Emerald Ecstasy (26 page)

“She's gonna lose the little one,” Lallie whispered to Dera. “But it won't matter none cause Madam Amelie's dying.”

“She won't die!” Claude protested and wouldn't leave her side. He knelt by the bed and held her hand tightly.

Daniel touched him on the shoulder. “Who did this to her?” he asked, suddenly feeling as if Claude was Amelie's husband and he was the intruder.

“Bruno Haus,” Claude ground out. “I will find him and kill him.”

“Spare yourself the trouble. I'll do it for you.” With that remark, Daniel strode from the cabin and went to the house. He found his pistol and soon was on his mount, searching the countryside for Haus. When he found him, he'd shoot him down like the dog he was. This was all he could do for Amelie under the circumstances, and perhaps, this was the only way he would assuage his guilt over her.

After riding for an hour across the length and breadth of Green Meadows, he feared Haus had fled to a neighboring plantation. But as he rode into a thick, vine-covered area, the moonlight illumined the crouched figure of Bruno Haus. Daniel saw him but didn't want the man to know it, so he halted his horse and climbed down and carefully searched the underbrush, pretending he didn't see him only ten feet away. Daniel purposely turned his back and expected Haus to attack him. As soon as he heard him scurry from the bushes, Daniel turned and fired, catching Bruno unaware. A look of total surprise crossed the man's florid face. He held his hand across his chest and slumped to the ground.

From bleary eyes, he looked at Daniel. “She was a no-good whore, your wife. Slept with a slave.”

Bruno slumped forward, his life gone.

“No, you stupid bastard,” Daniel voiced and surveyed Bruno's body. “She was only a woman in love.”

For a brief moment, Amelie regained consciousness. The first face she saw was Claude's. She managed a smile, because at this moment she felt no pain. Just a strange peace.

“I love you, Claude,” she murmured and he bent low to hear her.

“Amelie…”

“Tell me.”

He groaned. “I love you, love you.”

She gasped, and he gathered her to him. “I'm not sorry for loving you,” she whispered and felt the life ebbing from her.

“Amelie, please get well. We'll run away, be together always.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks and onto her face, but Amelie had ceased to feel them.

“She's gone, son.” Lallie came forward.

Claude gazed at her beautiful, peaceful face and the wide blue eyes which didn't see him any longer. Gently he closed them and stood up. This suddenly cold body wasn't his Amelie. Amelie was somewhere else, waiting for him. He must find her.

Laying her carefully upon his bed, he turned. He didn't see his mother, Dera, the other women who clustered around, or his wife. Ella reached out to him, but he brushed past her and went out into the still night. It was a night meant for death, but Claude felt suddenly alive. Amelie waited for him.

Walking into the barn, he found a rope and strung it across a beam in Amie's stall. The horse nudged him, expecting an apple, but Claude absently patted her. Then he grabbed a stool.

“I'm coming to you, Amelie. I'm coming.”

Later that night Daniel discovered the lifeless body of his childhood friend.

Three days after Amelie's funeral, Daniel and Lianne sat in the parlor of the house in New Orleans and listened to Désirée as she sat upon the floor and made indistinguishable baby sounds. At one point, she did say “Mama,” delighting Lianne.

“Soon she'll call you papa,” she said to Daniel, hoping to elicit a smile from him.

He sat in contemplative silence, then realized she had spoken. “Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying much attention.”

Lianne sighed her understanding. “You've been under a great deal of pressure. I know Amelie's death was hard on you. Have you seen Philippe since the funeral?”

“No. I'm glad you didn't attend. He looked ready to kill me. He was broken up over Amelie, but he still wants you, Lianne.” Daniel would remember the sadness of the funeral all his life because it was a double one. He buried Claude next to Amelie in the family plot. In this way, they'd always be together.

Philippe didn't bother Lianne as much as Raoul de Lovis, but she didn't tell this to Daniel. She had never told him about her connection to Raoul, but it was hard not to remember she was the reason he had lost an eye, that she had nearly killed him.

“I have no fear of Philippe,” she said at length and sat Désirée next to them on the couch. She touched a curl on the child's dark head. “Désirée looks like you.”

Daniel bent down and kissed the curl plus the slender fingers which held it. “I love you both. As soon as I clear up Amelie's affairs, I'll bring you and our daughter to Green Meadows. We'll be married there.”

“I know your mother would like that, but, Daniel, I was married there to Philippe. I'd rather we were married here in this house which has known only our love. When we return to Green Meadows I'd like to already be your wife.”

“That may take a little while, but I'll see about hurrying your divorce along.”

They kissed. Love surrounded them in a golden haze. Daniel gazed at the woman he loved and wondered if he'd ever tire of looking at her, of desiring her. He doubted it.

Lianne knew she loved every angled plane of his face, the stormy eyes framed by dark lashes, and even the shock of raven hair which hung low over his forehead. In that moment she memorized every feature. Hints of doubt and fear surfaced. Would they be together? She prayed they would. She loved him with her whole heart. Her doubts vanished when he again claimed her lips.

“My nephew, you're not pleased with the news that Daniel has turned over Amelie's inheritance to you?”

Philippe eyed the document which Daniel had signed shortly after the funeral in cold contempt. “He thinks he has won,” he said to his uncle. “My poor sister rots in her grave, and her husband lusts after my wife. My wife,” he reiterated.

“But you were eager to dispose of Lianne and bow to my wishes.” Raoul studied Philippe critically.

“I should never have let you control me. I won't let you control me now!” Amelie's money gave Philippe a sense of power over his uncle. He didn't have to divorce Lianne now to receive a huge chunk of the money left by his parents. Daniel, for whatever reason, thought he was doing Philippe a favor by signing over Amelie's share of the money to him. Even Raoul couldn't interfere since the money had been bequeathed to Daniel as Amelie's husband.

“Ah, so you intend to win back your wife,” Raoul said.

“Oui,
I shall.”

“Won't you have to fight for her?”

“I suppose so.” Philippe shrugged. “I won't let Daniel Flanders have her.”

Raoul made a pretense of examining his nicely trimmed fingernails. “I believe you must do the honorable thing, Philippe, or risk others branding you a coward, a man who wouldn't fight for what is his.”

Raoul's about-face stunned Philippe. Only weeks before he had forced him to agree to a divorce. However, Philippe was filled with such a burning desire to have Lianne as his wife again that he didn't bother to analyze his uncle's words.

“I will win her back, uncle. I swear.”

Raoul nodded, pleased. When Philippe left the apartment on the Esplanade, a huge demonic laugh escaped the Spaniard. He shook his head and wondered how his sister had raised such stupid children. Amelie was to have been Raoul's pawn in securing Lianne, however, with her demise, nothing prevented Daniel from marrying Lianne. Except for Philippe. A man easily swayed to think what Raoul wished. And right now he wanted Philippe to engage Daniel in a duel and kill him. However, Raoul seriously doubted if Philippe could best Daniel, but then accidents did happen away from the dueling fields. Either way both of them would soon be out of the picture.

Taking a large puff from his cheroot, he watched the smoke rings rise above his head.

“Soon, Lianne. Very soon.”

Daniel waited in the audience that night while Lianne performed. The beauty of her voice never ceased to surprise him, and the open adulation the audience poured forth for her. She was now the lead soprano, and she had told Daniel that Monsieur Tabary was very pleased with her. Still she hadn't expected to sing the lead so quickly.

Lianne caught sight of his broad frame and dark head while she sang. She felt as if they were in Ireland at their first meeting and hoped this night would end in his strong arms, and this time she'd stay in his embrace and not run away.

She didn't see Philippe who waited in the back of the theater or know he carried a pistol beneath his coat. She had no way of knowing that as he watched her, he thought of Honorine, the opera singer he had loved and who betrayed him.

In his mind he ceased to hear his uncle's words about honor. As he watched Lianne perform, he remembered the night Honorine told him she didn't love him. He clutched at the butt of the pistol, full of suppressed rage. While Lianne sang, he didn't see her on the stage. He saw Honorine, and felt the need to punish the woman over again for not loving him.

When the performance ended, Philippe hid behind a piece of scenery and observed Lianne. He followed her to the dressing room and knew the time was at hand.

Sneaking behind her, he clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her protesting form from the back door of the theater into an alleyway. Then he threw her headlong into his carriage. He didn't worry about being seen and had no idea that Raoul had observed him as he stood in the back of the theater and charted his every move. However, this wasn't what Raoul had in mind, so he followed his nephew's carriage to the town house.

“Have you gone mad, Philippe?” Lianne asked, shaken and frightened that he'd beat her again.

“Quiet, Honorine! I don't want that singer you're sleeping with to follow us.”

“I'm not Honorine. And just where are we going?”

“Home,
chérie,”
he said almost affably.

Home, Lianne discovered was the town house, but she had expected this. A sinking feeling of dread overtook her, because she realized that Daniel had no idea where she had gone. Would he think to look for her here?

When the carriage stopped, Philippe dragged her into the house. She had expected all to be in darkness, but she found the candles had been lit and the furniture uncovered. Even the windows had been opened to allow the cool night breezes to waft through the rooms.

“All is ready for you,” Philippe said.

Lianne made an aborted attempt to flee, but Philippe halted her with a bruising hold on her wrist. “No, Honorine. You're mine now.”

“I'm not Honorine!” Lianne protested again. She guessed Philippe was insane, so she tried to use logic. “You can let me go. I won't tell anyone what you've done.”

“And what is that? I took my woman, my kept woman,” he reminded her.

“I'm your wife! I'm Lianne.”

He blinked and stared at her for a second. His brain cleared. Yes, she was Lianne. Not Honorine at all. But she had betrayed him like Honorine and must be punished. Honor, a question of honor. He heard his uncle's voice in his mind.

“Philippe, am I so much like Honorine that you'd harm me? Why did she kill herself?”

His skin resembled vanilla. “So, you've heard about her.”

She swore his voice trembled and this gave her some courage. “Did Honorine kill herself because of Chloe?”

His laugh chilled her. “Honorine accepted Chloe. Honorine was a tramp who sang with the opera. Beautiful, like you,
chérie.
But she was unfaithful to me, also like you. I gave her this house, bought her clothes, jewels. Then one day she told me she didn't love me, that I repulsed her. She was in love with a tenor.” He gave a derisive sneer. “The conniving little baggage had everything, but I couldn't live with her betrayal. There was only one thing to do. I poisoned her tea. The tart didn't know what happened to her.”

Fear glittered in Lianne's eyes. How could she have ever thought she cared for Philippe?

“She died in this room.” He pointed to the spot by the window on the floor. “That's where she fell.” Slowly he withdrew the pistol. “You don't want me either, Lianne, so I shall have to rid myself of you. I did want you back, but now … Well, I see it would never work. You look at me with loathing. The way Honorine did. You'll not suffer as long this way. Poison isn't a nice way to die, but I guarantee this shall be painless. Then when you're dead, I'll find Daniel and kill him, too. It a question of honor. You understand,
chérie?”

Philippe was mad! She had to get away. Slowly she walked toward him, gauging his expression. If she could reach the door, she'd dash into the darkness and he'd never find her.