Creole Fires (23 page)

“I can manage,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he took her arm and led her up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Turning her to face him, he tilted her chin with his hand. “Understand,
chérie
, tonight is the last time you will close a door between us.”

When she didn’t deny it, he leaned down and kissed her, a passionate kiss that left her weak in the knees and clinging to him. She didn’t fight him; she wanted him to believe she had finally given in.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Nicki sagged against it, working to slow her pounding heart. Unconsciously her hand went to her stomach, where butterflies still fluttered. Damn him! It wasn’t fair that a simple kiss could affect her so.

Danielle helped her remove her blue silk gown and put on her navy-blue riding habit, now the right length and properly fitted in the bust. She would wait an hour, give Alex time to fall asleep, but it really
didn’t matter. The rest of the household was quiet. If she went down the back stairs, he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

“Tell him whatever you have to,” Nicole told Danielle when the hour had finally arrived. “I’ll need as much time as I can get.” The two of them hugged briefly. Nicki grabbed her small ivory-handled carpetbag, took a deep breath for courage, and headed out the door.

The most dangerous part of her plan was stealing one of the horses. Patrick was her biggest threat, but even if he caught her, he probably wouldn’t stand in her way. Earlier, while Alex worked in the fields, she had taken the money from his desk drawer, just the amount she needed for her escape. She had also taken his heavy cap-and-ball pistol.

Once at the stables, things went smoother than she had planned. The horses were used to her presence and didn’t even stir. From the sound of his snoring, Patrick lay fast asleep. Maybe he had taken a wee nip o’ the grog.

She smiled at that and thought of another friend she would miss.

Choosing Vespers, a sorrel gelding used mostly for errands, Nicki saddled him, led him to the mounting block, mounted, and quietly rode away. An hour later, she stood on the dock at La Ronde alongside three men, two in work clothes, one dressed as a gentleman; and a big-breasted woman who looked a little drunk.

At this late hour there weren’t always passengers, so a lamp had been hung out, the signal for the boat to stop. Nicki took a cabin on the passenger deck, nothing fancy, just a place to get some sleep. The
Memphis Lady
was old and a trifle rickety. Mostly she hauled cargo, and she never went much farther than Baton Rouge.

In the morning, Nicki planned to leave the old boat at the first promising stop, find transportation inland, and be on her way. She was giving herself a second chance, and she was determined to do it right this time. She would find work, she vowed. Make enough to take care of herself.

Without removing her clothes, Nicki lay down on the narrow berth. The walls, paneled in cypress, and a tiny bureau with a mirror above were all there was to the room. An inside cabin with no windows—it reminded her of a cell. You’ll be out of here soon, she reminded herself sternly. No one will own you. No one will tell you what to do or how to feel. No one will demand you warm his bed!

No one will be there to hold you when you need it. No one will kiss you, tell you things will be all right.

Try as she might to stop them, salty tears rolled down her cheeks. She had loved Alexandre once. Loved him and trusted him. And Alex had destroyed that trust. On top of that, he had revealed the man he was inside by denying her one chance at happiness. In France she could have started over. In France she could have been Nicole St. Claire.

It was obvious Alex cared for her only as a possession, a willing consort to satisfy his lust, then be cast aside. He didn’t know the meaning of the word love. He didn’t believe in it.

After the way he had treated her, Nicki didn’t either.

Closing her eyes against the sadness she suddenly felt, she concentrated on the sound of the paddle
wheels churning up the water, the gentle roll of the boat. In time she would forget Alexandre. She wondered how soon he would forget her.

Alex awoke before dawn. He wanted to catch the first steamboat into New Orleans. Nicki had been packing for the past two days, so she should be ready. He damned well was.

It had been all he could do last night not to make love to her. The kiss they had shared had fired his loins; the taste of her had been heady. He had gone to bed hard and edgy, wanting her so badly he couldn’t sleep. Twice he’d considered going to her, kissing her until she begged him to take her. He could do it, he was sure. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could turn her feelings off and on.

To his surprise, he’d discovered neither could he.

Taking the stairs up to her room two at a time, Alex rapped on Nicole’s chamber door. He pounded hard two more times before Danielle pulled it open.

“Is she up?” he asked.

“Oui
, m’sieur. But it will be some time before she is ready.”

“Tell her we’ve a boat to catch.”

Danielle nodded and pulled the door closed. Alex headed downstairs to the dining room to get a cup of coffee. When Nicki didn’t arrive and the morning meal was served, he went back upstairs. Another two raps on the door brought Danielle.

“She is not feeling well this morning, m’sieur. She begs your pardon. She says she will be down soon.”

Alex watched the way Danielle kept looking at her feet. One hand played with the folds of her black cotton
skirt, while the other twisted a single thick strand of her straight dark hair.

With an oath beneath his breath, he shoved open the chamber door, nearly knocking Danielle over. “Where is she?”

“She must have taken the back stairs down to the dining room.”

Alex whirled on her, gripping her arms and dragging her up on her toes. “You’re lying! I want to know where she is and I want to know now.”

Danielle began to tremble. “She has left here. You may dismiss me, m’sieur, but she asked for my help and I gave it willingly.”

“Where? Where has she gone?”

“I cannot tell you.”

Alex’s grip tightened and he shook her. Hard. “Where is she, dammit?”

Danielle’s round gray eyes gleamed with fear, but still she would not speak. Alex growled low in his throat, and released his hold. “I was afraid she’d try something like this. I just thought she’d wait until she got into town.”

“Nicki is very resourceful, m’sieur. She will be all right.”

“All right? She’s a runaway bond servant, for God’s sake. Everyone knows about her. Someone will recognize her, remember her. If the authorities find out, they’ll put her back in prison—or worse. It could take weeks before they let me know where she is.”

“Mon Dieu
, I never thought of that,” Danielle said, beginning to look uncertain.

“I’ve got to find her, Danielle. Before someone else does.”

Danielle wrung her thick-fingered hands. He could
read her indecision, the loyalty that warred with her fears. “What will you do to her?”

“Bring her back where she belongs.”

Danielle released a sigh of resignation. “She took the midnight boat upriver. She was headed inland. That is all I know.”

Alex swore softly. “I should have known,” he said to no one in particular.

After stopping in his room for a change of clothes, his knife, and a pistol, since the one in his desk was gone—along with some of his money—he descended the stairs and strode to the barn. He had found her damnable note, telling him she would pay him back and asking him to let her go.

Let her go
, he thought. If only it were that simple. He thought of her out there alone. Did she really want to leave him so badly? On the surface, maybe. But she was young and innocent. She didn’t understand the ways of the world. As long as she remained with him, she would be safe and protected. She would have all the beautiful things she’d been denied for so long. Everything he was doing was in her best interests—why the hell couldn’t she see that?

In the barn, he led Maximillian from his stall—the gelding’s disposition far better suited to the task ahead than that of Napoleon. Alex had almost finished with the saddle when Patrick arrived and hurriedly completed the job for him.

“I hope the lass isn’t in trouble again.”

“If she isn’t,” Alex snapped, “she will be when I get hold of her.” With that he mounted and rode out of the barn at a gallop.

In her tiny inside cabin, Nicole fell asleep just as the sky grayed with dawn.

Her mind conjured dreams of Alex. In the early morning mists, he followed her, trying to catch up to her but somehow unable. In a plaintive voice, he professed his love, repeating over and over how much he cared. Nicki just laughed, a harsh grating sound that called him a liar. He reached out to her, but she only drew farther away.

Eventually the disturbing dream faded, and Nicki slept a little more soundly. Since she had no window in the cabin, there was no morning sunlight to awaken her, and she woke a little later than she intended. But the rest, however fleeting, had been good for her. She felt ready to face what lay ahead, ready to get on with her life.

Pouring water from the blue china pitcher into the basin on the tiny bureau beside the berth, Nicki washed the sleep from her eyes and smoothed back her hair. She wore it braided and knotted into a chignon at the nape of her neck. With her small carpetbag in hand, she opened the door into the corridor
and went out on deck. Once there, the wind brought some of the color back to her cheeks and she felt even better.

The boat made a stop to offload a bit of cargo, but there were few buildings and no sign of anyone who might be able to take her inland. There was just one more town before Baton Rouge, but Nicki decided it would be perfect, even if a bit disreputable. The city of Montagne was small, but not too small. She had been there once with her father. One road led out of town to the north on its way to Baton Rouge, while another road skirted the bigger city, but eventually connected with the road east to Hammond. She would take the Hammond road, then head north to Jackson or continue on to Atlanta.

“Goin’ to Baton Rouge?”

The words, with their soft Southern accent, drew her attention to a lanky man who propped a boot on the rail beside her. He was shorter than Alex, but still tall. Fair-skinned and dark-haired with eyes that missed nothing.

“Montagne,” she corrected, then regretted telling him the truth.

“Nice little town,” the man said. He tipped his black, flat-brimmed hat. “Name’s Preston, ma’am. Traver Preston. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” she said, instead of giving him her name. He didn’t push her, just looked out over the rail, watching the passing shoreline, the trees and shanties that crouched at the water’s edge. Near-naked dark-skinned children splashed and cavorted while their fathers stood some distance away quietly fishing for catfish.

Taking a slim cigar from the pocket of his waistcoat,
Traver Preston struck a match against the rail and lit up. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked belatedly.

Nicki shook her head, inhaling the pungent scent of the tobacco. He had the look of a gambler in his black frock coat, ruffled shirt, and striped blue silk vest. More slick than polished. “I’d better be going,” she said, “my husband will be wondering where I’ve gone. Nice to meet you, Mr. Preston.”

“Pleasure, Miz …?”

“Mrs.,” she corrected. “Mrs. Donovan St. Michaels.”

“Missus St. Michaels,” he amended.

Though she turned her back to him, she could feel his eyes on her, assessing her with expertise. She wasn’t much of a liar. In future, she reasoned, she had better learn to master the art.

At the Montagne docks, she departed among a small group of travelers, a fat man in a dirty blue frock coat, the big-breasted woman from the docks at La Ronde, a mother and father and their three small children. The town looked no different than she remembered; just a jumping-off point along the Mississippi, its main street lined with warehouses, taverns, and houses of ill fame. The more respectable shops were located on the narrow streets behind.

The day was bright by now; the sun felt warm, the air cool and not too sticky. Most of the businesses on Front Street had not yet opened; only a few served customers all night long.

Nicole watched the others depart, then headed up Front Street toward the freighting office, hoping to hire a wagon or carriage, someone who might be willing to take her inland.

“Lose your husband somewhere, ma’am?” Traver Preston’s voice stopped her cold.

“He—he just went on ahead.”

“Not much of a gentleman,” he drawled, “leavin’ a lady alone in this part a town.” When he smiled like that, he wasn’t bad-looking, yet there was something about him that made her uneasy.

“Is there something you want, Mr. Preston?”

“No, ma’am. Thought you might be needin’ a little assistance.”

“I don’t need anything from you or any other man. I’m fine on my own.” With that she squared her shoulders and started on down the street. Preston fell in step beside her, but she kept on walking, determined to ignore him. She was just about to insist he leave her alone when a tavern door swung wide and two brawling men nearly knocked her over. Preston’s arm went around her waist, pulling her out of the way just in time, to keep her from falling.