Silver-Tongued Devil (Louisiana Plantation Collection) (16 page)

She came up on an indignant gasp, rolling from under his clasp to face him. “Stop that.”

“I didn’t think you were asleep,” he said in soft satisfaction.

“That’s enough to wake anybody up!”

His soft laugh disposed of the evasion. “The interesting thing is how long it took you to decide to be outraged. It makes me wonder what liberties you might allow if I were patient enough to be subtle about it.”

“If there is one thing you excel in,” she said in scathing denunciation, “it’s subtlety.”

“Sneakiness, you mean? We can dispense with it if it offends. You didn’t object to my kiss or my touch, only to being handled in a more familiar fashion. The question is why?”

The frontal attack left her speechless. She moistened her lips as she stared at his dark form hovering above her.

“Shall I provide an answer?” he went on, relentless. “Being human and nubile, you have a natural interest in what occurs in private between men and women. You can conceal it, but sometimes it betrays you. I may not be the man of your dreams, but I am here, and I don’t repulse you — against your will, you respond to me. You sometimes wonder, if only for a fleeting second, what it would be like to accord me the favors of the marriage bed.”

“No—”

“Yes. You look at my mouth and my hands and think of how they felt, how they made you feel, and you need to know the sensation again. You wonder what more I could show you, and what it would be like to abandon denial and permit me to love you.”

“Love?” she said, the word tight and not quite steady in her throat. “You aren’t talking about love. If we are leaving aside pretense, then you must admit that what drives you is not so far removed from the bruising rut you accused those men of tonight. Only it’s worse in you because there’s something in it that is — that is deliberate, of the mind instead of body or from the heart. So, yes, I wonder what it would be like to be a wife to you, but if you are thinking to take advantage of it you may stop. I prefer there to be love in it when finally I make love.”

The silence was profound when she ceased speaking. Then on a breathless laugh, he said, “Amazing.”

“I can’t imagine why you think so.” Nor could she imagine where her words had come from, though she felt their truth.

“I had the idea, you see,” he said, “that you needed waking to your carnal instincts.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my instincts,” she said shortly. That was also true, though she had once had doubts. The problem, she now saw quite plainly, had been the wrong man, the wrong time.

“Suppose I said that I—”

“Don’t!” The single word had an edge of panic that she could hear in her own ears.

“No,” he said in pensive agreement “You would never believe it, would you? Love isn’t that convenient. Usually. What a pity.”

He rolled away from her and rose from the bed in a single swift movement. Gathering his clothes, he moved toward the door. The latch snapped closed behind him.

Staring after him, Angelica shook her head. She lay back down on a long sigh.

She did want to believe him. That was the real pity.

Chapter Nine

When Michel was announc
e
d, Angelica was lying on a chaise in the salon with a cloth soaked in rose water on her forehead for headache and a tisane at her elbow. She was happy to have the company; Renold had been gone all day and she was feeling low and thoroughly sorry for herself.

She had been thinking of her father, also, and of how he had been taken from her just as she thought she might come to know him. In spite of his illness, she had looked forward to long hours at Bonheur in which the two of them could explore the past and plan at least a brief future. Gone, all gone.

Michel was just the tonic she needed to bring her out of her doldrums. With his comic, teasing ways, and uncomplicated interest in how she felt and what she thought on any and everything, he soon had her sitting upright and even laughing.

Tasting the tisane of brewed herbs sweetened with molasses, Michel pronounced it undrinkable. Very much at home in Renold’s house, he bullied Estelle into bringing wine and rice cookies for them. And when he learned Angelica had refused to eat at noon, he commanded also a savory plate of olives and cheese and tiny fried fish spiced with lemon.

“So why are you shut up here alone?” he asked as he popped a purple, ripe olive into his mouth and followed it with a sip of wine. “Has Renold turned tyrant?”

She shook her head with a smile. “No more than usual.”

“So you don’t require rescuing?” He heaved a sigh of mock disappointment. “Well, then, you must have been listening to gossip. Fatal, I warn you.”

“Has there been gossip that would disturb me? I’m glad I didn’t hear.” She shielded her expression with her lashes as she reached for a piece of cheese.

“Only Clotilde, but most know her malice toward Renold, so disregard what touches on him.”

Angelica hesitated, uncertain of the wisdom of what she was about to ask. She spoke anyway. “If the lady married someone else of her own will, why is she so spiteful?”

Michel shrugged. “Injured vanity, possibly. Renold was supposed to waste away for love.”

“I heard a tale,” she said, playing with her wine glass, “of how he appeared at the theater after she was wed with another woman on his arm.”

“An actress, rather,” Michel said, his gaze amused. “A minor liaison, on the rebound; I promise it’s long over. The lady became demanding, which is a fatal tactic with Renold.”

Angelica accepted that, and said with a frown, “Even if Madame Petain disliked having Renold’s new interest flung in her face — and even if she expected to continue their affair — her resentment seems excessive.”

“She is a woman of excesses,” Michel said, choosing another olive.

He was hiding something; Angelica knew it. She considered what it might be while she drank wine and reached idly for a cookie. She ate a small bite before she said, “Perhaps there were promises exchanged, so that she feels betrayed?”

“Renold would not pledge himself falsely, nor give his word where it could not be kept.” The words were positive.

“Well, but I still don’t see—”

“If you must know what is between them, then you will have to ask him. He will tell you if it pleases him, but he would not care to know that I talked behind his back. This much I will say: Clotilde did him a great wrong, and it was this rather than mere hurt pride that caused his retaliation. And it sometimes happens that the very person who does someone the most harm is the one who harbors the most ill will against them.”

It was possible that she might have persuaded Michel to say more, possibly to defend Renold if for no other reason. She was given no opportunity. There came a clattering of wheels in the street outside, then the bell on the courtyard gate clanged like a clarion.

Michel got to his feet and moved to draw aside the drapes at the French door and look out. From that vantage point, he reported the presence of a carriage down below. Tit Jean had apparently admitted the passenger, then emerged to deal with the brass-bound trunks that were piled on top of the vehicle.

Michel turned to stroll back toward Angelica with a quizzical frown on his face. “I swear, if I didn’t know better, I would think—”

The door swinging open cut off his words. A young woman sailed into the room, unfastening the frogs of a fitted coat of black velvet as she came forward. Handing the coat to Estelle, who followed her, tearing at the strings of her chic little hat composed mostly of velvet and violets, she launched into speech.

“How do you do? You must be my new sister-in-law. You won’t mind, I hope, that I have descended upon you? Really, sitting at home hearing news secondhand, and by post at that, was too much to be borne. Mother agreed someone must come and see if what everyone is saying is true. I can see that it must be, indeed.”

Michel said in dry tones, “Permit me, Angelica, to make known to you Renold’s sister, Mademoiselle Marie Lena Frances Deborah—”

“Just Deborah, if you please,” the girl interrupted with a smile as she handed over her hat to the housekeeper, revealing light brown hair streaked with gold, then began to draw off her black kid gloves. “Michel always makes a fuss over the fact that I was Lena for years, but prefer the last of my four given names, now that I am old enough to choose for myself. Men despise change; have you noticed?”

“The problem is that Deborah is so Biblical, and you are not,” Michel returned with an unaccustomed edge to his tones.

“And a good thing, too, or I might smite you!” The girl held her bare hand out to Angelica with frank friendliness in her hazel eyes. “Please say you won’t throw me out, now that I’m here. I promise to be an exemplary guest, not interfering in the least. That is, if you will only permit me to stay.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Angelica said, almost at random as she clasped the other girl’s hand. “I’m sorry to stare, only — I didn’t realize Renold had a sister.”

“Half-sister, to be perfectly correct,” Deborah said with a quick, rather odd glance at Michel. “But how very peculiar of Renold not to tell you; he must be quite besotted to let such a detail slip his mind. Or perhaps he was saving it for a surprise?”

“Speaking of surprises,” Michel said with an air of grim determination, “he will certainly be amazed to walk in and find you here. He thought you intended to stay quietly in the country this season.”

The look on the piquant features of Renold’s sister was derisive. “No one catches Renold off guard, as you must know if you gave it half a thought. I expect Tit Jean sent a boy off to inform Renold I am here the instant he clapped eyes on me. As for remaining in the country, it’s now Lent, so the season is over. I can hardly be accused of discarding my mourning for gay dissipation.” She turned her back on Michel, speaking to Angelica. “I see you are also is black. You have had a bereavement?”

“My father,” she said briefly.

A shadow crossed the other woman’s face like a shutter closing out the light. “Mine also — how very strange life can be. In any case, I give you my condolences.”

Angelica said everything that was suitable and polite in answer. As she fell silent again, an awkward silence developed. In the midst of it, the woman known as Deborah locked glances with Michel across the room.

Angelica was a little perplexed, wondering if the two were at odds in some manner that went beyond the good-natured bickering of those who have known each other from childhood. A moment later, she dismissed the idea. To expect ordinary behavior in this situation was foolish when there was nothing else ordinary about it.

Falling back on her duties as hostess to ease the situation, Angelica offered her sister-in-law refreshment, then rang for Tit Jean to bring the orange flower water requested. She also directed the manservant to place Deborah’s trunks in the room Deborah always used. It was amusing, considering her sister-in-law’s protestations, to discover that not only had this already been done, but that the maid Deborah had brought with her was even now unpacking her mistress’s belongings.

Michel waded manfully into the breach then, by inquiring if Deborah had noticed the new courtyard garden and soliciting her opinion of it. They had not quite exhausted the subject when Renold appeared.

He came into the room with a smile and an easy greeting for his sister, but his gaze went immediately to Angelica. She was not certain what he saw in her face, still he came at once to take her hand and go down on one knee in front of her.

“Tell me the worst at once,” he said in wry pleading. “You and my sister have discovered my perfidy between you and decided to rend me limb from limb in tandem.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Deborah said pleasantly.

“Actually,” Michel said, “they haven’t come to that, quite. They have only established that you treat all your relatives, wife or sister, in the same cavalier fashion when it comes to sharing information.”

“Just so,” Deborah said with a nod that sent a sun-kissed curl to the center of her forehead. “Mother had the news of your marriage from old Madame Mignot, and a more lurid piece of gossip you never heard! There has, supposedly, never been a more romantic rescue. You saved your Angelica from fire and drowning and the dangers of the surgeon’s knife, then married her secretly in the dead of night. Now you keep her hidden away like some beauteous Rapunzel in case she should try to escape you!”

“What a blackguard I must be,” her brother said pleasantly.

Deborah pursed her lips. “I wonder. I didn’t believe half of it, but felt compelled to come and see so as to set mother’s mind at ease. Now that I am here—”

“Yes? Now that you are here?” There was an edge to Renold’s voice that had not been there before.

His sister’s eyes softened. “I think perhaps you had your reasons, whatever you may have done, and I congratulate you most sincerely.”

“Thank you.” The words were sardonic.

“Oh, that’s quite all right. Only, I want very much to be there when you explain yourself to mother.”

“Which I am expected to do with all haste?”

“Absolutely. She asks that you bring your bride to — to be presented to her.” Deborah glanced quickly at Angelica, then away again as she stumbled over her words.

“Ever the autocrat,” her half-brother said, smoothly filling the tiny gap. “You will tell her, when you write your report, that I live to obey?”

“With pleasure, though she won’t believe it.”

It was disturbing to Angelica, looking at Michel, to find compassion in his gaze. It was more disturbing to listen to intimations of unspoken understanding in the voices of Renold and his half-sister.

There had never been a time in Angelica’s life when she had been able to communicate with another person in that fashion. How many shared confidences and kept secrets did it take, how many hours of casual rambling from subject to subject? She longed for such closeness, but despaired of achieving it. Especially with her husband. He had his sister, or half-sister, for understanding; a wife was scarcely necessary. Certainly not one he had failed to inform that he had a sister, and a mother.

Yes, but then she had not asked, Angelica realized. She had assumed, like an idiot, that Renold had been whelped in some ditch and left to make his own way in the world. Her aunt’s influence, of course. Or perhaps that was only an excuse. It might be closer to the truth to say that she had been so wrapped up in her own fears and griefs that she had given little consideration to the manner in which Renold lived. She had accepted what he told her and what she heard from others, and not looked beyond it. It was her fault if she did not have his confidences.