Midnight Flame

by Lynette Vinet

  Taking a long puff on his cigar, he suddenly realized that perhaps Laurel was a great deal like Challenge. The horse hadn’t taken well to loving gestures but had responded to a firm, nonchalant hand, and maybe Laurel felt the same way. She wanted to make up her own mind and not feel she was being tugged to make a decision. Could the whole answer be to allow her to decide for herself without his interference, and then, he hoped, she would come around to his way of thinking? It was worth a try. From now on, he would quit pestering her to remain at Petit Coteau. He would leave all up to Laurel.

  Yet he worried she would still leave for San Antonio before he could entice her into his bed. Such was life, he realized, and shrugged. However, this was one woman he didn’t intend to let get away.

  ~

  “That Mr. Duvalier is a true gentleman,” Gincie pronounced after Doctor Fusilier’s visit. “I think he likes you. Why ain’t you encouragin’ him back?”

  Laurel glanced up from the window seat where she sat, gazing down at the tranquil scene below her. She had been watching Tony walk away from the house to the fields and realized that she had been staring at him for quite a while. It was only Gincie’s voice that caused her to end her reverie.

  Gincie busied herself with pulling Laurel’s gowns from the chifforobe and shaking out the wrinkles before going downstairs to press them. Laurel left the window seat and sat before the vanity mirror, unable to answer Gincie’s question. She couldn’t tell dear Gincie why she didn’t encourage Tony’s attentions or any man’s. Gincie would be shocked, horrified no doubt, if she learned the truth about the kidnapping. Things were better left alone, Laurel decided. Though she did welcome Tony’s attentiveness and his kindness, she sometimes wanted to scream at him to stop badgering her about San Antonio.

  Gincie paused in the doorway. “Are we or ain’t we goin’ to San Antonio?”

  This time Laurel did answer. “I can’t say, Gincie. Soon, I think. We can’t stay here forever.”

  “You better make up your mind, ‘cause I’m gettin’ tired havin’ to oversee that clumsy Pauline don’t burn your pretty dresses.”

  No sooner had Gincie departed than Pauline came to the door. “You have a guest in the parlor. Mademoiselle Simone Lancier wishes to see you.”

  Laurel told her to tell Simone she would be right down. What did the woman want? Laurel asked herself. She hadn’t seen her since the night of the Mardi Gras dance and had no great desire to see her now. Laurel went to the cheval mirror and appraised her appearance. She found her cheeks to be a trifle pale, and she had grown thin due to her illness. Her hair hung in long dark waves down her back, and she now wished she had the time to pull it into a chignon. With her hair hanging around her face she always looked like a child. Her eyes flickered down the expanse of her body, not particularly caring for the green-and-white-striped gown that made her look more slender. Compared to Simone’s lush curves, she looked like a boy. She had only just regained her appetite, and it would take a few weeks to be back to her former weight. By then Simone Lancier wouldn’t be sitting in Tony’s parlor, waiting for her like a cat ready to pounce on the unsuspecting mouse.

  “Oh, the devil with her!” Laurel muttered and turned in a rush, her skirts billowing behind her like a green-and-white parasol. She wouldn’t allow Simone’s perfectly manicured beauty to intimidate her. As a guest in Tony’s house, she did owe it to his fiancée to be pleasant to her.

  Downstairs Laurel found Simone in the parlor, sipping tea. Upon seeing her, Simone stood up and kissed Laurel on both cheeks. The woman stepped back, appraising Laurel against her own low-cut gown, which rivaled yellow jonquils in the springtime and set off her golden hair and milky-white skin. Apparently Simone found Laurel lacking, for she flashed her a smile whose brilliance was only diminished by the diamond necklace at her neck.

  “I’ve come to see how you are doing. Tony’s cousin, Jean, told me you had been ill. Tony never properly introduced us at the dance, and I thought we should become better acquainted.” Simone sat down on the sofa and patted a place next to her almost as if she owned the furnishings and the house. Laurel purposely chose a chair next to the sofa, not missing the dagger-like glare that Simone threw her. However, when she spoke, her voice sounded honey smooth.

  “You’re aware that I am Simone Lancier and have been a neighbor and friend of Tony’s for years. A very special friend,” Simone reminded Laurel.

  “Tony has never mentioned you.”

  Laurel’s quick response caused Simone to redden with anger or embarrassment, or a combination of the two. But she waved away her discomfort with a hand and made a twittering sound as if she were greatly amused.

  “That Tony is such a ladies’ man, chérie. He has the habit of making a woman feel that she is special. I suppose it would be very ungentlemanly of him to mention me and our ‘special relationship’ to you. You are, after all, only recuperating in his house. Am I to understand that you shall soon be departing Petit Coteau?” Simone sipped her tea and eyed Laurel warily.

  Concealing her aggravation at Simone’s drilling her for information about her status in Tony’s life, Laurel casually stood up and walked to the fireplace. With a possessive hand she stroked the edge of the mantelpiece.

  “I’ve grown quite fond of this house … and Tony. He has been most kind to me during my illness, and I can think of but one way to repay such generosity.”

  Simone’s cup clattered to the floor. Tea splattered on the material of her gown, staining it an ugly shade of brown. She rose quickly, heedless of the gown’s condition.

  “And just how do you intend to repay him, Mademoiselle Delaney?”

  Simone was breathing hard, her bosom nearly popping out of her low bodice.

  “Be warned that I can be a formidable opponent where Tony is concerned.”

  “I had no idea we were in some sort of a game, Simone, but I fail to see what that has to do with the party?”

  “Party?”

  “Yes, the party I intend to throw for Tony,” Laurel said, relishing Simone’s discomfort. “What did you think I was going to do? Seduce him?”

  The color had drained from Simone’s face, leaving it pale and pasty looking. “Don’t try such a tactic with him, otherwise, I shall—”

  The sound of Tony’s voice interrupted Simone. He entered the room, taking in the sight of Simone with tea stains on her gown, and Laurel looking like a candy stick.

  “I believe a party is a wonderful idea. How are you, Simone?” He bent and dutifully kissed her cheek. “I overheard your conversation, and you shall be first on the guest list. Now, I really think you should hurry on home, chérie, before those stains set.”

  “Tony,” Simone began but bit her lip. She shot Laurel a withering glance and nearly ran from the room. When the front door was slammed with a bang, Tony laughed aloud.

  “Simone is up to her old tricks, I see.”

  “She seems to care about you, Tony.” Laurel felt suddenly deflated by this knowledge. Simone must have some feeling for Tony to come here and warn her away from him.

  “Mademoiselle Simone Lancier is a proprietary female, Laurel.”

  “Why shouldn’t she be? You are going to marry her.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “But Jean told me you were.”

  “Jean was wrong, and I have already told Simone I didn’t want to marry her. Have you believed that all this time?”

  Laurel nodded, so numb with relief that he wasn’t going to marry such a woman that she felt giddy and light-headed. She clutched at the back of the chair as the room began to spin and would have fallen except for Tony’s picking her up in his arms.

  “Tony, put me down,” she begged and was forced to wrap her arms around his neck.

  “I told that fool of a doctor that you weren’t well yet. You’re going upstairs to bed.”

  “I am not!”

  “Oui, chérie, you are, and you won’t be allowed downstairs until I say so.”

  “I’
ll come downstairs when I damn well please!”

  Tony’s mirthful laugh echoed through the vestibule and up the stairs to Laurel’s room.

  Gently he laid her on the bed, but she sat up quickly and started to bound from the mattress a large restraining hand on her waist hindered her.

  “Let me up, you bully,” Laurel ranted and strained against his hand. “I won’t be treated like a child.”

  Her gown rode low across her shoulders, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts to Tony’s heated gaze. Laurel watched as the amusement on his face disappeared and desire took its place. She shivered from the intense longing she saw there and was rocked to the core of her being to realize that she felt it, too. Her mind whirled when he sat beside her and stroked her cheek, her neck. Then his hand hovered at the valley between her breasts, and she heard little, throaty sounds of anticipation emanating not from Tony but from herself.

  “You’re definitely not a child, Laurel,” he whispered. “You’re a woman. I want you to be my woman.”

  Slowly, so slowly she felt as if she were watching him in slow motion, his dark head descended to claim the spot, where his hand had hovered, with an earth-shattering possession of his mouth. An arc of sunlight spilled through the window and enveloped them in a golden hue. Laurel felt as if her blood had turned to molten gold. Each kiss, each flick of his tongue across the lush curves of her breasts made her weak. One of his hands pushed away the bodice of her gown, and she felt her breast cupped in a warm embrace. She moaned as his hand discovered a taut nipple and gently caressed it between his strong, sure fingers.

  Tiny gasps of pleasure escaped her. She writhed against him, closing her eyes, and gave herself up to feelings of desire that spiraled within her, seeming to cloud her reason. His mouth soon replaced his hand, and the gentle tugging of his lips against the stiff, rose-hued peaks caused her to clutch at his broad shoulders. Her passion threatened to drown her when his hands moved wantonly down her hips, her thighs, and then she realized he had hiked up her skirt. Her desire-shrouded brain registered that his hand had found that part of her that only one man had fondled, had loved. Tony’s fingers stroked her softness until she thought she would scream with the ecstasy of sensations coursing through her and building to a climax in the moist center of her being. A part of her didn’t want him to continue, but part didn’t want him to stop. She knew this was wrong, yet she felt unable to mutter the words to push him away.

  As on the night of the dance, Tony held her in his thrall. She heard him whisper her name, felt the hot kisses he brandished upon her breasts, and when his fingers entered her, she wantonly arched her back, eagerly meeting them. Somehow, some way, Laurel was transported to the bayou cabin and the hooded man who had made her a woman. With her eyes tightly shut, she imagined that Tony and the man had merged to become one. Somehow the memory of that encounter made the exquisite sensations that gathered in a liquid heat, threatening to inundate her in spiraling hot flames, permissible. Her body was helpless against the man who now worked his sensual magic over her. She wanted to experience the same jolting quivers of ecstasy again. In her mind Tony had ceased to exist, and she was once more writhing in wanton abandon beneath a stranger’s hands.

  And then when the wild pleasure she sought finally crested, her body exploded. Her cries of ecstasy were smothered against Tony’s mouth. His kiss was deep and shook her to the very essence of her being. When she opened her eyes, the image of her phantom lover disappeared. She found Tony staring at her. Laurel colored a vivid shade of red to realize what had just happened between them. Tony’s hand was still joined to her, and he probably could still feel the pleasurable waves of her traitorous body lapping at his fingertips.

  Covering her face with her hands, Laurel felt tears of humiliation gathering in her eyes. What had she done? What must Tony think of her? She couldn’t bear to look at him, because his own face was wreathed in desire for her, a desire she knew could never be fulfilled. She had given her heart to a stranger, and this was the main reason she cried. Tony wasn’t that man.

  Without her fully realizing it, Tony’s fingers slipped away. He gently moved her hands from her face and sat holding them before he spoke.

  “Laurel, do you want me to make love to you?”

  Heaven help her, she thought, but she did. And she couldn’t. Her heart had betrayed her as well. She realized she could respond to Tony, but without love there was nothing. “I’m sorry, Tony. I can’t.”

  “Because of that man?”

  “Yes.” The word sounded as if it had been wrenched from her, and Tony sighed, dropping her hands.

  “I still want you, Laurel. I want to marry you.” He felt as surprised by this admission as Laurel looked. Why he had said such a preposterous thing, he didn’t know. Yet that was what he wanted at the moment. With her lovely eyes awash with tears, the way her dark hair spilled onto her naked breasts, and the memory of her response to him, he could envision her as his wife and the mother of his children. For the first time in his life, he believed he had fallen in love and wanted marriage. Damn that romantic Jean for putting the insane idea in his head in the first place!

  “Will you marry me, Laurel?”

  Laurel considered Tony for a moment. He loved her, and she could see that love on his face for her. When had all of this happened? she wondered. A handsome, wealthy man wanted to marry her. And she knew that she more than likely would come to like making love to him. The past few minutes were proof of that. But she didn’t love him and wouldn’t marry him. She would have to hold part of herself from him, and she decided she must be fair with Tony. He deserved a woman who would give her whole heart to him.

  “I can’t,” she said softly.

  At her answer, he appeared resigned, seeming to sense that the situation was hopeless. Laurel, however, didn’t know that he warred within himself whether or not to tell her that he was her kidnapper. He decided once again that nothing would be gained by this information. She would only hate him when she learned the truth, and he still wouldn’t have won her love.

  Standing up, Tony grinned. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever asked to marry me.”

  “I’m honored,” Laurel told him and with his help pulled down her skirt and fixed her bodice before standing up. “I’m leaving for San Antonio soon. I assure you I feel quite well.”

  “The party is off then. I was looking forward to telling Simone that you and I were to be married.”

  Her beauty took his breath away when she gave him a tiny smile. He thought he would love her for the rest of his life; in fact he knew he would. After meeting Laurel Delaney, he would never marry now. No woman could make him feel the way she did. But she didn’t deserve such a cad for a husband. That was the main reason why he didn’t take her in his arms again or try to change her mind. Perhaps in San Antonio she would meet a nice man and get married and have the children he had hoped to have with her. And this knowledge caused his eyes to harden for a second. He couldn’t bear any man touching her but himself.

  “I hope you’ll be very happy in Texas,” he said coolly and so formally that Laurel wondered what had happened to the man who had so recently had love on his face for her. “When you are ready to leave, tell Picard, my groom. He’ll have a carriage waiting to take you to the stage line. Goodbye, Laurel.”

  Tony turned away and left the room, closing the door stiffly behind him. Laurel stood in the center of the bedroom, her pulse racing. Part of her wanted to run after Tony to agree to his proposal because she had hurt him, and she knew it. But then she couldn’t marry him. He must realize eventually that she had done him a favor.

  Yet, if it hadn’t been for the man who kidnapped her and loved her, she would probably have accepted Tony as her husband. This realization caused her tears to flow, and she cursed that nameless, faceless man for robbing her of her happiness.

  ~

  Laurel had intended to leave as soon as possible, but an early spring thunderstorm, threatening in its intensit
y, had delayed travel. One week later Laurel was still at Petit Coteau. Her relationship with Tony was friendly but distant. Some nights when Jean visited, she sat in the parlor after supper, but as soon as Tony appeared, dressed in his formal attire, off the two cousins would go to Plonsky’s Opera House. Tony never returned until dawn, and she cursed herself for not being able to fall asleep until she heard his horse’s hoofs on the driveway. Probably, she decided, he had spent the night at Simone’s or at a brothel, and she hated herself for being disturbed by this thought. She would almost think she was in love with him.

  To counteract his offhanded treatment of her, she began to take her meals in her room. Gincie wasn’t the least bit pleased by this.

  “You ain’t gonna get a husband by eatin’ in here,” she told her sternly. “Bees get caught with honey, not vinegar. Those hard looks I done seen on your face and Mr. Tony’s ain’t the way to make peace.”

  Laurel had said nothing to her. She couldn’t say anything in her own defense. She had never told Gincie about the incident in the cabin and wouldn’t do so now. She was too close to leaving for Texas and putting the whole incident from her mind.

  One afternoon Laurel woke from a nap to Pauline’s gentle tap at her door. Gincie immediately opened it.

  “What do you want?” Gincie asked. “You done woke Miss Laurel.”

  Pauline’s face reddened, and she curtseyed to Laurel who sat up.

  “I’m sorry, mademoiselle. The man at the stagecoach office sent word that a stage will be leaving tomorrow at noon. The roads are cleared for travel.”

  Laurel thanked her and got off the bed. She sat by the dressing table, and Gincie came to stand behind her. Gincie picked up her brush and ran the soft bristles through the long strands of Laurel’s hair.

  “Looks like we’ll be leavin’ tomorrow, Miss Laurel.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Ain’t you gonna tell Mr. Tony goodbye?”

  “I suppose I shall if he’s around. He seems to sleep during the days now and leaves at night with Monsieur DuLac. It seems as if he’s becoming quite a wastrel.”