Emerald Ecstasy (23 page)

Lianne sat on a chair in the parlor. Her long hair swept across her face and hid the yellowing bruise on her forehead. She shivered to remember that awful day, but knew she had to face Philippe shortly and inform him in person that she wished to end the marriage. Dera and Daniel had both tried to persuade her not to see him, fearing for her safety, but she knew he wouldn't harm her with a houseful of guests. Tonight was the Mardi Gras Ball and she thought the perfect time to settle matters…and Daniel could ask Amelie for the divorce since she was spending a few days at Belle Riviere with her brother. They could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Daniel read her thoughts and knelt on one leg beside her chair. Taking her hand, he ran his fingers over the silken softness of her palm.

“Everything will be all right. We'll face Philippe together.” He gave her a smile which set her pulses racing.

“I love you, Daniel.”

A tear fell onto her cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “Don't cry, darling. Things will work out.”

Lianne wanted to believe that but she got such a feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach sometimes. What if Philippe protested the divorce or if Amelie put up a fight? But she decided to put on a brave face for Daniel and not allow him to see how unnerved she was now that she was about to confront Philippe.

“I cry out of happiness, my love,” she said and kissed him softly.

Dera cleared her throat. “The ball should be well underway by now. It's after nine, and this little one needs her sleep.”

He nodded to his mother, then stood up and still holding Lianne's hand, he helped her from the chair. They walked arm-in-arm to the front door and into the waiting carriage for the ride to Belle Riviere.

Daniel and Lianne were the only two people at Belle Riviere without masks. Many of the women were either dressed in elaborate costumes representing mythical goddesses, Aphrodite being the most popular, or wore expensive silk gowns, their faces hidden behind tiny black masks. Most of the gentlemen wore their evening clothes with masks, and it wasn't hard for Lianne to pick Philippe out of the crowd. He was the one in the center of a group of his cronies from the gaming tables of New Orleans.

He saw her immediately.

“So you've returned!” he hissed when he stopped in front of her and behind the mask his face turned bright red. “And you've brought your lover, too,” he said scornfully.

Daniel rose to his full height. “We don't wish a scene, Philippe, but if you wish I can accommodate you. I really don't care. We want to speak to you about your divorce from Lianne.”

An oily smile congealed on Philippe's face. “Follow me into my study,” he said quietly with contempt in his voice.

As they made their way through the group of merrymakers, Amelie caught a glimpse of Daniel with Lianne hanging onto his arm. She meandered through the throng and tugged at his coat sleeve like a five-year-old. When he looked at her she said, “Haven't you a kind word for your wife, monsieur?”

Suddenly a group of people converged in the vestibule. Their drunken antics pushed Lianne away from Daniel, and when he went to grab for her, he was pushed away from the study door into which Philippe had just led her. He made a move to follow her, but Amelie stopped him with a firm hand on his wrist.

“Philippe is her husband. Leave them alone. I'm your wife,” she enunciated the words. “And if you leave me standing here by myself I'll throw the biggest temper tantrum and embarrass you in front of our neighbors.”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders and moved toward the study doors, but Amelie blocked his way. “I don't care what you do, Amelie. Move out of my way.” He worried for Lianne's safety.

“Such concern for your mistress, but I warrant everyone here would like to know what a big whore she is. If you go in that room, Daniel, I'll tell all of them. I'll shout it until I'm hoarse. Lianne Marchand, wife of my poor cuckolded brother, is a whore!”

“Quiet!” He grabbed her arm and propelled her up the stairs to an empty bedroom. Fire sparked from the gray depths of his eyes, and for a moment he wished to slap her when she smiled slyly at him.

“So, Daniel Flanders, cynic and whoremonger, has fallen in love.”

“Yes!” he said so sharply she winced. “I do love Lianne and I want my freedom from you, Amelie. I've never loved you in the way you deserve. We both know that. I'll make you a generous settlement where you'll never want for anything. You can marry again, find someone who'll love you and make you happy. Heaven knows, I can't.”

“Marry me? Who would marry a woman who has been cast aside like day-old bread? What man would want another man's leavings? Except you, of course, Daniel,” she remarked. “I'd be no better than second-hand goods. No divorce. No!”

He decided to try one last tactic with her, the one thing which might touch her heart.

“I knew Lianne in Ireland. Her daughter is my child. I want to raise Désirée.”

Amelie blinked in utter astonishment.

“Your wish for fatherhood touches my heart, Daniel. You shall have the chance to raise your child, and I shall give it to you, but not in the way you think.”

He cocked a wary eyebrow. “What game are you playing, Amelie?”

She took his hand and placed it on the material of her gown, over her abdomen. “The game of life, Daniel. I'm carrying your baby.”

He looked as if she had struck him. The blazing gray of his eyes dimmed. “You're lying.”

“Ask Doctor Markham. He confirmed my pregnancy.”

Moving away and toward the door, she blew him a kiss. “No divorce.” Then she left the room, and the smell of her perfume filled his nostrils.

A shudder rocked Daniel's large frame. Anger, dismay, pain, all threatened to inundate him. He knew he couldn't divorce Amelie now. For all intents and purposes she was his wife and the mother of his unborn child. But Lianne was the woman he loved and the mother of his living one. What right did an unborn baby have to take his happiness away? Yet he owed it to Amelie to stay with her, to be a father to her child. He must speak to Lianne, to try to make her see his dilemma and to let her know that he'd find accommodations for her and Désirée. At the moment he couldn't offer her the marriage they both wanted, the security of his name. But he could offer Lianne his love, and he hoped she'd take it.

“Damn!” he cried and rammed his fist through the wall.

When Lianne entered the study with Philippe, he jerked her to a chair by his desk. He removed his mask and looked at her long and hard. A cold breeze blew from the open doorway which led onto the back porch, but a warm sickening feeling overtook Lianne, and her face flushed.

“Well, my wife wants to divorce me.” Philippe shook his head in mock dismay. “No one divorces in this family. I told you once, Lianne, that you belong to me. I hope you come to accept that, but if you can't, then that's your problem.”

She tried to control the trembling in her limbs as she held onto the chair, fearing to sit because it would give him an advantage over her. “I don't love you. I love Daniel and always have. We were lovers in Ireland.”

“So? Should I grant your request because of an indiscretion?”

“Désirée is Daniel's child.”

His face didn't betray any emotion. “I'll raise her as my own.”

“How generous of you, Philippe, but I prefer a divorce. You hurt me a great deal, and I won't have my child a witness or victim of your brutality.”

“I'd never harm a child!”

“Perhaps not, but I no longer trust you. I want to marry Daniel. I love him!”

Lianne reminded him of Honorine for a moment with defiance shining in her eyes. He couldn't have that, wouldn't allow another woman to betray him. An ugly sneer turned up the corners of his mouth and he would have slapped her except at that moment he noticed a tiny red flicker outside on the porch.

“Who's there?” he called out, incensed that someone would actually eavesdrop on him.

Lianne turned as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, holding a lit cheroot between his two fingers.

“Oh, it's you, uncle,” Philippe said in relief.

Time stood still for Lianne. She froze, barely breathing when the man whom Philippe addressed as uncle walked into the bright ring of candlelight in the study. A full head of hair, the color of a raven's wing, matched his clothes. The nose, the lips, the shape of the face were the same, but it couldn't be him, Lianne thought wildly. This man wore a dark patch over his eye, yet when he spoke, his voice left no doubt that the man before her was Raoul de Lovis.

“How charming to finally meet my nephew's wife,
querida.”

“But I, I…” Lianne could barely speak and knew she sounded like an idiot.

“Mon Dieu,
Uncle Raoul. Do you have this effect on all the ladies?” Philippe grew agitated at having been interrupted.

“It seems I do on this one.” Raoul bowed low and grabbed Lianne's icy hand. He planted a lingering kiss in her palm, but its warmth didn't thaw her body. He surveyed her in grim amusement. “Perhaps my injury causes your wife to lose her tongue.” He touched the patch. “Maybe she pities me and wonders how this happened.”

“You never did explain the loss of your eye.” Philippe settled himself in the chair behind his desk.

“Nor shall I tell you.” Raoul took the cane he held by his side and nudged Philippe out of the chair. Philippe started to protest as his uncle took the seat but decided it would be unwise. For some reason Raoul looked quite forbidding, and he was never at ease in his presence.

“Now, Lianne,” Raoul said in smooth tones, “you wish to divorce my nephew. Is that true?”

Lianne still couldn't reply she was in such shock to find Raoul de Lovis alive and to realize that he was Philippe's uncle. She couldn't believe she hadn't killed him. She had tried so hard not to think about him, prayed she wouldn't dream about him. Here he sat across from her, and all she could do was stare dumbly.

“Is that true?” she heard his voice booming, and she jumped.

“Yes!” she cried.

Philippe interrupted. “I told her the Marchands don't divorce. Even my mother's family, your family,” he reminded his uncle, “never divorced. Why, it's unheard of…”

Raoul banged his cane on the desk top. “Quiet, you idiot.”

“But Uncle Raoul…”

Lianne's knees felt like lead, and at any moment she expected them to give out, but she held onto the back of the chair as if it were an anchor. Raoul watched her, appraised her. She felt as if he were undressing her with the roving glance he sent her from head to toe. She vowed she wouldn't stay married to Philippe, even if this hateful Spaniard decreed it. She'd find Daniel, and they'd leave Belle Riviere and fight for their freedom together. A bit of courage surged through her. She raised herself erect and proud.

“I'll divorce Philippe. No one can make me stay here as his wife.”

“No one intends to,
querida.
Especially not me.” His voice was very low, and she barely heard him.

“Lianne, I won't divorce you!” Philippe gritted his teeth.

“Sí,
you will, my nephew. As I recall you owe much money to creditors, and only last week you requested part of your inheritance which I gave to you. Now, I'll turn all your money over to you. You may pay off your debts, squander it any way you choose, but you will give your wife a divorce.”

Philippe stared in astonishment. The money was his, but to obtain it, he must lose Lianne. Well, let his uncle think he had won for now. He thought the whole situation was peculiar and guessed de Lovis had designs on Lianne for himself. He'd let him have her for now. But soon, when Raoul grew tired of her, he'd make certain no man ever touched her again. Just like Honorine.

“Meet me at the bank when it opens tomorrow,” Philippe told him and left the room.

“There,” Raoul said. “Wasn't that easy? You will have your divorce.”

Lianne didn't trust him. Why would he help her after what she had done to him? “I thought I had killed you.”

“You nearly did,
querida.
But I'm a strong, healthy man. I'm not so easy to get rid of, as you shall one day realize.”

“What's to be my punishment, de Lovis?”

He appeared confused. “Punishment? Why should I wish you punished? All I wanted was your happiness, my dove, and my pleasure. I could have made you happy, I think, in time. If you had not been so wild.”

He stood up and walked around the desk to where she stood. Reaching out a hand, he touched an auburn curl which brushed against her cheek. She drew back as if he had burned her.

“Really, Lianne. I won't hurt you. I'd not inflict bodily injury upon you like my jackass of a nephew.”

She started. “You were in the room with me when I was ill at Chloe's.”

“Sí.
Chloe sent for me. Because of me, Philippe was confined to Belle Riviere and left you alone, otherwise, he'd have killed you.”