Lady Vixen (10 page)

Suspiciously,
Nicole eyed Marthe and Allen, and Marthe was moved to protest in her soft
musical voice, "Hush, you! Miss Nicole, you come with me and don't you pay
no attention to him."

Very
much in the manner of an animal scenting danger, Nicole cast a wary look around
the room. Allen smiled at her obvious uneasiness and gave her a gentle push.
"Go with Marthe, Nick. She won't hurt you."

Marthe,
impatient and eager to begin the transformation, grasped Nicole's nerveless
hand and led her into a small bedroom. Shutting the door on the amused faces of
the two men, she turned and surveyed her charge.

Nicole
stood stiffly in the center of the room, eyeing the brass tub filled with
delicately scented water much as she would a scorpion. A gown of bright
butter-yellow muslin was laid out on the bed, and with a growing sense of
dismay her eyes fell upon the brushes and combs as well as odd pots of God
knows what that littered the low dresser. Swallowing, she took a step backward,
but Marthe, the light of determination burning in her black eyes, coaxed,
"Come now, Miss Nicole, wouldn't you like to see what Marthe can do? It's
only for our own amusement. Besides wouldn't you like to take a nice warm bath
in soft rainwater instead of that nasty seawater?"

Gingerly
Nicole approached the tub and dipped a hand into the water. It did feel soft,
she discovered, delightfully so, and because she knew it would be churlish and
ungrateful to spurn what Allen and Marthe felt was a pleasant surprise, she
gave in resignedly. Unenthusiastically she allowed Marthe to settle her in the
tub and suffered the woman's ministrations. To her astonishment she found the
bath enjoyable and she was feminine enough to decide that she liked the
lavender scent of the soap that Marthe used with such efficiency. She did not
enjoy having her hair washed and protested vehemently until Marthe calmly
poured a bucket of cold water over her head. After that she sat in wet dripping
rage, while Marthe ignored Nicole's muttered threats and continued just as if
her charge were a young lady used to the services of a lady's maid and not a
glowering young savage. But once the bath and subsequent hair washing were
behind them, Nicole, wrapped in a huge white towel and sitting in a comfortable
chair, found herself so relaxed she nearly fell asleep as Marthe brushed the
long dark auburn locks dry. Deftly Marthe piled the glowing hair high on
Nicole's head in neat curls. After dusting her lavishly with powder, Marthe
coaxed Nicole into a gossamer-thin chemise before slipping the butter-yellow
gown over her head. It was a very fashionable gown, but of course Nicole didn't
know that, or that it had been included accidentally in an order of Louise's
some months ago. Marthe, even then with Allen's half-formed plan in mind, had
begged it from her mistress when the gown was discovered to be much too large
for the tiny Louise. Marthe had altered it slightly from her memory of Nicole's
tall, slender shape, and now the gown flowed about Nicole as if made for her.

Slightly
dazed, Nicole stared at herself in the mirror, unable to believe that the regal
creature who stared back could possibly be herself. The gown was cut low across
the bosom, leaving her shoulders exposed, barely covering the young upthrusting
breasts. A moss-green satin ribbon passed under her bosom and was tied in a
small bow underneath her breasts, while the remainder of the gown fell in soft
folds to her feet—her bare feet. Unfortunately Marthe had been unable to
procure slippers of a size for Nicole's long, slender feet. But Nicole never
gave her lack of footwear a second thought. Excitedly, like the child she was,
she burst into the room where Allen and Ian sat comfortably discussing the
latest events of Mr. Madison's war.

Both
men looked up and the expressions on their faces were a tribute to Marthe's
skill. Not even in his wildest dreams had Allen expected Nicole to look so
beautiful, and he stared as if seeing her for the first time. She was truly a
lovely girl, he thought, astonished, his gaze lingering on the shining dark
fire curls before traveling down the wide forehead and the surprisingly black
eyebrows and thickly lashed eyes. Unnecessarily Marthe had lightly darkened her
eyebrows and lashes and had applied a light coating of rice powder before
gently rouging the soft, full mouth and silently Allen applauded her skill. But
there was nothing artificial about the sparkle in the topaz eyes, and as Nicole
danced into the room, the yellow gown swirling out behind her, she cried,
"Look at me! Am I not grand? Do you think I'm pretty?" Then lowering
her eyes, she asked mischievously, "Tell me, Allen, am I as pretty as the
women at Madame Maria's that you and Saber visit?"

As
Madam Maria's was a very well-known bordello in New Orleans, Allen looked
everywhere but at Marthe's outraged face. Clearing his throat uneasily, he said
scoldingly, "Nick, Nick, you are not to compare yourself with them—and
young ladies do not talk of such things!"

"But
I am not a young lady, and I don't know any other women," she confessed
with paralyzing candor, then added impishly, "except Marthe."

Allen
was torn between the desire to laugh at her artless statement and a strong
desire to box her ears. Deciding amusement was the safest course, he said,
"Well, hopefully, we're going to do something about your
not
being
a young lady!"

At
Nicole's sudden mutinous expression he held up a warning hand and commanded,
"Now hear me out, Nick, and listen to what I say fairly."

A
very unladylike snort was his answer, but surprisingly, without further
argument, Nicole sank down onto a nearby sofa and muttered, "Leave well
enough alone. I'm perfectly happy the way I am and it's really none of your
concern what I do!"

Ignoring
her angry words, Allen seated himself across from her, and grasping one of her
hands, he said coaxingly, "Now listen to me. What I propose to do won't
hurt you—in fact it will help you. You have got to learn to be a girl
and
a
lady sooner or later. Marthe and I intend to help you to remember how a young
lady should act. If you ever take your place in society again, you can't do it
wearing men's clothing and cursing like a sailor. Think about what I'm
saying," he finished sternly.

Nicole's
lips thinned at his words and she snatched her hand from his loose hold. She
would have liked to storm from the room and tear off the gown she was wearing,
but common sense made her sit still. The truth of his words were obvious and
Nicole hadn't really thought about her eventual return to her ancestral
estates. It was something that would occur in the nebulous far-off future. She
just expected that someday she would return, sweep the Markhams from her home,
and then live happily ever after. And biting her lip uncertainly, she
acknowledged within herself that what Allen proposed made sense. At this point
she wasn't even sure that she wanted to return to England. Grudgingly she
asked, "What exactly do you want to do?"

Allen
smiled to himself at her apparent reluctance. She was such a child—no, she
wasn't a child anymore, not even the sight of her bare feet peeping out from
underneath the fashionable gown could hide the fact that she was a very
beautiful young girl. But she was a stubborn little minx too, and he knew his
task was not going to be simple. He hoped that by clever maneuvering he could
instill in her the desire to
want
to take her place as a wellborn young
woman. Carefully, feeling his way, he answered her question.

"Marthe
and I have decided between the two of us that you might enjoy being treated as
a young woman. We thought that if you would agree, whenever the
La Belle
Garce
is in port here, Marthe would act as your maid and Ian and I, with
Marthe's help, would coach you in the manners of a lady. It will be a different
experience for you, one I'm sure you'll enjoy, if you let yourself. You
certainly have nothing to lose."

Frowning,
Nicole regarded him. She couldn't see any flaws in Allen's reasoning yet she
was suspicious of it. What was the point of learning to be a lady if she had no
immediate plans to put that knowledge to use? She glanced at Ian and Marthe,
then at Allen. All three faces showed only affectionate interest. Reluctantly
she decided that if it meant so much to them, why not?

And
in the evening that followed she discovered she enjoyed herself very much
indeed. Allen was charming, paying her teasing compliments that brought a flush
to her cheeks and increased the glitter of the topaz eyes. Ian and Marthe
joined in treating her as if she were a visiting guest. The only thing she
didn't like were those times when the three of them corrected her unruly tongue
or pointed out that young ladies do not flounce down in a chair in such a
manner, nor do they gulp and splutter when drinking champagne, and laughingly
Allen commented on her fascination with her image in the mirror.

She
couldn't help it. She was mesmerized by her own reflection, yet it was not
conceit that drew her eyes to it again and again—it was astonishment! She had
to keep looking to reassure herself that the girl in the mirror was really her.

Allen
was rather elated with the results of the evening, but he kept his thoughts to
himself as the two of them made their way to the ship. She had a long way to go
yet before he would wish to see her in Almack's, but tonight had been the first
step forward in making her aware that there was another way of living. He wished
not for the first time she would have agreed to stay with Ian and Marthe. They
would have been delighted, and while with an overseer and his quadroon mistress
was not precisely where he would have preferred Nick to be placed, it was a
damned sight better than having her on
La Belle Garce
under Saber's
discerning eye—lecherous eye, he amended silently.

He
would have been even more elated with tonight's success if he'd known that
Nicole had shed her gown and watched Marthe remove all traces of powder and rouge
with a definite feeling of regret. She wasn't ready to admit she wanted to keep
her first grown-up gown, but she had been struck by a queer, confusing desire
for the infuriating Captain Saber to see her arrayed in the butter-yellow
muslin, her hair piled high on her head. The thought alarmed her as well as
confused her, and she was decidedly uneasy as she climbed into her hammock in
her little cupboard on
La Belle Garce.

This
afternoon and evening had stirred old memories and half-forgotten precepts. She
never thought of her "other" life, the pampered life of Miss Nicole
Ashford, but tonight had awakened reminiscences—memories of her laughing
beautiful mother, the candlelight gleaming on her flame-red hair and her satin
gown swirling about her feet as she leaned on her husband's proffered arm. Her
handsome father would be wearing silks, the white lace of his shirt foaming
near his throat. Together they would descend the curving oak staircase to greet
their guests while she and Giles peeped down between the railings of the
banister; the carved doors to the dining room would be thrown open and the
children afforded a glimpse of the long mahogany table hidden beneath a snowy
white tablecloth, the crystal twinkling in the candlelight and the silver
glowing brightly in the room. What a long time ago it all was, yet the memories
were clear as yesterday.

Conscious
that she was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about Saber and
things that were best forgotten, Nicole determinedly attempted to fall asleep.
It was useless. Her brain was too busy and for the first time the smallness of
her sleeping quarters seemed to press in on her. Damnation and hellfire! Why
did Allen have to meddle? Her restlessness was all his fault! If he would just
leave well enough alone she would work it out herself.

What
was she going to do? She owned little beyond the clothes on her back. Her share
of the plundered cargoes they'd taken within the past years had been minimal,
and she had not saved any of it. She had merely drifted, letting each day take
care of itself.

Returning
to England, she suddenly realized, was going to present a multitude of
difficulties that she had never imagined. It occurred to her, dampening her
spirits, that she wouldn't just be able to deposit herself as she was on the
family doorstep. Certainly she would more than likely have to prove her
identity—and somehow live until her claim was justified. Appallingly the idea
presented itself that no one would believe her and her mouth tightened. She
was
Nicole Ashford and she
would
regain her fortune . . . but how?

She
turned restlessly in her narrow hammock. Damn Allen! Why couldn't he leave well
enough alone? She was happy, she told herself fiercely. Who cared for silly old
gowns and scented soap? She didn't! She
liked
seawater baths and her
well-worn coarse linen shirt and cotton pants. But then contradictorily she
gave a sigh as the memory of that silky chemise came to mind. How soft it had
felt lying against her skin!

Allen's
worry that Nicole sometimes forgot she was a woman was unfounded. Of late, the
last year or two to be exact, she was becoming increasingly aware of a
restlessness that had everything to do with her masquerade. She wouldn't
acknowledge it to herself, but she had unknowingly begun to take a great
interest in the dress and mannerisms of the few women she came in contact with—
not the whores the seamen tumbled carelessly below decks on their first night
in port after weeks at sea, but the somewhat higher-class ladies whom Saber
entertained in his quarters.