by Lady Vixen
Christopher Saxon had planned to leave her safe with his grandfather. Knowing she was secure with Simon, Christopher could have sailed off to America and tried to forget her. But Saber never denied himself anything he wanted, and he wanted this slim woman desperately.
The wind whipping his blue-black hair about his head, the gold eyes glittering with emotions and instincts that had been tamped down and denied during the long months in England, Christopher's gaze swept down the slender length of her body. He made his decision and swooped down on Nicole before she even guessed his intention. He gave her a long, hard kiss on her half-opened lips, and then effortlessly he tossed her over his broad shoulder.
Ignoring her scream of pure outrage, oblivious to the fists pounding fiercely on his back and the thrashing legs, he plunged into the surf and strode eagerly forward to meet the incoming boat. He met it in thigh-deep water and almost cheerfully pitched Nicole onto the wooden planks. A second later, with an enthusiastic hand from Higgins, he levered himself aboard. He took one last look at the deserted, moon-washed beach, aware that now he could truly leave England without regret. Turning to one of the crew, he said lightly, "We're all aboard. Now let's get the hell out of here before a British warship finds us!"
There was a brief hesitation from the men, and then with a resigned shrug they began rowing toward the ship. One of them couldn't help muttering, "No one said anything about a female. Captain Baker ain't going to be best pleased when he catches sight of her!"
Christopher glanced down into Nicole's furious features, and carelessly stroking her curls, he replied evenly, "Sorry for the extra passenger, but the lady and I have some very important unfinished business to discuss—and New Orleans is just the place to do it."
CHAPTER 36
The long sea journey back to New Orleans was a nightmare. Twice they were menaced by British warships, once fired upon, and only a drifting fog bank saved them, enabling Captain Baker to slip away unseen. The weather was foul; gales and storms seemed to follow the ship every mile of the way, making short tempers even shorter.
Understandably the captain was provoked by the unexpected and unwelcome addition of a woman to his ship, and Nicole spent the entire journey isolated in a tiny cramped cupboard of a room. There was no privacy, absolutely no comfort, and as she had left England rather precipitously, she grew to hate the bronze silk gown with the ecru lace that she was wearing. She and Christopher exchanged the minimum of words, each aware that now was not the time to begin another of their acrimonious arguments. Higgins provided a much-needed buffer zone between them, quickly and efficiently changing the conversation when it threatened to flare into a full-fledged battle.
Day after day Nicole stalked the confines of her small prison, her temper smoldering. She was caught like an animal in a trap, a trap that she at once wanted furiously to escape and yet . . .
Christopher fared not much better, although he did have the freedom of the ship, and as he had known he was leaving, he at least had a change of clothing. The lengthy journey seemed endless to him; the miles and miles of churning sea stretched out interminably before him.
The only satisfaction he gained was the knowledge that the longshot he and Jason had counted on had paid off, and he had been able to bring back proof of the British plans to invade New Orleans. But then he smiled wryly to himself—the past weeks the newspapers had been full of that sort of thing.
He could do nothing about Nicole but curse the crazy impulse that had driven him to such reckless lengths. What in sweet hell am I going to do with her? he thought angrily as the ship plowed its way through the stormy seas. What was he going to write to his grandfather? That particular unpleasant aspect had not occurred to him before, and broodingly he stared out at the tossing, surging waves.
Simon must guess that Nicole was with him. His note to his grandfather had obliquely implied it—and he had told Galena he would see to her mistress. For a brief second the incredible thought occurred to him that even then he had been subconsciously planning to take Nicole with him—if he found her. Even more preposterous and displeasing was the feeling that he would not have left England without finding her.
Christopher was in the most tormented quandary of his entire life—he despised the whim that had overtaken him, damned Nicole for being such an overpowering temptation, but he could not deny that he still wanted her, wanted her so badly that he could not envision life without her. And that was what really ate at his gut, infuriating and torturing him until he could barely look at her without the urge to close his hands around her slender neck and break once and for all this web of unwilling desire and unnamed emotions that bound him to her.
The long weeks at sea did nothing to resolve his difficulties. The proximity of Nicole and his inability to feed the physical hunger that gnawed at his vitals drove him to pace the deck night after night, his thoughts irretrievably on Nicole, snug in her little cabin.
Oh, he could have forced his way in and taken her, could have ordered Higgins from the room anytime during the day that he wanted, and satisfied his hunger, but he had reached the distasteful point where he craved something more than a swift physical release from the passion that welled inside him. Violently, like a man unexpectedly grasping a white-hot poker, he recoiled from the absurd notion that what he wanted from her was love. The whole idea was ridiculous, and with frustrated loathing he thrust the problem behind him, unwilling to face what was in his heart, what had been in his heart since the night of the thunderstorm at Thibodaux House all those months before.
Their arrival at New Orleans in the second week of November was greeted with relief by everyone. The weather in New Orleans, though, was no more appealing than it had been at sea. A particularly cold, driving rain was blowing in from the coast and whipping across the area, making it an extremely inclement day. The roads were quagmires of mud.
At Christopher's elegant mansion in the Vieux Carre an especially warm and welcoming fire danced on the hearth in the main salon when he and his two companions arrived a short while after docking at the port. A hastily written note carried by one of the many dockside loiterers to the house in the Vieux Carre had prepared Sanderson for their arrival, and in a matter of seconds Nicole found herself efficiently escorted away to the room she had stayed in before they had left for England, while Christopher was instantly served a steaming mug of warm rum punch as he stood by the fire.
Wasting little time, Christopher finished his punch while exchanging the latest news with Sanderson. Almost immediately he departed for the Savage household. He had debated the wisdom of sending a servant around to inquire if the Savages were in residence, but restless and impatient, he had decided not to waste the time. Instead he fought his way through the blowing rain the few blocks to the Savage town house.
Fortunately Jason was at home, somewhat unenthusiastically scanning some business papers, when Christopher was shown into the library. An eager and welcoming smile flitted across Jason's harsh features as he stood up and energetically extended his hand. "By God," he said with half mockery, half seriousness, "it is about time you returned! I had begun to wonder if perhaps my instincts had betrayed me."
Christopher merely grinned as they shook hands and said lightly, "Believe me, there were times I wondered if we were not both mad to have considered such a scheme!" Then unable to help himself he announced elatedly, "It worked, Jason! I was at my wit's end, nearly certain I had failed, when events worked out splendidly. Read it for yourself." Handing the memorandum to Jason, he sat down casually on the corner of the desk and added, "It isn't much—but it is proof of an invasion and it does give us some desperately needed information."
"Hmm, yes, yes, I see what you mean," Jason commented as he quickly skimmed the brief facts of the memorandum. "But this is exactly what I was hoping for! I must get this to Claiborne immediately—he has been nearly frantic these past months. And the newspapers have not helped matters. It seems every day I read of the imminent invasion of New Orleans,
and yet nothing appears to be done about it. The city is still woefully undermanned and the few defenses that exist are totally inadequate."
"Nothing seems to have changed then in the months I have been away," Christopher observed disgustedly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" Jason replied with a slight smile. "Certain things have happened, you know. John Armstrong resigned as Secretary of War and Monroe took over his office. Despite the burning of Washington, we haven't done too badly these past months. The news may not have reached London before you departed, but Sir George Prevost's campaign to invade the United States by way of Lake Champlain and the Hudson Valley came to nothing. One of our young Lieutenants was responsible for that little victory. With only a makeshift flotilla of four ships and ten gunboats, he destroyed the British naval support near Plattsburgh, and Prevost was forced to abandon his plan and return to Canada. And while this news is even older, August, I believe it was, General Andrew Jackson very efficiently put an end to the Creek War—so that is one less problem. On the other hand, you have heard no doubt that the country is in deep financial trouble—the Treasury is bankrupt, and it is becoming increasingly harder to find the money to pay for this fiasco. But, all in all, we are managing to hold things together, and given time and a little luck we should come about somewhat tattered but whole."
Christopher only grunted, his lips twisting derisively. "If we can't defend New Orleans against Pakenham's forces, we definitely will not be whole! The British would like nothing better than to take over the entire State of Louisiana and control the Mississippi River. Unless we get some troops here, and soon, they stand a very good chance of doing so. Admiral Cochrane's fleet in the Gulf will provide naval support to Pakenham, and combined with the Army, the British will be damn near capable of running over us like a pack of wolves over penned sheep!"
"Not quite," Jason said slowly. "There is one more piece of news I neglected to pass on—General Ross is dead. He was killed in September during the assault on Baltimore, which failed, I might add. You see, we have been showing a few teeth of our own."
Christopher sighed. "Perhaps you are right—but the outlook is not particularly encouraging. Don't forget that the peace talks in Ghent are traveling at a cripple's pace, and as far as Ghent is concerned, I would not look there for any speedy remedy."
"I agree. But come now, with this memorandum we are certain to convince Andrew Jackson that New Orleans is indeed in peril. And once convinced of that he and his army will be here. Jackson is not about to allow the British to take Louisiana."
Christopher looked skeptical. "I trust you are right. In the meantime what do you advise?"
Jason leaned back in his chair. "I want you to come with me when I give this memorandum to the governor," he said after a moment's deliberation. "Since you were instrumental in obtaining the information, I feel it is only fair to give credit where credit is due. And more importantly, the governor needs every able man on his side." With a bitter smile Jason added, "Our Creole population is, as usual, ignoring the situation, and except for a few Americans most people in the city are pretending that there is no danger. And that is part of what Claiborne is fighting against—apathy and ignorance."
Christopher pulled a face. "I certainly hope you know what you are doing—knowingly sponsoring a ragtag privateer like myself to the governor! Aren't you afraid if he finds out my connection with Lafitte it will ruin your standing with him?"
A peculiar expression crossed Jason's face, but then he seemed to recover himself, for, the green eyes bright with mockery, he drawled, "My dear fellow, it would take more than a scamp like yourself to ruin me! And you must remember that part of my usefulness to the governor is the very fact that I know so many ragtag privateers!"
An answering gleam of mockery danced in Christopher's eyes. "In that case I am at your service, sir!"
The meeting with the governor was arranged immediately, and watching Claiborne as he read the memorandum, Christopher was never quite certain whether the news contained therein pleased him or alarmed him further. Claiborne's face was totally expressionless as he finished reading the memorandum and laid it carefully on the highly polished surface of his desk. Calmly he folded his hands before him and with bright eyes regarded the two men seated in front of him.
"Well," he said slowly, "if this doesn't rouse Jackson, nothing will! I only hope he will realize that the British objective is New Orleans and not Mobile. He and Monroe both believe that the British will try to attack through Mobile, and consequently they are concentrating their efforts in that area." Claiborne's soft Virginia accent, even after eleven years in New Orleans, was still evident as he continued, "I myself am of the opinion the attack will be from the coast. But then I am only a mere civilian," he finished glumly.
There was little either Christopher or Jason could add to what he already knew and after several minutes of polite conversation, during which, much to Christopher's discomfort, the governor praised his accomplishments, the two men departed from Claiborne's house on Toulouse Street.
The rain had stopped, but after glancing at the leaden skies above, Christopher remarked, "If we hurry we might make it to our respective homes before another downpour overtakes us. I suggest that unless you have something further to discuss, we do precisely that."
Casting a wary eye at the gathering rain clouds, Jason agreed. "From the looks of the sky, we may end up swimming, mon ami! And for the moment I think we have done all that we can. Claiborne will do what he has to, and as soon as I learn anything, I will send you word." Jason hesitated, a curious expression flitting over his face. Almost diffidently he asked, "Would you care to dine with Catherine and me on Thursday? There have been certain events that have taken place in the New Orleans area that I would like to talk over with you. Now is not the time and I am not free until that evening."
Ignoring the few splatters of rain that were beginning to fall, Christopher regarded Jason consideringly. "Is it important? Something I should take action on?"
Again there was that odd hesitation about the other man, and Christopher had the impression that Jason was holding something back. But before Christopher could demand bluntly what Jason was hiding, Jason said, "You may consider it important and you may feel compelled to do something." And as Christopher frowned, Jason added, "I do not mean to be mysterious, but quite frankly I haven't the time at the moment to go into a great deal of detail. You may hear it before I tell you, and I ask that you keep an open mind and do not fly off in a rage. Remember the Creoles love gossip, and rumors are not always the truth of the matter."
Christopher's jaw took on a stubborn slant and the gold eyes narrowed as he snapped, "You may not be trying to be mysterious, but from where I stand you're doing a bloody damn good job of it!"
A brief smile tugged at Jason's full mouth. "I know, my friend, I know, but bear with me. It is definite then? You will come to dine on Thursday?"
"You know damn certain I'll be there!"
Jason strode off and Christopher began to walk slowly toward home, his thoughts on Nicole.
Hot-tempered to a fault, a bewitching little slut, as beautiful as she was mercurial, and probably hating the very sight of him, he wanted no other woman—at least not for the moment, he thought hastily, unwilling to look beyond the next few weeks... perhaps months?
He absolutely refused to think too far into the future, obstinately determined to take each day one at a time and not bother himself with what eventually happened between them. He never had with any other woman, so why with Nicole?
Predictably, Nicole was not in any frame of "mind to follow a course of "wait and see." She was understandably furious at Christopher's actions—furious, and yet on the other hand deplorably aware that with him was where she most longed to be. But not like this, she thought angrily, not thrown over his shoulder like some piece of booty and carried off to shame and disgrace.
If the choice had been hers, if she had deliberately chosen to sail with him, if he had said, "C
ome," and she had made the decision herself to follow him, then she would not have resented so bitterly the position in which she found herself. Shame and disgrace were something she could have faced, faced gladly if Christopher had given her the choice. But he had not! He had callously ignored her wishes, her emotions and literally torn her from England. It was, she decided heatedly, another example of his arrogant, high-handed actions.
Not adept at hiding her feelings, her face grew stormy, and it was only when she noticed the apprehensive expression on the face of the young black girl hurriedly pressed into service as a lady's maid that she forced herself to think of something else. Throwing the girl a charming smile, she said, "Please, don't be frightened of me! I occasionally scowl rather blackly, and I have a terrible temper, but I seldom vent it on my servants. Now, tell me, what is your name?"
Shyly the girl murmured, "Naomi, ma'am. Mister Sanderson says I am to be your maid until he can hire someone else."
Watching as Naomi deftly arranged for a bath to be drawn and reverently laid out one of several gowns left behind for various reasons when she had sailed for England, Nicole decided privately that the services of this girl were all that she would need. There was no reason to hire another Mauer—this time she was not going to be entering polite society. A mistress—and she was guessing that was the role Christopher had picked for her—was a very different position from that of a ward! A tiny tight smile curved her mouth, and she thought grimly that Christopher would find her a damned uncomfortable ladybird! She'd make certain of that!
Naomi's announcement that the bath was ready for her broke into Nicole's thoughts, and pushing aside the problem of her future battle with Christopher, she let herself be undressed and helped into the large brass tub.