by Lady Vixen
With feverish hands Nicole pulled his jacket off; the cravat followed a second later, and brazenly she undid his shirt. Her ringers were like tongues of flame caressing the hard chest, the broad back. The pantaloons gave her trouble, her fingers fumbling for the fastenings, until with a smothered laugh, Christopher rolled away, and standing up, he removed the remainder of his clothing himself. Dropping naked beside her, he teased, "I can see that you haven't undressed many men, my love."
The words were said lightly, but they struck a chill in Nicole, and sitting up and pushing her tumbled hair from her eyes, she said steadily, "I've never undressed any man."
The teasing gleam in the gold eyes vanished, and as if driven, he demanded harshly, "Not even Robert?"
Taking a deep breath, Nicole replied evenly, "Not even Robert." But he didn't quite believe her, she could see that from the way his jaw tightened and the faint gleam of skepticism that flickered deep in his eyes for just a moment. Exasperated, her voice sharpened, and grasping his shoulders, she shook him impatiently. "Christopher, listen to me! Why do you condemn me without even hearing what happened that night? We've never spoken of it; never once have you told me how you came to find out that Robert and Edward were both dead, nor did you ask me how I came to be there at Robert's house." Her eyes blazing with growing anger and pain, she said bitterly, "How can you possibly say you love me, when you don't trust me? Believe in me?"
Christopher's face was expressionless, and in a frighteningly deliberate manner he took her hands from his shoulders and said, "Very well, tell me what happened."
"Damn you!" Nicole cried passionately. "No! Not when you're prepared to doubt my every word! And you are! I know that look on your face too well. You've already made up your mind that I'm lying." Twisting the knife in her own heart, she finished softly, "That I am my mother's daughter."
That seemed to evoke some response from Christopher; a spasm of what could have been pain crossed his face, and with a nervous gesture he raked his hand through the black hair. "I don't know what to believe anymore," he admitted dully. "I love you. I want you. But I cannot help but remember that your mother nearly destroyed me once—that she held me in her arms and whispered that she, too, loved me." Throwing her a glance of dislike, he said brutally, "She taught me how to make love, how to arouse a woman, how to make her beg for a man, and all the while crying out that she loved me! That I was the only one who had ever made her feel that way." He laughed harshly. "And after I had left her, she met Robert, telling him the same lies, kissing him with the same passion and fire that she had me, giving herself to him with the same abandon. And you're her daughter." Coldly he demanded, "Tell me, Nicole, wouldn't you be just a little suspicious?"
She couldn't bear to look at him, to see the suspicion, the hate and bitterness that she knew was in his face. He loved her, but until she was able to exorcise the past for him, to burn clean the ugly memories, there would be no peace for either of them. Broodingly she stared at the fire, groping for the right words with which to answer him. There was no use in further protestations of her innocence, that she sensed. She could cry until the last trumpet that Robert had meant nothing to her and Christopher wouldn't believe her—because he compared her to Anna-belle. And so she had to convince him somehow that she and Annabelle were two very different women, that she was Nicole. Nicole with her mercurial and volatile temper, Nicole who eagerly gave herself to him, not Anna-belle, who lied and cheated and betrayed. It seemed a hopeless task, and yet as she sat there staring at the leaping flames, conscious of Christopher's big body behind hers, dimly an idea came to her. Taking a deep breath, she said cautiously, "You keep reminding me of my mother and what she did. And you say that I am her daughter. I agree—Annabelle with all her vanities and vices was my mother. I cannot help that, but because she was my mother is it necessarily true that I must be exactly like her? Have I ever given you proof that I am not to be trusted?"
Christopher stirred restlessly behind her. "Yes," he said flatly. "The code books. Have you forgotten them?"
Her fingers biting into the tender flesh of her palms, she admitted, "Yes. I had forgotten them." Flashing him an angry glance, she said hotly, "All right, I tried to take them, but I didn't betray you! Stealing those books was not harming you. They didn't even properly belong to you; you had stolen them in the first place." Honesty made her add, "Feeling the way I did then, knowing what I did then, and given the same circumstances, I would probably do the same thing again. You had no right to them. Allen and I were merely returning them to their rightful owners. Besides," she added childishly, "I wanted to get back at you. To thwart the omnipotent Captain Saber."
With a thread of sudden amusement in his voice, Christopher said softly, "Well, you did that, you little devil! You've done nothing but thwart me since Bermuda."
Her eyes shimmering with angry tears, she rounded on him. "Don't you dare laugh! I've admitted why I tried to take the books, and I'll even go so far as to say maybe I was wrong, but that doesn't mean I'm like my mother!" And desperately she played her last card. "Because she was my mother you say I have to be like her, but tell me, was Robert like your grandfather? The same adage should hold true—like mother, like daughter, like father, like son. Was Robert exactly like Lord Saxon?"
"Of course not! Absolutely not!" Christopher burst out furiously. "You cannot even begin to compare them! Robert was vile and selfish, while my grandfather is—" Christopher stopped abruptly, an arrested expression in the gold eyes. For a tense moment he stared at Nicole, his jaw taut, the heavy eyebrows meeting in a scowl. "I see your point," he said at last.
Nicole smiled bleakly. "You see it, but you don't agree?"
With a gentle hand Christopher reached out and cupped her face. "I don't know what to believe any longer. I've nursed this feeling against you for so many months that I can't seem to let it go. Give me time, my love. Time to come to understanding within myself. Will you grant me that?"
It was a humble request, and while he still might have to battle within himself, there was no hiding the love she saw on his face. Mutely she nodded, knowing that time was on her side. Time and love. And it gave her a queer feeling of tenderness to know that despite thinking she could be as wanton and wicked as Annabelle, he loved her anyway—loved her and had married her. Perhaps, she mused pensively, that was a greater sign of love than believing in her explicitly.
Gently Christopher drew her next to him and asked simply, "Tell me about that last night in England." And hesitatingly at first, her voice growing stronger as she continued, she told the tale of kidnapping and trickery. When she finished speaking, there was a long silence; both of them stared at the flames on the hearth, as if the answer they sought was there in the leaping tongues of fire. His arms tightening around her, Christopher murmured into her hair, "I believe you, wildcat. That was too wild and improbable a tale for it not to be true. I just wish I had known and had been the one to rescue you—not Robert."
Twisting in his arms to face him, she said gently, "Well, you did in the end, you know. If you hadn't come along the beach just then I would have been in sorry straits. Higgins certainly wasn't going to do anything with me. He was too intent upon catching that ship. So you see, you really did save me from a fate worse than death." Her voice husky with emotion, she said against his lips, "Living without you would have been like dying."
With a groan Christopher pulled her even closer to him. "Keep loving me, Nicole. I'm a brute, a jealous madman where you are concerned, but I love you so much." His voice breaking just a little, he muttered, "I've loved you it seems like forever—you were always in my thoughts. First as an impudent cabin boy I couldn't help teasing and then as a wanton creature that haunted my every moment. Waking or sleeping, you were always there, a torment and an odd sort of joy." Pushing her away slightly, he stared intently into her face. "I can't put the past from me totally, but give me time. Teach me to love without looking for motives, without questioning, without doubting what I see befo
re my very eyes. Teach me to trust you. And oh, Jesus," he growled thickly, "love me and go on loving me."
His mouth descended on hers hungrily, urgently, and Nicole met the hard caress of his lips eagerly, her body suddenly aflame to know again that sweet-savage possession of his. There was no holding back with either of them, no hiding their emotions, just the sweet enchantment of the other.
Slowly, as if he were discovering her body for the first time, Christopher's hands slid over her, marveling at the silken texture of her skin. Lazily his mouth left hers, and with a frankly sensual expression in the gold eyes, his gaze swept the slender body; the flickering firelight caressed the gentle upthrust of her breasts, shadowing the taut stomach and turning to gold the long, slim legs. Entranced, he glanced at her face, the sable hair splayed out like a flame-shot banner of silk on the ruby carpet. Her eyes were half closed, the high cheekbones highlighted by the fire, the full mouth generous and waiting for his kiss. With a muffled groan of desire, he sought her lips again, his hands touching and caressing the proud high bosom, delighting when he felt her nipples harden with hunger as consuming as his own.
Nicole, the blood roaring in her ears, reached for him, wanting more intensely this time for him to take her . . . this time, for the first time in love, not lust. She needed no arousing; her body already trembled with the demanding hunger he evoked so simply and fiercely, her body arched up against his hands, telling him without words that she was on fire for him. Instantly he covered her, filling her, her body expanding eagerly to take all of him.
It was like every time they had made love before combined into one urgent joining—their bodies meeting eagerly and hungrily the thrust of the other, their hands seeking to pleasure the other, their mouths mingling and tasting the other. And this time, this time when that exquisite, shattering explosion of the senses was fading, when they became aware of the world again, there was just each other—Christopher to cradle her body next to his, whispering soft words of love in her ear, and Nicole to press herself to him, her lips gently and tenderly slipping across his face.
It was a beginning between them. The beginning of something so fragile that the merest breath could destroy it, and only the coming months, and perhaps even years, would tell if what was between them now could grow and gain strength, flourish and take root, until not even death itself could destroy it.
CHAPTER 39
There was little doubt in anyone's mind that the British were determined to take New Orleans, seize control of the lower Mississippi, and open the subcontinent nearby to the British crown. Even the peace talks in Ghent added to the British desire to take the city from the Americans; Lord Liverpool had remarked to the Duke of Wellington that "it is very desirable that the American war should terminate with a brilliant success."
Fortunately Andrew Jackson was now very much aware of the British intentions with regard to New Orleans, and he had written to Colonel Butler that "there will be bloody noses" before he would allow the conquest of New Orleans to happen. But Jackson made the dangerous assumption that when the attack came it would not be from the coast. He believed that the attack would be mounted from Mobile, and based on that surmise, he ordered mobilization of militia in Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky.
Jackson was on the move from that point on. He ordered fresh supplies, men, and guns to a strategic fort on a long east-west spit that all but closed the mouth of Mobile Bay, reinforced Mobile itself, and sent more troops to Baton Rouge. On November seventh he marched into Spanish Florida and with some four thousand men stormed Pensacola, capturing Forts St. Rose and St. Michael; the English garrison withdrew to ships offshore after blowing up Fort Barrancas. That victory, while having diplomatic repercussions, gave the Americans their first view in months of the British in retreat. Feeling he had done his best to enmesh the British, Jackson departed for New Orleans to prepare the city for any eventuality.
Christopher was seated in Jason's library on the day the news came that the general was on his way to New Orleans. Straightening from his relaxed position, he remarked, "Well that's something! Maybe now our citizens will shake off their terrible apathy."
Smiling almost ruefully, Jason commented, "Do you think so? I tell you, mon ami, I have my doubts. The legislators are bickering amongst themselves, the committee of public safety is competing with the committee of defense, and although Claiborne has mobilized the militia, that order has been ignored by anyone who does not wish to serve! We are in a sorry state, and I wonder if even such a magnificent general as Jackson can do anything to change matters."
There was too much truth in what Jason said to dismiss it lightly, and Christopher was still mulling it over in his mind when they joined the ladies about half an hour later. Nicole, quick to sense his mood, sent him an inquiring glance, and while Christopher smiled at her reassuringly, she was not fooled.
The Saxons' visit to the Savages' was a combination of pleasure and business. Christopher and Jason had disappeared into the library to discuss the latest military developments, while Nicole and Catherine enjoyed each other's company. The friendship between the two women had grown rapidly, because they were English, and because they were married to extremely provocative and dynamic men. At first Nicole had been shy with the older woman, but as the days passed, she had discovered that behind Catherine's ladylike air, were a lively sense of humor and some shockingly unorthodox ideas. They had not reached the point where they laid bare all the secrets of their pasts, but Catherine made Nicole feel relaxed and often made her giggle at the tactics she used so blatantly to circumvent her autocratic husband. That Jason Savage was like clay in his wife's small hands and that she adored him grew more apparent each time she saw them, and wistfully she wondered if someday she and Christopher would be as close and so obviously in love as the Savages.
After their call on the Savages Nicole and Christopher sat before the fire in one of the smaller, cozier rooms of the Dauphine Street residence. Nicole was still concerned about Christopher's preoccupation after his conversation with Jason, and she asked abruptly "What did Jason tell you that was so worrisome?"
Christopher glanced up in surprise from some business papers he had been quietly reading. "Nothing very important, sweet," he said carelessly. "Merely some political news, and nothing for you to bother your beautiful head over."
Exasperated, Nicole glared at him and snapped, "I am not an idiot! Why do you treat me like one? And if you don't want to tell me what was said, why don't you just come out and say it?"
Christopher sighed, staring at the charming portrait she made sitting across from him on a couch of rose damask. Her hair was demurely pulled back into a chignon of curls at the nape of her neck, revealing the fine delicate bones of her face, and a discarded embroidery frame lying near her gave the deceptive impression of domesticity. What was he going to tell her?
He hadn't meant to treat her like an idiot, and he didn't really blame her for being somewhat angry at his noncommittal answer to her reasonable question. But by the same token, he had no intention of discussing the current situation with Nicole, for two reasons. First, he didn't quite trust her; he was not sure precisely where her loyalties lay. He knew it was highly unlikely that she would find a way to pass any information to the British, but he was taking no chances. His second reason was simply that he did not want her to worry; in fact, he would have preferred to install her safely at Thibodaux House until all danger was past, but he knew Nicole would want to be right in the middle of whatever overtook the city. Hiding in the background was not her way, and he would not have had her any other way.
Seeing his smile, Nicole's temper rose, and she demanded, "Well? Aren't you even going to answer me?"
With a laugh Christopher said, "Calm down, spitfire! You have the hottest temper I have ever known! Yes, I'll answer your question." Rising leisurely from behind the desk, he walked over to where she sat and joined her on the couch. With one arm along the back of the couch, he drawled, "I'm sorry you think th
at I treated you like an idiot, but I can't see why you are interested in what Jason and I discussed."
A little ashamed at how quickly she had grown angry, Nicole muttered, "I do not mean to be a prying wife and I don't really care what you two discussed. What I cared about was that you were obviously perturbed about the conversation. Is it so wrong of me to want to know what was disturbing you? If our positions were reversed wouldn't you feel the same way?"
She had him there. Reminding himself that what he had learned today would be common knowledge within a matter of hours, he said lightly, "General Jackson is finally on his way to New Orleans. If all goes well he should be in the city in about a week."
"Is that what was bothering you?" she retorted disgustedly. "Don't you want him here?"
"Oh, yes, I want him and the troops he brings here. What worries me is the apathy and fear that is in the city. Even the best general cannot fight the combined forces of an enemy within as well as without." It was more than he had meant to tell her, but it seemed he could keep nothing from her—not when she was determined to force it from him.
Resting her head on his shoulder and absently playing with the gilt buttons on his bottle-green jacket, she asked in a small voice, "Is the city really going to be attacked? I know the newspapers have said so, and that the governor has called up the militia—you can see the troops drilling everyday in the Place d'Armes. But there aren't very many of them, are there?"
"Which question shall I answer first?" Christopher teased, suddenly more interested in the soft strands of hair under his chin. Nicole pinched him, and he said hastily, "All right! Yes, I do believe the city will be attacked. I think Jackson is wrong in his belief that the British will start their campaign at Mobile, but he is a general and I am a civilian. And yes, there aren't many troops. But Jackson will be bringing more troops with him, so I wouldn't let it worry you. Satisfied now?"