Mara smiled slightly in response to his grin and glanced around Etienne’s parlor. It was a beautiful room, brilliant with color from the many pieces of fine furniture, paintings, and objets d’art that Etienne had collected from his years of travel. A lacquer and ebony secretaire, a marquetry commode of satinwood and tulipwood, the finish warm and rich, a baroque table supported by four bronzed statues serving as legs, and an ormolu-mounted console table all fought for the eye’s attention while heavy, crimson drapes curtained the windows and blended with the jewel-like reds and blues of a Persian carpet. But it was a delicate armchair, its carved frame hand-painted to match the floral motif of its silk cushions that caught and held Mara’s eye.
“I was told when I bought that poor little chair that it once belonged to Marie-Antoinette,” Etienne offered when he saw Mara’s interest.
“It’s exquisite, Etienne,” Mara said with admiration and awe.
“Merci, I only wish you could see the rest of my collection in Paris. I have a small house there where I have the greater part of my small treasures,” Etienne told her proudly, pleased by Mara’s appreciation.
“You mean you have more?” Mara asked incredulously as she glanced around at the cabinets loaded with beautifully carved ivory figures, richly detailed Oriental vases and prints, and countless boxes, tankards, bowls, and candlesticks of gleaming silver.
“My dear, I have so much that it would really take most of the great house of Beaumarais to do justice to it all,” Etienne laughed. “But let me show you my latest acquisition,” he whispered excitedly as he hurried over to a table and picked up an elaborately engraved silver cup. He held it gently in the palms of his hands, for it had no handles. “I have just recently returned from St. Petersburg, and it was there that I found this,” Etienne beamed, “a loving cup, mademoiselle.”
Mara lightly ran her fingertip over the flat lip of the cup and wondered idly if it had indeed brought good fortune to the people who had drunk from it. Mara smiled. Etienne was like a small boy, surrounded by his favorite toys and eager to show them off to his friends.
“Someday I shall show you my fan collection too,” Etienne promised as he carefully replaced the loving cup, “for I’ve just added one to it that I was assured belonged to Catherine the Great herself,” he confided. “Are you sure I cannot offer you a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you. Actually I was looking for my nephew, Paddy. He was supposed to be playing indoors, but he seems to have disappeared.” Mara told him. “I really should find him, especially as it looks as if it is going to rain.”
“Perhaps I may be of some assistance. Shall we look in the stables?” Etienne suggested as he picked up his gloves and cane. Settling his black, silk top hat on his silver head, he escorted her outside. “When I was a child, the stables always held a certain fascination for me,” Etienne commented with a puzzled frown, “although for the life of me I can’t understand why. They’re such dirty, smelly places.”
Paddy was indeed to be found in the stables. Mara heard his giggle and squeal of delight, and following the sound, she discovered his small figure hunched over something in the corner of one of the empty stalls. Alain was leaning against the rough wood of the partition, a slight smile curving his lips as he watched Paddy in amusement. At the rustling sound of Mara’s skirts Alain turned, shaking his dark head.
“One would think the boy had never seen a bitch and her pups before,” Alain spoke in amazement.
“I don’t suppose he has,” Mara realized. “We have always lived in the city, and having traveled so much, well, Paddy has never had pets.”
Alain nodded in understanding. “Don’t touch her,” he warned Paddy as they heard a snarling growl from the stall, “or she’ll bite your fingers off.”
Paddy jumped back as if indeed he had been bitten, his dark eyes wide with concern. “I only wanted to touch one of the little babies,” Paddy said wistfully.
“She’s very protective over her brood, and she doesn’t know you don’t mean them any harm,” Alain explained.
“Mind what the gentleman says, Paddy,” Mara told him as he backed against her skirts and eyed the bitch warily.
“Perhaps the boy would care to see a more agreeable stablemate,” Alain suggested as he led the way down the row of stalls to one occupied by a gentle-looking mare and her newborn foal. Alain lifted Paddy up to the top railing, where he allowed him to perch, safely out of reach of any harmful hooves.
“Mara was telling me that Beaumarais had a visitor this morning,” Etienne told his son with a smile of wry amusement.
“Madame St. Laurens from Sandrose,” Alain spoke softly. His hazel eyes returned Etienne’s amusement as they shared a private joke between them. “I would have given a year’s wage to have seen that.”
“You may think we are a bit harsh on Amaryllis,” Etienne tried to explain, “but in the past our dealings with the young madame have not always been mutually agreeable.”
“Yes, the mistress of Sandrose often forgets who she is speaking with and continues to crack the whip above our heads as if we were her slaves,” Alain elaborated further, a note of resentment entering his voice. He was a free man and valued that position highly.
Paddy sneezed and Mara glanced up at him worriedly. “Come on, Paddy, I think we’d better go in.”
“Oh, Mara, let me stay just a little while longer,” Paddy pleaded. “It was only the straw that tickled my nose. Please, Mara?” he asked, his anxious brown eyes never leaving her face.
“It will be all right, mademoiselle,” Alain assured her, “for I shall keep a close eye on the boy.”
Mara hesitated a moment, but gave up when she caught Paddy’s eye and hadn’t the heart to say no. “Very well, but I want you back in the house in half an hour.”
“You do not mind, mademoiselle,” Etienne said apologetically, “but I wish to have a few words with Alain?”
“No, of course not, I can find my way back to the house,” Mara reassured Etienne as she turned to leave, but not before giving Paddy a warning look reminding him of her words.
The wind had increased. A storm approached and was blowing in gusts as Mara made her way across the stable yard toward the great house. She hurried up the steps to the gallery, her head lowered as she held her hair in place. She didn’t see Nicholas as he stepped out from one of the wide columns, his hands reaching out and grabbing hold of her as she made her way down the shadowy corridor.
Mara jumped as she felt the strong hands gripping her shoulders. She looked up into his face and wondered what he was thinking behind that bronzed mask.
“So, you bought Beaumarais,” Mara said lamely. Even to her own ears it had the sound of an accusation.
“Yes, I am the owner of Beaumarais now,” Nicholas answered quietly.
Their eyes met and they stared in silence at each other for what seemed hours.
“Congratulations, Nicholas,” she said softly, managing a slightly twisted smile as she added, “when would you like me to leave?”
Nicholas’s heavy eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought we had discussed this question once before.”
Mara gave a sigh of exasperation, realizing that Nicholas was going to be difficult. “That was in New Orleans, before you became master of Beaumarais. Things are different now,” she told him calmly, not showing any of the trepidation she was feeling over how different things really were.
“Are they?” Nicholas asked doubtfully as his hand softly caressed her cheek, the look in his eyes daring her to refute his claim. Mara suspected Nicholas knew his touch was causing her heart to race within her chest.
Mara drew herself up proudly, jerking away her flushed cheek from his persuasive touch. “I would have thought your interests lie in a different direction now?”
Nicholas smiled lazily. “And which direction would that be, my dear?”
“Amaryllis,” Mara told him shortly.
“Ah, Amaryllis,” he said with a speculative gleam in his gre
en eyes. “She is quite a beauty, isn’t she?”
Mara’s hands clenched at her sides. “Indeed she is, if you care for that type,” Mara answered frigidly, “but I will not be used to make her jealous.”
Nicholas’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “And you think that is what I’m doing by keeping you here with me, making Amaryllis jealous? You underestimate my skills if you think I need to resort to such a stratagem in order to get a woman.”
“I underestimated you once, Nicholas, but never again,” Mara retorted. Swallowing what little pride she had left, she gazed up into his hard eyes, her hands pressed against his chest almost beseechingly. “Please, Nicholas, let me go now. ’Tis the best thing for everyone concerned.”
Silently Nicholas stared down into the golden eyes which for once were gazing at him clearly and earnestly. He felt a moment’s uncertainty, but only for a second, for the old suspicions returned as he caught a triumphant gleam in the tawny eyes. Mara had noted his hesitation. “Of course,” Nicholas spoke mockingly, his jade eyes running over Mara’s figure almost contemptuously, “even a gentleman of my talents needs some time to complete his seduction, and so until then, my dear,” he said, his voice intentionally dispassionate, “you’ll have to continue in the role of devoted paramour.”
Mara raised her hand to strike that mocking look off his devil’s face, feeling so much rage that she went faint with it. Nicholas’s hand closed around her wrist like a vise, and he held her hand just inches from his face.
“You might as well give in gracefully, Mara, and accept your fate,” Nicholas suggested arrogantly, watching her intently.
Mara glanced away, well aware that it was almost impossible anymore to hide her thoughts from him. When Mara looked up again, she was the picture of resigned acceptance.
“Very well, Nicholas,” she replied carefully, “you win. You are master here, aren’t you?”
Nicholas smiled with genuine amusement. “Coming from you, that sounds more like an insult.”
“I only treat you as you treat me.”
Nicholas turned her chin up so he could see her eyes. “I wonder if we shall ever fully understand one another, my dear. Or even perhaps become friends one day?”
“Friendship is based on trust, and we don’t trust each other,” Mara said sadly. “We never will.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Deep regret crossed his face for just a second.
“May I go now?” Mara demanded.
“To your room?”
“And where else would I be goin’?” Mara replied with a challenging look. As she felt herself freed from his grip, she walked quickly past him, disappearing into the house without a backward glance.
***
Mara smoothed down the soft velvet of the red gown that held so many memories for her. Tonight Amaryllis would be the center of attention, especially when she presented her special guest, the notorious Nicholas de Montaigne-Chantale. Amaryllis would be sure to play the hostess well, and all eyes would no doubt be focused in curious speculation on the one-time lovers. But when Nicholas’s eyes would fall on the red dress he would remember other times. Times that only Mara could share with him.
Mara glanced at the time, the porcelain figure clock on the mantel ticking the minutes away all too quickly, hastening the departure for Sandrose. Mara had seen little of Nicholas most of the day. It had rained steadily and he had holed up in the study with Alain, going over the accounts.
Mara breathed in deeply as Jamie fastened the back of the gown, the red material pulling tight across her breasts and pushing their fullness precariously close to the edge of her bodice.
“Don’t know why ye be wearin’ this gown tonight when ye’ve got so many other pretty ones to choose from,” Jamie complained as she closed the last hook and eye. “Well, guess ye might as well wear it now since ye won’t be able to get into it much longer,” she added with a sniff.
Mara turned around and stared at the little woman. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” she asked softly, hiding her discomfiture behind a haughty look.
But Jamie was not cowed. Folding her thin arms across her chest, she said in a voice of carefully nurtured indignation, “D’ye think I’ve not got eyes in me head? I’m seein’ a might clearer than ye be these days, missie,” she snorted.
Mara sighed and then laughed. “To be sure, ’tis a fool I am to be thinkin’ I could be keepin’ such a secret from you, Mistress Hawkeye,” Mara said, but there was no sting in her words. She smiled pathetically down at the old woman, the friend who had always been there when she needed her. “’Twould seem as though your fine Creole gentleman has dealt me more than threats this time, Jamie. Soon everyone will know I am carrying his child.” Mara muttered beneath her breath as her hands moved shakily over the velvet covering her hips.
Jamie could sense Mara’s uncertainty and fear. She frowned and, patting Mara’s slender hand, said, “Now don’t ye be frettin’ none. Master Nicholas will do right by ye. He’ll not abandon ye, missie. He’s a good man, that he is.”
Mara jerked her hand away and turned angrily on the little woman, her eyes blazing as she saw the pity on Jamie’s wizened face. “Don’t be feelin’ sorry for me. That I will not have,” she whispered brokenly. “My God, if you pity me, what will Nicholas think? I would rather die before I’d have him look at me with pity,” she swore. Mara reached out and grasped Jamie’s shoulders. “Swear on Maud O’Flynn’s grave that you will never breathe a word of this to Nicholas. Promise me, Jamie, Promise!”
Jamie swallowed nervously. “It’ll be as ye wish, Mara. Ye know I’d do nothin’ to hurt ye,” she told her quietly, her gray eyes watching Mara’s trembling lips in astonishment. Mara turned away and walked over to the French windows, staring into the darkness. But before she’d hidden her face, Jamie had seen the bewilderment and hurt there.
As Jamie stared at Mara’s rigid back, she thought suddenly of the vulnerable little girl in Paris who’d stood at that dirty window and stared out on an unfriendly city the morning her mother died. The same golden eyes had been turned on her for understanding then, but she hadn’t been able to give the numbed child the answers or comfort she had so desperately needed, and it seemed to Jamie that after that morning Mara O’Flynn had never been the same. She became so different from the sweet child she had once been, with her laughing eyes and infectious giggle, a bright velvet bow tying back a mass of unruly dark curls. She could charm the life out of you even then, Jamie remembered with a reluctant smile as she saw a six-year-old Mara sitting on her father’s knee, gazing up at him adoringly as he read to her. How many times had she seen that small figure dressed in lace dancing around the salon as she performed for her father before being given a box of her favorite chocolates.
But that had been so long ago, when they had been living happily in Dublin. Years later, when she had left Paris with Brendan and Mara, they had also left that little girl behind. It was the ghost of that child Jamie was seeing now. It was all so long ago, Jamie thought sadly, then cursed the name of Mara’s father as she thought of what he had done to Maud’s little darlings. Brendan was dead now, his life never having been really happy, and now Mara was faced with raising not only her own babe, but Paddy as well. All alone. She glanced down in disgust at her gnarled hands and knew she wouldn’t be here much longer to help Mara. Why couldn’t things be different for Mara? she prayed. They just had to be different, she made up her mind against all reason, they would be.
Mara turned away from the window. “I’ll make sure we’re gone from here before anyone can guess about the child. It’ll be our secret. Then, when I can’t hide it anymore, it won’t matter.”
Jamie frowned suspiciously. “And what d’ye mean we will be gone from here? Just where are we goin’ I’d like to be knowin’?”
“Does it really matter?” Mara asked tiredly. “London, I suppose. And if I’m still with child then, I’ll buy myself a cheap ring and pretend I’m a poor, Irish widow. Who’s to b
e knowing any different? I might even call meself Mara Chantale. It has a nice sound to it, to be sure,” she said mockingly.
“And just what are ye meanin’ when ye say, ‘if the child’s still with ye,’ I’ll be wantin’ to know?” Jamie demanded with a glint in her eye.
Mara’s golden brown eyes looked away uncomfortably. “Women have been known to lose their babies early, haven’t they? Maybe I can’t be havin’ children?” Mara was defiant.
Jamie placed her hands on her hips and stated matter-of-factly, “There’s an old sayin’, missie. ‘Hips good and wide, the lass was born to be a bride; full breasts for a man’s joy, she’ll be birthin’ a boy.’ Seems to me ye’ve met both requirements just fine.”
Mara gave her an exasperated look. “And it seems to me you’ve been listening to too many old wives’ tales.”
Jamie smiled smugly. “We’ll see, missie. We’ll see who knows what they be talkin’ about.” She started folding up stray articles of clothing.
Mara was about to deal a stinging retort when Nicholas strolled into the room, just as if he had the right.
“Do come in, m’sieu,” Mara spoke bitingly, taking out her frustration on him. Jamie quickly excused herself.
Nicholas arched an eyebrow. “My, my, we seem to still be in a bit of a temper,” he commented lazily, his green eyes narrowing as he carefully watched her reflection in the mirror.
Keeping her back to him, Mara steadily returned his gaze in the mirror. He was dressed in the black he seemed to favor, the rose embroidery along the border of his black silk vest the only touch of color except for the white shirtfront and cravat.
Mara became aware of a flat case he was holding negligently in his hand. As he caught her questioning look, he came forward to stand just behind her. Mara could feel his warm breath against her temple, then the soft touch of his lips. She jumped as she felt cold metal against her throat and breast.
Mara caught the glitter of jewels in the mirror and stared in amazement at the gold filigree, ruby, and diamond necklace now draped around her neck. Five settings of the exquisite stones glowed against the paleness of her skin. The necklace held the most beautiful ruby pendant Mara had ever seen. Before she could find words, Nicholas had enclosed her wrists in matching bracelets and was putting the drop earrings into her ears.
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