Spring Fires (25 page)

Standing back to survey the immaculate kitchen, Lisette untied her apron and returned it to its hook. Still humming, she went into the hallway where a beautiful oriental mirror graced one wall. Her shining curls were held in place by hidden pins and a white muslin fillet; a fresh cluster of lilies-of-the-valley was fastened at her bodice. Lisette couldn't help smiling at her own lovely reflection.

Upstairs, Nicholai was tangled in the sheets, still asleep but slowly finding his way out of the laudanum-induced dreams. Hazy sunbeams filtered into the room to warm his face; eventually the light and heat combined to open one foggy green eye.

"Urrhhh," he groaned. His shoulder throbbed. He saw the dried blood on the bandages and felt the unpleasant heat that radiated from his wound. "Ahhrr." It seemed that he had been asleep for days. Stiff, damp with sweat, and plagued by burning eyes and an unpleasant taste in his mouth, he turned his head away from the bothersome sunlight and tried to go back to sleep.

The door creaked a bit as it opened. The faint, lovely essence of lily of the valley teased Nicholai's nose, then he smelled a heavenly chicken-vegetable-and-spice combination. Curiosity won out over lethargy.

There was Lisette, looking tentative as she stood a few feet away. To his sleepy eyes she was a vision, clad in buttery yellow, her golden curls upswept. The crowning touch was the tray she held, which contained a china bowl of steaming chicken soup.

"I hope I didn't wake you...." she whispered. "I thought that by this time—"

"I was awake. Not particularly enthusiastic about it, but awake." Nicholai lay back on the pillow and emitted another ill-tempered groan. "My mouth tastes like the very devil. I'm hot, sweaty, and my muscles ache. All aside from
this
—" He spared a sideways glare for the bandaged shoulder. "You mustn't give me any more laudanum. I would rather suffer insomnia than feel so cursed upon waking; and I have my doubts that so much sleep is good for a person."

Placing the tray upon the side table, she perched on the edge of the bed. "I am truly sorry that you feel so wretched. Don't you think this soup should help?"

"I never thought I would see the day when Lisette Hahn would treat me with such solicitous deference. You have missed your calling! You should have been a nurse." Momentarily, a spark flickered in his eyes. "To tell you the truth, what I would like best of all is a long, scalding bath. Ahhh... I can feel it now. A slave to shave me as I recline, soaking, with my eyes closed—"

"It had better be a slave you can trust—else you might find the blade slipping accidentally." She stifled mischievous laughter. "Seriously, though, I am certain a bath is out of the question. It has only been a day since you were shot!"

"So it's soup instead?"

She lay a soft hand on his cheek. "After you have some, I know you will feel much better, and then I will fill the basin with fresh water so that you can wash your face and hands."

"Will you help me with some of the other places I cannot reach?"

She was distinctly relieved by the wicked white flash of his grin. "Incredible nerve. Absolutely not!"

With Lisette's help, Nicholai sat up against his pillows and let her place a towel and the tray on his lap. He found then that he was able to manage eating the soup on his own, using his uninjured right arm. While he worked at this, she dashed back to the kitchen to heat water for the basin. Soon she was back in the bedchamber with everything he would need, including a large white linen towel and a bar of sandalwood soap. Nicholai sat on the edge of the bed to wash and rinse his upper body, and decided to wait to shave until he was stronger. Lisette had just seated herself on the bed and begun to remove the bandages from his shoulder when a knocking began at the door.

"Who on earth could that be?" she wondered.

"I can think of a dozen answers to that, Mistress Hahn. More, in fact, if one takes into account your devoted clientele from the CoffeeHouse. They have probably arrived in force to take you back where you belong."

She wanted to say, "This is where I belong," but smiled weakly instead and went downstairs. When she opened the front door, she found James Stringfellow and Dr. Wistar standing side by side. Stringfellow cheerfully explained that their paths had crossed for the very first time on the road to Markwood Villa.

"I was just beginning to change Mr. Beauvisage's dressing," Lisette told the doctor, who immediately stated that he would see to the injury and proceeded up the stairs to do just that.

"Now, then!" exclaimed Stringfellow, when he and Lisette were left alone in the entry hall. "You'll be telling me what you are up to, young lady! And I want the truth. If Hyla discovers a false note in the explanation I bring back, she'll be out here herself in two shakes of a lamb's tail. I cannot believe you relish that prospect!"

"Honestly, Stringfellow, one would think you and Hyla were responsible for me! It is
I who pays
your
salaries!"

"That is neither here nor there, as well you know. The issue is our love and concern for you."

"All right, then! You needn't lecture me. It is very simple, really. I felt partially responsible for Mr. Beauvisage's injury. He needed someone to care for him during his recovery and it seemed that I was the only capable person available."

"You, with a CoffeeHouse to manage, were 'available'?" Stringfellow gave a snort of disbelief.

"I chose to do this." Her voice was low, final.

"A sense of obligation, eh?"

She examined a tiny chip in her fingernail. "That is correct."

"Blister it!" he ejaculated. "You are here because you want to be as close to Beauvisage as possible. You're in love with the man!"

"That is not true!" Her cheeks were flaming. How could he say it to her face?

"If you say so. Just have a care, all right? The man is pretty harmless now, but as he begins to regain his strength—"

"I don't appreciate being treated like a child, Stringfellow."

"But, when it comes to love, that's what you are. Try to remember that when the air begins to heat up around here."

"Are you finished?"

"With the advice, yes." He smiled engagingly. "I brought a wagon full of edible treasures. I'll bring it around to your kitchen door in back and unload." In the doorway, he gave her another smile. "Hyla's behind this. She worries that you will try to subsist on wild berries and infatuation."

Before Lisette could scold him again, Stringfellow darted off to the drive. A few minutes later, they met in the kitchen, and Lisette supervised as the Englishman marched in and out with the armfuls of "supplies." Hyla had even sent out pots that contained stew and applesauce and yams from the day before. All the while, he dispensed news of the goings-on at the CoffeeHouse, particularly his opinions of Bramble, Pierre, and Nancy. He claimed to be reserving final judgment on the first two, but had nothing but fond words for Nancy, the little maid contributed by Antonia Beauvisage. Lisette listened with amused surprise as he described her beauty and charm with fervent admiration.

"It sounds as if life won't be boring at the CoffeeHouse," she commented at last. "Between Hyla and Bramble locking horns and new romances in the air, I doubt I'll be missed."

"It's you who bloody well won't miss
us
!" With that, he exited, only to appear moments later with a large ham. "Do you know, I've a bit of other romantic news for you... I may be a bit premature with this, but that Pierre fellow—"

"The valet from Belle Maison?"

"The same. I could swear that our own hard-boiled Hyla Flowers has been disposed to blushing overmuch in that Frenchman's company... and that he's ruddy well encouraging her!"

Lisette laughed in delight. "All of this sounds very amusing, but I hope that you won't all become so entangled in love affairs that the business of the CoffeeHouse is forgotten! I shudder to think what mistakes you could make behind your bar if one wicked eye is following—"

"Nancy," Stringfellow sighed, grinning.

"Hmm. Yes. And Hyla—if she is blushing whenever Pierre glances her way, she will be dropping trays on the most important heads in Philadelphia!"

"If you are so worried, you might be wise to come back to supervise your incompetent staff...."

Lisette's smile faded. "Right now, I need to be here."

"You know that Hyla and I would give you the moon if we could, Lisette, and we'll bloody well make certain that the others work their hearts out as well."

She was just about to kiss his cheek when Dr. Wistar cleared his throat in the doorway.

"Doctor!" She crossed the room to meet him. "Please, tell me, how is our patient?"

"I am pleased to see that Mr. Beauvisage has not developed a fever and to learn that he has been sleeping. However, his attitude is not the best. We must work to curb these restless, rebellious tendencies."

Lisette blinked, fighting an urge to smile. "How do you suggest we do that, Doctor?"

"First of all, you must make certain that he takes his dose of laudanum at the proper time. It will help him to get the rest he needs and will keep him quiet and peaceful when he is awake. Honestly, he became so agitated while speaking to me a few minutes ago that I saw a vein pulse in his neck, and that could impede the proper healing of his wound."

"But, Doctor, Mr. Beauvisage doesn't like the effects of the laudanum. He asked me not an hour ago to refrain from giving him any at all, even if he is unable to sleep."

"Is Mr. Beauvisage a physician?"

"Well, obviously not, but—"

"I cannot tarry to argue with you, Mistress Hahn. If you are going to attend Mr. Beauvisage's convalescence, I must insist that you follow my instructions."

Lisette bit her lip. "I shall certainly do whatever is best for Mr. Beauvisage, sir."

"Good." He picked up his medical valise, and started toward the door, explaining en route the procedure for changing Nicholai's dressing for the next few days. At the door, they exchanged farewells, and Wistar was halfway along the path to his phaeton when he stopped suddenly.

"Mistress Hahn!" Turning, he shaded his eyes and barked, "Under no circumstances is Mr. Beauvisage to move around the room, and especially not for the purpose of having a
bath
! That stubborn determination of his to do what I will not allow is the very reason why you must make certain that he has his laudanum—even if you have to put it in his tea to get it in his belly!"

Stringfellow came up behind Lisette as the doctor climbed up into his phaeton and started down the drive.

"That man!" she cried. "I would feel like a criminal putting laudanum in Nicholai's tea and then watching him sink into that unnatural opium sleep!"

"Well, I don't doubt that the two of you will work out a solution," he said weakly, knowing that Dr. Wistar had wasted his breath. "I should start now if I'm to reach the CoffeeHouse before supper."

"Yes, of course. I can't thank you enough for bringing all that food... and yourself, Stringfellow. I shall be missing you... and everyone else at the CoffeeHouse. Do hug Hyla for me."

"When you come home, you'll be proud of us. You know that Hyla and I would do anything for you, just as we would have for your father. Blister it, you are our family!" He looked down at his buckled shoes, then averted threatening tears by exclaiming, "I'd quite forgotten one of the central reasons for my journey here—" Reaching into his waistcoat, he produced a long cream-colored envelope. "This letter came for you this morning. Special messenger from one of the banks; he insisted I deliver it to you without delay."

After Stringfellow's departure, Lisette absentmindedly carried the mysterious envelope upstairs and deposited it on the table next to Nicholai's bed. She was in the mood for a lively discussion with her patient; ready to repeat Dr. Wistar's impossible instructions and listen to Nicholai's cynical protestations.

However, one glance at the bed reminded Lisette that Nicholai was not himself; far from it. It had been only a few minutes since his argument with the doctor, but already his anger had dissipated enough to allow him to fall asleep. He was probably exhausted.

The window was open slightly to allow the perfumed breeze from the garden to caress the room, and warm gentle sunlight seemed to heighten the spell of spring. Nicholai had pushed away the sheet almost completely. One rumpled comer trailed over his muscular left thigh, across the bulge at the apex of his legs, and stopped an inch from the bone of his right hip. The spareness of the concealment was all the more noticeable because of the contrast between the snowy sheet and Nicholai's bronzed body.

An unnerving current of liquid fire coursed through her veins, leaving a hot chill in its wake. Wary, yet helpless, she perched on the edge of the bed, afraid to touch him, yet unable to stop herself. First, she brushed her fingertips over the strong back of his hand—so softly that she barely made contact, yet she shivered as if she'd been kissed. Her eyes traveled over every inch of his nearly naked body, remembering the night it had been pressed against her own, steely and tender, magically evoking sensations that she hadn't known herself capable of feeling. Before today, she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on those hours when she had lost control and begged Nicholai Beauvisage to make love to her... until now, the memories had been too painful.

Yet, at this moment, she was hungry to recall every scorching kiss, every touch of his fingers, the way her skin had prickled when brushed by the soft hair that covered his chest and legs. Would he ever want to hold her again?

Alone with Nicholai, miles from Philadelphia, she was losing all her defenses. After spending long years building and fortifying them, she was allowing them to crumble away in hours. He would probably be highly amused if he knew how she melted at the sight of him, how she craved the warmth of his skin and the familiar sardonic gleam in his eye. Staring at his face, Lisette longed to trace the chiseled line of his jaw with kisses...

One eye opened tentatively, then closed, as Nicholai inquired huskily, "Were you staring at me, Mistress Hahn?"