Midnight Flame Page 11

  Moving a Queen Anne chair closer to the tester bed, whose sheer white hangings were tied to the four mahogany bedposts, Tony sat down and handed her a book. “I thought you might like to read, since you look as though you’re feeling better.”

  She took the thin volume from him, amazed at how Tony always made it seem as if he had just left the room for a brief instant, when actually it had been a whole day. Why was it that suddenly she felt she knew him so much better since he had found her and brought her here? Probably because he had found her and didn’t question her about what had happened between her and “that man,” as she now thought of her kidnapper.

  “Aurora Leigh “ Laurel said and noticed it was a comparatively new work by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “Thank you so very much, Tony. I loved her Sonnets from the Portuguese. I do feel quite well now and shall start reading this today.”

  He spread his long legs out in front of him. “Don’t expect too much from this work. It isn’t that good of a story, but it does have its moments. I thought you might be interested in reading the latest literary rage.”

  A dimple deepened in one of Laurel’s cheeks. “I had no idea you were such a learned fellow.”

  “I suppose there’s quite a bit you don’t know about me, Laurel.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

  A long stretch of silence passed between them. She heard his steady breathing and felt his gaze upon her face when she turned away to sip at her tea. His intense perusal of her caused her to feel apprehensive, edgy, and she felt that stupid stain of color rising to her cheeks. Why couldn’t she be like Lavinia more and accept a man’s gaze without blushing like a silly fool? The thought flashed across her mind that the man who had loved her for that one wild, mind-drugging night could be very close-by. Her hand shook and caused the cup and saucer to rattle. Immediately Tony was up and took it from her. He placed it on the table beside the bed and looked down at her.

  “You’re very beautiful, Laurel.”

  In fact, Tony thought, she was more than beautiful. Just looking at her caused him to yearn for her. He ached to hold her again, to inflame her passions for him whereby she would melt shamelessly in his arms. But he must tread slowly with Laurel or lose her forever.

  “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered and tried to avert her gaze from his penetrating eyes, but he tilted her face up to his. “Once I might have welcomed your attentions, but, Tony, things are different now. Things have changed.”

  Her honesty took him aback, and he didn’t understand at first. Then the light dawned. For the first time she was admitting in her shy but subtle way that something had happened in that cabin on the bayou. Why now and why to him? Did this vague confession mean she could never give her heart to him now?

  Tears misted her eyes, turning them into sparkling green pools. The hurt, the raw pain reflected in their watery depths tore at his very soul.

  “I’m not the same person I was before that man, and I…” She could barely say the words as a sob shook her. “Oh, why am I telling you this? I swore I’d never tell another person what happened to me.”

  Tony could tell she longed to cry, and he sat next to her on the bed, drawing her into his arms as she finally broke down and sobbed out the painful truth, which was much more painful for him to hear than for her to tell. She had no idea of the guilt he carried, how he longed to make it all up to her. When she had finished reciting her tale and wiped her eyes with one of his silk kerchiefs, she even managed a timid smile, which tugged at his heart, black cursed thing that it was.

  “So, you see, Tony, I’m unfit for any man,” he heard her say. “There can never be anything between us now. That man must live nearby, and for the rest of my life, I’ll be haunted by his image. For all anyone knows, he could be an acquaintance of yours. What if he comes here for me?”

  “You’re safe here now, Laurel.” His voice sounded ragged, and his large hands clasped her upper arms, keeping her in place when she sought to move away. “I can make you forget what happened—all of it—if you’ll let me try.”

  Laurel had no doubt that Tony would endeavor to make her forget. But could she ever stop remembering the feel of the man’s lips upon her body, the way she had wantonly arched herself upward to meet that first heart-stopping thrust when their bodies joined? Could Tony really make her forget? Did she want to forget?

  “Oh, God, Tony, I don’t know anything anymore!”

  He was pushing her too hard. Time was what she needed, but he didn’t know how long he could wait for her. The intoxicating scent of violets drifted from her hair, and beneath the thin, frilly gown he could see the rise and fall of her full breasts with each breath she took. He longed to throw her on her back, to admit he was the one who had loved her and that he was going to love her again. No doubt, she would respond to him. He was certain enough of his prowess to know what her reaction would be. It was what would come later that bothered him. She would be repulsed by what he had done, and he couldn’t bear to harm her again. No, time was the best he could do for now.

  Letting her go, he stood up. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said, his voice laced with meanings she couldn’t fathom. “You need your rest, and I’m badgering you about things you can’t deal with at the moment.” Bending down, he kissed the top of her head. “Ring for Pauline if you need anything.”

  Then he was gone.

  Laurel gazed at the closed door for a long time afterward. Her thoughts whirled in her head like leaves in a windstorm. She really ought to leave Petit Coteau for San Antonio. Her uncle needed her. But she couldn’t leave yet, not with the feeling that her life was unsettled. Too much had happened in too short a time. She couldn’t think straight. Perhaps the best remedy was to remain in Tony’s home until she could decide what to do. But beneath the rational musings was an irrational thought that her kidnapper was still nearby, and this knowledge brought a rapid heat to her body, almost consuming her with forbidden desire.

  From beneath her pillow she withdrew the shiny gold button and clasped it to her breasts. Pauline had been quite upset with her when Laurel felt well enough to demand to know what had been done with her gypsy costume. Pauline had grudgingly retrieved it from the trash to be burned. When the torn and dirty, gold-and-purple skirt was again in her hands, Laurel had clawed at the hem until the button popped out. The gold button was all she had to convince her that the night she had lain in a stranger’s arm hadn’t been a dream.

  It had been paradise.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Two days later Laurel was surprised by the unexpected arrival of Gincie. The woman flew into the room and embraced Laurel against her ample bosom, stroking her hair as though she were a little girl and calling her “my baby.” In the doorway stood Tony with a huge grin on his handsome face and an unaccountable softness in his eyes.

  “When Mister Duvalier came to tell me that you had been sick, Miss Laurel, I just up and told Doctor Mornay that I didn’t feel poorly anymore. My place is with my baby, I told him. I done thought you left for Texas, but you ain’t gonna get rid of me now. I’m stayin’ with you until you get your strength back to travel on to San Antonio.” Gincie folded her arms across her chest in a gesture of loving defiance. Laurel laughed and grabbed one of her hands.

  “I wouldn’t think of going anywhere without you, Gincie. I’ve missed you so. Are you really feeling better?”

  “I sure am,” Gincie said, eyeing the opened chifforobe in distaste. With much hustle and bustle she marched over to it and withdrew three of Laurel’s best gowns, declaring that that uppity French girl didn’t know anything about taking care of a lady’s dresses, which were in need of pressing. With the gowns laid over her arms, Gincie hurried from the room in a whirl of rainbow-colored silks and satins to teach Pauline a thing or two.

  Tony sauntered leisurely into the room and took his accustomed place in the chair by her bed. “I think Pauline has finally met her match,” he observed and shot Laurel
a devastatingly handsome smile.

  “Do you mind if Gincie takes over looking after me?” Laurel leaned back against the propped-up pillows and drew the sheet up a bit. Something about Tony’s covetous glance caused her to flush.

  “Not at all. That’s why I brought her here. I knew you missed her, and she certainly has missed you.” The smile faded and deepened into something more serious as he observed Laurel, whose long, dark hair spilled in silken waves across her shoulders. Even the ruffles of the gown at the neck couldn’t conceal the swell of her breasts beneath the thin material. An ache started in Tony’s loins. God, he would grow crazy if he couldn’t have her warm, willing body beneath his again.

  “Laurel,” he began in a husky breath, then cleared his throat. “Do you really intend to head on to San Antonio when you’re recovered enough to travel?”

  “Yes, I must. My uncle is ill. I told you all about that.”

  “I wish you’d wait a while.”

  Her eyebrows arched, and he continued hurriedly. “Until I know you won’t fall ill again. I’d like to show you Petit Coteau, if I may.”

  Somehow she felt he had wanted to say something else. Perhaps he wanted her to stay because he had come to care about her? But if she stayed, then what? He couldn’t offer her marriage. Tony was engaged to Simone Lancier, and the memory of Simone’s clinging to him, the embrace she had seen between the two, caused Laurel to know that she hadn’t a chance with Tony Duvalier. He might desire her, as he had proved the night of the dance when she had nearly abandoned herself to him on the lawn. But Laurel could foresee no future with a womanizer like Tony. Granted, he had rescued her and been incredibly kind and solicitous to her. She owed him a great deal, but she didn’t owe him her heart and vowed she wouldn’t be swayed by Tony’s ardor again. Not when she had tasted true passion in the arms of a stranger, a man she would never see again, an experience that would be forever denied her in the future.

  “Tony,” she began slowly. For some stupid reason she relished the feel of his name on her tongue. “I told you already there can be nothing between us. Staying here much longer won’t change my mind about you. I admit you turned my head the night of the Mardi Gras dance, but there—”

  He broke off her words by the harsh scraping of chair legs against the highly waxed wooden floor. Standing up, he towered over her, and Laurel noticed a hot flame in his eyes, not from passion but anger. “Dammit, Laurel, I asked if you wanted to see my plantation, not sleep in my bed! I know you think I’ve just crawled out from under a rock, though you’re too much of a lady to say that to my face. But you didn’t care what you told me the other day about your little tryst in the bayou when you needed a shoulder to cry on, did you?”

  Laurel gasped in outrage. How dare he throw that back in her face. She had been overwrought, emotionally drained, and she had wanted to talk to someone about what had happened. She had made a monumental mistake in telling Tony. She knew that now.

  “Arrogant bastard!” she screamed at him. “You’re not a gentleman to bring that up to me.”

  “And you, miss, are not a lady to crave a stranger’s hands upon your body.” The fiery depths of his eyes held her to the spot for a moment before he grabbed her and pulled her from the mattress into the circle of his arms. His head came down in one fell swoop, and his mouth claimed hers, drowning out any protests she was about to utter.

  Laurel felt his tongue invading her mouth, joining with hers in an age-old combat of wills. He wanted her response, and she wouldn’t give it to him. Once again, as on the night of the dance, when he had nearly claimed her beneath a rain-filled sky, she felt her traitorous body start to respond. She almost raised her hand to slap his face but stopped herself. Tony was the sort of man who enjoyed making women mewl from pleasure in his arms. Well, not this time, she told herself and willed herself to remain quiescent in his embrace. Did he think because she had given herself to that man in the cabin that he had the right to expect the same thing from her? Tears started in her eyes. Tony had treated her shabbily from the very first, insinuating things about her that weren’t true. And now just when she was beginning to like him, to think he had some redeeming qualities, he acted the brute. If he wanted a response, he certainly in hell wouldn’t get one from her, Simone would be more than willing. Let him go to her, for Laurel Delaney was no whore.

  “Kiss me, Laurel,” he ground out savagely between mind-drugging kisses that threatened to turn her legs to jelly. “Kiss me back.”

  She didn’t.

  His hold loosened, and she fell weakly onto the bed. Tony glared at her for a few seconds, then started to walk away. She halted him with her voice.

  “I would appreciate a tour of your plantation, however. My father owned one, and I should like to see how well yours compares with his.”

  A slight sneer curled his lips, but his eyes held a glimmer of respect for her. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Laurel wiped her eyes free of the threatening tears, but even after Gincie had returned and helped her dress, she still felt like weeping.

  ~

  Downstairs in the parlor, Tony poured a huge glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter on the sideboard. Never much of a whiskey drinker, he, however, enjoyed the feel of the liquid as it burned a path down his throat. Despite the fact that the clock in the foyer chimed ten times, he didn’t care that it was too early to indulge. He needed something to take the edge off his own pain, a pain that threatened to consume his very soul.

  He cursed under his breath and sprawled on a small Empire chair, appearing incongruous with his long legs spread out before him. Tony swirled the liquid in the amber-colored glass and saw Laurel’s face within the golden depths. He hadn’t meant their conversation to take such a nasty turn. It seemed to him that ever since he had met her, nothing worked out to his advantage. Perhaps being denied Laurel’s love was his punishment for seeking vengeance upon Lavinia Delaney. And he wanted Laurel with an unquenchable passion as much as he still wished Lavinia to pay for his uncle’s death.

  Downing the contents of the glass in one large gulp, he got up and poured another drink. Still he felt on edge. Didn’t Laurel realize how much he cared for her? Of course not. He hadn’t told her. Most certainly he could never tell her he was the man in the cabin. And the most absurd thing in the whole situation was that she couldn’t respond to him because she thought she loved another. A bitter, harsh laugh escaped him as he once more took his seat. Laurel was enamored of a phantom lover—who was himself.

  Damn, he moaned to himself and swallowed the whiskey. What was he going to do? She would leave for San Antonio if she didn’t come to realize that she could very easily care for him, Tony Duvalier. He couldn’t let her leave now. He was protective of her. He had followed her the whole distance she had traveled in the woods when she escaped from the cabin. But she didn’t know that and would have to remain in the dark about that, just as she could never know he was the one who had nursed her back to health.

  Laurel presented a challenge to him, and Tony appreciated a good challenge where women were concerned. Most of them gave in to his physical demands too easily. Laurel was different. She was in his blood, and he wouldn’t rest until she was in his bed.

  The sound of footsteps on the gallery alerted Tony to Jean DuLac’s coming. Jean poked his head around the doorframe like a turtle in its shell.

  “Ah, Tony, so you are in here,” Jean said and entered the parlor. “I thought your time would be taken up with your pretty gypsy girl.”

  Tony motioned him to an identical chair beside him. “How do you know about Laurel?”

  “Ah, such a pretty name. All of your neighbors know about her illness by now. Word travels fast among the slaves who are only too happy to tell their masters … and mistresses. Simone is much put out, mon cousin. I expect you’ll receive a visit from her shortly.”

  Tony shrugged and stood up to pour Jean a drink. “Let her come. What Simone thinks is of little consequence
to me.”

  Jean looked surprised. “I thought you and Simone were to marry.”

  “Simone would like everyone to believe that, but no, I have no intention of marrying her.”

  Taking the glass offered to him by Tony, Jean surveyed his cousin. Tony looked worried, not at all like the devil-may-care man who could have any woman in the parish with a snap of his fingers. Something troubled him, and Jean was astute enough to realize the trouble was probably in an upstairs bedroom.

  “I think you should impress upon Simone that there is to be no marriage. She can stir up a great deal of trouble if she puts her fluffy blond head to it. However, she appears to be the least of your worries now. Is this Laurel the reason for the sadness I see in your face?”

  Tony grimaced and surveyed Jean in turn. They had grown up together, almost as close as brothers. Jean’s mother had been a Duvalier before her marriage to Jean’s father, and more than one duel had been fought over her. Hot blood had always run in the Duvaliers. It seems that Jean’s hot-bloodedness ran in the opposite direction than Tony’s. Tony never could understand why Jean wasn’t swayed by a woman’s charms. Many women had expressed interest in his fair-haired cousin, and Jean always treated them reverently, respectfully, and managed to keep them as friends. Something Tony couldn’t imagine, especially not with Laurel Delaney. He wanted her as his lover, not as a friend. But Jean was a good judge of character, and Tony valued his opinion.