Midnight Flame (7 page)

Laurel swung around to see her reflection. The woman in the mirror couldn’t be herself. She appeared so mysterious, so unlike the proper young woman she really was. Seeing herself like this caused a tiny, half-wicked smile to form on Laurel’s mouth. The feeling that had originally possessed her to accompany Lavinia to Texas rose once again within her. A recklessness filled her, a strange wild yearning to taste life, to cast aside propriety. Dare she risk living for the moment?

She dared.

“What about shoes?” she asked Lulubelle.

The woman shrugged. “Wear them or not, but the costume looks better without the shoes. No true gypsy woman owns a pair of shoes, mademoiselle.”

“Then I won’t either,” Laurel laughed and twirled around the room, loving the swishing movement of the skirt against her bare legs. She stopped at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Monsieur Duvalier,” Lulubelle said knowingly and winked.

Suddenly Laurel’s palms perspired. What would Tony think of her? she wondered. But then, he had chosen this gypsy costume, and she was determined to enjoy herself tonight. For once in her life she would be reckless and throw caution to the four winds.

Lulubelle opened the door. ‘The mademoiselle is ready,” she said to Tony.

Tony was dressed as a pirate of the high seas in a red shirt, dark pants and boots, and a gold sash tied around his waist. A black patch covered one eye. Lulubelle winked and laughed huskily as she left the room.

Tony entered and then faltered at the sight of Laurel. He hadn’t expected the gypsy costume to mold against her curves so distractingly or the peasant blouse to reveal her lush breasts so temptingly. He suddenly ached to touch the rosy tips of her nipples that strained against the thin material. Most distracting of all was the slit up the side of the skirt, revealing an ivory thigh that caused his breath to catch in his throat as he imagined the satiny feeling of her flesh as his fingers ran the length of her leg, and stopped at the apex between her thighs.

“Is something wrong?”

Laurel’s voice brought Tony out of his reverie. “I was thinking you look quite different.”

“I know,” she admitted and flitted around the room. “Thank you so much for the costume. I love it!”

A wry smile played around his mouth. He realized he had chosen the correct costume for Lavinia Delaney. Finally after all the ladylike pretense, her true colors were starting to show. He presented her with his arm.

“Shall we go?”

Laurel caught a slight hardness to his voice. Moments before, he had appeared stunned, almost paralyzed at the sight of her. She could have sworn she had seen a flame within his eyes for her, but she must have been mistaken, she told herself. Perhaps he wasn’t pleased with how she looked. Suddenly she didn’t care as the heady feeling of daring renewed itself.

Laurel laughed up into his face and took his red-silk-covered arm.

“Indeed, I am ready to go, sir!”

~ ~ ~

Tony turned his head. He had been contemplating the velvet black night through the window of the carriage, and now his gaze rested on the woman who sat across from him. Her features were obliterated in the darkness, but he didn’t need to see her to know she was beautiful, breathtakingly wanton in her gypsy costume. He silently cursed himself for having chosen such a revealing creation, thinking that she would somehow understand the implication behind his choice. Once again this woman had caught him off guard. Instead of a woman shamed and humiliated, she absolutely glowed with sensuality, an excitement that seemed to reach out and touch him in the carriage.

Even now he felt himself harden to think of her voluptuous beauty, to hear the rhythmic cadence of her breathing. Somehow, though he wasn’t certain when, this wanton creature had woven a spell over him, the same spell she had apparently cast upon his poor uncle. The thought of Auguste St. Julian and the vengeance Tony intended to wreak upon Lavinia Delaney caused his fists to curl into balls. Beautiful she might be, but she was not the innocent she pretended to be. He wouldn’t allow her beauty and his desire to sway him from his plan.

~ ~ ~

Laurel heard his sharp voice that cut knifelike across the short distance between them. “We’re heading for my home, Petit Coteau.”

“Lulubelle told me there is to be a dance there. You’ve never mentioned your family or your plantation very much. Are you involved in cotton growing?”

“I doubt very much if you’d be interested, but I do grow some cotton. However, my prime interest is cattle.”

She caught the unmistakable hint of scorn in his voice. He sounded almost patronizing, as if she wouldn’t know anything about plantations or cotton growing. Why, if he only knew her father had owned one of the most lucrative plantations along the river. Laurel had sold it last year, and she could tell him a thing or two about cotton growing, but she kept quiet, not wanting to get into an unpleasant discussion that was sure to follow.

She expected him to speak further, but he didn’t. Instead, in a surly mood, he retreated into a stony and puzzling silence. Again, Laurel wondered if he was displeased with her or the costume. Had she done anything to cause him to be barely civil to her?

Finally, after a ride unbroken by further speech, they swung off Grand Prairie Road onto a drive that led to a house blazing with lights. From Laurel’s vantage point, she could see many carriages parked in front of the large two-storied structure with six large columns and two dormered windows on the third floor. White balustrades trimmed in green enclosed the upper and lower galleries.

Inside the house was a large front hallway with a curved stairway that wound up to the third floor. From the ceiling hung a huge chandelier, its crystal teardrops sparkling and reflecting a myriad of prismatic colors on the walls. Tony led her into a double parlor where guests had already assembled. Ornate chandeliers twinkled in the parlor, also, in direct contrast to the iron reproduction of the Duvalier cattle brand above the fireplace.

When Laurel caught sight of herself in an exquisitely carved Venetian mirror, she nearly cringed. The other women guests were attired in silks and satins, some with glittering masks over their faces, but none of the costumes were as simple or revealing as her own. She even noticed a woman dressed as Marie Antoinette, another as Elizabeth I … the sort of costumes she would have chosen. Suddenly she wondered if Tony Duvalier had wanted to make her appear foolish in front of his guests.

She swung around and faced him, her hair falling across her creamy shoulders. “Is the reason you chose this costume, the reason you brought me here, to make me look obviously out of place?”

Tony arched a dark brow and shot her a penetrating look. “Do you feel that way?”

Laurel guessed that for some reason unknown to her he might be testing her. However, she wouldn’t allow herself to be used as an amusement for his warped sense of humor. She couldn’t fathom this man. Sometimes he was so kind and gentle, other times she didn’t know what to think about him. Like now when his handsome face was scowling at her in disapproval, a disapproval she didn’t feel she had earned.

Rising to her full height of five feet and three inches, she straightened her shoulders and stared him down. “I feel confident, Mr. Duvalier. I’m not quite certain what you’re up to, but understand, sir, that nothing you do can destroy the good time I expect to have tonight. I have decided to enjoy myself.”

And before his amazed eyes she did just that. Within seconds of walking proudly away from him, she was surrounded by men who begged her for a dance, much to the vexation of the other women in the room. A lively French tune played by two fiddlers drifted through the parlors, and before they ceased playing to indulge in some wine, Laurel had danced with every costumed duke, king, and clown. But not with the tanned frowning pirate who watched her from across the room.

“You are beautiful, mademoiselle,” the young man dressed as a clown told her. He said his name was Jean DuLac. “Tell me your name, please. Remove your mask so that I may gaze upon your most lovely face.”

Laurel, though not used to receiving attention from men, knew she had nothing to fear from DuLac or any of the other men in the room. All of them seemed to be neighbors and friends of Duvalier’s, and since she had arrived with Tony, she received the impression that no one would make an untoward comment to her, almost as if they respected and feared him. Throughout the evening she had noticed her partners casting wary glances in Tony’s direction, and DuLac unwittingly gave her the answer.

“Perhaps Tony wishes to keep your identity secret and wants you all to himself.”

“Is that what you think?” Laurel asked and watched as the woman dressed as Marie Antoinette familiarly hung on Tony’s arm.

“Oui,
but you see I thought he was to wed—”

“What?” Laurel’s head snapped back to DuLac’s face.

The man placed a long, thin hand to his mouth, dismay on his face. “Pardon, mademoiselle, I said nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Apparently DuLac noticed the fire emanating from Laurel’s eyes, framed by the black mask, and knew it would do no good to lie. “The lady with him is Simone Lancier. It is expected they will marry as soon as her father recovers from an illness.”

Suddenly the room felt stifling to Laurel. She had to get away from these people and the music, which was starting up again. Until she learned about Tony and this Simone woman, she had enjoyed herself and had basked in the unaccustomed male attention. Now, she felt a strange sensation like a hand squeezing her heart. Inwardly, she cursed herself for being a fool to get involved with Duvalier in the first place. The man was a womanizer, but that was no reason to single her out on the boat, to kiss her the way he had, and now to choose a revealing costume he had known would humiliate her in front of his friends.

Why was he doing this to her?

“I should like some air,” she murmured to Jean DuLac.

“Certainly.” As he took her arm and escorted her outside onto the gallery, Laurel was aware that Tony watched her leave with Jean and saw Simone plant a loving kiss on Tony’s lips.

Outside, the sound of locusts crying for rain filled the air. A rush of wind rustled the leaves of the large oak trees nearby, and a jagged streak of lightning scorched the sky, followed by the inevitable rumble of thunder.

“Ah, I think we shall get some rain,” Jean noted. “Perhaps there will be a change in the weather, too. I hope so since it has been very warm lately.”

Laurel barely heard him, her mind not on the weather. Everything could have been so wonderful tonight, she thought, if only Tony hadn’t been so distant suddenly. If only he wasn’t getting married. But what difference did that make? she asked herself. She had no hold on him and would never see him again after she departed for San Antonio in a day’s time. Sometimes Tony was so insufferable she could barely tolerate him. Unable to decipher his motive for wanting to embarrass her with the costume, Laurel willed herself to stop dwelling on Tony.

She removed her mask as an unbidden tear slid down her cheek. Quickly she wiped it away, convincing herself she was more angry than hurt at Duvalier’s strange behavior. After all, he didn’t know her, and most certainly she didn’t want to know anything more about him. So why should she be upset over the news that he and Simone Lancier were to be married?

“Here, mademoiselle.” Jean handed her a kerchief. He placed an arm around her shoulders. “I think Tony has hurt you.”

“No. I’m worried over my uncle who hasn’t been well. I must see him soon before it’s too late.”

Jean shot her a pitying look, but he apparently didn’t believe her sadness was entirely over her uncle’s health. His embrace grew tighter, and he smiled in a brotherly fashion. “A lady as beautiful as yourself should smile.”

The sound of booted feet scraping on the wooden gallery drew their attention. Tony loomed over them like a dark specter. He had removed his patch, and now a black fury caused his eyes to appear blacker than usual. “Would you please leave us alone, Jean?”

Jean hesitated, but Laurel smiled at him, assuring him she would be all right. After Jean made a reluctant departure, Tony moved in front of her, blocking her view of the inside parlor where people danced to the fiddlers’ music.

“You should congratulate yourself,” Tony told her. “My cousin Jean isn’t easily swayed by women.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say he’s drawn to young men rather than young ladies.”

“Oh,” she said, immediately comprehending. “I think he is very kind.”

“Yes, he is, but then he’s the only man in the room I’d have allowed to escort you outside. If any other man had taken it into his head to bring you out here, I might be tempted to call him out. Every man in the room is half in love with you.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, not quite believing what Tony said about the men or the duel. Her gaze turned upward to his, wondering what game he was playing with her.

Laurel was inexperienced with men, but an awakening of her own sexuality had begun this night, a sense of power. Every man but Tony had complimented her on her beauty, had secretly desired her. She had acted the coquette, the flirt, to rile him and get even with him for bringing her here to humiliate her.