Midnight Flame

by Lynette Vinet

  She wanted desperately to forget that night and lead a normal life, but she couldn’t until she learned the truth about the man who had kidnapped her. Oh, what good did it do to have a handsome husband who loved her if she couldn’t be a true wife?

  Rising from the table, she left the dining room and walked through the breezeway connecting the kitchen to the house. She found Essie stirring a pot of red beans over the fireplace. The pungent smell of bay leaf and onions permeated the room. Pauline finished chewing a biscuit and scampered off a stool to stand beside Essie.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” Essie asked and quit stirring.

  Laurel nodded. “I’d like to know if either of you is familiar with a small, old black woman who wears a turban. She has a son who is quite tall and strong.”

  Essie and Pauline shot each other a quick look. Essie shook her head. “I don’t know anybody like that. Do you, Pauline?”

  “No, I don’t either,” Pauline mouthed, somewhat inaudibly.

  “Could these slaves live at Clermont?”

  Both women shook their heads in unison. “We know all the people there, and there ain’t no slaves like them,” Essie intoned. “Would you like some more breakfast, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you. I’m quite finished.” Laurel gave them a quick smile and left the kitchen to go to the barn and question Tony’s driver about the two slaves. He, also, had no idea who they might be and inquired if she was feeling well. He told her that the night she had been kidnapped had caused him moments of fright.

  Other people on Petit Coteau answered her questions politely, but no one knew of two such people. Laurel even strayed in the vicinity of the Dauzets and was offered tea by Madame Dauzet and held the baby while they conversed. But, again, these two people weren’t familiar.

  “Are you certain?” Laurel asked Madame Dauzet.

  “Oui, very certain,” the woman said, but Laurel noticed she hesitated a moment, almost as if she longed to say something else.

  Walking across Petit Coteau was tiring. Her feet hurt, and she felt the whole morning had been wasted in this futile attempt to gain information that either no one knew or didn’t want to tell her. She hadn’t realized that she had reached the edge of the property until she saw the small shanties of the people Tony had termed “white trash.” A swirling trace of smoke rose from a chimney, and on one of the porches sat two men holding wine bottles. They were watching some dirty children play in front of the house.

  Pity for the children pulled at Laurel’s heartstrings. There were four little girls and two small boys, and each one looked as though a bar of soap hadn’t passed over their faces in a year. A young girl of about fourteen appeared in the doorway, and when she saw Laurel, she stepped onto the porch. From where Laurel stood, she could see the girl was about five months pregnant and also very dirty and scantily clothed.

  Laurel raised her hand in a wave, but the girl only watched her, a hardness in her eyes, and didn’t wave back. Moving away from the fence line, Laurel decided that she must do something to help these people. She didn’t think it was right of Tony to condemn them. No matter how they lived, they were still human beings. She had so much, and they had practically nothing.

  A plan formed in her mind, but she wouldn’t tell Tony anything about that now. In fact she didn’t have to tell him about everything she did with her money. Before the wedding, they had drawn up a contract whereby he had no say over her money. She had expected him to want the same stipulation, but to her surprise, he hadn’t. He had told her that what was his was also hers.

  Tony was generous to a fault, it seemed. One more reason why her heart managed to thump so hard lately. Was she falling in love with her own husband? Did she have what it took to keep him?

  “If only I could be a bit more like Lavinia or even Simone Lancier,” she mumbled and made her way back to the house.

  When she was going to her room to change for a drive into Washington and seek out Denise, she stopped before Tony’s door. She listened a moment and heard his snores. An insane desire to see him propelled her into the dim room. The sun was high in the sky, but the heavy green drapes were drawn tight across the windows. Still Laurel made out Tony’s nude body, resting atop the sheets in a massive bed.

  Her heart hammered in her ears. Never before had she seen a naked man. Even the man who had made love to her had been clothed in darkness. There was enough light in the room for her to plainly see that Tony was quite well endowed. Moving closer to the bed, her eyes feasted on his body. He lay spread-eagled on the bed, and nothing was hidden from her eyes. His broad shoulders appeared broader, and his arms more powerful and muscular in a reclining position. Her eyes drifted down to his hairy chest and lower, past the lean hips to taut and well-muscled thighs. And then again to that part of him that drew her eyes like a magnet.

  A ragged sob rose in her throat. She wanted to touch him, to hold his manhood in her hand. An aching need to give him pleasure pulled her hand toward his shaft, but she couldn’t make herself touch him. Fear of his rejection knifed through her heart, and she dropped her arm, holding it to her side with her other hand to keep from moving it. Would he reject her? She didn’t want to find out. The pain would be too great if he should tell her he had a mistress now and no longer wanted her.

  She drew back into the shadows of the room and found her way to the door. She managed to convince herself that things should remain as they were for the time being.

  ~

  When the door closed softly behind Laurel, Tony opened his eyes. A deep sigh escaped him, and he muttered a profane curse.

  He had known she was in the room and had even managed to catch a peep of Laurel as she stood beside the bed. The breath had nearly died in his throat when he thought she was going to touch him. If she had, he would have pulled her down beside him and made love to her then and there and hang the stupid agreement he had made with her! He had only told her she didn’t have to come to his bed until she felt ready, to make her feel comfortable with him. He had expected the marriage to be consummated long before now.

  It seemed she would never come to his bed now. He found his sheet at the bottom of the bed and threw it onto the floor. Clearly agitated and aroused by Laurel, he got out of bed and began to dress. He knew he had to calm down before he saw her again, but it was just so damn hard not to grab her and shake some sense into her beautiful head. He wanted her so much he could barely concentrate on anything else.

  As he pulled on his boots, he muttered, “Just how long does she think I can stand this?”

  The thought had occurred to him long ago to take a mistress, even to seek out Simone. But he didn’t want Simone or any other woman. Only Laurel. Always Laurel.

  ~

  “Chérie, I think you have a great problem,” Denise Abadie told Laurel. She stirred her tea, sitting on a large divan in the DuLac parlor, and smiled at Laurel. “But I don’t believe your problem is insurmountable.”

  Laurel wrinkled her nose. “It is, Denise. I … think … Tony has a mistress. And if he does, I can’t compete against such a woman. Especially if she’s Simone Lancier, who is quite beautiful and very skilled where men are concerned.”

  Denise raised an eyebrow. “So? Are you not skilled also in these ways? You’re having Tony’s child, are you not?”

  A red blush colored Laurel’s cheeks, and she glanced down at the skirt of her blue taffeta gown. She felt very close to Denise. Although they had only met shortly before her marriage to Tony— Jean’s sister lived in Vermillionville—they had become fast friends. But the honey-haired Denise knew nothing of that night in the cabin. Laurel simply couldn’t bring herself to confess the truth. She didn’t think Tony could live with such gossip. But Laurel had to confide in someone, and why not Denise? She knew her secret was safe with her.

  So Laurel told her everything that had happened, beginning with her meeting with Tony on the Cotton Blossom and ending with her growing love for her husband. But there was still the child. Ano
ther man’s child.

  “Oh, my dear Laurel,” Denise said with tears in her eyes. “You’ve been through so much. But tell me, if this man who kidnapped you should come for you, what would you do?”

  Denise moved closer to Laurel on the divan and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Your night with this man was rapturous. Have you given any thought to your feelings for him?”

  “Oh, yes,” Laurel said, clearly stressed by the whole conversation. “I’ve thought of nothing else for over two months. I live in constant fear that he shall return and fear that I’ll never feel such rapture again. But, Denise, I’m Tony’s wife now. This man can mean nothing to me.”

  “Bien. You’ve already started to put that night behind you. The time has come to truly become the wife of Tony Duvalier.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

  Denise laughed. “Chérie, with me as your tutor, you shall soon have the man panting for you, and you will no longer be shy. Remember, I was married for ten years before my Pierre died. He taught me very well how to please a man, how to respond to his moods. As Tony’s cousin, I shall tell you that he is a man of many moods, but a good man.” Denise stopped chattering and considered Laurel a long moment. “I think it is time you had a proper wedding ball. This would be the perfect night to turn your charms on Tony, to consummate the marriage. But you mustn’t look too eager. That is the first rule. The wife shouldn’t appear too eager for the husband.”

  “But why?” Laurel demanded.

  Denise laughed. “Because I know men, especially Tony. He will want to pursue you, to think that he is wooing you, seducing you. Such things give men a sense of power, chérie. Their egos are easily bruised, and we women must let them think they are the seducers, n’est-ce pas?”

  “If you say so,” Laurel said, warming to the whole idea. “But how do I get Tony into my bed?”

  “Very simple. Petit Coteau will have many guests that night. All the rooms will be filled, even Tony’s. After all, as Tony’s devoted cousin, I shall require special accommodations. He will give me his room and occupy your bed.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is, chérie.” Denise nodded and giggled. “We shall have a beautiful new gown made for you. Mrs. Pratt is the best dressmaker in Washington, and you shall look like a seductress in one of her creations. And a nightgown of lace, something so sheer that Tony’s eyes will pop out of his head, and his hands will not be still under the covers.”

  Laurel blushed anew, but a feeling of happiness washed over her. “Do you think Mrs. Pratt can arrange for a fitting now?”

  Denise got up. “Mais, oui. Come along, Laurel. Before this day is over, you shall be well dressed and well versed in the art of love.”

  ~

  The large candelabra in the center of the snowy tablecloth on the dining room table highlighted the warmth on Laurel’s face that evening. Tony sat across from her, and in the golden glow, she noticed sparks of desire dancing in his eyes for her. Taking a puff from his cheroot, he smiled at her and appeared more relaxed and at ease than she had ever seen him.

  Laurel picked up her wineglass and brought it to her lips, tasting of the sweetness of the red liquid. Her lips were tinted a deep shade of rose, and Tony had the urge to sweep her into his arms and rush upstairs with her. He wanted to make passionate love to her, to leave her breathless and spent in his arms. But again he resisted and wondered how much longer Laurel was going to tempt him.

  “How are the arrangements for the ball progressing?” he asked.

  “Very nicely.” Laurel toyed with the rim of her glass, unable to tear her eyes away from Tony’s handsome face. “Denise had been a great help.”

  In more ways than one, Laurel thought. Denise had told Laurel about the intimacies of her own marriage that had shocked Laurel at first, but she had learned quite a bit that she intended to put into practice on the night of the ball.

  Laurel glanced down at the white tablecloth, afraid Tony would read her thoughts and guess how much she wanted him. Yet, a part of her was unsure about his feelings for her. Though she sensed he wanted her, she wondered if he ever gave a thought to the man who had claimed her body in the cabin. Perhaps she was wrong, and he had married her only because he somehow felt responsible for what had happened. Perhaps he didn’t love her at all. What if he still loved Simone Lancier? She couldn’t be certain he hadn’t been sneaking out at night to see the witch.

  Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him. “Would you object if I didn’t invite Simone Lancier to the ball?”

  “Yes.”

  His response startled her. “Then I suppose I shall have to invite the tart!” she declared and abruptly stood up. She felt like crying to think that Tony actually did feel something for Simone. He did want her on the guest list. If he felt nothing for Simone, he would not want her at their wedding ball.

  Laurel felt tears slipping past her lashes. She would have rushed past Tony to seek the solace of her room, but he was already standing and blocking her exit to the stairs. Instead, she twisted around and ran onto the veranda.

  “Laurel!”

  Ignoring his voice, she sought the darkness of the night. She felt like the biggest fool to plan on becoming a true wife to him, and all the time he wanted Simone. A desire to flee, to put everything behind her, washed over her, and she would have run in the direction of the fields, had she not felt Tony’s strong hand on her arms.

  Laurel felt pinioned to the spot, but she resisted and attempted to ward him off.

  “Where are you going?” His voice sounded harsh, and he had to shake her to make her stop pushing at him.

  “I’m … leaving … you,” she sobbed, feeling as if her heart were breaking. “I don’t want to stay here any longer. I … want to … go to … San Antonio and be with my family, people who love me.”

  “I thought you had gotten over that, Laurel. You’re not going anywhere. You belong here, at Petit Coteau with me.”

  She hated the possessive quality she heard in his voice. Tony, she knew, enjoyed feeling that he owned things and people, but she would be damned if he thought he owned her. Anger surged through her, overcoming the pain. He may want Simone, but she didn’t have to put up with their little affair.

  “I belong wherever I want to belong!” she stormed. “If I want to go to San Antonio, I will, and you can’t stop me. Just because you married me isn’t reason enough to keep me here like a hothouse flower. You never take me anywhere, not even into town. I think sometimes that you’re ashamed of me … and my baby. Evidently you care more for Simone’s feelings than for mine. If you want the witch to be invited to the wedding ball, then invite her, but I won’t be here!”

  “God, you’re beautiful!”

  Laurel blinked in surprise, not certain she had heard the pride in his voice, and the blatant desire. But when a cloud passed, revealing a sliver of a moon, and she could see Tony’s face, she saw he was grinning at her.

  “Am I such an object of amusement, Tony?”

  “Oh, Laurel,” he said, fairly groaning her name and pulling her toward him. “You talk too much sometimes.” He grabbed a handful of hair in his hand and moved her head near his until their lips met in a kiss that stunned her and took away her breath. His tongue traced the velvet softness of her lips to seek entry and entwine with her own tongue. A wild, swirling sensation settled in the pit of her stomach and caused her to lean weakly against him. Her arms escaped the lock-like hold he had, and she wound them around his neck to keep from falling, to pull him closer toward her until she felt consumed by a fierce need to be carried upstairs and loved like the greedy wanton she always became in Tony’s arms.

  With each kiss, each touch, she gave in to the savage desire to experience finally the delights of the flesh they could give to one another. She felt his hands slip to her buttocks, enclosing her rounded softness in each palm and drawing her closer against his male hardness. She purred like a kitten when he g
roaned and fanned her ear with his breath. “I want to love you tonight, Laurel. Let me love you, please.”

  His mouth grazed her tender earlobe, and hot flames shot through her. She had intended to wait until the night of the ball to come to him willingly, but there was no difference if she gave herself to him this night. The night would still hold sensual delights. But did Tony love her or Simone?

  “Do you love me, Tony?” she whispered. “Or do you want Simone?”

  “I love you, Laurel. You know that. Simone means nothing to me.”

  Large, green eyes gazed up at him. “Then why do you want her at the ball?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Because, my love, I want her and everyone to realize how happy I am that you’re my wife.”

  A cry of joy escaped her, and he crushed her closer to him.

  “I want you, too, Tony, more than I ever thought possible to want anyone.”

  His eyes darkened with desire. “Anyone, Laurel? Anyone?”

  She knew he was alluding to the man in the cabin, and she whispered against his lips, “More than anyone, Tony.”

  Pure triumph shone in Tony’s eyes. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her through the veranda doors and past Essie’s surprised face as she cleared away the dishes in the dining room. At the staircase, he took two steps at a time and was soon entering Laurel’s room with his prize in his arms. He kicked the door shut behind them and gently placed her on her feet. Still he held her against him, somewhat afraid that if he released her, she would flee.

  The scent of rose water drifted from Laurel’s hair and mingled with her womanly scent, intoxicating him and further arousing him. He wanted her with such a fierce passion that the evidence of his need was clearly visible beneath the material of his trousers.