Once more his intense Perusal and then the strong arms, which had grown lax in their embrace, tightened to draw her to her feet. Sensing his withdrawal, Lai Hua dressed herself in silence as he dressed beside her. Her heart breaking, she crouched down and rolled up the blanket. She slipped it under her arm and leaned over to lift the lamp from the floor, only to feel Jake's arms slip around her once more. He turned her toward him and crushed her against him. His mouth was harsh against hers, his kiss angry, but she welcomed it. She warmed to its assault, gave in to it, banished his anger with her tender, loving response.
Jake drew his mouth from hers. His breathing ragged, he clasped her painfully closed. His tone was rasping as he drew back enough to view her face. "Let me hear you say you love me, Lai Hua."
"I love you, Mr. Jake."
"And because you love me, you would never lie to me."
Lai Hua's response caught in her throat. Unable to speak, she could do no more than nod. Despair touched her as doubt chased itself across the face of the man she loved, and unable to bear more, Lai Hua raised herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips tightly to his. With a quick movement, she turned from his grasp, picked up the lantern, and passed through the doorway. Her softly whispered "Forgive me" trailed on the night air behind her as she fled.
Even as she slipped into the darkness, Lai Hua knew she could not face Jake's response to her whispered plea. Brushing a wayward tear from her cheek, Lai Hua turned her attention to the shadowed trail on which she walked. Fear was strong in her heart that she would never be called on to walk it again.
The fleeting shadow listened at the window of the miner's shack. Abruptly it turned, slipping into the darkness to blend with the surrounding shadows as Lai Hua hurried out of the cabin and along the trail. There was no sign of movement from within, and the figure paused. It twitched with impatience, turning with anxiety toward Lai Hua's quickly disappearing form. It darted a brief, hesitant glance back toward the cabin, realizing little more time could be wasted.
In a soundless flurry of movement, the shadowed figure turned onto the trail. It kept to the darkness, silent, unobserved, not allowing Lai Hua to lengthen the distance between them.
Chapter VIII
"Ah,
ma
chérie
, I had almost forgotten the smooth, incomparable texture of your skin." Le Comte's well-manicured fingers trailed over Camille's cheek as he continued in a lower tone, "There are times when I miss the beautiful golden days, the times when we were together. Do you remember them, Camille?"
The Count held her gaze as he and Camille stood within the confines of his small office. He had called her there a few minutes before, and she had entered, pleased as always to be summoned to this man. Her pleasure warmed the rich chocolate-brown of her eyes, and the smile that curved her generous lips was sincere.
"
Oui
, I remember them, Pierre. I remember them well."
"We met for the first time in that small, undesirable inn on the outskirts of Paris where I was forced to spend the night when my conveyance lost a wheel. I had just left my room when I encountered you arguing in the hallway with a client who had not entered into your bargain with as much honesty as had you. He was attempting to leave, and you detained him with a sharp admonition. He struck you."
"And you defended me. You struck him and he fell. You then persuaded him to fulfill his part of the bargain to which he and I had agreed. He was not very happy to be called to task for his dishonesty, but he paid the stipulated price. I was very grateful."
"I was struck with your beauty even then, Camille. I had never before seen such vibrant coloring. Your hair was a wild, brilliant hue, a color unmatched to this day in my experience. I remember thinking it was similar to the flames that licked the logs in the great fireplace of my home. It appeared to generate as much life and heat as well. And your eyes were startling in your anger, a warm brown that complemented the color of your hair. Your skin was golden, touched by the sun, but not hardened or lined like that of many country-bred women. And your body,
ma petite
"
"Pierre, I have never,
never
been petite."
Le Comte's soft laugh was spontaneous. "
Oui
, Camille, never petite, but so very womanly. Even now the memory of your soft flesh brings a flush of warmth. But do you remember what happened then, Camille?"
"I remember very well, Pierre. You took me to your room and talked to me. We talked for a very long time. You persuaded me to come with you to one of the houses you had established in Paris. You gave me money to support my family while I was away and promised to send a similar sum to aid in their support every week while I remained in your employ. It was more money than I had ever seen at one time in my life, Pierre."
"I was aware of that, Camille."
"You took me to Paris. You bought me beautiful new clothes. You introduced me to Madame Le Claire, to whose house you brought me, and you instructed her to teach me all I did not know. That encompassed many things, Pierre, and
madame
was a very good teacher. Through her I learned of the ballet, art, and music. I was enthralled. And where her teaching ended, yours began."
"It was my pleasure, Camille. The pleasure remains with me in memory still. Your joy, your love of life was infectious. It breathed into me a new zest for living at a time when I believed joy was forever beyond my reach. Prior to meeting you,
chérie
, I had never considered taking to my bed a woman who worked for me. It had been my policy not to mix business with pleasure, but my convictions fell by the wayside the moment we met. No other woman has or ever will take your place, either in my bed or in my heart. Had it not been for the unexpected return to good health of my beloved wife, and her expressed desire to make our marriage full and complete once more, I would be with you still."
Camille smiled. She sincerely doubted that statement, but she was deeply grateful to Pierre for his desire to have her believe that it was so.
Pierre's caressing touch slipped to Camille's softly rounded shoulders, framed so beautifully by the ruffles of her pale blue sprigged muslin gown. His eyes remained on her face, regarding her intently, and Camille studied him in return.
Only ? few years had passed since their first meeting, but Le Comte had changed much. The lines in his narrow face were deeper, harder. His hair was now an iron gray, his hairline greatly receded. His small, neat mustache was lightly flecked with gray. The wariness about his eyes, which had impressed her upon their first meeting, was with him once more. He was concerned about something. Pierre's wife was well, and Camille knew he was deeply devoted to her. She also knew he had taken no other mistresses since the months they had spent together those years ago.
Looking at him, Camille found it hard to believe that he was indeed the man who inspired such awe and fear in some hearts. She was well aware that he headed a vast organization with a chain of luxurious bordellos throughout France. She was also aware that the chain now extended to this side of the Atlantic with houses stretching from New York to San Francisco. This house of Blond Marie's was just one of very many.
But Pierre had never flaunted his power with her or demonstrated any sign of threat. His manner had always been so gentle, so patient, that she found it difficult to reconcile one side of his personality with the other. She supposed Marie's manner, her obvious respect for and fear of Pierre, demonstrated only too clearly that a darker side of his personality existed, but this man had always been good to her. He had made her chosen path in life smoother, more filled with roses, and a part of her heart would always be his.
The Count spoke again, and Camille put aside her wandering thoughts. "I sought to stir your memory tonight,
ma
chérie
, so that you might realize that my words to you now are spoken with deep concern for your welfare. You are unhappy, Camille, and because you are unhappy, I am unhappy."
Camille shook her head in vehement denial. "No, Pierre, I am quite content with my life. You know how very much I appreciate all your intercession has allowed me to do for my family.
And you know that I enjoy giving happiness to others in my small way.''
"Of first importance is bringing happiness to yourself."
"I
am
happy, Pierre."
"Camille…" Le Comte interrupted Camille's protest.
After remaining silent for a few moments, Camille gave a short, rueful laugh. "I had not realized I was so obvious."
"Only to me,
ma
chérie
, only to me. It is your friend, the doctor, is it not?"
"Charles is one of my clients, nothing more."
"Camille, there are those you serve from your head and those you serve from your heart. Your heart is hopelessly bound to Charles Carter, is it not?"
Realizing the futility of denying her true feelings to this man, Camille responded in a soft whisper, "Pierre, you know me too well."
"And love you too well, Camille. So you must allow me to help you. What may I do to bring the sparkle back to your eyes?"
"There is nothing you can do." Abandoning all pretense in the face of Pierre's honest concern, Camille shook her head. "Charles has met another woman, one who suits him far better than I."
"You are speaking of the Dale woman, the daughter of Harvey Dale." Le Comte's disapproval was obvious. "Indeed she is very beautiful, but she is a spoiled, haughty girl, the daughter of a spoiled and haughty father. All the warmth has been bred out of her."
"Perhaps that is true in her treatment of some, but I have seen Charles and her together several times. I have seen her face, and there is no hauteur there when she is with Charles. She is smiling and happy then, as is Charles."
"Then how may I help you,
ma petite
? Not too many weeks from now I shall return to Paris. Would you like to return with me? You could spend some time with your family in the country and renew yourself. And when you are totally bored and unable to bear the inactivity any longer, you may return to Paris. Madame Le Claire and I would await your return with eagerness."
"No, no, Pierre, I have no wish to leave this country, not yet."
"
Chérie
…"
Reaching out unexpectedly, Le Comte closed his arms around her and drew her against him so she might rest her head on his shoulder. His broad palm stroked her back for long moments before he stepped back far enough that he might view her face. Reaching up, he smoothed the tears from her cheeks. It was not until that moment that Camille realized she had been crying.
"Why will you not leave, Camille? By staying, you only cause yourself unnecessary pain."
Pierre's concern touched her deeply and Camille responded with candor. "Pierre, the answer is simple. Even though Charles has met another, he is not through with me yet. And I am not through with him. I will continue to enjoy the love for him, which I hold secret within my heart. When the time comes that Charles is no longer available to me, I will accept your offer to return to Paris, for I will have nothing to hold me here."
"Camille,
ma
chérie
…"
"Until that time, I will put my sorrow to the back of my mind and concentrate on my blessings. I have many, you know, Pierre. You are one of them."
Pierre's hand again caressed her cheek, and Camille smiled at his whisper.
"And the sparkle in your eyes?" he said.
"I will rekindle its glow."
Stepping back from his arms in a quick, graceful movement, Camille took a deep breath, pushed away her sadness, and tucked her arm lightly under his. Raising her chin, she walked with him to the door of his office and stepped back as he opened it.
"I have an appointment with Madame
Beauchamps
, Pierre. She is making a very special garment for me. It is a trifle daring, and I am uncertain about it. I would greatly appreciate your advice if you would accompany me to her shop today. I should not like to shock the good people of Tombstone."
"There is little you could do that would shock the good people in this wicked town,
ma
chérie
."
"Then you must come with me and make certain that I do not disappoint them."
Le Comte's spontaneous laugh echoed in the foyer as they stepped through the doorway.
Turning toward him with a flutter of her long eyelashes, Camille moved closer to whisper into his ear, "I will refresh myself and return within moments with my hat, ready for our outing. Will you be waiting for me?"
"Always,
ma
chérie
, always…"
Turning, Camille took a few steps, then turned and shot Le Comte a broad wink. Waiting only until he winked just as broadly in return, Camille ascended the staircase rapidly, a true smile on her face. The higher she climbed, the higher her spirits rose.
Pierre was right, she realized. The somber mood that had assailed her of late was uncharacteristic. She was Camille. Camille did not allow life to overwhelm her. She overwhelmed life! She would push her sorrow to the back of her mind. There was still much left for her here. Charles would visit her again, and she would enjoy him. She would enjoy him for as long and as well as she might. And, in silence, she would love him. Oh, how well she would love him…