Spring Fires (18 page)

"What is it, dear wife? Can't you decide which statement reflects the real me? Perhaps you merely refuse to believe that I could be repulsed by your new body. Let me show you how difficult it is for me to touch you."

When he gathered her into his hard embrace and kissed her with leisurely finesse, Meagan felt her nerves begin to tingle, and her bones seemed to melt. She could feel the hammering of her heart as Lion pressed a searing kiss to her throat. He slowly unfastened her lavender silk gown and Meagan closed her eyes rather than meet the piercing question in his gaze. His fingers, touching the batiste and lace of her chemise, were deft and gentle, and she remained utterly still as her breasts were uncovered.

"Meagan," Lion whispered sternly, "look at yourself. Open your eyes and look!"

Swallowing a whimper, she looked down at her creamy rose-tipped breasts, swollen and proud as they marked the progress of a growing baby. Lion put out a dark finger, caressing the curving outline of each breast. The nipples peaked in response to his touch; he kissed each one lingeringly in turn and Meagan heard herself sob.

"Repulsive, aren't you?" Lion asked. There was no doubt about the iciness of his voice any longer. "Really, I think I deserve some sort of medal for this!" He eased her into a more relaxed position against the pillows, then proceeded to remove her clothing until she was completely naked. "We will keep the candles lit, just so there is no mistake about the extent of my revulsion."

Meagan turned her face into the pillow. "Lion, please—
why
are you doing this? I don't enjoy being the object of a joke—"

"Believe me, this is not a joke! In fact, I have never been more serious."

He made love to her then, with excruciating slowness, and she was too entangled in the web of her own yearning to protest. His fingers worked a magic spell on her soft bare skin; they traced the line of her belly as lovingly as a sculptor with a fine piece of clay. When the baby answered with a fluttering kick, Lion put his cheek to the spot and listened to the restless movements of his child.

Eventually, after bringing Meagan to a feverish plane of readiness, he joined his hard body to her own and she responded with eager passion. At last, drifting downward together from the peak, they were wrapped in a warm embrace of love.

"Meagan," Lion breathed against her ear. "I love you. Never allow yourself to doubt that, or my fidelity to you, ever again."

Weeping, she tightened her arms around his neck with such fervor that he laughed softly. "I'm sorry—and confused," she said, between sobs.

They remained close and silent for a few minutes; then Lion closed the gray and ivory bed curtains so that they were completely isolated. He settled back and pulled the covers over his naked torso, then turned to find Meagan staring at him.

"You are ravishing," he said, smiling. And she was. After love, she always had a dusky, contented glow, but now it was more alluring than ever. Glossy black curls framed her fragile face; luminous thick-lashed eyes of violet regarded him with wonderment. "You are curious to learn what lies behind my words and actions, aren't you?"

Meagan nodded. "Explain to me... how you knew, how you feel..."

"I came home, through the back of the house, hours ago while you were talking to Caro. I heard it all—your misery and worry over my absences and your angry suspicions about Lisette Hahn." Momentarily, he averted his eyes. "I cannot describe how I felt, hearing you say those things... it was as if you were talking about a stranger. I thought, she can't mean
me!
I found it so incredible that you should suspect such things... let alone be convinced of their truth! But what shocked me most was your own opinion of
yourself
.
I knew that you had felt blue about the changes in your body, but I thought it was all an emotional reaction. Today, I heard the voice of a Meagan I didn't even know...."

"You took the old reliable me for granted," she whispered.

"You were always the voice of reason... the antithesis of someone like Priscilla, who acted solely on female impulse. She rode her emotions like a child on a hobbyhorse, with no regard for logic. I never expected
you to believe anything but the truth... I thought you were so wise and reasonable."

"Lion, we all have times when life catches us off guard. I was completely unprepared for the changes of these past months—the Senate, the baby, our altered lives. Everyone tells me that all women are subject to emotional upheavals during pregnancy—"

"Sweetheart," Lion interrupted warmly, "the point is that I had no right to count on unwavering maturity from you. You have as much right to cry or abandon reason as anyone... my expectations were quite selfish."

"But it was unfair for
me
to think that your election to the Senate wouldn't change our life. I understood that you had to be away during the day, but my heart resented you for it."

"I've been terribly insensitive to your needs. I can see that now. Today, hearing you proclaim that I had abandoned you for Lisette, my first reaction was total rage. I was furious with you! Fortunately, you fell asleep; that gave me time to reassess the situation. I realized then that I was as much to blame... I was so wrapped up in my new life as senator that I
did
put you on the shelf."

"I know you well enough... I shouldn't have been so resentful!"

Lion laughed softly. "We are each certainly anxious to take all the blame! The fact is that, though I am angry and hurt that you could believe I would turn to another woman, I do see that I helped push you toward that belief."

"I suppose that the truth is—we both have made mistakes. Mistakes that fed upon themselves. I think that suspicion has made me a little irrational...."

He was holding her now, close against the wide warmth of his chest. "Oh, Meagan, how could you think I would cast you aside—"

"In some ways, even though you didn't turn to another woman, you
did
cast me aside!" Tears spilled onto Lion's chest. "I needed you so much—and you weren't there!"

"I am so sorry. Never, never again... you are my life—nothing matters without you, you know that—"

When they kissed, her tears mingled with his.

Later, according to Lion's earlier instructions, Bramble brought a dinner up of turkey stuffed with oysters, squash, hot cornbread, and green beans. To drink, there was cold lemonade, and Lion and Meagan toasted their cook, their love, their house, their bed, and, several times, their child.

It was past midnight when Meagan shook her husband awake. "Lion! You forgot to explain! Why
have
you made all those trips to Philadelphia... and why did you give so much money to Lisette Hahn?"

Lion made a sound that combined laughter with a deep, sleepy groan. "Can't this wait until morning?" He burrowed back into the pillows.

"I don't like secrets."

He growled and pulled her into his arms. "All right! Tomorrow it will all be out in the open. Since France declared war on half of Europe, there has been a great deal of controversy about our country's role. There were questions about the effect blockades will have on our ability to trade, and the dilemma of how to treat the new government in view of our past loyalty to France—the issues are endless. Before privateers are manned and sent to help France, the president had to take a stand. He returned from Mount Vernon yesterday and met with the cabinet this afternoon. That's where I have been most recently—and before Washington's return, I was meeting with Jefferson and the others. There wasn't time to call back the Congress, so every available voice counted. The neutrality proclamation is being drawn up right now."

"I'm sorry... no wonder you've been preoccupied."

"No excuse." He yawned. "I wish I could have shared it with you—"

"And Lisette?"

"A long story. Essentially, I tried to save her from Marcus. He has been threatening her with a debt of her father's... wants to own the CoffeeHouse himself." He drowsily kissed Meagan's warm, pliant mouth. "Did I mention that you hold my heart, fondling?"

"I believe you."

"Of course." Lion smiled and closed his eyes again.

He had just drifted off to sleep when Meagan whispered, "Are you asleep?" No response. "Lion?"

"Yes, I'm asleep!" His eyes were open, like blue stars in the darkness.

"I have been thinking... about the way the past few months have affected me."

"And your conclusion?" he prodded sleepily.

"I've decided that I became so upset because of the way society is structured. There is no room for a woman in the world in which you work all day. I was like a candle suddenly deprived of air, sent home to make a baby and do needlework."

Lion was awake now, staring as Meagan's voice rose and sparks began to fly from her eyes. "It isn't fair. The day you became a senator, society managed to shut me out completely. No wonder we lost touch with one another!"

"Meagan—it's you! You're back!"

She saw the flash of his grin in the dark. "I am going to
do
something about this.
I mean it!..."

"I can see you are ready to rush into the night and take action, but please don't be in too much of a hurry. I'm selfish; I have plans for you." Lion kissed her tenderly. "Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next...."

Chapter 16

April 25, 1793

It was not a ball or even a party. Antonia Beauvisage preferred the word
gathering to describe the impromptu assembly of interesting, diverse people. There was a sumptuous array of food and as the evening advanced, more and more guests were mingling around the table, plates in hand.

Antonia, gowned in burgundy velvet with lace trim and a sash of ivory satin, stood near the doorway of the chandelier-lit second-floor ballroom and surveyed her guests. Jean-Philippe was deep in conversation with William Bingham and Samuel Powel, who was not only the mayor, but also their next-door neighbor. Meanwhile, Eliza Powel was seated on a small settee against the far wall with a revived-looking George Washington. The bright Eliza clearly brought out the charmer in him and made him forget the burdens of his office.

Anne Bingham was standing with Alec and Caro as all three sampled the floating island, and poor Nicholai was trapped in a corner with Ophelia.

"Mr. Beauvisage, what are your views on the House of Bourbon?" Ophelia was asking, her eyes bird-bright. "What I mean to say is, what personality traits do you feel are inherent in the line and consequently led to the downfall of the royal family?"

Nicholai stared at her, so thin and intense in her ill-fitting pink gown, and took a large swallow of wine. "Well, that is an important question which deserves a thoughtful answer." He glanced around, casually searching for an excuse to escape, and his eyes fell on Mary Armstrong as she came through the doorway.

"Mary!" Nicholai quickly excused himself and crossed the ballroom, marveling at how her beauty had intensified in ten years. She had been pretty in their youth—dimpled, blond, and petite—but now she had the glow of a ripe peach. She was a woman. When her china-blue eyes rested on him, Mary gasped and made a sound of delight.

"Oh, Nicky, how wonderful to see you!"

They embraced, and as he was feeling tempted to forget the rest of the world and kiss her, Mary broke free and gestured to a strange man. "Timothy, do come and meet Nicholai, the prodigal Beauvisage son! He has been in France this past decade, and I know you have heard me speak of him. Nicky, this is Timothy, my husband."

Extending his hand to greet Timothy Barcroft, Nicholai expected at least a twinge of jealousy or regret, but felt neither. Mary's husband was tall and sandy haired, with an easy smile, and when Nicholai looked at them together he felt glad that someone dear to him had found happiness. So, the three of them chatted, telling tales of their different and separate lives, while Nicholai remembered the long-ago days when Mary had been exuberant and naive and he had been recklessly fun loving. So many kisses... He had
tried
to love her. All the ingredients were there; he had lined them up a dozen times, but the recipe never turned out.

Antonia appeared, begging Mary and Timothy to play a duet for the other guests. This seemed a usual occurrence and Nicholai soon learned the reason. Timothy was gifted at the harpsichord; Mary's talent with the violin had improved with age, and the two of them obviously played together a great deal. Soon, the guests began to dance. When Ophelia caught his eye and made an attempt at smiling flirtatiously, Nicholai reached for Katya's arm as she and Randolph passed by.

"Darling sister, I beg for a dance! We haven't had a moment alone in days!"

Katya laughed at her brother's ardent mockery. "Oh, dear, I was breathless with fear that you might neglect to ask me, sir!"

When they were alone together, dancing near the Third Street window, Katya asked softly, "Does it feel strange, seeing Mary? Are you sad?"

Nicholai shrugged in the midst of his bow, then stepped forward to touch Katya's hand. His performance was mechanical, his mind on other matters. "No—not sad. At first, I was shaken as the past rushed back, but it was never real love for us, so how could I begrudge her a full life with Mr. Barcroft? After all, it was I who left for France alone. My ego is not so swollen, I hope, that I expect every woman who has cared for me to go to her grave pining."