Celine (15 page)

“Would you care for an afternoon ride?” he asked. Celine started. “Afternoon? Oh, wonderful, just wonderful. What time is it?”

“Around two o'clock, I would suppose.”

“Oh, Lord. Madame Charmontès is absolutely going to kill me.” She raised her skirts to run.

He grabbed her arm. “Whoa. The little woman has you on a leash. What time were you supposed to meet with her?”

“Half past two.”

He brushed her forehead with his lips and smiled. “Get on with you, then, but relax, it's not the end of the world.”

“Thank you.” She was off and running, her skirts swirling the dust as she exited the stables.

As soon as she was inside the house and halfway up the stairs, she could hear wailing. “Good heavens, what in the world is the matter?”

There stood Felicité in the upstairs hall, sobbing loudly while Cameron attempted to calm her. Madame Charmontès stepped from Celine's room, clucking her tongue.

“I lost my earrings,” Felicité sniffled. “The . . . the earrings I was supposed to wear tonight.”

Celine put an arm around the sobbing girl. “Do you have any idea where you might have lost them?”

“Now, then,” Cameron interjected. “If she knew where she lost them, then they wouldn't be lost, would they?”

Felicité stomped her foot. “This is no time for your tomfoolery, Cameron.”

“And this is no time for a temper tantrum, Felicité,” Celine broke in. “Where were you when you last recall wearing them?”

“Aha!” Cameron punctuated the air with his finger. “That's what's so upsetting to the little dear. She was wearing her mother's expensive earrings, which, I might add, her father does not know she'd gotten her little fingers on, and then she was off wearing them someplace she shouldn't have been. And now the little goat doesn't want to tell you where that someplace is.”

“Where were you, Felicité?” Celine demanded.

Felicité howled louder.

Madame Charmontès glowered at the threesome. “I cannot tend to you when you are in such a state, little one. Go. Off with you. Find the earrings while I work on Celine.”

“Enough!” Celine startled everyone into silence with her sharp cry.

“Where were you, Felicité? Oh, I think I understand. Somewhere you are not supposed to be,
oui?
You couldn't possibly have taken the key to my cabin from my room?”

Felicité twisted one toe into the floor.

Celine took a deep breath and turned to Madame Charmontès. “You work on Felicité while I go in search of the earrings. I'll only worry if she goes alone.”

“Cameron may go with her,” Madame Charmontès responded sharply. “I must work on you.”

Celine rolled her eyes. “Marvelous, a goat and a ninny looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Cameron shot Celine a hard glance. “How about you and I see if we can find them?”

“Good idea. I have a private matter I wish to speak with you about anyway.”

Felicité stopped sniffling, her wide gaze flickering from Celine to Cameron and back again.

“Oh?” Cameron smoothed his mustache. “Now why is it I find your tone a little worrisome?”

“Hush.” Celine hugged Felicité. “Wash the tears off your face, and go about your business. Nothing is going to spoil our day.”

“I'll get the horses,” Cameron said, heading for the stairs. “Meet me at the back entrance.”

 

 

Trevor glanced up from Panther when Cameron roared into the stable.

“Going someplace?”

Cameron threw a blanket and saddle on the gray. “What are you doing in here, Trev? Widow Beaudrée hidden somewhere under the hay, or are you actually tending to your horse?”

“You can't think of anything saltier than that? You're slipping.”

“How about kiss my sweet
derrière.
” Cameron grinned and lifted another saddle onto a roan. When he finished, he led the two horses toward the stable doors.

Trevor felt relaxed, affable. “You're in a hurry.”

As Cameron exited the stable, he called over his shoulder. “Why should I remain here with the likes of you when I've got something sweet and beautiful waiting for me?”

Curious, Trevor followed Cameron from the stable and watched him ride to the rear of the house, dismount, and help Celine onto the other horse. Hastily, he remounted and the two rode off in the direction of the woods.

Trevor stood still, his ears ringing, his blood running cold. He pulled a watch from his left pocket and checked the time.

“Well, I'll be damned, you lying little fool.”

Chapter Eleven

Celine was still in the tub when Marie returned to the room.

“You're not out of there yet? Lordy, but I don't know how you dare dawdle with that crazy Madame Charmontès takin' charge like she's a general and we're her troops. You know she'll have a conniption if'n I don't have you any further along than this.”

Marie held up a towel, and Celine stepped from the tub.

As if on cue, Madame Charmontès burst into the room, clucking and badgering poor Marie for running late, and pushing her hands in the air in front of her. “Quickly, please, quickly.”

Celine laughed at the absurd expressions on both their faces. “You two. I would hope to have a little peace after all the chaos over Felicité's antics this afternoon. I was exhausted by the time I found those earrings.”

Madame Charmontès wrung her hands and pursed her lips as she paced and watched Marie complete her toweling of Celine. Together, the petite tornado and Marie fussed over Celine.

Oil and vinegar, those two.

They stepped on one another's toes, each blaming the other, until Celine was forced to intervene. She assured Madame Charmontès that Marie could prepare Celine. And since Madame Charmontès was the very finest of all dressmakers in the world, she need not be present for the simple administering of the toilette. She would, however, be much needed for the final inspection. Placated, Madame Charmontès retreated.

As the door closed behind Madame, Marie wheezed a great sigh of relief. “Lordy, but there must have been a black moon risin' the night that woman was born. I'll bet she came out screechin' and been at it ever since.”

In her serenity, Celine's mind wandered little from the events in the hayloft. She barely heard her maid's grumblings.

Trevor.

The memory of his essence swept through her, quickening the beating of her heart. The remainder of the afternoon without him had inched by. A desire to be near him once again welled inside her with such force, she thought she might burst.

The strain of violins wafted through the upper hallways, blending with the sounds of the guests wandering through the house. When had that all started? How long had she been off in her own world? “Are you nearly finished, Marie?”

“One more little pin in your hair and there you be.” Marie stepped back and walked a circle around Celine. “Oh, my. I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful as you. Have a look-see.”

Celine moved to the mirror, and gasped. The flesh-colored silk of her ballgown played host to thousands of tiny crystal beads strung together in one-inch strands. The entire gown was covered with them, from the low-cut bodice that shimmered with the rise and fall of every breath, to the soft folds of the full skirt. She turned a slow pirouette and the beads danced like fireflies. She raised an arm and the fitted sleeves winked at her. So much glitter, yet the gown seemed to weigh nothing. “Say what you will, but Madame Charmontès is a veritable genius.”

The same beads, strung on combs, were tucked into the soft curls just behind her ears, creating a halo effect.

Marie touched Celine on the elbow. “I'll fetch Mr. Andrews to see you downstairs.” She opened the door and nearly fell over Madame Charmontès.

The couturiere sucked in her breath at the sight of Celine. Her eyes glistened as she rushed into the room. She clasped her hands in front of her, prayerlike, and pressed them to her lips. Lines, carved and tunneled over the years, slipped away from the dressmaker's face, while her chin quivered, then jutted upward in exultation. “The result is far more exquisite than I had envisioned. I have created my masterpiece—a
Michel-Ange de couture.
”

Marie scowled at her.

Justin stepped into the room. His jaw slackened. “I am beyond words.”

The strains of a Viennese waltz sounded from below. He bowed. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to your ball, Celine. I pray I have done you justice.”

Celine's heart could have burst just then. She twirled once for him and then slipped her arm into his and together they descended the stairs.

He paused with Celine at the entrance to the crowded ballroom and waited for her to be announced. The music seemed to grow louder, but then she realized it had actually ceased, and the crowd hushed. The roaring in her ears was what she heard.

Trevor mingled with the crowd in front. He didn't smile and a muscle twitched alongside his jaw. Was he angry about something? He turned away. Celine corrected her expression before shock had time to register on her face.

On cue, the orchestra resumed. Celine stepped into the ballroom, instantly surrounded by eager well-wishers. Cameron begged for the first dance. When they danced past Trevor, he ignored them.

Why? Because she danced with Cameron? Because she hadn't had a chance to inform Trevor she'd spoken to Cameron about her feelings toward him? She would tell Trevor straight away that Cameron claimed to have no designs on her. Nonetheless, her spirits flagged.

The widow Beaudrée sidled up to Trevor. He smiled down at her. Her arm slipped through his.

That dreadful woman.

Could she possibly be the reason he was acting so strangely? Was he actually with her? Perhaps to protect Celine, like at the last fete? But that couldn't be—they'd had a discussion and he knew she needed no protection from another woman.

Nothing made sense.

The widow leaned toward Trevor's ear, brushing her mouth against his cheek while she spoke. Whatever she said, he laughed. He was so mercurial, so shallow after this afternoon, so blatant in ignoring her presence. And tonight of all nights.

A sullen sense of betrayal crept in. Sorely disappointed, she couldn't take another step on the dance floor without speaking her mind to him directly.

“Cameron, please, I could use a little refreshment and a bit of a rest.”

“I thought you'd never ask, my dear. Ah, there's Trevor and our, ahem, good neighbor.” Cameron coughed into his fist, and then guided Celine toward the other couple while whispering wickedly through his teeth. “Wonder what he sees in her? Everyone knows she's so fickle even her towels are monogrammed
hers
and
next.
”

Celine laughed and gave Cameron's arm a squeeze. “You are positively wicked.”

Menacing eyes, as black as sin, raked over them as they approached. Nonetheless, Celine managed to hold her composure, even though her smile felt wooden.

What the devil was wrong with him? It couldn't all be because he assumed she hadn't yet spoken with Cameron.

Cameron bent at the waist and pecked the back of the widow's hand. “Madame Beaudrée, aren't you the stunning one this evening?” He turned to Trevor and cocked a brow at his dark mood. “Be a good chap,
s'il vous plait,
and take care of Celine while I see to quenching her thirst.”

The widow Beaudrée responded in Trevor's stead, her honeyed voice tinged with a kind of sarcasm only another woman would detect. “Certainly, Cameron. We'll see she's kept safe and waiting for you, won't we, Trevor, dear?”

She clasped her hand over the one she had twined about Trevor's curved elbow and leaned closer to him.

Celine bristled. A sense of being an uninvited third party turned her mouth to cotton. She glanced to the floor lest Trevor guess her mood from her eyes. Forcing a relaxed demeanor, she raised her head.

“Thank you, Madame Beaudrée. Whatever would I do without your generous concern? And I am ever so grateful you are here this evening. Trevor would have been quite bored had you declined the invitation.”

She looked around the room, then back to Giselle. “I dare say there isn't anyone here who comes close to your social station.” She fought the smirk trying to curl the corners of her mouth.

The widow shifted her stance. Her eyes narrowed and her hold on Trevor's arm tightened.

 

 

Trevor had genuinely anticipated Celine's arrival this evening, despite her damnable afternoon ride with Cameron. Their morning together had struck a chord deep in his heart. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get her out of his thoughts. The feelings she'd stirred in him when she finally made her grand entrance were nearly more than he could handle. He had not yet asked her to dance, so unsure was he of what actions he might take. He was still furious with her. He didn't take much to liars.

In the meantime, Giselle, like a sequined tick, laid claim to him, and caused his mood to turn even more disagreeable.

And then he caught sight of Celine flirting and dancing with Cameron. For an instant, his own vulnerability had crushed him. He hadn't trusted himself enough to talk to her after that, for fear he would demand an explanation as to why she had gone off with his cousin after their glorious morning together. And most importantly, it was painfully obvious from Cameron's attitude that she'd failed to settle anything with him. On the contrary, damn it.

Trevor's mood dipped lower. God, she had the capacity to knock him totally off balance.

His mind wrestled with the morning's events. He'd left her napping in the loft and tended to Panther in order to restrain himself. She'd rested so easily in his arms, all soft and woman-scented. He'd lain there as long as was possible, holding her, secretly capturing her every feature, every sweet breath she took, burning her essence into his memory. Until, in her slumbering innocence, she slipped an arm around his neck and edged closer to him, nuzzled him until the heat of her womanly body entranced him.

Everything had felt so comfortable, as though they'd lain in each other's arms a thousand times. A deep desire for something intangible worked its mysterious pull on him—something that seducing her right then would have surely destroyed. Fire had mixed with the blood in his veins until he could no longer contain or trust himself. It had taken all his strength to retreat.

But now he'd be damned if he would let her get away with marching right up to him on Cameron's arm with such cold indifference. Especially after she'd toyed with his emotions all morning while knowing full well she would meet with Cameron. Why did she have to lie? Once trust was gone ...

He started to speak, but his father appeared from nowhere.

“Madame Beaudrée.” Justin held his arm out and smiled. “Would you kindly grace this old man's arm for a twirl around the dance floor?”

There was not a thing she could do but accept, which left Celine and Trevor to themselves.

He looked to Celine for a scant second, then raised his glass to his mouth and perused the room over its rim. He took small sips of the amber contents, and ignored her.

Celine's cheeks flushed. She was angry. Good. Let her suffer a little. What did he care?

Damn it, he did care, that was the worst of it.

“Just because you have a beautiful woman on your arm, Trevor, that is no excuse for your rudeness toward me. Perhaps you owe me an apology.”

He lowered his glass and surveyed the room one more time before he regarded her. “Madame, if memory serves me, I do believe it was you who approached the two of us in a less than courteous manner. Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not recall speaking to you.”

He did not know what to do with his anger. “As for apologies, Mrs. Kirkland, perhaps an apology would be more appropriate coming from you.”

He set his glass to his mouth once again, disarmed at how quickly she could fracture his composure. How easily she destroyed his steely intention of ignoring her by simply standing in front of him, staring with those damnable eyes of hers. He forced himself to look away, knowing he was now fighting the urge to ask her why the hell she'd lied to him, knowing he was combating the even more powerful desire to hold her once again, despite his anger with her.

Mentally, he compared the other women in the room to Celine, tried to determine what it was about her that had him so captivated. There were others in attendance that, by anyone's standards, could be considered more beautiful than Celine. Besides, he usually preferred taller, longer-legged women. Didn't he? He couldn't seem to recall.

His father and Giselle glided around the dance floor. Trevor noted her chiseled beauty. Her white-blond hair, curled and laden with jewels. Her flawless body, barely disguised beneath the gown she wore. Giselle noticed his gaze and with a seductive smile, raised long, tapered fingers from his father's shoulder in discreet response. He tipped his glass to her and returned the smile, yet she stirred not a modicum of emotion in him.

He returned his attention to Celine. Slowly, from her toes upward, he boldly drank her in. The intoxicating results pounded through his veins. Now, this one moved him—only she—and hadn't he known it all along? Fire and ice, that's what she was.

Pressure tightened his chest, heat coursed through his groin.
Damn it!
He nearly groaned aloud in his fight not to reach for her. He had to do something to right the situation.

“Before we continue this tedious demand for apologies, Celine, or before your temper gets the best of you, I would like to tell you, by the way, that Madame Charmontès has outdone herself with the gown you wear.”

Oh, hell, that didn't sound right, either. And she was still angry.