“What has Delacroix done to earn your uncle’s undying gratitude and complete trust, Anne?”
Jeffrey’s mouth was quite close to Anne’s ear. His tone was snide, accusing. Her first impulse was to push him away, but she checked the urge with considerable effort and decided to tell him an abbreviated version of the truth. “A couple of weeks ago, I went to Congo Square to watch the dancers.”
His look was reproachful. “You did? You never told
me!”
“No, I was embarrassed. I ran into problems on the way home and Delacroix rescued me.”
Now he was incredulous. “From what? What could that dandy possibly rescue you from? A small dog he beat with his cane?”
Anne kept her gaze fixed on the stage. “No. A rather
large
man tried to … er … seduce me. Delacroix punched him in the face.”
There was a pause, then the words burst out. “I don’t believe it! We
are
talking about the same man, aren’t we?
Delacroix?”
“The very same,” Anne replied, keeping her voice carefully inexpressive. “Now, if you don’t mind, Jeffrey, I’d like to listen to the—”
“Lord, it sounds as if you’re smitten with the fellow!” Out of the comer of her eye she saw him cross his arms and slump in his seat like an angry child.
She couldn’t resist baiting him a little. “I
do
like him.”
“He’s a slave owner, Anne! A care-for-nobody fribble with as much backbone as a snake.”
“He’s not so bad after you get to know him. Besides, some snakes look nasty, but are perfectly harmless, while other snakes look harmless, and are actually
quite
nasty. Appearances can be so deceiving.” She lifted her opera glasses to her face and leaned forward, pretending to pay rapt attention to the performers on stage and effectively conveying her wish to be left alone.
She felt Jeffrey glaring at her in the semidark. She imagined he was at a loss to know why she was suddenly so unsociable, when before she’d been almost too friendly. He sank into a sulky silence. This suited her exactly. She wanted to think. She was stunned by the revelations of the evening and had had no time to assemble them into some reasonable order. It seemed incredulous, but Delacroix truly
was
Renard!
It seemed logical for Renard to have assumed such an extreme opposite persona in public. No one would ever suspect Dandy Delacroix of risking his neck to free a handful of slaves. Anne couldn’t imagine now how she’d overlooked the similarities between the two men for so long. But nothing was as clear as hindsight.
At the next intermission Jeffrey departed, leaving no question in Anne’s mind that he was angry and jealous. Upstaged by Renard, he’d fabricated an adventure that cast him in the star role of hero. Anne allowed herself a faint smile, imagining how Jeffrey would react if he knew that Renard and Delacroix were the same man.
Katherine fidgeted and sighed heavily throughout the whole performance, seeing and hearing as little as Anne did. Their enjoyment of the opera was nullified by other considerations. Katherine wanted to get home to Reggie, and Anne looked eagerly forward to—and dreaded—the ride home in the carriage with Delacroix. It would be agony and ecstasy. He’d be so close, yet so out of reach.
She allowed herself a glance across the room at Bodine’s box, but it was too dark to see Delacroix sitting there. She sighed. She looked forward to the day when she could gaze at him in the light. To make love to him in the light. To open her heart to him and share his deepest thoughts in the light. That day would come, she vowed, if it was the last thing she ever did.
Lucien knew he had business to attend to with Bodine, but ever since he had returned to his seat, his thoughts were full of Anne, nothing but Anne. He kept remembering the look on her face when she realized he was Renard. There had been shock, certainly, but not the horrified disbelief Lucien had feared. It seemed Anne was bright enough to realize that Dandy Delacroix was also part of the masquerade. She ought to realize, too, though, that she had never really come to know the real man behind both disguises. Lucien ruefully acknowledged that even he didn’t know exactly who that man really was.
Standing so close to Anne in the box, holding her hand and kissing it, had been torture. He had yearned for her for the past several days, but even his precious and poignant memories of their night together hadn’t prepared him for the reality of actually touching her. He wanted her more than ever.
He was formulating a plan to get her alone tonight, his mind consumed by thoughts of kissing Anne, holding her, making love to her…
Lucien sighed, passing a shaky hand over his forehead. That was the problem. Anne was a distraction he couldn’t afford as long as he had business as Renard. But—damn it!—he was in too deep to turn back now. He had to see Anne. He had to be with her.
He gritted his teeth, promised himself that he would see her later, then determinedly made Renard’s business a priority. With his eyes fixed on the stage, Lucien said, “I have a proposition for you, Bodine.”
He felt Bodine shift in his chair. He’d been dozing through a particularly exquisite aria. “What kind of proposition?” he inquired in a thick voice. He yawned hugely, not bothering to cover his mouth with his hand. “If it’s got something to do with that money I won from you last night, I’m not taking anything but cold cash.”
Lucien assumed an offended tone. “You know I’m good for it. In fact, I’ve got it on my person and had planned to hand it over to you directly after the performance.”
“Then what’s the problem? Why are you offering me some sort of proposition?”
“We’re friends. I just thought I might make things more interesting for you. I know your tastes. Wouldn’t you prefer a warm body over cold cash?”
Bodine grunted derisively. “I can get all the warm bodies I want. If not on my estate, there’s Sadie’s brothel.”
“But you told me yourself, you hate paying for it.”
“I never do, unless Sadie’s got a virgin. Virgins are worth paying for.”
“That’s how I thought you’d feel. Just how much is one worth to you, Bodine?” Lucien turned his head. He’d caught Bodine’s attention. The lights from the stage reflected in his bleary eyes—eyes that were suddenly sharp with avarice.
“Are you suggesting I forfeit what you owe me for a virgin you’ve got tucked away somewhere?”
“Exactement
.”
Bodine licked his lips. “How do I know she’s worth it? Before I commit myself to this little proposition of yours, you’ll have to show her to me.”
Lucien laughed. “This is not a contract, Bodine. This is just one night of rutting,
n’est-ce pas?”
“I want my money’s worth. You owe me a lot. Never seen you play so ham-handed before.”
“You can’t see the girl. She doesn’t arrive on Bocage till tomorrow.”
“She doesn’t arrive? She’s a new slave, then?”
“
Oui
.”
“How old?”
“Barely old enough to have her menses. I know you like them young, as well as virginal.”
“What does she look like?”
“Slim as a reed, but with wonderful breasts. Her skin is a little lighter than creamed coffee. Her face is oval, her nose straight, her lips full and red.” Lucien flicked a speck of lint off his jacket sleeve. “I’m quite sure you’ll like her.”
Lucien heard Bodine swallow. In a husky voice he said, “If she’s such a prize, why don’t you take her?”
“I told you before, I have a mistress. Besides, I don’t like children in my bed. However, my sexual tastes are not under discussion at the moment. Yours are. I’m offering you quite a treat, but if you aren’t interested…” He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of dismissal.
Bodine rose to the bait. “Damn it, Delacroix,” he growled, “You know damned well I’m interested. But she’d better be all you’ve made her out to be, or I’ll want the full amount of the gaming debt, too. Do you understand?”
“Certainement
. I’m not worried. You’ll be satisfied. She’s a jewel.” He turned away, lifting his opera glasses to his face.
Frustrated by Delacroix’s offhand attitude, Bodine snarled, “When, then? When can I have her?”
“Tomorrow night, there’s a ball at Rosedown—”
“So?”
“Meet me there. As you know, Rosedown is the closest neighboring plantation to Bocage. After late supper is served, I’ll take you to Bocage and direct you to the right cabin. By that time of night, the other slaves will be in their bunks and asleep, for the most part. I’ll isolate the girl, but it’s always best to keep these things as quiet as possible. It peeves the other slaves when young girls are raped.”
“I don’t like the use of that word.”
Lucien lowered the glasses and gave Bodine a sweet smile. “I had no notion you were so prim about your vocabulary.”
“I could care less what your ‘notions’ are, Delacroix. Just don’t disappoint me tomorrow night, or you’ll be everlastingly sorry. Understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Applause thundered through the house. The performers were taking their bows, curtain call after curtain call. Bodine left without a word of good-bye. Lucien waited for the lights to come on, then he stood up and brushed off his sleeves with energy, as if ridding himself of the vile contamination of Bodine’s company. He felt filthy. There was a foul burning in his throat. He couldn’t wait to get outside, into the fresh air, into the pure presence of the woman he desired more than anything.
He smiled at the thought of Anne, his heart thrilling at the prospect of sharing his carriage with her. He’d hoped for a little more time before she figured out who he was, but tonight she’d taken one good look at him and had known.
So she might as well know all, he decided as he strode down the hall to Katherine’s opera box. And, if Katherine cooperated, he was going to spend a little time alone with Anne. He’d never made love in a carriage, but the idea had considerable potential. He couldn’t help himself—his steps lengthened.
E
ven though Anne was sure it was as spacious as all other vehicles of the same type, the carriage seemed minuscule. And all its perceived tiny corners were filled with the presence of Delacroix, making his nearness almost unbearable for her. Her full skirts and Katherine’s crowded the space between the seats, forcing him to stretch his legs to the side. There was a lighted lamp inside the carriage, and Anne enjoyed several surreptitious glances at those incredible long legs of his.
The trip to Prytania Street was slow-going behind dozens of other opera fans, but they would eventually arrive at the Grimms mansion, and Anne dreaded the inevitable end to such agonizing bliss.
There was so much they needed to say to each other, so many questions Anne wanted to ask! But with Katherine in the carriage, it was impossible to speak freely. Most of all, Anne wanted to touch Delacroix. That was the hardest part—not touching him when he was so close.
And Katherine did not help Anne through the ordeal by keeping up her usual chatter. She was distracted, worried about Reggie. She seemed hardly to notice with whom she shared the carriage, and spent most of the time staring out the window, counting off the landmarks till they got home.
“Did you like the opera, Mademoiselle Weston?”
Anne was startled to note that Delacroix had abandoned his usual lazy drawl. The clear, melodic tones thrilled her. He sounded like Renard. Her heart beat faster than ever, the blood surging through her veins. She snatched a glance at Katherine, but her aunt was too preoccupied to notice and comment on the sudden change of rhythm in Delacroix’s voice. Nevertheless, Anne thought he was taking unnecessary risks by not keeping strictly in character. Katherine was no dolt.
“I always enjoy anything by Rossini.” She paused, toying with a dangerous notion of her own—innuendo. “Tonight was the most exciting performance I’ve ever experienced.”
One dark brow climbed to a roguish peak. “Indeed? The most exciting … er … performance you’ve
ever
experienced, mademoiselle?”
She blushed. She hadn’t meant for him to take the double meaning quite so far. “On the stage, sir,” she answered demurely. His eyes gleamed in the lantern-glow, black and devilish.
“I hope you won’t think I’m too forward, sir—” she began, breaking the charged silence.
“You
, mademoiselle? Too
forward?”
He feigned shock.
She tried to subdue a saucy smile, failing utterly. “I was just wondering if you would mind if I call you by your Christian name.”
He smiled back at her, slid a glance at the inattentive Katherine, then looked back to Anne. He leaned confidingly close. Anne’s breath caught. He smelled vital, masculine, clean. Like that night in the cabin. Her stomach tightened; her throat went dry. “Do you think it proper to call me by my first name, Mademoiselle Weston? It implies an … intimacy,
n’est-ce pas?”
Anne swallowed. Nervous, she licked her lips. He watched her avidly. This close watchfulness did nothing for her composure. “We are friends, Mr. Delacroix.” She paused, then coyly returned his own frequently used catchphrase.
“N’est-ce pas?”
He sat back against the carriage squabs, fluctuations of light and shadow from outside the window passing over his chiseled features. A faint smile played about his lips. “Yes, we are the best of friends. I saved you from a lech, didn’t I?” he finished with an ironic smile.
Then he waited, building Anne’s anticipation. He was a master at withholding, she thought ruefully, building her to peaks of excitement before giving her what she wanted. Hadn’t he proven that in the cabin? But the wait had been well worth it. “Please do call me Lucien.”
“Lucien,” she repeated, rolling the sibilant sound over her tongue like melted chocolate. She had always liked his name, even when she considered him a scoundrel. When she suddenly realized how besotted she might appear, she snatched another glance at Katherine. This time her aunt was paying attention. She shifted an inquiring look between her and Lucien.
Lucien, always ready to do his part, looked perfectly unconcerned and harmless. Anne endeavored to appear just as nonchalant. She was rewarded for her efforts when Katherine’s face relaxed. But only for a minute. Her aunt’s puzzled look was replaced by one of worry. She got right to the point.
“I’m concerned about your uncle.”
“I know you are, Aunt Katherine. I’m a little worried, too. But I think Uncle Reggie’s just got a headache, as he said.”
“You know how protective he is of us … of
you
, that is. He’s never left us in a public place before.”
“And he wouldn’t have tonight if Mr. Delacroix hadn’t been available to take us home. He was prepared to sit through the entire opera with that wretched headache.”
Katherine’s face softened with tenderness. She sighed. “I know. Such foolish nincompoopery!”
Anne glanced out the window. They were turning onto their street. She tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice for her aunt’s sake. “We’re almost home. In less than five minutes, we’ll have scouted down James and know exactly how Uncle Reggie’s doing. Maybe his headache’s gone by now, and he’s waiting up for us.”
This idea cheered Katherine considerably. She immediately grabbed handfuls of her skirt, ready to leap out of the carriage even before the horses drew to a complete halt. Anne turned her attention back to Lucien. She expected him to look as wistful as she felt, as disappointed as she was for the quickly approaching conclusion to their forced togetherness. Instead he looked exultant, eager. His eyes glimmered like wet coal, so black, so full of … mischief? What was he up to?
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop. Too impatient to wait for the coachman to open the door, Katherine reached for the handle. Lucien beat her to it, turned the latch, and stepped outside, reaching up for Katherine’s hand to assist her in getting out. Katherine took his hand and stepped down, but just as she was about to pass him and head willy-nilly for the front door, he detained her.
Still clasping her hand, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. Katherine listened for perhaps half a minute, shook her head vigorously, then stretched on her toes to whisper something back. When she appeared to try to step away, he detained her and whispered in her ear again. Judging by the stiff manner in which Katherine held herself, she didn’t like, or didn’t agree with, whatever Lucien was saying.
Anne found this intense exchange most intriguing. What on earth were they arguing about? If nothing else, it was rather rude to talk secretly in plain sight of a third party! But they continued to whisper till Katherine’s shoulders drooped slightly, as if she were giving in.
Then, without a backward glance, she marched down the walkway toward the front door. Lucien ignored Anne’s outstretched hand and called up to the coachman, “Drive down River Road till I rap three times, George, then head back here at a leisurely pace.” He got in the carriage, shut the door behind him, and pulled down the leather shades on both sides, enclosing them in complete privacy. Then he sat back and smiled wickedly.
“Close your mouth,
cher,”
he advised her.
She took his advice, overcome by the implications of what had just occurred. “You’re kidnapping me?”
“Regrettably, only for a short while.”
“What could you have possibly told my aunt to have persuaded her to let me go with you?”
“It wasn’t easy. She’s miffed with me.”
She gave a short, nervous laugh. “This is most—”
He crossed his arms, grinning like a satyr. “Improper?”
Her fan slipped through nerveless fingers and clattered on the carriage floor. “If Reggie finds out—”
“Reggie is most probably snoring away in bed. James will have dosed him with a sleeping potion.”
“But if he’s not asleep, and waiting up for us—”
“That’s unlikely. And if he
is
waiting up, Katherine’s prepared to tell him the truth.”
Anne leaned forward. Her lips could barely form the words. “The
truth?
But—”
“Your aunt knows all about us.”
Anne’s voice rose to a squeak. “She knows that we …
made love?”
“Yes.”
“She knows who you are?”
“Yes.”
“But… but
how?”
Lucien leaned forward and traced her cheek with his knuckle. Anne felt a shiver run down her spine. “Your aunt knew that Dandy Delacroix and Renard were the same man from the beginning. In fact, she helped me set up the operation and is an integral part of it. Have you never wondered about the clockwork regularity of your aunt’s visits to a certain Madame Tussad? And their solitary nature? She always goes alone, as you may recall.”
“I assumed it was charity, or a long-standing friendship she didn’t want to share with anyone else.”
“Madame Tussad is Armande’s cousin.”
“Oh!”
“Sometimes we meet there together. Other times pertinent information is simply passed along. Your aunt has been very valuable to me, and to the cause. Someday you must get her to tell you all she’s done. Mostly she’s a strategist and strong moral support. In short, she’s a brave and brilliant woman.”
Anne’s reticule slipped from her grasp and fell next to her fan, and she plopped back against the carriage cushions. Amused, Lucien picked up her dropped articles and placed them in a far corner of the seat. “Good God,” she murmured, truly shocked. “This is too much to take in in one night. First to find out that you have been living a double life, one as a man I’ve hated, and the other as a man I’ve admired and loved. And now to learn that my aunt is part of your operation!”
“You never really hated the Dandy, did you?” asked Lucien. “Tell me truthfully, sweet Anne.”
She smiled shyly and shook her head. “No. Actually I thought I was wicked because I was so attracted to him. To
you
. It was a relief when I found out tonight that all along I’ve been lusting after just one man.”
“Lusting, eh?” His eyes lighted up like obsidian just picked from a volcanic rockpile, still lava-hot, still throbbing with life from the core of the earth. The power he had over her was humbling, frightening, exhilarating. He took one of her gloved hands and slowly began to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons, from elbow to wrist.
“What are you doing?” she asked, snatching back her hand. Just from this small sexual overture, this tiny step in what was probably going to be a full-fledged seduction, Anne could feel the honeyed heat gathering at her woman’s core. But she didn’t want it to be so easy for Lucien to seduce her. She was angry and wanted answers.
Lucien looked surprised. “I’m taking off your gloves,
cher
.”
“I … I can see that, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Lucien smiled. “But I think it’s a wonderful idea. And only the beginning of something even better.”
Anne raised her brows imperiously. “Where have you been for the past week and a half, Lucien? I’ve been sick with worry.”
He reached again for her hand; again she drew back. He pursed his lips, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Anne, don’t be angry,” he soothed. “I couldn’t come to you. It was too dangerous. Don’t you think I would have come if I could?”
Anne squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I don’t know what to think. You were right when you said in the cabin that I really don’t know you. I’m crazy to let you charm me into submissiveness.”
He leaned forward and, without touching her with his hands, kissed the sensitive hollow behind her ear. “And I’m simply crazy about you,” he breathed.
She felt her resolve melting. His lips felt like heaven against her skin. “You’re a scoundrel, with women flocking after you like ants to a sugar bowl.”
His hands gently, tentatively clasped her shoulders, and he ran his palms down her arms, making gooseflesh wherever he touched. “Your lips are like sugar, Anne. Sweet, so sweet.”
He touched a forefinger to her chin and slowly coaxed her head to turn. Their lips met in a brief, whisper-soft kiss. She moaned softly. “You’re a rogue, Lucien.”
“A rogue with a mission.”
“A mission?”
“To loosen these damned buttons,” he said wryly. Bemused, intoxicated by her consuming desire for him, she watched him apply himself with single-minded intensity to the task of undoing her buttons. It occurred to her then that he was rather adept at the procedure, as if he undressed women on a regular basis. The idea made her feel rather prickly. Then, unbidden, unwelcome, the image of his mistress loomed up in her mind. He had both gloves off now, and he bent his head to kiss her wrist. Filled with unexpected heartache, she pulled her hand away.
Half-amused, totally frustrated, Lucien looked into her face.
“Cher?
What’s wrong now?” His lips tilted in a rueful smile. “Are you feeling shy?”
Anne bit her lip, averted her gaze. “You have a mistress.”
There was a pause, a sigh. He lifted her chin again, forcing her to look at him. “I
had
a mistress. I don’t anymore.”
Anne’s heart soared. “You don’t?”
“Not since I kissed you,
cher
. Your passion made everyone else pale in comparison.” He smiled, his eyes full of teasing affection. “That night in the cabin was the most exciting performance
I’ve
ever experienced.”
Pleased but disbelieving, Anne felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She dropped her gaze. “Oh, Lucien, how can you tell such lies? She is experienced in the ways of pleasing a man, and I’m just—”
He took both her hands and spoke earnestly. “You’re just the most passionate, desirable, beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Something stirred in me the minute I first saw you on the deck of the
Belvedere
. I wanted to make love to you before I even knew your name.”
She shook her head, amazed, immensely flattered. But a tiny voice inside said,
He only speaks of desire, never of love
. She turned away.
“Cher
, don’t you want me anymore? Are you no longer interested now that you know I’m just plain Lucien?”
She couldn’t let him believe that. She placed her fingertips on his firm jaw. “I don’t believe you can ever be just plain anything, Lucien. You are a good man, an extraordinary man to have risked so much to help others.”