Lady Vixen (31 page)

Christopher
smiled so coldly that Nicole ached to slap his handsome face, and he murmured,
"Then I trust you will watch your unruly tongue in the future?"

Ignoring
him and too angry to care what he thought, she spun on her heel and stalked
off, her back held very straight. For a moment Christopher stood and stared
after her, admiring the slight sway to her skirts and still fighting the urge
to tip up those skirts as she walked away from him. Shrugging his shoulders, he
ran up the stairs and quickly changed from his buckskins to a pair of buff breeches
and an expertly cut coat of Spanish blue. Higgins, in his newly resumed role as
Christopher's valet, slipped a pair of black Hessian boots on Christopher's
feet.

Glancing
at him, Christopher asked, "Have you settled in? Everything
satisfactory?"

A
grin splitting his weather-seamed face, Higgins answered cheerfully,
"Right and tight, sir! It's good to be back, and I'm downright pleased
that we won't be going back to sea. I'm getting a little old to be traipsing
all over the world."

Christopher
smiled, a smile few people ever saw. "Well don't get too used to
domesticity, my friend. Remember we leave for England in six weeks, perhaps
less."

Higgins
nodded, but his grin faded and his face clearly revealed his doubt. "Do
you think it's wise, sir? We're still at war with England and you and I are
still technically deserters. And I doubt your uncle is going to be pleased when
you show up."

"I'm
aware of the danger from my uncle Robert, Higgins. But it is our duty to return
Miss Ashford to her home. As for the war, remember it is no more popular in
England than it is here. We'll manage to brush through unscathed."
Christopher said the words easily, glad that he had not told Higgins the real
reason behind their trip to England. What Higgins didn't know wouldn't hurt
him, might, in fact, save his life, if by some mischance Christopher's real
mission were discovered and he were captured.

And
unaware of the thoughts running through Christopher's brain, but knowing from
previous experience that there was no turning him from his path once his mind
was made up, Higgins only shrugged and began picking up the buckskins that had
been thrown casually across a chair. "As you say, sir, but I don't like
it!"

Christopher
didn't like it either—for several reasons, and not all of them concerning the
risks involved—but he refused to think about it.

In
the intervening time Nicole had managed to cool her sudden temper, and she was
as furious with herself as she was with Christopher. She had meant to be very
calm and polite, and then what had she done but lose her composure at the first
sight of him. Pacing the library with long decidedly unladylike strides, she
proceeded to give herself a mental scold that would have done a fishmonger's
wife proud. Her temper gradually cooled and it was in a mood of icy politeness
that she joined him in the dining room for luncheon.

She
ate in frozen silence, and Christopher's remarks elicited only monosyllables.
By the time they had finished the last course, Christopher was in a fine rage.
Pushing his chair back with unnecessary force, he rose to his feet and snapped,
"I'd like a word with you—in the library. Now!"

"Oh,
I'm very sorry," Nicole murmured, "but Miss Mauer and I will be
engaged this afternoon. Perhaps this evening before dinner?"

Christopher
crossed over to her in two lithe strides, jerked her out of her chair, and
dragged her past the astonished Sanderson into the library.

Her
bosom heaving with suppressed emotion, she glared up at him. Fighting to
maintain her cold facade, she asked, "Was that necessary? You expect me to
act like a lady, but your actions are hardly those of a gentleman."

"If
you wish me to act the gentleman, don't treat me as if I don't exist. I don't
expect you to be pleased with the situation, but you had better learn to afford
me the bare courtesy of a guardian. I do not expect your gratitude, but I do
expect a civil reply and not conceited bitchery."

Biting
her lip with mortification, Nicole turned her back on him. Ignoring his harsh
words, she said tightly, "I'm sorry if you don't like my manners, but you
must remember that it is a long time since I have been part of
polite
society."

"Your
manners are acceptable, my dear. It's your attitude that needs changing,"
Christopher commented dryly, his anger fading as quickly as it rose.

At
his words Nicole glared at him. Grimly she said, "My attitude is no more
than you deserve. I do not forget that you hold Allen's life over my head—nor
what has gone between us."

Christopher
walked up to her and took her by the shoulders. Staring into her angry face, he
asked slowly, "Do you think that I enjoy holding Allen as a weapon against
you?"

Nicole
was suddenly breathless and frightened at the surge of emotion that rushed
through her at his touch. "Do you?" he demanded again.

"I
don't know!" she cried.

Her
answer afforded him little pleasure. "You leave me little choice," he
admitted bitterly. "You must obey me, without question—and Allen seems to
be the only person who means anything to you." Accusingly he added,
"You were even willing to whore for him!"

Nicole
flinched but her eyes met his. "I haven't forgotten," she said
quietly. "Nor that you tricked me. Do you think that I will ever forget
what has happened?"

"No,"
he agreed in a flat voice. "You won't forget, but"—and he gave a mirthless
laugh—"neither will I!"

He
released her and Nicole instantly moved away. For a second he stared at her, a
brooding expression in his eyes. Finally he said, "Are you going to meet
me halfway, or do we continue this constant war?"

Cautiously,
Nicole conceded, "I will try to treat you as my guardian, but don't expect
me to like it!"

Christopher
nodded. "That will do," he said lightly. "More would be
stretching your limits of acting."

For
the remainder of the day Nicole drifted in a confused haze. She could not
understand him—one minute he was cruel and brutal, the next demanding, then he
would ask for her opinion as if it mattered to him.

Christopher
was due to leave for New Orleans on Wednesday, and they spent the few days
before his departure treating each other with a meticulous politeness.

On
the morning before his departure, after their breakfast, Nicole asked a
question that had been at the back of her mind for some time. "What does
Mrs. Eggleston know of me? How have you explained my presence to her?"

"I
haven't."

Startled,
Nicole's eyes flew to his. "You mean she doesn't know that I am
here?"

"No,
not yet. But she will before she arrives. I intend to tell her a bit of the
truth—that you disguised yourself as a boy and acted as my cabin boy until just
recently, when I discovered your secret. Naturally," he said in a mocking
tone, "once I knew who you were, I immediately took steps to set things
right—hence your present situation."

Bewildered,
Nicole stared up at him. "But—but," she stammered, "what of the
tale you told me—that I've lived with her in Canada?"

"Hmmm.
Don't worry. Eventually Mrs. Eggleston will support that entire fabrication,
but for the moment she need only know what I want her to know." He
hesitated a moment and then asked, "Can you keep your stories straight—an
expurgated version of the truth for Mrs. Eggleston and later the Canadian tale
for England?"

Grimly,
Nicole answered, "I had better, hadn't I?"

"Let's
hope so," he drawled. Christopher spent the rest of the day busy with the
affairs of Thibodaux House—deliberately pushing all thoughts of Nicole from his
mind, willing himself to deny how desirable he found her.

When
he went downstairs that night, Nicole was already in the dining room. She was
wearing an enchanting gown of gossamer silk, the Pomona green color
complimenting the warm ivory of her skin. The gown was cut fashionably low, and
Christopher had difficulty in tearing his eyes away from the satin expanse of
smooth flesh that it exposed. Her hair had been arranged in soft ringlets that
fell about her face in artless disarray, and he knew an impulse to kiss that
spot where her slim neck met the soft nakedness of her shoulder. While he
appreciated the sight of her, he was swamped by the almost overpowering urge to
rip the gown from her body and to have that cleverly arranged hair in wild
disorder from his lovemaking.

He
could feel his body betraying him, hardening with desire even as he walked over
to her. The scent of the perfume she was wearing was tantalizing, and he
resisted all his awakened carnal instincts and saw to it that she was seated
before he walked to the other end of the table. Furious with himself and with
her for arousing him, he signaled coldly for Sanderson to serve. Through the
entire meal he was aware of the swelling in his skin-hugging breeches. Nicole's
polite attempts at conversation were met with a curtness that soon caused her
to give up all pretense of sociability.

Rising
with relief at the finish of the meal, she bid him a frosty good night and
swept from the room unaccountably depressed. Christopher barely acknowledged
her departure—he was too occupied fighting his baser instincts to worry how his
actions appeared to others. It was only after Nicole had been gone for some
minutes that he was able to rise from the table, his body once more under
control.

Angry
and unsettled, he took himself from the house, intending to walk off some of
his temper. Unfortunately it had begun to rain again, and after walking several
yards in the damp drizzle, he gave it up and returned to the house, his mood,
if possible, blacker and more explosive than before. He stalked off to his
bedroom, donned a robe, and poured himself a whiskey.

He
was in such a surly mood that Higgins, who usually enjoyed a short chat with
him in the evening, took one look at his face and swiftly saw to the evening
tasks, departing from the room with a sigh of relief.

The
light rain had turned to a full-blown thunderstorm. Standing at the opened pair
of doors that led to the veranda, he watched the jagged flashes of lightning
against the black sky. He was not sleepy and the storm's awesome power awakened
some primitive excitement in him. Stepping out onto the rain-lashed veranda, he
let the rain blow against his face. For a moment he could almost pretend he was
pacing the bridge of
La Belle Garce
as he had done so often in the past.
As in a dream he found himself walking slowly in the direction of Nicole's
room.

***

The
storm had awakened her, and for several minutes she lay in the bed, watching
the streaks of lightning out a window under the eaves of the veranda, and
listening with sleepy contentment to the rumble and fury of the thunder. She
sat up in the bed, the air cool against her naked flesh. Despite her delight in
the new night rails, she found that she much preferred the sensual feel of the bedclothes
against her bare skin. Her blanket-covered legs drawn up to her chest and her
arms wrapped around them, she rested her chin on her knees and stared with
fascination at the ever-changing sky.

Though
she was sitting in her cozy bedroom, it almost reminded her of storms at sea,
yet it was not quite as spectacular for there was not the surging feel of
La
Belle Garce
under her body. She remembered with longing the taste of rain
on her lips and the wind in her hair as she stood on the wave-lashed decks of
the ship. Rising quickly, she slipped on one of her new robes and ran
barefooted to the French doors.

Just
as she opened them there was a particularly sharp and explosive crack of
thunder, followed by a gigantic flash of lightning that lit up the entire sky
and clearly etched Christopher in silver as he stood near the railings, his
back to her, engrossed in the storm.

When
she saw him, her impetuous rush halted, and she froze, one foot on the veranda.
The force of the storm flattened the robe against her, outlining her pointed
breasts, her legs gleaming softly as it parted and flew in the air. Shock at
his presence weakened her hold on the doors, and with a suddenness that shook
her, the wind whipped them out of her hands and slammed them against the wall.

At
the sound Christopher whirled, and for a long timeless moment they stared at
one another. His face was damp from the rain, and in the continuing flashes of
lightning, his hair appeared shot with silver, as the light glinted off the
raindrops resting on its inky blackness. Neither spoke, and Nicole was only
aware of a sudden breathlessness, a tightening in her stomach, as the time spun
out. Frightened of the emotions he evoked, with a small inarticulate cry she
stumbled back into her room, but Christopher moved as swiftly as the lightning
in the sky, and with a muttered "Nick!" he dragged her into his arms.

Fighting
as much against herself as Christopher, she struggled to escape, but there was
no escape, not with his mouth, warm and demanding, moving with half-fierce,
half-gentle urgency against hers. Her arms were locked at her sides and her
body crushed next to the hard strength of his. She was conscious of so many
things as she twisted in his arms—the sweet taste of him, the feel of his long,
muscled legs against hers, and most of all their naked state, for as her robe
parted in her struggles so did his, and she caught her breath as she brushed
against his groin, feeling him full and heavy with desire.