not a child of mine.” His eyes rested on Genevieve, but she had herself well in hand, and her features were schooled to an expression of polite interest. “However, a woman is not competent to handle such an inheritance, even if she does spend an inordinate amount of time with her head in her books in the convent.”

  Genevieve remained unmoving, but she could sense the slight relaxation in Nicolas at these words. “So,” Victor said, “I have decided upon a compromise which should prove satisfactory to all concerned. You will marry Genevieve, Nicolas, and will thus receive all the benefits of my heir, and Genevieve’s children will inherit in their turn. You are capable of managing the plantation and the shipyard and will continue to do so, receiving payment in the form of my daughter and her inheritance.”

  “And what does your daughter receive from this?” Genevieve’s voice shook at the enormity of her father’s proposal. She stood up, caution flown to the four winds, her face milk white, the tawny eyes huge and blazing.

  “First and foremost, a husband,” Victor told her shortly. “It is every girl’s ambition, after all, and it is time you stopped gadding about and settled down. In addition, you will be sole heir to all the Latour property, and your children after you.”

  “I cannot believe this! I have no intention of marrying anyone at the moment, and never Nicolas!” She swung round on her cousin who looked as bloodless as if he had seen a ghost. “Nicolas does not wish to marry me. Do you?” When there was no immediate response, she took him by the shoulders. “Say something, for godssake! Madeleine Benoit, remember?”

  “Enough!” roared Victor, rising in his turn, his face suffused. “There will be no talk of that match under my roof. If you wish to marry that insignificant little dab with not a penny to her name, then do so, but never come within my sight again!”

  Still Nicolas said nothing. Genevieve shook him and his eyes focused slowly. Her heart sank as she stared incredulously. He was not going to stand up and fight. With a mutter of absolute disgust, she turned away from him and faced her father. “I am not going to marry Nicolas, Papa. I do not mind whom you name as your heir; it is a matter of indifference to me.” She went to the door, but Victor bellowed at her to stay where she was and she stopped, her hand on the doorknob, feeling its porcelain coolness against her palm. There was no point walking away from this; it would only pursue her.

  “You will do as I tell you, mademoiselle,” Latour hissed, coming around the desk. “You are my daughter, and you will accept the authority of your father, or by God, I will compel you to do so.”

  “You cannot compel me into a repugnant marriage,” she said, standing her ground although all her instincts told her to fly. “We do not live in the Middle Ages.”

  “Why would it be repugnant?” Nicolas spoke for the first time, and she spun around. He was still pale, but quite composed, as if he had reached some difficult decision. “We know each other very well, and we do not dislike each other. I can think of worse bargains.”

  “Can you?” The mocking inquiry was laced with contempt. “Perhaps I should be flattered. But, I am afraid, cousin, that I cannot think of a worse bargain.”

  Victor Latour exploded, and she stood still as the storm raged around her, making no move, no sound that might increase the fury of the torrent and lead him to augment the violence of his words with action. But at last, he ran out of steam and stopped, breathing heavily in the small room, one hand pressed against his heart. He was too exhausted to tell them to get out of the room, but his hand flicked toward the door and the cousins beat a rapid retreat.

  “Coward!” Genevieve accused fiercely as they reached the hall. “You would sacrifice Madeleine for money! You are despicable!”

  Nicolas laughed without humor. “And how am I supposed to live with a paltry two thousand piasters to my name? Tell me that, my brave, crusading cousin. I could not condemn Madeleine to such a life, and she has nothing. Her grandmother barely has enough to maintain them with any degree of respectability.”

  “Perhaps you should take up piracy,” Genevieve heard herself mutter, and then bit her lip. It had just slipped out under the bitter, involuntary comparison of Dominic Delacroix and Nicolas St. Denis in similar circumstances. Fortunately, Nicolas did not seem to have heard.

  “If you will think about it unemotionally for a minute,” he said, “you will see that it has some advantages. A marriage of mutual convenience that will grant us both independence. I am sure he can be persuaded to allow us to live under our own roof, and I will not interfere with you. If you do not wish to go into society, you need not. You may do exactly as you please. In what other marriage would that be so?” He looked at her shrewdly. “Unless there is more to this than I thought. Are your affections, perhaps, engaged elsewhere?”

  Genevieve shook her head. Her affections were not respectab
ly engaged elsewhere, not engaged with a possible husband in a potentially lasting commitment, which was what Nicolas meant.

  “Then think about it,” he said urgently. “I give you my word that I will not impose anything upon you. You may do what you please within the limits of discretion.”

  Such as continue to have an affair with a privateer, Genevieve thought, leaving him without a further word and going up to her chamber. If Nicolas refused to stand up for his own rights, she would have a much harder fight upon her hands, and Victor was never subtle in the methods he used to achieve his objectives. There was no knowing what his next step would be. All the while she was thinking, she was dressing in her quadroon’s disguise, and it was only when she was ready that she realized that she had made no conscious decision to see Dominic. It was just something that she had to do, the only person she could turn to. A thick woolen shawl swathing her figure, she left her room, locking the door and pocketing the key. If they thought she had locked herself in her chamber after this morning’s scene, no one would attempt to disturb her until her father decided to renew the attack. She sped down the gallery stairs and through the side gate.

  Once in the street, she paused and wondered where to go first in search of Dominic. He would not be in Rampart Street since they had made no arrangements to meet today. Not unless he used the convenient house with some other mistress. For some reason, Genevieve did not think so. It had been one thing with Angelique, but she had a feeling he now kept the house just for them. She had no evidence for such delicacy of feeling on his part, but the house carried no sense of other occupants. She could try Maspero’s, and if he was not there, then she would do what she had never before done and go to his house on Chartres Street. He would understand why she had taken such an unprecedented step when she explained the situation.