Spring Fires (9 page)

She forced herself to ignore him, keeping her head bent over the gingerbread so that no one would see the blush that suddenly heated her cheeks. It was as much a mystery to Lisette as the tidal wave of events last night, but she had reached one hard conclusion while walking home before dawn—there was no room in her life for this uncontrollable side of her personality, this physical being who would not listen to the shouted orders of her mind. Lisette had resolved to steer clear of Nicholai Beauvisage, or any other man who tempted her to forget her work and the necessary discipline of her life. It was going to be difficult enough to continue with the CoffeeHouse, simply because she was female.

When the desserts were crowded onto the huge tray, Purity lifted it with shaky triumph. Hyla held the door, then followed the two girls into the CoffeeHouse. Suddenly alone with Nicholai, Lisette hurried over to remove the empty kettle from the fire. She grasped the handle with two thick towels and had begun to turn when a pair of dark, well-made male hands took it from her and set it on the hearth with ease.

Something snapped inside her. Her blue eyes blazed as she confronted Nicholai, determined to settle the matter between them.

"Sir, I have made it plain that I do not want you here. I would hope that you could show me the courtesy of taking the hint without forcing me to call for assistance."

His own eyes were penetrating and slightly amused by her effrontery. "Lisette, how can you say such a thing? I thought I took your hint rather well last night."

She drew her hand back as if to slap him, but stopped in midair. "You are a rude, inconsiderate cad! I do not wish to discuss last night or any other subject with you." The firelight haloed the plaited crown atop her head, suffusing her beauty with golden light. "Please leave my CoffeeHouse."

Nicholai caught her wrist when she began to turn away.

"What is it? Are you going to pretend that we didn't make love last night? I don't want you to hate me and you mustn't worry that that I would tell anyone what transpired between us. If you are angry because you feel I used you—"

"You
used me?" One delicate brow arched derisively as she pulled her wrist free. "You men are really incredible! Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Beauvisage, that I used
you
last night? Women have physical needs, too, and you were conveniently available to ease mine. I am not a simpering coquette, like those you must have grown used to in France! And, for your information, you did not
make love
to me. I barely know you!"

Though momentarily stunned, Nicholai felt a bubble of delight rise in his throat. "Do you mean to say that I was just one of many? Another dispassionate conquest for you?" His dramatic tone was heavy with amusement.

"Boor!" Lisette hissed disgustedly. She averted her face and took two steps toward the worktable before he caught her in his arms. For a moment, he held her fast, laughing softly as she struggled, then he murmured, "You are remarkably hard-bitten after only a few hours' practice at being a woman of the world! Tell me, how did you satisfy your 'woman's needs'
before
last night... when you were still a virgin?"

The sudden widening of her eyes was answer enough. Smiling, he cut off her denial with a warm, leisurely kiss, and Lisette gasped at her body's reaction. Reason was swept away, her slender arms encircled broad shoulders, graceful fingers touched thick, damp hair that smelled of fresh rain and maleness. As they kissed, animosity was replaced by hungry passion. Lisette let herself drown in the intoxicating pleasure of the moment, and her tired body drew strength from his.

"Have you lost all reason?" Hyla Flowers demanded in a hoarse voice from the doorway.

She broke away, flushed and glowing, and stared at Nicholai in disbelief. "I don't know... since Papa..." She turned toward the older woman. "I'll be all right—I just need some time to adjust."

Hyla came over and patted her cheek, glaring at Nicholai. "That's right, baby. You keep yourself away from people who'd take advantage of your grief!"

"Yes. I'll try." Lisette smiled weakly. "Mr. Beauvisage, what I said still stands. I would like you to leave."

He raked a hand through his thick hair, one side of his mouth quirking ironically. "As you wish, mademoiselle. But first, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you—for Senator Hampshire's sake. Could you spare me a few minutes in private if I give you my word to behave... as a gentleman?"

Lisette ignored the twinkle in his eye. "Hyla," she sighed, "I'll speak to Mr. Beauvisage in the study if you will look after the kitchen for a few minutes. Perhaps this will put a permanent end to his business here."

Nicholai waited as she removed her snowy apron, then he followed her across the keeping room to a door opposite the stairway. Lisette opened it to reveal a charming room, more of a retreat than a study, with cream-colored walls and a fine worn oriental rug of ocher, blue, and gold. An old cherry secretary stood tall against one wall, its front lowered to reveal pigeonholes neatly filled with various papers, and an open ledger with a silver inkwell and quill beside it. There were two Windsor armchairs, miniatures on the walls, a bookcase with overstuffed shelves, and finally, under a window, a faded red chaise upon which were two pillows, a sewing basket, a man's shirt, and an open book.

Lisette closed the door and the two of them sat down.

His expression was somber. "I apologize for kissing you just now, Lisette. I took unfair advantage of my physical strength."

"I don't want to discuss that kiss or any other. Can't you hear what I've been saying to you? Tell me whatever it is that concerns Senator Hampshire, then go home to your flying staircase and let me return to my work!"

"This looks like your room," he commented, stretching out and crossing long booted legs. "Something of a haven?"

"Papa was sick for a long time. After I began taking care of the accounts, this did become rather a... refuge." Suddenly, she stood and retrieved the shirt from the chaise. "This was his. I started to mend it two days ago, but I didn't finish because of the party at Belle Maison. I can't believe... tomorrow Papa will be buried, under the cold ground." Slowly, she raised it to one cheek and Nicholai saw the tears, like moonlight in her eyes.

"Lisette... you have to be able to cry. That's the only way to begin to heal—" When he reached for her hands, she pulled away violently, as if from a fire.

"Don't touch me!" Angrily, she wiped her eyes, then looked at him, sitting tensely with the shirt clutched in her hands.

Nicholai shrugged fleetingly and his gaze cooled. "Have it your way,
cherie.
I will make this brief so that you won't have to suffer my company much longer."

She had paled visibly. "Thank you."

"I want you to tell me what you and Marcus Reems were discussing so cozily. Is it personal, or related to business?"

"What concern is it of yours?"

"It is not my concern, I assure you! Lion Hampshire has cause to mistrust Reems and he asked me to learn what I could. I trust that you'll want to cooperate, since I cannot believe you desire any association with the man."

"That's your male vanity," Lisette retorted, and then smiled a little. "I am too tired to argue with you, and since I abhor Marcus Reems, I'll tell you what he wants from me."

"As you may know, he is a banker, and seemingly well aware of the large loan my father drew several years ago, most of which we still owe. Mr. Reems believes that the bank will not accept me alone as their client, and in any event, he also believes that the CoffeeHouse is doomed if I intend to be sole proprietor." Her eyes flashed in recollection. "The toad! Ever so silkily, he offered to buy the CoffeeHouse for a very high price—to relieve me of this 'tremendous burden.' "

"I gather that you refused?"

"Of course! I'm perfectly capable of solving my own problems, and I certainly don't care to be rescued by Marcus Reems!"

Nicholai lifted an eyebrow. "Somehow I knew you would say that. I might try to discuss the reality of your position here, with the CoffeeHouse, but I know you would summarily reject any advice I might offer, so I'll leave it to someone for whom you have a higher regard."

He stood, but waved her down when she moved to join him. "No, no, I can find my way out." Casually, Nicholai leaned over, took Lisette's slim hand, and pressed his mouth to her palm. With satisfaction, he saw the tiny blond hairs on her forearm rise up. "Don't worry, I won't ravish you again. It has been... interesting knowing you, Lisette, and I do hope that if, in the future, you are overcome by 'womanly needs,' you won't hesitate to
use
me again."

Lisette, for once, was speechless. She stared as Nicholai paused in the doorway to add an irrepressible emerald wink. Then he was gone.

Chapter 9

March 26, 1793

The fashionable gown of primrose velvet sailed through the air, landing in a heap at the foot of the testered bed.

"God's toes!" swore Meagan Hampshire, standing in the dressing room in her satin chemise. Still frustrated, she pressed her lips together and stamped a bare foot as hard as she was able.

At that moment, the door to the bedchamber opened and Lion came in, eyes alight with mock fear. "Dare I enter?" he called, peeking into the dressing room. "Are you having a tantrum, fair wife?"

"Oh, hush!" She reached for another gown from the long line adorning her side of the narrow chamber. After their marriage, they had begun to share one dressing room. They enjoyed bumping into each other, nearly naked, each morning as they dressed. Often, Lion substituted a return to bed with Meagan for his second cup of coffee.

"You know, I fear you are losing your sense of humor," he commented now, an edge of irritation sharpening his own voice. "That might be serious... perhaps I should call Dr. Rush."

"Oh, Lion." Slowly, Meagan turned to face her husband. Her violet eyes glistened as his fingers slipped into her curls; a wave of relief swept her when her cheek found his fresh-smelling shirtfront and she felt his other arm encircle her back. "I know I've been difficult; I get so mad sometimes when I realize how sorry I've been feeling for myself. People tell me it's part of pregnancy—and if that's true, I wonder if the whole idea wasn't a mistake. I can't wear a single one of my gowns—all the beautiful new ones you had made for me after the election. I was so
happy
then—"

Lion felt Meagan's tiny back shake as she began to sob. "Sweetheart, this is madness...."

"Oh, that's easy for you to say," she gulped through her sea of tears. "You're having a fine time, strutting like a peacock because your sweet, obedient wife is pregnant. But
I'm
the one getting fat, trapped in this house—" She almost added "losing you!" but stopped herself in time.

"Meagan! That's a devil of a thing to say to me! Do you honestly believe that I'm behaving like a
peacock,
for God's sake?"

She gazed up at him, searching his face, seeing the familiar expression of the man she loved. "No, of course not. It's not your fault—it just seems that our life has changed so much."

Lion blotted her tears with his handkerchief before tightening his embrace and covering Meagan's salty lips with his own. Startled by the eagerness of her response, her arms fast around his neck, he let the kiss deepen recklessly and slid his hand around to her side, then higher to caress the ripe swell of one satin-covered breast.

Meagan groaned softly, but Lion lifted his head as a distant knocking grew more insistent. "What? Who is it?"

"Missa Lion," cried Wong, the Chinese butler, from the hallway, "Supper getting cold! You and Missy come now or Blamble be so mad!"

She clung to his arms. "No!" she pleaded. "Ignore them—"

"You know I'd prefer to stay here and make love, but we do have all evening! I'm ravenous; I only had half my meal this noon, so please indulge me this once. Besides, you know how Bramble is about her food; if we ignore supper now, she's liable to lock the kitchen!"

Meagan tried to return his smile, but turned away instead to search out a loose robe-like gown that would accommodate her swollen waistline. Frantically, she pulled it on and suffered the touch of Lion's fingers as they fastened the back. He hung up his coat and loosened his cravat, then put an arm around her shoulders as they went down to eat.

The table was set with the finest china, silver, and linen—Bramble's indirect salute to Lion's new office. The sour but loyal cook now made certain that Wong wore his best formal suit and striped waistcoat when he served the courses. Watching him stiffly place bowls of celery soup in front of them, Meagan resolved that such starchy displays must cease. Longingly, she remembered the casual suppers they used to eat before the fire, in the garden, or on trays in bed. Sometimes, they had gone to their country home, Markwood Villa, for a week at a time alone, leaving the servants here in the city. The first two years of their marriage she and Lion had spent almost exclusively in the country, either in Virginia on her ancestral plantation or at the villa. Now, Meagan could not coax her husband away from Philadelphia for even a day.