“But I need to be myself.” His tone became grim, emphatic. “I don’t intend to keep up this charade much longer. But first—”
“But first you’re going to deal with Bodine.”
He was surprised. “How did you know that?”
“You can’t bear to let the most blatant abuser of slaves off scot-free. Bodine needs to be stopped, and he ought to be punished. How are you going to accomplish this, Lucien?”
“That is only for me to know. I won’t endanger you again by including you, even in the smallest way.” He touched the faint scar at her temple.
“But Lucien, I want to—”
He laid a quieting finger over her lips. “Shhh,
ma petite
. We have so little time together tonight, I don’t want to spend it discussing Bodine. I want to spend it making love to you.”
She trembled, but not with fear. “In … in a carriage?”
“Anne, you seem to think the thing impossible,” he said, laughing. “Believe me, where there is sufficient motivation, anything is possible. And sometimes the most unexpected places bring the most pleasure.”
Convinced, Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers behind it. She set aside her doubts, her worries. She might never see Lucien again, but she would take whatever she could get now, whether he loved her or not … She answered him by placing her mouth on his.
He groaned and pulled her into his arms and onto his lap, burying his face in her hair. “Anne, I never thought I could desire a woman as I do you. God help me, I’m obsessed with you.” His lips trailed down her neck, leaving behind a shivery path of pleasure.
She turned her face to his questing kisses. His hands roamed over her back. Their kisses became deeper, more intense. She was blissfully lost to all reason and thought.
She shifted, straining to get closer, and nearly slipped off his lap. “This skirt!” she complained, grabbing his shoulders to keep from sliding to the floor. She’d never been so thoroughly disgusted by the dictates of fashion. Yards and yards of alpaca were an encumbrance to lovemaking!
Lucien laughed, caught her waist, and set her firmly on his lap again. “Don’t worry,
cher
. I won’t let you fall. And as for this trifling barrier…” He started gently tugging on the skirt, pulling it out from under her till her chemise and silk drawers were the only thing between her bottom and his lap. Her skirt billowed out on all sides of her, like a full-blown ivory rose.
“Straddle me,” he ordered, his voice husky. Wide-eyed, curious, and aroused, Anne did exactly as he told her. Now she faced him. There was no mask, no darkness to obscure his beloved features, or to hide the desire in his eyes. With her open palms braced against his broad chest they kissed.
She’d almost forgotten how delirious his kisses could make her feel, how joyful. Their tongues tangled, dipped, and explored. Their lips roamed over each other’s faces, throats. She kissed his beard-stubbled jaw.
He kissed the smooth ridge of her collarbone, then moved lower, lower, till his lips and tongue played along the lace ruching of her low-cut neckline. His hands slid up slowly from her waist till they cupped her breasts from underneath. Anne instinctively leaned into his palms. When his thumbs came up and flicked both nipples, she moaned with pleasure.
“Oh, Lucien, how I wish … how I wish…”
“Say it, Anne. Say it.” He bent and buried his face in her cleavage. Her hands tunneled through his hair, her eyes closed, her mind tilting, reeling.
“’Tis immodest to say it,” she whispered, half-gasping, half-laughing.
“Nothing is immodest between lovers.”
“I just wish I could be naked, lying next to you, feeling your body against mine. And I wish I could look at you in the light. All of you.”
“Will you be satisfied tonight to see only part of me?” he asked tenderly. “If the carriage was stopped for some reason, I couldn’t bear to have you exposed to the greedy eyes or the sordid speculations of others. But at least this is more than either of us was granted that first night in the cabin.”
“And more than I ever dreamed possible when I left the house this evening,” she agreed. “Just let me feel your bare chest, Lucien. Let me open your shirt.”
She gently pushed his hands away as he started to undo the buttons of his vest and then his ruffled shirt. She wanted the pleasure all for herself. And as Lucien had done to her, she was going to make him wait.
She felt his eyes on her as she intently, slowly undid each button. His hands glided up and down her waist, teasing the undersides of her breasts, but not cupping them fully as he had before. He, too, was playing a teasing game. Soon Anne was stepping up the pace, too eager to hold back.
Finally she was able to slide her hands inside the opened shirt. His chest was hard with muscle and lightly dusted with soft swirls of black hair. Her palms tingled on contact, the thrill of touching him traveling up her arm and into every nerve of her body. His nipples were small and wine-colored. She lowered her head and lathed the taut buds with the tip of her tongue. He groaned and moved his hands up and over her breasts, squeezing gently, pressing her erect nipples between thumb and forefinger.
“Now my turn,
cher,”
he growled as he undid the few buttons at the front of Anne’s gown and carefully eased down the bodice to expose her breasts. Anne couldn’t control her breathing, her chest heaved up and down. At first he only looked at her; he didn’t touch.
“You’re so beautiful, Anne,” he whispered, his own breath seemingly suspended. “Your skin is so white, and your nipples are so richly tinted—like a damask rose.”
If she was beautiful, that was good, because she wanted to be beautiful for Lucien. Only for him. If he didn’t touch her soon, she’d go mad.
He touched her. His hands kneaded her breasts, his clever fingers teased her nipples, and then his head lowered, and he suckled at each breast till Anne knew the meaning of madness.
“Lucien,” she pleaded huskily. “Now, Lucien. Love me
now
.”
He moved her onto the seat next to him while he undid his trousers. Anne watched with unmaidenly interest as his erection sprang free, full and hard. He pulled her atop him. She eagerly straddled his thighs and pushed her skirts out of the way. Lucien reached under her, found the slit in her drawers, and sheathed himself in the tight, moist channel of her womanhood.
Anne was nearly overwhelmed with feeling. To be literally filled with the man she loved was the closest thing to heaven on earth she could imagine. Tears of joy welled in her eyes. Their gazes met and locked. “I love you, Lucien,” she whispered, her throat tight with emotion. “I love you.”
He began to move. He plunged deep, then pulled back, again and again, setting a rhythm that Anne eagerly, mindlessly followed.
Tension built, then exploded suddenly, as wave after wave of intense pleasure flooded through her. Lucien shuddered against her at the same moment, whispering her name like a benediction as his seed flooded her womb.
Spent and blissfully lethargic, she laid her head against his chest and listened to the strong beat of his heart as it gradually slowed. She was content, at home in the arms of the man she loved.
Later, their clothes restored to respectability, and with Anne sitting beside him on the seat with her head resting against his shoulder, Lucien picked up his cane and rapped three times on the ceiling. The carriage slowed, turned, and headed back to town.
“Must we return so soon?” asked Anne, grown drowsy in the aftermath of their lovemaking, lulled by the gentle rocking of the carriage. “I feel so safe in here with you, hidden from the world, as if we were encased in a warm cocoon.”
He turned and caught her chin in the palm of his hand, tilting her face so he could see her. He looked troubled. “I wish it were possible to stay hidden away with you, but I can’t. And I can’t promise you—”
He didn’t finish. He sighed and turned away, his hand falling heavily to his lap.
She would not press him. She did not want false promises or forced words of love. She prayed that someday he would give his heart willingly. She hoped he was holding back because the dangerous masquerade of Renard was still very much part of his life, and not because of personal doubts about his feelings for her. When he held her and made love to her, she felt truly cherished. She hoped she wasn’t imagining such emotions on his part.
“Lucien, when will I see you again?”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“There is a masquerade ball at Rosedown tomorrow night. I haven’t wanted to go, but Reggie says we’re under an obligation to the Bouviers. They introduced me around town when I first came to New Orleans.
I
think they’re a bunch of high-stickers and dreadfully snobbish and dull, but I shan’t mind going if I know you’ll be there.
Will
you be there?”
Still frowning, Lucien said nothing.
“What’s wrong? I understand if you have other plans.”
“No, I do plan to be there. I’ll be in costume, but I suppose you’d recognize me in any masquerade by now.” He smiled briefly, but was soon frowning again. “I’m not staying past supper.”
Anne sensed that this information was all he intended to impart. She suspected that he had business to attend to at the ball, and perhaps after the ball, and he had no intention of revealing the nature of that business. But Anne knew with gut-wrenching clarity that Lucien’s late-night business was with Bodine.
Her heart sank. So soon! The confrontation, the danger was coming so soon! If Lucien’s plan—whatever it was—was successful, perhaps he would be able to commit himself to her. But if something went wrong … She squeezed his arm, cuddling closer. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to him. He had become her life.
“What, Anne? What’s the matter?” He peered tenderly into her face. She forced a smile.
“Nothing’s the matter. I’m just going to miss you, that’s all. Tomorrow night seems like a lifetime away.”
He squeezed her arm and spoke intently. “Anne, even though we’ll be able to see each other, we’ll have to be very discreet. You’ll have to pretend to dislike me. You must tell me now if you won’t be able to do that.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
He groaned. “I’m not sure when we’ll be able to be together like this again.”
Or if we’ll ever be able to be together again
, thought Anne, her heart filled with doubt. But she only said, “Soon, Lucien. Soon.”
He did not reply, and the carriage trundled down the road toward home and an uncertain future. More than ever, Anne knew just how much she would lose if things did not go as planned. In Lucien’s arms, she’d known ecstasy and contentment. And because of these blissful feelings, she also knew fear.
K
atherine met them at the door of the Grimms mansion. They had said their good-byes in the carriage, so with one last kiss on the cheek for Anne and a warm handclasp for Katherine, Lucien turned and walked away. Anne watched till he boarded the carriage and waved from the window.
Katherine seemed eager to get Anne inside, muttering something about the servants. They went directly to Katherine’s bedchamber, neither of them saying a word. When the door closed behind them, they both spoke at once.
“Aunt Katherine, I had no idea you were in league with Renard!”
“Anne, when did you figure out that Lucien was Renard?”
They laughed, more from a release of tension than from real mirth.
“First things first,” said Katherine, moving to a table holding two crystal decanters. “Sit down, child, and let me pour you a glass of water. Or would you rather have brandy? I should say you deserve a stiff shot of something.”
Anne sank into a wing chair next to her aunt’s massive mahogany bed. “A strong cup of tea sounds heavenly, but I suppose the servants are all abed.”
“Yes, and I’m glad they are. I hope none of them saw you return to the house with Lucien. Your reputation would be in tatters.” Katherine poured a snifter of brandy and carried it to Anne. “Here. Drink up. It will help you sleep.”
Anne took a sip of the brandy, finding the immediate effect rather soothing. She had thought herself relaxed, but she hadn’t realized how jangled her nerves had become since leaving the secure circle of Lucien’s arms.
“Oh, Aunt Katherine, what difference does it make about my reputation? Why worry about that now? Everything has changed, and will change even more. Lucien wants to end his career as Renard as soon as he takes care of one last matter of business.” She took another sip of brandy. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Yes.” Katherine frowned. “Bodine. I told Lucien that he should feel no responsibility to take care of that dreadful man before ending his career as Renard. He’s already done enough, and now that it’s become obvious that there’s a traitor within our small ranks, it’s dangerous for him to continue the work.”
Anne leaned forward, setting her glass on a bedside table. “Surely you don’t think Lucien is in more danger than he was two weeks ago.”
“I don’t know, Anne. This last coup will be risky, but if there’s anyone who can pull it off, it’s Lucien.”
Anne stood up and paced the floor. “You know the details of the plan, don’t you?” She stopped in front of her aunt and faced her. “You know the time, the place, and the strategy. Lucien won’t tell me anything, but
you
can tell me!”
Katherine shook her head firmly. “No, actually I don’t know the details. Lucien is wisely keeping most things to himself these days, relying on very few people to help him. And even if I did know, I certainly wouldn’t tell you. I don’t want you involved!”
Anne took hold of her aunt’s forearms. “You must know
something!
And can’t you see, Aunt Katherine, I
am
involved. I’ve been very much involved since that night at the cabin with him. I love him so much, and if I just knew a little of what his plans were, if I weren’t so utterly in the dark, I wouldn’t worry as much.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Anne. Either way, you’re going to worry. Besides, Lucien and I both know you too well to believe you can be told the details of his plan without somehow involving yourself. The best thing you can do for Lucien at this point is to stay out of the way. For once you must simply remain safely at home.”
Frustrated, Anne resumed her pacing. “Have you and Lucien forgotten that I was useful to him when he met up with those bounty hunters? Things might have turned out quite differently if I’d stayed at home that night.”
“Yes, you might have been killed if that bounty hunter’s aim had been a scant inch more precise.”
“Nonsense,” Anne said with a huff, crossing her arms stubbornly. “What about Lucien?
He
might have been killed if—”
“Lucien is resourceful and clever,” Katherine interrupted. “If you hadn’t been there to warn him, something else would have alerted him to the danger.” She moved dose to Anne and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m not diminishing what you did, Anne. It was brave. And it probably did save Lucien’s life. But don’t you see that you’re a distraction to him now? Let him do what he needs to do, so he’ll finally be free to pursue some happiness for himself. And—if my guess is correct—for you, too.”
Anne did not miss the wistful tone in her aunt’s voice. “Oh, Aunt Katherine, I’m so selfish! I haven’t even asked about Uncle Reggie. Is he feeling better?”
Katherine sighed deeply and moved to the window, staring out into the balmy, black November night. “He’s sleeping, but he’s restless. James gave him some laudanum.” She turned from the window and made a weak smile. “If Reggie allowed himself to be dosed, he must feel awful.”
Anne crossed the room and took her aunt’s surprisingly cold hands, chafing them between her two warm ones. “You care for him very much,” she said softly.
“So much, Anne, that I’m prepared to leave my beloved New Orleans if there’s a chance that Reginald and I can be together.”
“But why would you need to leave New Orleans? This is your home.”
“Anne, home is with the person, or people, you love. But, as you must realize if you think about it, if it comes out that Lucien is Renard, my involvement in the work might be found out, too. I couldn’t bear for Reginald to be implicated in this mess, or even embarrassed by my incarceration.” She smiled grimly. “I’d even hie myself back to merry old England if Reginald wanted me to. He’s made it clear enough that he doesn’t exactly like the wilds of America.”
“I’m not so sure about that—”
“I don’t even know how he truly feels about me, so all of this might be unnecessary speculation—the pipe dreams of an old and foolish woman. I think I perceive a certain gentleness in his manner toward me of late, though. A certain protectiveness. But it’s probably all in my head.”
“Then it’s in my head, too,” said Anne, squeezing her aunt’s hands. “I’ve seen the gentleness. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Katherine pulled away from Anne’s grasp and returned to the window. “I dare not believe he loves me till he tells me so. Reginald and I have been at daggers-drawn for as long as I can remember. We’re like water and oil, impossible to mix.”
“You’ve been mixing rather well the last two weeks,” Anne reminded her. She hesitated, then suggested coyly, “I think all that friction between you two over the years—when you’ve been thrown together for family weddings and funerals and such—has simply been the only acceptable outlet for your mutual attraction.”
Katherine spun around like a child’s top twisted into sudden motion. “Anne! Good heavens! What nincompoopery you speak!”
“Indeed, Aunt Katherine,” said Anne, amused by her liberal aunt’s maidenly reaction, “I speak only the truth, just as you’ve always taught me to do. I’m blunt, just as you are. It’s not a coincidence that I’m Reggie’s favorite niece and you are—quite simply—his favorite female overall.”
“You go beyond blunt. Now you’re spinning whiskers,” Katherine said weakly.
“No, I’m not lying, and if you thought I was blunt before, what I’m going to say now will surely shock you. My advice to you, dear aunt, is to get my Uncle Reggie between those sheets”—she pointed to the bed—“where the two of you can work out your accumulated differences to the mutual satisfaction of both!”
Katherine was unable to articulate a scathing retort—or any sort of retort, for that matter—though her face turned red and her mouth worked at the effort for several seconds. Finally she gave up, clamped her lips together, and walked with stiff dignity to the door. For a full minute she stood with her hand on the cut-glass knob, her face averted, gathering her composure and her wits. Then she turned and faced down her grinning, unrepentant niece. She was trying to look stem, but Anne detected the hint of a smile playing about her aunt’s mouth.
“I can see that consorting with that scalawag Lucien has caused you to abandon the finer points of discretion.”
Anne’s grin broadened. “Careful, Aunt Katherine, you begin to sound like Reggie. I love him dearly, but he tends to be a bit priggish now and then. That’s why you’re so good for him. You’re much more broad-minded. Remember when he blanched at the mention of ‘bosom’ in mixed company? How you took him to task!”
Katherine laughed aloud. “As you must know, I can converse quite freely about all sorts of body parts and the most delicate subjects as long as they have nothing to do with me. Now go to bed, Anne, and get some sleep. I just realized I was about to march, affronted, right out of my own room!”
Anne readily complied. She was truly tired. On her way to the door she almost mentioned the masquerade ball at Rosedown, but decided that the less interest she showed in the ball, the more likely that she’d be able to go. She didn’t want Katherine to know that she suspected that Lucien would set the groundwork for Bodine’s downfall at the masquerade. She wanted to be on hand when things first got rolling—when the curtain went up, so to speak—even if she was denied a part in the final act. However, she hadn’t given up on the idea that she’d be part of the final act, too…
At the door she turned, smiled her sweetest, most angelic smile, and bid her aunt good night.
The next day Reggie’s headache was not better. In fact, though he got up at his usual hour and gamely tried to make chitchat at the breakfast table, by ten o’clock he went back to bed. This sort of prolonged indisposition was very unusual for Reggie, and Anne was worried. So was Katherine.
By noon they were standing by the side of his bed, trying to talk him into seeing the doctor. “What for?” he asked. “I just have a headache. Everyone gets headaches.”
Katherine reached over and felt his forehead for the third time in ten minutes. “No fever…”
“You see, Katherine? There’s no need for concern.”
“What about your throat? Does it hurt?”
“As I’ve told you innumerable times, my throat feels fine.”
“But you haven’t got an appetite. I saw how you pushed that egg around your plate, trying to make it look as though you’d had a bite or two.”
At the mention of food, Reggie grimaced. “Well, you’re right about that. I don’t have an appetite. It’s probably a touch of influenza, which is why the two of you are being very unwise in standing so close to me. Go away and rest up for your evening at the Bouviers.”
“You don’t think we’re going out and leaving you home sick, do you?”
“You and Anne are not sick, and the Bouviers will be offended if one or two of us don’t go to their masquerade ball. It’s the highlight of the social season, I’m told.”
“I know, Reginald,” said Katherine. “You forget that I’ve been attending Madeline Bouvier’s balls for nearly a quarter-century. Missing just this one won’t matter.”
Reggie grew agitated. He was pale, but patches of hectic red appeared on both cheeks. There was a deep furrow of displeasure between his brows. “But it does matter … at least to me. They paid particular attention to Anne when we arrived in the city, introduced her to all the right people. I won’t have them thinking the English are ragmannered ingrates. If you won’t go, I’ll go myself.”
He threw off his covers and started to sit up. It was immediately obvious that the slightest movement made his head throb. Katherine was horrified. “Good God, Reginald, lie down, you stubborn fool! I’ll take Anne to the ball if that will make you happy. All I want is for you to rest and get well.”
Reggie lay back down, but he didn’t gloat over his victory. He was in too much pain for that. He just lay there, very still, as James and Katherine hovered over him, straightening his pillows and retucking his blankets.
Anne watched his face, her heart full of sympathy. She could swear that behind that English stiff upper lip, Reggie was gritting his teeth. She’d watched the exchange between him and Katherine with mixed feelings. She was very concerned about her uncle, but worried about Lucien, too. She felt she needed to be at Rosedown tonight. But the matter seemed beyond debate. Reggie would not be satisfied—in fact he would not rest at all—unless both she and Katherine went to the ball.
“Fetch my writing paper and quill, Anne,” said Reggie after a moment.
Anne moved to the Chippendale drop-front desk, saying over her shoulder, ‘To whom are you writing, Uncle? Can’t it wait?”
“I’m going to ask Delacroix to escort you to the ball tonight.”
“He can’t!” said Katherine rather too quickly. Then, more casually, “He’s not planning to stay beyond the supper hour.”
Anne looked keenly at her aunt. Now why would she know that unless Lucien had made a point of telling her? Anne was more than ever convinced that Renard’s plot against Bodine would begin to take shape that night at the Bouviers’ ball. She didn’t think her aunt had been lying to her about not knowing the particulars of Lucien’s plan, but it appeared that she at least knew that tonight’s masquerade ball was the setting for the opening scene.
It was settled that Anne and Katherine would be driven to the ball by one of Katherine’s relatives by marriage—an ancient uncle on her second husband’s side of the family, a Captain Miller, retired from the navy. He would lend the respectable chaperonage that Reggie demanded for both women. Katherine didn’t bother to remind him that she used to go everywhere without male escorts before Reggie came to New Orleans. But just the fact that she refrained from this reminder was proof of her worry over his health—and evidence of her love.
Reggie got no better and no worse as the day progressed. After dinner, Anne went upstairs and put on her costume. She was going as an angel, the irony of which was not lost on Reggie when she showed him her costume before descending to the drawing room to await Captain Miller’s carriage.
She pirouetted at the foot of his bed, holding between pinched thumb and forefinger the layers of diaphanous skirts, which were white shot through with gold threads. The bodice was criss-crossed with gold cording, the sleeves pert puffs of gathered lace. Sarah had cleverly made wings of white netting and a halo of starched piping, dipped in glittery gold paint. Anne had a half-mask of white, dotted with gold stars, which she would put on when they arrived at Rosedown.