Midnight Flame Page 4

  “Bring her in, Mister Tony,” the man said and motioned them into the house.

  Laurel began to walk inside, but Lavinia grabbed her arm. “I’ll stay in the carriage. I don’t like sickness.”

  Once inside the house Tony introduced Laurel to Doctor Gaston Mornay and his wife Lillie, a plump, cheerful black woman who made Gincie comfortable on a small cot.

  “I’ll be fine,” Gincie insisted and gave a deep cough, but the doctor frowned as he checked her throat and chest. He turned to Laurel.

  “Do you have a place for Miss Gincie to stay? I’m afraid she’s caught a bad chill and must rest for a week or so. If not, she’s welcome to stay here with me and my wife.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Doctor. I do appreciate your kindness. I’m traveling to San Antonio, but I shall stay at the hotel until Gincie is well.”

  From the cot Gincie’s voice came strong and clear. “No, you go on ahead without me. I’ll manage fine. Besides, old Gincie ain’t too happy to be goin’ to San Antonio anyway.”

  Laurel knelt by the cot, aware of Duvalier’s eyes upon her. “I can’t leave you here. I won’t. When you’re better, you’re coming with me or we’ll make arrangements to send you back to New Orleans.”

  Gincie shook her head tiredly. “I’m too sick. You have to go and you know it. Time to make peace.”

  Laurel realized the truth in Gincie’s words. She must see her uncle before he died. It was up to her to put things right. She felt the doctor would care for Gincie, but she wasn’t ready to leave at that moment. She had to know Gincie would be all right. Lavinia was really the one who needed to reach San Antonio.

  Patting Gincie’s hand, she said to the woman, “I’ll stop by in the morning to see how you’re doing.”

  On the return trip to town Duvalier sat with a perplexed look on his face while Lavinia twisted a kerchief in her hands. “You treat your slave very well,” he said to Laurel, sounding surprised.

  “Gincie isn’t my slave. She’s free and has been since I freed her last year. I personally don’t believe in slavery. Gincie stays with me because she loves me, and I love her.”

  Duvalier cocked an eyebrow. “Such liberal thinking might get you into trouble in the South.”

  Laurel shrugged her blue-satin-clad shoulders. “My ideas about slavery are Northern in concept, probably because I was schooled in the East, but love and kindness are universal.”

  He shot her another surprised but appraising glance.

  Lavinia fidgeted. “Can we go any faster?” she asked. “I should like to rest.”

  “We’ll be at the hotel soon, Miss Malone.”

  Laurel didn’t miss the assessing glance he threw at Lavinia. Soon the carriage stopped in front of the red-brick Garland Hotel. Lavinia left the carriage in a flurry of skirts and hurried inside. Laurel started to follow but stopped and lingered on the street, still holding Duvalier’s proffered hand.

  “Thank you for taking Gincie to the doctor. That was kind of you. Doctor Gaston seems a competent man.”

  Tony nodded. “Gaston was one of my father’s slaves. He took care of all the sick on Petit Coteau. My father realized Gaston had a gift for healing. He freed him and sent Gaston north to medical school. We thought Gaston would stay and practice up there, but he didn’t. Instead he returned home, a free man, and practices among his own people. Do believe me when I say that he is the best physician I’ve ever known.”

  Now it was Laurel’s turn to be surprised. She had assumed Tony Duvalier had no heart, but she was now learning that he did. She wasn’t so sure she liked knowing this fact. It made her much more vulnerable to him.

  She felt the warmth of his hand, then the pressure of his lips on her flesh.

  “I will see you soon,” he said confidently, almost as if he knew something she didn’t. Then he entered the carriage. She watched as he drove away, her heart tripping to the beat of the carriage wheels. She would have stayed staring at the street except Lavinia came out of the hotel and glared at her.

  “Come on, Laurel. I can’t register without you, and I don’t want to be in public for too long a time. Remember this is St. Julian territory.”

  “Yes, yes,” Laurel said and reluctantly went inside with her cousin. She had forgotten that.

  ~

  “Then I suppose I shall have to return home without you.”

  Laurel noticed that Lavinia sounded very relieved the next morning when she told her that she would have to travel to Texas alone. As Lavinia sipped her tea, her hands shook. Laurel decided the strain of the past weeks, of wondering if a St. Julian relative was on her trail, was finally wearing her thin. Plus the fact that she had to hide her light under a bushel so to speak. Sitting on the small sofa in the hotel room in her blue silk wrapper that clung to every curve of her body, her long red mane of hair hanging down her back and over her shoulders like a sunset, caused Laurel to decide that Lavinia should go home as quickly as possible. She definitely couldn’t keep up the pretense of being a homely spinster companion much longer.

  “A coach leaves at noon,” Laurel told her and poured herself a cup of tea. “I’ll stay on until Gincie is better. Perhaps she should return to New Orleans. I think she already misses it.”

  “Gincie is faithful to you,” Lavinia commented somewhat jealously. “Almost like a little dog following after you all the time.”

  “I’ll ignore that comment,” Laurel said bitingly. “Now I must dress.” Her deep-green wrapper made a swishing sound as she left the room.

  Lavinia had just finished drinking her tea when a knock sounded on the door. She went to it and opened it a crack, rather amazed to see Tony Duvalier so early in the morning but even more aware of how handsome he looked in a cream-colored frock coat and brown trousers.

  He bowed to her. “Miss Malone, I’m sorry to be here so early. I had hoped to see Miss Delaney. Is she up yet?”

  “Yes, but she’s dressing,” Lavinia said and opened the door wider, allowing him to see her in all her early morning beauty. “She takes quite a long time to dress. May I help you?”

  Her eyes filled with eagerness and drank in Tony Duvalier’s handsomeness. She wondered what he wanted with Laurel anyway. She was so drab sometimes and so proper. Lavinia guessed that Duvalier was a man of fire, of passion. The two were entirely mismatched, she believed.

  Tony’s eyes scanned Lavinia’s luscious body, taking in her delicious state of dishabille, the tousled red curls he would never have believed had been hidden in the tightly rolled chignon she had worn. Without the glasses he realized her eyes were a piercing blue, and he caught his breath. This woman couldn’t be Agatha Malone, but she was the same woman who had traveled from New Orleans with the beautiful brunette who had perversely bewitched him.

  “I wondered when Miss Delaney might be leaving for San Antonio.”

  “Oh.” Lavinia’s hope-filled eyes lowered, then she lifted them to Duvalier’s face. “Miss Delaney will not be leaving today, but I shall.”

  “Is it usual for a traveling companion to go on ahead?” he asked.

  “I have much to attend to there before Miss Delaney arrives. Now if that is all,” Lavinia finished, a bit peeved that Duvalier’s interest was only in Laurel.

  “Thank you. Please tell her I shall call on her later in the day.”

  The door abruptly closed in his face. Tony stood outside, his gaze on the dark oak wood. He had sensed Agatha Malone’s interest in him and thought this woman was a chameleon. As he walked down the stairs to the main floor, it wasn’t the red-haired siren his mind dwelled on. It was a woman with dark hair and green eyes, a woman who might have caused his uncle’s death, a woman who had caused his aunt much pain.

  He left the hotel, wondering how someone with the face of an angel, the prim disposition of a schoolteacher, could possibly be a heartless witch. He had kissed her only a few days ago and had felt the desire within her for him.

  He walked along the piers and knew he must quench this desire
for that dark-haired vixen, Lavinia Delaney. Soon she would be at his mercy, and he would make her suffer for his uncle’s shame. She would feel great humiliation for what she had done, for loving a married man old enough to be her father. For killing him with her passion, her greed, and giving nothing in return.

  Still the actual impression he had received of Lavinia Delaney was different from the one he had built in his mind. The two images were at such odds that, as he glanced at the waters of Bayou Cortableau, he felt almost as if Lavinia were two different people. He even felt remorse for having to hurt the vulnerable side of her, the one that would capture his heart if he weren’t careful.

  Unwillingly his loins tightened in recall of the way her hand had slid onto his chest that night on the boat. Her lips had tasted like nectar, drugging him with their sweetness, almost causing him to forget his purpose. Her body had molded to his, and he remembered thinking how well their bodies fit together.

  Tony shook himself to drive the memory from his mind. He could almost understand how his uncle had been taken in by this deceiving temptress, who appeared fragile and trusting and inexperienced. He still remembered the crimson stains on her cheeks when she drew away from him. He would have believed Lavinia was innocent if he didn’t know better. The reports from the investigator had been thorough. Lavinia Delaney led a wild existence, and her father had been glad to be rid of her. Tony had discovered that she would be on the Cotton Blossom, and he had followed her. The woman he had met was nothing like what he expected, but beneath her pristine exterior beat the heart of a wanton woman. His uncle was proof of that.

  Squaring his broad shoulders, he walked away from the bayou. He must drive the angel image from his mind and replace it with the one of the whore. When he did so, he wouldn’t feel so guilty, he decided, because soon his plan would be set in motion.

  ~

  Lavinia disappeared in a flurry of dark taffeta skirts and delighted blue eyes as the coach door closed behind her. She barely managed a wave to Laurel before the coach sped away, leaving Laurel standing alongside the street.

  The afternoon sun disappeared behind a large gray cloud, bringing a gentle breeze in its wake. But seconds later the cloud skittered away, and once again the sun shone brightly in the heavens and warmed Laurel with its intensity.

  “We could do with some rain.”

  She turned at the sound of Tony Duvalier’s voice behind her. “It is rather warm for this time of year,” Laurel remarked.

  He fell into step with her and walked in the direction of the hotel. She felt terribly small alongside of his six-foot frame, and when he gallantly took her elbow to escort her across the street, she realized how strong his hand felt. In her mind flashed the picture of his face bent to hers, his mouth devouring hers in a kiss, and caused her to feel much warmer than the weather actually was. A wanton kiss. A kiss that even now made her heart beat faster just to recall.

  She saw he was looking down at her with an amused glint in his eyes, and she flushed. It was almost as if the man could read her mind. “Am I so amusing to you, Mr. Duvalier?” she asked somewhat waspishly. “Or is my bonnet on crooked?”

  Tony stopped walking and peered down at her. His hand snaked out and touched a wayward dark curl that rested near her cheek. “Your bonnet is fine, but I think you’d be more comfortable without one. You do have beautiful hair.”

  Her voice sounded breathy, almost catching in her throat when she said, “Thank you.”

  A warm smile engulfed his face. “I appreciate a woman who can take an honest compliment and not pretend modesty.” He took her elbow again and escorted her back to the hotel. When they were in the lobby, he turned to her. “I have plans for us tonight.”

  She blinked. “What plans?”

  “A surprise, but I expect you to be ready at seven.”

  He started to turn away as if the matter were settled. She tugged at his coat sleeve. “I can’t make plans for this evening. I must pack for my trip, and I have to check on Gincie.”

  “I was just at Doctor Mornay’s. Gincie has a touch of pneumonia, and he thinks it best that she not travel right now.”

  “Oh, my!” Laurel placed a gloved hand to her lips. “I must see her.”

  “Don’t worry,” he consoled her. “I’ll take you out there if you wish.”

  She nodded, and soon they were in Tony’s carriage heading for the Mornay cottage. When Laurel entered the house and saw Gincie, she realized that the woman wouldn’t be able to travel to San Antonio with her. Though Gincie was talkative, she coughed a deep aching sort of cough that sounded painful.

  “Don’t worry over me, Miss Laurel,” Gincie told her when they were alone. Gincie sat on a cot with a pillow propped behind her back. “Doctor Mornay and his wife take real good care of me. I ain’t goin’ too far with the way I been feelin’ lately. But you got to get to San Antonio and see your uncle before the Lord takes him. You have to go.”

  Laurel sighed, realizing again that Gincie was right. She had to go. “I’ll visit Uncle Arthur for a while, then on my way home, I’ll come get you, and we’ll both return to New Orleans.”

  Gincie’s dark eyes settled on Laurel’s face. “You don’t have to do that, my baby girl. I know how you been lookin’ forward to this visit. Just take your time. If I ain’t here when you start for home, either I went on ahead to New Orleans or the good Lord took me. Either way, you don’t worry over old Gincie.”

  Tears misted Laurel’s eyes, and she hugged Gincie. “What am I going to do with you? But I know one thing, you better not go off to heaven now or in the near future. I need you to look after my children one day.”

  This comment brought a grin to Gincie’s lips. “You figurin’ on marryin’ and havin’ babies soon, Miss Laurel? You considerin’ marryin’ that handsome Mr. Duvalier?”

  “No, well, hush now, Gincie. It was just a comment. Don’t start making anything over it.” Her face grew warm, and she fiddled with the string on her reticule.

  After she had hugged Gincie again and paid Doctor Mornay for her care, Tony rode with her to the hotel. During the ride back she could barely look at him. Each time she did, she remembered Gincie’s question about marrying Tony Duvalier. It was absurd even to consider such a thing. She barely knew the man, had kissed him only once, but that one kiss she wouldn’t soon forget.

  Soon the carriage halted at the hotel, and when he helped her out, he said again, “Seven o’clock,” before she had the time to protest.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Before Laurel went to her room, she spoke to the hotel manager and inquired about the availability of another coach.

  “There won’t be one until the day after tomorrow. Because of Mardi Gras and the riffraff who plague the roads, no coaches will leave until then. We’ve had some trouble with the criminal element in the prairie area, and after some people celebrate for too long…” His voice drifted off. “Let’s just say it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I understand,” she said, though she felt impatient to be on her way to San Antonio. It seemed events had conspired against her and that she was to remain in the bustling town of Washington along Bayou Cortableau longer than she had planned. She decided that she might as well enjoy herself and avail herself of Tony’s company.

  She had been in her room for half an hour when a knock sounded on the door. On opening it, she saw a plump woman with graying hair and a broad smile. Over her arm was what appeared to be a skirt and a blouse. Without saying a word, she pushed past Laurel and entered the room.

  “Who are you?” Laurel asked indignantly. “I didn’t invite you in here. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the manager.”

  The woman turned to her, the smile still on her face. “You are Mademoiselle Delaney? Oui?”

  Laurel nodded.

  “I am in the right place. Monsieur Duvalier sent me to dress you for the masquerade dance tonight.”

  Laurel looked at her uncomprehendingly. “Dance?”

  “You
know,” the woman said and hummed a few notes of music, moving her surprisingly tiny feet in time to the rhythm. “A dance, mademoiselle, in honor of Mardi Gras.”

  Laurel now recalled Tony’s mentioning something about a surprise, but she was caught off guard when the woman, who identified herself only as Lulubelle, ordered up a bath for Laurel. Laurel glanced hesitantly at the skimpy-appearing garments that the woman laid on the bed. Her parents had gone to a number of elaborate carnival balls, and she could recall the beautiful gowns her mother had worn, the feeling of heady excitement that had pervaded the house as her parents came down the stairs in their formal regalia, and how awestruck she had been. But she had never attended any dances, and certainly not in costume. In fact, if Lavinia hadn’t arrived with trouble in tow and if Uncle Arthur hadn’t become ill, Laurel knew that she would have been on the arm of Philbert Anderson this very night at an elegant but stuffy affair.

  The thought of Philbert with his long, thin fingers resembling the legs of a crab caused her to giggle. If she had to choose between Tony and Philbert as escorts, she would choose Tony any day.

  When Laurel had finished her bath and was attired in her costume, she looked at herself in the cheval glass and wasn’t certain she should be seen in public. The costume was fashioned in the gypsy style, and Laurel thought she resembled a woman of loose morals. The skirt fell to just above her ankles in a swirl of lavender-and-gold-printed silk, the hem edged with golden beads, and a split up the side revealed a shapely thigh. Her breasts, usually well concealed, now strained against the thin, cream-colored peasant top and swelled high above the white lace edging of the low neckline. She had never worn such an outfit before and felt indecent.

  Lulubelle didn’t catch the shocked look on Laurel’s face as she made clucking sounds of approval and clapped her hands in delight. She then brushed Laurel’s waist-length hair and pulled up the right side and fastened it with a pink rose. Next she clipped large golden loops to Laurel’s ears.