Celine (20 page)

“She was my wife!” Justin shouted. “I worked hard at building this plantation and the shipping company. I had a right to want my privacy without gawking children interfering. You had her to yourself when I was gone from here. Wasn't that enough?”

“At least I wasn't so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't tell she was sick enough to call in a physician.”

“Don't start with that again, Trevor. I won't hear it.”

“You don't want to face the truth that she might have been saved if not for your arrogance?”

“That's a lie.”

“You had me shoved so far aside, you couldn't begin to hear my pleas when I begged you to call for help.”

“I did call in a physician.”

“How pathetic you sound. By the time she lost consciousness it was too late, and you know it. I will
never
forgive you for her death.”

“Not forgiving me is no excuse for what you've turned into. You not only humiliated me, you mortified everyone around you. What kind of behavior caused every husband with a young wife to lock their doors? Or try to burn our house down? Even bordellos shut you out, for God's sake. And now you turn your whoring ways on someone I took in when she was near death? I won't have it!”

Bile rose in Celine's throat and her heart pounded so hard it stole her breath. She couldn't take any more and made her way back up the stairs and to her bedchamber. Marie was waiting for her with a bath and a tray of sandwiches and milk. In silence, Marie removed Celine's tattered dress, and then helped her into the tub.

It wasn't until her bath was complete and she was dressed and perched in the window seat that the muffled noises from below ceased. Through the window, she spied Trevor. The heels of his boots bit into the earth as long, purposeful strides carried him quickly toward the stable. She had a feeling he would ride out and not come to her that evening as he'd said. She knew he could not go to anyone. Not yet, anyway.

Nonetheless, when night came, she lay awake, waiting, listening for his return, her eyes fastened to the closet door. She ached to go to him, but knew she must wait for him to come to her. However, she'd made a decision—no matter what went on between Trevor and his father, she would speak to Justin in the morning on her own behalf.

She'd only managed to doze when Marie brought her a breakfast tray. “Where's Justin this morning, Marie?”

Marie yanked undergarments from the armoire and slapped them on the bed, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “In his office. At least that's where he said to send his breakfast, so I suspect he's still there.” She removed a yellow chemise from the cupboard, and with a few quick snaps of her wrists, shook out the folds, all the while muttering under her breath.

“Good heavens, what's wrong with you?”

The maid took a deep breath, pain etched on her face. “Oh, Miss Celine. I am so sorry. Mister Andrews banned Trevor from the plantation. He's gone.”

Celine's heart tripped a beat and then it froze. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Damnation!”

Celine's skirts swirled around her ankles as she flew down the stairs and into Justin's office, slamming the door behind her. “How dare you meddle in my life!”

Deep lines furrowed his brow and his skin had a pale cast to it. His eyes were flat. Dull.

“Dear God.” She sank into the big leather chair in front of the desk he sat behind. A tear slid down her cheek. “What have you done, Justin?” She buried her face in her hands. “What have I done?”

He leaned his head against the back of his chair and stared out the window. “I've always been a man who thought long and hard about making decisions, and once made, I never looked back. But this time I'm not so sure.”

He turned and faced her. Celine almost wished he had not, for the raw pain etched on his face was terrible to see. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, stopping her.

“I tried to play God. I purposely asked Trevor to come home because I wanted him to discover you. And he did. But I banished him because I thought he used you and intended to leave without looking back.”

Celine tried to swallow the lump in her throat but failed. She brought her hand to her throat. “You wanted him with me?”

He nodded. “I thought you would suit one another. I saw qualities in you that I thought he would admire. And I had an idea you would take to him—differently than the other women he has a reputation for collecting.”

He heaved a sigh. “In essence, I thought you two might find love together. But I fell apart at the thought of Trevor taking advantage of you. I suppose I am unlikely ever to see him again.”

Hot tears scalded Celine's cheeks. She stood, moved behind Justin's chair, and slid her arms around his slumped shoulders. “What happened was not his fault. I am as guilty, if not more so, as your son for what transpired. He was an honorable man the night before last. I need you to know that. I was the one who—”

She clasped her hands over the center of his chest and squeezed tightly. She cried hard, no longer able to separate sobs from words. “It was ... as though a force ... pulled me to him. I . . . I could not stay away.” She inhaled a ragged breath.

Tears dripped from her chin, staining his shirt, but he did not seem to notice. She rocked him gently back and forth, weeping without restraint. His age-spotted hand moved to cover hers locked over his heart.

“I did not say no to him because of my own selfish feelings, not his, Justin. Do you hear me? Because I wanted him. I was the one who took from him.” She squeezed him hard.

He buried his head in his other hand and grew silent. They both stared silently out the window for a long while as if hoping some winged messenger might ride in on a golden shaft of sunlight and restore what had already been destroyed.

“Let's go after him, the two of us,” Celine whispered into Justin's ear.

He remained silent.

“Think about it, Justin. Your son cannot possibly be anywhere else right now, but in New Orleans, waiting for the new ships to arrive. We can go after him. Both of us owe him an apology,” she finished softly.

“He would never return to Carlton Oaks. He is too proud.”

“Not now, perhaps.” Celine waited for Justin's full attention. “I know he's proud, but you'll have time to make amends before the ships arrive. Then, while he's sailing the seas, he'll have plenty of time to mellow. By his next homecoming, he can easily return with his dignity intact. Justin, this is your eldest son, your flesh and blood. Please, let's do what we can, before it's too late.”

Her voice softened with his continued silence. “I know you have your pride too. And so do I. But I'll be leaving soon, and my pride doesn't matter nearly as much as thinking I left a broken family behind.” Celine squeezed his shoulders again and waited.

Justin stood and walked to the window, peering out toward the levee. “If you care for Trevor as you claim, then how could you entertain thoughts of sending him off to sea while you disappear to the other side of the country? It would seem to me, if you truly care for him, your natural inclination would lean toward remaining here.”

He turned then, an intense question burning in his eyes. “Wouldn't you think so?”

Celine paced as she sorted out the tangle of thoughts in her brain. “I . . . I . . . that is . . . you know it takes two caring people to make love last. Just because I care for Trevor does not mean he—”

“Enough.” Justin fanned his hand through the air, as if swatting flies. “It's as if a powerful current connects the two of you whenever you are in the same room. And I'm not alone in noticing the fireworks.”

Celine opened her mouth to speak, but was hushed again.

“No one wanted a union between the two of you more than I, because I love you both. But something has held each of you back, Celine. I could figure Trevor out, somewhat. But, for the life of me, I have not been able to decipher you.” He paused. “I can be an old fool at times, but I cannot be fooled very often. Something doesn't ring quite true here.”

She spoke barely above a whisper. “You know I am a barren woman because of the accident. I would never do as a wife for Trevor.”

“Did Trevor tell you he wouldn't have you because of that?”

“We did not speak of such matters in depth.”

“But he did not say no, did he?”

Celine raised her chin. “How could you possibly think our relationship had gotten to that stage?”

“Then perhaps it should have. Trevor is a sailor at heart. He doesn't require a family in the traditional sense, but rather he needs the singular love of a fine woman. He needs someone who is devoted and loyal to him, yet strong enough, independent enough not to be buried under his great strength.”

The lines in Justin's face softened. “Trevor needs someone as adventuresome as he is. God knows, if you're willing enough to traipse off to San Francisco all alone, then you certainly have that spirit in you.”

Justin's eyes took on a glint. “Besides, didn't you once say you wanted to sail the world?”

When she failed to respond, he said, “It seems I have been an old fool, Celine. I'm leaving on the morrow. It would behoove you to have Marie see to your packing if you've a mind to come along.” Before she could reply, he exited the room, leaving his words lingering in the air.

Chapter Fourteen

Celine could barely sit still in the boudoir chair. Even her teeth hurt she was so agitated. She pressed tiny circles against the hinges of her jaw. Soon, Justin would arrive to escort her to the opera house where Lola Montez, the famous actress and “Spanish dancer,” would perform. Tickets had been hard to come by. In the three weeks since Celine and Justin had arrived in New Orleans, every attempt on his part to confer with Trevor had been met with contempt. So when Trevor sent a note inquiring about an extra ticket for the opera, Justin invited him to join the family. At the same time, Justin requested a meeting. Waiting for the outcome was excruciating.

Marie set her hands on Celine's shoulders. “You keep wigglin' like that, Missy Celine, and I won't never get your hair done.”

Celine stilled. “Sorry. Things haven't turned out as I had hoped. This meeting might be the only opportunity Justin will have to bring the family together before I depart New Orleans.”

“Well, worrying ain't gonna do nuthin' but give you wrinkles. I'm near done, and then you can relax in here all by yourself, or you can sip a nice calmin' toddy in the parlor.”

Celine offered Marie a faint smile through the mirror. “I'm afraid one of your toddies might do me in. Besides, I can hear the carriage from here.”

Justin had insisted she become the sole resident of his townhouse until her departure for San Francisco. At first, she had been reluctant to accept, but Lindsey and Felicité loved the novelty of hotel life, and Celine sorely needed her privacy. At Celine's request, Marie was the only servant in residence.

The compact townhouse was nothing like the sprawling plantation. The smaller rooms with their rich, dark woods and heavy velvet drapes were more intimate. The ornate filigreed balconies, the modest courtyard filled with a sea of roses, the protective wrought iron gate at the porte cochere—all of it wrapped Celine in a warm cocoon. Here was a safe haven in which she could retreat during the day and face the onslaught of her turbulent emotions during her empty, fitful nights.

Even though she'd been sorely disillusioned, Celine had been determined to stick with Justin's plan. Trevor had taken up residence in the elegant St. Charles Hotel and proceeded to carouse with a different woman on his arm every evening. There were times Celine seethed with jealousy, while at other times she managed to maintain a cool, dignified demeanor. Still, her patience had worn thin and until tonight, hope had all but faded.

The bracelet locked on her wrist caught the firelight and winked at her. She twisted it about. Was the golden band a curse? She could have it cut off. But in her heart she knew she never would. The bracelet was a constant reminder that whatever the future might hold, she had shared an exquisite moment in time when she'd loved someone and he had loved her back.

Marie patted one of Celine's curls. “There now, all done. You gonna be the loveliest lady at the opera tonight.”

“Thank you. You're free to go.” Celine stood and smoothed the front of her turquoise gown, the one she'd worn to the Verrette soirée. A hundred years could have passed since that night. How long ago it all seemed. She issued a soft sigh and adjusted one of the diamond-and-pearl earrings Cameron had given her. She glanced at the mantel clock. The hour was growing late, and still no sign of Justin.

Marie turned to leave, and then paused with her hand on the door handle. “I know things ain't been so good since you arrived, but I do believe Mischie Trevor will come around. There's still nearly a week left afore you leave us.”

Celine nodded. Six days was not very much time. Not at all.

A click of the door and she was alone. A warm breeze wafting through the open French doors carried the sweet scent of roses from the courtyard below. The moon, full and white, shone as a misty haze through billowing sheer curtains. She stepped past the curtains and onto the balcony. Here was the same moon under which she and Trevor once walked peacefully in the garden, yet now he passed her by without speaking. Each time, another little piece of her heart broke off. She swallowed tears. It wouldn't do to weep with Justin arriving any moment.

How would tonight unfold? Society in New Orleans seemed to have a singular goal—to collect en masse at one function after another. Trevor and Celine often ended up at the same crowded function. Even though he kept his distance, she could feel his presence, as if he drew her to him with some profound, heady power. On occasion, she'd caught him staring at her from across a room. He never bothered turning away. Instead, his gaze intensified until it penetrated her with an energy all its own.

His actions were not to be confused as an invitation, however. The few times she tried to approach him, he left the premises. After that, whenever he spent his time observing her, she let him. In some queer way, it maintained an abstract bond.

Whenever she was with Justin, Trevor acted mannerly, but kept his distance. When Cameron escorted her, however, Trevor displayed an acerbic, bitter edge. At times it was difficult to determine to whom he directed his sarcasm.

Soon, the cousins barely spoke to one another. Even though Cameron insisted there was something else going on between them, the continued deterioration in their once easy relationship left Celine mired in guilt.

And then there was the bothersome situation with Cameron. Even though he'd acquiesced to an amicable relationship, she suspected he cared for her more than he wanted to admit, which made her uncomfortable. Increasingly so. And he'd changed. No longer was he the humorous, fun-loving man she once knew; he'd become surly and overly protective.

The door to the porte cochere swung open with a creaking of heavy wood. A jangle of metal, an echo of hoofbeats, and the carriage rolled in. Celine hurried down to the parlor. Justin entered the room, and his relaxed smile sent Celine flying into his arms.

“Whoa! Don't knock me over, young lady.” He gave her a squeeze, and then gently eased her away. He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and handed it to her. “If those tears spill over, you'll have to wash your face, and we'll be late for the curtain's rising. We must hurry if we are to make it at all.”

“Things went well?”

He helped her into the carriage and slid in beside her. “Quite well, as a matter of fact.” The buggy pulled onto Royal Street and moved toward the opera house. Justin looked tired and his eyes were red-rimmed. “He'll be joining us.”

A sharp current ran through Celine and gripped her rapidly beating heart. She sat back and exhaled with a whoosh. “Oh, thank the Lord.”

“He'll come along with Cameron.”

“Oh!” Celine exhaled again. “Things must have gone very well, indeed.” Justin offered nothing further and Celine dared not ask. In reality, this was a family matter, not hers. All she wanted was to help heal the family so she could leave in peace. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Celine's mood was light when they entered Justin's box seats. His younger children were already seated in the second row behind her, Miles and Elizabeth in the third. She and Justin occupied two of the four front row seats, leaving the two beside Celine empty. She hoped it would be Trevor who took the seat closest to her.

Justin excused himself to speak to Elizabeth and Miles. Michel and Lindsey turned to listen. Felicité, seated directly behind Celine, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. “Trevor's coming tonight.”

Celine nodded, patted Felicité's hand in response, and then nudged it away, hoping to send Felicité back into her seat. She was grateful the conversation around her muffled the noisy girl.

Instead, Felicité only leaned closer. “Here's hoping you give Trevor another opportunity to repeat his offenses.”

What?
Celine turned around and whispered, “What in the world are you talking about?”

Felicité grinned broadly. “So he can make you a mother, and I won't lose you forever.”

Celine gasped. “Hush with your scandalous nonsense. And do sit back in your seat.”

Felicité did as she was told, but in seconds she leaned forward again. “I've been a good girl and said my prayers.” She giggled.

Speechless, Celine turned to face the curtain.

Justin slipped into his seat beside her. “Enjoying yourself ?”

If only he knew how her mind flew in a hundred directions and she could barely breathe for how wound up she was. “Immensely, but I must admit I'm a bit nervous.”

“As am I,” he responded.

Celine glanced at the two empty seats next to her and wondered what was keeping Trevor and Cameron. The curtain would rise at any moment.

Trevor slipped silently into the seat beside her with Cameron taking the end seat. Thought scattered like fall leaves in a brisk wind. Trevor offered her a tentative grin, the first docile smile she had seen from him since their night together. Her heart was about to jump right through her ribs. Nonetheless, she turned to study him. “How much more handsome you are when you smile like that.”

Trevor visibly relaxed. He leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his fist against his chin, and simply looked at her, just as he had from across the room for so many evenings of late.

What in the world had gone on between him and his father? She didn't flinch. Instead, she lifted a fan to hide the smile playing about her mouth. Then she dared to boldly stare back at him. It was a start, but in the end, he'd have some explaining to do. She didn't care that she was leaving soon; he owed her.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You are wearing my favorite dress this evening,
ma petite.
”

He could have bedded her right there if he chose to.

Mercy, but she was shameless in her thoughts! Just his breath at her ear made her go soft in the head.

Bells chimed to indicate the show was about to begin. She turned to the stage, fanning the heat from her face. “And what makes it your favorite?”

“The color reminds me of the deep turquoise shining in your eyes.” He hesitated at her ear slightly longer than was proper.

Felicité nudged Celine's chair with her toe. The little scamp was privy to everything.

Celine dizzied, grew embarrassed by her quick reaction to the feathery touch of his lips at her ear. Trevor discreetly slid his free hand down the side of his leg until it came to rest beside hers. His little finger curled around hers.

Dear God! Oh, how she ached to crawl into his arms. How very much she had missed him, and how very much she yearned to tell him so. As far as she was concerned, whatever had transpired between Trevor and his father had produced no less than a miracle.

The devil take Miss Lola Montez's performance. She would gladly let him sweep her in his arms and carry her out of the theater and back to the safety of her cabin, where they could spend the rest of their lives together. Her desire for him had not diminished one bit.

Such fantasy.

Her ruminations came to an abrupt halt when the orchestra began playing exotic music such as she had never heard. Lola Montez was behind the curtain, and the excitement rippling through the theater grew thick in the air.

The curtain lifted to expose a riveting, charismatic woman dressed in a sheer red harem costume swathed with strings of gold coins that jangled when she moved. Her cloud of black hair and lithe hips swayed to the music. She was enigmatic, erotic.

And she knew it.

At first, she played purposefully and viscerally to the audience as if she performed for each person alone. But once her hypnotic gaze fell on Trevor, it moved no further. The energy in the theater shifted dramatically as Lola's performance suddenly turned as intimate as if the two were alone.

Celine bristled. Perhaps Lola picked a man from the audience at every performance in order to create such shocking intimacy. The action was certainly producing a memorable, even scandalous, evening. No wonder the woman's reputation preceded her arrival. No wonder the seats were sold out.

With her fan over her mouth, Celine leaned toward Trevor. “Have you met this woman before?”

“No,” he murmured.

Sitting next to Trevor while another woman openly seduced him grew increasingly uncomfortable. Celine tried to tell herself that Lola's private performance was only Celine's imagination, but damn it, Felicité kept poking the back of Celine's chair every time Lola completed a twirl and caught Trevor's eye again.

Other patrons in the upper balconies raised their opera glasses and searched the audience for whoever it was that had captivated Lola, while those below occasionally tore their mesmerized gazes from the stage and craned their necks.

Trevor was well aware also. His elbow rested on the chair's arm between them while his chin in the palm of his hand hid the bottom half of his face. “
Mon Dieu,
” was all he said.

What was that supposed to mean? If he was uncomfortable, he didn't show it, he sat so quietly, while she fought the urge to squirm. Finally, she came to the conclusion that had she been in his place, and a male performer on stage drew that kind of attention her way, she certainly would keep her eyes focused on the stage to avoid all gawkers. And she would show no emotion in order to give the gossipmongers as little as possible to chatter about. But her musings didn't stop her from feeling like a voyeur.

Oh, wasn't the audience lapping this up? Well, this was New Orleans; what did she expect? Society here loved such scintillating entertainment. Lola's singular performance was bound to provide ripe conversation for weeks. Celine decided she didn't wish to attend the after-party in the entertainer's honor. No matter how exclusive the invitation, hers could go in the trash.