Midnight Flame Page 3

  Laurel shivered in the warm morning air and went to her cabin where she decided to put the stranger and his bad manners from her mind.

  She hoped she wouldn’t run into the man again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Laurel had just finished dressing for dinner when she entered Lavinia’s adjoining cabin. Before her stood Lavinia in a golden silk creation that took away Laurel’s breath. Her cousin’s auburn locks were pulled atop her head and cascaded in ringlets down her back. Compared to the prim dark-green gown Laurel wore, Lavinia resembled a fairy princess.

  “Well, how do I look?” Lavinia asked and swirled around the cabin. Gincie stood with her arms folded, a disapproving frown on her face.

  “You’re a breathtaking sight, Lavinia,” Laurel spoke truthfully. “But you can’t have dinner in the dining room dressed like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I thought you feared the St. Julian family. You’re supposed to be my dour-faced companion, Agatha Malone.”

  “Oh, her.” Lavinia laughed and preened before the mirror. “I’ve given old Agatha the night off. I’m not about to have my evening spoiled. I can go back to being plain Agatha in the morning.”

  Lavinia never ceased to baffle Laurel. Only the week before she had cried in fear of her life, and now because she was apparently bored with her masquerade, she had decided to drop the pretense for a while. Laurel didn’t care one way or the other what Lavinia did, but she wasn’t about to allow Lavinia to use her.

  “I booked passage for a Miss Agatha Malone, companion to Miss Delaney. And now it seems that I’m to look like a fool in front of the captain and everyone else who saw you board the boat this morning. Truly, I don’t care if you drop the charade, but from now on I shall tell everyone who you really are. That news should delight St. Julian’s relative, if such a person actually is trying to find you. You may as well place a large sign on your person, proclaiming your identity.”

  For an instant Lavinia’s chin trembled, but only for an instant. Then she lifted her head high and flashed Laurel a dazzling smile.

  “I wonder if you really care about me, Cousin Laurel, or if you enjoy my disguise. Sometimes I think you dislike me a great deal.”

  There was a grain of truth in Lavinia’s statement, and Laurel hated to admit she did get some enjoyment out of the beautiful Lavinia playing the plain Jane. For most of her life she had mentally compared herself to Lavinia and found herself lacking, though her mother had constantly assured her she was beautiful but in a quiet sort of way.

  She didn’t dislike Lavinia. In fact Laurel felt rather protective of her and couldn’t fathom why.

  “I care about you very much,” Laurel found herself saying. “If you wish to wear your new gown, I won’t stop you. I shall introduce you as my beautiful traveling companion.”

  Lavinia silently considered Laurel. She sighed her defeat. With a furrowed brow, she began to fiddle with the buttons on the back of the gown. “Help me with this, Gincie, and get that plain blue gown of Laurel’s. I shall wear that tonight.”

  When Lavinia stepped out of the gold silk gown, she handed it to Laurel. “I want you to wear this dress. I think the color will suit you and bring out the green of your eyes.”

  Lavinia’s thoughtfulness brought unexpected tears to Laurel’s eyes. “I can’t wear your gown.”

  “Yes, you can and you will. Auguste had it especially made for me, and there is a golden dove on a chain that complements the dress. I think he’d have been most pleased for you to wear this gown. You know, Laurel, in your way, you’re much more beautiful than I ever could hope to be. If you dressed in more vibrant colors, in gowns with a bit more daring, and wore your hair differently…”

  Lavinia began to gather the thick strands of Laurel’s dark hair atop her head, allowing a few cascading curls to fall gently across her shoulders. “What do you think, Gincie?”

  “I think my baby is the most beautiful lady on this here boat.”

  ~

  All eyes turned upon Laurel when she entered the dining room. The multitude of candles on the elaborate chandeliers cast a golden glow over her. She shimmered in the gown, which drank in the lights’ reflection. As she floated across the Brussels carpet to her table, followed by a prim-looking Lavinia, she caught a glimpse of the man who had accosted her on deck that morning.

  Lavinia noticed him, too.

  “What a handsome man,” she whispered across the table to Laurel. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we sat down. Do you know who he is?”

  Laurel didn’t bother to cast a glance in the man’s direction. “No. He approached me on deck this morning and was too familiar.”

  “I hope you didn’t sound as frosty then as you do now. You’ll never catch a husband like that, Laurel. A man doesn’t want to be frostbitten.”

  “I don’t intend to marry, Lavinia.”

  Lavinia’s mouth fell open. “Whyever not? I’d have married Auguste except … Well, you know what happened there.”

  Straightening her spine against her chair, Laurel said, “I think men are a great bother. The ones I’ve met were only interested in my fortune. I have no use for such a man and prefer to spend my own money rather than be at a man’s mercy and have to beg for it.”

  Lavinia began to eat the salad placed in front of her. “I wouldn’t mind begging anything from such a man as him,” she said and smiled in the direction of the dark-eyed stranger, who was still watching them.

  “You’re incorrigible,” Laurel said and proceeded to eat her dinner.

  After a main course of fish, covered with melted butter, and a dessert of strawberries and cream, Laurel couldn’t avoid the man who had watched them from across the dining room. He suddenly stood before them, the captain by his side.

  “Miss Delaney,” Captain Steele began hesitantly, not at all sure he should interrupt her meal, “this gentleman wishes an introduction.”

  Because the captain seemed so uncertain and his face was slightly red with embarrassment, Laurel hoped to put him at ease, but inwardly she cursed the dark-clad man who had attempted again to intrude upon her life. However, she smiled up at the captain and the man beside him.

  “By all means,” she said.

  “May I present Antoine Duvalier to you, Miss Delaney? And this is”—the captain turned to Lavinia, and Laurel introduced her by the name Agatha Malone—”Miss Malone,” he uttered and quickly departed.

  Duvalier stood, seemingly waiting for an invitation to sit, which Lavinia quickly dispensed. Laurel gave her a condemning look as Duvalier took a seat next to Laurel’s.

  “Do you travel often by steamboat?” Lavinia asked.

  He lit a cheroot and leaned back in his chair. “I had business in New Orleans. I very seldom leave my plantation, Petit Coteau.”

  “A plantation, how divine!”

  Laurel couldn’t miss the flash of excitement in her cousin’s eyes. She thought that Lavinia was being much too forward with the man.

  “Agatha, I believe it’s time we turned in for the night. I’m certain Mr. Duvalier will understand. We have a long trip ahead of us and must rest.”

  “What is your destination?”

  “San Antonio,” Lavinia chimed in.

  “I’m certain Mr. Duvalier isn’t interested in our itinerary.” Laurel rose from her chair. Duvalier followed suit and strode after them when they left the dining room.

  He took Lavinia’s hand and kissed it. Then, before Laurel could protest, he captured hers also. His lips felt like flames on her flesh, and she pulled away.

  “You’d be very surprised at my interests, Miss Delaney. I assure you they are many and varied.”

  Then he turned and leisurely sauntered away.

  “Laurel, the man is so handsome and cultured! I think he likes you.”

  “Me? You’re the one he spoke to. He barely glanced at me at all.”

  Lavinia laughed. “You’re jealous.”

  A blush stained Laurel’s
cheeks. “I am not. Let’s go to bed, Lavinia. We have a long journey in front of us.”

  ~

  When Laurel was ensconced in her cabin, she discovered she wasn’t tired at all. Instead she found a book and began to read but decided the book bored her. From Lavinia’s cabin she heard Gincie’s soft snores, and looking in, she noticed that Lavinia was also fast asleep.

  Returning to her cabin, she heard the gentle lapping of the water against the steamboat and saw the brilliant moon in the star-dappled sky from her window. Suddenly she left her room, without throwing on the shawl Gincie always insisted she wear for protection against the night air.

  Outside, she walked slowly along the deck and breathed in the jasmine-perfumed night air. On the shoreline dark images of trees blended together. The moonlight spilled onto her figure and highlighted the gleaming material of her gown, the alabaster beauty of her shoulders and arms. The night air felt pleasant upon her naked flesh, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel embarrassed that her bosom was less than half covered.

  She fingered the golden dove that hung at her neck on the matching chain and was swallowed in the valley of her breasts. A man who had loved Lavinia had given her the dove as a symbol of his love. Laurel briefly wondered if she would ever know such love but dismissed the thought. All she had known over the past eight years had been a sense of loneliness, of isolation. Few people had cared about her, and the young men she had met were no exception. Lavinia was wrong, she told herself. She wasn’t beautiful. None of those men had wanted her for herself or any looks she might possess. They had wanted her for her money.

  A sigh escaped from between her lips, and she bent a trifle further over the railing than she had intended. Panic seized her for an instant because she thought she was about to fall into the swirling, dark waters, but suddenly warm, strong hands grabbed her about her waist and pulled her back.

  Grasping her rescuer’s hands, she leaned for an instant against a hard, masculine body. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I would have fallen if you hadn’t—”

  Her voice silenced when she turned and looked up into the dark visage of Duvalier. Instantly her pallor gave way to high spots of color on her cheeks. “You!”

  “Me? Yes, it’s me, Miss Delaney. Is that all you can say to the man who just saved your life?”

  Why did this man have the power to turn her from a pleasant human being into a haughty-sounding schoolmarm?

  Attempting to pull away from him, she felt herself actually trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you. Thank you, Mr. Duvalier.”

  He flashed a blindingly white smile. “Call me Tony.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You sound almost horrified, Miss Delaney. Why not?”

  “It isn’t proper.”

  “Proper, is it?” His eyes narrowed, taking in her large, luminous eyes that shone like twin emeralds in the moonlight, the heaving, partially gold clad bosom, the dove resting contentedly between her breasts. A long curl draped enticingly across her right shoulder to wind its way over the swell of her bosom, then to end at her small waistline where Tony felt it brush gently against his hand.

  He had known many women in his life and found love with none. Eventually he knew he must marry and sire an heir for his plantation, but from his own experience with women, he had found them to be conniving schemers. The ones he trusted the least were the women who appeared innocent to the untrained eye. They gave the impression that if they were thoroughly kissed, they would swoon in his arms. When he did kiss them, he always discovered what he had already suspected. They might pretend to be innocent but in reality knew what a man wanted and were prepared to give it to him.

  Tony had to remind himself that this was one of those women. She might tremble in his embrace and pretend her lips didn’t ache to be kissed, but Tony Duvalier knew differently. The golden dove snuggled in its lush resting place was proof of that, as was the thin silk evening gown that so clearly outlined every voluptuous curve. He had paid the bills and was well aware of the cost of the trappings she wore and what they had cost his uncle. He would take great delight in humiliating this woman with a burning kiss, then in glaring at her when she responded like the whore he believed her to be.

  “I doubt very much if you’re concerned about propriety, Miss Delaney.”

  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.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  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.