Tears of Gold (49 page)

“The devil it doesn’t,” Mara said shortly, anger simmering as she glared up at him. “You seem to be laboring under a misconception that you’ve got some say in me life, when ye haven’t, M’sieu Chantale,” Mara said with growing indignation as she tried to ridicule him with a mocking Irish accent. “Ye seem to have very little faith in me natural abilities.”

Nicholas smiled grimly. “Oh, I’ve never underestimated you, Mara,
me love
,” Nicholas mimicked her.

With a sigh of defeat Mara dropped her pretense. “Just what is it you are playing at, Nicholas? All of a sudden you seem to be acting as if you own me, like one of those unfortunates over there being sold to the highest bidder.” Then with a derisory look around her, she added, “Of course, that might not be such a bad idea. With a personal reference from you, why, who knows? I might even be able to make me fortune.”

Mara winced as Nicholas’s fingers tightened painfully around her elbow.

“So you wish to be bought and paid for, like one of those young women across there? Did you know that in many slave sales the bidders demand a full inspection of the goods. You would stand before a room full of men, stripped of your clothes and dignity, while they stared at your beautiful body, your rounded breasts and slender thighs. You would have to suffer their gloating inspection and ribald remarks as they walked around you, their hands itching to touch that soft curve of buttock as they raped you with their eyes.”

Mara flushed with mortification, refusing to look at him even when his fingers closed over the point of her chin and lifted her face to his.

“Well, my dear, my gold is as good as the next man’s,” he bit out, his insulting words flicking her like a whip. “Come,” he said as he became aware of the stares they were beginning to draw.

Mara went along with him to their room.

“To be sure, I thought ye’d fallen into the river, or worse,” Jamie greeted Mara. “And ye was right. Looks like Master Paddy’s comin’ down with a churchyard cough for sure. Goin’ to rub some more salve on his chest right now,” she said. Without waiting for an answer, she bustled back inside, firmly closing the door to Paddy’s room behind her, but not before nodding to Nicholas.

Nicholas watched Mara curiously, wondering what was going through that beautiful head. He could see her slipping away from him now, just as everything else had done. In less than an hour he had heard of the death of his father and the threatened sale of Beaumarais. And now Mara O’Flynn was demanding her freedom.

His emerald gaze traveled across the distance of the room and locked on Mara’s averted profile, lingering on the soft, full curve of her lips as he remembered the taste of them beneath his; yet even then, with her clasped against his heart, she still kept herself apart. She always seemed to be holding something back from him and he never felt as if he possessed her completely. She was an enigma, as indeed she always had been. Maybe because of that, she excited him as no other woman ever had. He had never felt this almost unreasonable need for possession, this ache in his loins whenever he was close to that damned Irishwoman, but could he really blame himself, for she was, after all, an actress, and it was that very fine art in acting of creating an illusion that Mara O’Flynn seemed to excel in. In her very complex nature she presented a challenge to him, and he was determined to solve the puzzle of her, he swore beneath his breath as he made his first move against the wall of reserve she had erected between them.

“How much is Paddy’s life worth to you, Mara O’Flynn?” Nicholas began his attack on that which was dearest to her heart. “Is it worth coming with me to Beaumarais? You don’t hate my touch so much that you couldn’t endure it awhile longer for someone else’s sake. Paddy and Jamie are both fatigued from the months at sea and could use a rest on dry land for a change. You wouldn’t, for your own selfish reasons, deny them an opportunity to recuperate?” Nicholas argued both persuasively and unfairly, knowing full well that Mara would never risk her nephew’s health. “Think of spending those long hours in a damp cabin as you cross the stormy Atlantic to Europe, Paddy suffering a chest cold and the old woman’s rheumatism acting up,” Nicholas added. “I really would have to advise against such a journey at this time.”

Nicholas paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched for some sign of weakening. The expression on her flawless features never changed.

She would never endanger Paddy’s health, and he knew that. But what he didn’t know was that she wasn’t as self-sacrificing as she would have him believe. Her heart had jumped with excitement and joy when he first suggested her accompanying him to his home. And if she agreed to go to Beaumarais, was it really enough to be with him just a little longer, or did she perhaps hope for a more permanent relationship?

“Maybe the real reason you wish to leave New Orleans is that you have come to enjoy my lovemaking so much that you desire to run away before you become my slave,” Nicholas taunted softly, his expression deliberately contemptuous as he goaded her into acting rashly, knowing that once she gave rein to her temper she would speak without stopping to think.

“Become a slave to you, Nicholas?” Mara scoffed, humiliation and anger coloring her cheeks. “Never.”

“Then come with me to Beaumarais,” Nicholas said. “It’s one way of proving me wrong, isn’t it? And you always enjoy doing that, don’t you, Mara?”

Mara’s lips trembled slightly as her tawny eyes, carefully wiped clear of all emotion, met Nicholas’s stare. She nodded. Whatever her motives were, she had made her choice.

Chapter 12

“’Tis like a floating hotel,” Mara remarked in amazement from the top deck of the big, ungainly-looking steamboat as it made its way upriver, the thick, black smoke pouring out from its twin stacks. Huge stern paddles stirred up a torrent of frothy, white water in its wake. Mara looked across the wide, muddy river with its flat banks and thought it must be a mile from shore to shore.

She stared down into the swift current, past the lower decks where she could see the hands and heads of curious passengers sticking out as they strolled along the wide decks and enjoyed the view. It wasn’t really like a ship at all Mara thought, wondering at the large, elegant stateroom Nicholas had taken for them with its thick carpeting, heavy chandeliers, ornately framed oil paintings, and mahogany furniture. There were several enormous salons, all expensively endowed with velvet hangings and satin-cushioned sofas and chairs. In the numerous dining rooms the service was as excellent as the food. There was also a main saloon where the men could gamble and drink while the big paddle-wheeler made its way upriver toward Baton Rouge, Memphis, and St. Louis, stopping as well at numerous small-town levees and plantations to let passengers on and off.

Back in her stateroom Mara pulled off her bonnet and rid herself of her shoes. She padded around the room in her stockinged feet. Soon her skirt and bodice jacket, petticoats, corset, and drawers had followed suit to lay forgotten across the bed as Mara soaked in the hot, perfumed water of a large tub that had been filled by a small troupe of maids. Closing her eyes, she hummed a soft melody. A satisfied smile curved the corners of her mouth.

“Glad you came?” Nicholas asked from the doorway where he had been standing quietly as he watched her bathe. His coat was thrown carelessly across his arm and his vest was hanging open to reveal his ruffled shirt-front. He came slowly toward the tub.

Mara eyed him suspiciously over the broad brim of the tub. “To be sure, I’d not have missed floatin’ upriver in a ship as fine as a king’s palace,” Mara retorted uncomfortably as Nicholas continued to stare moodily down at her.

Nicholas wanted to reach out and touch the rich, dark hair piled high on top of her head. The steam had curled delicate tendrils of hair around her forehead and temples. The long, slender column of her neck and curve of shoulder glistened above the water while just beneath the surface he could see the soft outline of rounded breasts.

“You may wish you had stayed in New Orleans instead,” he said oddly as he glanced away.

“If I recollect properly, you didn’t give me much say in the matter,” Mara responded, wondering what she had done to displease him that he would suddenly wish she were not here.

“I know I didn’t,” Nicholas answered shortly. Then, reaching down into the tub, he grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet facing him, the water lapping gently around her thighs as she stood shivering in the middle of the tub. “A man is seldom reasonable when he wants a woman’s company, and that is what you’re here for, my dear.”

Nicholas’s arms closed around Mara’s wet, dripping body and pulled her against his chest. “So comfort me now,” he ordered as his mouth closed over her slightly parted lips and he began to kiss her passionately, his hands moving along the curve of her back, then up to cup her warmly damp breasts. His jade green eyes burned into her flesh as they roved over her pink-tinted body. With deliberate slowness he moved his palm across a hardening nipple, then to her shoulder, brushing the back of his hand caressingly against her jaw before he pulled loose the mass of dark hair and let it fall to freedom down her back. He ran his fingers through its satiny length, stroking the long strands of hair indolently, as if he enjoyed the feel of its softness in his hands. Suddenly his languid manner disappeared as he cupped the back of Mara’s head and kissed her fiercely, his lips moving against hers, forcing them open. She gave herself up to the languorous sensations spreading through her body.

“You’d better finish bathing,” Nicholas spoke abruptly as he freed his mouth and pushed Mara from him, his shirtfront clinging damply to his chest from contact with her wet body.

Mara stared at his retreating figure in hurt confusion. She sank back beneath the warm waters of her bath, the long ends of her hair floating around her shoulders as she soaped her body, the pleasure of her bath having vanished.

Mara awoke close to dawn to feel the bed beside her empty. Looking into the gloomy darkness of the room, she saw the solitary figure of Nicholas standing silhouetted against the open door of their cabin, his shoulders slumped against the doorjamb as he stared out on the moonlit banks of the Mississippi. Mara saw the tip of his cheroot glow red in the darkness. What was going through his mind, as he stood alone and prepared to face Beaumarais? Mara watched him in silence, keeping him company without his being aware of it. When finally he returned to their bed, she waited patiently until he had fallen asleep. Then, moving slightly, she cradled his head against her breast as he rolled over restlessly, turning to her naturally while he slept.

“But I don’t want hot milk and oatmeal!” Paddy complained nasally, his lower lip jutting out precariously as he looked across the breakfast table at Mara. “I want sausage balls, waffles, pork chops, and hot chocolate,” Paddy stated firmly.

“Now, Master Paddy, ye know ye’ve got the sniffles and ye shouldn’t be stuffin’ yourself,” Jamie said just as firmly as she eyed the menu, a pair of hastily donned spectacles on the tip of her nose. “How about some nice stewed chicken and buttered toast?”

“No, don’t want chicken,” Paddy mumbled grumpily as he sniffed loudly.

“Paddy,” Mara interjected with a reproving note in her voice that told him to not make a scene, “be a good lad and do as Jamie asks.”

“Won’t eat anything then,” Paddy decided with a mutinous look around the table.

“Let the boy have what he wants,” Nicholas commented easily. “You should be relieved that he is hungry, for he can’t be too sick if he’s willing to put away all that food.”

“Thanks, Uncle Nicholas,” Paddy beamed as he cast both Mara and Jamie a smug look.

“Now apologize to your aunt and Jamie,” Nicholas commanded lazily, but his green eyes warned Paddy he’d be wise to obey.

“Sorry,” Paddy said contritely, then brightened visibly as the waiter arrived to take their order.

Mara shook her head in amused exasperation. “Very well, order what you want, Paddy,” Mara gave in as she looked down at the menu and tried to decide what to order. After the long months on board ship, it was a treat to be able to choose from such a wide variety. She could have ham, beefsteak with onions, beefsteak with tomatoes, beefsteak à la Creole, mutton chops, or calf’s liver; fried fish, fried potatoes, fried onions, mush, codfish balls, hominy fritters, or plantains; grits, stewed potatoes, potatoes fricasseed, hash, or jambalaya; waffles, muffins, flannel cakes, buckwheat cakes, corn bread, dry toast, buttered toast, or graham rolls. For liquid refreshment there was green tea, black, or oolong; coffee, Java or mocha; milk, hot chocolate, or claret.

Mara signed, knowing for a certainty that she didn’t wish for fish or potatoes, having had her fill of those two dishes on the voyage.

“Will you trust me to order?” Nicholas suggested. With quick efficiency he selected for all of them except Paddy, who had already placed his order.

Sipping the last of her coffee a little later, Mara glanced casually around the crowded dining room and suddenly became aware of a stout woman dressed in pale mauve and pearls staring boldly through her lorgnette at Nicholas.

“You seem to have caught the eye of a certain diner,” Mara commented softly, drawing Nicholas’s attention to his apparently bemused admirer.

Nicholas turned and stared curiously at the woman. She seemed to become flustered by his direct look. She definitely was not one of his admirers, for as she saw his full face clearly, the dull red of her blush turned mottled with suppressed outrage. Mara could see the woman’s bosom heave with indignation as she pushed back her chair and hauled herself to her feet. Although she wasn’t very tall, she gave the impression of being so by the way she regally marched across the room, the tortured flesh of her tightly corseted body quivering beneath the material of her gown as she made her exit, her stiff back retreating eloquently through the door.

“She obviously remembered me,” Nicholas said with a sardonic look.

“Who was she?” Mara demanded, thinking that Brendan could have described her beautifully in a few choice words.

Nicholas shrugged. “I don’t remember her name, but the look of disapproval seems vaguely familiar. Shall we go?” he asked smoothly, apparently unconcerned by the woman’s scornful actions as he seemed to put the incident from his mind.

But Mara couldn’t seem to, for if this stranger who had barely known Nicholas still ostracized him after all of these years, then how would his own family react when they saw him? Mara had time to wonder and worry about the reunion as the next few hours passed in lazy idleness as the riverboat made its way up the Mississippi.

“When will we arrive at Beaumarais?” Mara finally asked rather cautiously after lunch. Nicholas had maintained a preoccupied silence for most of the afternoon.

“In about an hour, although it took a little material persuasion to get the good captain to dock at Beaumarais,” Nicholas explained with ill-concealed contempt. “It seems the steamboats are accustomed to stopping upstream at the Sandrose landing now, instead of at Beaumarais.”

Within the hour the riverboat had berthed at the river landing of Beaumarais, the paddle-wheeler’s whistle having heralded their arrival. Their luggage was quickly unloaded onto the small pier, and as they stood in a silent group surrounded by the piled-up trunks, the riverboat moved sluggishly out into the main current of the river and continued its journey north.

Nicholas looked around at the familiar landing, which once had groaned under bales of cotton and bundles of sugar cane, stacked and waiting to be loaded.

Jamie was perched on one of the large trunks, her feet barely touching the wooden boards as she kept a watchful eye on Paddy.

“Now don’t ye go and fall in, Master Paddy,” she warned him as he slipped in the slick mud, nearly losing his balance before stepping back higher along the bank. “I don’t want to have to go and fish ye out like an old boot.”

“The house sits back from the river a fair distance, and as we are not expected…” Nicholas left the rest of his sentence unfinished as he looked around the deserted wharf.

“We have a short walk ahead of us?” Mara queried.

Nicholas grinned. “I hope you wore your walking boots. Or if you think you’re not up to it, you can always wait here for me to return with a carriage,” he offered with gracious hospitality, but his eyes held a challenging glint.

Mara returned his look with a slight smile. “And miss the grand reunion? I think I can manage, thank you,” she said coolly, then glanced around at Jamie. “What about it? Do you want to wait here for a carriage or walk up to the house with us?”

“I want to come too!” Paddy cried as he came running back, his shoes caked with mud and his cheek and upper lip streaked with dirt where he had wiped his nose.

“Don’t fancy sittin’ here all day,” Jamie said with an impatient look as she got to her feet. Grabbing hold of Paddy’s hand, she began walking.

They moved up the narrow road that wound through the thick belt of trees that stretched away from the river. Mara pulled her cape closer around her as she felt the coolness in the air. She glanced up as the honking cries of geese overhead drifted to her. They congregated in the marshes and swamps where they would spend the winter months after their long flight from the northernmost reaches of the country. Mara stayed toward the center of the road, avoiding the thick underbrush extending into the shadowy depths of the willows and poplars.

Nicholas pointed to a tall tree standing above all of the rest and around the far side of the curve of the road they were following. “The sycamore stands just before the grounds of the house. It’s not too much farther now.”

They rounded the curve and came to a sudden halt as they found themselves face to face with a solitary figure seated bareback on a beautiful horse, apparently waiting for them.

Nicholas’s green eyes narrowed speculatively as he sized up the small girl sitting astride the big red bay, his shiny coat no less a flaming auburn than the girl’s two, long braids. She sat with the indolent ease that only a confident rider could manage, her bare legs dangling from beneath the muddied hem of her skirts, one hand in the pocket of a blue velvet jacket as she watched them approach from her vantage point on the big horse’s back.

“We don’t take kindly to strangers trespassing on Beaumarais land,” she spoke suddenly, her childish voice cutting through the quiet afternoon shadows.

“And what makes you think that I’m a stranger to Beaumarais, little one?” Nicholas retorted easily.

The girl nudged her horse slightly with her bare heels as she came forward for a closer look at this impudent stranger. He stood in the middle of the road with his long legs planted firmly apart, looking as if he owned the territory.

“I don’t know you,” she said arrogantly as she tossed one of her braids over her shoulder disdainfully. But her remarkable gray green eyes had narrowed suspiciously as she gazed, at Nicholas’s face. “And since we aren’t expecting guests, you might as well turn around right now and leave.”

“And what has happened to the famed Beaumarais hospitality?” Nicholas demanded.

The young girl straightened her narrow shoulders proudly as she lifted her chin and stared down at Nicholas. “And what would you know of Beaumarais hospitality? I doubt whether it has ever been extended to you before,” she commented.

“Is that your horse?” Paddy couldn’t resist asking as he watched the animal in awe.

The girl’s wide eyes turned on the little boy who couldn’t hide his envy. She smiled indulgently. “He’s mine. His name’s Sorcier, and nobody but me rides him. He’s the fastest in the parish—maybe even in the whole of Louisiana,” she declared.