Midnight Flame (22 page)

Essie sent Laurel a perplexed look as she left the room, almost as if she didn’t understand why the mistress wouldn’t know the master was still asleep. And Laurel felt as foolish as she probably looked to learn that Tony had evidently left the house last night after she had retired. Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving? Where had he gone?

Gincie’s warning filled her mind again. Had Tony taken a mistress? Perhaps he and Simone had been together. Laurel’s appetite faded, and she laid down her fork on the table beside the uneaten breakfast. She really couldn’t blame him if he had found sexual satisfaction elsewhere. Since the day they had married, they had shared separate rooms. Though Tony had been thoughtful to her and considerate of her pregnancy, she realized now that he must have always wanted a normal marriage. She had been so caught up in what she wanted that she hadn’t really acknowledged his needs.

Her mind drifted back to their wedding. The ceremony had taken place in the parlor with Jean as Tony’s best man and Jean’s sister, Denise Abadie, a widow from Vermillionville, as her matron of honor. After the priest had pronounced her Tony’s wife, Tony’s warm, amber gaze had settled on her face as he toasted her with a glass of champagne. His smile had contained hope, she recalled, and his kiss had been tender. Even now she could still feel his hand in hers as he led up the stairs to her room that night, after Jean and Denise had left.

Standing in the hallway before the door to her room, golden light from a flickering sconce had illuminated his sensual mouth, the amber flecks that danced in his eyes. And once again she had seen something like hope in his expression.

“I’ll never be able to show my gratitude to you, Tony. It seems you’re always there when I need you,” she had told him.

He had leaned forward and brushed her cheek with a light, butterfly kiss, “I love you, Laurel.”

Words that should have caused her joy had only given her pain. She hadn’t been able to say she loved him, not when she carried another man’s child, not when she didn’t know if she would ever see that man again. Where was he? Who was he? Tony had tried to discover the truth for her, but to no avail. For a fleeting moment she wondered if the man in the bayou really mattered.

Instead of a wedding night learning the pleasure of love, the wedding night of which she had always dreamed, she had told Tony to give her time. Perhaps one day…

Then she had closed the door, leaving him standing outside. She still remembered the way her heart had thumped in her chest, wilder than a stallion’s hoofs. She had almost wrenched open the door to throw herself into his arms, but she had resisted. Seconds later, she had heard him walk to his room, then the click of his door.

Their wedding night had been spent apart.

It was only now, as Laurel began to think about the last few weeks, that she realized how much Tony had actually given to her when he made her his wife. Not only the material things, but the chance to start over again, to decide when she was ready to become his wife in all ways. The memory of her kidnapper was fading, and if it weren’t for the child she carried, she would have believed he had been part of a dream. But he had existed, and she wondered if he would return for her.

She wanted desperately to forget that night and lead a normal life, but she couldn’t until she learned the truth about the man who had kidnapped her. Oh, what good did it do to have a handsome husband who loved her if she couldn’t be a true wife?

Rising from the table, she left the dining room and walked through the breezeway connecting the kitchen to the house. She found Essie stirring a pot of red beans over the fireplace. The pungent smell of bay leaf and onions permeated the room. Pauline finished chewing a biscuit and scampered off a stool to stand beside Essie.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Essie asked and quit stirring.

Laurel nodded. “I’d like to know if either of you is familiar with a small, old black woman who wears a turban. She has a son who is quite tall and strong.”

Essie and Pauline shot each other a quick look. Essie shook her head. “I don’t know anybody like that. Do you, Pauline?”

“No, I don’t either,” Pauline mouthed, somewhat inaudibly.

“Could these slaves live at Clermont?”

Both women shook their heads in unison. “We know all the people there, and there ain’t no slaves like them,” Essie intoned. “Would you like some more breakfast, ma’am?”

“No, thank you. I’m quite finished.” Laurel gave them a quick smile and left the kitchen to go to the barn and question Tony’s driver about the two slaves. He, also, had no idea who they might be and inquired if she was feeling well. He told her that the night she had been kidnapped had caused him moments of fright.

Other people on Petit Coteau answered her questions politely, but no one knew of two such people. Laurel even strayed in the vicinity of the Dauzets and was offered tea by Madame Dauzet and held the baby while they conversed. But, again, these two people weren’t familiar.

“Are you certain?” Laurel asked Madame Dauzet.

“Oui,
very certain,” the woman said, but Laurel noticed she hesitated a moment, almost as if she longed to say something else.

Walking across Petit Coteau was tiring. Her feet hurt, and she felt the whole morning had been wasted in this futile attempt to gain information that either no one knew or didn’t want to tell her. She hadn’t realized that she had reached the edge of the property until she saw the small shanties of the people Tony had termed “white trash.” A swirling trace of smoke rose from a chimney, and on one of the porches sat two men holding wine bottles. They were watching some dirty children play in front of the house.

Pity for the children pulled at Laurel’s heartstrings. There were four little girls and two small boys, and each one looked as though a bar of soap hadn’t passed over their faces in a year. A young girl of about fourteen appeared in the doorway, and when she saw Laurel, she stepped onto the porch. From where Laurel stood, she could see the girl was about five months pregnant and also very dirty and scantily clothed.

Laurel raised her hand in a wave, but the girl only watched her, a hardness in her eyes, and didn’t wave back. Moving away from the fence line, Laurel decided that she must do something to help these people. She didn’t think it was right of Tony to condemn them. No matter how they lived, they were still human beings. She had so much, and they had practically nothing.

A plan formed in her mind, but she wouldn’t tell Tony anything about that now. In fact she didn’t have to tell him about everything she did with her money. Before the wedding, they had drawn up a contract whereby he had no say over her money. She had expected him to want the same stipulation, but to her surprise, he hadn’t. He had told her that what was his was also hers.

Tony was generous to a fault, it seemed. One more reason why her heart managed to thump so hard lately. Was she falling in love with her own husband? Did she have what it took to keep him?

“If only I could be a bit more like Lavinia or even Simone Lancier,” she mumbled and made her way back to the house.

When she was going to her room to change for a drive into Washington and seek out Denise, she stopped before Tony’s door. She listened a moment and heard his snores. An insane desire to see him propelled her into the dim room. The sun was high in the sky, but the heavy green drapes were drawn tight across the windows. Still Laurel made out Tony’s nude body, resting atop the sheets in a massive bed.

Her heart hammered in her ears. Never before had she seen a naked man. Even the man who had made love to her had been clothed in darkness. There was enough light in the room for her to plainly see that Tony was quite well endowed. Moving closer to the bed, her eyes feasted on his body. He lay spread-eagled on the bed, and nothing was hidden from her eyes. His broad shoulders appeared broader, and his arms more powerful and muscular in a reclining position. Her eyes drifted down to his hairy chest and lower, past the lean hips to taut and well-muscled thighs. And then again to that part of him that drew her eyes like a magnet.

A ragged sob rose in her throat. She wanted to touch him, to hold his manhood in her hand. An aching need to give him pleasure pulled her hand toward his shaft, but she couldn’t make herself touch him. Fear of his rejection knifed through her heart, and she dropped her arm, holding it to her side with her other hand to keep from moving it. Would he reject her? She didn’t want to find out. The pain would be too great if he should tell her he had a mistress now and no longer wanted her.

She drew back into the shadows of the room and found her way to the door. She managed to convince herself that things should remain as they were for the time being.

~ ~ ~

When the door closed softly behind Laurel, Tony opened his eyes. A deep sigh escaped him, and he muttered a profane curse.

He had known she was in the room and had even managed to catch a peep of Laurel as she stood beside the bed. The breath had nearly died in his throat when he thought she was going to touch him. If she had, he would have pulled her down beside him and made love to her then and there and hang the stupid agreement he had made with her! He had only told her she didn’t have to come to his bed until she felt ready, to make her feel comfortable with him. He had expected the marriage to be consummated long before now.

It seemed she would never come to his bed now. He found his sheet at the bottom of the bed and threw it onto the floor. Clearly agitated and aroused by Laurel, he got out of bed and began to dress. He knew he had to calm down before he saw her again, but it was just so damn hard not to grab her and shake some sense into her beautiful head. He wanted her so much he could barely concentrate on anything else.

As he pulled on his boots, he muttered, “Just how long does she think I can stand this?”

The thought had occurred to him long ago to take a mistress, even to seek out Simone. But he didn’t want Simone or any other woman. Only Laurel. Always Laurel.

~ ~ ~

“
Chérie
, I think you have a great problem,” Denise Abadie told Laurel. She stirred her tea, sitting on a large divan in the DuLac parlor, and smiled at Laurel. “But I don’t believe your problem is insurmountable.”

Laurel wrinkled her nose. “It is, Denise. I … think … Tony has a mistress. And if he does, I can’t compete against such a woman. Especially if she’s Simone Lancier, who is quite beautiful and very skilled where men are concerned.”

Denise raised an eyebrow. “So? Are you not skilled also in these ways? You’re having Tony’s child, are you not?”

A red blush colored Laurel’s cheeks, and she glanced down at the skirt of her blue taffeta gown. She felt very close to Denise. Although they had only met shortly before her marriage to Tony— Jean’s sister lived in Vermillionville—they had become fast friends. But the honey-haired Denise knew nothing of that night in the cabin. Laurel simply couldn’t bring herself to confess the truth. She didn’t think Tony could live with such gossip. But Laurel had to confide in someone, and why not Denise? She knew her secret was safe with her.

So Laurel told her everything that had happened, beginning with her meeting with Tony on the
Cotton Blossom
and ending with her growing love for her husband. But there was still the child. Another man’s child.

“Oh, my dear Laurel,” Denise said with tears in her eyes. “You’ve been through so much. But tell me, if this man who kidnapped you should come for you, what would you do?”

Denise moved closer to Laurel on the divan and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Your night with this man was rapturous. Have you given any thought to your feelings for him?”

“Oh, yes,” Laurel said, clearly stressed by the whole conversation. “I’ve thought of nothing else for over two months. I live in constant fear that he shall return and fear that I’ll never feel such rapture again. But, Denise, I’m Tony’s wife now. This man can mean nothing to me.”

“Bien.
You’ve already started to put that night behind you. The time has come to truly become the wife of Tony Duvalier.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

Denise laughed. “
Chérie
, with me as your tutor, you shall soon have the man panting for you, and you will no longer be shy. Remember, I was married for ten years before my Pierre died. He taught me very well how to please a man, how to respond to his moods. As Tony’s cousin, I shall tell you that he is a man of many moods, but a good man.” Denise stopped chattering and considered Laurel a long moment. “I think it is time you had a proper wedding ball. This would be the perfect night to turn your charms on Tony, to consummate the marriage. But you mustn’t look too eager. That is the first rule. The wife shouldn’t appear too eager for the husband.”

“But why?” Laurel demanded.

Denise laughed. “Because I know men, especially Tony. He will want to pursue you, to think that he is wooing you, seducing you. Such things give men a sense of power,
chérie
. Their egos are easily bruised, and we women must let them think they are the seducers,
n’est-ce pas?”

“If you say so,” Laurel said, warming to the whole idea. “But how do I get Tony into my bed?”

“Very simple. Petit Coteau will have many guests that night. All the rooms will be filled, even Tony’s. After all, as Tony’s devoted cousin, I shall require special accommodations. He will give me his room and occupy your bed.”