by Lady Vixen
Jason astutely regarded the hard, closed face, wishing fervently that he had minded his own business. Christopher had made no mention of marriage, no mention of a wife, and his demeanor certainly indicated otherwise; so evidently Nicole had returned as his mistress. And that, Jason decided regretfully, was going to be a problem. He had liked the girl, so had Catherine for that matter, and she had been introduced to some of the finest and proudest families in New Orleans, but now . . . What a cursed affair! It didn't bother Jason a tinker's damn that Nicole had become Christopher's mistress, but one could not in all politeness offend other acquaintances not quite so broad-minded. There was a rigid social line between an eligible young woman and a mistress, and there were going to be quite a number of ruffled feathers when it dawned on certain people that the young woman they had met and admired as Christopher Saxon's ward had returned as his kept woman.
The pause that had greeted Christopher's words became very noticeable, and almost haughtily Christopher demanded, "Well, haven't you anything to say? No further questions?"
"What do you want me to say?" Jason hedged, remembering suddenly and unaccountably how he had felt in those early days with Catherine, when he had been torn between the desire to put his hands around her throat and put an end to the torment she provoked, and the equal desire to possess her. Intuitively he sensed that Christopher found himself in much the same position, and he sympathized more than a little. It was an exquisite torture that he would not wish on even his worst enemy.
Aware that Christopher was like a banked fire ready to burst into flame, and uncertain of his own ground, Jason asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"God, no!" Christopher exploded, leaping to his feet and taking several short, agitated steps about the room. Bitterly he said, "Talking will do no good." Then as if contradicting himself, Christopher threw Jason an arrogant look, one daring him to offer pity, and muttered, "I find myself in the most damnable coil, and no matter which way I turn I see no escape."
No doubt you do, my young friend, no doubt you do, Jason thought understandingly, recalling vividly his own frustration and anguish. And I suspect you would rather have died than to admit it to me.
It was a ticklish predicament that Jason found himself in. He could not be positive, but he suspected strongly that Christopher and Nicole had fallen into much the same trap that he and Catherine had all those years before. But without knowing for certain, he could hardly say, "Look here, Saxon, the same thing happened to me and this is what I did." If he were wrong, he would be revealing more about himself than he cared to, and for no reason. Of course, on the other hand, if he read the signs correctly and did say his mind, he might very well present Christopher with a way out of his painful dilemma.
He watched the other man consideringly as Christopher stared outside, his back to the room, the broad shoulders squared as if for battle. You bullheaded young animal, Jason thought with sudden surprising affection, you are so like me in so many ways that I know precisely what is eating at your gut. We are such blind fools where our women are concerned. And for you, my young friend, I will offer one piece of advice. I wonder if you will be wise enough to take it?
Before Jason could say anything, though, Christopher spun on his heel and, like an edgy golden-eyed panther, stalked over to the desk. Furious with himself for having burst out as he had, he wanted only to escape, to deny once again that Nicole presented any difficulty. Certainly he did not want to discuss the situation with anyone—especially not Jason Savage, in spite of the odd air of sympathetic understanding that seemed to flow between them. Right now Christopher felt naked and exposed, too proud and arrogant to say, "By God, yes, let's talk about it. I need someone with a clearer head than mine!" Instead, as always when he was confronted by adversity, he withdrew into himself.
Outwardly indifferent, he stood in front of Jason and, deliberately ignoring the present subject, said coolly. "I shall see you on Thursday as planned, unless I hear differently from you. Now if you will forgive me, I am afraid I must be about my business. If you hear news that you think would be of interest to me, please do not hesitate to send a messenger to Dauphine Street. And if I can be of further service to yourself or the governor, you know that I will be more than willing."
Almost amused by Christopher's stubborn refusal to face what was bedeviling him, Jason merely nodded and replied lightly, "Fine. Catherine and I look forward to seeing you. And rest assured, should I have need of you, I will demand your presence immediately."
Christopher bowed politely and had walked as far as the door when Jason's soft drawl stopped him abruptly. "You are a rather obdurate young man, you know," Jason said reflectively and without heat. With a hint of laughter lurking in his voice, he added, "I'm going to break one of my cardinal rules and give you a little unasked-for advice, my mule-headed friend. I once found myself in a dilemma much like, I suspect, the one you are in now. And I solved the matter," Jason finished almost complacently, "simply by marrying it!"
Throwing Jason an exasperated look of half vexation and half-mocking amusement, Christopher stalked from the room, unwilling to speak further on the subject. Damn him, he thought with annoyance, as he walked in the falling rain, was there nothing that escaped the man?
Unwilling to consider seriously Jason's suggestion, he deliberately dismissed it and instead turned his mind on the problem of Lafitte—Lafitte and New Orleans and the coming battle with the British.
Finding one of the smaller, quieter coffee houses, he settled in a dark corner and, his eyes on the rain splashing and hissing against the windows, reflected on what he had learned today.
On the face of it none of it looked good. Claiborne had alienated Lafitte by ignoring his offer of help. Lafitte, understandably incensed, had the weapons and men that could turn the tide against a concerted effort by the British. How in the devil was he to reconcile them? Jason, he knew, would be doing his best with the governor, but he rather suspected that the answer would lie more with Lafitte—would he be willing to forgive the governor and fight with the Americans?
The problem appeared unresolvable. But what about Jackson? As a military man and one who had not been involved in the feud between Claiborne and Lafitte, perhaps he could provide the answer. Provided he was willing to put aside his feeling about "hellish banditti"! Christopher smiled grimly to himself. When Jackson saw the defenses of New Orleans, he was more than likely to open his arms to the devil himself than to worry over the less-desirable traits of some of Lafitte's men. The flints alone should make him willing to turn a blind eye to past lawless activities. Yes, Jackson was the answer. Somehow, he must arrange a meeting between Lafitte and Jackson . . . with Lafitte in the right frame of mind of course I Jackson would need no priming from anyone—New Orleans's lack of strength and armaments would be argument enough.
On Lafitte's news concerning Allen Ballard he wasted little time in speculation. His only thought was Nicole would be pleased Ballard was with the British.
That brought him face to face with what he had been avoiding all day—Nicole. He swore under his breath as her image rose before his eyes, blasting every thought from his mind. And Jason's words came back to burn across his brain—marry her!
Coolly he forced himself to think about it, reminding himself that this time last year he had been in Bermuda on the verge of offering for Louise Huntleigh. And Louise never moved him, infuriated or delighted him as did Nicole. So why not marry her? It would please his grandfather. And if arranged instantly and with secrecy, it would silence the social flutter that Nicole's unmarried state would arouse. The Savages would not betray the fact that he had married Nicole after they had arrived in New Orleans. If he moved quickly, by tomorrow night Nicole would be his wife. Thursday's dinner would be the first social appearance of his bride.
The same reasons that had prompted him to consider marrying Louise still existed, he thought unemotionally, and Nicole was far more well connected and possessed a fortune that dwarfed the Huntle
igh estate. Why not marry her?
She was beautiful, tantalizing, and everything he wanted in this world. Whether or not she had given herself to Robert no longer mattered. That she was Annabelle's daughter he dismissed impatiently; he even began to his horror to make excuses for Annabelle's despicable behavior. Ah, Jesus, he thought angrily, you really are a besotted fool. Marry her, you jackass, but for God's sake never let her know how easily she could wrap you around her little finger. Never, never allow her to discover that you have committed the unspeakable folly of falling in love. He was, he acknowledged miserably, passionately, irrevocably in love with Nicole Ashford.
There! he had admitted it, but it brought him no pleasure, no joy, no relief, just the bitter taste of defeat. How she would laugh if she knew. Laugh and taunt him and make his life a living hell. But marry her he would. And even try perhaps to make her love him? That he even considered such a possibility showed how deeply his heart was committed.
All the wild, and yet gentle, emotions he had scorned were now pounding in his breast for one woman, and that one woman wanted nothing of him—except her freedom! What an ironic jest on himself! He who had laughed and jeered at unrequited love, sneered at love, denied such an emotion existed, was now himself a victim of it.
There would be compensations, he reminded himself bleakly. Nicole would be his, and someday there would be the child that he wanted. Oh, yes, there would be compensations, he decided, as the picture of a topaz-eyed daughter rose in his mind. A daughter on whom he could lavish all the love and tenderness he dared not reveal to her mother for fear of having it thrown back in his face.
His decision made, he rose from his chair, tossed a few coins on the table, and headed for Dauphine Street. If they were to marry he had better damn well set about arranging it. He deliberately refused to think of Nicole's reactions.
He proposed with arrogant tactlessness. He did not ask Nicole if she would marry him; he told her. To make matters worse, he gave no hint that the marriage was anything more than a matter of convenience. It would please his grandfather, he said. It would save her embarrassment, he said. It was time he married and had a heir, he said.
Ignoring the blazing light in Nicole's fine topaz eyes, he continued blindly to dig a pit beneath his feet, as impassively he trotted out practical reason after reason why Nicole should fall gratefully into his arms.
Christopher had not been the only one to make some decisions that day. Nicole, waking long after he had left her bed, had come to some bitter conclusions on her own. She loved Christopher Saxon, and she wanted him on any terms, at least she did when she could think about it coolly. This morning she had decided with a calmness that was shocking that if he wanted her as his mistress, well, he would have her. It was useless to rail against him, to shout she hated him when all he had to do was touch her and she melted like snow in the sun. She could not forget those odd moments that occurred occasionally, when she glimpsed something flickering in the gold eyes that left her breathless. It was possible all he wanted was her body, but now and then the queer thought crossed her mind that Christopher might be motivated by an emotion other than lust. It was a comforting idea to cling to, and that thought more than any other helped make her decision. Someday he might grow to love her, and she was willing to risk her entire future on that frail hope.
Throughout the long day she had paced the confines of the house, waiting for his return, determined to burn all her boats, determined to tell him of her decision before she lost her courage and bolted like a wild thing for whatever safety she could find. She had been understandably nervous when, shortly after dark, Christopher had at last returned to Dauphine Street, and when he had requested that she join him in the library, her mouth had gone suddenly very dry. Then her chin held proudly, and squaring her shoulders, she had walked with an outwardly brave step to the library.
Christopher had been standing, staring down into the fire when she entered, and after sending her an appraising glance that took in the soft hair piled elegantly on top of her head and the deceptively demure gown of emerald wild silk, he had brusquely ordered her to sit down. There had been an awkward silence for a moment, and Nicole had the curious conviction that Christopher was uneasy, even nervous.
When he had informed her that they would be married, her heart leaped within her breast; shock mingled with hope and relief. If Christopher had then swept her into his arms, she would have blurted out the shameful fact that she loved him. But Christopher had proceeded to undermine his own cause by coldly explaining the businesslike reasons for their union.
Trembling with disappointment as much as icy rage, forgetting her earlier resolution, Nicole sprang to her feet before the last word had left his lips. With her hands clenched at her side, the topaz eyes glittering with unshed tears and fury, she spat, "Are you mad? Marry you? I would rather die!" The genuine anger in her voice almost robbed the words of their triteness, and Christopher, his own temper smoldering into a blazing flame, shouted, "Goddamnit, woman, what in hell's name do you want of me? I've offered you marriage, what more can I do?" The odd note of half rage, half bewilderment in Christopher's voice totally escaped Nicole.
And because she was so angry, she spoke without thinking. "What about love, Christopher?" she cried, her face pale and the soft mouth set in a hard line. "Doesn't love have anything to do with marriage? Must everything be calculated and done for the advantage one gains?"
Christopher froze, staring very hard at her stormy face. Like a man in a trance, he slowly reached out to touch Nicole's cheek. "Love," he whispered, "what do you know of love?"
Suddenly appalled at how close she had come to betraying herself, Nicole's eyes fell from his, and she missed the flicker of naked emotion that had sprung to life in the golden gaze. Not looking at him, yet unbearably aware of the warm caress on her cheek, she jerked away and muttered, "Oh, never mind! I don't want to talk about it."
"Ah, but I do," Christopher retorted ruefully and drew her stiff body back against his. His arms about her, he cradled her next to him and, bending his head, murmured into her ear, "Could it be that you are already in love? That there is someone who has captured that wild, stubborn heart of yours?" Deliberately he said slowly, "Succeeded where I failed?"
Nicole's whole body went very still, and nervously she toyed with the material of her dress, wanting desperately to confess to that coaxing voice, wanting with all her heart to believe in the note of tenderness in Christopher's tone. They had fought too often and too bitterly for her to trust him, and yet she was powerless to tear herself away from him, to destroy this suddenly fragile mood. Even when the silence spun out and Christopher sat down on a couch before the fire, gently drawing her onto his lap, she did not resist. She was frightened, frightened and filled with an exquisite anticipation, a tantalizing feeling of expectancy, that if she wanted, if she were clever and for once did not fly out in a rage, she would discover something incredibly important.
Quizzically Christopher prodded, "Aren't you going to answer me? Or don't you know the answer?"
Nicole swallowed, keeping her eyes on the leaping flames of the fire, giddily conscious of his hard arms holding her next to him, of the muscled thighs beneath her and the warm breath gently stirring the hair at her temple. One of Christopher's hands began slowly to explore her arm, and she mumbled, "Does it matter? I mean is it important whether I am in love with someone or not?"
"It might be," Christopher returned equably. "It depends on who it is?"
Cautiously Nicole replied, "Well, suppose I am in love with someone?"
"Hmmm, well if it isn't me, then I suppose I would have to let you go," Christopher said, adding dryly, "Let you go and somehow help you be reunited with your loved one."
Astonishment swiveled Nicole around to look into the dark face. "You would do that? If I said I were madly in love with . . . with . . ." she groped helplessly for a name and when none came finished lamely, "well, with someone, you'd let me go?"
Chris
topher regarded her steadily for several moments and then, holding her gaze with his own, said softly, "I'd have to, wouldn't I? You see when I marry, I want no ghosts in my marriage bed. I want the woman that bears my name and eventually my children to want only me, when she sleeps to dream only of me." He was gambling, gambling everything on the mad chance that he had not misread the cause of Nicole's sudden fury and the reason behind her angry outburst.
Warily they stared at each other, Christopher committed as far as he could go without further encouragement from Nicole, and Nicole uncertain of how to reply. With all her eager young body she yearned to fling herself into his arms and beg that he let her be that woman, but the past had taught her caution, and carefully she asked, "When you told me that we were to marry, just now, did you think of me that way?"
His eyes narrowed, and with a thread of amusement barely discernible in his voice; he returned, "What do you think?"
Her face was troubled as she looked searchingly into the mocking features. "I don't know what you thought," she admitted honestly. "I've never known how you felt about me." As Christopher opened his mouth to reply, she broke in, "Oh, I know you wanted me, you've always made that very clear. But I've never known why you wanted me. Except to use me as you would a bought whore, and that's not a very good reason for marriage, is it?" There was a note of sadness in her words that stung Christopher, and harshly he said, "If I had wanted a whore, I would have bought one! Oh, Jesus, Nicole, don't tell me you can't guess? Must I say it out in words of one syllable?"
"Yes. Yes, in this case, I think you do," she replied steadily, and with sudden confidence leaned into him; her full mouth barely inches from his, she demanded, "Tell me, Christopher! Tell me!"
The soft, warm body was too much for him, driving out the last remnants of stubborn pride, and thickly he said, "Witch! May God help me, but I love you. Now will you marry me?"