by Lady Vixen
And brutally honest with herself, she admitted that if she had come across Christopher and any other woman in the same sort of situation that Christopher had found her and Allen in, she would have leaped to precisely the same conclusion. And if she would have thought that, could she really blame him for believing as he had? Again the answer was an unpleasant no. Seated in her elegant room, staring out glumly at the budding leaves on a huge pecan tree, Nicole found herself in an appalling situation.
She had repulsed Christopher's attempts to explain or mend the breach between them with such icy scorn that he no longer tried. She had been so proud and fiery in her disdain that Christopher had gradually withdrawn into himself, ignoring her, treating her with cool politeness. How was she to climb down from this seemingly impenetrable tower in which she had locked herself?
***
One sunny March day a note was delivered to Christopher from his overseer, Bartel. As he read it, an idea began to take shape. The note was brief, mentioning only that the spring planting had begun, but that there were several things he wanted to discuss. Usually Bartel would come into the city, but Christopher, his mind instantly made up, decided he would remove his household to Thibodaux House. Perhaps there, faced only with each other's company, and without the distractions of the city, he and Nicole could find their way back to each other. His decision made, he wasted little time in informing the staff and, more importantly, his wife.
There was an air of purpose about him, a new and dangerous vitality that Nicole was instantly aware of when he entered her room, a few minutes later. Gone was the polite man who had been her husband these past months, and in his place was the arrogant, infuriatingly attractive man she had first married.
His gold eyes enigmatic, Christopher stared at her as she sat in a small chair by a window that overlooked the courtyard below, a shaft of sunlight flaming the sable curls and intensifying the topaz gleam of her eyes between the black curling lashes. Appreciatively his gaze roamed over her, making no attempt to hide the appraisal in his eyes.
The russet gown she was wearing today was rather lower cut than usual and displayed an enticing amount of smooth, milky flesh, and Christopher felt a tremor of desire sweep through him. Damn the little vixen, he had only to look at her and his body was instantly aflame, he thought with a small spurt of anger. And he had denied himself too long, he decided sourly. It was time Madame learned that this was certainly not how he had envisioned their marriage.
Made uneasy by the prolonged stare of the gold eyes, Nicole rose to her feet, and still unable to drop completely her haughty air, she asked coolly, "Yes? What is it?"
Christopher grinned, leaning negligently against one of the posts of her bed. "What?" he mocked. "No welcoming embrace? No sweet greeting from my bride?"
Nicole's head went up angrily, forgetting immediately her resolve to end the estrangement between them. "If you have come merely to taunt me, then I wish you would leave!" she replied heatedly, a becoming flush staining her cheeks.
It was tempting to continue baiting her, but Christopher stifled the desire and remarked idly, "I thought you would like to know that the war with Britain is officially over. I've just come from Jason's and we've seen a copy of the treaty." Unable to help himself, he added sneeringly, "Rest easy that your beloved Allen will not hang now."
Nicole couldn't quite hide the relief that swept through her, and seeing it, all the jealousy he had tamped came surging to the fore, until he could taste it, like burning gall at the base of his throat. It had not been easy for him to allow Nicole to see Allen, but he had been trying to show her that he loved her and that he trusted her, that he could, and had, overcome his raging jealousy. But it hadn't mattered; all the pain he had suffered in winning the terrible battle within himself had been for naught—Nicole had gone gladly to see Allen, but she had not softened, nor made any indication that she realized the reasons, or even the effort it had cost him to allow that meeting. And now he could no longer control the bitter rage and jealousy that had eaten him for months. He had tried being compassionate, being understanding, tried to explain himself, had ignored his baser instincts and treated her gently, hoping in time she would see his outburst for what it had been. But it had availed him nothing and he was through being the polite, courtly gentleman!
Staring at her almost with dislike, he said cruelly, "I wouldn't look quite so happy if I were you—he'll still stand trial and more than likely will spend several years in prison. Hanging might have been preferable."
Her face draining of all color, Nicole grasped the back of a chair for support. Not looking at Christopher, she asked in a low voice, "Can you do nothing to help him?"
"Why should I?" Christopher jeered. "I can't say that he has ever done anything to endear himself to me! Now, perhaps in your case it's different."
Looking squarely at her husband's dark face, Nicole said slowly, "He saved my life, once. We were swimming in one of those lagoons in Bermuda, and a shark . . ." She stopped as the horror of those moments washed over her. Forcing herself to continue, she said, "Allen didn't have to dive in to save me. He was safe. But he risked his life for mine, and if he had not been there or if he had hesitated a second, I would not be here this moment—I would be just poor Nick who had got eaten by a shark off Bermuda. Now do you see why I will do just about anything for him? It's not love, you fool," she cried hotly. "It's gratitude! And you're too pigheaded to realize it!"
The shaft struck home and Christopher stiffened, seeing again where his own blindness had led him. Instead of burning with jealousy over the undeniable affection between Nicole and Allen, he should be thanking God that Allen had been with her that day. It was ironic, he thought bitterly, that the one man he had viewed as his most dangerous rival had, in fact, given Nicole to him.
Nicole could tell nothing from his face. Christopher pushed away from the post and said, in a voice that was carefully bland, "Well, then, it seems I must do something for Mr. Ballard, mustn't I? After all, without him you wouldn't be here now."
Warily she watched him, unable to take any comfort from his words. Cautiously she asked, "What do you intend to do?"
Christopher's shoulders squared but his voice was weary. "Oh, I'll have a word with Jason, and perhaps through him we can see that something is worked out. I'll see to it this afternoon." He started to leave the room, but then he turned and looked back at her. "What I really came up to see you about, though, was to tell you," he said slowly, "that we will be going to Thibodaux House at the end of this week. Please have your maids start packing whatever you think you will need."
Nicole nodded mutely, uncertain whether the news was pleasant or unpleasant. In a way it would be a relief to leave New Orleans, but to return to Thibodaux House with the future unsettled between them was daunting.
Christopher had not been making idle conversation when he had said he would speak to Jason about Allen. But he had known there was really very little he could do. Allen had been caught as a spy, and even the cessation of the war between Britain and America did not lessen that fact. And Jason told Christopher as much, when he brought the subject up that afternoon.
"Hmm. I don't really see that we can do anything, mon ami," Jason had said. "In this case, I am afraid that justice must run its course. Monsieur Ballard is not just another prisoner of war, you understand. I will see what I can do, but I doubt my intervention will accomplish a great deal."
And that seemed to be it. But not one to give up easily, Christopher paid a call at the calaboose. He did not visit Allen at first; instead, he spent an inordinate amount of time viewing the outer walls of the calaboose itself, and then appeared to be having a serious and important conversation with one of the guards. An observant man might have noticed the wad of notes that were quietly passed between them, but no one paid any attention.
The interview between Allen and Christopher was brief and, to a certain degree, strained. The two had very little to discuss, and Allen had the curious convictio
n that Christopher was more interested in the construction of his cell than in talking to him. And Christopher's parting words left Allen staring after him with bewilderment. What in the hell had he meant by, "I certainly hope you are as quick-witted as I think you are"?
That night, Madame and Monsieur Saxon dined at home together for the first time in weeks. Their conversation was stilted and wary, but it was a conversation, something they had not had in months. Nothing was resolved between them; Christopher disappeared immediately after dinner, presumably to one of the coffee houses or gambling rooms.
Sitting alone in her bedroom, Nicole regarded herself angrily in the mirror as ruthlessly she brushed the curling sable-fire hair. What in hell's name was she to do? She had to break down the walls between them someway, and glancing at the tall, slender body reflected in her mirror, she smiled a secretive catlike smile. It was brazen and without scruple, but somehow she was going to get Christopher into her bed, and then she would show him without words how silly was this continued estrangement.
Making the decision to deliberately seduce her husband was easier than actually doing it. She would have preferred to do it gradually, to let him see in little ways that she was now ready to accept his advances, except she knew in her heart that they had gone beyond that point. No, she was going to have to take very blunt and forthright action; Christopher wasn't about to let her take the easy way out. She quailed at the thought of rejection, of the cool contempt she might find in his eyes, and so for the next few days she did nothing.
The night before they were to leave for Thibodaux House she steeled her spine and prepared for battle. She scented her bath with a musky odor of forests and spices, brushed her hair till it crackled, and carefully dressed in a flimsy gown of emerald silk.
She waited impatiently and with growing apprehension in her veins for Christopher to return home that evening, and when at last she heard his movements in the next room, her heart leaped into her throat. Rising from her bed, she took one last look in the mirror, suddenly shocked at the gown's transparency. Her skin gleamed like ivory through the folds, the faint rose of her nipples was obvious, the darkened shadow between her legs was hazy and mysterious. She swallowed, then straightened her shoulders. She wanted to enflame him, didn't she?
There was no hesitation in her walk as she approached the doors that separated their rooms, and with a steady hand she reached for the knob only to have the doors suddenly swing wide.
Christopher, in a robe of dull gold, stood there, apparently as surprised as she, but then as enlightenment dawned on both faces, he grinned and murmured, "Your bed or mine, madame?"
Nicole caught back the splutter of laughter in her throat; a fierce gladness rushed through her veins that all unknowing they had met halfway. Melting easily into his arms, she whispered, "Yours, I think. Mine has memories enough, while yours has none... yet."
His eyes suddenly blazing with the love that had been hidden these past months, Christopher swept her up into his hard arms. Against her mouth he promised softly, "Oh, we'll make memories tonight, love. We'll make memories to last a lifetime."
He kept his promise, his body taking hers with such gentle fierceness she would remember it through all the years of their lives. Years that would be spent together in love and tenderness, for there was no longer doubting that—it was there in every movement of his body, in every kiss, in every caress.
Sometimes, Nicole thought sleepily, when at last they were both satiated with the other, sometimes it's easier to say things without words, to say them with actions, with your body and your eyes, with...
How long she slept she didn't know, she only knew that dawn was still only a promise when Christopher rudely prodded her awake. Groggy, she stared at him uncomprehendingly, noting vaguely that he was already dressed in breeches and top boots.
His teeth very white in the darkness of his face, he teased, "Get up, lazy bones! We have one last task to do before we leave the city today."
"What are you talking about?" she complained, attempting to roll back over and bury her head beneath the pillows.
But Christopher would have none of that, and callously he ripped away the covers and grasped her shoulders. "Wake up! Wake up or I'll leave you behind and you'll never know what happened to Allen."
Wide awake in an instant, Nicole stared at him. His eyes were filled with lazy amusement, his mouth tilted in a reckless smile.
Pointing to the pitcher of water on the washstand, he murmured, "If you hurry, you won't miss it."
Without a word she leaped from the bed splashed water over her body, and scrambled into the pair of breeches and shirt Christopher handed her. Puzzled, she looked at him. "Breeches?"
"Breeches, my love. I don't want anyone to guess at those very feminine curves."
"But why?"
"You'll see," was his infuriating answer.
They left the house within seconds and slipped across the deserted courtyard to the stables. There were three horses saddled, and with something like bemusement, Nicole was thrown carelessly onto one of them.
They rode in silence through the empty, spongy streets. Christopher led the third animal, the horses' hoofbeats muffled by the still-damp ground. It was only as the calaboose came into view that a suspicion of Christopher's intentions crossed her mind, and the full import of the third horse and the stout rope across his saddle burst across her brain like a rocket.
"You're mad!" she hissed.
"Mmm, I agree, mad about you," he replied softly, his eyes caressing her features.
She reached for him urgently, her fingers tightening around his arm. "Listen," she said earnestly, "Allen is important to me, but not at the risk of your life. I love you, Christopher—you don't have to do this. You could be shot, or just as bad, we could both end up in the calaboose with him."
Christopher grinned, his eyes bright and glittering with excitement, and the thought occurred to her that he was enjoying himself. But his voice was serious as he said, "It's possible, but the sergeant in charge has been paid very handsomely to ignore what is happening in a certain cell. Until, of course, Allen is free; then he is to fire a few warning shots in the air for the look of it."
"Christopher, you don't have to, you know," she repeated fiercely.
A curious expression flitted across his face. "Ah, but I do, my dear. Now let's get the good Allen out of there, mmmm?"
Nicole waited near the huge old cypress where Christopher had left her, holding the reins of the extra horse. Helplessly she watched as he swiftly tied the heavy rope around the bars of one of the cells, and with her heart in her mouth, she unconsciously strained with his horse, as with a slow, steady pressure the bars one by one were pulled out.
Allen's head appeared and then his shoulders, and following Christopher's instructions, Nicole urged her animal forward at a quick pace, dragging the unmounted horse behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a soldier coming around the corner of the building and threw the reins to Allen with a frantic, "Hurry, the alarm has been sounded."
Allen wasted not a moment and vaulted easily onto the horse's back, and then wheeling about, the three of them galloped down the deserted dawn streets just as the first shots rang out. With something like horror Nicole felt her horse scream with pain, stumble, and go down. Luckily she was thrown clear, and before she had time to do more than to stagger to her feet, Christopher's arm, like a band of steel, was around her waist and she was thrown effortlessly across the saddle in front of him.
They rode like the wind, leaving New Orleans miles behind. At last Christopher motioned Allen to follow him and turned the horses from the road into the apparent maze of cypress swamps. They rode in silence for several moments, following a barely defined trail that ran along a dark, sluggish bayou.
Nicole wiggled uncomfortably, and Christopher reached down and shifted her weight until she sat in front of him, her back resting comfortably against the steady beat of his heart. Eventually Christopher halted his hors
e and dismounted. He turned to Allen, his expression unreadable. He said curtly, "You'll find a change of clothing in that pack strapped to your saddle. I suggest you get into them!"
Allen's nod was equally as expressionless as Christopher's, and disappearing with the bundle, he reappeared a few minutes later in a pair of breeches and a reasonably well-cut jacket.
Warily the two men faced each other, and it was Nicole who broke the silence. Slipping from the horse, she walked to Christopher and, putting her hand in his, asked softly, "What do we do now?"
Christopher's hand tightened on her, and he smiled down at her. The tenderness she saw there made her heart beat like thunder.
Christopher glanced over at Allen before saying, "We go our separate ways now. We're going to Thibodaux House and the good Allen will find his way to England." Speaking directly to Allen, he said coolly, "You'll find money in the right saddlebag, food and a weapon in the left. I trust I can leave the remainder of your escape to you?"
Deliberately ignoring the other man's provoking manner, Allen smiled wryly. "I think so. Since the war is officially ended, I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a ship for England and rejoining what is left of my regiment."
Christopher said brusquely, "Fine. You'll excuse us, please? We have a long journey ahead of us and I still have to find another horse for my wife."
Christopher turned on his heel, yanking Nicole with him, but Nicole, casting him a pleading look, released herself and ran to Allen. Throwing her arms about his neck, she gave him an impetuous hug and said softly, "Go with God, my friend. Perhaps someday we'll meet again."
A gentle hand on the burnished head, Allen agreed, "Perhaps someday. Be happy, Nicole."
She gave him a blinding smile and then spun quickly on her heel and rejoined her husband, who despite his best intentions was scowling blackly. Nicole touched his cheek lightly and a rueful grin twisted his mouth. Christopher mounted and reached down to pull Nicole up behind him. Allen quickly mounted his horse and asked, "Which is the best way for me to go from here to escape the patrol?"