Midnight Flame (5 page)

Before Laurel was fully aware of his intention, she felt his hands tightening on her waist and bringing her closer against him. His sensual mouth swooped down upon hers in a punishing kiss. She started to pull away, to break free. She felt unable to breathe. Suddenly the pressure of his mouth lifted, and his lips claimed hers in a gentle kiss, devoid of pain.

A velvet mist swirled around them, something dark and so achingly pleasant that Laurel couldn’t move, didn’t want to break the enchanted spell. Never had anyone kissed her with such passion and sudden tenderness. She felt uncertain how to respond at first. A sweet burning sensation had begun in the pit of her stomach and wound through her veins like liquid heat. She felt him release her hands. Unaware of her own actions, Laurel slid her fingers along his chest, then upward to stop at the broadness of his shoulders.

A groan escaped from Tony and brought Laurel back to awareness. Her eyes flew open. She trembled at the intimacy of her action and pulled away, feeling her cheeks burn with shame in the moonlight.

Tony’s ebony gaze pierced through her. He wore an odd expression on his face, almost as if her drawing away had surprised him. “I can’t figure you out, Miss Delaney, but I will, know that I will.” Gently he caressed her face with a warm finger before he turned from her and headed away.

Laurel stayed on deck for some minutes, shivering not from any chill but from a surging emotion of wanting unlike anything she had ever before experienced.

The Saturday before Mardi Gras the
Cotton Blossom
docked by the Water Street steamboat turnaround on Bayou Cortableau. The passengers disembarked to the pungent aroma of fresh bananas, oranges, and grapes. Laurel noticed that some of the passengers, who apparently had been waiting for the boat’s arrival, played poker and drank Sazeracs. On the piers were cargoes of hides, syrup, cotton, molasses, and lumber, all packed and ready for the return trip down the watery passageway to New Orleans.

Laurel, with Lavinia and Gincie beside her, waited on the pier in search of a carriage. When Tony Duvalier sauntered over to them, Laurel felt her heart beat erratically.

“May I assist you ladies in some way?” he gallantly offered and made a sweeping bow.

Lavinia laughed and dimpled prettily despite the glasses on her nose and the dowdy, brown calico gown she wore. “We’re in need of a carriage to take us to—”

Laurel interrupted her, her green eyes flashing. “We can manage quite well by ourselves to get to the hotel. Thank you anyway for your offer, Mr. Duvalier.”

Duvalier folded his arms across the front of his brown frock coat. “Ah, that would be the Garland Hotel. I know the place quite well. Perhaps I could escort you.”

“Would you?” Lavinia gushed and batted her lashes. “We’d be most grateful.”

“No!” Laurel’s vehement objection startled herself as well as the others. She sent Lavinia a chastising look.

Since Duvalier had kissed her two nights ago, she hadn’t seen him. Instead she had stayed in her cabin, forced to listen to Lavinia’s pitiful wails about being confined. When Laurel snapped at her, telling her she should consider herself lucky that no member of the St. Julian family had the opportunity to discover her whereabouts, Lavinia had given her a peculiar glance. It was almost as if she hadn’t realized until that moment that her docile cousin had a temper or a tongue. Lavinia had silently retreated to her own cabin.

Laurel had spent the rest of the her time reading, and at times recalling Duvalier’s kiss and her wanton response to it. She had been only vaguely aware that Gincie was moving slowly while putting things in order and didn’t notice that Gincie’s usual chatter was absent.

“I didn’t ask if you’d consent to a breach of propriety, Miss Delaney.” Duvalier’s voice intruded upon her thoughts, and she found herself blushing, not failing to miss his amused grin.

“I’m sorry,” she said, aware that Lavinia’s gaze darted suspiciously between herself and Duvalier. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Apology accepted.” His expression changed from one to amusement to seriousness. “However, your slave appears to be about to faint.” Bounding forward, Tony reached for and grabbed the swooning Gincie in his arms.

“Gincie, what’s wrong?” Laurel asked worriedly. Beneath Gincie’s dark complexion, her skin was ashen, and her eyes were puppy dog sick.

“Just feelin’ poorly. Nothin’ to worry about. I’ll be fine.”

Laurel knew that Gincie was seldom ill, that whatever ailed her might be serious. “We must find you a doctor.”

Tony whistled, still holding Gincie against him. A carriage that had been parked at the curb rolled onto the pier at the summons. Gently he placed Gincie inside. When Laurel and Lavinia joined them, he gave orders in French to the driver, and the carriage traveled down the street. Soon it was beyond the town, finally stopping at a small house. The house was in the Acadian style with a low roofline and a long porch across the front. A small but well-tended garden ran the length and width of the house on all four sides.

Tony carried Gincie from the carriage, as she protested she was fine. He seemed not to hear her and pushed open the white picket fence with his foot before entering the yard.

“Gaston! Gaston!”

Immediately a black man, respectably dressed in a white shirt and gray trousers, ran out the front door onto the porch. “I have a patient for you,” Tony said to the gray-haired man.

“Bring her in, Mister Tony,” the man said and motioned them into the house.

Laurel began to walk inside, but Lavinia grabbed her arm. “I’ll stay in the carriage. I don’t like sickness.”

Once inside the house Tony introduced Laurel to Doctor Gaston Mornay and his wife Lillie, a plump, cheerful black woman who made Gincie comfortable on a small cot.

“I’ll be fine,” Gincie insisted and gave a deep cough, but the doctor frowned as he checked her throat and chest. He turned to Laurel.

“Do you have a place for Miss Gincie to stay? I’m afraid she’s caught a bad chill and must rest for a week or so. If not, she’s welcome to stay here with me and my wife.”

“That’s very kind of you, Doctor. I do appreciate your kindness. I’m traveling to San Antonio, but I shall stay at the hotel until Gincie is well.”

From the cot Gincie’s voice came strong and clear. “No, you go on ahead without me. I’ll manage fine. Besides, old Gincie ain’t too happy to be goin’ to San Antonio anyway.”

Laurel knelt by the cot, aware of Duvalier’s eyes upon her. “I can’t leave you here. I won’t. When you’re better, you’re coming with me or we’ll make arrangements to send you back to New Orleans.”

Gincie shook her head tiredly. “I’m too sick. You have to go and you know it. Time to make peace.”

Laurel realized the truth in Gincie’s words. She must see her uncle before he died. It was up to her to put things right. She felt the doctor would care for Gincie, but she wasn’t ready to leave at that moment. She had to know Gincie would be all right. Lavinia was really the one who needed to reach San Antonio.

Patting Gincie’s hand, she said to the woman, “I’ll stop by in the morning to see how you’re doing.”

On the return trip to town Duvalier sat with a perplexed look on his face while Lavinia twisted a kerchief in her hands. “You treat your slave very well,” he said to Laurel, sounding surprised.

“Gincie isn’t my slave. She’s free and has been since I freed her last year. I personally don’t believe in slavery. Gincie stays with me because she loves me, and I love her.”

Duvalier cocked an eyebrow. “Such liberal thinking might get you into trouble in the South.”

Laurel shrugged her blue-satin-clad shoulders. “My ideas about slavery are Northern in concept, probably because I was schooled in the East, but love and kindness are universal.”

He shot her another surprised but appraising glance.

Lavinia fidgeted. “Can we go any faster?” she asked. “I should like to rest.”

“We’ll be at the hotel soon, Miss Malone.”

Laurel didn’t miss the assessing glance he threw at Lavinia. Soon the carriage stopped in front of the red-brick Garland Hotel. Lavinia left the carriage in a flurry of skirts and hurried inside. Laurel started to follow but stopped and lingered on the street, still holding Duvalier’s proffered hand.

“Thank you for taking Gincie to the doctor. That was kind of you. Doctor Gaston seems a competent man.”

Tony nodded. “Gaston was one of my father’s slaves. He took care of all the sick on Petit Coteau. My father realized Gaston had a gift for healing. He freed him and sent Gaston north to medical school. We thought Gaston would stay and practice up there, but he didn’t. Instead he returned home, a free man, and practices among his own people. Do believe me when I say that he is the best physician I’ve ever known.”

Now it was Laurel’s turn to be surprised. She had assumed Tony Duvalier had no heart, but she was now learning that he did. She wasn’t so sure she liked knowing this fact. It made her much more vulnerable to him.

She felt the warmth of his hand, then the pressure of his lips on her flesh.

“I will see you soon,” he said confidently, almost as if he knew something she didn’t. Then he entered the carriage. She watched as he drove away, her heart tripping to the beat of the carriage wheels. She would have stayed staring at the street except Lavinia came out of the hotel and glared at her.

“Come on, Laurel. I can’t register without you, and I don’t want to be in public for too long a time. Remember this is St. Julian territory.”

“Yes, yes,” Laurel said and reluctantly went inside with her cousin. She had forgotten that.

~ ~ ~

“Then I suppose I shall have to return home without you.”

Laurel noticed that Lavinia sounded very relieved the next morning when she told her that she would have to travel to Texas alone. As Lavinia sipped her tea, her hands shook. Laurel decided the strain of the past weeks, of wondering if a St. Julian relative was on her trail, was finally wearing her thin. Plus the fact that she had to hide her light under a bushel so to speak. Sitting on the small sofa in the hotel room in her blue silk wrapper that clung to every curve of her body, her long red mane of hair hanging down her back and over her shoulders like a sunset, caused Laurel to decide that Lavinia should go home as quickly as possible. She definitely couldn’t keep up the pretense of being a homely spinster companion much longer.

“A coach leaves at noon,” Laurel told her and poured herself a cup of tea. “I’ll stay on until Gincie is better. Perhaps she should return to New Orleans. I think she already misses it.”

“Gincie is faithful to you,” Lavinia commented somewhat jealously. “Almost like a little dog following after you all the time.”

“I’ll ignore that comment,” Laurel said bitingly. “Now I must dress.” Her deep-green wrapper made a swishing sound as she left the room.

Lavinia had just finished drinking her tea when a knock sounded on the door. She went to it and opened it a crack, rather amazed to see Tony Duvalier so early in the morning but even more aware of how handsome he looked in a cream-colored frock coat and brown trousers.

He bowed to her. “Miss Malone, I’m sorry to be here so early. I had hoped to see Miss Delaney. Is she up yet?”

“Yes, but she’s dressing,” Lavinia said and opened the door wider, allowing him to see her in all her early morning beauty. “She takes quite a long time to dress. May I help you?”

Her eyes filled with eagerness and drank in Tony Duvalier’s handsomeness. She wondered what he wanted with Laurel anyway. She was so drab sometimes and so proper. Lavinia guessed that Duvalier was a man of fire, of passion. The two were entirely mismatched, she believed.

Tony’s eyes scanned Lavinia’s luscious body, taking in her delicious state of dishabille, the tousled red curls he would never have believed had been hidden in the tightly rolled chignon she had worn. Without the glasses he realized her eyes were a piercing blue, and he caught his breath. This woman couldn’t be Agatha Malone, but she was the same woman who had traveled from New Orleans with the beautiful brunette who had perversely bewitched him.

“I wondered when Miss Delaney might be leaving for San Antonio.”

“Oh.” Lavinia’s hope-filled eyes lowered, then she lifted them to Duvalier’s face. “Miss Delaney will not be leaving today, but I shall.”