Lady Vixen (75 page)

A
shout from Higgins jerked Christopher's head around before he could continue
further, and with a low, vicious curse he swung a kicking, fighting Nicole up
in his arms and carried her down near the surf. Standing her none too gently on
the damp sand, he snarled, "Now you stay here and you listen to me! Robert
and Edward are both dead! And if you didn't do the actual deed yourself, you
are directly responsible for their deaths." He finished bitterly,
"You are so like your mother!"

Nicole's
face went white, her eyes huge enormous pools of darkness. The news of the
deaths was a staggering shock to her, but what stunned her most was that
Christopher was blaming
her!
She had known he would take the worst
possible view, but this? It was so damned like him, she thought with a burst of
blazing fury, to couple her with her mother, to think that they were alike!
"If I were a man, you'd not say that! And if I were a man, you'd meet me
on the field of honor before the sun rises. How dare you! How dare you condemn
me! Condemn me without a hearing, without even knowing what happened. You
arrogant beast—I hope your bloody ship sinks!" It was a childish taunt,
and Nicole bit her lip in frustrated fury, wishing she could command a
blistering attack that would leave him speechless.

There
was just enough justice in her words to give Christopher pause, but there was
no time—no time for further conversation, no time to settle the disagreements
between them. Harassed, torn apart by emotions he could not name, or would not
name, he was for the first time in his life swayed by indecision. And this one
woman was the cause of it all. There was no denying that he still wanted her;
even now, knowing Robert had lain with her, had tasted that sweet mouth, he
still wanted to feel her slender body naked against his, to feel that exciting
quiver her body gave when he entered her. And unbidden the thought leaped in
his mind—why leave her behind?

It
was madness even to think it, but once the idea was born he could not shake it,
and consideringly he gauged the nearness of the boat. It had reached the
breakers, and now within seconds he would have to make a move. Higgins was
already beginning to wade out into the foaming surf to meet it and he must join
him any moment. He turned back to stare down into Nicole's tempestuous
features, his eyes lingering on the ripe fullness of her mouth. And in that
second Christopher Saxon vanished, leaving only Captain Saber.

Christopher
Saxon had planned to leave her safe with his grandfather. Knowing she was
secure with Simon, Christopher could have sailed off to America and tried to
forget her. But Saber never denied himself anything he wanted, and he wanted
this slim woman desperately.

The
wind whipping his blue-black hair about his head, the gold eyes glittering with
emotions and instincts that had been tamped down and denied during the long
months in England, Christopher's gaze swept down the slender length of her
body. He made his decision and swooped down on Nicole before she even guessed
his intention. He gave her a long, hard kiss on her half-opened lips, and then
effortlessly he tossed her over his broad shoulder.

Ignoring
her scream of pure outrage, oblivious to the fists pounding fiercely on his
back and the thrashing legs, he plunged into the surf and strode eagerly
forward to meet the incoming boat. He met it in thigh-deep water and almost
cheerfully pitched Nicole onto the wooden planks. A second later, with an
enthusiastic hand from Higgins, he levered himself aboard. He took one last
look at the deserted, moon-washed beach, aware that now he could truly leave
England without regret. Turning to one of the crew, he said lightly,
"We're all aboard. Now let's get the hell out of here before a British
warship finds us!"

There
was a brief hesitation from the men, and then with a resigned shrug they began
rowing toward the ship. One of them couldn't help muttering, "No one said
anything about a female. Captain Baker ain't going to be best pleased when he
catches sight of her!"

Christopher
glanced down into Nicole's furious features, and carelessly stroking her curls,
he replied evenly, "Sorry for the extra passenger, but the lady and I have
some very important unfinished business to discuss—and New Orleans is just the
place to do it."

The
long sea journey back to New Orleans was a nightmare. Twice they were menaced
by British warships, once fired upon, and only a drifting fog bank saved them,
enabling Captain Baker to slip away unseen. The weather was foul; gales and
storms seemed to follow the ship every mile of the way, making short tempers
even shorter.

Understandably
the captain was provoked by the unexpected and unwelcome addition of a woman to
his ship, and Nicole spent the entire journey isolated in a tiny cramped
cupboard of a room. There was no privacy, absolutely no comfort, and as she had
left England rather precipitously, she grew to hate the bronze silk gown with
the ecru lace that she was wearing. She and Christopher exchanged the minimum
of words, each aware that now was not the time to begin another of their
acrimonious arguments. Higgins provided a much-needed buffer zone between them,
quickly and efficiently changing the conversation when it threatened to flare
into a full-fledged battle.

Day
after day Nicole stalked the confines of her small prison, her temper
smoldering. She was caught like an animal in a trap, a trap that she at once
wanted furiously to escape and yet . . .

Christopher
fared not much better, although he did have the freedom of the ship, and as he
had known he was leaving, he at least had a change of clothing. The lengthy
journey seemed endless to him; the miles and miles of churning sea stretched
out interminably before him.

The
only satisfaction he gained was the knowledge that the longshot he and Jason
had counted on had paid off, and he had been able to bring back proof of the
British plans to invade New Orleans. But then he smiled wryly to himself—the
past weeks the newspapers had been full of that sort of thing.

He
could do nothing about Nicole but curse the crazy impulse that had driven him
to such reckless lengths. What in sweet hell am I going to do with her? he
thought angrily as the ship plowed its way through the stormy seas. What was he
going to write to his grandfather? That particular unpleasant aspect had not
occurred to him before, and broodingly he stared out at the tossing, surging
waves.

Simon
must guess that Nicole was with him. His note to his grandfather had obliquely
implied it—and he had told Galena he would see to her mistress. For a brief
second the incredible thought occurred to him that even then he had been
subconsciously planning to take Nicole with him—if he found her. Even more
preposterous and displeasing was the feeling that he would not have left
England
without
finding her.

Christopher
was in the most tormented quandary of his entire life—he despised the whim that
had overtaken him, damned Nicole for being such an overpowering temptation, but
he could not deny that he still wanted her, wanted her so badly that he could
not envision life without her. And
that
was what really ate at his gut,
infuriating and torturing him until he could barely look at her without the
urge to close his hands around her slender neck and break once and for all this
web of unwilling desire and unnamed emotions that bound him to her.

The
long weeks at sea did nothing to resolve his difficulties. The proximity of
Nicole and his inability to feed the physical hunger that gnawed at his vitals
drove him to pace the deck night after night, his thoughts irretrievably on
Nicole, snug in her little cabin.

Oh,
he could have forced his way in and taken her, could have ordered Higgins from
the room anytime during the day that he wanted, and satisfied his hunger, but
he had reached the distasteful point where he craved something more than a
swift physical release from the passion that welled inside him. Violently, like
a man unexpectedly grasping a white-hot poker, he recoiled from the absurd
notion that what he wanted from her was love. The whole idea was ridiculous,
and with frustrated loathing he thrust the problem behind him, unwilling to
face what was in his heart, what had been in his heart since the night of the
thunderstorm at Thibodaux House all those months before.

Their
arrival at New Orleans in the second week of November was greeted with relief
by everyone. The weather in New Orleans, though, was no more appealing than it
had been at sea. A particularly cold, driving rain was blowing in from the
coast and whipping across the area, making it an extremely inclement day. The
roads were quagmires of mud.

At
Christopher's elegant mansion in the Vieux Carre an especially warm and
welcoming fire danced on the hearth in the main salon when he and his two
companions arrived a short while after docking at the port. A hastily written
note carried by one of the many dockside loiterers to the house in the Vieux
Carre had prepared Sanderson for their arrival, and in a matter of seconds
Nicole found herself efficiently escorted away to the room she had stayed in
before they had left for England, while Christopher was instantly served a
steaming mug of warm rum punch as he stood by the fire.

Wasting
little time, Christopher finished his punch while exchanging the latest news
with Sanderson. Almost immediately he departed for the Savage household. He had
debated the wisdom of sending a servant around to inquire if the Savages were
in residence, but restless and impatient, he had decided not to waste the time.
Instead he fought his way through the blowing rain the few blocks to the Savage
town house.

Fortunately
Jason was at home, somewhat unenthusiastically scanning some business papers,
when Christopher was shown into the library. An eager and welcoming smile
flitted across Jason's harsh features as he stood up and energetically extended
his hand. "By God," he said with half mockery, half seriousness,
"it is about time you returned! I had begun to wonder if perhaps my
instincts had betrayed me."

Christopher
merely grinned as they shook hands and said lightly, "Believe me, there
were times I wondered if we were not
both
mad to have considered such a
scheme!" Then unable to help himself he announced elatedly, "It
worked, Jason! I was at my wit's end, nearly certain I had failed, when events
worked out splendidly. Read it for yourself." Handing the memorandum to
Jason, he sat down casually on the corner of the desk and added, "It isn't
much—but it
is
proof of an invasion and it does give us some desperately
needed information."

"Hmm,
yes, yes, I see what you mean," Jason commented as he quickly skimmed the
brief facts of the memorandum. "But this is exactly what I was hoping for!
I must get this to Claiborne immediately—he has been nearly frantic these past
months. And the newspapers have not helped matters. It seems every day I read
of the imminent invasion of New Orleans, and yet nothing appears to be done
about it. The city is still woefully undermanned and the few defenses that
exist are totally inadequate."

"Nothing
seems to have changed then in the months I have been away," Christopher
observed disgustedly.

"Oh,
I wouldn't say that!" Jason replied with a slight smile. "Certain
things have happened, you know. John Armstrong resigned as Secretary of War and
Monroe took over his office. Despite the burning of Washington, we haven't done
too badly these past months. The news may not have reached London before you
departed, but Sir George Prevost's campaign to invade the United States by way
of Lake Champlain and the Hudson Valley came to nothing. One of our young
Lieutenants was responsible for that little victory. With only a makeshift
flotilla of four ships and ten gunboats, he destroyed the British naval support
near Plattsburgh, and Prevost was forced to abandon his plan and return to
Canada. And while this news is even older, August, I believe it was, General
Andrew Jackson
very
efficiently put an end to the Creek War—so that is
one less problem. On the other hand, you have heard no doubt that the country
is in deep financial trouble—the Treasury is bankrupt, and it is becoming
increasingly harder to find the money to pay for this fiasco. But, all in all,
we are managing to hold things together, and given time and a little luck we
should come about somewhat tattered but whole."

Christopher
only grunted, his lips twisting derisively. "If we can't defend New
Orleans against Pakenham's forces, we definitely will not be whole! The British
would like nothing better than to take over the entire State of Louisiana and
control the Mississippi River. Unless we get some troops here, and soon, they
stand a very good chance of doing so. Admiral Cochrane's fleet in the Gulf will
provide naval support to Pakenham, and combined with the Army, the British will
be damn near capable of running over us like a pack of wolves over penned
sheep!"

"Not
quite," Jason said slowly. "There is one more piece of news I
neglected to pass on—General Ross is dead. He was killed in September during
the assault on Baltimore, which failed, I might add. You see, we have been
showing a few teeth of our own."

Christopher
sighed. "Perhaps you are right—but the outlook is not particularly
encouraging. Don't forget that the peace talks in Ghent are traveling at a
cripple's pace, and as far as Ghent is concerned, I would not look there for
any speedy remedy."