Creole Fires (7 page)

Nicki smiled, wondering how many men as wealthy as Alexandre du Villier would invite a servant to dinner. “I already ate. You were telling me about your mother.”

“My mother and father were never close. My father wanted heirs; his children meant everything to him. My mother was rarely around—it was an arranged marriage, you see. Beneficial to all concerned, but allowing the maximum amount of freedom to each of them.”

“I suppose that’s the way it’s done among the aristocracy.” Nicki thought the whole thing sounded dreadful.

“So you know about that.”

“I’m not stupid, m’sieur.”

“Far from it,” he countered with amusement. “But I don’t care much for titles. I prefer to think of myself as an American. There are no dukes in America.”

It pleased her that he should feel this way. Made him seem more human, not so unreachable. “At least you’re free to marry someone you love.”

Alex scoffed. “Love. I don’t believe in it. A man marries a woman for the benefits that union will bring to the families—and of course, to produce heirs.”

“But what about feelings? Surely you wouldn’t marry a woman you cared nothing about?” Alex chuckled softly. “Don’t look so disappointed.
There are ways for a man to … exercise his more … sensual nature. Places other than the marriage bed.”

“You mean with a mistress,” she said flatly, and Alex grinned, flashing his dimples.

“You continue to amaze me.”

“I heard the servants talking. Besides, I was in her house, remember?”

“The house is mine. Lisette will live there as long as she pleases me. After that, I’ll find her a small place in the country, or maybe some other city, if that is what she prefers.”

“Good heavens, you sound like you’re putting her out to pasture. My father worshipped my mother. He would have done anything to make her happy, and my mother felt the same about him.” A lump swelled in her throat just to think of them.

Alex took a drink of his wine. “Maybe that’s the way it appeared to you, but personally I’ve yet to see it.”

“Does Lisette know how you feel?”

“Lisette is a practical sort. She’ll do whatever’s most profitable for Lisette.”

Nicki gaped at him in wonder. “A mistress who loves you for money, and a wife who loves you not at all.” She shoved back her chair and stood up. “I may be younger than you, m’sieur, but in some ways I’m wiser.” Shoulders squared, she walked toward the door.

It occurred to her briefly that Alex might be angry. Instead she heard his rumble of laughter as the door swung closed.

How could a man not believe in love? she wondered when the dishes were finished and she headed
upstairs to her small attic room. Surely there was some woman somewhere who could show Alexandre du Villier the meaning of love. For the first time, she began to think about telling Alex the truth.

Alex pondered his unusual dinner conversation as he stood at the rail of the steamboat,
Belle Creole
, on his way downriver to New Orleans. His fight with François had put him out of sorts until Nicki had come in, fussing over him, convincing him to eat the food he’d been sure he couldn’t swallow.

He chuckled to himself. She was a charmer all right. He wondered where she had learned to speak such educated English. He would find out, he decided, the next time they talked. Surprisingly, he found himself looking forward to it. Nicki spoke to him as if she were his equal, a trait he found fascinating in one so young. She had a quick mind and a good wit, yet she seemed sensitive and caring. He wasn’t usually so open with people. Maybe it was her youth, her freshness that appealed to him.

It pleased him that the others liked her too. Mrs. Leander called her “a joy to work with, never complaining, always willing to do more than her share.”

Danielle told him about the kittens Nicki had found. Their mother had been killed, so Nicki fed them with a rag dipped in milk, one drop at a time. She had been up half the night tending the starving little creatures, then gone to work at dawn without complaint.

Patrick, the fifteen-year-old stable boy who lived in the barn, had asked Alex her name the first time he’d seen her, but Alex had ignored him. He wasn’t about to have that young pup chasing after her. She was far
too young. Besides, she had too much to offer a man. When the time was right, Alex meant to see she had the chance to better herself.

The loud hoot of the whistle drew his attention as the big white steamboat reversed her powerful stern wheels and churned up the water beside the dock. Tonight he would see Lisette, take off the edginess he’d been feeling of late. She wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but then, what he had in mind took very few words.

As he walked along the wharf, crossed Decatur, and headed up Toulouse Street toward his town house, he couldn’t help remembering what Nicki had said about love. She was young and in many ways still naive. Let her cling to her illusions for as long as she could. She’d already discovered some of the harsh realities of life. Later she would find out another hard fact—just as with fairies and gnomes, there was no such thing as love.

Since Alexandre was working late in the fields and wouldn’t be in for dinner, Nicole had finished her kitchen duties early. The sun was still bright, so she headed toward the stables, a habit she had developed of late.

As she walked along the brick path a flight of sandhill cranes winged by overhead, and small black children played beside the garden. The smell of bay-berry scented the air from the candles being made not far away.

So much like home
, Nicki thought, realizing how much she was coming to love the big plantation.

Entering the cool interior of the barn, she climbed up on the bottom rung of a stall and leaned over the
gate. With just a few softly spoken words, a big blooded bay stallion named Napoleon trotted over, and Nicki petted his velvety nose.

“So,
ma petite
, are you as passionate about horses as you are about people?”

At the sound of Alex’s voice, Nicki whirled to face him. He stood right behind her, close enough so their bodies almost touched. He was dressed in tight beige riding breeches and a full-sleeved white linen shirt, open a few buttons down. Clothes she had seen him in when he worked around the plantation, though tonight his white, flat-brimmed planter’s hat was gone.

“I like horses very much.” She swallowed past a sudden dryness in her throat. Her heart had increased its tempo, and a warm, hollow sensation tickled the pit of her stomach.

“Do you ride?” The muscles in his thighs bunched as he propped a black knee-high boot on one of the slats of the gate. Dark-brown chest hair curled at the front of his shirt, pulling her mind off his question. When she didn’t answer fast enough, he assumed she did not. “How would you like to learn?”

A voice inside her warned,
say no
, but she rarely listened, and she wasn’t listening now. “I’d love to.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

She felt his hands at her waist, big hands, warm and strong, lifting her down from the stall.

“Patrick!” he called out, and the lanky stable boy she had seen several times before appeared from his room at the end of the barn. “Saddle Orange Blossom.”

“Now?”

“I’d prefer you do it sometime between now and tomorrow morning,” Alex remarked dryly.

The tall boy glanced at Nicki, sizing her up as he’d done the first time she had seen him, then left to do his master’s bidding.

“A lady rides sidesaddle,” Alex told her, as if her bottom couldn’t possibly fit the horse any other way. “Come over here, and I’ll show you.” His voice rumbled seductively, while a ray of late-evening sunlight turned his tanned skin a rosy shade of gold. He was smiling down at her, his teeth strong and white, dimples etched appealingly into his face. It was all she could do to look away.

Alex seemed not to notice. Effortlessly hefting a weighty sidesaddle onto a bale of straw, he helped her climb up on the tapestry seat.

“Hook your leg up over the horn.”

She did as she was told, beginning to warm to the game. “Like this?”

“Not exactly. Straighten your spine a little.”

He positioned one hand on her calf, fitting it more carefully, while the other maneuvered her hip into proper position. Nicki felt the warmth all the way to her toes.

“That’s better,” he said softly, but there was tightness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Orange Blossom’s ready,” Patrick called out, and Alex seemed almost grateful. They moved into the corral, where Patrick waited with the dun-colored mare.

“She’s twenty years old,” Alex told Nicki. “Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

She had no time to comment before his hands circled her waist, and he lifted her up on the mare. With controlled, businesslike movements, he looped one leg over the saddle horn while positioning her other
leg in the stirrup. No matter that the horse was so old it could barely stand, it felt wonderful just to be riding again.

“Use the reins to guide her,” Alex instructed, showing her the proper way. “Keep your back straight and your balance centered over the saddle.”

Nicki did as she was told, restraining an urge to charge out the gate and off through the cane fields. By the time it was dark, Alex had taken her through the walk, trot, and canter.

“You’ve got a natural ability for this,” he said, and she felt a little guilty for her deception. “If you like, we can work together in the evenings until you get good enough to go out of the corral.”

Nicki grinned. “That would be marvelous.”

He looked at her oddly. “How old did you say you were?

Oh God, what had she done to set him off? It was hard to play the role of a child when she’d done everything in her power to forget her childhood. “How old?” she repeated, stalling for time.

“Exactly
how old?”

Twelve seemed out of the question. “Thirteen,” she said, and was grateful for the darkness. “I’ll be fourteen in October.” October twenty-fourth was her natal day, at least that much was true.

“You seem older.”

“I was forced to grow up in a hurry.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. Patrick returned for Orange Blossom, who nickered softly as she was led away. Alex made no attempt to leave, but joined Nicki where she stood by the fence.

“How did it happen?” he finally asked. “How did
you come to be indentured? You’re obviously educated. How in God’s name did you end up in jail?”

Nicki propped her arms on the rail and looked out among the towering oak trees that loomed like great gray shadows in the distance. The last of the light had fled, leaving the corral illuminated by the stars overhead and the round sphere of a moon. She had wondered if he would ask about her past. It didn’t seem likely, yet she had both feared and hoped he would.

“We lost our home in the depression. My father died rather unexpectedly, and my mother and I were left alone. That same year my mother died. They said it was a stroke, but she missed my father so much, I think she died of a broken heart.”

“Surely there was someone you could turn to, someone who would help.”

Your father!
her mind accused.
Your family. We came to you, but you wouldn’t help us.

“Most of our friends were in worse trouble than we were. In the end, I thought the best idea was for me to indenture myself for a few years, learn a trade so I could fend for myself.” Alex watched her closely, his interest encouraging her to go on.

“The Ramseys indentured me as a favor, since my family had known them for years. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before they also ran into hard times. They sold me to a man in New Orleans who seemed very upstanding on the surface ….” Nicki shuddered as the memory swept over her. Whenever she thought of Laurent, a cold, dark fear settled inside her.

“Every time he got drunk, he beat me. I carried his bruises all over my body. Once he broke my arm ….” Nicki stared off in the distance, fighting the ugly memories. “I was glad when he sold me. I
didn’t care who bought me, I only wanted to get away.”

“Mista Alex?” It was Lemuel, Alex’s valet. “Mista Thomas here to see you.”

Alex glanced down at Nicki, hating the painful memories that darkened her pretty face. It sickened him to think of the cruelty she had suffered. He was glad he didn’t know the bastard’s name who had treated her so badly.

Unconsciously, Alex clenched his fist. He glanced from Nicki to Lemuel, waiting for him patiently, several yards away.

He ran a finger along her cheek, wishing there was something he could say, but unable to find the words. “I’d better go.”

He had almost forgotten his meeting with Thomas Demming. They had the new shipping contracts to go over, so Thomas had volunteered to come out to the house. In truth, Alex knew Thomas enjoyed his brief forays into the country, his overnight stays at Belle Chêne. And Alex enjoyed the conversation. It was rare he got a chance to really relax.

Nicki put out her hand. “Thank you for the lesson. It was very kind of you. I’d almost forgotten how it felt to be treated as a human being.”

Alex’s expression turned grim. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn’t. “Don’t stay out here too long,” he finally said, then turned and walked away.

Nicki headed back through the barn on her way to the house. Whale-oil lanterns lit the interior, and the place smelled of horses and new mown hay. The stable boy stopped her before she reached the door.

“Say, lass, you made a good show o’ it, for your
first time out.” Thumbs hooked in the top of his blue canvas pants, he grinned down at her. He was a pleasant-looking boy, tall and fair, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes, though she couldn’t quite see them in the lamplight.

“Thank you.” There were dozens of Irish working on the plantation. Fleeing a famine in their own country, they’d immigrated into the area by the scores.

“Name’s Patrick O’Flannery. What’s yours?”

“Nicki Stockton.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nicki.” He smiled again; a pleasant, honest smile, it seemed. “Sidesaddle’s all right, I guess, but if you really want t’ ride, you’ve got t’ sit astride like a man. I could teach you, if you want.”