Iron Lace (18 page)

"How nice of you to come out and greet me," he said with a
casualness that contrasted notably with her rush to the edge of the
gallery as he reached the top step.

"I thought you'd never come!" she exclaimed breathlessly,
all the while sweeping her eyes hungrily over his impressive figure in
its rust-brown riding habit and black jackboots. She longed to throw
herself into his arms and feel the hard reality of him once more!

"I didn't realize you were waiting so anxiously for my
return," he replied, continuing to be maddeningly unruffled in the face
of her effusive reception.

"I've been so worried!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear it." He smiled, beginning to enjoy
the first real evidence of concern he had ever seen her show for him.

"I mean
really
worried!" she assured
him emphatically.

"Well, if that's true, I'd say it was high time."

Anger and confusion crept into those wide gray eyes,
swollen from weeping and lack of sleep, as they focused accusingly on
him. "Then you just kept me hanging fire like this on purpose?"

"No, but since I didn't realize how upset you were, I
decided to take care of some business in New Orleans while I was there
so I wouldn't have to go back into town later on this week."

"Business? You could think of business at a time like
that? What about the duel? I was so afraid you might have
been… have been… You weren't hurt, were you?"
Once more her eyes anxiously scanned him from head to foot, searching
for signs of wounds.

"Fortunately, I wasn't," he assured her. "As you can see,
I'm still all in one piece."

"And… and Roget? He isn't… you
didn't… ?"

"I'm glad it's occurred to you to ask about him, too, for
although he did behave very badly the other night, you must admit you
led him into his predicament."

She blushed and lowered her eyes guiltily.

"I… I never meant for him to take me so
seriously."

"But you
were
flirting." His dark
eyes were uncomfortably penetrating at that moment.

She hesitated and then gave an impatient toss of her head.
"Perhaps a little," she admitted reluctantly, "but women do sometimes
flirt, don't they? I mean, that's all part of being a woman, isn't it?"

Vidal stifled his laughter. "Yes, I suppose you females
are given to having a little sport with us men from time to time," he
conceded, "but you shouldn't play the game unless you know the rules.
And might I add that the game is, as you said, for women, not children!"

She smarted under that observation but bit her tongue
since her curiosity was stronger than her pride at that moment.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what happened?" she
demanded impatiently.

"About the duel, you mean?" He was rather enjoying the
opportunity of finally being able to do a little taunting himself.

"Of course, the duel! My, but you can be exasperating!"

"Well, by ten a.m.
we were all assembled in the field back of the ramparts," he continued
calmly, seeming to savor the suspense he was causing in her.

"Yes, yes… will
you please
get to the outcome!"

"Well, just when we got to the point where our seconds, as
is the custom, asked us whether there was any possibility of
reconciling our differences without resorting to bloodshed, Roget
finally spoke up and acknowledged he'd been wrong. Rather shamefacedly,
he confessed he'd been imbibing all afternoon long at the fiesta and
blamed the wine for having made him forget how young you were by the
time the two of you had stepped out on the gallery. The upshot of it,
therefore, was that he offered me his apologies, and since he seemed
sincere, and I thought it best not to encourage a scandal, I decided to
accept them instead of going on with a senseless duel provoked by a
senseless girl."

Monique was relieved to learn that no duel had been
fought, after all, but she didn't appreciate that continual reference
to her as a silly child. She was in no position to object at that
moment, however, so she bit her tongue and followed her guardian into
the house, resolving to settle that particular point with him at some
later date.

Although Grandmother Chausson never knew about the
affaire
d'honneur
between Vidal and Roget, nor any of the
circumstances that had led up to it, the elderly woman was,
nevertheless, pleasantly surprised by her granddaughter's sudden
recovery from her vapors and her obvious improvement in deportment
thereafter. At least the girl was a little more subdued for the
remainder of their stay at the plantation that summer.

Monique did confide the truth of what had happened,
however, to Celeste, but only after she made her younger sister take
their "sacred oath" not to repeat a word of it to Mémère or anyone else.

After listening with wide, incredulous eyes to the entire
tale, Celeste had sighed and exclaimed, "Oh, Monique, do you realize
Cousin Miguel was going to risk his life in a duel over you? Why, he
could have been wounded or—or even killed!"

"Oh, they settled it without even firing a shot," she
replied airily, reluctant to admit even to her sister how worried she
had really been.

Suddenly Celeste giggled. "I'll wager Azema didn't like it
any when she knew Cousin Miguel was fighting a duel with Claude Roget
because of you!"

Monique's large, clear eyes lit up, and she began to
laugh. She hadn't thought of that particular aspect of what, until
then, had been a rather tragic incident in her seemingly dramatic young
life, but now that Celeste had suggested it, the idea pleased her
enormously.

During
the weeks that followed, Vidal made very few trips to the
city. Now that it was September, the time had come to plant his first
crop of sugarcane. The cuttings were laid out in the furrows and then
well covered with soil at a depth that would ensure them ample
protection against any hurricanes or frosts that might threaten them
during the long fall and winter months ahead. It wouldn't be until the
spring before the cane would really begin to grow, but then it would
shoot up by leaps and bounds.

He had decided to make arrangements with one or two nearby
planters whose crops were failing to pay them for the services of their
idle field hands during the month or two when he would need extra help
with the planting and perhaps later for the harvest in the fall of the
following year. Heaven knows, there were more than enough bankrupt
planters around Louisiana these days only too happy to make a little
extra money to help tide them over until their conditions improved. The
rest of the time, Miguel felt, Roselle could manage well enough with
the hands they already had.

He took the girls around with him once or twice so they
could see how the cane was being planted in the furrows and learn some
of the pertinent details about the process, but for the most part, with
so much activity and strange workers on the grounds, he preferred them
to stay closer to the main house now. It was time to move back to their
town house for the fall season anyway.

When Miguel announced that Don Andre's Almonester, the
richest man in the colony, was planning a ball to open the social
season the last day of the month, Monique and Celeste were unbearably
excited.

As far as Vidal was concerned, about the only advantage of
making the town house headquarters again was that he would be nearer
his business contacts, since just about anyone of importance could be
found in the city during the social season.

Of course, he had to admit that the fact that Azema's open
arms would be more readily accessible to him was a pleasant enough
prospect in itself. Henri's sister was a tantalizing wench who knew how
to keep a man satisfied, especially in the bedchamber. Although
sometimes there seemed to be an almost calculated perfection in her
passionate lovemaking—a perfection born of years of
experience in the art—there was, nevertheless, always the
feeling of a certain challenge… as though each time he made
love to her it was a conquest. For Azema was the type of woman who had
that independent air about her which made love a sport. No matter how
many times he had possessed her in the past, she always made him feel
he had to win her anew whenever he wanted her favors again.

She had been furious over his near duel with Roget because
of Monique, but, as he reminded her, he had never made any secret of
the fact that his two wards would always have to come first with him.

Of course, she had been quite right when she'd observed
that he really had no need whatsoever to be spending so much of his
time and energy cultivating a plantation when he had more than enough
money of his own to permit him to spend the rest of his days doing
exactly as he pleased, enjoying his leisure and pursuing more pleasant
occupations, preferably with her.

Almonester's ball presented a problem for Vidal. He knew
Monique and Celeste would never forgive him if he didn't take them, yet
Azema had every right to expect him to escort her. She had been fuming
ever since he had told her he'd already committed himself to his wards
for that occasion.

When he suggested that perhaps she could go along with
them, Azema only became angrier, declaring she had no intention of
trailing along with him and his troublesome wards as though she were
some kind of nursemaid. She reminded him that she could easily find
someone else to accompany her from among the many other admirers she
had been neglecting of late because of him, and Vidal was becoming so
weary of her fussing and fuming that he was about to tell her to go
ahead and do so. As a last resort, however, he appealed to Henri to
help him out of his dilemma.

Ducole found the whole situation rather amusing and,
knowing his sister, readily sympathized with Vidal.

"Go ahead and escort those spoiled brats of yours to the
ball," he said with a laugh. "You can rest easy. I'll take Zee with me,
and we'll meet there. But you'd better make it up to her once you're at
the ball and attend her well, or there will be the devil to pay, if I
know my sister. As for me, I'll be too busy trying to find myself a
partner for the night—and I don't mean just for dancing, my
friend—so don't expect much help from me once I get Zee to
Don Andres's for you."

With her brother's coaxing added to Vidal's, Azema finally
agreed to the arrangement, but meanwhile she insisted that he spend
more time with her than ever. As a result, his liaison with Azema
became more evident than ever to his observing wards.

Not that he didn't try to be discreet. Out of respect to
Grandmother Chausson and his wards, Miguel never passed a night away
from the town house when he was supposed to have been there, leaving
his more intimate visits to the Ducoles for either the beginning or the
end of each of his excursions to Le Rêve. He felt the subterfuge was
justified, although he had no intention of lying about it. If the
subject came up, he was prepared to admit with complete openness that
he had gone to the Ducoles', but in the meantime he saw no need to
volunteer information. After all, he really owed no explanation to
anyone for his personal movements.

Unfortunately, however, his testy little wards were
already much more aware of his comings and goings than he could ever
imagine. It was difficult for a man like Vidal, accustomed to moving
about freely in cities the size of Madrid, Paris, and Rome, to remember
how small and intimate New Orleans was by comparison. All it took was
the sight of him riding by in the Ducole carriage with Azema by his
side a day earlier than he was expected back in town, or a few
indiscreet remarks from someone met at mass or while shopping, to keep
the girls informed.

His ward's renewed hostility puzzled Vidal. Monique seemed
to have forgotten all too soon her repentance of less than two months
before. For a while he had begun to hope that the truce between them
might have become permanent. Yet here she was defiant again, and he
wondered what could have brought about that latest change in her.

To make matters worse, he knew Maurice Foucher would
probably be at the ball, but there was no way he could strike the boy's
name off Almonester's list as he had done when the girls had given
their fiesta at the plantation.

From the very outset, the night of the Almonester ball
forecast trouble. As far as Vidal was concerned, he dreaded the entire
affair, but there was little he could do to avoid it without making
matters worse.

To complicate things further, it was threatening rain, and
the girls fretted the whole way to the party that it might be pouring
down before the night was over and their elegant new gowns would be
ruined.

At least Vidal had to admit that, if there was any
pleasant aspect to the evening, it was the way his "pampered darlings",
as Azema and Henri always referred to them, looked that night. He had
never seen them lovelier.

Monique looked more desirable than ever with her abundant
spun-gold hair spilling into a shimmering cascade down to her
shoulders, and the full swell of her ripening breasts boldly pushing
past the futile barrier of the discreetly draped neckline of her pale
green muslin gown. A tiny bouquet of pink satin roses bobbed
coquettishly atop the pert bustle where the full skirt of her gown was
caught up by the bow of a darker green velvet sash to mark the
delightful curve of her back.

When he saw her like that, hope sprang anew in him.
Perhaps he would soon be able to leave off being her guardian and woo
her as a woman. How he longed for the day when he could take her boldly
into his arms and share at last with her that burning passion he
carried deep within his being for her!

Even little Celeste, a copy of her older sister in pale
lavender, with a dainty bouquet of satin forget-me-nots set in the bow
of her matching velvet sash, seemed several years older than her
fifteen summers that night as she proudly held her elaborate
arrangement of chestnut-colored curls high for all to see.