Midnight Flame

by Lynette Vinet

  “You know exactly why I’m in a black mood, as you so eloquently put it. But you’re not scared of me, are you, Laurel?”

  “No, Tony, I’m not,” she said and meant it. “However, I’m not usually drunk like the Jeanfreaus. Their wits may not be about them today, and I wouldn’t put it past them to use a gun. Jean might be right about arming yourself.”

  “I think we’re missing something here,” Denise told Jean, who instantly nodded his head.

  As Tony was unlocking the cabinet, loud cursing could be heard on the front gallery. The knocker on the door clanged harshly and reverberated through the house. Instead of rushing to the sound, Tony calmly loaded the pistol, and when he was ready, he waved away the butler and opened the door himself.

  Laurel watched from the foyer as the Jeanfreaus attempted to push their way into the house, each brandishing a pistol. Tony, in turn, pointed his own pistol, the ominous click stopping their further entrance. “What do you want here?” Tony growled like a panther.

  Both of the men appeared to have been drinking. Stale wine stained their shirts, and they also smelled of cheap whiskey. A startled look crept across their faces when they noticed the large, gleaming silver pistol pointed at them. For a moment the bravado that liquor gave Denis Jeanfreau deserted him, and he faltered under Tony’s hard and unflinching gaze. He knew that if provoked, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. Jacques, noticing his older brother’s hesitation and not about to be intimidated by the high and mighty Tony Duvalier, attempted to push past Tony.

  “Come one step closer, and I’ll shoot you where you stand, Jeanfreau.”

  This time Jacques understood Tony meant what he said and slowly lowered his gun to his side. He knew he could kill Tony Duvalier just as easily, but he would still lose. The law would hunt him down and shoot him like a dog. Not a pretty death, by any means. He had only meant to scare Duvalier with the gun, but now it appeared that he was the one to be frightened. And if he did try to kill Duvalier, he couldn’t rely on Denis to back him up. His brother was still half drunk.

  “We want Hippolyte Dauzet. Where is he?”

  “I haven’t seen Hippolyte all day,” Tony answered. “Now get off my property.”

  “Not until we find that thief and discover what he did with Roselle and the rest of her family.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said smoothly.

  At this point Denis’s courage seemed to return, and he lunged forward, only to be halted again by the pistol aimed straight at his heart. “I want my wife. Hippolyte has taken her away, and I’d bet anything he brought her and that scrawny mother of hers and those brats here and hidden them somewhere.”

  “On Petit Coteau? You’re mad, man! Now get off my land, the two of you, before I shoot you through for trespassing.”

  “I want my wife!”

  “Jeanfreau, if the girl has run away from you, I wish her all the luck in the world.”

  Tony’s statement caused the man to scowl. “You think you’re such a big man, Duvalier, but I got you where it hurts. In the moneybag, monsieur, where all you rich men hurt. None of you bleed like regular men and have no feelings except for gold. You think you can look down your nose at me and mine, but you can’t. I’ve taken something of yours and—”

  “Denis, come with me!” Jacques grabbed his brother by the arm and yanked him from the porch toward his horse.

  Denis attempted to rush past Jacques, but Jacques was stronger and whispered something to him that immediately caused Denis to mount the nag. Before he and Jacques rode away, he cried, “I’ve had my revenge on you and your kind, Duvalier! And keep that meddlesome wife of yours away from my property. I don’t want her bringing me and mine old clothes like we were trash!”

  They rode away. When the two riders had disappeared, Tony closed the door and saw Laurel standing nearby, a red splotch on each cheek.

  “So, you’ve been ministering to the needy, I see, even after I told you not to bother with those people.”

  “Yes.” Defiance shone in her eyes, which he couldn’t miss.

  “Have you done anything else I should be aware of?”

  “If I have, Tony, you would be the last person I’d tell.”

  She turned around and entered the parlor, the gentle swishing sound of her green-and-white-striped skirts echoing in the foyer. Tony stared after her, feeling as if she had punched him in the gut.

  ~

  The next morning after Tony was long gone from the house, Seth insisted that Laurel accompany him on a buggy ride around the plantation. Laurel readily agreed since she was bored with staying in the house.

  Denise and Jean had stayed the night; and just as Laurel and Seth were leaving the house, Denise called to Laurel from the top of the stairway.

  “Where are you going?” Denise asked.

  Laurel tied her bonnet around her chin. “We’re going for a ride around Petit Coteau.”

  “How nice. May I go with you? I’ll only be a moment while I fetch my shawl. I freckle in the sun.”

  “Of course.”

  Denise shot them a beguiling smile and headed for her room.

  Laurel followed Seth onto the veranda where he impatiently pulled a cheroot from his vest pocket. Until now, he had been affable and his usually cold eyes had been lit by an inner fire. Now he gazed at her in stony silence. She wondered if this transformation had something to do with Denise accompanying them on their ride, and she voiced this thought.

  “I hope you don’t mind Denise inviting herself, Seth, but she is my dearest friend.”

  He lit the thin cheroot and held it between his fingers. “I had hoped to be alone with you.”

  She didn’t care for the sound of that. His voice was a low growl, almost as if he were more than upset, almost desperate even.

  “Why, Seth? Have you had word from Uncle Arthur? Is he worse?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know, Laurel. I don’t know if I’m coming or going when I’m around you.” He grabbed her hand. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, and I think you’re unhappy—”

  The sound of Denise’s bubbling laughter broke into Seth’s words, and Laurel noticed him scowl. But when Denise appeared, he smiled pleasantly and took both women’s arms to help them into the buggy. Laurel wondered what was the matter with Seth. She hoped he hadn’t been about to tell her that Arthur Delaney was worse, but no matter what her uncle’s condition was, she couldn’t leave Petit Coteau now. She had promised Tony she would have their baby here, that she would remain his wife. Perhaps after the baby’s birth, she would go to San Antonio, but not now. She promised herself she would ask Seth later what he had been about to say before Denise interrupted them.

  Seth guided the buggy leisurely around the plantation. Laurel halted him when they reached the Dauzets. Madame Dauzet sat in a rocking chair on the porch and shelled peas while she watched the baby play in the grass before the cottage.

  “How have you been?” Laurel called to her from the buggy.

  Celeste Dauzet stood up and smiled wanly, her face white and pinched with apparent worry. “Fine, Madame Duvalier. All is well. Monsieur Tony was just here. He and Hippolyte have joined my husband in the fields.”

  She sounded so sad at the mention of Hippolyte’s name that Laurel’s ears pricked up. But just then the baby began to chew on a stick, and the woman’s attention was distracted. Laurel waved in farewell. Something was wrong at the Dauzets, she thought. She could feel it.

  “Petit Coteau is so beautiful. Don’t you agree, Monsieur Renquist?” Denise smiled sweetly up at Seth. She was sitting between Seth and Laurel on the leather seat. Seth agreed that it was, but he didn’t seem too pleased by Denise’s presence. “Perhaps I’ll visit your Little L one day,” Denise said.

  “Sure,” Seth answered abruptly, reverting back to the impatient man Laurel had seen at the house.

  Denise sighed in contentment, then pointed toward the herd of Brahman, grazing in the fields. “How large and powerful th
ey are!” Denise exclaimed.

  “Tony’s pride and joy.” Laurel couldn’t help but appreciate the sturdy and rugged breed. Tony doted on his stock as if they were children. In the morning sunshine she saw Tony riding swiftly across the prairie toward their buggy, his seat confident upon his stallion. Even at a distance he had the power to make her heart speed up, her face flush with anticipation. Denise noticed Laurel’s rosy cheeks.

  “Such adoration for one’s husband causes my romantic heart to flutter, chérie.”

  Laurel’s blush intensified as she said, “Please, Denise.” Seth did not look pleased, and Denise giggled, seemingly satisfied that she had made her point to Seth Renquist.

  When Tony halted the horse beside the buggy, Seth was polite and gentlemanly. “Cousin Laurel was showing me your Brahmans. I’m quite impressed.”

  Tony nodded at Seth’s compliment, but his dark eyes were on Laurel. “The summer heat might be too much for you. You should go back to the house, Laurel.”

  “I’m not hot at all, and my bonnet keeps me quite cool,” she lied. Actually, she felt the heat beating down upon her and the perspiration tricking along her rib cage, but she wouldn’t allow Tony to dictate to her. Fluffing her yellow dress around her, she resembled a daffodil.

  Tony shrugged. “Have it your way. I have work to do.” Turning his horse around, he rode back across the prairie to rejoin his foreman and his other workers who were grouped in a cluster. Laurel wondered what Tony was speaking about as the others listened. Laurel saw that Hippolyte and his father were in the group. This was odd because Monsieur Dauzet had nothing to do with the cattle.

  “It is dreadfully hot. Let’s return to Petit Coteau for some of Gincie’s refreshing lemonade.” Laurel’s suggestion was immediately followed, and soon Laurel, Seth, and Denise were sitting on the front gallery with a frosted pitcher of lemonade on the table.

  Seth had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves to reveal muscular and lightly haired forearms. Laurel thought him handsome enough with his whitish-blond head of hair, but he wasn’t Tony. She nearly cursed under her breath. Must she always think about that wayward husband of hers and constantly compare other men to him?

  She did notice that though Seth seemed affable enough, he often glanced in aggravation at Denise, who didn’t seem the least bit inclined to leave Laurel’s side. Within half an hour of their arrival home, Jean appeared on the gallery with two valises.

  “Time to go home, Denise.”

  Denise glanced up. “I’m not ready to go yet, Jean. I’m quite enjoying my visit with Laurel and her charming cousin.”

  “Have you forgotten that you must be in Vermillionville this afternoon? Monsieur LeCompte will be waiting for you.”

  “Mon Dieu! I had forgotten.” Denise stood up and smiled her apologies to Laurel. “My lawyer wishes to go over some papers with me. I arranged this consultation quite a while ago.” She kissed Laurel’s cheek and looked uncertainly at Seth, then back to Laurel. “You will be all right while Tony is in the fields?”

  “Of course,” Laurel answered.

  “Certainly, Cousin Laurel will be all right with me. I assure you that I’ll take special care of her, Madame Abadie.”

  Denise pursed her lips. “I’m afraid of that, Monsieur Renquist.” Denise appeared to want to say something else, but Jean hurried her along, insisting they would miss the steamboat.

  “I wonder what Denise meant by that last remark.” Laurel said as she waved farewell at Jean’s departing carriage. It rolled down the gravel drive onto the road and disappeared from view

  Seth settled himself comfortably in his chair and leaned over and took Laurel’s hand. “I believe Denise was playing watchdog for your husband. She must believe I have designs on your affections and wishes to protect you from me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t. She’s right. I love you, Laurel.”

  Seth’s grip tightened on her fingers, and Laurel started to pull away. “Don’t joke about such a thing.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said urgently. “I do love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I think I’ve even loved you before I left Texas. Just listening to the way Lavinia spoke about you in such glowing terms, I knew you were the woman for me.”

  Laurel extricated her hand and rose from the chair. “You mustn’t say such absurd things to me, Seth.”

  Seth got up, too, and moved around the table to ensnare her in a viselike embrace. “I say them because they’re true. I know you’re not happy here with Tony. Something is wrong between the two of you, and I think you need someone to love you. I can give you that love, Laurel. Let me love you.”

  If Laurel had been like any of the women he was accustomed to, he would have plundered her lips with his mouth, but Laurel was different. Seth knew he must woo her gently, but not so gently as to cause her to think he wasn’t a real man. Instead of the long, brutal kiss he wished to inflict upon her, he kissed her with a heated but restrained passion. When he broke away, his eyes blazed in triumph.

  But Laurel felt somewhat defeated and slightly dizzy. She knew she should slap him, but somehow his kiss didn’t repulse her. And this frightened her. She wondered if she was so lonely, so starved for affection, that any man’s kiss or caress filled her need, or was she attracted to Seth? Suddenly she felt unable to think straight.

  Pushing away, she made for the doorway. “I have to rest now,” she said without turning around.

  “Do that, my love. I want you well rested. Maybe then you’ll give thought to my feelings, and to your own.”

  In her room, she lay on the bed, feeling unbearably weary. For some unknown reason she felt caught in a snare, but she wasn’t certain how she had gotten trapped. She only knew that if the man on the gallery had been Tony instead of Seth, she would not have pushed away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Laurel was worried about Roselle and her family. They had been hidden in the old cabin for two days, and though Gincie had brought food for them and declared that everyone was fine, Laurel felt a nagging fear about Roselle and her mother. Delphine Moret was in poor health, and Roselle, in her advanced state of pregnancy, might not be able to tend to her mother properly. So after nightfall on the third day, Laurel surreptitiously slipped from the house and prayed the whole distance to the cabin that Tony wouldn’t come to her room and discover she was missing.

  Not that such a thing was likely to occur, she found herself thinking as she hurried down the winding path to the cabin. She had barely seen him the last few days, and when they did happen to meet at the dinner table, Tony was always extremely polite because Seth was watching them. Otherwise, Tony acted distantly. She hated to admit that his presence in the house still had the power to disturb her. However, he hadn’t slept in his bed the last three nights. Laurel ached at the thought that he passed his time in the arms of another woman.

  “Silly fool,” she muttered under her breath and pulled her black lace shawl over her equally dark clad shoulders. A passing cloud, skidding across the crescent moon, obscured Laurel’s way. Low overhanging Spanish moss tangled in her hair as she made her way to the edge of the clearing where the cabin stood. A flickering candle on the window sill guided Laurel, but she stopped dead in her tracks when a loud wail emanated from inside the cabin, quickly followed by a piercing scream.

  Running up the steps, she entered the cabin, heedless of her own safety. Somehow she expected to see Denis Jeanfreau, but instead, she saw Roselle writhing on a cot and holding onto her mother’s hands. The children cowered in the corners with large frightened eyes, and the youngest girl was crying.

  Delphine glanced up at Laurel. Her face was white, and she appeared about to faint. “Roselle’s time has come, madame. The child is about to be born.”

  Pulling off her shawl, Laurel laid it across Delphine’s shoulders and gently helped her to a chair. The woman looked more frail than the last time Laurel had seen her and was in no condition to help d
eliver a baby.

  “Maman!” Roselle cried. “Please hold my hands. I am frightened.”

  Delphine would have risen, but Laurel kept her in place with a restraining hand on her arm.

  “Your mother is in no condition to help you. She needs a doctor as do you. How long have you had pains?”

  “I don’t want a doctor or you here! Get away from me, Madame Duvalier!”

  “Roselle, please,” Delphine weakly admonished. “Madame Duvalier wishes to help you, and I … cannot.”

  “I know how her kind helps people like us. They cheat us and steal away our land like the Duvaliers cheated Grand-père, and—” Roselle’s words were broken by a shrill scream. “Maman, I hurt!”

  Laurel went to the writhing girl and knelt beside her. “Take my hands, Roselle. Hold onto me.”

  Roselle twisted her head from side to side. “No. You’re married to a Duvalier. I can’t take help from you.”

  “But you already have. You and your mother and brothers and sisters are here. I gave you refuge on Petit Coteau. I don’t really know what my husband’s family did to cause your family and you such anguish, but I will help you, whether you want my help or not.”

  Laurel’s voice held determination, and she grabbed Roselle’s hands in a firm grip. “Now hold tightly and scream your head off if you wish, but I’m not going to leave you.”

  At first, Laurel thought Roselle was going to try and break free of her grasp, but a hard wave of pain washed over her, and she squeezed Laurel’s fingers so tightly that Laurel thought she heard them crack. Roselle’s scream split the air, causing the one little girl to cry harder and the others’ eyes to widen like black holes in their tiny faces.

  As the pain subsided, Roselle gasped, “Damn that Hippolyte Dauzet!”

  A soft laugh came from Delphine. “Damn all men at a time like this. Labor is long and hard. Roselle has been in labor since yesterday afternoon.”

  Laurel paled.

  “Yesterday?”

  Delphine nodded.

  Laurel wondered why the girl hadn’t delivered yet. Surely the contractions were hard enough to bring down the child. She didn’t know anything about having children, having already decided that she would put her faith in Doctor Fusilier when the time came for her to have her own baby. But Roselle had no one competent here with her, not even a midwife.