Midnight Flame Page 19

  The small orchestra Tony had hired began to tune up in one section of the parlor. Tony called to them to play a certain French tune, and he formally bowed to Laurel and offered her his arm for a dance.

  In a swirl of ivory satin and black silk, they whirled around the room, having eyes and ears for no one but each other. Laurel felt that she was a princess in a fairy story, and Tony was her prince who had stolen her heart. How she loved him. The music drifted through the empty rooms, and they would have continued dancing if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of Jean and Denise.

  “Go away,” Tony muttered and buried his face in Laurel’s luxurious hair. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  “Tony, I’d like a word with you.” Jean’s voice broke the spell.

  Laurel stood in Tony’s arms when they stopped dancing. “Later,” he whispered to her.

  Laurel immediately welcomed Denise with a kiss, and the two women stood together. Jean beckoned Tony outside and met him on the veranda. Jean’s face was beet red, and he wiped his perspiring brow with his kerchief.

  “I thought to never get here!” Jean burst out. “The carriage wheel broke, and that had to be fixed, but I wanted to arrive before anyone else.”

  “Your timing is impeccable,” Tony groused good-naturedly. But he grew serious when he saw the worried look on his cousin’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Jean sighed. “I don’t know how to say this to you, Tony, but I must warn you before your guests start arriving. A terrible, horrible rumor is circulating among the slaves and has leaked to the plantation owners, to your friends. The rumor says that Laurel is pregnant with another man’s child. I don’t know how such a malicious rumor began, and I tried to track it down to the source. But you’re being made to look like a duped fool.”

  Tony felt as if he had been punched. Who would start such an ugly rumor? Then anger grew within him when he realized that Laurel might hear it and become upset. He must protect her in her pregnancy from any distress for the sake of her health and the child’s.

  “I’ll kill the first man who utters such a profane rumor in my house!”

  Jean patted him on the back. “Calm down, Tony. I told you not to upset you but to warn you. You have a right to know what everyone is gossiping about.”

  “Say nothing to Laurel,” Tony commanded and turned on his heels as the first of his guests began arriving.

  Tony joined Laurel in the foyer, and he introduced each guest to her. Laurel was charming, beautiful, and sweet, but Tony immediately sensed everyone’s unease and noticed the moving lips behind gaily colored fans and hands. Rumors directed at him, at his Laurel, at his child. As much as he had looked forward to this evening, he now wished the night would end. He had purposely shielded Laurel from the social life of Washington, afraid that someone would slip up and mention Auguste St. Julian to her, but he had agreed to the ball, feeling that Petit Coteau was the proper place for Laurel to meet his friends. He knew he could control a situation in his home and expel anyone who mentioned his poor uncle.

  However, this situation might prove more than even he could handle. Everyone watched Laurel in fascination, mixed with open condemnation, and even lust-showed on the faces of some of the gentlemen present. He saw a look of bafflement settle on her face when he swept her onto the dance floor. Again, he blamed himself. If not for his plan to avenge himself on Lavinia, Laurel wouldn’t be in these circumstances now.

  “Tony, why is everyone staring at me so oddly?” she whispered to him. “Is something wrong with me? Have I done anything offensive?”

  “No, chérie, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’re imagining that.”

  She shook her dark head. “I’m not, Tony. These people dislike me.”

  The dance ended, and Laurel and Tony stood in the center of the room, alone. No one joined them on the floor when the music began to play anew, and Laurel realized they were being snubbed.

  “Please, come dance,” Laurel invited everyone, but no one made a move to join them, except for Denise and Jean. Laurel’s cheeks grew red with embarrassment and humiliation, tears stung her eyes when Tony claimed her for the dance. Condemning faces twirled past her, but the only one she seemed to notice was Simone, who watched in malevolent glee from across the room. When the waltz stopped, the kindly Doctor Fusilier moved forward and asked Tony if he could have a dance with Laurel. Tony bowed and started to walk past, but Madame Fusilier’s voice blared through the ball room like the sound of a trumpet.

  “Alphonse, if you dance with that wicked woman, I shall not speak to you again!”

  Alphonse Fusilier’s face turned three shades of red, and he stood beside Laurel, poised in indecision. He motioned to his wife to be quiet, but she pushed past the guests who blocked her way. She was a small, thin woman, but she stared daggers into her husband.

  “Don’t try to quiet me, you worm! You know very well why we’re here. You’re afraid that if you didn’t show up, you’d displease Monsieur Duvalier, and he’d take his aches and pains elsewhere. Well, let him.” She turned her flashing and condemning eyes on Laurel. “I don’t want my husband ministering to a whore, to a woman who bears a child that isn’t her husband’s. It’s a sin!”

  “Oh!” Laurel’s gasp was audible throughout the room, and she would have fallen if Tony hadn’t caught her in his arms. But she stiffened her backbone and tried to stare down the woman and think of something to say in her own defense, but nothing came to her. She was guilty of everything Madame Fusilier said, of what everyone must think.

  Some titters and jeers circulated through the room as Laurel opened her mouth to speak, but Tony’s voice cut through the air like a butcher’s knife.

  “I am very shocked and surprised by you all,” he spoke with surprising calmness, but Laurel could feel him trembling. “You come to my home to be entertained by my wife and myself. You come here as hypocrites, people who, I thought, were my friends. Worst of all, you believe a malicious rumor, something so untrue as to be an abomination. My wife is carrying a child. My child, and I would swear to this on a stack of Bibles that the child is mine. However, I won’t give any of you the satisfaction.” He called to the butler. “Show my guests out,” he demanded.

  Then in one fell swoop, he captured Laurel in his arms and carried her upstairs to her room. He sat in a chair, cradling her in his arms while the tears she had suppressed fell onto his shirtfront.

  Denise knocked on the door and inquired if she was all right, but Tony assured her that Laurel was fine and that she and Jean should retire for the night.

  With overflowing eyes, Laurel looked at Tony. “Denise planned for her to take your bed tonight. She said the house would be filled with guests. You could have your choice of any room now. I’m … sorry … Tony. I’ve caused you embarrassment, made a fool out of you.”

  He stroked her head, wanting to tell her the truth, and he almost did except her next words stopped him. “You were so wonderful to stand up for me like that. I’ll never forget what you did tonight, Tony. Never.” She kissed his neck. He felt her stiffen in his arms, and anger washed over her face. “I wish to God that man in the cabin never existed! He’s the reason for all of this, and I hate him.”

  Tony smothered a groan. Yes, you should hate me, he thought. Gincie tapped on the door then and entered the room.

  “My baby will done feel better after she gets ready for bed, Mr. Tony. Just you wait when you see her in that pretty gown Mrs. Pratt made for her. You’ll both forget that nasty business that happened here tonight.”

  Tony nodded and kissed Laurel on the head before leaving her to Gincie’s ministrations. As he left the room, he knew he would never forget this night. And later, he was proved correct.

  ~

  Simone seethed as her carriage returned her to Clermont. Never had she been so upset. Her scheme had backfired. Instead of Tony becoming enraged and turning against Laurel, he had instead whisked her up the stairs to the seclusion of the bedroom. His attitude about t
he whole situation puzzled Simone. She couldn’t believe he had stood there and, with a straight face, proclaimed the child as his own. Such loyalty was unbelievable to Simone—unless the baby Laurel carried was Tony’s child.

  Her mouth set in a grim line. When she reached home, she would beat that stupid Flossie until the girl was black and blue. Imagine the dumb thing believing anything old Cidra said. The woman could barely hear. What was worse, she, herself, had believed the tall tale. Simone had allowed the rumor to circulate about Laurel through Flossie, even ordering the girl to tell every slave she met for miles around, knowing the gossip would eventually reach the ears of the plantation owners.

  Everything had gone exactly as planned until this evening. Tony had become the fly in the ointment, ruining all with his protective attitude.

  “Oh, why couldn’t he have gone into a rage and slapped her face in front of everybody!” she ranted to herself.

  A shiver racked her. She had told Seth that her plan was foolproof. Now she would be the one to look foolish. Calming down a bit, she thought about Seth Renquist. He wanted the same thing she did, and she wouldn’t question why.

  When Laurel Duvalier was out of Tony’s life forever, Simone would breathe easier. Indeed, Seth would prove most useful to her in her new plan. She must depend on him now to woo Laurel away from Tony. The fact that Laurel was having Tony’s child didn’t matter to her. Accidents did happen. Women miscarried babies every day.

  Once that stumbling block was out of the way, she could turn all her energies into winning Tony and becoming the next Madame Duvalier.

  ~

  “My, but you look pretty tonight!” Gincie beamed at Laurel who stood in the center of the bedroom, arrayed in a pink negligee that was barely more than a web of lace at her breasts and gauze elsewhere. A lace robe swirled around her in diaphanous folds and skirted the floor. She had unbound her hair, and the dark, silken strands hung down her back in a riot of soft waves.

  However, Laurel didn’t feel pretty or even care how she looked at the moment. Her heart was heavy and fairly bursting with emotion. Tony had been humiliated over the incident with Madame Fusilier. Now everyone knew the truth, and she couldn’t bear to think that he had had his nose rubbed in it in such a devastating way. Tony valued his privacy, and that had been destroyed. But she would never forget the way he had reared up to his full height and stared everyone down, defending her honor. He had lied to protect her virtue, and there was no adequate way she could ever repay him except to love him. And she did love him.

  “Is Tony still downstairs?” she asked Gincie.

  “He’s in the study, havin’ a drink with Mr. Jean. Should I go fetch him and tell him you’re ready for bed?”

  “No, Gincie. I’ll wait up for him.”

  She dismissed Gincie for the night and was just about to get into bed when a tiny knock sounded on the door. Pauline entered at her summons, holding a black silk shirt in her hands.

  “I heard you were looking for old clothes, madame. I have one of Monsieur Tony’s that was on the floor of his chifforobe. It is torn and a button is missing. I could mend it for you if you would like to give it to someone.”

  “That’s kind of you, Pauline. But the people I thought were in need of the clothes didn’t need them. Perhaps you might like to give it to one of the servants.”

  “Oui. I shall do that. Merci, madame”

  Pauline turned to leave, and Laurel caught the glimmer of gold on the shirt front. Something caused her to stop Pauline in her tracks. “Wait, Pauline! Let me see that shirt a moment.”

  The woman handed the silken garment to Laurel. Laurel’s hands shook as she saw the row of gold buttons reflecting the candlelight. She barely glanced at Pauline, her attention riveted on the shiny objects all engraved with the initial A. Pauline spoke to her, but Laurel didn’t hear her, and after a few seconds, Pauline fled the room, thinking that Madame Duvalier was acting rather strangely.

  The blood rushed to her head and deafened her with a pounding that surged through her brain like a storm at sea. She walked to her dressing table and opened her jewelry box with trembling fingers. She pulled out the velvet lining and searched until she found the button she had hidden so long ago—the button that perfectly matched the ones on the shirt.

  “A” she spoke dumbly, unable to comprehend her own stupidity. The initial stood for Antoine. Antoine Duvalier. Her husband. Tony. The man she loved. The man who had kidnapped her.

  A low moan gathered in her throat. How stupid she had been, how trusting. Of course the man who had kidnapped her had been Tony. She hadn’t connected his first name to the letter on the button since no one ever called him anything but Tony. Never in a million years had she thought Tony was the man who had plucked her from the carriage because she had expected him to be at Petit Coteau in Simone’s arms. Instead he must have changed his shirt, and since she hadn’t expected him to be thundering down the road in a violent rainstorm, she hadn’t realized he was the man who had loved her in the cabin, had saved her life only to now cause her untold misery.

  She should have known it had been him by the smell of smoke that surrounded him, the way he had disguised his voice. Who else would have had reason to lure her to Petit Coteau and then to spirit her away in the dark of night but Tony?

  Yet she must know for certain if he was the man related to Auguste St. Julian, the man who had wanted to harm Lavinia. Throwing the shirt on the bed, Laurel ran down the hall to where Denise slept in Tony’s bedroom. She threw open the door and nudged Denise, who was sleeping soundly.

  Sleepy eyes settled on Laurel, and Denise looked up at her. “What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Laurel didn’t waste words. “I want to know if Tony is related to Auguste St. Julian.”

  Denise yawned. “St. Julian? Oui, chérie. St. Julian was married to Tony’s aunt, his mother’s sister. But the old man died some months ago. Why?”

  A bitter sob gathered and died in her throat. Barely able to speak, she shook her head and left, closing the door behind her. When she reached her own room, she found Tony already there.

  His powerful muscles rippled as he threw off his shirt, and he looked like the figure of a Greek god she had seen in a museum once. But Tony was far from godlike, and a bitter pain entombed itself in the pit of her stomach.

  His black eyes danced when he beheld her. Laurel was so beautiful that his hands and arms reached out for her, ensnaring her in a viselike embrace. He nuzzled her ear. “I couldn’t wait to get up here. Jean can talk a blue streak when the mood moves him.”

  His breath held traces of brandy, Napoleon’s brandy to be exact. The same brandy she had smelled on her kidnapper’s breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her mind screamed. How could he have done this to her? He had kidnapped her, made love to her, and given her a child. Yet, he hadn’t told her that he had been the one to whom she had given her love. Would he have ever told her? she wondered.

  “No response, chérie?” he asked and tilted her chin. His fingers traced the teardrops that spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Laurel. What happened tonight is done.”

  She broke away from him. “You think it’s all ended. You’re wrong, Tony, or should I say Antoine? I had forgotten that was your given name since everyone addresses you as Tony. If I had remembered that then, I would have realized the truth about this!” Laurel picked up the shirt from the bed and threw it at him.

  “My shirt,” he said, not comprehending. “So?”

  “A button is missing.”

  “Sew it back on.”

  “Don’t you recall how the button was lost? Think, Tony, think.” She walked over to him and opened the palm of her hand to show him the button she had saved. “I’ve kept this button ever since that night in the cabin when I ripped the shirt from my lover’s back. A memento of a glorious night of passion, of ecstasy. I wanted to know who the man was who had shown me paradise, but you couldn’t discover his identity. I thought it strange that you
weren’t able to find my kidnapper; now I know why. Tell me this shirt isn’t yours, that you didn’t lie to me. Tell me!”

  Her fists pounded against his chest, and tears streamed down her face. “I hate you for what you’ve done! You wanted to punish Lavinia but got me instead. Your stupid plan went awry. And now you’re married to me, and I’m having your baby. The only thing you’ve ever admitted to is the baby. I thought you were so noble to lie downstairs tonight, and all the time you were telling the truth. I am having your baby!”

  Tony lunged for her, dropping the shirt on the floor. “Laurel, I love you. I wanted to tell you the truth.” He reached out to her, but she twisted away and ran to stand on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Why didn’t you?” she spat with so much venom that his heart flip-flopped in his chest.

  “I was afraid I’d lose you. I hadn’t intended to harm you. I honestly believed you were Lavinia.”

  “Of course, Lavinia. I suppose you would have made love to her, but since I was the only female available, you took your perverted vengeance out on me. Should I consider myself fortunate?”

  “Dammit, Laurel. I love you.”

  “You don’t know what love is. For months I’ve felt guilty about what happened that night, and all the time you let me believe a lie. I won’t ever forgive you for this, Tony. Never!”

  Something in the tone of her voice caused him to halt and abandon his plan of forcing her into his arms. He had never heard her sound so hurt and angry, or look so betrayed. Her green eyes stared like two warning beacons, seeming to defy him to touch her. A sinking feeling gathered in his chest.

  “You can’t mean that,” he mouthed.

  “I can and I do.” Laurel spoke firmly, though she trembled violently and clung to the bedpost for support. “I’m leaving you, Tony.”