Authors: Fleeta Cunningham
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Historical Fiction, #Historical Romance, #Romance, #Historical, #American, #Louisiana, #sensual
Lucienne’s hand crept into his. “You offered me so much more than I could comprehend. And I ran away from the very thing I sought. I have indeed married the gallant cavalier who wooed me in the swamp and won me in the midst of a hurricane.” She let her head rest against his shoulder.
He turned back the mitt on her hand. “You wear my wedding ring; the family pearls look as if they belong in your hair. When I saw you wearing them, I hoped it meant you wanted to stay here with me. If that’s the case, then I am a fortunate man.”
Drawing away a step so she could see him, Lucienne made a small confession. “Possibly not as fortunate as you think. I’m not always sweet and gracious, Armand, and I have a terrible temper. And…and I throw things when I’m angry. You may not feel so pleased with this venture, once you see that side of me.”
“Marie and Mother Superior mentioned that you are a little headstrong. ‘Willful’ and ‘obstinate’ were the kindest terms they used. And I have heard a certain river pirate could swear to the accuracy of your aim.”
Lucienne nodded. “I think it may be true that my nature is a bit stormy.” She bit her lip to hold back a laugh and failed. “But only when someone foolishly stands in my way.”
He came toward her, his narrowed eyes stern. “No, you little minx, you can’t see
any
reason not to have your own way.” His look softened. “I promise not to ask anything of you that is only a bow to formality. And we will be open in our conversations. If there is something I know, you will know it as well, whether it’s the current scandal or some business matter that is taking my time and attention from you. I’m certain counting sheets or pickle barrels would be a sad waste of your talents, but you will have ideas I want to hear.”
“I have a poor head for numbers.” To her mind the thought of totaling columns of figures and reading ledgers was as bad as counting linens.
His fingers trailed over the pearls in her hair and touched the white rosebuds on her shoulder. “I don’t think the daily accounts would interest you; I have an assistant for that. But I’ve seen you take a problem in both hands and create a solution where there seemed to be no hope. Dorcas told me how you saved her and yourself in that hurricane. And you found your way along a swamp path that had all but disappeared.” His smile wiped away the furrow between his brows. “You know, you showed a very cool head several times when you had every reason to freeze with fear. You have abilities few men have, much less a lovely girl barely out of the classroom.”
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, his praise meant as much as the caress in his touch. “Mama would call those typical examples of my hoydenish ways.”
“On the contrary, I call them examples of a strong-willed, intelligent woman who is loyal to her friends and courageous in misfortune. I look at you right now and see a ravishing creature, beautiful and charming as any lady in this town. But I also see a woman I can rely on when things are difficult, not a helpless flower who will wilt at the first sign of adversity. I see a woman who will never become a bore or a cipher but will remain constant and valiant no matter what.”
Lucienne drew herself up tall. She felt pride in the way Armand described her shortcomings, as if her flaws had become virtues.
“I do think I was an awful fool for running away, Armand, and if you hadn’t come after me, I might have died in that wild place.” She admitted her bad judgment with reluctance. Her words were true, but it cost her pride much to make the statement.
“If you were a fool for running from it, I was a bigger one for forcing our marriage. Given time, you would have lost interest in Pardue and possibly found me less objectionable.” A contrite smile crossed his face. “Perhaps I owe him an apology. If not for him, you wouldn’t have needed me so soon.”
“I owe him one as well. He told Marie that Papa had chosen better for me than anyone realized.”
“And was he correct, Lucienne?” A diffident tone entered his voice. “I know we’ve had little time together, and close bonds do not form so quickly…”
Lucienne placed her fingers over his lips. “Oh, no, m’sieu, you’re quite wrong. We have been very close.” Head tilted, she cast a sideways glance at him through half-closed lashes. “As close as a shared blanket or saddle can bring two people. And I can think of no one else I would have wanted so near.”
“Chou-Chou, you are a very accomplished flirt.” Armand trapped her hand in both of his. “It’s not always safe to play that game,
chèrie,
not with me.”
Lucienne made no effort to take her hand away. She wrinkled her nose in a pretty pout. “You’re complaining, Armand. I’m not accustomed to men complaining when I take pains to compliment them.”
“No,
p’tite
, you’re accustomed to men who are enchanted if you deign to cast a smile in their direction. I, however, am enchanted only when a wild woman with a tangle of coal black hair hurls herself at me through thickets teeming with snakes and alligators.” He shrugged. “We all have our preferences.”
“Beast!” She laughed. “And here I put on an elegant gown and endured two hours of torment while Marie pulled out all of those lovely tangles. I should have saved myself the trouble.”
“Though my heart is with the wild woman of the swamp, as yours is with the adventurer, it seems we are thrown together and must make the best of it.” He gestured toward the table bearing serving dishes and plates and adding alluring scents to the garden air. “Should we begin dinner?”
“Not yet. I have a complaint of my own.”
“What is that, Chou-Chou? Something is amiss? Dining
al
fresco
doesn’t suit you anymore? You want candles, music, another dinner partner?”
She tapped her slipper impatiently. “Yes, something is very much amiss, but nothing on that list. I have been here most of the evening, alone with this very disturbing man. He’s handsome and says sweet things. He’s praised my gown, my jewels, and my charms. In fact, so far, he only talks, and talks, and talks some more. Do you know, he’s not even made an attempt to kiss me, not once. And he complains that I’m only flirting with him. What am I to think?”
Armand nodded. “A dreadful waste of a spring evening and a rising moon, madame. The man is a fool. I’d waste no more time on him.”
“Do you think he’ll ever…”
“Kiss you, Lucienne, like this?” Armand brushed his lips across hers. “Or like this?” His demonstration left her dizzy, grasping the lapels of his coat.
“Oh, I knew I liked kissing much better than all this talking.”
“Staying here with me suits you, then, my flirtatious, beautiful wife?”
“I think I’ll stay with you forever, Armand.”
“Because you like to kiss, chèrie?”
“Because only here with you do I have my gallant adventurer as well as the handsome suitor everyone envies me. Only here can I be the proper New Orleans matron and, at the same time, that wild witch of the swamp. It seems a good reason to stay.” She stood on tiptoe, her cheek against his, and whispered, “But mostly I’ll stay because I like the kissing.”
“Lucienne, do you know that I love you very much? You’re charming, utterly beautiful, and, I suspect, a little hellion as well. I suppose I’ll soon find out for certain.”
“You love me, Armand?” Lucienne rested her head against his shoulder. “Amazing. It seems I’ve committed yet one more
faux pas
, the ultimate social folly. I’ve fallen in love with my own husband. The ladies will be shocked at my want of propriety.”
“No more than the gentlemen will be appalled by mine.” Armand brushed her lips with his. “Chou-Chou, will you go on flirting with me forever? I think I’ve developed a taste for it.”
“Through dinner, at least. Perhaps beyond, but I won’t promise.”
“I’ll do my best to persuade you,
chèrie
.” His lips touched hers again. “I’m told I can be most persuasive.”
She gazed up at him with impudent eyes. “How long before we can have our next adventure, Armand?”
Armand took a step back. “Haven’t you had adventures enough? I’ve aged ten years these last weeks.”
“Perhaps it was enough.” She nodded but knew she sounded unconvincing.
Armand shook a finger at her. “Chou-Chou, you’re a menace. Adorable, but a menace.”
“I know, Armand.” She sighed. “I know, but as you said yourself, I’m never boring.”
A word about the author...
A fifth generation Texan and author of five books in the vintage Santa Rita Series, Fleeta Cunningham has ventured out of her usual 1950s comfort zone to bring readers the first in a new series, Confronting Destiny. The historical series will bring to the page heroines facing danger and love against the background of an evolving America.
Fleeta says, “For a brief period in my checkered past I had the pleasure of teaching history. I fear my enthusiasm was not always matched by that of my students. I thought one day I would try writing a story to share with readers some of the excitement I found in studying the lives of the people who went before us. All those dry historical facts were current events and newspaper headlines to the people who lived them.
Bal Masque
is my first venture into the wilds of Louisiana. It was great fun to tell the story. Please let me know if you enjoy it.”
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www.fleetacunningham.com
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Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Cry Against the Wind (Santa Rita Series) by Fleeta Cunningham
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When Swallows Fall by Gloria Davidson Marlow
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