Celine (24 page)

“If you are so clear about how you feel, how can you possibly consider leaving here, or walking away from Trevor?”

Celine braced herself with a long breath. “You speak of wanting a family, so I assume that includes desiring children?”

He continued rubbing the kitten's belly. “I suppose it is natural to want progeny once a reckless life is left behind.”

She knew it would sting, but she had to say it. “Do you think Trevor will one day want a family?”

He shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

“I am barren, Cameron.”

A flicker of surprise ran through his eyes. “I see.” A brief moment of silence, and then he spoke again. “Is Trevor aware of your . . . situation?”

“I am.” Trevor stepped from the passageway connecting the parlor to the rear rooms.

Celine jumped and her breath froze in her lungs while the pounding in her ears sounded like cannon shots. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. “Where did you come from?” she managed, barely above a whisper.

He rested a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Through the porte cochere and in the side door. But does it matter? I'm here.” Dark shadows blotched his handsome face and he looked tired. His gaze engulfed her for a long while. And then his dark, sober eyes shifted to Cameron.

Cameron gave a slight nod as if making silent amends. “You heard?”

“Every word,” Trevor answered quietly.

“How long have you been here?” Cameron asked.

“Since before Marie served tea.”

Cameron shifted around, grinned, and went back to his flippant ways. “I say, old boy, this must be the day for providential eavesdropping.”

Marie's shadow along the hallway wall behind Trevor disappeared.

Celine stood and headed toward the staircase, hoping her knees wouldn't give out.

“Don't be a coward.” Cameron's sharp command stopped her.

She turned, holding the stair rail, and silently pleaded with Cameron to let things be.

“Trevor heard every word, Celine. And he is still here. Think about it.”

She hadn't yet breathed since she'd stopped in her tracks. She did so, hoping to relieve her dizziness.

“You can walk back in here, or you can take your leave,” Cameron said. “Either way, there's no more veil. Whatever you do from here on out, you can no longer reject the truth.”

“I—” A visible shudder ran through her and she paled. “I cannot think.”

Cameron turned to Trevor. “She can't think.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I've a headache.”

“She has a headache.”

Celine lifted her skirts and scurried up the stairs. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Cameron, hush your mouth.”

 

 

It took every ounce of Trevor's will not to take those steps two at a time after Celine. Not now. Not when there was so much he still needed to mull over. He inhaled slowly and shifted his gaze from the stairs to his cousin, who sat stroking a pile of fluff.

Christ, he could have killed Cameron.

If Trevor had thought the last three days sorting things out with his father was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, now he wasn't so sure. A fist-size lump caught in his throat and the words of his carefully planned apology grew muddled in his mind.

“You may as well take a seat,” Cameron said. “That wall can hold itself up rather nicely.”

Trevor walked over to the butler's tray and picked up Celine's untouched cup of tea. He wet his parched throat with the cold contents.

“Help yourself,” Cameron quipped. “She never touched it.”

Relief washed through Trevor like a clean, warm rain. So everything was going to be all right. Cameron had forgiven him. He sat alongside Cameron. “Did this sofa shrink since we were lads?”

Cameron poured himself another cup. “Aren't we a couple of bloody baboons sitting here with our knees nearly at our chests and sipping tea like our mothers used to do?”

They both chuckled and stuffed beignets into their mouths.

Cameron licked a finger. “You aren't letting her go to San Francisco, are you?”

“I can't stop her from doing what she's determined to do.”

Cameron grabbed another beignet. “Of course you can if you've a mind to.”

A brief moment of silence, and Cameron spoke again. “What the hell am I missing here? Why wouldn't you stop her? Does it have to do with her being barren?”

Trevor set the cup back on the butler's tray and ran his hand down his leg, smoothing his trouser leg. “She's set her mind on the notion that there are certain things a man must have from a wife that she cannot provide. So where does one go from there?”

“Rubbish, Trev. Prevent her from leaving.”

“I'm a sailor, Cam. I cannot stop her from leaving, and then sail off on my own journey. The idea is absurd and would make me a hypocrite.”

Cameron punched the air with his teaspoon. “Aha! Take her with you.”

“To China? She's made it perfectly clear she will be no man's mistress.”

Cameron set his cup down and wedged himself into the corner of the sofa with a pained grunt. “Suffering God. You are so hard-headed you could etch glass. And the two of you are more alike than you care to admit—both of you are bloody stubborn. The difference, old boy, is that she'll confess to it and you will not.”

Trevor gave a slight smirk. “Humph.”

“She's sailing with the evening tide in two days.” Cameron slapped his forehead. “Oh,
pardonne moi,
but you would know that. How careless of me to forget you are running things, Mischie Trevor.”

Trevor's head spun at the very suggestion of taking Celine along. He quelled a shaft of hope that tried to cleave its way into his logic. She would never agree. He changed the subject. “Captain Thompson will take the first clipper out tomorrow in your stead.”

Cameron nodded. “He's the only one besides us who'll put his heart into breaking a speed record. What about me?”

“The last of our clippers has been delayed for three weeks. You'll be well enough to take the helm by then, and I'll captain the second one.”

The conversation turned to ships and cargo, routes and time frames. Trevor started to explain his five-year plan when it became obvious Cameron had stopped listening. “Have I lost you somewhere along the way?”

The frown lines on Cameron's face melted away. “I do believe I have just hatched a jolly good plan.”

“Which is?”

“Give me time to think on things. I'm out of this bloody confinement tomorrow, and I have a meeting scheduled with your father. Join us at ten sharp.”

Chapter Eighteen

There was little left for Celine to do. Marie had everything in order well ahead of schedule. The maid wanted to send the bulk of her luggage ahead, but Celine was adamant that it remain with her until departure. She wasn't sure if it was in case she needed to retrieve something at the last minute, or if she'd hoped for some miracle. Still, she'd resigned herself to leaving, and no longer thought of New Orleans as her home.

Her future seemed like a vague, black hole.

Although contact with Cameron had been brief, since he'd been in a rush for his first outing since the duel, she was still somewhat disillusioned when he failed to comment regarding the previous afternoon's events. The two of them were to have dinner with Justin, Elizabeth, and Miles on this, her last evening in the city. She had desperately hoped Trevor would join them, but had heard nothing.

If only she could stop thinking of him.

Lindsey and Felicité would bid their farewells at the dock. She'd not wanted it that way, afraid she'd lose control, but the least she could do was comply with Justin's wishes.

She dressed in a promenade dress and left the townhouse for a final walk in the Vieux Carré. The trip did nothing to lift her spirits. She returned to the townhouse and wandered in the rose garden. It was odd how strangely detached she felt. Perhaps it was her saving grace. She dressed for dinner as void of any emotion as the day she awoke from her accident.

Antoine's was bustling. A fricassee of terrapin, brown and aromatic, was placed in front of her by a white-gloved waiter. In the past, she would have waged an internal battle to consume in a ladylike manner her favorite meal. Tonight, she barely tasted it.

Her gown was of a deep indigo, bare at the shoulders and cut close to her body, more sophisticated than her usual style. Candlelight reflected hypnotically in luminous patterns across the moiré silk when she moved. Her hair, piled high on her head, was woven through with strands of pearls. She wore the diamond-and-pearl necklace Justin had given her, but no earrings. The lost earring had never been found. Men at nearby tables glanced discreetly her way, but she ignored them. How different she was from the girl who had grown up here and played stickball in the streets.

Justin appeared more relaxed than she'd seen him in a long while. Color claimed his cheeks once again. Cameron was especially wicked with his humor. Elizabeth and Miles appeared very much at ease as well. As the evening wore on, her spirits rose somewhat. At least she could leave with a modicum of peace now that the family had mended.

The evening passed without incident—and with no sign of Trevor. She had a feeling he wouldn't show. Far better this way. She doubted she would have been able to sit in his presence and maintain her dignity.

Justin and Cameron escorted her back to the townhouse. Cameron opted to return to his suite at the hotel and left Celine and Marie to themselves. It was well after midnight, but Marie, with the brown velvet riding hat Celine had given her still perched cockeyed on her head, was dragging the last steamer trunk into the parlor.

“I sent some of the crates on ahead, Miss Celine. I know you told me not to, but we would have been in big trouble come six o'clock tomorrow if we tried to get what all was here down to the dock in one load.”

“You made the right decision, thank you.”

It took them another fifteen minutes to discuss the morrow.

Celine heaved a sigh. “Go on to bed. You look as exhausted as I feel.”

“What about your clothing, mam'selle? Let me get you out of your gown.”

Celine sighed. “Oh, just unbutton it for me, and open my corset. I'll take care of the rest. You go on to bed before you drop.”

“Are you sure?” Marie started on the buttons.

“Uh-huh,” Celine yawned and bent her neck back and forth as she spoke. “If you don't mind, I'll drop everything in a heap on the floor.”

Marie unwound the pearls from Celine's hair, and slipped off the jewelry. “Don' mind at all. I'll fold everything you ain't gonna wear in the last crate in the mornin'.” She disappeared down the hallway to the rear of the townhouse.

Celine climbed the stairs and turned into her room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her arms crossed as if to comfort herself. The whale-oil lamp cast a soft glow about the room. A pained emptiness tugged at her. Her last night in New Orleans. It wouldn't have taken much for the tears to fall, so she forced herself not to think about anything but the act of undressing. She sighed as she stripped off her clothing until all that was left was her chemise.

A sparkle atop the mantel caught her eye. The lost earring! She snatched it up, inspected its unmarred surface, and then ran out the door, down the stairs and through the hallway to Marie's room. She stopped before she reached the bedroom door and giggled. Like a grand locomotive on its way to somewhere important, Marie snored away in a loud, chugging rhythm.

Celine slapped a hand over her mouth and retreated, afraid her fatigue would lead to hysterical laughter that wouldn't quit. She made her way back to her room.

Celine stepped through the doorway and stared in shock at Trevor propped up in her bed.

“Trevor!”

Judging by the outline of his body beneath the sheet gathered around his hips, he wore nothing but a wicked grin and a ship captain's hat perched at a jaunty angle atop his head.

Her cheeks heated. “What in heaven's name are you doing in my bed?”

He laughed, deep and throaty. “
Your
bed? Are you aware you chose my bedroom again?”

She struggled to collect her thoughts.

“Come,
ma petite.
” He tapped the top of the bedside commode. “Put down the earring before you lose it again.”

His devilish grin played across his relaxed features. His eyes, ablaze with raw, midnight fire, raked slowly over her, then back up to pierce her soul once again.

Exquisite heat, like a shock of black powder set alight, enveloped her.

He cocked his head. “Come closer,
ma petite.
I dare you to see how close you can come.”

Why not play his game? It was her last night here. She would never see him again. Never again have the chance to be with him.

Her chin tilted upward in stubborn defiance as she inched around the bed, moving closer, her blood pounding, their eyes locked like animals in the wild. She felt his power—but she was aware of hers as well. Stealth. Cunning. Moving away from the edge of the bed, out of his reach, she stretched her arm over the tabletop, dropped the earring, and ran.

He moved like a panther.

She didn't know how he'd managed to grab her so quickly. Or how she landed on the bed with him nuzzling her neck.

She squealed.

He was teasing her again with that potently mischievous look, but there was no teasing in the powerful hold he had on her. It was firm, yet intimate, with one arm pressing her tightly against his chest, the other draped casually across her lap where he boldly caressed her hip and inner thighs as though she had no choice.

Heat spread along her nerve endings, and her arms reached up of their own accord, wrapped themselves about his broad, muscled shoulders. She craved the taste of his skin, and set her tongue to his shoulder.

He'd been able to do this to her from the first time they met—to stir her in a purely physical sense. Why him? Why him and no other?

It was too late for further consideration, for she was adrift in that special scent of his that was fatal to her senses, that caused her faculties to blur and her defenses to disintegrate.

Oh, how she had missed the way his hands set her afire, the way his eyes could penetrate her soul. And his body, his hard, electrifying body—what it did to her. There was no use denying it anymore, she loved making love with him. She loved
him.

 

 

Celine lay on her belly across the bed, arms outstretched, and slowly came awake to the morning sun streaking through the open doors leading onto the balcony. A light breeze tugged at the curtains. She was alone. Odd, the satin case on the pillow next to her was missing. She lifted her chin and blew her hair from her face, then tossed her head, flicking the errant strands over her shoulder. She eased up until she was sitting naked in the middle of the bed.

A whimsical tune whistled up from the rose garden. She scrambled off the bed, wrapped a robe around her, and hastened to the balcony. Trevor was in the garden plucking petals off the roses and stuffing them into the pillowcase. He wore his captain's hat—and nothing else.

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Trevor, are you insane? Get up here this minute before someone sees you.”

“Too late.” He grinned up at her. “You caught me.”

“You are utterly naked.”

“As I expect you to be when I return.”

She laughed. He was so unabashedly casual in his nudity. She found it wicked, but charming—and a delight to watch. A heat she thought she'd extinguished last night curled around the apex of her thighs.

He shook the petals down in the pillowcase. “There, filled. Be right up.” He disappeared into the house, whistling. In moments he was back in the room. He strode purposefully over to the bed and shook the contents of the pillowcase onto the sheets. With an impish grin, he reached for Celine, stripped her of her robe, and dropped her amid the bed of rose petals.

“Roll in them.”

Rose petals crushed beneath her weight. She breathed deeply, wrapped in the sweet scent as Trevor picked up handfuls of the delicate satin gems and showered them over her body.

“Delicious.” She gazed up at him and stretched her arms out, beckoning.

He stood over her for a moment as if drinking her in, and then stretched out alongside her. Rolling her over him and then under him, he picked up petals and rained them on her skin, ran a petal under her nose and across her lips until she squealed in surrender. When he stopped, he held her in the warmth of his arms and planted soft kisses all over her face. Then he paused and pulled away, studying her.

She met his gaze. He seemed so utterly relaxed, so carefree, and full of joy. She savored the moment, not allowing herself to think ahead. She didn't dare, not for a second. To do so would surely fracture her heart when she left. “You're in a mood.”

“That I am,
ma petite.
But I must go soon. I have a business to run, and if I remember correctly, one of my new ships is set to sail on the evening tide.”

The blood drained from her heart.

He made to lift away from her.

She pulled him back, tight against her.

He kissed her forehead. “We can't stay here forever.”

The onset of pain, the tears, the awful fracturing of her heart threatened her senses. She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him, her tongue tangled with his.

“
Non, ma petite,
” he whispered. “I must go.”

She slid her hand down his belly, wrapped her fingers around his hard arousal. “I need you one last time.”

 

 

The room was thick with silent emotion, her overpowering sadness counter to his exuberance as she watched him dress
.
He described the ship she would be sailing on, took pride in the details, as though the vessel were a living entity.

Of course he would be excited. She didn't think he noticed her quietude, most likely had no idea her heart was breaking. If the smiles she gave him had cracked and disintegrated like shattered glass, she wouldn't have been surprised. He had said he would be there when she sailed, so at least she had that much to look forward to. Perhaps the presence of the rest of the family gathered around would soften the blow.

He finished dressing, picked up his hat from the table, and gave her a hug. “Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you—since you'll be residing in the captain's quarters—there is a fireplace. You should be quite comfortable when you hit cold weather around the horn.”

He tugged the hat into place and made for the door.

She was to be in the captain's quarters? “What . . . what about the captain.Where will he stay?”

“I beg your pardon?” Trevor stopped at the open door, his hand on the knob.

She could already feel his absence. She fought tears. She wanted to scream. “Well, who is the captain? If proper introductions are to be made, I should know his name. And ... and where will he be staying if I am to take his quarters?”

She clasped her trembling hands to keep from wringing them, used every ounce of willpower to maintain an aloof and unconcerned air. She had asked for this pain. She did not have Dianah Morgan's mettle after all.

“Celine?” Her name was a whimsical question. “How can you not have guessed?” Slowly he removed his hat, bowed at the waist, and straightened, his eyes aglow. He replaced his hat and gave the brim a final tip her way.

Celine's jaw dropped. “You?”

“Whoever else would you share the captain's bed with,
ma petite?
” He blew her a kiss and headed jauntily down the stairs, calling up as he went.

The door closed behind him.

Weeks on board ship with her in his bed? Dear God, she couldn't possibly survive the pain when he deposited her in San Francisco and sailed off to China. Surely, her already fragile heart would shred.

 

 

Trevor stood on deck next to the priest and Cameron, watching the docks for Celine.

“Sir, I have no idea the strings you were able to pull to make this work,” the priest said. “You know how strict the church is about marriage banns.”