Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (16 page)

      
She whirled on him in murderous fury. “If I hear that expression one more time I think I'll vomit! 'A proper Creole wife’ is a mindless, simpering ninny who never does anything without consulting her male relatives! You knew I wasn't like that before you married me and I'll never change.”

      
“As a man of honor, I had little enough choice in the matter of marrying you, madam,” he said coldly.

      
Her first impulse was to slap his face, that beautiful aristocratic face she loved so, but tears suddenly blurred her vision. She turned and stepped into the carriage before he could assist her.

      
Rafael saw her stiffen in pain at his cruel remark. Why did she always make him so blindly furious that he said things he did not mean? He climbed inside after her, expecting to be subjected to a sea of weeping. Once more he had underestimated her. Unlike his mother and sister, unlike most all “proper Creole women,” Deborah did not weep. She sat rigidly still, forcing back the tears and staring out the opposite window, chin held proudly high.

      
She was different and impossible, and he had never desired her as much as he did at that moment. However, he fought the surge of irrational emotion with pride and anger of his own. No woman would rule his life and humiliate him in front of his friends.

      
The short carriage ride to Royal Street seemed an eternity as the silence thickened.

Chapter Nine

      
Dinner Sunday evening was subdued. Lenore had been thoroughly chastised by her parents for accompanying Deborah that afternoon. Georges Beaurivage had made certain Claude and Celine heard about how he had snatched his fiancée from the jaws of social disgrace. As for Rafael and Deborah, their silence at the table told all wordlessly.

      
After dinner father and son shared cigars and Madeira in the study. Observing Rafael's bleak countenance, Claude took a long pull on his cigar and exhaled, then spoke in measured tones. “I think, my dear boy, the honeymoon is over. You've made a bad bargain; but, alas, one you must live with. If you get her breeding, she will at least have something to occupy herself with besides creating scandals.” He paused and looked levelly at his son.

      
“No, she's not pregnant,” Rafael replied with an aggravated sigh. “But I'm certain she soon will be.”

      
The older man gave a characteristically Gallic snort of derision. “So was I assured with your mother. A lot of good it did me. One miscarriage after the other. In thirty years of marriage, it's a miracle I have one son.”

      
Rafael ground out his cigar and replied angrily, “I realize that now it's up to me to carry on the Flamenco name, at least on this side of the color line.”

      
“Speaking of our other families, have you visited Lily since your return?” Claude interjected smoothly. “It might prove quite therapeutic for you to do so.”

      
Rafael's face did not lose its scowl, but he did shrug with ironic resignation. “No, I have been putting off that diversion in favor of doing my duty, Papa. I've slept with my wife every night.”

      
Once more, Claude barked a snort of derisive laughter, then fixed his son with keen black eyes. “I think if you stop trying so hard and ‘divert’ yourself instead, it might just mend the situation all the way around.”

      
“Perhaps you're right,” Rafael replied quietly, “perhaps you're right...”

* * * *

      
Deborah spent a miserable evening, waiting for Rafael to come to their quarters, wanting to mend the ugly rift between them. She had been grievously hurt when he had said he was forced into the marriage, but they were married and she loved him desperately. For the first time, she considered the possibility that he might not really love her at all, but it was simply too much for her to bear. Temper and Creole pride had led him to say those hurtful things to her this afternoon. He did not—could not have meant that he regretted their marriage.

      
She laid out a beautiful gray silk peignoir with black lace trim and took a long, scented bath. However, after several hours of restless waiting in her seductive finery, it became apparent that her husband had gone out for the evening. But where? To Davis’ casino again? Perhaps it was another father and son debauch. She decided to search out Lenore and see what she knew.

      
“Didn't Rafael say anything to you before he left?” Lenore asked. Her blue eyes were veiled, as she attempted to hide her discomfort. At Deborah's negative reply, Lenore added, “Well, Papa's still here, but that doesn't mean my brother couldn't have gone to a card room or to play billiards by himself. He often does—or down to the river to shoot with some of his friends.”

      
Deborah gave a disbelieving look. “In the dark? It's past ten, Lenore. No, he's probably at that accursed casino.”

      
“Yes, I'm sure that's it,” Lenore agreed a bit too readily.

      
Deborah looked at her sister-in-law and had the uneasy feeling that she knew something more than she was telling. Had he gone to a bordello? Surely a gently reared girl like Lenore wouldn't know about such a thing; but then in this alien culture, who knew what went on! Celine certainly seemed willing to ignore a great deal where Claude was concerned. Deborah, however, was prepared to ignore nothing.

* * * *

      
Lily watched the carriage pull up and recognized the tall figure who descended. He had sent her a note hours ago and she had been eagerly awaiting him.
Thank heaven he has finally come to me.
Lily had heard through the servants' grapevine that Rafael had a wife, a silver blond Yankee with an icy Boston manner. She had been instantly thrown into a panic, for he had always said he was in no hurry to marry. Indeed, since the age of nineteen, he had put off his mother's matchmaking with dismissive good humor.

      
Now, unexpectedly, he was wed. Too proud to go and look for herself, Lily nevertheless listened when the servants gossiped about the young Madame Flamenco’s exotic coloring. They assured her that Deborah was skinny and plain, but she feared the worst. Rafael must have been besotted to defy his family for her. Sometimes, after he married, a Creole man gave up his mistress and pensioned her off to satisfy the demands of his wife, especially if it was a love match.

      
For days, Lily waited fearfully for a dismissal. Then, when none came and her regular allowance did, she waited joyously for her lover to return to their house on Rampart Street. After a few weeks, anticipation and disappointment turned her mercurial temperament waspish. Then, early that evening a message had finally arrived. Lily checked her appearance in the mirror again. Sleek pompadour faultlessly coiffed, huge dark gold eyes fringed with thick black lashes, small, exquisite features set serenely. She ran a hand down the rose satin peignoir, pleased at her still-tiny waist after two birthings.

      
The small, elegantly furnished living room was prepared for him with his favorite cigars and a fine white Bordeaux laid out, along with a late night supper of iced shellfish, cold roast squab, and crusty bread with assorted cheeses. The covers had been turned down on the big bed in the next room where a scented candle flickered enticingly.

      
“
Cheri
,” she whispered, as he opened the door and stepped inside. Standing on tiptoe she pulled him down into a languorous, slow kiss.

      
I'd forgotten how tiny she is
. He bent down to embrace her. “You still smell of jasmine,” he said, nibbling her ear.

      
“Have you missed me, darling?” She took his hands and drew him into the living room. “Sit and I'll pour you some wine.”

      
As he reclined on the large overstuffed sofa cushions, she placed his feet on a velvet ottoman and pulled his shoes off, then lit his cigar. He let his eyes trail over the rich interior of Lily's small house, noting that she had purchased a new silver tea service, gleaming dully on the mahogany table in the corner. The rich maroon and deep blues of the Turkey carpet and velvet upholstered furniture created an atmosphere of darkness and languor. There was too much furniture and bric-a-brac, but then Lily had always been a collector. He smiled in tolerant amusement as she fussed over him. “I have something for you,” he said, pulling a case from his jacket pocket.

      
She let out a small squeal of delight and opened the case. The gleaming ivory took her breath away. It was a necklace, heavy and intricate, made of a series of whale's teeth, each etched beautifully. Besides the necklace, there were several exquisite combs with the same delicate ivory carving on them and a pair of long whale's tooth earrings that matched the other pieces.

      
“Oh, Rafael, it's magnificent, like nothing I've ever seen,” she breathed, reaching over to kiss him.

      
“The New England whalers call it scrimshaw.” He watched her preen before the mirror, trying the earrings and necklace on, fitting the combs into her midnight tresses. When she finished her delighted inspection, she placed the heavy jewelry back into its case and came over to kiss him like a child who had won a long absent parent's attention.

      
She was afraid I’d leave her when she heard about Deborah
. The thought suddenly struck him. Until now, he'd never bothered to consider her reaction to his marriage. He'd sent her allowance as usual, but it had never entered his mind to send her word explaining his plans. In fact, he had never planned ahead at all. He had always assumed that marriage would not impinge on keeping a mistress. With a Creole wife there would have been no question of it. He thought fleetingly of Deborah's reaction and dismissed the idea from his mind. She and Lily scarcely ran in the same social circles! Rafael stubbed out his cigar and emptied his wineglass. “Come here.”

      
She obeyed with alacrity, like an obedient puppy, but her soft, skillful body reminded him more of a sinuous little cat. She slithered up alongside him and began to run her small pink tongue and lips across his jaw, then down his neck, while her busy fingers unfastened his shirt studs and pulled the front open. Then her hands and mouth caressed his chest. As she kissed and nipped, she slipped off his jacket and shirt. Slowly, languidly she leaned back and began to unfasten her robe, letting the hissing satin slip down around her hips. He reached over and slid the thin straps of her gown from her shoulders. She helped him, twisting free of its confines until her large, rounded breasts spilled out so he could grasp them in his hands.

      
He teased and kneaded her ripe flesh until she moaned as her brown nipples hardened. At his smile of satisfaction, she moved her hands to the waistband of his trousers, releasing the belt and then unbuttoning his fly. “Now, lie back, Rafael,” she whispered, pushing him to a reclining position on the sofa. Her small fingers eased his swollen shaft from the imprisonment of the tight pants. She felt his body stiffen and heard his soft gasp of pleasure as she took the hardened member in her hot little mouth. He forced the tension from his body and relaxed, letting her pleasure him, clearing his mind of all thought, all women but this one. His release was sudden and swift under her practiced ministrations, but the night was young and they had time for much, much more in the big soft bed in the next room.

      
Lily lifted herself triumphantly, like a small, regal cat, preening before her master. “Your pale Yankee wife could never please you like that!”

      
His face, which had been softened in satiation, turned instantly harsh and shuttered. “I am not in the habit of discussing my wife with my mistress, Lily,” he said coldly.

      
Eyes downcast and mouth midway between trembling and pouting, she stood up and slipped the peignoir back on, then went to have the houseboy bring water for him. While he cleansed himself quickly in the basin of warm water, Lily brought him a black silk robe from the armoire and helped him into the comfortable garment. As she reached around his narrow waist for the belt, he ran his fingers through her hair. It was straight and thick, blue-black and glossy. He often looked at her slightly slanted eyes and high cheekbones, wondering about her rumored Cherokee ancestor. There was a faint golden glow to her skin, but with seven-eighths of her blood being white, her complexion was, in fact, paler than his own.

      
They shared some wine and ate the light repast as he answered her questions about Boston and his journey on the
Blue Lightning
, omitting, of course, any mention of Deborah. Finally, he said, “Enough of my trip. Now tell me about Melanie.” His black eyes scanned her face for some signs of maternal affection. “Does she do well with her school-work?”

      
Lily waved the question aside carelessly, saying, “Of course, she is quite bright. What would you expect? She is your daughter.”

      
“Why don't you let her stay here, Lily? I could hire a tutor and have a chance to see her more often.”

      
Lily's face froze and she seized Rafael's hands, beseeching him. “No, she is far happier in St. Louis with my mother. She has the finest tutors.” Her huge gold eyes filled with tears and her tiny hands tightened over his larger ones.

      
“I—I cannot have her here since my Francois died. I cannot, Rafael! I wanted to give you sons, not daughters.”

      
“We could have another son, Lily,” he said patiently.

      
She shook her head frantically. “No! No, I could not bear it, to have another little boy and hold him while he dies of the accursed fever, no! No more children, Rafael, please. I will do anything for you—anything to please you. I love you, but do not ask for more children!”