Lady Vixen (83 page)

It
was Christopher's turn to look wry. "I felt a
great
deal of animal
passion for you, my dear! I don't deny it. But at the same time, I had never
wanted a woman to belong to just me. I had never felt compelled to protect one
or see that her future was secure—even if it meant denying myself. And I had
never experienced such a destroying emotion as jealousy before. I could have
killed Robert and all the others just for looking at you." His face
hardened again, the gold eyes were suddenly bleak, and he finished, "And I
could have killed you when I discovered you were with him that last night in
England."

Searchingly
Nicole's gaze traveled over his features. In a very careful tone of voice she
said, "Robert was nothing to me, but a good friend, Christopher. Later
when I learned his part in what had happened to you, I loathed him."

Christopher's
face did not change, nor did he give any sign he believed what she had said, and
Nicole's heart tightened painfully. There was so much that had to be said
between them, but Christopher was not about to discuss the past. As if in
confirmation of her thoughts, he sat up and said lightly, "Enough of this.
Sanderson will no doubt be informing us that dinner is ready in no time. Would
you like a glass of sherry or shall I pour you something stronger?"

Reluctantly
following his lead, she smiled with false brightness and indicated that a
sherry would be fine. Consideringly she studied the tall, lean body, as with
his back to her, he decanted some brandy for himself and a light golden sherry
for herself. He was so dear and handsome, and yet she knew they could not
simply pretend that the past did not exist. Christopher might have confessed that
he loved her, and she believed that he did—but she also knew he hadn't wanted
to love her and that he still harbored certain suspicions and doubts about her.
Doubts and suspicions that could destroy the fragile beginning they had at the
moment. She wasn't even positive that he believed her avowal of love. Last
night there had been a faint gleam of cynicism in his eyes when she had blurted
out what was in her heart. And today, despite the fact of their marriage and
the way he looked at her, there was a hint of wariness in his manner, and she
wondered with a shiver of sadness if he was al- ready regretting not only what
he had admitted to last night, but their marriage as well.

That
thought was uppermost in her mind all through the delicious dinner that Ruth-Marie
had prepared for them, and this time, thinking hard, Nicole did grim justice to
the delectable array of dishes placed before her. Swallowing the last bite of a
melting almond macaroon souffle, she made a fierce vow to herself that
Christopher was going to have to face not only the truth about her mother, but
about Robert as well. Because until he did they could never share the kind of
love and marriage that she wanted—that she was determined to have. He had said
he wanted no ghosts in his marriage bed, well neither did she!

With
a determined sparkle in the topaz eyes, she entered the main salon, expecting
Christopher to follow her shortly. When an hour later he had still not made an
appearance, she summoned a servant to discover his whereabouts and was slightly
nonplussed when the terse message was relayed to her that the master had gone
out! Torn between the desire to laugh and a strong urge to throw a tantrum,
Nicole spent the remainder of the evening by herself, not unnaturally
speculating on where her exceptionally new husband had gone.

By
ten o'clock and still no sign of Christopher, with a heavy step she ascended to
her bedroom, wondering dismally if that now she was his wife, he no longer
wanted her, that she was doomed to endless evenings spent by herself. Common
sense told her she was being silly, but their relationship was so delicate, as
yet so unexplored and untried, that it took very little to shake her
confidence.

Her
room had been changed during the day; what clothing and personal effects she
had at the moment had been moved into a large elegant suite of rooms that
adjoined Christopher's. Ordinarily she might have taken pleasure in the
spacious elegant appointments, the thick ruby carpet, the soft gleaming yellow
walls, and the rich velvet drapes of sapphire blue, but tonight none of them
held her attention. Not even the warmth of fire leaping on a hearth of polished
olive slate could melt the iciness that was running through her veins.

Dismissing
Naomi almost immediately and ignoring the flimsy negligee of lush amber silk
lying enticingly on the coverlet of sapphire velvet, she stared bitterly at the
double louvered doors of natural oak that separated her suite from
Christopher's. How dare he do this to me, she questioned with increasing anguish.
And slyly the thought slid into her mind—you believe he loves you, is this how
you prove it? By doubting him? So soon?

Instantly
angry with herself for being so quick to judge, so quick to look for slights
and injustices, she turned away and with a determined stride walked to the bed.
There was a very good reason why Christopher had gone out tonight. And he would
tell her what it was when he returned.

Holding
firmly onto that thought, she deliberately made herself prepare for bed, just
as if she knew that Christopher would be coming to her in a short while. She
was not going to greet him in fury and with recriminations —at least not until
she had given him a chance to soothe away her doubts and fears. If he didn't...

Almost
lightheartedly she stripped off her gown and, having bathed that evening before
meeting Christopher in the salon, slipped into the amber silk negligee,
enjoying the luxurious feeling of the material. From a fat crystal flacon she
liberally splashed herself with a heady scent that reminded her of spices and
carnations. A tortoiseshell hairbrush in her hand, she seated herself on the
rug before the fire and slowly, caressingly began to brush the heavy sable
hair, the flames on the hearth bringing to life the fiery glow in the wavy mass.

That
was how Christopher found her when, a few minutes later, he quietly opened the
louvered doors that separated their rooms. She was bathed in gold, the fire
flickering over her body and hair, turning her skin to molten gold, the amber
silk negligee to the gold of a morning sunrise, and her hair to dark flame. He
caught his breath sharply at the unconsciously sensual picture she made—the
negligee in the firelight revealing as much of the slender body as it hid, the
steady stroke of the brush in the long silken hair spinning the flame-struck
strands about her shoulders.

He
made some sound, never afterward certain what it was, her whispered name or the
click of the doors as he shut them behind him, and Nicole turned slowly to look
at him. The blinding smile she sent him then left him feeling curiously
lightheaded.

He
crossed the room to her side in an instant and, kneeling down on one knee,
reached out to touch the sable-fire hair, and with an odd catch in his voice,
he muttered, "Ah, God, you are so beautiful I You remind me just now of
some pagan goddess who has wrapped a golden chain around my heart, and no
matter how I try, I cannot break it! You're an enchantress!"

The
warmth and unconcealed tenderness in Christopher's eyes swept away all her
earlier doubts. And because he was near her once again, his hand gently
caressing her hair, his mouth just a heartbeat away, she was able to tease
impishly, "Is
that
why you went off and left me alone all evening?
Because I am such an enchantress?"

Amusement
crept into the gold eyes. "Witch!" he mocked. "You have a wicked
tongue too." Seating himself on a chair near the fire, he extracted a
narrow oblong box from under his jacket. With a diffident quality to his voice,
he said as he handed the box to her, "I had not gotten you a bridegroom's
gift. Every bride, even one as hastily married as you, deserves something from
the man she marries to mark the occasion. And because, I must confess,
unfortunately I did not think of it until after dinner tonight, I had the devil's
own time rousing a jeweler." To cover his deeper emotions, he drawled
lightly, "You have no idea of the trouble you have put me to finding this
bauble. I hope it meets with your approval."

It
did. Opening the box with a trembling hand, Nicole sat staring misty-eyed at
the magnificent necklace and earrings. Suspended on a finely wrought chain of
precious gold was a pear-shaped topaz surrounded by glittering yellow diamonds;
the matching earrings of smaller stones had a loop of the yellow diamonds that
would dangle and dance against her cheek when she wore them.
"Christopher!" she breathed at last. "It's positively the most
lovely thing I've ever seen."

"Mmmm.
I wanted a rare stone for you, but when I saw these, I was reminded so vividly
of your eyes gleaming with the same color that I knew I had to have them for
you." The words were said softly, almost as if to himself, but Nicole
heard him and, setting the box away from her, threw her arms about his neck.

"I
love you," she said fiercely. "I think I have always loved you, even
when I was a child and you were so brutal to me on
La Belle Garce.
And I
will love you until I die."

Christopher's
arms tightened around her, his mouth instinctively seeking hers. She was warm
and yielding in his arms as never before. It went to his head like a most
potent wine, and with a low groan, he gently moved to lay her down before the
fire, his own hard body lying next to hers. And like a man savoring the taste
of heaven, his mouth slid gently over hers, his tongue questing and probing
between her lips, before moving on to explore and touch, to incite and arouse.

With
feverish hands Nicole pulled his jacket off; the cravat followed a second
later, and brazenly she undid his shirt. Her ringers were like tongues of flame
caressing the hard chest, the broad back. The pantaloons gave her trouble, her
fingers fumbling for the fastenings, until with a smothered laugh, Christopher
rolled away, and standing up, he removed the remainder of his clothing himself.
Dropping naked beside her, he teased, "I can see that you haven't
undressed many men, my love."

The
words were said lightly, but they struck a chill in Nicole, and sitting up and
pushing her tumbled hair from her eyes, she said steadily, "I've never
undressed
any
man."

The
teasing gleam in the gold eyes vanished, and as if driven, he demanded harshly,
"Not even Robert?"

Taking
a deep breath, Nicole replied evenly, "Not even Robert." But he
didn't quite believe her, she could see that from the way his jaw tightened and
the faint gleam of skepticism that flickered deep in his eyes for just a moment.
Exasperated, her voice sharpened, and grasping his shoulders, she shook him
impatiently. "Christopher, listen to me! Why do you condemn me without
even hearing what happened that night? We've never spoken of it; never once
have you told me how you came to find out that Robert and Edward were both
dead, nor did you ask me how I came to be there at Robert's house." Her
eyes blazing with growing anger and pain, she said bitterly, "How can you
possibly say you love me, when you don't trust me? Believe in me?"

Christopher's
face was expressionless, and in a frighteningly deliberate manner he took her
hands from his shoulders and said, "Very well, tell me what
happened."

"Damn
you!" Nicole cried passionately. "No! Not when you're prepared to
doubt my every word! And you are! I know that look on your face too well.
You've already made up your mind that I'm lying." Twisting the knife in
her own heart, she finished softly, "That I am my mother's daughter."

That
seemed to evoke some response from Christopher; a spasm of what could have been
pain crossed his face, and with a nervous gesture he raked his hand through the
black hair. "I don't know what to believe anymore," he admitted
dully. "I love you. I want you. But I cannot help but remember that your
mother nearly destroyed me once—that she held me in her arms and whispered that
she, too, loved me." Throwing her a glance of dislike, he said brutally,
"She taught me how to make love, how to arouse a woman, how to make her
beg for a man, and all the while crying out that she loved me! That I was the
only one who had ever made her feel that way." He laughed harshly.
"And after I had left her, she met Robert, telling him the same lies,
kissing him with the same passion and fire that she had me, giving herself to
him with the same abandon. And you're her daughter." Coldly he demanded,
"Tell me, Nicole, wouldn't you be just a little suspicious?"

She
couldn't bear to look at him, to see the suspicion, the hate and bitterness
that she knew was in his face. He loved her, but until she was able to exorcise
the past for him, to burn clean the ugly memories, there would be no peace for
either of them. Broodingly she stared at the fire, groping for the right words
with which to answer him. There was no use in further protestations of her
innocence, that she sensed. She could cry until the last trumpet that Robert
had meant nothing to her and Christopher wouldn't believe her—because he
compared her to Anna-belle. And so she had to convince him somehow that she and
Annabelle were two very different women, that she was Nicole. Nicole with her
mercurial and volatile temper, Nicole who eagerly gave herself to him, not
Anna-belle, who lied and cheated and betrayed. It seemed a hopeless task, and
yet as she sat there staring at the leaping flames, conscious of Christopher's
big body behind hers, dimly an idea came to her. Taking a deep breath, she said
cautiously, "You keep reminding me of my mother and what she did. And you
say that I am her daughter. I agree—Annabelle with all her vanities and vices
was my mother. I cannot help that, but because she was my mother is it
necessarily true that I must be exactly like her? Have I ever given you proof
that I am not to be trusted?"