Through the Storm (33 page)

Yes, she did, and sudden anticipation dissolved her into a puddle right there on the seat.

He slid a finger over the soft rise of her cheek. “Our marriage has gotten off to a good start in some ways…and in other ways it hasn’t, mainly due to the past—would you agree?”

“Yes.”

“You fascinate me in the bedroom, Sable, but I want us to share more than that.”

His eyes were difficult to read in the shadows, but she sensed his sincerity. “What are you saying?”

“That I wish to come home to you in the evenings, have meals with you, be there in the morning when you rise.”

“What about Randolph Baker?”

“The past is behind us.”

She searched his face. “Then you believe I wasn’t involved?” It was a question she needed to hear him answer truthfully.

But he seemed to be more interested in something else as he touched his mouth to hers, just lightly enough to pique her interest too. He answered her softly, “What I believe about the past has no bearing on our future.”

“But it will, if it remains between us.”

“It is no longer an issue with me…”

His words faded as he brushed his lips against her ear. As the opening notes of desire floated through her blood like an elusive melody, she accused him, less firmly than she’d intended, “You’re trying to distract me…”

His lips journeyed across the scented skin of her neck. “Who…me?”

“Yes, you…”

His hands were wandering leisurely, his warm lips doing the same. “Why would I want to distract you,
bijou
…?”

“Because you don’t wish to discuss…oooh…”

His mouth had encircled her nipple through the fabric of her dress and he teased it just long enough to elicit her response before moving to its twin. As her senses began to tingle and her heart pounded, he asked huskily, “Why in the world would I care to discuss a Reb turncoat when I can discuss how well your breasts fill my hands…”

Sable thanked heaven for the sheltering canopy of the carriage as he eased aside the bodice of her gown and filled his palms with her bared, dark-tipped golden flesh.

His tongue
discussed
while she
purred
. He made cer
tain each peak had an opportunity to beg and throb before he rose to kiss her parted lips. His hand slid possessively up beneath her gown, mapping her thighs, caressing the band of moons, then drifting to her center.

She arched to the hot, sweet magic. She wanted to scold him for being so commandingly arrogant, but couldn’t call up the words.

There were no words needed—just croons, sighs, and moans as he lingered over her bared breasts, dallied at the gates of her temple, and set off such a whirlwind of sensations she didn’t want to leave the coach ever.

But the coach had stopped in front of the small mansion he’d purchased for her, and they had to get out.

“Come on…” he whispered against her lips, righting her dress.

Sable wasn’t aware of leaving the coach. She was barely aware of standing dazed, passion throbbing like a drumbeat between her pulsing thighs, while he paid the driver.

Raimond scooped her up and carried her to the porch. Once inside, he set her on her feet and recaptured her lips. Their journey up the stairs was interrupted by kissing, touching, and the slow, sure pleasure of his hands guiding her dress up to her waist. The same hands moved bewitchingly over her bottom, then expertly undid the strings of her drawers. She barely noticed as the garment fluttered away. The touch of his bare hands fondling her so erotically made her cry out.

“I can’t wait,
ma reine
…” he breathed thickly. The interlude in the coach had left them both near to bursting.

So they made love there, on the stairs, bathed by the moonlight streaming in through the still open front door.

Sable didn’t get her promised bath until late the next morning. He treated her to a passionate mix of bathing and
discussion
that seduced her into climbing desire’s heights once again. He carried her wet body out onto the verandah and had her stretch out on a quilt under
the warming rays of the Louisiana sun. As she lay there, ripe, damp, and breathless, he sensually used a towel and his lips to dry the dark, straining buds of her breasts before transferring his dazzling ministrations to the swollen, sensitive bud between her thighs. Only after she was rendered twisting and mindless did he fill her with the iron of his own pulsing need, and love her until release shattered them both.

Hunger made Sable rise later that afternoon. While Raimond slept on, she eased from the bed and padded nude from their room to see what there was to eat. On the way down the stairs she found her drawers, her dress, and his trousers. She also found three buttons that had once been attached to his shirt. Remembering how they’d come unattached made the heat of embarrassment warm her cheeks. She retrieved them and placed them in his pants pocket. Last night, in her eagerness to caress his bare skin, she’d sent the buttons flying free. He hadn’t minded, just as she hadn’t minded the large rent he’d put in the front of her thin camisole in his own lustful eagerness.

The buttons and her torn camisole were a measure of how strong their passion had been. As she continued down the stairs, she smilingly envisioned a future filled with popped buttons and scandalously torn underthings.

Downstairs, she was struck by the wealth of furniture now filling the rooms. There were paintings, beautiful upholstered divans and chairs, and a gleaming new desk in the study. She had no idea when Raimond had added all the furnishings, but each piece showed his excellent taste.

On a counter in the kitchen stood a beautiful crystal decanter half-filled with an amber liquid that appeared to be cognac, but there was no food in the cupboards. Not even a carrot. Not even a spoon, she realized, conducting a further investigation of the drawers and bins in the spacious room.

“Pretty empty, huh?”

She was startled by the sight of Raimond framed in the doorway, wearing a black silk dressing gown.

“Good morning,” she said, enjoying the idea of having him around.

“Nice attire,” he said, indicating her nudity.

She spun around as if showing off a new gown. “It’s all the rage, you know.”

He grinned, feeling his manhood leap with appreciation at the sight of her all nude and golden. The thought of making love to her again tempted him mightily. “I suggest you find something to put on over your fashionable attire unless you wish to be in need of another bath, Your Majesty.”

She stood a moment as if mulling over the proposition, then replied slyly, “This counter appears fairly solid…are we allowed to make love in the kitchen?”

Raimond’s manhood surged to full life beneath his robe.

She walked over to the table in the center of the room, blinding him with the sight of her moons and sunbursts as she passed provocatively. “Or…here, maybe…?”

Raimond chuckled, his tiger eyes blazing. “You are very playful,
ma reine
…”

“Being playful will intrigue you as much as being provocative, Raimond.”

It was a reference to the conversation they’d had the night he’d missed Muriel’s birthday party.

“You are correct,” he affirmed while making a mental note to take her on the counter at the first opportunity. “However, my voracious
bijou d’or
, a man, unlike a woman, needs time to recover after such…extensive activity.”

“Oh.”

Raimond shook his head. Virgins. No, he corrected himself, former virgins. “So go and put on some clothes. Later, if you’re good, I’ll show you the table, the counter, and probably that bench over there too.”

Sable executed an exaggerated pout.

He laughed aloud. “After all the love I bestowed on you, how dare you pout. Upstairs, shameless woman. Look in the armoire for something to wear, and don’t come back unless you’re covered.”

Grinning saucily, she left to do her husband’s bidding.

She returned to the kitchen wearing one of his robes. It was so voluminous, she could have made a dress and two blouses out of the material flowing around her bare feet. “Is this better?” she asked.

“Much.”

“Good. Now explain to me why there’s nothing in your pantry.”

He shrugged. “There’s been no need. I only sleep here. I’ve been taking my meals at Archer’s place.”

“Do you ever plan on doing something besides sleep here?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to ask my wife.”

Sable smiled.

“I sold my apartments in town,” he told her. “This is where we’ll be living from now on. Just so you know.”

“And if I choose to live elsewhere, my arrogant knight?”

“Then expect me to lock you in my tower until you surrender.”

“That doesn’t sound too terribly awful. In fact, I may enjoy being locked up in your tower.”

He shook his head at her provocative and playful green eyes.

They decided to go to Juliana’s to eat. Sable had no alternative but to put on the same dress she’d worn last night. She prayed the Brats were off attending to business so she wouldn’t be subjected to their ribbing.

Her prayers were denied. In fact, all of Juliana’s sons were in attendance, enjoying a late luncheon. Sable did not know the handsome, gray-haired gentleman seated at Juliana’s side.

As soon as Sable and Raimond entered the dining
room, Archer took one look at Sable’s wrinkled dress and cracked, “Now it appears big brother has her sleeping in dustbins with him.”

Sable cut him a grin. “Archer, it is terribly impolite to bring up a lady’s disheveled appearance.”

Phillipe countered, “There’s disheveled and then there’s
disheveled
. Sweet sister, that dress looks as if it spent the night under a bed.”

“Almost,” Raimond replied meaningfully.

“Raimond!” Shocked and a bit embarrassed, Sable looked askance at her husband.

Grinning innocently, he asked, “If it wasn’t under the bed, where was it?”

Her eyes widened and she punched him in his well muscled arm. “Stop it,” she demanded, scandalized.

The brothers were all chuckling.

Before things got any more out of hand, Juliana said, “Sable, I want you to meet Henri Vincent, an old and dear friend.”

Sable wondered if anyone else could see how Juliana was glowing. “I’m pleased to meet you,
monsieur
.”

“
Enchanté
,” he replied, rising to his feet.

Sable watched as he and Raimond embraced each other with genuine emotion. It was easy to see the two men shared a special bond. Sable knew from her talks with Juliana that Henri had helped her when her beloved François died, and that he’d been a substitute father to her sons. Raimond and Gerrold had been in their early twenties the year François died, but the Brats had ranged in ages from Phillipe’s seven to Archer’s eleven, and Henri’s presence had meant a lot to them.

“Henri’s birthday is a few days away and I’m going to have a ball in his honor,” Juliana declared.

The tall, handsome Henri looked at Juliana affectionately but countered, “Ana, that isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, it is. I told you long ago that on your sixtieth we would celebrate, and the year is here.”

Beau said, “
Oncle
Henri, you know once she has set
her mind, not even the angels can change it, so you may as well surrender.”

“I am well aware of her determination. It was one of the things your father loved most about her.”

Sable watched the silent interplay between Juliana and Henri and wondered if anyone else in the room realized the two were in love.

She asked Raimond about it later that evening as Raimond drove his carriage over to Archer’s hotel to pick up the Vachons for a night at the theater.

He responded by saying, “Mama in love with Henri? You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I share your opinion. I believe they’ve been in love for years but haven’t acted upon it out of respect for François’s memory.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but François’s death occurred many years ago. Your mother deserves some happiness.”

“I agree.”

After retrieving the Vachons, the two couples journeyed through the congested streets to the Orleans Theater. On the program tonight would be the noted Northern poet Louise DeMortie and the Black composer Edmund Dede, whose symphonic arrangements were especially adored by the citizens in his hometown of New Orleans.

The couples took their seats among the other elegantly attired members of the crowd. Most in attendance were the French Creole and free Black elite, though Sable did see a few soldiers and some missionaries who’d come South to help the freedmen. She also saw more than a few hostile eyes cutting her way.

Hester must have noticed them too because she leaned over and said quietly, “You and I are probably the two most despised women here.”

“I know why the daggers are coming my way—I’m
reviled for marrying above my head—but what bone do they have to pick with you?”

“The same. I am married to Galeno and they are not.”

Sable caught the eye of a particularly hostile older woman who’d accosted Sable at the market one morning. “See that old bat over there?”

Hester did.

“Her name’s Heloise Trudeau. She told me to my face that I had absolutely no business marrying into the house of LeVeq. She said slaves belong in the shacks in Freetown, not in the ballrooms of their betters.”

“Oh, really. She had Raimond picked out for her own daughter, I’m guessing.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m treated no better. I met Galen’s set for the first time when his grandmother Vada died back in ’59. Some of the people were pleasant, but many were as cold as Michigan in January. Galen promised me we’d have very few dealings with them from then on, and he’s kept that promise. I avoid them whenever possible.”

“I lack that luxury. I live here.”

The lights went down, curtailing further conversation.

The performances were magnificent, and afterward many in the crowd retired to Archer’s restaurant for sustenance and socializing. Upon securing a table for their wives, Raimond and Galeno spent a good portion of the evening engaged in debating the topic on everyone’s lips, Louisiana’s political situation.