Lady Vixen (81 page)

Aware
that Christopher was like a banked fire ready to burst into flame, and
uncertain of his own ground, Jason asked, "Do you want to talk about
it?"

"God,
no!" Christopher exploded, leaping to his feet and taking several short,
agitated steps about the room. Bitterly he said, "Talking will do no
good." Then as if contradicting himself, Christopher threw Jason an
arrogant look, one daring him to offer pity, and muttered, "I find myself
in the most damnable coil, and no matter which way I turn I see no
escape."

No
doubt you do, my young friend, no doubt you do, Jason thought understandingly,
recalling vividly his own frustration and anguish. And I suspect you would
rather have died than to admit it to me.

It
was a ticklish predicament that Jason found himself in. He could not be
positive, but he suspected strongly that Christopher and Nicole had fallen into
much the same trap that he and Catherine had all those years before. But
without knowing for certain, he could hardly say, "Look here, Saxon, the
same thing happened to me and this is what I did." If he were wrong, he
would be revealing more about himself than he cared to, and for no reason. Of
course, on the other hand, if he read the signs correctly and did say his mind,
he might very well present Christopher with a way out of his painful dilemma.

He
watched the other man consideringly as Christopher stared outside, his back to
the room, the broad shoulders squared as if for battle. You bullheaded young
animal, Jason thought with sudden surprising affection, you are so like me in
so many ways that I know precisely what is eating at your gut. We are such
blind fools where our women are concerned. And for you, my young friend, I will
offer one piece of advice. I wonder if you will be wise enough to take it?

Before
Jason could say anything, though, Christopher spun on his heel and, like an
edgy golden-eyed panther, stalked over to the desk. Furious with himself for
having burst out as he had, he wanted only to escape, to deny once again that
Nicole presented any difficulty. Certainly he did not want to discuss the
situation with anyone—especially not Jason Savage, in spite of the odd air of
sympathetic understanding that seemed to flow between them. Right now
Christopher felt naked and exposed, too proud and arrogant to say, "By
God, yes, let's talk about it. I need someone with a clearer head than
mine!" Instead, as always when he was confronted by adversity, he withdrew
into himself.

Outwardly
indifferent, he stood in front of Jason and, deliberately ignoring the present
subject, said coolly. "I shall see you on Thursday as planned, unless I
hear differently from you. Now if you will forgive me, I am afraid I must be
about my business. If you hear news that you think would be of interest to me,
please do not hesitate to send a messenger to Dauphine Street. And if I can be
of further service to yourself or the governor, you know that I will be more
than willing."

Almost
amused by Christopher's stubborn refusal to face what was bedeviling him, Jason
merely nodded and replied lightly, "Fine. Catherine and I look forward to
seeing you. And rest assured, should I have need of you, I will demand your
presence immediately."

Christopher
bowed politely and had walked as far as the door when Jason's soft drawl
stopped him abruptly. "You are a rather obdurate young man, you
know," Jason said reflectively and without heat. With a hint of laughter
lurking in his voice, he added, "I'm going to break one of my cardinal
rules and give you a little unasked-for advice, my mule-headed friend. I once
found myself in a dilemma much like, I suspect, the one you are in now. And I
solved the matter," Jason finished almost complacently, "simply by
marrying it!"

Throwing
Jason an exasperated look of half vexation and half-mocking amusement,
Christopher stalked from the room, unwilling to speak further on the subject.
Damn him, he thought with annoyance, as he walked in the falling rain, was
there
nothing
that escaped the man?

Unwilling
to consider seriously Jason's suggestion, he deliberately dismissed it and
instead turned his mind on the problem of Lafitte—Lafitte and New Orleans and
the coming battle with the British.

Finding
one of the smaller, quieter coffee houses, he settled in a dark corner and, his
eyes on the rain splashing and hissing against the windows, reflected on what
he had learned today.

On
the face of it none of it looked good. Claiborne had alienated Lafitte by
ignoring his offer of help. Lafitte, understandably incensed, had the weapons
and men that could turn the tide against a concerted effort by the British. How
in the devil was he to reconcile them? Jason, he knew, would be doing his best
with the governor, but he rather suspected that the answer would lie more with
Lafitte—would he be willing to forgive the governor and fight with the
Americans?

The
problem appeared unresolvable. But what about Jackson? As a military man and
one who had not been involved in the feud between Claiborne and Lafitte,
perhaps he could provide the answer. Provided he was willing to put aside his
feeling about "hellish banditti"! Christopher smiled grimly to
himself. When Jackson saw the defenses of New Orleans, he was more than likely
to open his arms to the devil himself than to worry over the less-desirable
traits of some of Lafitte's men. The flints alone should make him willing to
turn a blind eye to past lawless activities. Yes, Jackson was the answer.
Somehow, he must arrange a meeting between Lafitte and Jackson . . . with
Lafitte in the right frame of mind of course I Jackson would need no priming
from anyone—New Orleans's lack of strength and armaments would be argument
enough.

On
Lafitte's news concerning Allen Ballard he wasted little time in speculation.
His only thought was Nicole would be pleased Ballard was with the British.

That
brought him face to face with what he had been avoiding all day—Nicole. He
swore under his breath as her image rose before his eyes, blasting every
thought from his mind. And Jason's words came back to burn across his
brain—marry her!

Coolly
he forced himself to think about it, reminding himself that this time last year
he had been in Bermuda on the verge of offering for Louise Huntleigh. And
Louise never moved him, infuriated or delighted him as did Nicole. So why not
marry her? It would please his grandfather. And if arranged instantly and with
secrecy, it would silence the social flutter that Nicole's unmarried state
would arouse. The Savages would not betray the fact that he had married Nicole
after
they had arrived in New Orleans. If he moved quickly, by tomorrow night
Nicole would be his wife. Thursday's dinner would be the first social
appearance of his bride.

The
same reasons that had prompted him to consider marrying Louise still existed,
he thought unemotionally, and Nicole was far more well connected and possessed
a fortune that dwarfed the Huntleigh estate. Why not marry her?

She
was beautiful, tantalizing, and everything he wanted in this world. Whether or
not she had given herself to Robert no longer mattered. That she was
Annabelle's daughter he dismissed impatiently; he even began to his horror to
make excuses for Annabelle's despicable behavior. Ah, Jesus, he thought
angrily, you really are a besotted fool. Marry her, you jackass, but for God's
sake never let her know how easily she could wrap you around her little finger.
Never,
never
allow her to discover that you have committed the
unspeakable folly of falling in love. He was, he acknowledged miserably,
passionately, irrevocably in love with Nicole Ashford.

There!
he had admitted it, but it brought him no pleasure, no joy, no relief, just the
bitter taste of defeat. How she would laugh if she knew. Laugh and taunt him
and make his life a living hell. But marry her he would. And even try perhaps
to make her love him? That he even considered such a possibility showed how
deeply his heart was committed.

All
the wild, and yet gentle, emotions he had scorned were now pounding in his
breast for one woman, and that one woman wanted nothing of him—except her
freedom! What an ironic jest on himself! He who had laughed and jeered at
unrequited love, sneered at love, denied such an emotion existed, was now
himself a victim of it.

There
would be compensations, he reminded himself bleakly. Nicole would be his, and
someday there would be the child that he wanted. Oh, yes, there would be
compensations, he decided, as the picture of a topaz-eyed daughter rose in his
mind. A daughter on whom he could lavish all the love and tenderness he dared
not reveal to her mother for fear of having it thrown back in his face.

His
decision made, he rose from his chair, tossed a few coins on the table, and
headed for Dauphine Street. If they were to marry he had better damn well set
about arranging it. He deliberately refused to think of Nicole's reactions.

He
proposed with arrogant tactlessness. He did not ask Nicole if she would marry
him; he told her. To make matters worse, he gave no hint that the marriage was
anything more than a matter of convenience. It would please his grandfather, he
said. It would save her embarrassment, he said. It was time he married and had
a heir, he said.

Ignoring
the blazing light in Nicole's fine topaz eyes, he continued blindly to dig a
pit beneath his feet, as impassively he trotted out practical reason after
reason why Nicole should fall gratefully into his arms.

Christopher
had not been the only one to make some decisions that day. Nicole, waking long
after he had left her bed, had come to some bitter conclusions on her own. She
loved Christopher Saxon, and she wanted him on any terms, at least she did when
she could think about it coolly. This morning she had decided with a calmness
that was shocking that if he wanted her as his mistress, well, he would have
her. It was useless to rail against him, to shout she hated him when all he had
to do was touch her and she melted like snow in the sun. She could not forget
those odd moments that occurred occasionally, when she glimpsed something
flickering in the gold eyes that left her breathless. It was possible all he
wanted was her body, but now and then the queer thought crossed her mind that
Christopher might be motivated by an emotion other than lust. It was a
comforting idea to cling to, and that thought more than any other helped make
her decision. Someday he might grow to love her, and she was willing to risk
her entire future on that frail hope.

Throughout
the long day she had paced the confines of the house, waiting for his return,
determined to burn all her boats, determined to tell him of her decision before
she lost her courage and bolted like a wild thing for whatever safety she could
find. She had been understandably nervous when, shortly after dark, Christopher
had at last returned to Dauphine Street, and when he had requested that she
join him in the library, her mouth had gone suddenly very dry. Then her chin
held proudly, and squaring her shoulders, she had walked with an outwardly
brave step to the library.

Christopher
had been standing, staring down into the fire when she entered, and after
sending her an appraising glance that took in the soft hair piled elegantly on
top of her head and the deceptively demure gown of emerald wild silk, he had
brusquely ordered her to sit down. There had been an awkward silence for a
moment, and Nicole had the curious conviction that Christopher was uneasy, even
nervous.

When
he had informed her that they would be married, her heart leaped within her
breast; shock mingled with hope and relief. If Christopher had then swept her
into his arms, she would have blurted out the shameful fact that she loved him.
But Christopher had proceeded to undermine his own cause by coldly explaining
the businesslike reasons for their union.

Trembling
with disappointment as much as icy rage, forgetting her earlier resolution,
Nicole sprang to her feet before the last word had left his lips. With her
hands clenched at her side, the topaz eyes glittering with unshed tears and
fury, she spat, "Are you mad? Marry
you?
I would rather die!"
The genuine anger in her voice almost robbed the words of their triteness, and
Christopher, his own temper smoldering into a blazing flame, shouted,
"Goddamnit, woman, what in hell's name do you want of me? I've offered you
marriage, what more can I do?" The odd note of half rage, half
bewilderment in Christopher's voice totally escaped Nicole.

And
because she was so angry, she spoke without thinking. "What about love,
Christopher?" she cried, her face pale and the soft mouth set in a hard
line. "Doesn't love have anything to do with marriage? Must everything be
calculated and done for the advantage one gains?"

Christopher
froze, staring very hard at her stormy face. Like a man in a trance, he slowly
reached out to touch Nicole's cheek. "Love," he whispered, "what
do you know of love?"

Suddenly
appalled at how close she had come to betraying herself, Nicole's eyes fell
from his, and she missed the flicker of naked emotion that had sprung to life
in the golden gaze. Not looking at him, yet unbearably aware of the warm caress
on her cheek, she jerked away and muttered, "Oh, never mind! I don't want
to talk about it."

"Ah,
but I do," Christopher retorted ruefully and drew her stiff body back
against his. His arms about her, he cradled her next to him and, bending his
head, murmured into her ear, "Could it be that you are already in love?
That there is someone who has captured that wild, stubborn heart of
yours?" Deliberately he said slowly, "Succeeded where I failed?"