Spring Fires (13 page)

Lisette's lips twitched in response to his mock-innocent pose. A deep dimple appeared in her left cheek, then she succumbed to genuine laughter.

Staring in disbelief, Nicholai leaned toward her. "I am in shock. That is the first time I've ever seen you
smile,
let alone laugh. Look at this!" He touched the dimple with a dark finger, then shook his head again. "Whatever it was I said, you must tell me so I can write it down to refer to in the future."

"Please!" She held up both hands in surrender. "I take your meaning."

Nicholai leaned back again and grinned. "It is simply a huge relief to discover you
can laugh. I was beginning to worry that you were afflicted somehow—perhaps an exotic disease had disabled your mouth so that it was unable to curve upward—"

"I'm so glad you are enjoying yourself. Your state of high amusement should improve the taste of this bear meat."

He saw the wicked sidelong glance Lisette slanted at him as she stood to fill a pewter plate with succotash. The fact that she was still playing, her irritation infused with mischief, astonished and pleased him.

"You are bent on retaliation, I see," he murmured when she presented him with a heaping plate of stew.

Another impish smile lit her face and her blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. "How true, Mr. Beauvisage. Now, eat! You must know that I have only tolerated your company these long hours so that I could watch you savor your first bite of bear meat."

Cheerfully, she dropped into her seat and propped an elbow on the chair arm. Chin on palm, she gazed at him. Nicholai's brow was furrowed as he looked from Lisette to the bear meat, then put down his mug with a sigh.

"That expression of entreaty won't help you," she grinned. "I know you too well. Eat."

So he did, with great reluctance. The taste of bear was far better than he had expected. The vegetables, pea beans, and stock were memorably flavorful, and the meat was tender. The cook could not be faulted.

"Shockingly adequate," he told Lisette after several slow bites. Dancing eyes relayed the bulk of the compliment.

While he ate, Lisette moved around the keeping room in her stockinged feet, arranging soiled dishes, cutlery, and empty pie tins. All would be washed before she began to cook again for the evening crush.

"What do you think about the war news?" she asked.

"War
news?" he echoed.

"Why, yes! Didn't you hear? Mr. Jefferson stopped here for some coffee about eight o'clock and he told me that it is definite. France has declared war on England, Russia, Spain, and the Netherlands."

"How would I have heard?" he demanded. "I came from my own bed directly here—and I've been chopping apples and eating bear rather than being in
there
"—he gestured toward the public room door—"where I could learn the news of France!"

"Well, for heaven's sake!" Lisette cried, hands on hips, "I certainly didn't invite you to spend the day with me! You needn't behave as if I'm to blame!"

This silenced Nicholai as he remembered that she believed his visit one of pure chance or his own choice. "I beg your pardon, Lisette. I spoke without thinking."

She returned to the clutter of the work-table. "I suppose you must feel strongly about France," she allowed.

"Yes." His eyes were on the orange embers in the hearth.

Seeing his stern profile, she wondered what he was thinking. "No doubt this will stir matters up here in America as well."

He nodded slightly.

She tried again. "You know, the Federalists and Republicans are already constantly at odds. Mr. Hamilton's party distrusts the Revolution; they are so shocked by the terrible violence in France that it seems that they're for England."

"No doubt," was Nicholai's distant reply. Lisette clattered a few plates together, to no avail.

"Mr. Jefferson," she went on blithely, "feels that in spite of the horrors occurring, liberty everywhere is caught up in France's fate. I argued a bit, but he insisted that he would rather have one-half the world destroyed than to see liberty fail. Don't you find that a rather chilling sentiment?"

"It's no different than the one Americans fought and died for. Have you forgotten Patrick Henry's battle cry: 'Give me liberty, or give me death'? You are only shocked by what Jefferson says because there has been such coldblooded slaughter in France in the name of liberty. If he feels freedom is worth
any
price, he is entitled to his opinion."

Lisette drifted back to the hearth. She had perched on a footstool, eye level with Nicholai's booted legs, before she realized that she still held a pie tin.

"What do
you
think?" she queried, her expression suddenly intense. "You have lived in France for a decade, and though I don't know what you've experienced during these past years of the Revolution, I'm certain it was enough to shape an opinion. Who is right—Hamilton or Jefferson?"

Nicholai's eyes were hooded, masking his emotions. Most of the succotash was gone, so he leaned over to set the plate on the floor, then reclined with his ale mug. "Neither of them is right, naturally. And in France, no one at
all
is right! Christ, the situation there is too insane to be borne—but that's an entirely different topic of conversation."

Lisette interrupted.
"Neither
is right? If that is so, then what shall we do? What will happen in America?"

"Well, obviously, the first thing the president must consider is the effect this war will have on sea trade. Certainly, England will rush to blockade France, and if we attempt to run the blockade, our ships and their crews will risk destruction or capture."

"Won't the president be forced to choose Hamilton's or Jefferson's position then?"

Nicholai shrugged. "Not necessarily. There is always neutrality, my dear. In a case like this, colored with so many shades of gray, that may be the only course. The question is, how to approach it in view of our best interests."

"Poor President Washington," Lisette sighed. "It seems that the Federalists are on one side of the fence, the Republicans on the other, and that he's teetering on the fence itself. How can he choose?"

"If he is as fair and thoughtful as he seems, he will form an opinion based on his own judgment."

They were silent for a few minutes; then the muffled rumble of voices and hammering footsteps began seeping through the public room's wall. Lisette considered Nicholai's succinct presentation of the problems facing the president and compared them to the convoluted discussions that filled the smoky air of the public room all day. When she glanced up, his penetrating eyes pinned her to the stool. Finally, he remarked, "I pity the president. I saw him before he left for Mount Vernon and he seemed as delighted as a boy to escape this town. Doubtless this latest crisis will force him to return before he's barely pulled off his boots."

"You're right! Mr. Jefferson mentioned that he posted a letter to the president yesterday and broke the bad news. Isn't it a shame—"

Lisette was interrupted by a sudden flurry of cool wind and a burst of sunlight as the door to the rear court swung open. They both turned their heads to meet the sinister gaze of Marcus Reems.

"A thousand pardons," he said smoothly as he entered. "Ah, Mr. Beauvisage, this is certainly a surprise." He swept off his top hat and made a short bow.

Nicholai's face was indifferently courteous as he stood to offer his hand. "I agree, Mr. Reems."

"Look here, Beauvisage, I enjoy a bit of witty conversation as much as the next man, but the fact is, I can't spare the time. If you'll excuse us, there is a business matter I should like to discuss with Mistress Hahn."

Momentarily at a loss for words, Lisette looked from Nicholai to the black-haired intruder. "I—"

"That's very strange," Nicholai was saying, "since I made an appointment with Mistress Hahn myself for this very afternoon." He bent a look of dismay at Lisette. "Could you have been so remiss as to arrange conflicting engagements?"

Recovered by now, she replied, "No, I did not invite Mr. Reems, nor did he inform me in advance of his intention to visit. I suggest we repair to the study, where we can finish our discussion without further interruption."

With that cool snub, she dismissed Marcus Reems and made an elegant exit. Nicholai followed Lisette in silence, sensing Reems's impotent rage, thick as wood smoke in the air.

When the study door was closed, they sank down on the plush chaise and shared a conspiratorial smile. Lisette's dimple winked at Nicholai, and sent a rush of warmth through his chest.

"Please—don't look at me that way," she begged, all too aware of the magnetic pull.

"My pardon, Mistress Hahn. I thought you were beautiful and desirable from the moment we met, but since you've begun favoring me with these enchanting smiles, I'm hard pressed to contain my—er—admiration."

Lisette assumed a prim expression. "If that's the case, then I must remember to be ill tempered at all times when you are present."

"A cruel threat."

"Besides, I don't believe your professions of uncontrollable longing. Look at me! My hair is coming loose, I'm covered with spices and flour from head to toe, my face is bare, and my gown"—she swallowed, disconcerted by his sensual gaze—"my gown is pathetic—worn, homemade...."

"Your unembellished beauty is the core of your appeal—and your mystique," he countered. "Too many females use their good looks and fashion as sly weapons. You, Lisette, are a lovely, refreshing enigma... you know perfectly well how much desire you generate each time you appear in that public room."

She sniffed. "There are always ill-bred men who think they must conquer every moving skirt... and it just happens that I am the only suitable victim. And that's beside the point, for I was speaking of
you.
No doubt you've women fawning over you constantly—"

"Flocks of them," he confirmed.
"Herds."

"So why do you persist in bothering me? You've already proven that you could seduce me!"

"Do you imagine that when I hold you in my arms I do so only to gratify my ego?"

Uneasily, Lisette stood and paced across the study. "No—well, I don't know." How had he put her so far on the defensive? She took a deep breath. "What are you implying? Be plain and tell me what I
should
imagine!"

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "For such a bright girl, you are appallingly ignorant concerning human relationships. Must I feel only lust or love? There are many qualities that I like in you and feel an urge to explore. You are complicated and I enjoy puzzles. Yes, there's the physical tug... and I have known enough women to be aware of the rare intensity of the current running between us. You can feel it now, can't you, Lisette? Even from across the room."

She made no reply, trying in vain to stop the hot blood that rose in her cheeks.

Nicholai pretended not to notice. "I also have found myself wondering how you are coping here at the CoffeeHouse—and what your financial situation has become. I would like to help... perhaps I could lend you the money to pay off the loan to Marcus Reems's bank."

An alarming weakness stole over Lisette as she listened and let herself believe him. However, his last words triggered an automatic response. This was dangerous. Not since her involvement with the congressman had she felt quite so light-headed—as though there were no world outside this room. She'd nearly forgotten the CoffeeHouse and her responsibility then, too, and had her heart broken in the end. She forced herself to heed the painful memory.

"You can't conceive of the possibility that I, a mere woman, could manage here alone, can you?" Gathering steam, she crossed the rug until she was standing over him. "You would love to hear me admit defeat and then sigh adoringly while you skillfully unravel the snarls I've made in my dim-witted femininity!"

Nicholai had stared in surprise when she began her tirade, but now he was coldly furious. Roughly, he reached up to grasp her waist and yanked her over onto the chaise, pinning down her forearms. Lisette struggled wildly and spat out threats, but he merely hooked a leg over her own to hold her still.

"Be quiet!" he ground out. A muscle twitched above his tense jaw and tendons stood out in his neck. "You perverse, hardheaded wench! What does it take to dent that armor of yours? Are you impervious to reason?"

"Are you planning to beat some sense into me?" Lisette shot back, eyes blazing. Tangled gold curls poured across the chaise, emphasizing her angry beauty.

"No."

She paused to catch her breath and was jarred by a sudden awareness of Nicholai looming above her. His cold rage was reflected in the tense chiseled strength of his dark face. The virile expanse of his chest, exposed by his open shirt, made her heart pound.

His hands slid down until steely fingers encircled her delicate wrists. She was mustering a fresh burst of outrage when suddenly it was too late; a hard mouth crushed her own with scorching intensity. There was no trace of the familiar leisureliness of past kisses, no deft coaxing of her response. When his tongue abruptly invaded her mouth, Lisette trembled. She tried to refuse the kiss, to remain stiff under his assault, and to remember how barbarically arrogant he was....

Nicholai continued to kiss her with savage intimacy until her mouth answered hungrily. He surveyed her flushed cheeks and the pulse at the base of her throat before shifting her wrists above her head, where he held them with one hand. His other hand roughly moved to unfasten Lisette's bodice; he could feel the drumming of her heart against his fingertips. Nicholai thought how predictable she was in this one way... someday she would get the point, more likely from this argument than from any words he could use.

Unsympathetically, he opened the front of her chemise to reveal firm breasts, their nipples taut with arousal. In the daylight, he blinked at such creamy beauty, almost allowing his heart to soften. He ran his tongue around the puckered edge of one nipple slowly, feeling it tense. Finally, he covered it with his lips, kissing and tugging gently until she moaned and fought to free her arms. Nicholai's mouth seared a trail to her other breast, and then he released his hold on her wrists. Aching to touch him, Lisette buried her fingers in his gleaming hair and endured the sweet agony that transmitted itself between her tingling breasts and the throbbing place beneath her skirts.