

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten

"I Can See Only One Solution," he said, eyeing her speculatively. "You can take Angela's place."
Nicole sprang to her feet, her dark eyes huge with disbelief. "I can't marry you!"
"Why not?" he asked curtly. "Being my wife certainly offers certain advantages."
"Of all the nerve!" she blazed at him, her hands pressed to her crimson cheeks. She burned with humiliation at the cold-bloodedness of his proposal.
"Before you rush off in a blaze of righteous indignation," he said, "I suggest you consider the advantages of my proposal. You said last night you would do anything---I believe that was your exact word---to help your brother."
CAROLE HALSTON is the wife of a sea captain, and writes her stories while her husband is out at sea. Her characters frequently share her own love of nature and enjoyment of active outdoor sports.
Dear Reader:
Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing venture. We will be presenting the very finest writers of contemporary romantic fiction as well as outstanding new talent in this field. It is our hope that our stories, our heroes and our heroines will give you, the reader, all you want from romantic fiction.
Also, you play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books and I invite you to write to us at the address below.
So, enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!
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Silhouette Books
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Copyright © 1981 by Silhouette Books,
a Simon & Schuster Division of Gulf & Western Corporation
Map copyright © 1981 by Tony Ferrara
ISBN: 0-671-57062-5
First Silhouette printing February, 1981
Nicole glanced nervously at the clock shaped like an old-fashioned iron skillet and then back to the young man slumped over at the kitchen table. Discouragement etched every line of his listless posture and dulled the fine dark eyes that were so like her own.
"Andrew, dear, I know things look hopeless to you right now, but the important thing is---" Her voice broke traitorously. "You're alive."
Tears filled her eyes at the painful memory of the funeral for her father just two weeks ago. Goodness knows, she couldn't afford to submit to the dull ache of misery. She felt like slumping down beside Andrew at the plain, white-painted table and wailing her anguished question: "Why? Why?"
But she had to remain strong, and the clock reminded her of the wedding rehearsal that was to take place in just twenty minutes.
"Sure, I'm alive," Andrew countered bitterly, "but I might as well be dead. Like Dad!" His composure failed him as his young face twisted in grief and his shoulders shook with deep, choking sobs. He had moved numbly, almost like a sleepwalker unaware of his surroundings, through those days following the violent storm that had snatched away the life of their father and destroyed their big wooden fishing trawler, leaving Andrew clinging to a piece of refuse for hours until he was finally rescued by another boat.
"Andrew Baronne, don't say that!" Nicole protested sharply. "Don't ever say that. God may punish you---" Her voice broke at the blazing fire in her brother's tear-reddened eyes. She had spoken automatically, without thinking, the words welling up out of a background of religious teaching at parochial schools.
"Seems to me He's already done a pretty good job of fouling things up," Andrew said angrily, brushing away the tears from his face with harsh movements of his callused young hands.
Nicole's heart constricted unbearably as he continued. "You know as well as I do the insurance money's not enough to buy another boat, even an old wooden one like we had. What bank's going to lend that kind of money to a twenty-year-old?" He shook his head in despair at the truth of his own argument. "I'm looking at five to seven years of hard work on somebody else's boat, unless I can get my hands on some big money."
The cold anger in his last words filled Nicole with foreboding. In Andrew's distraught condition, he might do something foolish, something to ruin his whole life. She felt so helpless, so terribly inadequate to alleviate his enormous problems. If only there was something she could do! Anything!
Meanwhile, another quick look at the clock revealed she had only fifteen minutes to get over to the church for the rehearsal. Andrew intercepted her nervous glance and said with cutting irony, "Better not keep your rich friends waiting. Say, why couldn't you be the one marrying Louis Chauvin? That'd take care of all our problems."
"Don't be silly," Nicole scolded gently. "I could never fit into that kind of life. Angela and Louis are meant for each other."
"Maybe so, but she sure doesn't act like someone about to get married till death do us part," he said scathingly. "She's been running around all over the country with Lord What's-His-Name!"
"That's just vicious gossip," defended Nicole automatically, glad Andrew's mind had been diverted somewhat from his bleak prospects. With a quick kiss on his smooth, tanned forehead, she hurried out to the battered old Chevrolet her father had bought when it was new.
She tried to shrug aside a vague uneasiness aroused by Andrew's comment about Angela and Gregory Benton, the sophisticated Englishman she had seemed to consider a fascinating escort during the last few weeks. In spite of the nearness of his wedding date, Louis Chauvin had spent little time in Iberville, the old southern Louisiana town located in the heart of the sugarcane-growing region. Angela hadn't seemed to mind her fiancé's absence during the weeks preceding their wedding. She had merely shrugged and pouted prettily. "Louis is no fun anyway. All he ever thinks about is that dirty old sugar business."
Such remarks had been very strange to Nicole, who harbored very old-fashioned notions about marriage. She had observed her former classmate very closely, trying to detect some underlying seriousness, some telltale sign of love for the man she planned to marry. But Angela had flitted blithely through the preparations for her wedding with the same lighthearted abandon she had shown the previous year when she was Mardi Gras queen of one of the prestigious old carnival clubs, called krewes, in New Orleans.
Nicole parked the old white Chevrolet outside the Sacred Heart Church in the middle of Iberville, noticing ruefully how it contrasted with the other sleek automobiles. She didn't fit in at all with the other participants in Angela's wedding, but the headstrong Angela had been insistent: "You're the only person in the world who accepts me for what I really am. Besides, you're a perfect contrast to me with those huge dark eyes and your hair pulled straight back in that old-fashioned style!"
She had circled Nicole's waist and pulled her over in front of a full-length mirror. "Look!" she commanded, her cheeks flushed with lovely color, her blue eyes sparkling with exhilaration.
Angela was a storybook princess with satin blond hair curling loosely about her face, exquisite white skin, and wide blue eyes. In contrast, Nicole felt drab and plain with her heavy brown hair parted in the center and pulled back into a loose coil at the nape of her slender neck. She was unaware of the natural grace with which she held her head and the expressive movements of her hands when she spoke in her low, musical voice with its faint Cajun French accent. She would have been surprised if someone had told her she had an ethereal beauty that increased rather than diminished on closer examination.
As always, Angela had her own way, whatever her reasons. Nicole knew from past experience that her lovely, pampered friend couldn't bear to have her will opposed and could make life unpleasant for all around her when it was. It was simply easier to give in to Angela's wishes than to incur her displeasure. Against her better judgment, Nicole had reluctantly agreed to be Angela's maid of honor, her final hesitation swept away by Angela's insistence that she would provide all the necessary wardrobe for the teas and parties as well as for the ceremony itself.
Angela had pulled Nicole over to her capacious walk-in closet. "Here! Take whatever you want. The rest will go to the Junior League, anyway." She gestured to a whole section of beautiful clothes she had set aside to be discarded.
And so, for the next hour, Nicole had tried on evening gowns and dresses while Angela gave her critical opinions. In spite of her reluctance to accept the lovely garments, Nicole delighted in the beauty of the lustrous fabrics and the excellent styling. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the sight of herself in sleek clothes she could never have afforded to buy.
For the final rehearsal and the dinner party afterward she was wearing a severely simple beige shirtwaist dress of silk jersey with long sleeves and a softly pleated skirt. Angela hadn't actually insisted Nicole wear this particular dress tonight, but she had suggested several times that it would be appropriate. Nicole thought it was extremely plain for the festivities following the rehearsal, but she instinctively bowed to Angela's taste in such matters.
Hurrying into the vestibule of the church, she found everyone waiting for her and apologized breathlessly for being late. Her slight embarrassment at having all eyes fastened upon her was only heightened by Angela's exclamation: "Nicole, darling, that plain style fits you perfectly. It never did anything for me!"
Nicole's cheeks burned with humiliation at the revealing remark. Now everyone present knew without a doubt she was wearing Angela's cast-off clothes.
At that moment Nicole became aware of Louis Chauvin standing tall and detached over to one side. His unreadable blue eyes swept over her with a scrutiny that evoked a painful emotion blended of humiliation and resentment. She fought an overpowering urge to turn and flee those eyes that awakened in her a consciousness of her body that she had never before experienced.
What was he thinking? she wondered. Did Louis Chauvin regard her as an intruder, an opportunist hanging on to favors from his beautiful and wealthy fiancée? Nicole cringed at the thought. Fortunately, Angela made some remark to pivot the attention back to herself, and Nicole's discomfiture eased as she found herself forgotten in the background.
Her sense of propriety was jolted at the daring of Angela's dress, a luscious mint-green creation with a low-cut neckline that afforded a generous view of her rounded breasts. Nicole glanced down thoughtfully at the modest lines of her own dress, remembering Angela's remark about Nicole's being a perfect foil. Was that the reason Angela had insisted she be in the wedding, even though she obviously was out of her social depth? Angela's marriage was certain to get top-priority attention in the New Orleans society pages as well as in the local newspapers.
Suddenly everyone was looking at Nicole again, and she realized she had been so engrossed in her own puzzled thoughts she was oblivious to what had just been said.
"Nicole, you be the substitute bride," Angela was instructing. "Surely you know by now your routine for the real thing tomorrow," she said flippantly, anticipating Nicole's protest. The flash of temper in Angela's eyes and the slight tightening of her full lips made it evident to everyone that she would not be crossed; she would have things her own way regardless of what was customary.
"Greggy, you be the bridegroom," she commanded the suave man who was the focus of the recent gossip to which Andrew had alluded earlier. Gregory Benton was of slight build, with sandy-colored hair and light blue eyes, now ablaze with mockery in response to the impish tone in Angela's voice that seemed to dare him to refuse.
"My pleasure," he said smoothly, stepping forward to smile into Nicole's dark eyes. "My dear, you make a lovely bride," he said, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back.
"Don't get any ideas about Nicole," Angela said sharply. "Her secret ambition is to be a nun."
Nicole flushed in angry embarrassment at the titters of amusement following Angela's barbed comment. How dare she blurt out a confidence shared in a rare moment of schoolgirl intimacy!
Nicole had been one of the few pupils at the exclusive St. Therese's School for Girls who did not come from a wealthy Louisiana family. Her tuition was paid out of a trust fund established by a rich parishioner of the church she attended. Her gratitude for the opportunity to attend the well-established, first-rate Catholic girls' school had instilled in Nicole an urge to do something generous in return, to perform some service for mankind.
It was in that spirit that she had confided to Angela her admiration for the dedicated nuns. Nicole had been flattered to have the dazzling Angela Peltier seek her out for a friend and confidante. After a mutual baring of some of each girl's most private feelings, Nicole had dared to mention, hesitantly, her innermost ambition, inchoate though it was. Even then Angela's giggle of derision had made Nicole regret the fleeting confidence.
Gregory Benton's hand pressed reassuringly against Nicole's back as he protested jokingly, "There are plenty of ugly girls to take the holy vows. Nicole is much too beautiful for that calling." The laughter following his irreverent witticism released the tension, and everyone concentrated on the matter at hand, the final rehearsal.
A marked change had come over Angela at a few low words from the tall, imposing man she would meet at the altar tomorrow. The vague uneasiness Nicole had felt that afternoon driving to the church persisted. She sensed a disturbing restlessness and impatience in Angela, who made low comments to her fiancé while her eyes followed every movement made by Gregory Benton. What words of Louis Chauvin had caused that sharp little frown on Angela's pretty forehead and that stubborn set of her lips? Nicole wondered if he had intercepted the rumors about Angela and her titled escort. Was he censuring her for behavior not appropriate for the future Mrs. Louis Chauvin?
Later that evening Nicole gave an inexplicable little shiver as she observed Louis Chauvin at the party held, contrary to custom because of special circumstances, at Angela's lovely home. He was a sternly handsome man with crisp black hair and probing blue eyes. Probably in his mid-thirties, he was at least twelve years older than Angela and Nicole. Maybe his age accounted for the aura of total mastery he exuded. It was common knowledge that he had assumed control of the family business interests after his parents had gone down in a disastrous airplane crash about five years ago. Those business interests included huge sugarcane farms and sugar refineries as well as other investments, all of which seemed to require a great deal of travel. Nicole knew he still maintained the gorgeous old antebellum home called Mimosa House and was guardian of his young sister, Elaine, who had been about seven or eight years old when their parents died.
"And may I have this dance before you make any rash decisions to enter the convent?" a smooth voice cut into her reflections, and Gregory Benton led her out on the dance floor. "These Southern moneyed aristocrats certainly know how to do things up properly," he observed in his clipped accent, his amused glance taking in the splendor of chandeliers glittering overhead and the orchestra situated on a carpeted dais at the far end of the room.
The man definitely had charm, Nicole had to admit as she relaxed in his arms and laughed at the witty comments he directed at various unsuspecting guests gorging themselves at the lace-draped refreshment tables. She could understand. Angela's enjoyment of his droll company, but in Nicole's opinion he paled considerably in comparison to Louis Chauvin. It was like placing a lightweight sponge beside a granite boulder.
The music having ended, Nicole found herself and Greg standing next to Angela and the man Nicole had been comparing to a solid rock. Angela looked cuttingly at Nicole and said petulantly, "Greg, darling, you've been dominating the maid of honor and ignoring the bride. Dance with me."
The music resumed and for an awkward moment Nicole and the tall, stern man beside her watched Angela and Greg glide away in a close embrace. What had happened, Nicole wondered, to change Louis Chauvin from the urbanely charming man he had been a few short months ago at the engagement party to this sober, unsmiling person who didn't look at all the way a prospective bridegroom should look? Had he heard the snide rumors about Angela and Greg Benton? Was he having second thoughts about the marriage that would take place in less than twenty-four hours?
Suddenly he appeared to become aware of his surroundings and of Nicole poised uncertainly beside him. The frown on his brow smoothed and he suggested politely, "Shall we?"
Heart pounding with nervousness, Nicole moved stiffly into his arms. He held her carefully for a few seconds, then suddenly drew her closer, commanding in a low voice, "Relax."
Surprisingly, she did relax, and gradually her body became perfectly attuned to his as they moved in unison to the slow music. Closing her eyes in an instinctive repudiation of her immediate surroundings, she sank deeper and deeper into a world where there was nothing but the hard closeness of his lean body, the aromatic sweetness of tobacco clinging to his clothing, the cleanly masculine scent of aftershave lotion---all intensified by the haunting melody of the old love song the orchestra was playing.
Dancing had never been like that for her before, and she was too enslaved by her total sensory responses to marvel that this was happening to her, Nicole Baronne, in the arms of the man who would in a few short hours become Angela's husband. At the moment she could only wish that this blissful feeling wouldn't have to end.
"Thank you," he murmured against her hair. "That was lovely." She opened her eyes abruptly, her face flaming with the sudden realization that the song was over and she was still standing in the close circle of his arms, oblivious to reality.
"Oh!" she murmured, breaking away from him with every intention of bolting to hide her embarrassment. As if reading her impulse, he grasped her arm and escorted her off the dancing area to the perimeter of the large room crowded with talking, laughing people. She struggled to regain her poise as he guided her through tall French doors opening out upon a broad veranda along the side of the house. "Shall we brave the mosquitoes and escape this bedlam for a few seconds?" he asked, not waiting for an answer.
Nicole was grateful for the cool darkness and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the railing, which was damp with evening dew. She was still adrift in an alien sea of unsettling emotions aroused in her body by that brief dance with her friend's future husband.
After courteously obtaining her permission, he lighted his pipe, releasing a heavenly cloud of that aromatic tobacco smoke Nicole had detected earlier when her face was pressed close against his shoulder. During the brief moment when his lighter flamed, illuminating the lean, hard contours of his features, his eyes locked with hers in an electric contact that set Nicole's body atremble. He snapped the lighter closed with a click and dragged deeply on the pipe, causing the tobacco to glow scarlet and gold.
Nicole ventured to break the silence. "Angela's probably looking for you."
"I doubt it," he answered shortly.
The night chorus of raucous insect sounds closed around them, the familiar cacophony a deafening roar to Nicole's heightened senses. Dimly she could hear the laughter and music in the room behind them. She felt again that disorientation of a traveler who awakens in an alien land stripped of all familiar landmarks. It was a ridiculous sensation now, and she cleared her throat with determination, breaking the spell.
"Will you and Angela live in Iberville after you're married?"
She could feel his shrug of indifference. "Perhaps." Then he took her completely unawares. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. It's good of you to carry on with this wedding business under the circumstances." He questioned her gently about the recent tragedy, his sympathy so genuine in the dim intimacy of the veranda that Nicole found herself telling him about the terrible accident and her brother's bitterness, which made her fear he might do something really foolish.
"I would do anything to help Andrew," she was saying, when suddenly the French doors behind them burst open spilling golden light and sounds of revelry.
"So here you two are!" came gay voices, ending the brief interlude.
Nicole felt mingled relief and regret. Her common sense told her that after tomorrow Louis Chauvin would move forever outside the narrow boundaries of her life. He and Angela would go away to the British Virgin Islands on their honeymoon, and she would have to see about getting a full-time job to support herself now that her father was gone.
After high school she had chosen to stay at home and keep house and cook for her father and younger brother, at the same time working part time at the local library to earn money for her personal needs. She had tried her best to make the small cottage into a home for the three of them. Her reward had been the gleam of appreciation in her father's eyes and the warmth in his voice on those rare occasions when he would express his emotion with words.
"Your mamma would be so proud if she could see her little Nicole now." His face would soften with that faraway expression, and Nicole would know he was remembering the woman who could never be replaced in his affection after all these years. She'd died in an influenza epidemic when Nicole was a small child...
As Nicole allowed herself to be swept back into the ballroom, she looked around for Angela, half expecting to see her flirting with her latest conquest, the urbane Gregory Benton, but there was no sign of either of them. Oh, dear, had Angela grown angry at her fiancé's disappearance? Not that Angela could ever have reason to be jealous of her.
Suddenly she felt drained and leaden. The last week had been too much of a strain for her to keep up the outward pretense of enjoying herself. Besides, deep down she wanted to be alone and relive those magic moments tonight when she floated in Louis Chauvin's strong arms and later when they were alone on the veranda. Not that there was any future in such recollections, Nicole knew, but she would treasure them in the lonely days ahead. Not even Angela could take away Nicole's memories.
She skirted the crowd and located Angela's mother and father. They stood together, so engrossed in a serious conversation that they seemed oblivious to her approach.
"It's not right---she can't just go off at a time like this---" Mrs. Peltier's voice broke off in midsentence as she finally took notice of her daughter's maid of honor hesitating close by.
Nicole said goodnight quickly and departed, wondering what had happened to cause that look of concern bordering on panic on the faces of Angela's parents.
Nicole awoke early to a quiet house. A quick survey of Andrew's room showed it exactly the way it had been last night when she had arrived home: the bed still neatly made and unslept in. Where had he been all night? Heavy with worry for her brother, so young and so vulnerable at this difficult time in his life, she brewed a pot of strong black coffee and took her steaming mug out to the small back porch overlooking the vegetable garden.
Sitting down on the top step in the early morning sunshine, she noticed that the okra would soon be ready to pick. Then, with a little moan of remembrance, she realized that her father would never again walk with tired steps into the homey kitchen and lift the pot lid on the old iron Dutch oven, bending forward to sniff deeply the rich aroma of stewed tomatoes and okra seasoned with ham trimmings the way he loved them. It was little day-to-day things like that she would miss so terribly.
The unshed tears blurred her vision as she gazed at the neat rows of vegetables. Somehow it was wrong for everything to look so normal on this glorious June morning. The mockingbirds flitted tirelessly in the branches of the oak tree in the far corner of the fenced back yard; the sun's delicate rays caressed the thriving garden plants whose leaves rustled in the refreshing morning breeze. The natural harmony all around Nicole seemed a callous affront in view of her own depression.
The ringing of the telephone roused her from her lethargy. "Oh, no!" she cried, panic rising from the instant fear that something might have happened to Andrew! She jerked open the screen door, leaving it to slam behind her as she ran to the wall telephone in the kitchen.
"Yes?" she managed to whisper into the black plastic receiver, her heart pounding with fright.
"Nicole, did I waken you?" came the smooth voice of Angela's mother.
"Oh, Mrs. Peltier, it's you!" Nicole breathed, her body sagging weakly against the wall in relief.
"I apologize for calling you so early, dear, but could you come over right away?"
"Of course. Has something gone wrong?" Now that her fright had abated, Nicole detected a strange note in Mrs. Peltier's calm voice.
"I'll explain everything after you arrive. Please come right over."
Nicole stood holding the receiver in her hand seconds after the small click had released the impersonal buzz of the dial tone. Now what? she wondered dully.
She slipped on tailored navy slacks and a cotton knit top of bold red and white stripes. She knew her father's opinions about the living mourning the dead, and he would have heartily approved her selection of crisp colors that seemed to have a soothing effect on the turbulence of her emotions.
Half an hour later she sat in the library of the Peltiers' rambling old Louisiana mansion, staring with shocked disbelief at the other three people in the room.
"Angela left?" she repeated foolishly. "But she's getting married at one o'clock this afternoon."
Mary Peltier sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, her face pale beneath its layer of perfectly applied makeup. Her clothing and hair arrangement were impeccable, as always. She looked up from the piece of paper she held in one manicured hand.
"I suppose her father and I are much to blame," she said in her composed voice, as if she were analyzing the failure of one of her many charity organizations to raise the expected amount of funds. "We have always spoiled her. She always looked like a little angel when she was pleased."
Nicole's thoughts whirled and her heart twisted with pity at the shamed look on Mr. Peltier's normally jocund face. How could Angela bring such embarrassment upon the two people who loved her so devotedly? According to the scrawled note, she had realized last night that she wasn't ready to tie herself down with marriage. It would be a terrible mistake right now, so she'd decided to go away somewhere for a few months to think. She'd be in touch with her parents; they weren't to worry about her, because Greg Benton had kindly agreed to go along and look out for her. She'd signed "Love, Your Angel."
Nicole's eyes strayed to the tall, implacable back of Louis Chauvin, who stood gazing out the window beyond which the wide lawn sloped gently down to the brown currents of the bayou. She'd caught a glimpse of his face when she first entered the room, and it had resembled a carved wooden mask, his eyes smoldering with suppressed emotion. He had not spoken one word during the Peltiers' mortified explanation that their daughter had bolted the evening before, leaving her parents and fiancé the enormous task of canceling the elaborate wedding proceedings.
How would they be able to inform all the guests just hours before the wedding? Nicole felt dazed with the unexpectedness of it all, but she was beginning to wonder why she had been the one to be called in like this. Where were the other bridesmaids and attendants? They were all more a part of the Peltiers' social world than Nicole could ever be. What did they expect of her?
"I'll be glad to help telephone people, if you'll just give me a list of the guests," she offered quietly, stifling the spontaneous impulse to apologize for Angela's deplorable behavior, knowing intuitively they would resent any criticism of their beloved daughter even at this time.
Mary Peltier glanced nervously at the rigid figure of the man her daughter had deserted practically at the altar. As though sensing her glance, at that moment Louis Chauvin turned, his shoulders squared, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. Nicole noticed quite irrelevantly that the soft gray fabric molded the taut muscles of his thighs. She quaked inwardly at the controlled fury in his eyes as they raked across the three of them facing him in uncertainty.
"The wedding will not be canceled," he announced coldly, looking straight into Nicole's eyes with an intensity that made her hotly uncomfortable. As puzzling as his words were under the circumstances, they fitted her image of him, a proud and formidable man who would not take public humiliation lightly.
Following the thunderous silence during which everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath, Mary Peltier stood up, smoothing her crisp skirt with restless hands. She looked questioningly at her husband, who gave a barely perceptible nod before he spoke to the tall man towering before the window. Nicole felt vaguely that some prearranged sign was being exchanged among the other three people present.
"We will go along with you, Louis, whatever you decide. I don't have to tell you how apologetic I feel at this moment. Your parents and Mary and I always looked forward to the day when their son and our daughter..." His voice drifted off into a deep sigh. Then, with an inscrutable glance at Nicole, he led his wife from the room.
As the door closed soundlessly behind them, Nicole's pulses throbbed with apprehension. She felt completely out of her depth, unable to comprehend the currents of communication between Angela's father and this stern man facing her. What was her role in this alarming state of affairs? What did any of this have to do with her? The questions crowded her mind in a confused jumble, making rational thought impossible.
"What do you---how can you..." she murmured incoherently.
"What you're asking is how can there be a wedding without a bride," he cut in harshly.
She nodded mutely, trying in vain to tear her eyes away from his compelling gaze, his blue eyes darkened with emotion in a way she found most disquieting.
"I can see only one solution," he said, eying her speculatively. "You can take Angela's place."
"What!" Nicole sprang to her feet, dark eyes huge with disbelief. "You're out of your mind! I can't marry you!"
"Why not?" he said curtly. "Perhaps it's conceited of me to think so, but being my wife certainly offers some advantages over hiding yourself away in a convent. Such a life may be commendable for the right woman, but not for you." He paused slightly. "It is fortunate, too, that you can wear the wedding dress."
"Of all the gall!" she blazed at him, her hands pressed to crimson cheeks. She burned with humiliation at the cold-bloodedness of his proposal, the insulting implication that she was a nonentity with no plans, no life of importance, just a convenience to enable him to save face rather than cancel his wedding. Why, the very suggestion that she take Angela's place was arrogant---even barbaric.
"Before you rush off in a blaze of righteous indignation," he said coldly, "I suggest you consider the advantages of my proposal. You suggested last night you would" do anything---I believe those were your exact words---to help your brother. I'm prepared to advance your brother the money he requires to purchase a new, up-to-date fishing boat with all the latest equipment. He can repay me over a long period.
"All I ask of you in return---in addition to the general supervision of the staff at Mimosa House---is that you take charge of Elaine. She's twelve now and needs the influence of a woman. I was hoping---"
Nicole completed the sentence in her mind. He had been hoping Angela would take an interest in his young sister. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response. She felt a sense of panic at the responsibilities of the life he so calmly outlined. Nothing in her background had prepared her to be the mistress of one of the oldest and most historic homes in the whole of southern Louisiana. She struggled desperately against the current of change sweeping her away from the familiarity of her old circumscribed existence.
"You're forgetting one person in this neat little plan of yours," she protested with a note of hysteria in her voice. "Andrew would have his boat, you would save face in front of all your friends and get a companion for your sister in the process, but what about me?"
"What about you?" He shrugged. "What are your alternatives? The tedium of a low-paying job, with the possibility of marrying some local young man. I'm offering you all the advantages of being Mrs. Louis Chauvin, including a beautiful home, a comfortable allowance for your personal needs, and the opportunity to give your brother a future. Frankly, I fail to see how I'm doing you an injustice," he said.
How clever of him to emphasize her ability to rescue Andrew from the dangers facing a young man filled with bitterness at what he considered the inequities of life. How could she ever forgive herself if she denied Andrew this rare opportunity out of selfish consideration of herself, and then something terrible happened to him. She admitted with a rueful little insight that Louis Chauvin hadn't been wrong in assessing the limitations of her own future. She had no education beyond her excellent high-school studies, and her only work experience outside of her varied domestic duties was that of part-time library assistant.
He watched her inner struggle with perceptive eyes. Finally, he spoke. "Well, have you decided?"
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and replied evenly, "I have decided to accept your proposal."
He relaxed slightly at her words. "Good. That's settled, then. I'll take care of everything while you go home and pack whatever you wish to move to Mimosa House. Don't worry about the legal complications--- money talks," he said cynically.
She bit her lips, mustering the courage to speak her one condition. How could she tell him she wouldn't--- couldn't bear, under the circumstances... She faltered even in her attempt to frame the reservation in her mind. He noted her agitation and a swift expression of comprehension flashed in his eyes.
"I see," he drawled mockingly. "Your chaste instincts are offended by the sexual obligations of marriage. Most women don't find me physically repulsive, but I can assure you I do not intend to enter your bedroom by force!"
Four months later Nicole's memories of her wedding day formed a kaleidoscope of vivid scenes. The blank incredulity on Andrew's face changing quickly to hope as she explained honestly the turn of events that would alter his future and hers for the better. The image of herself as she stood in front of the full-length gilt-framed mirror in Angela's bedroom staring at the exquisite stranger in sumptuous wedding regalia. The almost funereal atmosphere in the limousine on the ride to the church with Mr. Peltier, who, true to his word, supported Louis Chauvin in his decision to take a substitute bride---right down to walking down the aisle with Nicole. The sea of faces, turned to watch the bride, gradually contorting with shock as the realization undulated through the assembly: "That isn't Angela!"
She remembered that strange floating sensation as she proceeded down the. long, carpeted aisle to stand beside the tall, remote man whose eyes kindled with a strange flame when she dared to look directly at him as she repeated the sacred vows of marriage. Then there was the shock of his firm mouth pressed against hers before they retreated hurriedly back up the long aisle, with her clinging desperately to the hard rock of his arm.
He had ignored the limousine with the uniformed chauffeur waiting in readiness, guiding her instead around the corner of the church to his pale blue Mercedes. Inside the car she had collapsed against the smooth leather upholstery with a convulsive little shudder.
"It's done," he said with grim satisfaction. In a terse, clipped voice he explained that they would bypass the reception, going directly to Mimosa House instead, where she would be safely secluded from wagging tongues and curious eyes until the sensation of their wedding had died down. Meanwhile she could become acquainted with the Holdens, the middle-aged couple who maintained Mimosa House, and have some time to get to know Elaine, who fortunately was at home on summer vacation and would be spared the curiosity of her classmates.
"The newspapers will have a field day with this," he said bitterly, "but as far as they're concerned, the happy couple are honeymooning in the British Virgin Islands."
Nicole still flushed scarlet every time she remembered the mocking look Louis had flung her at the mention of the hypothetical honeymoon. He had certainly been true to his word, she reflected ruefully, as she stepped over to her dressing table to brush her waist-length hair. There was little chance he could demand his rights as a husband when she hadn't seen him since the day of the wedding. On the few occasions when she had spoken to him on the telephone, he was as polite and courteous as a well-mannered stranger.
She bent forward now and vigorously brushed the mass of dark hair streaming over her shoulders. The length and thickness of her hair had never been a problem before, but since taking up tennis she'd seriously considered a shorter hairstyle.
She could hear the rapid crack of the tennis ball's contact with the center of the racquet strings as Adrian and Elaine practiced on the private court located beyond the brick-paved patio. "Great shot!" came the masculine voice of Adrian Dessommes, who managed the Chauvin sugarcane plantation and lived in his own cottage on the estate.
What a dear, Nicole thought fondly as she fastened her glossy hair with a large gold filigreed barrette at the nape of her neck and gave herself a critical survey in the mirror. She looked like a proficient tennis player in her crisp white terry dress with its matching jacket. Now, if only she could learn to hit a backhand! Adrian was such a patient teacher, always complimenting her progress and never criticizing her frequent lapses.
Standing beside the court a few minutes later, she watched admiringly as Adrian threw up high, floating lobs for Elaine to put away with her deadly overhead smash. At age twelve she was an accomplished tennis player, as her collection of trophies proved. She regularly won all the local tournaments for juniors in her age group. For some time an idea had been forming in Nicole's head, born of some wistful comments Elaine had made.
Now the wiry young girl raised her arms dramatically in the sign of triumph the professionals displayed when they made the final winning point in a big tournament. She bounded over to Nicole with long-legged grace, a feminine version of her older brother, with black hair and deep blue eyes. Nicole wondered if his sternly handsome face had ever radiated that same youthful spontaneity.
"Your turn, Nicole! I tired him out for you!" Elaine teased the stocky, muscular young man who strode over to join them. His sun-bleached light brown hair was a mass of unruly curls, and his liquid hazel eyes had tiny wrinkles around the edges from squinting into the sun.
"Listen to the arrogant brat," he jeered. "I'm not even warmed up yet!"
Their banter was so good-natured and so much fun. Nicole gave a little prayer of thanks that everything had turned out so unbelievably well in her new life. In retrospect, she could perceive the wisdom of Louis's decision to be candid with his young sister in explaining the circumstances that had led to his marrying Nicole rather than Angela, who apparently had never been one of Elaine's favorite people. Louis had reasoned that his young sister would inevitably hear gossip when she returned to school in the fall, if not before, and she would be better off armed with the truth.
From the very beginning, Nicole and Elaine had struck up a rapport that was only strengthened when Nicole admitted that she had always nourished a secret desire to play tennis but had never found the opportunity. Elaine had insisted that Nicole buy the best equipment and a whole selection of tennis clothing. "In a little while you'll be playing tournaments at the club," the girl predicted.
In addition to having an excellent court in her own back yard, Nicole was fortunate to have the expert instruction of Adrian, who had also proved to be good company and a fertile source of information about the huge Chauvin sugarcane plantation. She knew he must be puzzled about the strange marriage relationship between herself and Louis, but he had not yet asked any intrusive questions.
"Ready?" he asked now with a friendly smile.
"Hey, I'll leave you two to your lesson. There's a big women's tennis final on TV today," called Elaine as she loped away toward the house.
"Does that kid ever walk in a normal way?" Adrian inquired humorously.
"Not that I've noticed." Nicole laughed. "I think the stage is labeled 'preadolescent'."
"You've certainly made a hit with her. She's so outgoing and poised for a kid her age that people forget she had the rug pulled out from under her life five years ago when her parents went down in that crash. Deep down there's a little girl who needs love."
"But Lou---her brother loves her," Nicole protested, hoping he hadn't noticed the way she had stumbled over her husband's name. Why did she avoid speaking his name? She colored faintly under Adrian's shrewd gaze. One day soon he would ask those questions hovering on his lips.
"Sure, Louis loves Elaine," he countered with a slight emphasis on the first name, "but she needs more than all the Chauvin money can buy. She needs to be important as a person to someone in her own family; she needs someone to talk with about problems and growing up, someone to guide her in making some of the tough decisions coming up in the next few years. And giving her everything in the world isn't going to substitute for that basic need."
"You're right," Nicole agreed reflectively, her mind slipping back to that interview four months ago that had transformed her life, when Louis---even in her thoughts she tripped over the intimacy of saying his first name---had emphasized Elaine's need of a woman to guide her as she grew into a teenager. Adrian couldn't realize the depth of his employer's concern for his younger sister.
She wondered now if Elaine had not been his primary reason for taking a wife. Apparently his mind had registered data about Nicole's character---her youthful admiration of the nuns, her devotion to her father and brother, her loyalty to Angela. When Angela had let him down, he had gambled that a person like Nicole would take her responsibilities very seriously.
Well, he was right, but after four months Elaine was far more to her than a responsibility---she loved Elaine like a dear little sister.
"Hey, I didn't mean to set you off on a soul-searching junket," joked Adrian. His eyes roved appreciatively over her slender figure, its smooth brown skin contrasting vividly with the virginal white of the tennis dress. "What I can't understand about Louis..." He broke off at the warning expression in Nicole's eyes. The time still wasn't right to probe for answers to puzzling questions. He changed the subject swiftly.
"Let's warm up on a few forehands, and then we'll work on backhand technique."
Nicole was relieved to shrug aside the touchy subject of her unconventional marriage arrangement and her absent husband. One reason she loved tennis was its requirement for total concentration. She was able to clear her mind of all disturbing thoughts.
Adrian had assured her she had natural ability for the game, and she tried hard to follow all his instructions. He definitely knew what he was talking about, having attended LSU on a tennis scholarship and at age twenty-eight having a ranking in the South in the under-thirty-five category. It had occurred to her that his prowess at tennis might have been as important a job qualification as his agricultural degree. He was certainly young to have so weighty a job as supervisor of a plantation system as vast as this one, and one of his regular duties was to work out with Elaine on the tennis court.
"Sorry, I just can't seem to get the grip right," she apologized after misjudging another backhand swing and sending the ball careening off the court to bounce against the high wire fence encircling the court.
"Here, let's take a look." Adrian stepped over the net separating them and came over to stand close beside Nicole.
"You put your thumb here," he corrected. He reached behind her to grasp the racquet shaft with his left hand, and with his right hand extended across the front of her body he adjusted her hand placement on the racquet handle. Nicole was so intent on the instruction that she gave no thought to the intimacy of their position. Adrian frequently found it necessary to show her how to do something when mere verbal directions failed.
"Oh, I think I understand now what I was doing wrong," she exclaimed, smiling into the face so close to her own. Her smile faded as she saw he wasn't looking at her, but at the open gate giving access to the court from the patio. Her head turned curiously to locate the object of his intent gaze.
"Very interesting instructional technique, Dessommes," came the cool drawl of Louis Chauvin as he stood observing them, hands thrust casually into the pockets of his fawn trousers.
Nicole felt the blood rush to her cheeks as his penetrating blue eyes moved over her body appraisingly, as if he were inspecting an article with the possibility of purchasing it. Adrian's arms fell to his sides, and he walked beside Nicole toward the man whose name she avoided because just speaking it caused a disruptive sensation she couldn't identify. An astonishing thought widened her eyes and heightened the color of her tanned skin to a dusky rose: This tall, assured man whose vital masculinity could never fail to draw the gaze of women wherever he went---this man was her husband!
Nicole gave an annoyed sigh of exasperation and threw off the pale yellow satin coverlet. Would she ever be able to get to sleep tonight? Her mind was like a captive of some crazy movie projectionist who took perverse pleasure in playing the same meaningless scenes over and over again in changing sequences. All she wanted to do was turn the controls in her head to off and sink into blessed sleep and forget the past week since Louis had returned.
Why had his presence at Mimosa House shattered the previous serenity of her new life? She kept asking herself that question over and over again. He was polite and distant whenever she saw him at meals, and he was busy most of the remaining time, either consulting with the manager of the Chauvin sugar refinery in the neighboring town of Stapleton or out with Adrian Dessommes overseeing the vast acres of sugarcane plantation.
She hadn't been alone with him for more than a few minutes, a circumstance for which she was grateful, since in his presence she seemed to revert to the painful awkwardness of a teenage girl on her first date. Fortunately, Elaine always seemed to be there, basking in the unaccustomed treat of her older brother's attentive company. Rambling on at length, she talked happily of her experiences with Nicole, especially their occasional expeditions to New Orleans to take in a movie and do some shopping. Nicole was frequently aware of Louis's speculative gaze directed at herself, and she wondered uncomfortably what he was thinking.
During the past months Adrian, at the insistence of both Elaine and Nicole, had fallen into the habit of taking most of his meals at the big house, and Louis noted this practice without comment. Nicole found herself turning to the friendly younger man more than she had before, grateful for the approval and admiration he radiated toward her. She felt much more sure of herself with him than with the rather formidable man she had married.
Adrian's manner toward her had seemed to undergo a subtle change since the return of his employer. There was an increased protectiveness, and occasionally the clear hazel eyes were shadowed by a puzzlement, an expression of concern.
Now, as Nicole turned on the bedside lamp and paced back and forth across the deep-piled white carpet in her bare feet, frustration welled up within her. Nothing had happened to unsettle her like this! Absolutely nothing! Why, why, why, then, couldn't she sleep?
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her vanity table. Her hair floated around her bare shoulders, and her eyes were huge dark pools with questions hovering in their depths. She stopped pacing with a smile of derision at her disheveled appearance. Why, she looked like some overwrought actress portraying Lady Macbeth! Enough of this senseless anxiety.
With swift resolve, she squared her shoulders in a gesture amazingly similar to that she had displayed four months ago when she had faced Louis Chauvin with her grave acceptance of his marriage proposal. She would stifle the irrational insecurity that had plagued her during the past week. Deep within were resources of strength she had drawn on before, and she would face up to the future---whatever it held.
Her first objective was to get some sleep. Maybe the proverbial glass of milk would have a soothing effect. It couldn't hurt to try it, and at this late hour nobody would be up to notice her insomnia. She didn't even bother to slip a robe over the long white satin nightgown that left her smooth brown neck and shoulders bare except for the slender straps. It had been a gift from Elaine, who had noticed Nicole admiring it on one of their shopping trips and had made an excuse to sneak back to the store and buy it for her. Touched at the impulsive gift, Nicole couldn't help reflecting upon the casualness with which the wealthy could spend money, even one as young as Elaine.
The exquisite simplicity of the gown suited Nicole perfectly, and she looked like a graceful young ghost as she descended the curving staircase into the lofty central hall and turned back toward the big kitchen that was really an innovation of more modern times; the original house had had its kitchen in a separate building connected to the main house with a covered walkway. In the days of numerous servants and no air conditioning, the master of the house and his family and guests were spared the heat of the wood-burning cook-stoves.
The present kitchen was a stainless-steel and porcelain marvel of modern appliances with its huge range and array of ovens, its oversized refrigerator, and its separate upright freezer. It was obviously a kitchen designed to accommodate the elaborate preparation of food for large numbers of people. Elaine had mentioned the big parties her parents used to have on holidays and special occasions.
What would Louis Chauvin think now if he knew his own wife felt trepidation at helping herself to a glass of milk in this showplace of a home! Nicole grimaced with wry amusement as she poured herself a tall glass of milk. She lifted it to her lips and drank its rich coldness.
"I'll take a glass of that, too," came a low familiar voice close behind her. She jumped convulsively and whirled around. She hadn't heard anyone, so engrossed had she been in her own private thoughts, but there in the dim light stood Louis, clad only in dark green pajama bottoms. Her heart pounded riotously at the unexpected nearness of his tall, muscular body with the bare expanse of chest covered with curly black hair.
"You scared me!" she whispered breathlessly and then looked down at her clinging nightgown in sudden awareness that she wasn't any more modestly covered than he.
"Sorry," he said with cool amusement. "You looked like a dream goddess standing there. I was afraid you would melt away if I spoke."
She became acutely aware of his eyes traveling slowly and deliberately over the curves of her body revealed so embarrassingly by the shimmering fabric of her nightgown. Why hadn't she taken the time to pull on a wrap? How foolish to walk around as if she were the only person in the house. If he weren't standing directly between her and the door, she would flee with her partially drunk glass of milk and escape to the safety of her own bedroom.
As if reading her thoughts, he said evenly, "Don't go. I'd like to talk to you alone for a change. Sit over here."
As if under a spell, she mutely followed his instructions and perched on the edge of the bench behind the kitchen table, a massive affair made of thick cypress planks.
She watched, mesmerized, as he poured himself a glass of milk and then searched in a high cupboard for a bottle of brandy. Seated opposite her, he poured a generous splash of amber liquor into the milk before pushing the bottle toward her. "Here's the secret to the sleep-inducing power of milk," he said, draining half of the mixture in several big gulps.
"No, thanks," she refused nervously, taking a quick sip from her own glass. She could not control the strange quickstepping of her pulses at his physical nearness. In spite of herself, she couldn't keep her eyes off the taut muscles of the bare chest and arms, close enough that she could have reached over and touched the tanned skin. She shivered at the sudden overpowering urge to do just that---to reach over and stroke his warm masculine flesh.
Unconscious of the sharp breath she drew, she controlled the insane urge and stared with fascination at his lean, shapely hands clasped loosely around the glass in front of him. As the silence lengthened between them, she looked up to find him watching her intently.
"I couldn't sleep," she blurted needlessly.
"Nor could I," he returned musingly, his eyes sliding over the thick tresses of dark hair hanging free over her shoulders and then examining with open boldness the bare neck and rounded breasts molded by the sheen of white satin. His gaze so intensified her discomfiture that she half rose from the bench in an overwhelming need to escape the hot tide of emotions he aroused in her.
His fingers flicked out to grasp her forearm in an iron grip, forcing her to return to her seat. "What's wrong?" he asked huskily.
"You---you shouldn't look at me like that!" she said in confusion, her breasts rising and falling in such a noticeable way as to draw his attention again.
"Why not? After all, I am your husband, even without the enjoyment of conjugal rights," he said, relaxing his hurting grip on her forearm to stroke the numbed skin with a small caressing motion that ignited her arm in a melting warmth that spread slowly and insidiously through her entire body, leaving her unaccountably weak. She pulled back from his touch, using the pretext of brushing back a long strand of silky hair.
"You promised---" she reminded in a strained voice.
"I know what I promised. That was before I saw you in your nightgown---" he began in a low, disturbing voice and then held up one shapely hand in a conciliatory gesture as her lips flew open and her eyes blazed in protest. "Okay, okay... I've been waiting for an opportunity to tell you how pleased I am that you and Elaine get along so well. It's quite obvious she's very fond of you."
"I'm fond of her, too," Nicole replied. "So is Adrian. The three of us have a lot of fun together."
"So I've noticed," he said with a coldness in his voice. "Which reminds me of something else I wanted to discuss with you in private. It's been four months now since our rather sensational marriage. The time has come for us to go out together socially---as Mr. and Mrs. Louis Chauvin. We'll begin by accepting the invitation to the Martins' dinner party this weekend. It'll be a big affair, I expect."
His unexpected announcement brought stabbing fear to Nicole's breast at the alarming prospect of going out into Iberville's top society as Louis's wife. Didn't he realize she didn't belong? What if she made an utter spectacle of herself and brought shame on the Chauvin name? She didn't even have the wardrobe for that level of social life. Aside from tennis dresses, she hadn't bought any new clothes, in spite of the generous allowance she received from Louis each month. Somehow she hadn't felt that the money was really hers to spend. It was enough to live in luxury in his stately home.
Unaware of the troubled expression shadowing her sensitive features, she sat immersed in her fearful thoughts. As if reading her mind, Louis spoke again, authoritatively. "You'll need appropriate clothes, of course. I won't have my wife wearing someone else's hand-me-downs." The last was spoken in a grating tone that brought a blush of mortification to her cheeks.
He wanted to make sure she didn't wear any of Angela's clothes. Was he afraid of being reminded of the woman he'd wanted to marry, who had left him the night before the wedding? Was the memory of Angela's rejection still a raw place in his heart? Somehow the thought of his pain was unbearable to her.
"I'll do my best not to embarrass you," she said in a stilted little voice to cover up her conflicting emotions.
The man opposite her studied the proud set of her head, the graceful curve of neck and shoulder, the rich abundance of dark, silky hair. He opened his lips as if to speak and then checked the words, rising abruptly.
"You'd better get to bed now. It's late."
She rose quickly, chafed by the brusqueness of his tone. She picked up their two glasses and carried them to the sink, taking her time rinsing them with clear water, hoping he would be gone when she turned around. But he stood in the same place by the table, as if waiting for her.
They left the kitchen together and made their way through the wide hall to the elegant staircase, climbing the seemingly endless steps side by side in the hushed night silence of the old house, as if headed for a common destination. She paused outside the door of her room, awkwardly aware that he had every right by law and custom to enter her bedroom, even though he had promised he would never force his way in without invitation.
"Goodnight, la belle dame sans merci," he said in a low, mocking voice that made the blood pound in her ears with deafening loudness. After a tension-filled moment, he picked up a dark tress of lustrous hair and lifted it to his lips. "Elaine mentioned you are considering having your hair styled short. Don't." With those peremptory words, he turned abruptly to stride down the hall to his own room and disappeared inside.
Why had he called her that? she mused wonderingly. The lovely lady without mercy was from one of Keats's incomparably beautiful poems. It had been one of her favorites in English Literature class at school. She'd felt so sorry for the young man who'd awakened as if from a dream to find himself alone, the beautiful girl he'd discovered having disappeared. The girl in the poem had had long, tangled hair, she remembered.
Mind and senses in a turmoil, Nicole walked into her room with the distinct knowledge that she was not the same girl who had slipped down the stairs only a short time ago. For one thing, now she knew why she'd had trouble going to sleep earlier. She'd been fighting an honest confrontation with herself and her deep attraction to the man she had married.
Never had she been so physically aware of a man before, so sensitive to touch and voice and glance. She knew now, with undeniable certainty, that she would never have the strength to enforce the marriage condition she had exacted from him if he chose not to abide by it. Even though he did not love her, she would be his if he decided to take her---and some alien part of her wished desperately he would!
The next morning when Nicole went down to breakfast, Louis wasn't there. A hand-scrawled message announced that Andrew had called earlier. He would be docked at the marina for several days. She felt a little surge of happiness at her sudden resolve to get away from Mimosa House alone today and visit her brother on his prized new boat, High Hopes.
Several times in the past four months she had managed to get him to Mimosa House, but he was very busy, especially during the shrimping seasons when he would go out for days at a time, anchoring out in the Gulf and returning only when his storage compartments were filled to capacity.
Elaine was head-over-heels in love with him and always elated at the prospect of dropping by to visit at the marina, a world of fascination heretofore unknown to the young girl. So, even though Elaine had to go to school, anyway, it was with a small twinge of guilt that Nicole determined not to mention her intention of visiting her brother today.
The young girl chattered in her usual exuberant manner about a whole range of topics. Nicole smiled absently and half listened until she realized that an answer was expected of her. "I'm sorry, dear, what was that?" she murmured in apology.
"The mixed doubles tournament coming up at the club. Why don't you and Louis team up for that? He's pretty good. He and his partner won last year."
"All the more reason he will want a good partner, not me," Nicole replied firmly, wondering fleetingly who his last year's partner had been. She fought a rising sense of panic at things moving too fast, carrying her along. First Louis last night announcing she had to step out as his wife into Iberville's top social life, and now Elaine pressing her to enter a tennis tournament at the country club when she hadn't even had nerve enough yet to go there, let alone play tennis in front of all those people who knew she hadn't been born with a tennis racquet in her hand. It was only in the last ten years that anyone outside the elite class played tennis in this area of south Louisiana.
"You could play with Adrian," Elaine insisted doggedly. "He's a guest member. And he doesn't even need a partner he's so good!" She twitched with delight at her own cleverness.
"The whole idea is nonsense, Elaine. Adrian wouldn't be seen on the court with the likes of me." Nicole wished fervently she could eradicate this whole idea from Elaine's head.
"You underrate yourself and don't do justice to your instructor either," came an amused male voice from the doorway of the small breakfast room. Nicole flushed at the intent expression in Adrian's eyes as he smiled at her. Elaine was jumping up and down in her seat, nodding her head in elation at Adrian's words.
"Tell this stubborn child, Adrian, that I'm not ready for play in a tournament. I'm just learning the basic strokes of the game," Nicole pleaded, pouring him a cup of coffee as he slid into the chair opposite her.
"Actually, the brat may be right." He grinned disarmingly as her mouth opened in protest. "Sooner or later you have to get out on the court and get a taste of competition. It lets you see your strengths and weaknesses and gives you incentive to work harder." He sipped his coffee and drawled, "And I'd be honored to have you as my partner anywhere, any time."
Nicole was startled by the undertone of seriousness in his voice. Was Adrian getting emotionally involved with her? She dismissed the disturbing thought as ridiculous, and the moment passed. Elaine and Adrian discussed plans for their practice session that afternoon after school, leaving Nicole to outline her own day's activities in her mind.
First she would drop by the boat and visit with Andrew just like old times. Then she would drive to Lafayette and shop for a dress to wear to the Martins' dinner party. She guessed the other women would wear gowns purchased in Dallas or Atlanta or even New York, but for her Lafayette would have to do.
Later that morning she parked her silver-gray Mercedes convertible in a space between a mud-spattered red pickup truck and a dented olive-green Blazer. She remembered her shocked reaction the day the Mercedes was delivered to Mimosa House shortly after the wedding. That evening Louis had telephoned from Houston, and she had blurted clumsily, "I can't drive a car like that!"
He had replied coldly, "My wife doesn't have to drive a secondhand Volkswagen." She had cringed in embarrassment as she regretted the tactlessness of her remark. He had then explained in more even tones that he preferred her to have a reliable car since she would be taking Elaine places with her; besides, he found it simpler to stick to one make of car.
She loved everything about the car---its easy handling, the subdued luxury of the interior. The top was still down in October, even though the day was damp and cloudy, with the threat of rain in the air.
Sniffing deeply of the familiar pungent odors--- creosoted pilings, fishing nets thoroughly permeated with salt water, the distinctive fish odor of fresh seafood---she walked carefully along the uneven planks of the dock, noting with the practiced eye of the fisherman's daughter the purposeful activities going on. The business of running and maintaining a working boat required constant attention to the cleaning of the craft from top to bottom, the mending of nets, the repairing of engines and equipment. The older wooden boats like the one her father had owned also had to be scraped and painted regularly to protect the wood from the insidious threat of rot.
She stopped and chatted briefly in Cajun French with old Mr. Perrin, who sat on the foredeck of Lady Godiva, a fishing net darkened with use and preservatives spread across his bony knees. A wizened old Frenchman with weather-stained and wrinkled skin, he spoke with a lisp because he didn't have a tooth in his head. Nicole had known him since she had been a child skipping along the docks to her father's boat.
Mrs. Perrin, stout and kindly in her man's overalls and cotton shirt, emerged from the inside of the boat carrying a mug of steaming coffee for her husband and greeted Nicole with surprised welcome. She worked side by side with her husband, as did many of the fishermen's wives who accompanied their husbands out into the Gulf for days at a time, cooking for the crew as well as lending a hand with the actual manual work.
Nicole knew that her own mother had never been strong enough for that kind of life---and, besides, her father had preferred to have his wife home, protected from the raw conditions and hardships of the fisherman's lot.
Today the simplicity of these people's lives appealed strongly to her. They grappled daily with real challenges: the vicissitudes of the weather, the dependability of their fishing crafts and equipment, the caprices of the sea. Their lives had solidity and meaning.
Still mulling over these thoughts, she arrived at the mooring slip where High Hopes was docked. All gleaming white fiber glass with smart black trim, her brother's boat was one of the most modern and well equipped in the marina. She could hear the vibrant hum of the boat's engines, but Andrew was not in sight.
After a second's hesitation, she stepped aboard lightly and walked down the side deck to the open door of the pilothouse, where she stopped to look inside with an expectant smile on her face. The floor hatches covering the big twin diesel were open directly in front of her, and she could see Andrew kneeling at the edge, peering down at the motors throbbing with quiet precision.
"Hello!" she shouted, joy rising within her at the light of welcome in his eyes as he looked up without surprise. She knew he had been aware the instant she had stepped aboard. Now he rose and walked over to the instrument panel, flipping a switch to still the hum of the engines. In the sudden stillness, her voice sounded loud and excessively dramatic to her own ears.
"I've decided to abandon my life of idle luxury and move in with you, Andy. I'll become a boat woman!"
Her younger brother looked startled and embarrassed at her words, causing her to taunt, half joking and half serious, "What's the matter? You don't want me, either?" She took a step inside the pilothouse and gasped with surprise as she realized that Andrew was not alone. Standing in the companionway leading down into the galley and sleeping quarters was Louis, looking at her with a wry twist to his mouth.
She gasped. "I didn't know you were here."
"Obviously," he said ironically. "I didn't realize things were so bad at Mimosa House that you wanted to leave."
"That's just a game Nicole always played with Dad and me," Andrew said swiftly to fill in the awkward silence. He folded down the big hatches to cover the open engine compartment. "I've been showing Louis the boat," he explained to his sister with a young dignity that made her very proud of him.
"I'd like to go out with you sometime," Louis said quietly. "I have to agree with your sister---this life does have an appeal."
Andrew's face beamed with pleasure as he talked about his work. Although only twenty, he had worked with his father since he had been a small child. He knew the fishing business inside and out, and he loved it with a passionate devotion.
Nicole listened with quiet contentment as Louis asked questions and Andrew answered them. She watched her husband covertly, noticing with a small stir of excitement how handsome he looked in the rugged clothes he wore. Tight-fitting denim jeans and a navy cotton knit turtleneck shirt molded his tall, muscular form. A light blue windbreaker had been tossed carelessly to one side. His black hair glinted in crisp waves, and his intense blue eyes jolted her with every glance in her direction.
How she wished she hadn't blundered in that way, announcing her wish to move aboard the boat with Andrew. It sounded so ungrateful in view of the fact that there would be no boat if it weren't for her marriage to this disturbing man. Well, it was obvious that Louis had made a hit with Andrew. Her brother's feelings were clear in the way his mobile features lighted with friendliness.
A glance at her watch told Nicole it was lunchtime. She'd better get on the move if she planned to shop in Lafayette, which was at least an hour and fifteen minutes' drive. At a lull in conversation, she stood up to leave, glad of the opportunity to get away by herself and reflect on this surprising new view of Louis she'd glimpsed. He was so natural and down to earth sitting with Andrew and talking about fishing. An observer would never guess he had been born into one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Louisiana.
To her chagrin, he arose to leave at the same time she did, acting very much as if they were together. Further-more, his invitation to Andrew to join them made clear his assumption that she would eat lunch with him. Andrew declined, explaining he had an appointment with the director of the regional fishermen's co-op who was supposed to drop by the boat in the next hour or so.
As Nicole stepped gracefully from the boat to the dock, Louis reached for her hand to assist her. She hesitated for a second, then took his hand out of courtesy. He kept hers in a firm clasp as he thanked Andrew for showing him the boat and giving such an interesting insight into the shrimping industry. Then he invited warmly, "I hope you'll take time often to visit Mimosa House. You're welcome any time."
Part of Nicole longed desperately to pull her hand out of his as he strolled casually beside her along the dock, making comments about the bustle of activity going on all around them. But another part of her delighted in the touch of this man who was her husband.
"Let's eat lunch here at Vera's instead of going back home," he suggested, leading her toward the small, unpretentious restaurant built up on pilings over the edge of the water. It had a screened porch on three sides where people ate at oilcloth-covered tables during most of the year, except for the coldest months of January and February when they might be driven inside by the cold and dampness. Today was so delightfully bright and crisp that Louis didn't even ask if she preferred eating inside. He led her toward a table overlooking the color and activity of the fleet of docked fishing boats.
The specialty of the house was fresh seafood, whatever happened to be in season: hard-shelled crabs, shrimp, crawfish, speckled trout, catfish. Boiled seafood was extremely popular with Vera's customers; hence the practicality of the oilcloth table coverings. The eating was messy but delicious.
Louis and Nicole both ordered large bowls of seafood gumbo, a delicious concoction of shrimp and crabmeat in a dark, spicy gravy thickened by the addition of chopped okra and the extremely fine-ground spice the Louisiana Indians had first used called file. Gumbo was served on a mound of steamed rice, making it a hearty meal along with crusty hot French bread and butter.
"Hm-m-m---delicious," she murmured appreciatively.
"Can you cook gumbo?" he asked, eating his own lunch with undisguised gusto.
"Can I cook gumbo!" she answered with mock asperity. "What self-respecting south Louisiana girl can't make gumbo, red beans and rice, and jambalaya, just to mention the more obvious!"
"Do you miss cooking?" he asked after a companionable silence during which he seemed to be pondering her jocular statement.
She considered her answer carefully, wanting to be truthful but at the same time not wanting to sound ungrateful for her present state of luxury.
"Yes, I miss it in a way. It's not the cooking itself so much, but the mealtimes when Daddy and Andrew and I were all together---" Her voice quavered slightly at the poignancy of those memories. "For me cooking wasn't so much an art in itself as a way to please somebody special," she tried to explain, forgetting her usual selfconsciousness in his presence. She wasn't aware that her accent had become more discernible in her earnestness.
His blue eyes darkened with some emotion, and she remembered he, too, had suffered the loss of his parents. Was he thinking of them now? She tried to lighten the mood. "You should have seen Mrs. Holden's face when I offered to help her in the kitchen!" Nicole mimicked perfectly in the gruff tones of the housekeeper: " 'Mister Louis's mamma didn't know the difference between a rolling pin and a fry pan'."
To her surprise, instead of smiling, his lips tightened in a grim line. Now what had she said wrong?
"What you don't seem to understand," he said in that commanding tone that made her shiver at the thought of making him really angry, "is that you are my wife, the mistress of Mimosa House. You can do anything you like in the kitchen, regardless of what Sarah Holden thinks or says. All you have to do is assert yourself."
She was suddenly at a loss for words, the atmosphere of easy familiarity between them having vanished at his disapproval. Memory of the dinner party at the Martins' intruded, along with the necessity for purchasing something appropriate to wear to it.
"I really must go now," she said tersely. "Thank you for lunch---and thank you for being so human with Andrew," she added on impulse.
He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "I'm glad to know you admire 'humanness' in a man. As soon as I can figure out exactly what that quality denotes, I'll devote all my time and effort to developing it."
With those puzzling words, he led her out to the Mercedes convertible, his hand curved possessively into the contour of her lower back. He opened the door and waited until she had slid into the driver's seat, where she rested her hands lightly on the wheel, looking up at him uncertainly with flushed cheeks and parted lips. His swift changes of mood kept her unsure of what to say or do next.
His next action caught her completely off guard. He leaned over and took her chin in one lean brown hand, bringing his face inches away from her own. She noticed breathlessly how thick and black his eyelashes were. Then, slowly, he closed the distance between them and kissed her lips with a searching thoroughness, arousing a response that jolted Nicole all the way to her toes and fingertips.
"Have a good day, Mrs. Chauvin," he murmured huskily and, after a provocative brush of his lips against hers, he was striding across the parking lot with long, graceful legs. She watched him, her fingers lifted wonderingly to her lips, which still tingled from the imprint of his mouth.
"Gosh, you're beau-ti-ful," Elaine exclaimed admiringly, drawing out the syllables of the last word, a speech mannerism she'd developed since returning to school in September.
"I'm glad you like the dress," Nicole answered anxiously, having reached the point where she would soon have to leave the safety of her room and meet with Louis's inspection before they went on to their first social engagement as man and wife. She had bought the dress two days ago in the most expensive dress shop in Lafayette, since then vacillating between certainty that it was perfect for her and an awful lack of confidence in her own taste in clothes.
Elaine's wholehearted approval gave a little boost to her self-confidence. The younger girl lay sprawled across Nicole's bed, her chin propped on her cupped hands.
"Why don't you and Louis sleep in the same bedroom, like most married people?"
The question dropped like a bombshell, exploding Nicole's thoughts and bringing warm color to her cheeks. The younger girl wasn't being impertinent; her question was a testimony to the closeness between the two of them, and it had to be answered carefully. Elaine was at that age when girls become fascinated with the relationship between male and female and discuss the subject endlessly among themselves, often arriving at amazingly erroneous conclusions.
"You remember when you started back to school last month and all the girls asked you questions about Louis's and my wedding?" Nicole began, perching on the edge of a yellow velvet chair near the bed.
"Yeah, I remember. I wanted to tell them to take a flying leap and mind their own business, but you told me ahead of time to expect their curiosity, that it was natural."
"Have they been asking you more questions?" Nicole probed gently.
Elaine looked uncomfortable, as if she suddenly wished she hadn't opened up the subject. "No, but I overheard some people talking at the club. They're wondering what's going to happen now that old Angela is back---"
"Angela... back!" With an exclamation of shock, Nicole rose involuntarily from her seat. Did Louis know? He must have heard; if so, why hadn't he told her? A sudden suspicion pierced her like an unsheathed dagger. Was it mere coincidence that he had come home to Mimosa House at almost the same time his former fiancée was returning to her hometown? He'd wasted no time in asserting his intention of joining the social life that would be sure to bring him in contact with Angela.
The tumult of her thoughts was interrupted by a tap on the bedroom door. Elaine swung off the bed. "That's probably Big Brother now. He's a real stickler for being on time. Have fun, Nicole. You'll be the most gorgeous female there, for sure!" She gave Nicole a quick; hard hug and covered the distance to the door with a few strides of her long, graceful legs.
Louis stood outside, looking unapproachable in his formal dinner clothes, a little frown of impatience on his brow. Probably the result of being kept waiting, Nicole thought nervously.
"Nicole's prettier than you!" Elaine flung at him impishly before disappearing down the hall. Nicole instinctively lifted her head and squared her shoulders as he stood in the open doorway and surveyed her slowly, from the dark hair swept up on top of her head to the classically simple lines of the garnet red velvet dress with its deep scooped neckline, close-fitting bodice, and long skirt flaring gracefully around her ankles.
"Well? Will I pass as Mrs. Louis Chauvin?" she asked, still smarting with the suspicion that he knew of Angela's return and hadn't told her, whatever his reasons. No wonder he'd made an almost specific reference to her not wearing Angela's cast-off clothes tonight.
At her tone of voice, a strange expression flickered briefly across his austerely handsome features. He ignored the sarcastic query and turned away abruptly with a terse order. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
She had not moved when he came back into the room carrying an oblong black velvet case, which he placed on her vanity table. With a deft movement he pressed back the hinged lid to reveal the dazzling glitter of diamonds. "I forgot about Mother's collection of jewelry until this minute," he said, lifting the necklace in supple brown hands and bringing it over to clasp around Nicole's slender neck. The light touch of his fingers against her skin sent feathery sensations down her back.
He took her firmly by the shoulders and propelled her over in front of the vanity mirror. "Here, you'll have to put these in yourself," he said, reaching around her to pick up the matching diamond earrings sparkling brilliantly in the lamplight. Her fingers felt stiff and awkward as she removed her own plain gold hoops and fastened the glittering earrings in her pierced ears.
Her eyes wide pools of brown velvet, she looked back at her transformed image in the glass, conscious of Louis as he stood close behind her looking over her shoulder. "Perfect," he said, with satisfaction in his voice. He leaned over and pressed his mouth against her bare neck, triggering that wild acceleration of her heartbeat his touch inevitably caused. Afraid he would hear the tremendous commotion in her chest, she picked up her evening bag and headed for the door.
"What's the big hurry?" came the low, teasing voice behind her, causing the blood to rush to her cheeks in confusion. Could he tell the effect he had on her, and was he amused at her inexperience and obvious lack of sophistication? Well, she'd show him tonight who was self-assured, even if it killed her. Not absolutely clear in her mind what showing him entailed, she steeled herself for the evening ahead---her first test as Mrs. Louis Chauvin.
It was a good thing she hadn't known what lay in store for her at the Martins' big mansion, she reflected later that evening as she danced with her host to music coming from the elaborate stereo system at one end of the enormous game room paneled in rough cedar planks with massive exposed beams overhead.
Louis certainly hadn't been wrong when he predicted the party would be a "big affair." It was that indeed, the women resplendent in jewels and sensational gowns. It was bad enough to face all the curious eyes of people she had heretofore only read about in the society pages, but the most traumatic moment had been the dramatic entrance of Angela, exquisite in ice-blue satin and sapphires.
Excitement had rippled through the guests close enough to witness the meeting between Angela and her ex-fiancé and his wife. "You're looking charming, Nicole, darling," she'd cooed in honeyed tones sharply at variance with the ice in her blue eyes. Then she had turned to Louis and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him lingeringly on the mouth. "How could you marry somebody besides me?" she crooned in a low voice full of proprietorship that stiffened Nicole's body and brought her head up in dignity.
Louis had only laughed smoothly and disentangled her arms from around his neck, his eyes seeking Nicole's, then looking faintly surprised at the expression he found there. He showed no sign of offense at Angela's public display of affection, Nicole thought bitterly.
The two of them were dancing now, Angela's gilt curls against his chest as they moved slowly to the seductive music. It was just infuriating the way the two of them had seemed inseparable the whole evening.
Left on her own, she summoned every shred of pride she possessed and talked and laughed and danced as if she had been attending parties like this one her whole life. If there was gossip resulting from tonight, it wouldn't come from her behavior, she assured herself somewhat self-righteously. Yet, every time she had noticed Louis heading in her direction, she had adroitly turned away to join another group or to accept an invitation to dance.
The music stopped now and she strolled over to the full-length bar with Joe Martin, an enormous man with a sweeping mustache and a deep, booming voice. She perched on a stool and smiled at him as he talked enthusiastically about his collection of carved wooden duck decoys displayed on glass shelves behind the bar.
"I've come to claim my wife for this dance," came a steel-edged voice behind Nicole, and she felt two hands pressing firmly on each side of her waist.
"Can't blame you," boomed Joe Martin. "I'd keep her close, m'boy!"
"Easier said than done tonight," Louis said dryly, lifting Nicole bodily off the stool and pulling her close against him. She almost choked with the sudden rush of emotion. How dare he put on this kind of display after spending practically the whole evening with Angela!
He steered her over to the area where couples were dancing and without a word drew her close into his arms. Her breath came raggedly and at first she held herself stiffly, resisting the dangerous contact with his body. But he pressed her even closer until she could feel the hard warmth of his thighs moving against her own.
With a small sigh of surrender, she gave herself up to the unutterable delight of being in his arms. Her eyes closed and her mind turned off, giving full range to her senses as she had four months ago on that night before her precipitate wedding. She breathed in the clean, tangy scent of his aftershave lotion blended with the faintly sweet pipe tobacco.
"It isn't kind to give your husband the cold shoulder at a party," he said against her hair in a low voice that vibrated right through her.
"You seemed busy with Angela," she murmured, too drugged by his closeness to retain any semblance of aloofness.
"Fortunately, not every woman is as indifferent to my masculine charm as my wife," he teased. "You're giving me a complex."
To her mixed relief and disappointment, the music ended, bringing release from that strange physical bondage. The party showed signs of breaking up, and she readily agreed when Louis asked if she were ready to leave.
She pulled away from the protective arm he had kept around her waist and went upstairs to the blue-and-white bedroom where she'd left her new evening cape. She was searching through the pile of satin and velvet evening wraps when the door to the bedroom closed with a sharp click and a voice shrilled with malice. "Here you are, you little sneak! I've been waiting for a chance to talk to you alone."
Turning to face Angela, Nicole flinched involuntarily before the ugly anger contorting the goddesslike features. "I know what you probably think," she began earnestly, "and it isn't at all true."
"Don't bother to tell me what's true," Angela hissed. "Just let me tell you one thing, little friend. Louis is mine. He always has been and there's nothing you can do about it. He married you to get back at me, and as soon as he realizes what a mistake he's made---that you can never fit into his world---you'll be right back where you were before, a poor little mouse, and I'll be Mrs. Louis Chauvin!" Her blue eyes darkened with venom as she glared meaningfully at the diamonds ablaze at Nicole's neck and ears.
Nicole's heart felt raw, as though someone had scraped it with one of those stiff wire brushes that fishermen used to remove old paint from their boats. She grabbed her cape and rushed from the room, holding back the tears burning her eyes.
Aware of Louis's close scrutiny as she descended the long, sweeping staircase, she concentrated with all her determination on maintaining her outward composure. He reached for the cape and placed it around her shoulders.
They were making their parting remarks to Clare and Joe Martin when Angela appeared at the top of the stairs, drawing the attention of those below with a husky "Louis" and then decorously gliding down the stairs fully aware of the charming picture she made. Nicole faded into the background as Angela smiled glowingly into Louis's upturned face.
"I'll be over tomorrow. Mamma's put me in charge of Mimosa House this year."
He frowned his annoyance. "I haven't even had time to mention the Tour of Homes to Nicole---your mother just asked me tonight if she could make Mimosa House the main feature again this year."
Angela smiled up into his face and said in sugary tones, "Nicole will probably just want to stay in the background and watch this year. We need someone familiar with the house's main points of interest--- someone who can answer the questions that come up."
Nicole inhaled sharply at the oblique attack. The insinuation was plain---someone of Nicole's background would be unprepared to answer questions about the art treasures, the antique furniture, and the special architectural features of the fine old house. The visitors paid a substantial price for the tickets to tour some of the old homes in the parish, and the annual event raised money for the Iberville Historical Society.
She stood silent and numb beside Louis, feeling like a helpless spectator. He said coldly, "My wife is the only one who will act as official hostess of Mimosa House. If she is not inclined to do so, your mother will just have to substitute another home."
He turned abruptly to leave, his arm rigid around Nicole's back. She glimpsed the barely controlled anger in Angela's eyes. It would seem that Louis wasn't ready to forgive Angela's desertion, Nicole mused. He evidently wished to teach her a lesson---she couldn't waltz back into his life and resume her old place of importance.
Louis was silent on the brief drive home, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Nicole huddled on her side of the car, becoming more miserable every moment as she recalled in agonizing clarity the ugly confrontation with Angela in the upstairs bedroom and the later scene at the foot of the stairs when Angela had presented herself as one much more qualified by birth and background to be Louis's wife. Was he regretting that impulsive act four months ago when he had married a girl completely outside his own social class? Unconsciously, she sighed heavily, drawing a probing look from the man beside her.
He stopped in front of the big formal front doors with their elegant panels of beveled and leaded glass. "I'll take the car back to the garage," he said, reaching across her to open the door. She didn't waste any time going straight upstairs to her room, where she unclasped the sumptuous necklace and laid it carefully inside the velvet case. Next she slipped the earrings from her ears and placed them alongside the necklace.
It was a relief finally to be in the privacy of her own room, but the ache inside was too intense at the moment for the release that tears would eventually bring. With arms of lead she unzipped the velvet dress and hung it in the closet. Slowly she stripped off slip, bra, and panties, dropping them into a silken heap.
As if in need of some comforting contact with her old life, something to smooth away the insult, she reached for a soft white batiste nightgown with delicate smocking she had done herself in shades of yellow. It was paper thin from many washings and made her look particularly young and vulnerable as she sank down on the small chair in front of her vanity table and began to pull out the hairpins, releasing cascades of silken brown hair.
A soft tap on her door. It swung open and Louis came in, two delicate-stemmed glasses in his hands. "Thought you might like a glass-of sherry to help you relax," he explained matter-of-factly, moving with lithe grace to place both glasses in front of her. Her eyes were huge, shadowed pools and her voice quavered with her uncertainty. "I was going to bed."
"I've wanted to do this all night." He ignored her statement and began slowly to pull pins from her hair until it rippled over her shoulders and down her back. A quick movement of his hand and he had picked up her hairbrush and begun to brush her hair in long, rhythmic motions.
The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the soft whisper of the brush strokes. She surrendered to the moment of fragile intimacy with a little sigh of relaxation, closing her eyes in sheer enjoyment.
"There," he said huskily and put the brush back on the vanity table before pulling off his jacket and tossing it across the brass footboard of the bed. He reached for the tiny glass and sprawled with a groan into the velvet chair, which looked ridiculously inadequate for the lean length of his body. He jerked at the collar of his shirt and loosened it, looking around her room with curiosity.
Nicole stood up, unaware of the transparency of the thin material billowing around her slender, curving figure. She couldn't think of anything to say, and she wished desperately he would leave. To hide her nervousness, she half turned away from him, saying in a small voice, "I think I'd like to go to bed now, if you don't mind---"
Strong arms closed around her, and surprise made her sag limply against him. "Let me go. How dare you!" she whispered desperately, alarmed at the tide of excitement coursing through her weak body in response to the crushing contact with his hard masculinity.
"I dare because you're my wife---" His low voice vibrated with passion and she shivered as he pushed aside her long hair with one hand and pressed his mouth against her neck. She was powerless to protest when he turned her around in his arms, smoothing her hair back from her face with hands that were strangely unsteady.
Without warning her knees buckled under her, and she reached out and grasped his waist for support. With a low groan he drew her against him in a bone-crushing embrace, his heart pounding erratically under her cheek.
"Nicole, I need you..." he murmured, and she lifted her head to stare up at him in wonder, eyes widening at the expression on the face of this man who was always so utterly self-possessed, so completely in control. Then, before she knew what his intentions were, he had picked her up and laid her across the yellow satin coverlet, lowering himself beside her and taking her lips in a long, searching kiss that took her breath away with its undisguised urgency.
Panic gripped her as she realized what was happening, and she tried to push him away. But her efforts were made feeble by the tremors of sensation awakened by the tantalizing exploration of his mouth on her neck and cheeks and eyelids and finally the trembling softness of her lips. Her hands turned traitor and slipped up around his neck, caressing the strong bone structure under the fine dark hair.
Her caresses inflamed his already aroused passion, and he half lay on top of her, one taut, muscular leg pinning her to the bed. The intimacy of their contact made her aware of his masculine need and unleashed a sexual response in her body so powerful and unfamiliar that it shocked her into the realization that she was on the very brink of making love with a man who had married her without love and did not love her now--- who might in the very near future realize that she was unsuitable to be his wife.
Her only recourse now that matters were so out of hand was to remain passive, she resolved frantically. When Louis awakened to her lack of response to his lovemaking, he, too, would come to his senses and remember the marriage condition to which he had agreed.
But in spite of her firm intentions to the contrary, her lips softened under his, and she moaned deep in her throat as his tongue probed the sweetness of her mouth, which no man before him had ever known. "No!" she whispered as his hands slid under the thin fabric of her nightgown and caressed the slender curves. She held her breath as he captured her rounded breasts, lack of experience having left her totally unprepared for the surge of longing that assailed her as her nipples hardened against his kneading palms. An unfamiliar ache throbbed into life in her lower torso.
He was breathing unevenly as he sat up and began to unbutton his shirt, awkward because his hands were trembling. Nicole watched him dazedly, perceiving his intentions. During those few seconds when he was not touching her, the cold chill of reason descended on her feverish brain. She couldn't allow him to make love to her---not when he didn't love her the way she loved him---with all her heart and soul.
What was she thinking! It was true---she loved Louis. The shock of her newfound insight gave her the strength she desperately needed to resist him. "You promised!" she whispered pleadingly.
He went rigid, staring down at her white face with its enormous dark eyes, the long tresses of shining brown hair rippling over the yellow satin coverlet. She closed her eyes against the unspoken question in his, not daring to risk giving away the truth. Deep down she didn't want him to keep his promise, but she couldn't bear to let him know how much she wanted him, because then he would know she loved him. With the tenuousness of their marriage relationship, it was fairer to both of them to conceal from him her deep emotional involvement.
"You promised," she said again, dully, as if she had already retreated to some safe place out of his reach. During the long, tense silence, it took all her willpower not to open her eyes and look at him.
"Why did I ever make such a fool arrangement!" he grated angrily and rose abruptly from the bed. The muted click of the door held painful finality. Nicole was alone. The tight leash of control slipped and her slender body convulsed with great, painful sobs for the hopelessness of her situation. She had only herself to blame for falling in love with a husband who didn't love her, who might still be emotionally bound to the woman he'd wanted to marry. And that woman had made it plain she still wanted him---and intended to get him.
Ignoring the faint dark smudges under her eyes, Nicole plaited her thick brown hair into a single braid, fastened the favorite gold hoops in her pierced ears, and went downstairs to breakfast in a crisp navy tennis skirt and a beige knit blouse with a navy collar and pert cap sleeves. She carried the tailored navy jacket that completed the smart outfit.
She pushed aside the nagging memories of the previous evening and looked forward to a tennis lesson with Adrian this morning. It was one of those crisp fall days so rare in Louisiana, where the humidity lingered in the enervating eighties or nineties most of the year. She couldn't wait to get outside in the exhilarating air and abandon herself to the freedom of physical movement and the total mental concentration tennis demanded. How she loved it! And how grateful she was to Adrian for his tutelage.
Her springy step faltered and her smile faded around the edges as she saw one person too many sitting at the table in the sunny breakfast room. A golden head was positioned in her customary place. Angela evidently had considered the previous night only a temporary setback in carrying out her plans to reinstate herself in Louis's life. She was already here for breakfast!
Her icy blue eyes raked Nicole from head to toe, taking in every detail of the chic tennis outfit. The corners of her mouth seemed to turn down in a quick spurt of contempt.
"I told her she was sitting in your chair, Nicole," Elaine blurted vehemently, resentment clouding her usually vivacious young face.
"Oh, you don't mind, do you, Nicole?" Angela parried in a tight voice, looking daggers at Nicole's young ally. "It's not easy to break old habits."
Nicole slid into a chair beside Adrian, who looked extremely uncomfortable with the collision of personalities. She turned to him with a glowing smile. "I can't wait for our lesson this morning. I've been looking forward to it for days, and it's gorgeous outside!"
His eyes ignited in response to her warmth. "Sorry I've had to neglect your tennis lately..." His voice .trailed off lamely, as if he'd realized suddenly that the person responsible for his being so busy was his employer and also seated at the table.
Up until now Nicole had avoided looking directly at Louis, but a quick glance under her lowered lashes confirmed the cold .arrogance stamped on his handsome face. He didn't look at all pleased.
"Adrian says Nicole is a real natural at tennis," Elaine said pointedly, looking at Angela with open dislike.
The compliment to Nicole brought twin spots of angry color to Angela's cheeks. Suddenly an idea dawned, illuminating her features as she spoke to Louis. "I almost forgot! The mixed doubles championship tournament is coming up. Shall we defend our title from last year?"
Nicole bristled in resentment at the intimate tone in Angela's voice. Instinctively she knew Louis would refuse out of the same sense of propriety that had prompted him to tell Angela last night that no one except his wife would be hostess of Mimosa House for the Tour of Homes.
"Adrian has kindly agreed to be my partner," she inserted quickly into the short silence, feeling the surprised looks from both Adrian and Elaine. In the electric pause following her announcement, she concentrated on spreading strawberry preserves on a hot biscuit.
"I guess we have our work cut out for us, Angela," Louis said in a sardonic voice.
Nicole didn't have to look at Angela to comprehend the smug expression on her blond features. Satisfaction oozed in her voice as she suggested eagerly, "I'll just run home and slip on some tennis togs, and Louis and I will take you two on in a little practice match!"
"Not a chance," Adrian refused flatly. "Nicole and I have a lesson scheduled."
"Louis," Angela objected plaintively, "it's your tennis court."
"Never let it be said we denied our opponents every advantage," Louis said mockingly, and Nicole could feel his stinging gaze, but she steadfastly resisted the temptation to look over at him. "We can probably get up a practice game over at the club this morning," he said finally.
"Ready, Nicole?" Adrian's expression betrayed his eagerness to escape the abrasive atmosphere. She rose quickly and accepted his help in donning the navy-blue jacket, well aware that, if baleful eyes could kill, she would be at least seriously wounded by the hostility in Angela's blue eyes.
On her way out she heard Elaine proclaim, "Those two are going to be a tough team, believe me." The little troublemaker! Nicole's lips twitched into a small smile of gratitude for the girl's intense loyalty.
Five minutes later she had forgotten everything except the business at hand as Adrian drilled her on ground strokes and net volleys. After some forty-five minutes of intensive practice, he began to instruct her in the correct technique for hitting an overhead smash. Thirty minutes later she was gasping from the strenuous exertion. Adrian took pity on her and called a halt to the lesson. "That's enough for today."
"Thank you, Adrian," she said with a smile of appreciation as they stood together at one side of the net zipping on racquet covers.
"I loved every minute," he said simply. "But I was a little surprised to learn we were playing together in the mixed doubles tournament."
"It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment impulse," she admitted ruefully, wondering how much Adrian had grasped of the undercurrents at breakfast. "I don't, for one minute, expect you to go through with it. You deserve a real partner."
"Don't give me that 'real partner' business. You've committed yourself. No backing out now." She closed her mouth at the finality in his voice.
"In the meantime, I have a book back at the cottage I want you to read. On mixed doubles strategy. Why don't you walk back with me now? It's at least an hour before lunch time, and we can start going over some of the main points."
They strolled side by side along the shell-covered lane winding under huge live oak trees with great sprawling limbs wreathed in Spanish moss. Adrian's cottage was about five hundred yards from the main house, nestled in lush azalea shrubs that blazed into blooming glory in early spring. Nicole had been inside it several times, but always before with Elaine. Now she felt a slight sense of embarrassment as she followed him up the steps onto the front porch---called a gallery or veranda in this area of the South---overlooking the swift brown currents of the bayou. "I'll wait here," she said, dropping down on the cushioned porch swing at one end of the porch.
It was gloriously quiet and peaceful here near the bayou, with just an occasional mysterious splash. On the other side the cypress trees grew right down to the swampy edge of the water, their rich green prickly foliage having faded to a brownish yellow in the fall. Out of sight beyond the border of low marshland were canefields stretching mile after mile, all part of the vast Chauvin plantation system.
Adrian returned with the book and dropped down beside her on the swing. Heads close together, they studied the illustrations and diagrams in the first chapter, with Adrian explaining the role of each player in several common situations in doubles.
Something alerted Nicole to a subtle change, and she looked up from the book to find him staring at her with an intent expression on his face. Their eyes locked for several breathless seconds.
"I want to know what's going on," he said bluntly, and she didn't bother to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. It was inevitable that sooner or later she would have to take him into her confidence, at least to a certain degree. After all, he was undeniably a close friend to the three of them---Louis, Elaine, and herself. He must be puzzled. With a heavy sigh, she explained briefly the circumstances behind her marriage to Louis, expressing as delicately as possible her role as wife in name only.
"And now the original bride-to-be is back, making disgruntled noises about having been replaced," he commented perceptively.
Nicole's velvet brown eyes were haunted with memories of last evening. "Angela wants him back," she said, unaware of the pain in her voice.
He reached out a gentle hand with strong, blunt fingers and tilted her chin so that she had to look up into the honey warmth of his hazel eyes. "And how do you feel about the fallen angel's pursuit of your husband?" Something in his voice and eyes told her the answer was of more than casual interest to this very kind young man.
She did not mask the truth from him as she stared up into his concerned features, and an expression of fleeting torment darkened his eyes before he pulled her close into his arms. "You love him, don't you?"
She nodded mutely, feeling no inclination to pull away from the warmth and understanding he offered. It was such a relief to share the closely guarded secret with another human being, even though the sharing made it terribly real.
"Being my wife's tennis partner doesn't give you the freedom to make love to her."
They instinctively jerked apart, giving an impression of guilt, at the black fury in Louis's voice, and the book in Nicole's lap crashed to the floor. He had come around the corner of the house without either of them having been aware of his approach. He stood there now, looking tall and virile in tennis shorts and shirt that emphasized the taut masculinity of his tall physique, but the clean-cut features were chiseled of uncompromising stone and the dark blue eyes were almost black now as he glared at the couple in the porch swing.
"Are you ready?" he asked Nicole in a voice brittle with control that hovered on the edge of violence.
"This isn't what you think," Adrian said in a strained voice, and she understood in a flash why he hadn't launched into an explanation immediately upon Louis's appearance. Adrian felt constrained not to say anything to give away her confidence. He preferred to risk looking like a culprit rather than betray her!
Louis ignored Adrian altogether, staring at Nicole as she picked up the book with clumsy fingers and began to walk stiffly beside him toward the main house. Her knees were shaky at the realization of what he might have heard had he arrived a few seconds earlier. He would have witnessed her abject admission to Adrian that she loved this arrogant man to whom she was no more than a pawn he'd employed when he needed her. Better that he misconstrue Adrian's innocent embrace than know the truth.
"Did you have a good game at the club?" she asked tentatively after seconds of tense silence.
The dark blue eyes scorched her face. Ignoring the banality she'd offered as a bridge to their former polite relationship, he said scathingly, "Nice of you to pick Adrian for your doubles partner without even consulting my wishes on the matter. I'm not exactly a clumsy oaf on the tennis court, if I do have to say so myself."
"But you wanted to play as Angela's partner," she said lamely, puzzled at the note of injury underlying the anger in his words.
His eyebrows rose in furious mockery. "Oh, did I? And how did you happen to glean that bit of insight, since you couldn't possibly overhear what I say in my sleep?"
She reddened at the implication. They'd come to a standstill beneath the hoary branches of one of the aged live oaks. She was breathtakingly aware of his physical presence, his anger only intensifying the potency of the masculinity he emanated. Her fingertips tingled with the daring impulse to reach out and smooth away the frown on those tense, handsome features.
Taking a deep breath, she chose her words with care, trying to be as honest as possible without revealing too much. "Elaine first suggested Adrian and I play together in the club mixed doubles tournament---she probably assumed you and Angela wouldn't want to break up a winning team. I had no intention of playing at all, since I'm just a beginner."
"Then this morning, when Angela brought up the subject of the tournament, I was afraid you would refuse to play as her partner out of consideration for my feelings. So---I..."
"You ignored my feelings and announced you were playing with Adrian, who doesn't seem in the least bothered at having a beginner for a partner." She flinched at the savagery of his sarcasm. He sounded really angry over what didn't seem to be very important.
"Adrian is a very good friend," she praised sincerely.
"Oh, is he?" he mocked, with a curl of the handsome mouth. "Well, he'd better keep his hands off my wife, if he knows what's good for him."
She had to walk fast now to keep up with his long strides. "I'm not going to play in the tournament," she stated into the silence broken only by the crunch of their tennis shoes on the bleached clamshells covering the winding lane.
"Oh, yes, you are." He laughed without humor. "Angela took care of that today, much to the delight of everyone present at the club. If you backed out now, the tongues would really wag---and the Chauvin name has been the main topic of gossip long enough."
So that was the reason for this display of anger and resentment. She had entertained the tiniest hope he cared that she was teaming up with a man other than himself. How foolish of her!
Her spirits dropped dismally as they went into the house together for lunch. She looked around expectantly in the small glassed-in sun porch where they usually ate breakfast and lunch. She had fully expected Angela to be there gloating.
"Just the two of us, I'm afraid," came his low voice behind her, as if reading her mind.
"How dull for you," she blurted without sarcasm. He must find her colorless indeed after a morning in Angela's company. The thought accentuated her natural shyness in his company, and he seemed totally absorbed in his own thoughts. The result was a silent meal that Nicole found impossible to get down.
In the days following, she saw very little of him. He seemed occupied with business responsibilities most of the time, coming home only to sleep at Mimosa House. Although he still traveled frequently to various cities outside the state, the trips never lasted longer than two or three days, making Nicole certain he had deliberately stayed away during those first four months of their marriage.
Angela had spent several days at Mimosa House outlining the tour scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving when the graceful old homes would be festive in their fall decorations.
"It's a good thing I know the house so well," Angela had grumbled ill-humoredly, obviously put out by Louis's absence. She and Nicole both knew that her only reason for spending time on the Historical Society event was to have an excuse to be in his home. "I need to talk to Louis about some of those old Civil War stories. I just halfway remember them," she said scornfully, not hesitating to reveal to Nicole her real attitude toward the reverence for history and tradition the Tour of Homes symbolized.
What a blessed relief not to have Angela here today, Nicole reflected gratefully, delighting in the rare combination of circumstances that allowed her to have the whole estate to herself. Mrs. Holden had gone somewhere with her husband, Elaine was at school, and Adrian was spending much less time at the big house since that day Louis had discovered him holding her in his arms.
She had decided to take the opportunity to practice her serve, using a wire caddy full of balls. When it was empty, she walked to the opposite end of the court and began collecting the balls by placing the caddy on top of each one and pressing it through the spaces between the wire framing. It wasn't even necessary to bend over with this ingeniously designed carrier.
How easily she had adjusted to all this luxury. The newest acquisition was a ball machine that Elaine used for hours every afternoon. It could be set at varying speeds and angles for practicing any stroke, catapulting the balls across the net with unerring accuracy and eliminating the necessity for a second person. As a result, Adrian had to spend much less time at Mimosa House drilling with Elaine, although he still coached her on strategy and provided the competition she needed to improve.
In spite of Elaine's insistence that she use the ball machine herself, Nicole didn't feel comfortable with a mechanism firing balls at her, preferring a person at the other end of the court. Besides, much of her time had been dominated by Angela before she became discouraged at Louis's absence and made her visits shorter and more infrequent.
The tournament was only two weeks away now, Nicole reminded herself nervously. She and Adrian had practiced a few times against Elaine and Jimmy Martin, the teenaged son of Joe and Clare Martin. They'd beaten the teenagers, but not without a struggle. Adrian could easily have played the entire court with his speed and skill, but he had insisted that Nicole hold up her share of the game. "You'll never learn doubles by standing in the alley and watching your partner play," he'd said.
She tossed the ball high into the air and forced herself to extend and reach for it with the racquet head the way Adrian had taught her.
"Tough serve."
She was startled at the low voice she had heard so rarely lately. Louis stood in the open gateway, dressed in white shorts and shirt that emphasized the muscular brownness of his legs and arms and made his black hair and blue eyes even more vivid by contrast. He dangled a tennis racquet in one lean brown hand. Where had he come from?
"You continue to serve and I'll return," he instructed, walking to the opposite end of the court. "You need to get used to the ball coming back hard. Adrian's probably been taking it easy on you."
After a second's nervous hesitation, she tossed up the ball in her hand and served to his forehand. He returned the ball with a sharp crack of the racquet strings, and it skidded so close to her feet that she jumped aside to keep from being hit.
"I think you're right," she said lightly. "Not even Jimmy Martin hits the ball that hard at me."
"So far you've just played against well-meaning friends," he said in a friendly voice that made her spirits soar. "In a tournament, there's no such thing as friendship or pity. You pick on the other team's weakness."
"How brutal," she protested.
She continued to serve to him, both to the deuce and ad sides of the court. After a while he suggested, "Would you like to try getting my returns back across the net?"
"I guess that would be valuable practice," she agreed, somewhat skeptical of ever getting a racquet on the low, hard returns.
"By the way, has Adrian mentioned to you that it's a good idea to mix up your serves and not serve consistently to either forehand or backhand?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I don't have that much control yet," she admitted.
"Sure you do. Just concentrate on where you want the ball to go and turn your shoulders in that direction as you follow through."
She obeyed the clear instructions and to her amazement was able to direct the ball to his forehand or backhand according to her decision ahead of time. "It works!" she exclaimed elatedly.
For the next half hour she concentrated with all her mental powers on serving and then returning the lightning-fast ball as it skimmed back at her. Her percentage of success improved until finally she had to admit that her arm was becoming fatigued from the serving motion.
"Would you mind serving some to me?" she asked timidly.
His serves crashed across the net with such speed she couldn't even touch them. She was beginning to realize what a powerful player he was. "I can't even see the ball," she said apologetically.
"Stand farther back behind the baseline and watch the ball the whole time when I toss it up into the air and hit it. Don't be distracted by my motions."
Following the impersonal directions, she found herself able to block back some of the serves, until finally she was too tired to concentrate any longer.
"That's enough," he said, beginning to pick up the balls scattered all around the perimeter of the court.
"It's good of you to help me," she said as he came over to set the caddy down and reached over to pick up his racquet cover.
"I have to hand it to Adrian's teaching. He's done a good job with an apt student," he complimented, bringing a blush of pleasure to her cheeks.
"You're really good," she praised.
"I had a little trouble at first concentrating," he said, with a vibrant undertone that dissolved the impersonal camaraderie between them. His dark blue eyes roved over her body in an assessing gaze that lingered on the swell of her breasts under the soft fabric of her khaki-colored tennis dress and then slid down over her hips and long, shapely legs. She trembled at the impact of his survey.
"Maybe I should try to capitalize on that during the tournament," she teased daringly.
"If you're willing to take the consequences," he returned, an enigmatic smile softening the lines of his finely modeled mouth.
Out of her depth now in this conversation, she turned away and walked along the bricked path leading through the rear patio with its rich profusion of plants and comfortably cushioned furniture. He followed close behind her, carrying the caddy of balls and both tennis racquets.
"I'll give you fifteen minutes to change," he announced.
She flung a startled look over her shoulder and met the disturbing blue of his gaze. "We're going to the club. I told Mrs. Holden not to bother to prepare lunch today," he said in a tone that clearly tolerated no objections to his plans. He had not bothered to consult her wishes at all.
"But I'm perfectly capable of preparing lunch my-self," she proclaimed, torn between the unknown peril of being all alone with him in the house and the dread of facing people at the country club.
"Have you forgotten already that I have no intention of avoiding other people? The only way to lay idle gossip to rest is to go out together like any ordinary married couple." His commanding manner had a chilling effect, and without another word she went to her room to change her clothes and resume her empty role of legal wife.
Nicole wore her new cranberry dress, which hugged her waist and hips and swirled gracefully around her calves. Its matching jacket had a mandarin collar and narrow cuffs buttoned at the wrists. The rich hue accentuated her brunet coloring, and she made a lovely picture beside Louis with her dark hair drawn back from a center part into a loose chignon at the nape of the neck, the large gold hoops in her ears the only jewelry she wore besides the wide gold wedding band.
She needed a boost to her self-confidence when she entered the country club dining room filled with people who all seemed to know Louis and be eager to attract his attention. Their progress was slow as he stopped to exchange greetings right and left.
"Oh, hi, Mary Jane. I want you to meet my wife, Nicole... How's the golf game these days?... Good... No, she prefers tennis... Yes, I'm back in Iberville to stay now I have a good reason.."
He greeted each person with such ease, seeming to know what to say to each of them, and he was careful to introduce Nicole, until her head was spinning with names she wouldn't be able to remember or to connect with the appropriate faces.
Finally, they arrived at their own table, a choice location out on the glassed-in veranda overlooking the golf course. Expelling her breath in an audible little sigh, she sank into her chair and then colored charmingly at his keen look of understanding.
"It wasn't that bad, now, was it?" he chided lightly. "They're all just people, like you and me."
"Like you, but not like me."
"Nonsense, you wear luxury well. No one seeing you at this moment would doubt you had been born with all that money can buy. As a matter of fact," he added with dry amusement, "you are getting some rapier glances with more than a hint of envy from some of the female company present here today."
"That's due more to my being here with you than my appearance. You're easily the best-looking man here," she said with honest appraisal. He was not just tall and well built, but there was a grace and aura of mastery about him that drew the eyes of women like steel to a magnet.
"An honest-to-God compliment from my wife! And I didn't think you'd noticed," he teased sardonically, a disturbing light in his dark blue eyes. "Now that we've established our mutual admiration, shall we decide on some more mundane matters such as what to order?"
"What do you recommend?" She had been staring at the large menu without really deciphering the print.
"The turtle soup here is excellent. So is the eggplant stuffed with shrimp and crabmeat dressing. But perhaps you would prefer steak?"
"Oh, no, your recommendations sound perfect. I'm afraid I'm a real Cajun," she said, in the low, vibrant voice with its tantalizing hint of an accent.
"You'll never be able to hide your Louisiana French background when you speak," he agreed.
She was relieved when the waiter appeared to take their order, necessitating the transfer of Louis's attention away from her. Warmth suffused her entire body at the directness of his gaze, causing her to feel flustered, like an unsophisticated adolescent. Today was so wonderful, thanks to their newfound friendliness. She loved to be in his company, even though she knew deep down he couldn't possibly find her as fascinating as the women in his own social circle, women who had traveled and undergone experiences she had only read about in magazines. If only things were different, and they could meet on an equal footing. But that wasn't even a remote possibility.
"Hey, remember me? The good-looking chap you were having lunch with?" The teasing question brought her back to the present. "That's better. What were you thinking about with such frowning concentration?"
"I was thinking I should take advantage of this rare opportunity to talk to you alone---" Her voice faltered at the look he flashed her. "That is, I've wondered if you've ever considered letting Elaine play some of the sanctioned tournaments to get official ranking in the state. Possibly even in the South."
His eyes caressed her lips and nose and smooth brow and then returned to her lips with such a distracting effect that she had to fight the temptation to place both hands on her cheeks to block the electric scrutiny. "Well?" she asked nervously.
At that moment the first course was served, causing a momentary lull. When he spoke, she realized he had been listening to her hesitant suggestion. "I have considered the possibility, but she would have to be accompanied by an adult companion, someone with enough interest in her development to put up with the travel and tedium of sitting around whole weekends at courtside, staying in motels, eating meals in restaurants. It's hard to find that kind of devotion in anyone besides a parent."
Her words came in a soft rush, the musical accent more pronounced than usual. "I'd welcome the opportunity, for more than one reason. Not just for Elaine, although she deserves the chance to prove herself. She works so hard on her tennis. I'd like to do something useful. Right now I'm pretty much of a freeloader, since Mrs. Holden seems to regard my efforts to help her as a threat to her position."
Something unreadable in his expression set off the beat of a little pulse in the hollow of her throat, a detail that did not escape his attention. "You've earned your keep at Mimosa House---in more ways than setting my mind at ease about Elaine, and heaven knows she was on my mind at the time I proposed"---he gave the word an ironic inflection---"to you. At the time it seemed like a good thing to do."
The nuance of regret in his voice as he spoke of his impulsive marriage twisted like a knife in her heart. What had seemed like a good idea must have backfired in his face when he returned to Iberville and saw Angela again and realized he still loved her. Now he didn't know what to do with the woman he had made his titular wife, Nicole reflected despondently.
The only decent thing for her to do was to remove herself, but the thought was unbearable. Aside from her own misery at having to relinquish the right of seeing him, she knew Elaine would be deeply hurt by her leaving. The young girl had opened up her heart without reserve and would consider Nicole's departure a personal rejection, even though it certainly would not be.
"And now you're sorry you married me?" The sumptuous turtle soup tasted like vinegar as she waited with a heavy heart for his reply to her half question, half statement.
A slight disturbance in the main dining room worried at the fringes of her consciousness. She glanced up from her study of the ornate silver soup spoon to find Louis looking in the direction of the loud voices and laughter. She turned her own head and recognized Angela at the center of a small group of latecomers. Louis had an abstracted look on his face as he said reflectively, "I've experienced moments of regret."
It took every ounce of control she possessed to conceal the raw torment washing over her at his open admission of what she had previously only surmised. Fortunately, she was spared the necessity of replying, as Angela turned in their direction, motioning her companions to follow.
Nicole felt like an encumbrance to him, a reminder that he was not free like this carefree group of young single men and women. Was he sorry now he had insisted on bringing her to the club for lunch? She determined to excuse herself on some pretext and return to Mimosa House alone so that he could remain and enjoy Angela's company.
"Louis! You didn't wait for me!" Angela wailed in a spoiled-little-girl voice. "I thought I told you last night I'd be a little late."
Nicole's eyes betrayed her as they swung quickly in Louis's direction, comprehension clouding the brown depths as she realized Louis had obviously been with Angela when he had not appeared for dinner at Mimosa House. His blue eyes met hers steadily, his lips tightening as he replied, "You don't seem to be suffering for lunch companions today, Angela."
"Why don't we have the waiter pull up another table, so we can join you?" Louis looked forbidding at Angela's suggestion, but she was already directing the waiter, who had arrived with Nicole's and Louis's main course. Looking like a petite temptress in a silvery green pantsuit which clung to voluptuous curves, Angela managed to place herself next to Louis.
Nicole concentrated hard on eating the savory eggplant dish that she would ordinarily have attacked with relish, but the strain she felt in the present awkward situation constricted her throat muscles until she feared she wouldn't be able to get down a mouthful.
She knew the other young people with Nicole, since they had all been involved in the wedding festivities. Craig Johnson was a heavyset young man of about twenty-five who worked in his father's insurance business after having obtained his college degree in business administration at Louisiana State University. Larry Dupuis also worked for his father, who owned a tugboat and barge company. He was a wiry young man about Craig's age, with a wry drawl and heavy eyelids which drooped over his brown eyes, making him look perpetually sleepy or hungover. The two girls, Sally Robichaux and Michelle Hart, had both been bridesmaids in the wedding that had begun as Angela's and ended up Nicole's.
It was a thoroughly embarrassing situation for Nicole, robbing her temporarily of the power of speech. It had been bad enough confronting social acquaintances of all ages at the Martins' dinner party, but the size of that gathering had made it less painful than this, where she had to face Angela's contemporaries who must have been stunned at Nicole's appearance on that unforgettable day, dressed in Angela's wedding gown.
The whole notion of a bridesmaid substituting for the absent bride seemed too bizarre to be believed in the light of everyday reality as Nicole sat there miserably, pretending to eat. How could she ever have consented to such a farce? And now Louis admitted he was sorry they had gone through with it.
The waiter brought cocktails for the four late arrivals, and they chatted easily about topics common to all except her. Louis seemed constrained in his manner, not joining in unless pressed by a direct question. Undoubtedly he was aware she didn't fit in and was probably sorry he had brought her. If only she could think of something to say to break what seemed to her own exaggerated perception a conspicuous silence.
"Do you play bridge?" Craig, who was seated on her left, addressed the question directly to her in an obvious attempt to include her. They had been talking about a Friday night group which they all seemed to belong to, even Louis being an occasional participant.
"I'm afraid not," she admitted ruefully. "I've just never been interested enough to try to learn." A wry smile tugged the corners of her mouth at the amazed looks turned at her in response to her comment. From their attitude, she might have stated lack of interest in sleeping or eating. Most of them probably regarded bridge as a basic survival skill, as no doubt it was in their social world.
"In college I was known all over campus for my prowess in teaching bridge to young lovelies," Larry drawled invitingly, making the others laugh in appreciation. "Seriously, I'd be glad to introduce you to the intriguing mysteries of the game, and I promise you'll be just as hooked as the rest of us."
"I'm perfectly capable of teaching my wife the rudiments of bridge if she's interested." Nicole was startled at the hauteur in Louis's face and the ice in his tone.
Larry was undaunted by the rebuff. "From what I hear, old man, the husband is the last person to teach his wife. I understand Adrian's practically made a tennis pro of Nicole in a few months' time." His voice was alive with good-natured teasing, but the words must have sunk into a sore spot if Louis's livid features were any indication. He seemed to pale under his healthy tan.
"We'll see about that when we meet her and Adrian in the tournament, won't we, Louis, darling?" Angela interposed sarcastically. She leaned toward him, placing her perfectly manicured hand on his tense arm, which lay in front of him on the table. There was blatant possessiveness in the easy familiarity of her gesture.
He shrugged carelessly. "What difference does it make? It's only a game."
"Well, I'm betting on Nicole," Larry taunted with a daring look at Angela and Louis and a broad wink at Nicole. He was working on his second martini, which might account for his high spirits, even though Nicole remembered him as the life-of-the-party type at the wedding festivities where she had encountered him.
He gave an exaggerated sigh as he complained, "Well, I'd better get back to the office and make at least a token effort at working before the old man gets on my back again. I'll leave the rest of you lucky stiffs to your unearned leisure. Anyone need a lift?"
"I do."
Heads turned in surprise at Nicole's quick answer. It had come almost involuntarily, arising out of her intense need to escape a situation she did not feel able to cope with. She was aware of Louis tensed as if about to uncoil from his chair. Surely he realized as she did that she did not belong in this country club environment.
To her consternation he rose to his feet and held his hand out to her. She risked the merest glance at the thundercloud on his chiseled features as she took his hand and murmured, "Please stay. I promised to do some shopping for Elaine this afternoon."
For a moment he looked as if he might argue, but a laughing comment from a nearby table seemed to make him aware that the dining room was full of people and he and Nicole were drawing a few interested looks. Louis was not the type to enjoy making scenes in public, Nicole thought with relief. That thought was followed by an action that thoroughly contradicted her private observation.
Louis tightened his hold on her hand and drew her close against him. She looked up in surprise, realizing in the stunned second before he kissed her what he intended to do. It wasn't a quick little peck of a kiss, either, that people exchange in public. He kissed her hard and passionately right there in front of everybody.
It wasn't easy when he released her to muster up enough composure to bid the curious young people remaining at their table a general farewell. She could feel the crimson color in her cheeks and knew her lips looked like they'd been kissed.
On the drive back to Mimosa House, one part of her mind concentrated on the conversation with Larry while another part puzzled over the parting scene in the club dining room. Why would Louis kiss her in front of everyone when just minutes earlier he had admitted to her he had regrets about their marriage? Angela, in the background, had looked furious.
Then, with a sinking heart, Nicole comprehended the only reasonable explanation for Louis's unexpected action. He was punishing Angela for the torment she had caused him, and at the same time declaring to the outside world, in this instance his social acquaintances at the club, that his marriage had worked after all. If only it had worked, Nicole thought despairingly, as Larry drove up the circular driveway to the front of the lovely old house with its slender Grecian columns and elegant portico.
Even in her distracted state, she had perceived that under the glib exterior Larry was a sincere person, genuinely interested in her opinions and ideas. When he parted with the hope that they would meet again soon, she knew he was not just being polite but had enjoyed -her company. The knowledge provided a much-needed boost to her flagging spirits.
That afternoon time hung heavy on her hands, since the excuse she had given Louis for leaving the club wasn't genuine. On sudden impulse she decided to risk Sarah Holden's wrath and bake several of the apple pies that had been her father's and Andrew's special delight. Tomorrow she would take one down to the marina on the chance that Andrew might be tied up at the dock. Besides, she felt the need to do something to keep her hands busy and her mind still.
As she peeled apples and kneaded pastry, she thought nostalgically of those years she had cooked this same recipe for her father and brother in the small cottage that had been their happy home. When Mrs. Holden came in and began preparations for dinner, Nicole ignored her resentful sniff. After all, hadn't Louis said she could do anything she wanted in that kitchen? At least for the time being, she was Mrs. Louis Chauvin.
Surprisingly, Mrs. Holden expressed admiration when Nicole removed the golden-crusted pies from the oven, even going so far as to suggest she might like to have the recipe if they tasted as good as they looked. "Every now and then I just have the urge to get in the kitchen and create something special," Nicole confided and was surprised to note an approving expression on the normally sour face. Even Mrs. Holden had feelings! She felt as if she had just made some kind of breakthrough in being accepted by the housekeeper. Not that her position there was permanent enough for it to matter.
Somehow she wasn't surprised when Louis wasn't present at dinner that night. She and Elaine ate alone, with the younger girl confiding her crush on Jimmy Martin. "I let him beat me at singles this afternoon," she admitted in a shamed voice, her shining eyes attesting to her inner confusion at the complications of love.
"Don't you think he'll like you even if you can beat him at tennis?" Nicole asked gently, containing her amusement at the younger girl's obvious chagrin over a defeat even if it wasn't deserved.
"Oh, Nicole, what if he doesn't like me as much as I like him? What will I do?"
Nicole couldn't help recognizing the irony in the questions as she tried to assure Elaine everything would work out satisfactorily. It would seem that girls of all ages faced the same questions and uncertain...
Hours later she nestled in the corner of the huge chintz-covered sofa in the downstairs family room with the big color television. Sleep was out of the question, and after reading for several hours in her room she had padded quietly down the formal staircase to watch a vintage movie featuring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.
She was more asleep than awake when the door opened quietly and in walked Louis, carrying a glass of milk and a wedge of the apple pie she'd baked that afternoon. Instinctively, she kept her lashes lowered in feigned sleep as he sat on the sofa, so close that her bare feet pressed against his thigh. He ate pie and drank milk without speaking, his eyes directed toward the figures on the big screen with only an occasional glance at her. Her heart pounded with alarming volume as she withdrew her feet an infinitesimal space from that disturbing contact with his rock-hard thigh.
.After what seemed like eons, he leaned over and placed his plate and glass on the low table in front of the sofa. Then, with a lithe maneuver that took her breath, he reached over and lifted her into his lap, where her senses were immediately swamped by the tantalizing masculine smell of his pipe tobacco and cologne blended with the warm muskiness of his flesh.
"Thanks for deserting me for a younger man," he said wryly.
"You must have liked the company," she blurted, forgetting she was supposed to be asleep. "You didn't come home for dinner."
"I didn't dare," he murmured enigmatically, picking up a lock of glossy brown hair and lifting it to his face. "The temptation is too great."
She hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about, but before she knew what was happening, he stood up holding her in his arms and strode out of the room and up the curving flight of stairs to her bedroom. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart and attributed it to the exertion of carrying her.
Then he was laying her gently in bed and pulling up the covers. His brief, tender kiss brought tears to her eyes, but before she could speak he was already gone, closing the door soundlessly behind him.
The next morning there was a softbound volume lying next to her empty plate at the breakfast table. It was a compilation of all the sanctioned tournaments for both juniors and adults in Louisiana. She was turning the pages with fingers that trembled with excitement when Louis came in, tall and distinguished in a slate-gray suit that darkened the intense blue of his eyes. Shy wonder shone in her eyes as she smiled at him.
"You decided to let Elaine try?"
"Try what?" came the girl's curious question as she skimmed into the room on long, slim legs and dropped into her usual chair at the table, not wasting a second in pouring herself glasses of orange juice and milk and smearing blackberry jelly on a slice of toast.
Nicole looked questioningly at Louis and read his silence as permission for her to break the news to Elaine, who leaped out of her chair and raised both arms in a spontaneous gesture of excitement.
"No kidding! Whose idea was it? Nicole's, I'll bet. Oh, you're a dear. You're the greatest thing that's happened around this old house in years!" She rushed over and gave Nicole a swift hug and then danced around to the other end of the table to give a twin hug to Louis, who tolerated her outburst with fond indulgence.
"I had no idea playing sanctioned tournaments had this kind of importance to you." There was a touch of self-reproof in his voice.
"I guess I did kind of hint to you, huh, Nicole?" Her dark blue eyes, so like her brother's, were fairly brimming with joyful mischief, causing Nicole to laugh with genuine amusement, a sound Louis had never before heard, to judge from his bemused reaction.
"You know a sucker when you see one," Nicole teased, and then regretted the impulsive rejoinder at a strange expression on Louis's face. What painful memory had her thoughtless words evoked? To cover her confusion, she opened the book and began to scan the pages. "Let's see. What is the first event?"
"Probably the Dryades in New Orleans at Thanksgiving," Elaine prompted, helping herself to ample portions of bacon and scrambled eggs placed on the table by Mrs. Holden.
"You're right. That should fall during your week off from school. Since it's only a three-hour drive to New Orleans, we may not have to stay in a motel." She appealed to Louis for his opinion.
"Driving back and forth is out of the question. In any event, there's no need to stay in a motel." At her puzzled expression, he explained, "I have an apartment in the French Quarter."
Her surprise must have shown on her face at this revelation. He continued in an even voice, "We've always maintained an apartment in the city as long as I can remember. My parents used to stay overnight when they went into the city to concerts or parties. During Mardi Gras it comes in handy for putting up out-of-town guests."
"It has a neat balcony that overlooks the parade route," Elaine put in enthusiastically.
"Isn't the French Quarter dangerous?" Nicole asked, remembering the narrow streets and alleyways, the homeless men who always seemed to be lounging against the uneven brick walls.
"I have no intention of allowing the two of you to stay there alone," Louis stated firmly. "I'll arrange to be in the city myself."
Nicole's involuntary "No!" blended with Elaine's exuberant "Oh, boy!" but Nicole knew her reaction had not escaped his keen notice. Her face was suffused with pink under the smooth tan as she inquired, "How big is the apartment?"
His lips twisted into a sardonic smile in immediate comprehension of the import of her question. "It has bedrooms to accommodate an intimate group of three."
She sought to cover her discomfiture at his knowing irony by reminding Elaine it was time for her to go to school. As she arose from the table intending to drive Elaine, Louis halted her with his voice and eyes. "Holden will drive her. I want to talk to you."
"Uh-oh, Nicole, that's his bossy voice. Watch out," Elaine flung over her shoulder as she loped out of the room.
Unexpectedly, he smiled at her with disarming friendliness. "I meant to forewarn you yesterday, but you dashed off with Larry Dupuis after lunch, and then last night I was held up with a political dinner. And you didn't seem to welcome conversation when I got home." The gentle mockery in his voice aroused a thousand tiny prickles in her nerve ends at the memory of being held close in his arms as he carried her up the stairs to her room.
"What was it you were going to forewarn me about?" How maddening for her voice to vibrate with apprehension.
"I want you to drive into New Orleans with me today with plans to stay overnight. I have some business to take care of, while you do some shopping." He hesitated slightly. "A friend of mine, Carol Larrison, has jumped at the opportunity of shopping with you. I thought you might like some company."
"You don't trust my taste," she accused quietly, stung at the thought that he had asked one of his friends to accompany her to make sure she didn't buy anything inappropriate.
"It's not your taste I worry about. It's your apparent reluctance to spend my money. We're dining tonight with Carol and her husband Ed at Antoine's."
Suddenly remembrance dawned on Nicole's somber features. "Adrian and I are supposed to practice against Elaine and Jimmy Martin this afternoon. The tournament is next weekend, remember."
His lean, handsome face darkened with irritation as he rose in one fluid motion. "That's too bad. You're going with me. Adrian will just have to find someone else to dazzle with his tennis prowess. I'll give you fifteen minutes to get ready. You can buy everything you need in the city."
What did he mean by that remark about Adrian? She wasn't dazzled by him. Quite the contrary. She felt relaxed and comfortable in his presence, while every sense and nerve end trumpeted her awareness of her husband's virile masculinity. Maybe her responses weren't as obvious as she had feared, she reflected with relief as she dialed Adrian's number to tell him she would not be able to play tennis that afternoon.
Louis took her cheap avocado-green suitcase and stowed it in the spacious trunk next to the luxurious tan of his own leather bag. "Pick out some luggage while we're in New Orleans," he instructed peremptorily, closing the trunk lid and helping her into the passenger seat of the pale blue Mercedes, his hand impersonal on her elbow. She could never complain about his manners. He treated her with the same flawless courtesy he might employ with anyone else.
Much of the road between Iberville and New Orleans was winding two-lane with an occasional stretch of four-lane highway. She relaxed in the soft luxury of the leather upholstery and let her thoughts range freely to the music from the FM radio. Her imagination was always captured by the fleeting glimpses into the lives of strangers as she passed through the small towns with their inhabitants engaged endlessly in the business of everyday living.
They passed lonely farmhouses surrounded by flat fields of pastureland with grazing cows. Nearly every house, even the most humble little weather-beaten shotgun shacks on the outskirts of small towns, had its patch of garden, which looked depleted and forlorn this time of year.
"I wonder how these houses came to be called 'shotguns,'" she said musingly as they passed a cluster of narrow, unpainted houses, each with a small front porch. A very old black woman rocked slowly on one, her toothless mouth moving rhythmically.
"Actually, I've never bothered to ask," he admitted, glancing at her in a way that made her conscious of the space she had put between them as she sat pressed against the passenger door. "Maybe the name reflects the fact that you walk straight through from room to room with no hallways. The old ones in New Orleans have become quite sought after for renovation. I'll have to show you some on Magazine Street."
From that point on, there was no lag in the conversation. They discussed the revival of interest in all things old and traditional, giving rise to barn sales and auctions all over the southern half of the state where people vied for possession of old coins, furniture, jewelry, and nostalgia items like antique cash registers and record players.
"I don't have the collector's urge," she admitted, "even though graceful old furniture appeals to me because of that aura of being built not just for service but also for beauty." How it had hurt to have to give up her grandmother's secretary and the old armoire she had painstakingly stripped and refinished herself, restoring a clear, lustrous patina to the carved walnut.
As if reading her mind, he asked, "What happened to the furniture when Andrew sold the house?"
"It went with the house. A couple of the pieces brought a good price, and it seemed silly to pay to store them."
He made an impatient sound. "As though there isn't all the room in the world at Mimosa House to store ten times as much furniture as that small house could have contained."
Artful questioning elicited a detailed description of the treasured pieces of furniture, and the indignant suspicion occurred to her that he was testing her discrimination. Well, for his information, one didn't have to be born rich to appreciate beauty, and being poor didn't necessarily relegate one to the ranks of those with vulgar taste!
She tilted her head to a haughty angle and stared out the window at the low marshland extending for miles before they reached the West Bank area, separated from New Orleans proper by the broad majesty of the Mississippi River. She held her breath as they drove across the dangerously narrow Huey P. Long Bridge, giving a dizzying view of the teeming waterway that had played such a crucial role in the development of the United States.
To her left sprawled the gigantic plant of Avondale Shipyard, its docks extending as far as the eye could see, crowded with mammoth ships in different stages of construction or repair. To the right the mighty river was lined with vast warehouses dwarfed by the bulk of ships from all parts of the world. The human beings visible on the decks looked like insignificant insects in comparison to the gigantic cranes lifting crates of merchandise from the docks to the ship or vice versa.
"Pretty impressive," Louis said in a low voice. "I always feel I have my hand on a mighty pulsebeat when I drive over this bridge."
Minutes later they were on the expressway, caught up in the frantic rush of city traffic. How could one ever get used to driving in a large city? She was definitely a small-town person when it came to the brazen maneuvering from crowded lane to crowded lane as though every second were crucial. She took advantage of Louis's preoccupation to study him surreptitiously as he directed the car through traffic with ease. His lean brown hands on the wheel fascinated her with their capacity for cruel strength as well as gentleness.
They left the expressway and proceeded down St. Charles Avenue into the historic old Garden District. With a deft twist of the wheel, he entered Felicity Street and halted in front of a narrow three-story house of pristine gray with intricate white ironwork on its triple balconies. The merest excuse of a front lawn was separated from the uneven brick of the street by a tall iron fence, also painted white.
"I'll leave you in Carol's capable hands," he explained as he hurried her up the steps carved into the steep slope of the tiny lawn. "I'll meet you downtown later this afternoon. After a drink with Carol and Ed, we'll change at the apartment and meet them later at Antoine's." He punched the illuminated button beside the door, setting off a faint melodic bell in the interior of the house.
A chic woman with short auburn hair greeted Louis with arms outstretched, pulling his head down for a kiss on his smiling lips. "It's about time you brought your new wife to visit your city friends," she scolded, giving Nicole an appraising look. "Run along, now, and we'll meet you later." Louis didn't seem to mind her bossiness in the least.
After he had left, Carol ushered Nicole to the powder room in the hallway with the assurance that she would be ready to venture out on their shopping trip as soon as she collected her handbag and gave some last-minute instructions to the maid. With a pang of despair, Nicole noted that the older woman's grooming was absolute perfection. Could she ever look like that?
Her brief glimpse of the house revealed high ceilings with old-fashioned light fixtures suspended on chains, dark, polished wood floors with jewel-tone Oriental rugs, and graceful antique furnishings. It was all very elegant and yet inviting at the same time, showing the touch of an expert at decorating. If Carol was responsible for the charming atmosphere of this house, no wonder Louis wanted her to assist his wife in choosing a wardrobe.
"Your house is lovely," she complimented as Carol rejoined her in the narrow entrance hallway. She was especially enchanted by the graceful spiral staircase with its slender railing of gleaming polished wood.
"We love it!" Carol beamed. "Actually, it was probably more fun restoring it to its original beauty than it is living in it. Come over for lunch tomorrow, and I'll bore you with the thousands of details."
They drove downtown in Carol's dark blue Cadillac Seville, which they left in a parking lot right off Canal Street. Nicole found herself in the company of an experienced shopper who was recognized instantly in each of the exclusive women's departments, none of which Nicole had ever so much as entered. She was quickly initiated into a whole new world of shopping for clothes.
Instead of bumping shoulders with other bargain hunters searching through racks of garments, she sank up to her ankles in deep-piled carpets and allowed herself to be seated in brocade luxury while evening gowns and dresses and slacks suits were offered for her inspection and set aside if she expressed an interest. In some instances, the garment was an original model not for sale. The store's own dressmakers would make up a replica according to her own measurements.
It was undeniably a heady experience for a fisherman's daughter from the bayou country, but one she was enjoying in spite of the awareness that she had neither money nor credit cards to purchase these fashions. She had been too rushed that morning to withdraw money from her savings account, and Louis hadn't offered her a loan. After some moments of apprehension, she decided to just sit back and enjoy the ride, so to speak.
At the first store, she fell in love with a sleekly sophisticated black dinner dress, but hesitated to voice her admiration until Carol noted her expression with perceptive eyes and exclaimed, "That would look stunning on you with your classical hairstyle and cameo features." She also urged an oyster-white suit, a severely tailored camel-tan trouser suit in herringbone tweed, and a long skirt with matching jacket in gold velvet.
They all looked so becoming that Nicole flushed at the extravagant compliments from both Carol and the bosomy saleswoman who managed the department. "I like all of them" Nicole admitted wistfully, hoping Carol would make her decision easier.
Carol shrugged. "In that case, why don't you just take all of them?"
At that fortuitous moment a young clerk came to the door of the large fitting room to announce apologetically that there was an important telephone call for Mrs. Carson. As soon as the department manager had made her extremely unwilling departure, Nicole gathered her courage and asked Carol timidly, "Aren't these clothes terribly expensive?" So far, not a single price had been indicated.
Carol smiled with sudden understanding. "Now I understand your very atypical reluctance. My dear, your husband is a millionaire many times over. What we spend today is the merest drop in the bucket, to use a vulgar but apt cliché."
Nicole felt dizzy at the frank revelation. Of course, she'd realized Louis was a wealthy man, but she'd never once thought of him as being fabulously rich, which he obviously was. What a strange idea that she, Nicole, was married to a millionaire. Somehow the knowledge made him even more unattainable for her, farther out of her sphere than she had realized.
At least she understood now his impatience with her failure to use the generous allowance he gave her each month to dress in the style he expected of the women in his close acquaintance. The balance in her savings account grew each month as she deposited the money, somewhere in the back of her mind lurking the shadowy certainty that her stay at Mimosa House would end and she would need a nest egg to live.
With a mental shrug of inevitability, she submitted herself to Carol's direction and went obediently from store to store trying on expensive clothes and relying on her companion's subtly offered opinions in making her choices. She soon lost track of the number of gowns, dresses, suits, and slacks outfits. No money was needed once she was identified as Mrs. Louis Chauvin, and she reflected wryly that she could easily have walked out with a whole store, including furniture and clerks.
"When do we select the glass slippers?" she finally asked breathlessly, beginning to tire more from the emotional stimulation than for physical reasons. By now they had spent thousands of dollars on everything from nightgowns to lingerie to expensive shoes and matching handbags, all of which would be delivered either to the French Quarter apartment or to Mimosa House.
"I think we've accomplished our goal." Carol sighed with satisfaction, glancing at her tiny gold watch. "Jewelry takes a little more thought and time, but I'm forgetting you already have Mrs. Chauvin's lovely collection. By the time we get to the Pontchartrain House, the fellas should be waiting for us."
A short time later in the dimly lit cocktail lounge at the opulent Pontchartrain House, Nicole resisted the impulse to pinch herself. If she weren't careful, she might begin to believe the role she assumed in the friendly eyes of Carol and Ed Larrison, who appeared to accept her wholeheartedly as Louis's wife.
Ed was a soft-spoken man with a powerful, burly physique that reminded Nicole of a wrestler. It was soon obvious that he and Louis were very good friends, the conversation inevitably touching upon people and events outside Nicole's acquaintance. Somehow, though, she was made to feel included, with none of that uncomfortable sensation of being an outsider that had prompted her to flee the company of Angela and her friends at the club the day she had lunched there with Louis.
He appeared pleased with Carol's vivacious report of the afternoon's shopping, and his demeanor did nothing to correct the faulty impression that Nicole was his wife in every sense of the word. Surely good friends like the Larrisons knew the truth behind their marriage?
The feeling of unreality continued as Carol and Ed left them after confirming the time they would all meet later for dinner at Antoine's, one of the more famous of the old gourmet restaurants in the Vieux Carre or French Quarter. "That's part of the charm of living in old uptown New Orleans," Carol exclaimed. "You're close enough to take advantage of what the city offers. The suburbs are for the birds!"
Waiting in the formal lobby with its awesome glitter of crystal chandeliers while Louis claimed the car from the hotel parking lot, she realized fully that for the first time she was alone with him for the night. After dinner with Carol and Ed, she would have to return with him to the apartment with none of the protection afforded at Mimosa House by the presence of other people. The thought was frightening.
If he perceived her nervousness, he gave no sign during the short drive to the apartment through narrow old streets with lacy grillwork and tall, slender shuttered windows giving off an aura of secrecy. As a tourist walking along the streets on previous occasions, she had felt a curiosity about the real world going on behind those ancient brick walls and solid cypress doors scarred by generations of tenants.
The apartment was on the second floor of one of the narrow old buildings so typical of the French Quarter. Louis led the way up a steep wooden staircase and unlocked the door, leaving her to enter on her own as he returned to the car to get their luggage.
With an exclamation of pleasure she wandered through the high-ceilinged rooms with the original plaster on the walls painted soft neutral tones. The living room was furnished in cheerful chintz-covered sofas and chairs. The kitchen had an old-fashioned porcelain sink with a ridged drain on either side and tall wooden cabinets painted a soft blue-gray.
A quick tour revealed four bedrooms furnished with antique beds with high carved headboards and massive armoires to substitute for the closets of modern houses. Altogether, it was a charming apartment furnished appropriately for the age and character of the old building.
She opened narrow French doors leading from one of the bedrooms to a small balcony with the typical wrought-iron railing. "Is this your choice?" She started with surprise as Louis dropped the suitcases he was carrying inside the door and walked lithely across the room to stand close beside her on the balcony. "Do you like the apartment?" he asked lightly.
"I love it. It's perfect," she replied, trying to relax and forget her apprehension at being alone with him tonight.
"We just have time for a quick drink before we get dressed for dinner. What would you like?"
"Is there any wine?" she asked hesitantly. "I'm not really used to drinking." She already felt a little dizzy from the two gin and tonics she'd had earlier.
"Whatever Madame desires," he said in a teasing voice, assuming the manner of a dignified maitre d'hotel and bowing stiffly from the waist. With a giggle of delight, she. raised her head high and led the way to the living room with the exaggerated elegance of a highborn lady, some little corner of her mind noting the presence of his expensive leather suitcase beside her own shabby green bag just inside the door where he had left them.
"Some of your parcels have been delivered," he said as he handed her a glass of wine. She held up the fragile crystal glass appreciatively before sipping the cool, light Chablis.
"How do you like Carol and Ed?" he asked, sprawling beside her on the deep cushions of a rust-and-blue sofa.
"I like them very much," she answered impulsively. "I wondered, though---do they know?"
"Do they know what?" he asked noncommittally, his dark blue gaze moving over her in a way that made her very conscious of his masculine hardness so near her on the sofa.
"You know," she said impatiently. "That we're not really---" Her voice trailed off with the awkwardness of trying to express their unconventional relationship in words.
"They know you're my wife," he answered in a low, husky voice, leaning over to place his drink on the low table before taking her glass and putting it beside his. "I guess we should dress for dinner," he said regretfully as he slowly lowered his head and placed his lips against hers in a lingering kiss that produced wild havoc in her veins. Throwing all caution to the winds, she slid her hands over his broad shoulders and linked them behind his head.
"Yes, we really should," she murmured, thinking she really should not have drunk the wine.
Finally, he put her firmly away from him. She dazedly shook off the spell induced by the contact of his mouth and hands and hard body. "Where are the parcels you mentioned?" In her mind she visualized herself in the black dress Carol had insisted she buy. It was far more daring than anything she had ever before worn.
To be alone with Louis in an elegant apartment in the old French Quarter of New Orleans getting ready for a dinner at Antoine's was intoxicatingly unreal! Nicole whirled in front of the mirror over the old-fashioned vanity, incredulous that the alluring woman in the low-cut black dress was actually herself. Sometime while she was in the antiquated bathroom with its huge claw-footed tub, Louis's luggage had disappeared from her bedroom. Her relief was inexplicably mixed with disappointment.
The diamond necklace and earrings she had worn to the Martins' party would have been perfect with the dress, she thought regretfully as she fastened the heavy gold hoops in her ears. With a last look at her appearance, she picked up the small jet-beaded handbag and turned toward the door, intending to wait for Louis in the living room.
The door swung open magically and Louis stood there surveying her with disconcerting eyes that lingered on the exposed cleavage before sliding down to the tiny waist and slim hips. "Well?" she prompted with defiance born out of sheer nervousness.
"We'd better be going," he said tersely, offering her his arm. Somehow she was disappointed at his lack of reaction or comment. What had she been expecting--- or hoping for?
The evening had all the enchantment of a fairy tale with lovely ladies and handsome princes. Carol glowed in a dress of emerald green that offset her titian hair. Ed was quietly impressive in his well-fitting suit. But Nicole hardly dared look at Louis, dark and lean and powerful in dinner clothes tailored perfectly to his athlete's body.
Her apprehensions faded under the influence of the congenial company and relaxed atmosphere. Food had never tasted better as she worked her way through oyster soup, spinach salad with hearts of artichoke and fresh mushrooms, and trout amandine. The wines Ed and Louis chose to accompany each course were excellent, and she lost all trace of the reticence she usually felt in the presence of Louis and his friends, laughing and talking as freely as she did with Elaine and Adrian. Once or twice she caught Louis looking at her as if he couldn't quite reconcile this glowing young woman with the very reserved person he had come to expect.
Dinner at Antoine's was a leisurely affair, each dish not so much served as presented by the white-coated waiters. "I feel positively guilty in this place if I don't savor every mouthful," Carol announced in a theatrical whisper that brought laughs of sympathetic agreement. The waiter had just completed an elaborate tableside ritual of preparing Cherries Jubilee, serving them with a solemnity befitting a church service.
Carol's comment expressed Nicole's own feelings perfectly. What she didn't realize was how much her own spontaneous enjoyment of the food and surroundings had contributed to the success of the evening.
It was after eleven o'clock by the time they'd finished dessert and consumed several cups of strong black coffee with afterdinner liqueurs. Ed refused the invitation to drop by the apartment for a nightcap, explaining he had an important day in court tomorrow and still had a little last-minute work to do before retiring to bed.
"Besides," moaned Carol, "after this three-hour ritual of food and drink, I can't even manage a glass of water!" She seemed genuinely disappointed to learn that Louis planned to drive back to Iberville the next day and urged Nicole to stay at her house and visit for several days. Nicole blushed when Louis firmly refused the invitation without even giving her a chance to speak.
"Well, pardon me!" Carol laughed, exchanging a knowing look with Ed. "Well, you two will have to come into the city more often. Just let me know ahead of time, and I'll throw a big party so Nicole can meet everybody," she promised, looking delighted at the prospect, as if she were already making up the guest list.
On the short drive from Antoine's to the apartment, Nicole's shyness crept back, dulling her mind as she searched for something to say to dispel the silence. What caused that sharp frown of irritation as he parked the car in front of a big brown Lincoln Continental which hadn't been there earlier?
The French doors on the second floor opened and light flowed across the balcony and out onto the street. From the sounds of laughter and music, someone was having quite a party up there, she thought idly---and then came a jolt of realization. That was Louis's apartment! Had he invited guests without telling her?
The expression on his face was so thunderous she didn't venture a question as they mounted the steep, narrow stairs. He pushed upon the door and waited for her to precede him into the tiny foyer. Her dazed senses struggled to assimilate the scene in the living room. Angela was standing in the open doorway leading to the balcony, a smug smile on her face. Her ice-blue glance flickered across Nicole's stunned face and rested on Louis, who stood close behind Nicole with his hands curved supportively around her waist.
"Last night you didn't mention coming into the city today!" she accused. Well, so much for Louis's political dinner, thought Nicole with a sinking heart as she jerked away from those lean, attractive hands whose touch brought ecstasy to her responsive flesh. She might have known he had been with Angela. Then why had he brought her to New Orleans and introduced her to his close friends and, worst of all, raised her hopes that he might care?
"Nor did you mention plans to make use of my apartment without permission," he said curtly to Angela, his eyes following Nicole as she walked stiffly over to one corner where Larry Dupuis appeared deeply absorbed in picking out another tape. "How did you get in?"
Angela pouted, her manner showing a trace of uncertainty at this brusque reception. Craig Johnson sat on a sofa between Sally and Michelle, the three of them looking highly uncomfortable. The tension in the room was almost unbearable for Nicole. Everyone seemed to be waiting breathlessly for Angela's answer.
"Darling, you gave me the key, don't you remember? You said I was welcome to use the apartment any time." She flashed a glance of triumph in Nicole's direction before walking seductively across the space separating herself and Louis.
His anger was almost a tangible thing, but when he spoke his voice was icily controlled. "That was before the wedding, when you and your mother were coming to New Orleans almost daily to shop for your trousseau. Circumstances have changed since then."
Nicole's heart plunged at the deep bitterness in his voice. Love for him made her achingly conscious of the unhappiness he had suffered months ago when Angela deserted him and must be suffering now with this new reminder of how all his plans had crumbled.
Angela's confidence in her ability to smooth things over faltered slightly at this unexpectedly hostile reception to the intrusion of herself and her friends. She used her most beseeching tone as she cajoled, "You can't just put us out on the street this time of night! After all, it's not our fault all the hotels are filled up with doctors in town for the medical convention."
"You should have checked into that before you came," Louis replied unsympathetically.
"Oh, come on, darling, please," wheedled Angela. "There's room enough with four bedrooms. It's obvious you and Nicole were planning to occupy separate rooms, so maybe she wouldn't mind sharing with one of us girls. It's chummy, but we can work something out."
Mortification flooded Nicole's cheeks and neck with hot color at the tactless words. Angela evidently had already surveyed all the bedrooms and noted the location of her and Louis's luggage in separate rooms. At that moment she knew she was incapable of staying another hour in the apartment, much less having to share a bed with Angela or one of her girlfriends. Summoning her courage, she spoke with a flippancy born out of sheer desperation.
"Personally I volunteer to return to Iberville tonight and escape the sardine act. Someone else is welcome to my bed."
Her announcement caused titters of surprise that gave her a certain grim satisfaction. Obviously she had been expected to go along meekly with whatever was decided. Angela's eyes narrowed with suspicion at this unexpected turn of events.
"Well, do I have a chauffeur?" Nicole prompted with a brittle poise she was far from feeling.
Larry started to speak, only to be silenced by a curt gesture from Louis. "Nobody is driving my wife home except me."
Later Nicole would replay the scene in her mind and remember details she hadn't even realized she'd noticed: Angela's whimpered protest and the look of pure enmity in her eyes as she glared at Nicole; the expression of surprise on Larry's face; and, most of all, the subtle change in attitude evident in Craig Johnson and the two other girls, as if they had suddenly made a startling discovery...
The long ride back to Iberville was silent and strained, idle conversation being impossible because of a high invisible barrier. It was hard to believe this impassive, stern man was the same person whose company she had enjoyed on the drive into the city, the same attentive companion who had made her pulses drum with awareness all during dinner.
She mustered up her courage and spoke tentatively as they speeded along in the heavy darkness with dense swamp spreading out on both sides. "You really didn't have to leave tonight. Larry probably wouldn't have minded---"
"I'm sure Larry wouldn't have minded," he interrupted with cutting irony that brought tears to her eyes. It sounded as if he hated her. Her insides shriveled as she huddled into the corner against the door. Her thoughts went round and round in endless circles as she relived the events of the day, bitter that it had all ended this way. An hour passed and her eyelids grew very heavy. It was just too much trouble to hold them up.
Some time later the flashing brightness of a caution light blinded her, and with a start she realized that somehow she had moved from her position against the passenger door and was sitting pressed against Louis, her cheek rubbing the rough fabric of his jacket sleeve.
She sat bolt upright, trying to clear her mind and wake up. The fuzziness enveloped her head again, and she heard herself murmur, "I can drive now if you want to rest." She didn't know anything after that until the car finally came to a complete stop, and strong arms were gathering her up against a hard chest that thumped with deep regularity. She relaxed into the warm security of those arms with a blissful sigh.
The next morning she awoke in her familiar brass bed in the pale yellow bedroom and tried to remember how she had gotten there. A peek under the covers showed she wore a filmy, pale blue nightgown, but she didn't remember undressing last night. She didn't remember anything except that wonderful sensation of being carried in strong masculine arms.
Evidently she must have awakened enough to remove her clothes and loosen her hair from its heavy coil at the nape of her neck. Unless--- The thought was so embarrassing she raised both hands to cheeks flushed at the thought that perhaps Louis had undressed her and taken the pins out of her hair. How could she face him if he had?
She needn't have worried, because he wasn't at the breakfast table when she went down. Elaine was full of questions about the trip into the city, and Nicole did her best to answer them with the enthusiasm expected of her. She tried without success to divert the girl's attention to the upcoming Dryades tournament at Thanksgiving.
"Say, you and Adrian had better get on the ball and practice for that tournament next weekend. He looked awful disappointed when you canceled practice to go off to New Orleans with Big Brother," the girl observed shrewdly.
"I still say I'm not ready to play in a tournament," Nicole said worriedly.
"Well, at least Angela won't get a chance to practice with her partner," the girl said with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Why not?"
"You know, silly. Louis will be in New York until Friday. He left early this morning. Didn't he tell you?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course," Nicole lied, struggling to hide her dismay that not only was he gone, but he hadn't even bothered to tell her. That's how much he regarded her as a wife, she thought bitterly.
"Hey, it's not the end of the world. He'll be back." Elaine eyed Nicole with a penetration discomfiting in a girl so young. "Besides, I didn't get the impression you were that crazy about Big Brother."
"It's time for you to get to school," Nicole reminded, caught in an impossible situation where, no answer would satisfy Elaine without being either dishonest or too revealing. She just hoped Louis didn't get the impression she was "that crazy about him." Cringing inwardly at the humiliation such a discovery by him would cause her, she faced again the grim truth that leaving Mimosa House seemed the only real answer to her problems. If only there weren't Elaine to consider.
Nicole missed Louis with an aching force that dismayed her at its intensity. The big house seemed hollow and empty without him. She went down to breakfast each morning despondently aware that he wouldn't be at the table looking up at her with those enigmatic blue eyes. It seemed pointless to take any care in dressing for dinner when it would be just herself and Elaine and possibly Adrian now that Louis was away.
She struggled to combat the listlessness undermining every effort. Everything just seemed to be too much trouble. Just a few weeks ago she had been serene in her life at Mimosa House, content with the company of Elaine and Adrian. Nothing essential had changed, except for her feelings. Doggedly she tried to rationalize herself out of the deep depression.
Even Elaine and Adrian commented on her moodiness. The three of them spent many hours on the tennis court along with Jimmy Martin. They all praised her improvement and worked hard at jockeying up her confidence for the tournament just two days away. Somehow, though, she couldn't seem to care about the outcome of a tennis tournament when there were so many more crucial problems to ponder.
She wondered how she had allowed herself to get embroiled in such a bizarre situation in the first place. Her marriage to Louis had defied every rule of rational behavior and landed her in the middle of a situation no girl would envy: married to a man who loved the girl who had jilted him. The crowning touch to the whole cruel melodrama was that the bride of convenience had fallen in love with her husband, knowing he would never reciprocate the emotion. What a hopeless mess!
In the eyes of the world she had everything anybody could desire, everything, that is, that money could buy. What she didn't have was love...
"Hey, she's tripped off again. Somebody hit her over the head with the racquet!" Elaine's teasing voice held an undertone of concern that prompted Nicole to straighten her shoulders and pretend mock offense at the chiding. Goodness! She would have to stop this endless introspection. Lately she found herself standing motionless right in the middle of some task, lost in the maze of her own thoughts.
"Say, why don't you and Adrian go out to dinner or a movie or something? It'd do you good. Get your mind off the tournament."
Nicole instinctively rejected Elaine's suggestion, but Adrian looked like a hurt puppy at her prompt refusal. Why not, for heaven's sake? Louis obviously dined out with other women even here at Iberville, and maybe it would do her good to get out and clear her mind, even though she wasn't dwelling on the tournament as Elaine believed.
"How about it?" asked Adrian, studying the indecision on her face and speaking with a wistfulness that made up her mind.
"I'd love to get away from you-know-who for an evening," she said brightly, wrinkling her nose at Elaine, who feigned hurt by grabbing her chest in a mock attack of pain. "Say, maybe you and Jimmy would like to join us old stodgy folks for a pizza or something?" she suggested and immediately noted the joy on Elaine's features and the downcast expression Adrian struggled to conceal. Oh, well, she couldn't make everybody happy. That was obvious.
"Say, I'm real sorry, but I can't make it tonight," Jimmy stammered, his face red with adolescent embarrassment.
"I had other plans, anyway," Elaine prevaricated blithely, hiding her disappointment with female stoicism.
Nicole reflected upon her own indifference as she looked into her closet of beautiful clothes for something to wear. Getting dressed for a man other than Louis just lacked the spice of excitement---there wouldn't be that breathless moment when those disconcerting blue eyes slid over her figure, making her bones weaken as if the joints were coming unglued.
Scolding herself mentally, she pulled out a long skirt of soft wool jersey in a tartan plaid design of green, red, and black. With it she wore a close-fitting silk blouse of a matching dark green with long sleeves and a scooped neckline. The overall effect was stunning after she had braided her long hair and arranged it in a coronet around her head and slipped heavy gold hoops in her ears. She descended the graceful sweep of stairs trailing in one hand the fringed shawl of the same material as the skirt.
The young man who walked into the hallway at that moment looked up, entranced by the lovely woman whose beauty was only heightened by the faint shadow in her wide velvet eyes, the slight pallor to the creamy complexion. Adrian Dessommes was definitely not given to fanciful poetic comparisons, but he thought whimsically that Nicole looked like a heroine in a classical tragedy.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his warm hazel eyes exposing feelings she preferred not to recognize.
"You look pretty, too," she said lightly, and meant the compliment. Adrian was attractive enough to get his fair share of female attention. No doubt about it. He wasn't as tall as Louis, but he had the compact, muscular build of an athlete and carried himself with a lithe grace. His open, good-natured face was framed by the thick mass of sun-bleached curls.
"Well?" His voice held a tinge of amusement, and she blushed at the realization that she had been staring at him for several seconds.
"Uh-huh. I was just telling myself how lucky I am to have such a handsome escort," she quipped lightly and couldn't repress the imp in the back of her mind who taunted, Why can't you be casual and natural like this with Louis? Because he matters too much, she hissed back at the tormentor.
"Too bad you tied yourself down without considering the advantages of a permanent escort like me," he returned in a voice equally light, but serious at the same time.
"It's a little late for such thoughts," she said slowly as they walked out to Adrian's low-slung sports car.
"There's always divorce," he said very carefully.
"You're forgetting one thing. Someone with my upbringing takes her marriage vows very seriously. Besides, I have no grounds for divorce." Her voice was husky with the effort of speaking calmly about divorcing the man she loved. She knew she would never be the one to initiate divorce proceedings, while at the same time she wouldn't stand in the way of Louis's happiness if he asked her for a divorce.
Both she and Adrian seemed to make a conscious effort to direct the conversation to pleasant topics on the drive to Lafayette, where they dined at a new steak house with a Spanish decor. The atmosphere was quietly intimate and the food good. Afterward they drove around and checked to see what movies were playing, deciding finally to see a light comedy.
"I think you chose this one because it's G," Adrian teased, referring to the rating of the movie for the general public, which meant it lacked explicit sex scenes and raw language.
"I'm only thinking about your young morals," Nicole retorted, unable to restrain a tiny blush at the astuteness of his observation.
Settling into seats about midway in the theater, Adrian offered her a gigantic container of buttered popcorn, whispering, "Now for the real reason behind coming to the movies."
The movie was definitely lightweight entertainment about the mishaps and practical jokes at a large summer camp for children. Nicole laughed spontaneously at some of the slapstick antics, more relaxed than she had been since that fateful trip to New Orleans.
Afterward she declined his offer of a drink or a cup of coffee, insisting it was late and they should be making the drive back. He didn't demur, and they passed the next hour in companionable silence, except for several desultory lapses into conversation. She wondered wistfully why she couldn't have gotten herself emotionally involved with someone warm and safe like Adrian.
"How about just one little cup of coffee?" he wheedled as they drove into the big half circle in front of Mimosa House.
"It's late," she protested, hearing the halfhearted consent in her own tone.
"One late night isn't going to put permanent hollows in your lovely cheeks. Please."
"Okay, okay, you win. But just one cup!"
They tiptoed into the house like fellow conspirators, giggling at the noise they made in their exaggerated effort to be quiet. Nicole led him back to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. While it came to a boil, she ladled coffee grounds into the central compartment of the French drip-style coffeepot.
A few minutes later they sat opposite each other drinking the fragrant coffee. Adrian cocked his head toward the door. "Hear anything?"
"No, it's probably just a new ghost taking up residence," she teased playfully.
He leaned over and laid his hand on hers, causing her to look up into his eyes with a startled expression. "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed tonight," he said in a low voice filled with an emotion that made her squirm uncomfortably.
"Please," she whispered, pulling her hand away with gentle determination, only to have him reclaim it in a firmer clasp. Sighing deeply, she said in a regretful voice, "Adrian, please don't get involved with me. It isn't wise. As I tried to explain tonight, my marriage vows are forever."
He looked at her with a strange light in his eyes. "It's awkward bringing this up---but I have to. A marriage can be annulled if---if it hasn't been consummated."
"I'm afraid that condition doesn't exist in this marriage, Dessommes, so I'll bid you goodnight." The icy voice came from the doorway. The couple sitting at the table jerked their heads in that direction, and Nicole snatched her hand from Adrian's as the scorching glance of Louis Chauvin eyed the clasp with withering scorn.
With an incoherent exclamation she jumped to her feet, hating the guilt she emanated. "Where did you come from---you weren't supposed to---" Adrian was staring at his employer with a sickened expression on his tanned features, looking as if his greatest hope in life had suddenly dissipated right before his eyes, "Sorry, old man," he said soberly. "I guess I had no right."
"No, you didn't," Louis said sternly. "If you plan to stay here, you'll have to get one thing clear. Nicole is my wife. There will be no divorce."
Adrian looked questioningly at Nicole for a long moment, then left the room with a strangled "Goodnight." She stood next to the table with her head slightly bowed so that her gaze was riveted on the glossy brown leather shoes of the implacable man in the doorway. Her hands were clasped in front of her in an unconsciously beseeching attitude.
There was no sound except for their breathing and the soft hum of the refrigerator motor as it clicked on decisively. The silence welled suffocatingly until Nicole lifted her head in a regal motion and looked at the man leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms folded purposefully across his chest, his eyes narrowed in an attitude of waiting.
"I hope you aren't angry at Adrian," she said huskily, quailing inwardly at the hardness in that tall, masculine frame and inflexible features.
"Angry is hardly the word," he snapped, moving with the sudden swiftness of a jungle cat toward her and with one lithe movement swooping her up into his arms.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, too startled to struggle.
"What I should have done a long time ago," he gritted tersely, striding out of the kitchen and up the spacious hallway toward the stairs. Unreasoning panic swept her, and she struggled to get down, to no avail. His arms were fastened around her like an iron vise, crushing her against his hard masculinity with that beguiling musky scent of his flesh.
Not like this, she thought agonizingly as he swept past her bedroom and pushed open the door to his own, slamming it shut with one foot. Then he stood her on her feet, holding her upper arms in a grip that sent pains shooting up her shoulders. Her mind was numb with shock as he bent down and bruised her lips with a kiss so demanding that her knees buckled under her, forcing her to reach out for his broad shoulders.
She forced herself to think of Angela, the real object of his love, anything to give her strength to object to the rough caresses of those brutal hands as they slid down her back and molded her hips hard against the masculine contours of his lean body. He doesn't love you, she chastised herself desperately as her lips opened under his and her hands slipped up around his neck and burrowed into the crisp black hair.
It was useless. All the bitter imprecations against herself failed to elicit any cooperation from her treacherous body---even when his insistent fingers undid the button of her skirt and slid down the zipper, shoving the skirt down her hips to land in a heap on the floor. Then he slipped his hands under the silk blouse, tugged it over her shoulders and head with an impatient oath, and finally pulled her arms free of the clinging material.
"No!" she murmured pleadingly as he bent his head to kiss the deep hollow between her breasts, his hands fumbling with the catch to her bra and dropping the interfering garment to the floor with a deep sound of satisfaction in his throat. She gasped with tingling pleasure as his mouth moved sensually across her breast and captured one erect nipple.
She could feel the tremor in his hands as they removed the remainder of her undergarments and then caressed her bareness, arousing wild responses that made her sag weakly against him. "Help me," he whispered, bringing her hands to the buttons on his silk shirt. She freed the buttons, dimly aware of the metallic slide of a zipper and the rustle of fabric flung carelessly aside, and then his body was naked and urgent against her own.
When he picked her up and laid her across the bed, he was whispering her name, and all her defenses crumbled under the onslaught of his caresses. Every nerve in her body sang in response to his passion, and she gave herself unreservedly to the ecstasy of sensation which went on and on until they became one. I love him! I love him! I love him! The unspoken refrain ran through her mind as the exquisite pleasure built and built until it peaked and they lay in a close embrace.
As her body gradually calmed and her mind cleared, she was torn between wishing he would say something and dreading to hear words that might tarnish for her the magic of what had just happened. Her happiness steadily diminished with the fear that for Louis their passionate union might have been something entirely different than it had been for her---an expression of deep love. She didn't understand exactly what had prompted his sudden possession after months of marriage, especially since he had just destroyed any possibility of an annulment. He'd told Adrian there would be no divorce; but if he loved Angela, wouldn't he want to marry her?
His breathing became regular and even, but when she made a tentative move with the intention of sneaking away to her own bedroom, the circle of his arms tightened and he said sleepily, "Oh, no, you don't. Stay here with me." She quieted her tormented thoughts and lay there, exulting in the intimacy of their close bodies in the dark bedroom. Deep down she admitted to herself that in spite of everything, whatever might happen tomorrow or the next day or the next, she was glad this had happened. She would have the richness of this memory forever.
With the serenity of these thoughts, she finally fell into a deep, restful sleep, dimly conscious that any time she shifted her position his body would follow to mold its long length to hers.
She awoke with a startled sensation that she was not alone. Someone was watching her. At the same instant she became aware that she wasn't in her own bedroom and was lying nude and uncovered. Remembrance brought hot color to her cheeks, and she turned her head to find Louis propped up on one elbow, looking at her with those disturbing blue eyes.
She blushed more deeply as her eyes moved down his leanly muscular body, which he made no move to cover, seeming totally relaxed under her shy scrutiny. Her embarrassment was so acute at the realization he had been studying her as she slept that she made a quick move to get out of the bed, her mind suddenly cleared of all drowsiness as it dawned on her she didn't even have a robe. Her clothes from last evening were crumpled in a pile on the floor.
"What's the hurry?" His hand moved like lightning and imprisoned her wrist. The plaguing uncertainties rushed back in the light of morning, and an unreasoning panic gave her sudden strength as she jerked free of him and stood beside the bed, her long dark hair rippling like a screen around her shoulders.
"It must be late," she blurted in her confusion. "Adrian and I are supposed to practice this morning. Tomorrow's the tournament, remember?" She reached, down and picked up the skirt and wound it around her nakedness, avoiding those penetrating eyes that had hardened at her words. He swung to the floor in one fluid movement and walked over to the big walk-in closet.
Taking a dark green silk robe off a hanger, he slipped it on his tall frame, knotting the sash carelessly. Then he reached again and turned around with another garment in his hand---her white satin robe. He came close and pulled the tartan wool skirt from her inert fingers and helped her into the robe with punctilious courtesy. "By all means, you can't keep your tennis idol waiting," he said sarcastically.
"You planned what---what happened last night!" she whispered incredulously. "Why?"
"Aside from the more obvious reasons of personal pleasure"---she flushed angrily at the sardonic inflection in his voice---"I came to the same conclusions as your ardent admirer and tennis mentor and decided it was time to consummate our marriage before anyone got any ideas about annulment. I would not have been quite so forceful if I hadn't come home last night to find you two out together."
Acute disappointment flooded through her at the words, which confirmed what she already knew. That throbbing love scene last night held none of the deep significance for him that it had for her. He had cold-bloodedly decided to consummate their marriage as a kind of keep off sign to Adrian. His possession of her was merely an act of arrogance and an assertion of ownership.
"Well, it won't happen again!" she flared, her anger only accentuating her beauty as she stood there in the white satin robe belted snugly around her narrow waist, her long hair a dark cloud floating down her back, her head set at a proud angle.
"After last night, I'm afraid I can't make any promises. Sometimes they turn out impossible to keep." The faint irony in his voice as his eyes moved suggestively down her body brought a rush of emotion compounded of anger and resentment and some other feelings she refused to analyze at that moment.
"Nicole, where are you? Adrian and Jimmy are downstairs already!" Nicole inhaled sharply at the sound of Elaine's impatient voice out in the hallway. Louis laughed softly at her chagrined expression.
"Caught in your husband's bedroom. It's perfectly legal and moral, darling."
"Don't call me that," she choked and caught her clothes up from the floor, starting for the door. He moved with the incredible swiftness of a predatory animal and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her so close she was thrust against his warm, hard chest and in danger of sinking, of succumbing to the dizzying appeal of his virility.
It was maddening, but she was helpless to stop him when he lowered his mouth against hers in a slow, tantalizing kiss that revived the flickering flames of desire in her flesh. "To hell with Adrian and the tournament---why don't you just stay here with me?" he murmured caressingly.
She came down to earth with a shock of indignation. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you wouldn't run the risk of being embarrassed by the amateurish efforts of your wife. I don't think you care about anything except your precious name and reputation!" She jerked away from him and fled to her own bedroom, mindless of the picture she must make with her last night's clothing bundled in her arms.
It took a lot longer than usual for her to dress. How she dreaded facing Elaine and Adrian---not to mention Louis. She stood for some indeterminate period of time under the hot, stinging spray of the shower, stepping out finally to towel off vigorously as if she were trying to erase all evidence of those searing caresses.
There was no erasing the memory, though, nor the aftereffects. Her body was different in some subtle way, and she worried irrationally if everyone would be able to detect the change. With that discomfiting thought, she remembered Elaine's impatient reminder earlier outside her empty bedroom that Adrian and Jimmy were already waiting downstairs. Today was the last practice before the tournament tomorrow.
Speeding up the dressing procedure, she slipped on a pale aqua tennis dress made of a stretch fabric that had the appearance and soft feel of a thin velour while being washable. It had been shockingly expensive, but she hadn't been able to resist when Elaine insisted it was made for her. The fullness of the graceful skirt was created by elastic shirring in the waistline. The neckline was round, and simple cap sleeves completed the dress's utter simplicity.
It was cool enough this morning for the jacket of the same soft material with accents of a deeper aqua. There were also warm-up slacks with the outfit, but they wouldn't be necessary today.
After brushing her hair straight back and fastening it with a rubber band at the nape of her neck, she tied an aqua silk scarf to conceal the rubber band. Quelling her nervousness, she marched downstairs to breakfast.
A hasty glance revealed Elaine, Jimmy, and Adrian already seated at the table. "Where have you been?" demanded Elaine, looking annoyed at her tardiness on this of all mornings. "You didn't answer when I knocked on your door, and when I peeked in, your bed---" She halted abruptly at the expression on Nicole's face and, with amazing sensitivity for one so young, changed in midsentence. "How's this for starting breakfast off with a whole gang?" She waved her hand at the unusually large number of place settings at the small table.
Nicole avoided Adrian's eyes as she slid into her place and poured a cup of coffee. When she did look up to accept a hot biscuit from the basket he offered, she noted the hint of reproach in the soft hazel depths, mingled with unmistakable pleading.
Jimmy looked more interested in the sausage and eggs than in the undercurrents swirling around him. "Hm, that's a snappy outfit," he managed in between bites.
At least she was spared the inquisition of those mocking blue eyes. Her reflection was a mixture of relief and disappointment at Louis's absence. Refraining from any question or comment about the two other places set at the table, she spread blackberry jam on a biscuit, refusing the sausage and eggs.
Elaine shifted restlessly in her chair. Things were moving much too slowly for her this morning. After much pleading she had gotten special permission from Nicole and the headmistress of her school to be absent from classes today. She had even talked Jimmy Martin into persuading his parents to let him do the same. Both of them were excellent students, so that it really hadn't been all that difficult to wangle a day off.
Nicole had been secretly amused at Elaine's machinations. The ostensible reason behind the day's holiday was to help Nicole and Adrian practice one last time before the tournament. But in reality that could have taken place after school. Somehow an outing on Andrew's boat had been arranged, much to Jimmy's unbounded enthusiasm. Nicole suspected that without the lure of the boat trip Jimmy might never have agreed to the proposal to miss a day's classes.
"How was the movie?" Elaine asked just as the two late arrivals to breakfast walked in. Nicole almost choked on her mouthful of biscuit at the sight of Angela clinging to Louis's arm. He was tall and casual in a close-fitting navy silk shirt and khaki slacks.
Nicole was breathlessly aware of the leanness of his waist and hips, the length of the muscular legs, the breadth of shoulders. She remembered the way she had seen him uncovered by any clothing only an hour ago. The intimate expression in the dark blue eyes as they met hers only accentuated her confusion---could he read her thoughts?
Angela wore a red knit jumpsuit that emphasized every curve of her petite figure. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the silent exchange between Nicole and Louis.
After a polite round of greetings, Elaine sighed in exasperation, beginning to fear for the success of her day's plans. "Where did you two come from?" she asked in a voice clearly indicating her wish that they had stayed wherever they had been previously.
Louis and Nicole spoke simultaneously in censure of her rudeness, but Angela looked pleased at the question. She replied in silken tones, "When Louis came by the club last night, I simply insisted he take some time to assist me in planning the Homes tour. Nicole, even though she's willing enough, just isn't much help."
Her implication couldn't have been more obvious if she'd spelled out her attack in neon-lighted letters. Nicole didn't have the social background or the familiarity with the history of Mimosa House to be of any help. It was just another way of stating her unsuitability to be Louis's wife.
But what hurt even more than her barbed innuendoes was the knowledge Louis had been with her last night before---before... It was too painful to complete the thought.
"What Angela started to explain," Louis said evenly, "was that I dropped by the club last night after I arrived home to find the place empty. I ran into Angela along with a whole party and arranged to pick her up this morning since her car is in the shop. I thought maybe you would be free to sit down with us for an hour or so and go over this Tour of Homes schedule." The last was addressed to Nicole.
"I was here last night," Elaine corrected.
"It was after ten, and you were in bed where all spoiled young girls should be at that hour," Louis replied sternly. A teasing light in his eyes betrayed his affection.
"Where was Nicole?" Angela demanded.
"Say, what kind of third degree is this?" Adrian was indignant, well aware of the discomfort on Nicole's expressive face.
Angela didn't look willing to drop the subject, but a quick glance at the others revealed an unwillingness to pursue it any further. She shrugged indifferently.
"Well, Louis, it looks like Nicole is all ready for a tennis game with her favorite partner. I doubt she has time for anything so mundane as a tour of your home by hundreds of interested visitors."
"Nicole won't be here for that tour thing, anyway," Elaine announced blithely, not at all pleased at the hurt in her beloved companion's dark eyes.
"Why not?" Angela demanded, regarding Elaine as if she belonged to some particularly unappealing species of insect.
"Because the tour's at Thanksgiving, isn't it? We'll be in New Orleans at the Dryades Tournament this year!" What started off as one-upmanship ended on a note of irrepressible excitement.
"I see." There was no regret in the reflective tone. "And it's too late now to withdraw Mimosa House from the tour. The programs are already at the printer. I guess we'll just have to get someone to substitute for you, Nicole. It shouldn't be too difficult to find someone... capable."
She turned to Louis appealingly. "You'll be here, won't you, darling?"
He shook his head in disagreement. "Sorry, but I can't expose Elaine and Nicole to the dangers of the city without a male escort. I plan to accompany them. I trust your mother and Mrs. Holden to look after things here. They're both old pros at this tour business."
Angela's full lips tightened. She swung an accusing glare at Nicole. "It's going to be a little awkward to explain that tennis is more important to you than fulfilling your responsibilities as hostess of Mimosa House," she spat, almost choking on the last words.
Nicole bit back the angry retort on her lips. Elaine was far more important to her than a benefit run by a group of affluent women with time heavy on their hands. Angela wouldn't understand her feelings anyway, so what was the use? Instead, she replied coolly, "I'm sure some compromise can be worked out so Louis can satisfy all his obligations."
His eyes narrowed to blue slits. She spoke hurriedly to conceal the disturbing effect of that gaze on her nerves. "The tournament lasts for several days. If Elaine is in the finals---and I fully expect her to be---perhaps Adrian would agree to pinch-hit---"
Her voice faltered at the reactions to her incompleted suggestion. An explosive epithet from Louis, who looked as if he could shake her senseless. An eager "Sure!" from Adrian, who looked in complete agreement with the idea. A delighted "Of course!" from Angela, whose expression rivaled the supreme satisfaction of a cat licking its paws after a particularly sumptuous and unexpected bowl of cream.
Jimmy Martin sat hunched in his chair, completely forgotten. He wondered how long all this jawing was going to take. He might as well have gone to school as sit here all morning. Whatever else happened, he hoped the boat trip was still on. His face lighted with accord as Elaine said crossly, "At this rate we'll all still be sitting here at Thanksgiving. I don't know about you guys"---with a belligerent look at Angela---"but we have plans."
Louis looked at his watch with a slight frown. "Aren't you two late for school?"
After his long silence, Jimmy suddenly was compelled to take part in the conversation. "We're not going to school today. We have permission from our schools to take a day off. After a practice match with Nicole and Adrian, her brother is taking us out on a real fishing boat!" His voice vibrated with anticipation.
"Playing hooky from school!" Angela's exclamation was heavy with malice. "See what goes on when you're away?" She turned to Louis with a sympathetic cluck.
If she had expected some open criticism of Nicole for her laxity, she was badly disappointed. Louis's expression was guarded, his thoughts unreadable, as he said, "Elaine is an excellent student, and I trust Nicole's judgment implicitly. Now we'd better get a move on. If I know Andrew, he'll expect his party to be on time."
Nicole expelled the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Surely she'd had sufficient proof before now that her self-possessed husband would never berate his wife in front of outsiders. Such behavior would violate his ironbound code of family pride and decorum.
What really took her by surprise was what followed. They all stood up from the breakfast table about to go their separate ways. Louis came around to stand beside Nicole and said in a voice blatantly proprietorial, "I like that outfit on you, darling." Then he bent with slow deliberation and brushed his lips against hers. "Off to your tennis game, now," he ordered briskly, ignoring the seething resentment in Adrian's eyes and the undisguised fury in Angela's.
"What kind of game is he playing, anyway?" Adrian demanded in a low, harsh voice as he walked with Nicole to one end of the tennis court.
"What do you mean?" she hedged, still numb with shock.
"The great display of husbandly affection after all these months," he retorted. "Not that any man in his right mind wouldn't love you," he said in a voice husky with emotion. "But why is he still hanging around with that poisonous little blonde who ditched him in the first place?"
Her heart ached so with the obviousness of the answer to that last question that she had great difficulty concentrating on the game. It was by far her worst performance to date. Adrian's question tormented her. Underneath the delicacy of phrasing it was obvious that he wondered, too, how a man could make love to one woman and love another.
Where were Angela and Louis now? What were they doing? Was he holding her in those strong arms, caressing her with the finely shaped hands whose touch banished all willpower and common sense from Nicole? She loved everything about him, but especially his hands.
"We might as well call it quits today." The tone of resignation in Elaine's voice was seconded by the way Jimmy walked quickly to the side of the court and zipped the cover onto his expensive graphite racquet. Nicole's feelings of apology were exceeded only by relief at getting off the court. This was one dismal instance when tennis had failed to get her mind off her troubles.
"What time shall I meet you at the marina?" Jimmy's voice was eager. The four of them consulted on the time schedule and then separated. Adrian would return in thirty minutes to drive Nicole and Elaine in one of the plantation four-wheel-drive vehicles. They needed lots of room for the bounteous lunch Mrs. Holden had prepared, plus additional coolers of soft drinks and beer. It had all the makings of quite a party.
Andrew had been good-natured but convincing in stating he took no freeloaders aboard his boat. They might as well come dressed as crew members, not "duded up in fancy yachting rigs." That notion suited Elaine perfectly, since jeans and T-shirts were second only to shorts and T-shirts in her preference of clothes to wear.
Nicole pulled on a pair of beige brushed-denim jeans that molded her supple figure like a second skin. Her dark brown cotton turtleneck was tucked under the snug waistband. No doubt it would be cool out on the water when the boat was under way. With that thought, she slipped on a brown-and-beige plaid shirt which she left unbuttoned and knotted casually at the waist.
Some elfin instinct made her plait her glossy hair into two heavy braids. It was the same way she'd worn her hair when she was Elaine's age and her father took her out on his boat along with Andrew, who even at that tender age had been fascinated with the whole process of fishing for shrimp. With dainty gold rings in her ears and a jaunty brown cap pulled low over her forehead, she looked closer to Elaine's age than to her own twenty-two years.
"You look cu-ute!" Adrian's eyes seconded Elaine's compliment as they climbed into the sturdy jeeplike vehicle with CHAUVIN PLANTATIONS painted on the side doors. The back was loaded with lunch hamper and coolers.
"I wonder what happened to Louis and Angel Face." Elaine echoed Nicole's own thoughts as she voiced the question. Adrian muttered something unintelligible, suspiciously akin to "Who cares?"
Nicole instinctively defended Louis. "You've got to admit he's not exactly a slave driver, at least where you're concerned," she chided gently.
He grinned a rueful acknowledgment. "You're right. I'd sure hate to give up this job, for more than one reason. As a matter of fact, I've always liked Louis a lot---admired him, too---until... just lately..." His voice trailed away lamely, and Nicole realized he was too tactful to speak frankly in front of Elaine.
She knew instinctively what he had not verbalized. He had always liked his employer until she had come along and appealed to Adrian's chivalric instincts. He apparently saw her as a kind of underdog, overshadowed by the glamorous Angela, and he felt sorry for her.
Only there was no contest here, just a cut-and-dried situation where she could only lose. It looked more and more as if the only considerate thing she could do for everybody concerned was to remove herself from the playing field. The last thing she wanted was to cause Adrian problems with his job. A young man with his interests would be hard put to find another job so perfectly tailored to his needs, one offering so many advantages.
And then there was Elaine. It all seemed to come back to her. Nicole heaved a sigh, mindless of the searching look she received from the clear hazel eyes of the man at the wheel. Well, she would definitely stay at Mimosa House until after the Dryades Tournament at Thanksgiving. After that Elaine would have already proved her exceptional ability, and Louis would see to it she had the opportunity for further competition. Nicole was sure he would. He loved Elaine very much. After that---well, who could say? She noted with relief their arrival at the marina. This outing was going to be fun for all of them, and nothing should be allowed to spoil it. Nothing!
Jimmy was waiting in his canary yellow VW convertible when they pulled into the marina parking area. He wasted no time in hefting one of the heavy coolers to a stout shoulder. Adrian did the same with the other cooler, and Elaine and Nicole managed the wicker lunch hamper between them. The four of them proceeded cautiously along the weathered dock in time to Jimmy's teenage litany, "Wow, man, is this neat! This is cool!"
Andrew was out on deck waiting for them. For several minutes everyone was preoccupied with getting the lunch hamper and coolers aboard and situated where they would be accessible yet not in the way. The coolers went into the capacious wheelhouse, which also doubled as a dining room, and the hamper went into the compact but well-equipped galley.
Jimmy's eyes couldn't stop moving as he plied Andrew with question after question. Nicole's sisterly pride swelled at the grave assurance of her younger brother. After all, he wasn't all that many years older than Jimmy, but he had already felt the heavy hand of tragedy and had been forced to mature young. Yet he appeared happy and confident as he introduced his admiring young guest to the wonderful mysteries of a shrimping boat.
Elaine was already familiar with the electrified winches and mammoth trawling nets and huge storage compartments of the boat, having been given the tour on earlier visits with Nicole. But she tagged along nonetheless, standing as close to Jimmy as she dared. It was clear to the aware observer that proximity to Andrew revived her former crush on him and produced a conflict of interests.
Andrew glanced at his watch several times as he led Jimmy from one point of interest to another. "I wonder what he's waiting for?" Nicole said in a low voice to Adrian, as the two of them stood together watching the three younger members of the group with a mixture of indulgence and amusement. Seconds later it was obvious that sometime during the morning two additional guests had been invited to the party.
"Uh-oh. Look who's coming," Adrian muttered suddenly.
"You can all blame me for holding you up!" trilled Angela from the dock, clinging tightly to Louis's arm. Her self-confidence wavered slightly at the sight of the group already aboard the boat. She had obviously made a mistake in choice of clothing for the outing.
She wore white silk slacks and a blue blazer over a navy-and-white print blouse. It was a stunning and obviously expensive ensemble, perfect for a cruise on a luxurious motor yacht but strikingly out of place in the rustic simplicity of the marina where the fishing fleet docked.
Her most glaring mistake, though, was choice of shoes. Nicole wondered how she had managed to negotiate the long, unevenly planked dock without breaking her neck in those incredibly high-heeled backless sandals that were the latest rage. There was a moment of awkward silence as Andrew looked with visible distaste at the spiky heels, certain to damage his shiny new decks. Yet how could he refuse to extend hospitality to the companion of the man who had paid the bulk of the cost of the boat?
With the quick comprehension that could easily manifest itself in brutal tactlessness, Elaine gasped, "Oh, ma gosh, Andrew doesn't let anyone come on this boat with hard-soled shoes!"
"I suppose I have to take the blame." Louis looked as if he would gladly toss them all overboard at the slightest provocation. "We were late and I'm afraid I paid little attention to Angela's footgear."
A likely story, Nicole reflected rebelliously. She pulled herself out of the lethargy induced by the galling sight of Angela's blond head pressed possessively against that rugged shoulder. The light blue of the windbreaker emphasized the blackness of his windblown hair and the electric quality of his dark blue eyes.
Nicole, caught right in the middle in her dual role as Andrew's sister and Louis's wife, definitely had to do something to ease the painful situation. Besides, she felt a twinge of sympathy for Angela, whose lip trembled slightly at the unexpected censure elicited by her expensive shoes and the chagrin at not having dressed appropriately.
"That's a striking outfit, Angela," she praised warmly, moving forward to smile at the pouting young woman. "Those shoes are too dangerous to wear on the boat, but fortunately I keep a pair of sneakers aboard just in case I drop by to see Andy on the spur of the moment. Here, you can fit into my moccasins. Sorry they're not the right color."
She slipped her feet out of the brown rubber-soled moccasins and thrust them across the gap between the boat and the dock into Louis's outstretched hand. His eyes showed gratitude mixed with some other indefinable emotion in their blue depths.
Angela hesitated only a second, wisely deciding to concede the issue. Nicole couldn't repress the wry thought that this was the first time in Angela's spoiled life she had made an error in dressing for an occasion.
The awkwardness eased as Andrew stepped forward to help Angela aboard, his sensitive features relieved. He looked slightly breathless when the exquisite little blonde stumbled and clung to him for several seconds.
"Nicole never mentioned having such a handsome brother," she purred, gazing up at the mobile features that were so like his sister's.
Nicole groaned inwardly at the obviousness of Angela's appeal to her young brother's masculine instincts. Fortunately, he wasn't in her league and consequently wasn't in any serious danger of becoming one of her conquests.
"You'd better stop acting like a mother hen and get those other shoes on." At the sound of the low, amused voice close beside her, she started and looked up guiltily into Louis's teasing eyes. He had correctly appraised her protectiveness toward Andrew and now read the unspoken question in her face.
"Andrew telephoned this morning while you were out practicing. He wanted to confirm the time for today's excursion. When he found out I was home..." He shrugged expressively.
Nicole could finish the explanation for herself. Of course, Andrew had extended the invitation to include the man who was his benefactor and whom he also genuinely liked. She didn't wait to hear how Angela had come to be included, but turned quickly away from him, murmuring, "You're right. I'd better get the other shoes." She hoped he wasn't aware of the havoc his nearness produced in her body, speeding up her heartbeat and creating strange feathery sensations down her backbone.
Things went smoothly as Andrew took charge and gave clear directions to the other men. They untied the docking lines and pushed the boat away from the creosoted pilings when it threatened to graze or bump up against one of them. The young captain handled the wheel and backed the boat from its slip with expertise. Once they were clear of the channel and out into open water, he turned the wheel over to a hopeful Jimmy Martin.
By this time everyone was feeling the tug of hunger, and Elaine offered to help Nicole in the galley. Angela didn't even bother to offer. She was hanging on Andrew's arm, giving a breathtakingly convincing performance that a shrimp boat was an object of utmost fascination and its young captain even more so. Andrew's face glowed in response to the heady experience of attention from one of Iberville's most beautiful society girls.
Adrian had acted very detached since the arrival of his employer and stood now in conversation with Jimmy in the wheelhouse. Louis was out on deck leaning against the rail up in the bow, his arms crossed over his chest with one hand cradling the bowl of his pipe as he stared reflectively out to sea.
Tall and lean in soft denim jeans that hugged the muscles in his taut thighs, he looked very much at home in his surroundings. There was an aura of command and confidence about him that made one instinctively sure he would be a good person to have along in a crisis. He would not hesitate to act when the need arose.
"Come on, Nicole, you're just standing there staring at Louis like you've never seen him before! I'm starving!" Elaine's insistent voice awoke Nicole from her reverie with a start.
"Come along, impatient one, and we'll set out lunch," she said, giving the girl a playful slap on her trim rear end.
When the contents of the lunch hamper were arranged on the table in the wheelhouse, Andrew turned off the big, throbbing engines and allowed the boat to drift in silence on what was a relatively calm sea.
"We're lucky," he said. "According to the forecast, the wind from the north is supposed to pick up."
"What happens then?" Jimmy's voice and expression indicated he would be satisfied with nothing tamer than a hurricane.
"We'd have some pretty rough seas. Hopefully, we'll be back in before things get bad."
Nobody had to be urged to help themselves to golden fried chicken, potato salad, ham and roast beef sandwiches, and assorted pickles and relishes provided by Mrs. Holden. They loaded food on paper plates of the stout, unbendable variety and fished the drink of their choice from the ice-filled coolers.
Jimmy wandered outside with his plate, followed by a dogged Elaine, who settled down beside him on the foredeck. Angela brought a luminous light to Andrew's eyes when she suggested, "Let's go outside and sit where we can talk without so many other people around." A few minutes later he had lifted her to the top of the forward cabin with the care he might have exercised with a shipment of fragile porcelain.
That left Adrian, Louis, and Nicole in the wheelhouse. One part of her mind was uneasily considering where she should eat her own lunch, while the other part was fuming angrily. What was Angela trying to prove, making a play for Andrew like that? He was undeniably a good-looking kid who had attracted his share of girls his own age, but Angela was a gilded butterfly from another world. Was she plotting some devious punishment for Nicole through her vulnerable young brother?
"Well, shall we choose some place to light or just hover here?" The irritated amusement in Louis's voice brought her attention sharply back to her own indecisive presence in the wheelhouse. Close beside her was her husband, who awoke every nerve end in her responsive flesh, and Adrian, who displayed, a sullen unwillingness to abandon her to the other man's company.
She looked from one man to the other helplessly and then glanced nervously out the front windshield at the couple leaning so intimately together on the cabin top.
Without any further word, Louis strode out the door along the side deck, edging around toward the spot where Andrew and Angela sat. Disappointment sucked at Nicole's insides as he swung himself up beside Angela, making some remark that obviously triggered her pleasure. She unfurled a dazzling smile at him, turning her back quite callously on Andrew.
The shadow crossing her brother's face hurt Nicole, but she recognized the bitter irony in the scene. How ambivalent were her own feelings! Louis was rescuing Andrew from the threat Angela presented; the only damage so far was the blow to his ego. Yet the relief Nicole breathed at Andrew's safety was undermined by a sharp stab of pain at the proximity of those broad shoulders to the tousled gold of Angela's curls.
"Watch an expert at work," Adrian gibed between clenched teeth.
Watch two experts at work, Nicole felt like retorting, but she bit back the words. At least it was clear now that Angela had only been flirting with Andrew to make Louis jealous. Apparently she had succeeded, judging from the way he was smiling into her eyes.
Nicole plopped down on the settee running along the wall of the wheelhouse. "Since everybody else has vacated, why don't we just sit here out of the wind?"
He sat down beside her. "Yeah, it looks to my inexperienced eye like the wind is picking up. Hope it doesn't get too rough before we get back into the marina."
"Don't worry. Andrew will take care of us," she assured him.
In a short time her brother came into the wheelhouse to start the engines. Distress from Angela's blatant rejection of his company in favor of the older man showed only in the tight set of his lips and the proud tilt of his head, the last a family characteristic.
He'll live, Nicole decided in relief. Now she just had to work on her own survival.
"We'd better get back in," Andrew announced briskly, a faint undertone of concern in his voice. "The seas are beginning to kick up."
Nicole began to pack away the remains of the lunch, relieved to have something to do to keep her occupied for a while. Too bad what started off as a carefree excursion had been spoiled, at least for her. As large as the boat was, it was too confining for the unfortunate combination of people. It was disturbing enough to her equilibrium to be near Louis, knowing how hopelessly she loved him, but to have to watch him with Angela was no longer bearable. Not after the intimacy of last night when she had given herself to him completely.
Add to all this the presence of Adrian, who showed every sign of getting too involved with her as her protector, and you came up with overwhelming awkwardness. She was even beginning to doubt the feasibility of her decision to stay on at Mimosa House until . after Thanksgiving.
Andrew ordered everyone back into the wheelhouse and explained the need for utmost caution in going out on deck if the seas became any more violent. The boat gave a sudden lurch and Elaine moaned, "I feel sick." Her sentiments were reflected in the slightly greenish color in the features of Jimmy and Adrian.
"There're lots of bunks down below," Andrew informed them. "If you feel sick, find a place and relax. We won't be out here long."
The sea motion didn't bother Nicole, but the suffocating closeness of Louis and Angela did. She went down the companionway steps from the wheelhouse to the galley as though she planned to follow Andrew's suggestion, but instead of entering the sleeping quarters, she ducked out the door leading from the galley to the side deck.
Walking to the stern of the boat, she held firmly to the handrail to keep from losing her footing in the lurching motion. In an incredibly short time the winds had increased, churning the dull grayish water into a choppy, foaming sea. The skies were overcast, but fortunately there seemed no imminent threat of rain.
The wind cut cruelly through her flannel shirt and cotton turtleneck, numbing her skin, but its bite was preferable to the confinement she had escaped. Actually, if it weren't a constant effort to keep her balance, she could enjoy this wild abandon of the elements. There was something tremendously exhilarating in the awesome expanse of surging seas, something that was uplifting and humbling at the same time.
Her shivering introspection was interrupted by a movement. She stiffened resentfully at the sight of Angela half walking, half stumbling toward her and then recoiled as she met the other girl's eyes. The blue eyes were ablaze with a deep enmity that made Nicole think of a snake about to strike. She hates me! Nicole realized in a split second of awareness.
A rigid outstretched hand reached for her just as the bow of the boat crashed jarringly into a wave. Whether the thrusting movement of the small white hand was deliberate, or an accidental by-product of the violent movement of the boat, or just imagined by Nicole as a tangible evidence of Angela's hatred, Nicole would never know for certain. But she felt her feet leaving the solid surface of the deck and her body hurling uncontrollably through space for a terrifying instant before impact with the churning sea.
She tunneled down, down, down, endlessly, into murky nothingness, her ears exploding with the roar of the depth and her lungs screaming for oxygen. Finally the descent reversed itself and she bobbed to the surface, gasping for air, only to be slapped brutally in the face by a crashing wave. An unreasoning panic paralyzed her arms and legs as she realized she was going to die.
Recognizing a gasping whimper as a sound coming from herself, she prayed desperately to overcome the panic that urged her to fight. Some ray of common sense told her she would only use up her strength quickly if she combated the power of the violent sea.
Gradually she relaxed and concentrated on staying afloat, allowing the swelling waves to buoy her helpless body. Oh, God, surely somebody on the boat must have missed her by now! Andrew would come back and save her if she could just stay up a little longer.
Time was impossible to gauge, but it seemed as if she had been tossing around for hours when she felt the vibration of an engine. She was terribly weak and couldn't see anything because of the sting of the waves and the lank strands of hair across her face. She made a swiping movement with one numb hand, aware suddenly of shouts somewhere low on the surface of the water. A terrible fatigue enveloped her, a feeling of lethargy just when rescue might be somewhere very near.
She was only dimly aware of a strong grip on her arms and struggled weakly to escape. It was useless. Slowly, painfully, her body was pulled up out of the water and dragged heavily across something hard and unyielding. It felt like a wall, bruising her stomach and hips.
As she tumbled into the bottom of the lifeboat, the light clicked off in her consciousness. She was oblivious to everything. To the racking aches in her exhausted body. To the sickening heave of the boat on the aroused seas. To the self-condemning oaths of the man who crushed her limp body against his as if to infuse it with his own throbbing life.
Nicole shifted slightly and winced at the pain and soreness in every muscle and limb of her body. She might have been sucked between giant rollers, judging from the way she felt. Someone was holding her hand and saying something in a low, soothing voice, but she couldn't get her eyes open no matter how hard she tried. Her eyelids felt like cement.
There was something terribly important she had to do today, if only she could remember. She moaned impatiently as the vague outline of memory eluded her again, and someone smoothed the hair back from her brow with wonderfully gentle fingers. She relaxed under the calming touch and stopped fighting the overwhelming need to sink back into darkness. Maybe later...
It was some time before she roused up again to the brisk instruction from a crackling antiseptic presence at her bedside. This time she managed to lift the heavy eyelids a fraction and focused hazily on the ample white figure booming good-naturedly, "And what are you doing just lying here on this nice Saturday morning?" She strapped something bulky around Nicole's upper arm, and there followed a wheezing sound that tightened the band until she could hear the loud regular thump of her pulsebeat.
Memory clicked. Today was the tournament. But she wouldn't be able to play. Not the way she felt now, all heavy and drowsy, with that awful soreness all over. She had to get word to Adrian somehow, though. He'd be counting on her. The sounds she made seemed unintelligible even to her own ears, causing a terrible frustration.
"What, dear? What is it you want?" came the efficient voice underscored with kindness.
"Adrian---I want Adrian," Nicole croaked, each syllable an immense effort.
There was movement somewhere out of the range of her indistinct vision. Was someone else there? she wondered fleetingly as the nurse raised her eyebrows, which were tufted and bristly like a man's, and turned her head in a questioning look. Nicole tried to lift herself up so she could see who was there, but the dull ache in her head throbbed louder. She decided to put everything off for a while...
When she awoke, her mind was clear and she was hungry. The clatter of metal against metal and the soft whir of wheels out in the corridor combined with the tantalizing odor of food must have awakened her. She looked around curiously, realizing she was in a hospital bed.
She hadn't drowned after all. Somehow she had been saved, but she didn't remember a thing except that stranglehold grip on her arms. The whole scene on the rear deck immediately preceding her plunge over the rail flashed before her in crystalline clarity, but she still didn't know exactly what had happened. Had Angela pushed her deliberately? Etched into her memory were the outstretched white hand and the flaming ice of hatred in those pale blue eyes.
She shuddered as the young orderly skillfully manipulated the controls at the end of her bed to raise her into a half-sitting position. "Come on, now, this supper ain't that bad!" he quipped, setting the tray on the high table he swung across her bed. She wouldn't have to move an inch to eat her meal.
"It looks delicious," she said weakly as he lifted stainless-steel covers to reveal broiled chicken, rice dressing, green peas, and mashed potatoes. There were also tomato juice, iced tea, a small hot roll, and Jell-O topped by a dollop of whipped cream.
"Feel like a little company now?" queried the stout aide who bustled in just as she was pushing the table to one side after eating a little of everything. There was something mannish about the middle-aged woman, perhaps the bristly eyebrows mixed with gray. A little whisper of memory teased the edges of Nicole's mind; the woman had been in the room before.
"I'd love some company." Nicole's hands went quickly to her hair. She probably looked a wreck. The aide noted the movement and made clucking sounds as she opened a drawer and took out a hairbrush.
"Here, let me brush your pretty hair. You look fine for somebody who tried to go for a swim during a norther."
"My hair was in braids when I fell overboard," Nicole remembered aloud.
"It was a tangled mess sure enough when they brought you in, but you were too out of it to care. That good-looking husband of yours combed it out himself, just as gentle as you please."
Nicole digested that news with wonder. Louis had been here with her in the hospital room. Maybe those were his gentle hands she remembered smoothing back her hair. The very thought quickened her pulse and brought a tinge of pretty color to her pale face.
"There, now. I'll just tell your visitors they can come in for a little while."
Moments later Elaine and Adrian were hovering in the doorway, looking worried and slightly apologetic the way healthy people usually look when they visit the hospital.
"Come in," Nicole urged, her eyes straying beyond them for the sight of a broad set of shoulders that didn't appear. Adrian and Elaine tiptoed forward to stand on either side of her bed. She held out a hand to each of them, fighting a big lump of disappointment in her throat.
"Gosh, you look like you're gonna cry," Elaine wailed, her young features downcast with concern.
"I'm just happy to see both of you characters," Nicole said brightly through a mist of tears. "Now pull up those chairs and sit down. I want to know everything, including how I was rescued and who won the tournament. Adrian, I'm so sorry I let you down!" She appealed to him with the dark eyes that looked entirely too large in the pale face.
"Don't be ridiculous! As if you could help what happened," he scoffed huskily, tightening his grip on her hand.
Elaine, displaying the resiliency of the very young now that she could see with her own eyes Nicole was all right, launched into a narrative of the rescue operation. "Louis saw you go over and he threw his windbreaker over real quick to mark the place you fell---wasn't that quick thinking? Then he ran to the wheelhouse and told Andrew to turn around and then he got the lifeboat ready to put overboard."
There followed a slight pause, during which Nicole mocked lovingly, "And then?"
"Well, we almost had a fight over who was going in the lifeboat, but Louis won. He had a real hard time 'cause the water was so rough it just kind of tossed the boat around, but he finally got to you and pulled you into the boat. We were all so relieved, Nicole---I was so scared you were going to drown!" Her youthful poise crumbled and she buried her face in the covers.
"Hey, enough of that," Adrian scolded gently. "We're supposed to cheer Nicole up, not make her feel worse." He and Nicole tactfully ignored the tearstained face and sniffles that quieted as Nicole demanded the details of the mixed doubles tournament.
"Did you get another partner at the last minute?" she asked hopefully.
"Who could possibly take the place of my original partner?" he teased, rewarded by her smile and Elaine's giggle.
"Anybody!" Nicole retorted.
"You're sounding almost normal," he said approvingly.
"Louis and Angela won?" She finally worked up the nerve to ask.
"Nope. They defaulted." Elaine took over again.
"Louis stayed here with you all last night and today--- you should have seen him when he got home this afternoon. He looked awful. Seems kind of weird to me to take off on a business trip on Saturday evening, but he did. Atlanta. I asked him when he'd be back and he just said who knows."
It took all Nicole's powers of self-control not to show her terrible disappointment. How she longed to have Louis sit beside her bed and hold her hand while he told her how he had rescued her! She wanted to share the awful loneliness and terror of those minutes before he had hauled her out of the sea. How could he leave her at a time like this when she needed him so terribly?
Adrian stood up and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead. "We have to go now and let you get some rest. According to the head nurse, the doctor plans to release you in the morning, with strict orders to take it easy a few days. I'll come for you unless you prefer to ride in the ambulance."
"Oh, no, I'd rather not!" she said firmly. "Please come get me. I want to get back to normal as soon as possible."
They left, to be replaced almost immediately by a drawn and anxious-looking Andrew. She put aside her own heavy thoughts to reassure him she was fine and very grateful to him for his skill in maneuvering the boat in heavy seas.
"It's Louis you have to thank. He was great," Andrew said fervently. His dark eyes were haunted at the specter of another tragic loss at sea.
Finally, the intercom bristled with static and a bored voice instructed all visitors to leave the patients' rooms. What a relief, Nicole thought, to stop pretending and release the tears scalding the backs of her eyelids! God knew she was grateful to be alive, but things sure didn't look any brighter than they had before. Why had Louis saved her life and stayed by her side all night, only to leave her again? Why? The sleep of sheer weariness finally came, leaving the question to be pondered many times in the next few days.
She had been home for a week now and felt as good as ever. Physically, that is. On the surface, life proceeded as smoothly as it had those first four months at Mimosa House. Louis might never have come home and destroyed her fragile peace of mind.
He hadn't returned since her accident. Nor had Angela, whose whereabouts no one seemed to know, since her mother was as vague as she had been immediately after the wedding.
Nicole consulted with the Holdens in the running of the household and the upkeep of the estate grounds, almost comfortable now in her role as mistress of Mimosa House. Much of her confidence grew out of Louis's insistence upon the authority of her position during those weeks he had been home.
She spent a great deal of time with Elaine, who turned to her for companionship and advice as the younger girl coped with the pain of that difficult transition from childhood to young adulthood.
Adrian was still a familiar figure, working out almost daily with Elaine on the tennis court and coaching her for the upcoming Dryades tournament. Mrs. Holden always laid an extra plate at the table in case he could be pressed into staying to share a meal.
One difference, though, was Nicole's decreased dependence upon him for her own tennis practice. She had mastered the intricacies of the ball machine and always managed to practice when he was busy with his duties on the plantation. He made no comment and soon stopped offering to help. Even though he was still warm and casually affectionate toward both her and Elaine, Nicole knew their relationship had undergone a subtle change that prevented any possibility of return to the old, unselfconscious camaraderie.
She didn't know how deep his emotional attachment to her went, but she could only hope to convince him she was happy and didn't require his championing her cause any longer. She hoped he would find a girl who deserved him and appreciated his fine qualities.
If only Louis would return, so that she could confront him and answer all the questions plaguing her! Until then she would be caught up in a strange state of suspension, not unhappy or pining away like some storybook heroine, but just waiting.
He returned without any forewarning one blustery evening early in November. It was a short time before dinner, making it impossible for Nicole to talk to him alone. Elaine was jubilant at his presence, spilling over with news of all she and Nicole and Adrian had been doing. With little competition from Nicole or Adrian, who looked uncomfortable at being there, she dominated the dinner conversation.
Adrian tried to escape right after the meal, but Louis insisted he stay for a brandy and coffee. Standing with his back to the open fire in the family room, he looked formidable and unapproachable as he exchanged a few general comments with Adrian about the cane crop.
His air of formality and aloofness sucked away every ounce of confidence she had been fostering so carefully during the days since her accident. She had spent hours examining every past conversation, searching for signs of possible affection. Now he questioned her politely about household matters without the slightest indication of emotion.
He was that same tall, imposing figure who had towered before her that fateful day in the Peltiers' library, commanding her to take Angela's place in the wedding. There was no suggestion of warmth in those impenetrable blue eyes as they surveyed her where she cowered in a deep armchair.
As soon as she could escape without seeming rude, she excused herself on the pretext of having some letters to write. It took supreme discipline not to hurry as she left the room with the blue eyes boring into her back.
For hours she prowled like a prisoner in her room, unable to concentrate for any length of time on writing letters or reading. She soaked a long while in a hot tub and washed her hair, taking her time afterward to comb it dry. After slight deliberation, she had donned the white satin nightgown she'd worn that night Louis had surprised her in the kitchen.
Elaine had stopped in to say goodnight some time ago, and surely Adrian must have left by now. Finally, there seemed nothing left to do except go to bed, even though she was much too keyed up to sleep, too filled with a nerve-racking expectancy.
She turned out all the lights except the reading light on her bedside table, propped herself up on a mountain of pillows, and opened up a paperback novel, determined to try again.
The stairs and upstairs landing were carpeted, muffling sound. She did not hear the footsteps pause outside her door just prior to a brisk tap. Her heart gave a great leap as the door swung open and the broad-shouldered outline of Louis's tall frame loomed against the dim light from the hall.
She couldn't see his face clearly as he stood there surveying her. Her shining dark hair steamed across the pillows and her eyes were gigantic pools of uncertain emotion.
"Don't worry," he said tersely as she made an abrupt movement from sheer nervousness. "I haven't come to force myself on you. Quite the opposite."
She half raised from the bed, her mouth opening to form the words she had been rehearsing for so long. He didn't have to force himself on her. She wanted him even if he didn't love her!
He stilled her with a brusque motion of his hand. "Actually my only reason for coming back was to set your mind at ease." He paced restlessly at the foot of her bed, stopping to grip the brass frame. "I'm sorry I bullied you into this senseless sham of a marriage."
He gave a harsh laugh that rasped across her heightened nerves. "I'm afraid annulment is pretty much out of the question, since I didn't have enough control to keep my promise. I had hoped---" He shrugged and began pacing again.
"All I can do to make things up to you is promise you'll never have to worry about me again, even though right now that means I have to stay away. As far as I am concerned, this is your home, and I hope for Elaine's sake you see fit to stay."
There was a formal, rehearsed quality about the whole speech and a tense control about the tall body. "One last thing." A note of bitterness crept into his voice. "I made it clear to Dessommes tonight after you left---his job is secure." He turned and left the room without a backward glance.
The next day he was gone.
Elaine protested only briefly at the news, her thoughts completely absorbed now in the upcoming tournament. Adrian said nothing about the short visit, but his eyes held a note of puzzlement at times when Nicole caught him looking at her.
An expensive tape-recording device couldn't have captured that terse speech delivered in her room any more clearly than her mind had, and she played it repeatedly in the days that followed. She stopped the recording to examine the inflection of a certain word, to puzzle over every pause.
It just didn't make any sense at all that he didn't want a divorce and hoped she would stay at Mimosa House but for some reason couldn't keep his promise to honor her marriage condition unless he stayed away. And then there was that puzzling remark about Adrian's job being secure. Why shouldn't it be secure? She had never heard any complaints about the way he carried out his responsibilities.
She kept coming back to the sense of guilt he had revealed over having "bullied"---that was his word--- her into the marriage. He seemed to have forgotten completely her willingness to do anything to provide Andrew with some measure of security after the death of her father.
She certainly had no complaints about her end of things. Who would object to living in a gracious old house like this one and wanting for nothing that money could buy? At times she was scandalized at how easily she had adapted herself to affluence.
The night Louis had assaulted her with that strange speech, her strongest emotion had been a sense of rejection so overpowering that she huddled in her bed, sobbing in utter hopelessness. He obviously didn't want her for a wife in the fullest sense of the word.
The next morning when she dragged herself out of bed, she knew he would be gone. Not the type to take to her bed and waste away, Nicole continued her life as best she could with the distraction of that inexorable recording playing endlessly in her mind. There were times she despaired of her sanity.
Fortunately, Elaine was too self-absorbed to notice Nicole's abstraction. The morning before they were scheduled to drive to New Orleans, Elaine could hardly eat her breakfast for excitement. "Could you do me a big favor today?" she begged. "My racquets are over at the club being restrung. Could you pick them up?"
Nicole nodded agreement. She hadn't been back to the club since the day Louis had taken her to lunch there. Why not, though? She had nothing to fear from these people. She could thank Louis for that realization. She remembered how he had mocked her smilingly for assuming patrons of the country club were any different from her.
After dropping Elaine off at school, she drove to the Peltier mansion for a last-minute conference with Mrs. Peltier concerning the Tour of Homes at Thanksgiving. In spite of Angela's insistence to the contrary, her mother seemed unconcerned that neither Nicole nor Louis would be present during the tour. That had all been a ploy in Angela's bag of tricks.
"Come in, my dear," Mary Peltier invited graciously. "Surely you're ready for another cup of coffee at this hour." Nicole smiled her agreement and followed the faultlessly groomed woman into a small sitting room that doubled as her office, judging from the businesslike arrangement of papers on the antique secretary over against one wall.
The next quarter hour was taken up with the serving of coffee and the confirmation of the schedule for the tour of Mimosa House. Only certain rooms would be open to public inspection, and informed guides would be on duty at each area of interest.
"I'm sorry neither Louis nor I will be present," Nicole apologized. She intended to make her departure as soon as possible.
"That's quite all right. It's not at all unusual for the owners to be unavailable. We appreciate your cooperation." There followed a slight pause, as though the other woman were searching for the right words to open an entirely different line of conversation.
"How is Angela?" Nicole asked gently and knew instantly from the expression on Mary Peltier's face that Angela was the subject she had longed to introduce.
The blue eyes flooded with tears. "Oh, Nicole, I'm so worried about her. She's been staying with a cousin in New York. She has this horrible obsession that she tried"---her voice faltered and lowered to a whisper--- "to kill you!"
The goosebumps broke out on Nicole's flesh as she responded automatically, "How foolish! It was all an accident. I remember every detail. Angela lost her balance and stumbled." Who would ever know the truth of that afternoon? At least the older woman's gray coloring was disappearing, her cheeks flushed with obvious relief.
After leaving Mrs. Peltier's, Nicole decided to go by the club on her way home to Mimosa House. It was still early and she was unlikely to encounter a lot of curious members.
The young man who walked from behind the counter at the pro shop responded with alacrity to her explanation of her errand. The Chauvin name sure works miracles, Nicole reflected wryly, noting the lightning change in his manner from bored to solicitous.
She was examining some pullover sweaters as she waited when a masculine voice drawled, "Well, well, where have you been lately, Mrs. Louis Chauvin?"
She turned and looked into the quizzical eyes of Larry Dupuis. In a flash of remembrance she recalled the last time she had seen him: that night in the French Quarter apartment when she had insisted on going home.
She countered his question with an indifferent shrug, the light in his eyes acknowledging a point in her favor.
"How about a cup of coffee?" At her grimace he amended, "Better yet, a Bloody Mary?"
"Why not?" She surprised herself at her own acceptance. Bloody Marys at the country club were not a part of her usual morning schedule!
He escorted her to a table and smiled disarmingly into her eyes, cutting through layers of politeness and decorum with a directness that took her breath.
"You were positively magnificent that night you walked out on all of us. I applauded your sheer guts."
"At the moment there seemed no alternative," she admitted thoughtfully, remembering suddenly the firm touch of Louis's hands on her waist as he stood behind her. Now she wished she had been able to see the expression on his face. Maybe she should have stood her ground instead of retreating. Would things have worked out differently? Maybe better?
"Well, you killed the party, for sure," he declared with a bland smile. "I've never seen dear Angela at such a loss."
Their drinks were served. Nicole sipped the spicy tomato-juice concoction, grateful for the lull in conversation. She instinctively liked Larry, but there was definitely something disconcerting about his directness.
He offered a cigarette, frowning in mock disgust as she refused. "Surely you have some vice?" He lighted one and blew a cloud of smoke. "Louis is making himself scarce these days," he observed.
She hesitated for only an instant before explaining that Louis was out of town on business most of the time lately. Then she changed the subject to the Dryades tournament. She was totally unaware of the effect of her low, musical voice on the young man as he listened carefully to its intriguing cadences.
"No wonder Louis fell for you," he said later as they were parting after she had collected Elaine's racquets and walked with him to her car.
"What a line to waste on a married woman!" she retorted with good-natured scorn to veil her selfconsciousness.
"Seriously," he declared, "I never thought I'd see the day Angela Peltier was as desperate as she was that night Louis left her to drive you home. She thought she still had him wound around her little finger. Never in a hundred years did anybody expect her to lose him to her meek little school friend." He shook his head in humorous wonder.
She pondered his words as she drove home. The tiny nucleus of a plan had flickered into life during the morning, born not so much out of the actual conversations with Angela's mother and her longtime friend, but with their attitude toward Nicole. They regarded her as Louis's wife, not as a self-serving impostor.
At noon she pulled on a vivid yellow windbreaker for protection from the chill of the damp November wind and crunched her way along the shell-covered lane to Adrian's cottage. The daring of her plan was like a stimulant in her veins, increasing her heartbeat and causing a strange lightheadedness similar to the feeling she'd had in high school when Angela would talk her into taking medication in order to stay awake all night to study.
"Adrian, it's me," she called, knocking at the side door that led into the kitchen of the cottage. The plantation vehicle he drove was parked under the trees, indicating he had returned home for lunch. She was glad, because any delay in carrying out her plan might weaken her resolve.
The door opened and the hazel eyes changed swiftly from irritated questioning to welcome. Curiosity mingled with hope in their tawny depths.
"This is too good to be true, to find you on my doorstep," he said lightly, reminding Nicole how she had managed lately not to be alone with him. He held the door open wide.
He gestured to a chair at the table set for one and walked over to stir the contents of a saucepan on the stove.
"Could I tempt you with some delightful canned soup?" he asked and leaned against the counter with arms loosely folded as she shook her head vigorously. "No? Now, what's so urgent it couldn't be transmitted by telephone?"
"Have you been in touch with Louis lately?" That was certainly a roundabout approach, but at the last moment her courage failed her before that questioning light in his hazel eyes.
"Certainly. When he's away, we usually talk on the phone once or twice a week at least. Why?"
"Do you have a telephone number where he can be reached now?"
Incredulity flashed across his face at her words. "You don't mean---sure, I'll get it for you right now."
He left the room, giving her a chance to quell the embarrassment of having to admit indirectly that Louis did not communicate with her. She might have gotten the number from the Holdens, but she could bear Adrian's curiosity more easily than theirs.
"I hope nothing's wrong. Is everything still on for the tournament?" His voice preceded him as he entered the kitchen and handed her a slip of paper.
"Everything's fine. We're driving into New Orleans tomorrow. Carol Larrison has invited us to stay with her and Ed." She stood up, folding the paper neatly into halves and then into halves again. "I hope you still plan to come in and stay at the apartment. Elaine would be terribly disappointed if you didn't see her play."
"I wouldn't miss it. Call me tomorrow evening and let me know her schedule."
The slight restraint in his manner told Nicole he was probably hurt that she and Nicole wouldn't be under his masculine protection at the French Quarter apartment, since they would be staying at the Larrisons'.
"Thanks for everything, Adrian," she said warmly, grateful he had spared her the questions that her request must have aroused. He held the door open for her as she left, a somber expression on his open features.
Now that she had the telephone number, her confidence eroded as she plodded back to the main house, rehearsing what she would say. She placed the call from the library, sitting at the big walnut desk. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply to calm her erratic heartbeat, she listened to the faint ringing.
A bored, nasal voice answered, "Marriott Hotel. May I help you?"
"Mr. Louis Chauvin, please."
"One moment, please. I'll see if Mr. Chauvin is available."
What if he wasn't there? That possibility hadn't even occurred to her before. Oh, God, she hoped he wasn't there! What would she say? What if he were cold and unfriendly the way he had been that last time home? Her carefully mustered courage dissolved rapidly into panic.
"Yes?" came the familiar deep voice, polite but tinged with impatience.
"Hello, Louis, It's me, Nicole." She was horrified at the tremor in her voice.
"Nicole? Is anything wrong?" She could visualize the concern on the lean features.
"No, no, nothing's wrong. Everything's fine!"
Silence. This was worse than anything she'd expected. In every imagined version of the conversation, he had supplied questions to help her along.
"I called to remind you the Dryades tournament begins Monday. Elaine and I are driving to New Orleans tomorrow. We're staying with Carol and Ed." Her voice faltered. Why didn't he say something? Anything to give a hint of what he was thinking.
"Isn't Adrian going with you?"
"He's going, but he isn't going with us. He'll drive in to watch her play. He'll stay at the apartment."
Again that baffling silence at the other end.
"The reason I called---it would mean an awful lot to Elaine if you were there, especially if she makes it to the finals."
"Did she ask you to call?"
"No," What a horrible mistake this was turning out to be! "Of course, I realize you are probably too busy---I just thought..."
"I'll see what I can do," he said noncommittally. "Thanks for calling to remind me."
Afterward she crumpled into a disconsolate heap in the big leather-upholstered chair. Oh, God, how humiliating! She might have been speaking to a stranger for all the warmth and response he displayed. How could she ever have fooled herself into thinking he might care for her? ...
So certain was she of the failure of the telephone call that, next morning, she didn't even mention to Elaine the possibility of Louis's being present at the tournament. The girl didn't seem to give her older brother a thought.
They drove to City Park as soon as they arrived in New Orleans the next day and checked the tournament draw. Elaine would play Susan Carradine from Shreveport at one o'clock the next afternoon.
"At least she's not seeded," Elaine said excitedly. "Could we come back this afternoon? I'd like to hit for an hour or so."
"Of course, dear. I'll be happy to hit with you if nobody better is around."
Nicole enjoyed the company of Carol and Ed that evening, even though renewing their acquaintance brought back poignant memories. There was little mention of Louis, his friends seeming to accept without question the necessity of his being away on business. The only uncomfortable moment was when Elaine complained unexpectedly, "Louis is never home."
The next morning Nicole had her hands full. Elaine was up at dawn, pacing the floor with a case of nerves. Somehow, with Carol's help, they managed to get through the hours before the match, but Nicole was exhausted by the time Elaine was warming up against her opponent. She welcomed the sight of Adrian's familiar face just as Elaine won the spin of the racquet and elected to serve first.
She won the match in two easy sets, 6-4, 6-2. Afterward Carol invited Adrian to join them for cocktails and dinner, and much of the conversation centered on the tournament.
Nicole settled back with a sigh of relieved pride as Elaine proceeded to defeat each of her early-round opponents with relative ease. The semifinals, though, would be tough. She was playing a girl who was seeded second in the tournament. The match was scheduled for ten o'clock on Wednesday.
Adrian sat beside Nicole watching the two girls warm up prior to the match. "What do you think?" she asked anxiously, aware of a flutter of nerves in her midriff. This tournament was taking a heavier toll on her than on Elaine.
"I think our precocious child has her hands full," he replied reflectively.
His prediction was unerring. Elaine's opponent won the toss and elected to serve. Every point was a battle as each girl held serve, finally having to resort to a tie breaker at six games all. Elaine lost by two points.
By the end of the second set, which went to Elaine by another tie breaker, Nicole's nerves were hopelessly shredded.
"I can't stand it!" she exclaimed, standing up to stretch nervously as the two girls took a break to towel off and drink from their thermoses at courtside.
"The rules allow her to talk with her coach during the break following split sets," Adrian said tersely, leaving her.
They had been watching the match from the open porch on the second story of the unadorned brick building that housed dressing rooms, the pro shop, and the park director's office in addition to a sparsely furnished lounge on each of the two floors.
A few seconds later she saw Adrian down by the court with Elaine. She decided to walk inside the lounge to avoid the brisk wind that whipped tendrils of escaped hair across her face.
Her heart flip-flopped crazily as she turned and walked toward the glass door of the lounge. There, standing just inside the glass partition to the right of the door, was Louis, whose inscrutable eyes registered her surprise and confusion. How long had he been there? Had he seen her grab Adrian's arm several times and bury her face against his shoulder in the height of nervousness over a hard-fought point?
He made no move to come to her, instead beckoning for her to come inside. "Yes, I've been here the whole time," he said, answering her unspoken question as he took both her hands in his and squeezed them hard for a brief second. His gaze explored her face with the lingering impact of a physical caress and then lowered disconcertingly to the dull gold of her long-sleeved knit blouse with its high turtleneck and then down to the trim tailored slacks in the same gold color.
"You're looking good." Abruptly he released her hands and thrust his own into the pockets of the tailored gray business suit. A curtain swung across the vibrant welcome in his dark blue eyes as he explained impersonally, "I got here in the middle of the first game and decided not to risk upsetting Elaine by joining you and Adrian. Now I don't dare show myself for fear of breaking her concentration."
"Isn't she playing like a real little champion?" Nicole said huskily, the glow in her dark eyes more a result of the incredible closeness of the tall man in front of her than her very real pride in Elaine.
"I would settle for a more lopsided score in this last set," he said wryly.
"Me, too," she agreed heartfully.
"I'm surprised Carol's not here. Didn't you mention you were staying with her?" His voice was guarded.
"This is the first match she's missed so far, but she had some kind of prior commitment she couldn't get out of."
"Looks like they're about to start. Uh-oh, you've just lost your seat."
News had evidently spread of the exciting match on Court Two, and the upstairs lounge and porch had suddenly become very crowded. Adrian hadn't returned.
"I'm too nervous to sit, anyway," she protested, finding herself being jostled by interested spectators crowding nearer the glass panel.
"Here, stand in front of me." He guided her with authority directly in front of him where she had an unobstructed view, but her nerve ends tingled at the pervasively male scent that assaulted her senses.
As the third set progressed, she could hardly bear the agonizing tension as each girl held serve until the score was 5-5. Several times Louis's hands crushed her shoulders in the middle of a particularly nerve-racking point. Her senses screamed into life when he bent to speak close to her ear in that low, resonant voice.
Finally, Elaine wavered under the terrible pressure of playing the number-two seed in the semifinals of her first big tournament. She lost her serve. Then the other girl won her own serve to take the final set 7-5.
"Oh, no," Nicole murmured disconsolately, her body limp with nervous release and disappointment. She turned and relaxed instinctively against Louis as his arms closed around her, drawing her close against the muscular wall of his chest.
"She has nothing to apologize for," he comforted, rubbing his cheek tenderly against her smooth, dark hair.
"She's going to be heartbroken," she mumbled into that muscular warmth, loving the unbelievable closeness.
"Let's go cheer her up." He shielded her from the good-natured crowd with an arm thrown protectively around her shoulders.
"Louis! You came to watch me play!" Elaine's drooping features lighted at the sight of her brother, and she hurled herself at him.
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You weren't half bad, either!" He tousled her dark hair.
To Nicole's amazement, Elaine took the defeat in stride, assured by the two men she loved most that she had done extremely well in her first tournament.
"You know what she said?" she marveled proudly. "She said the finals tomorrow couldn't possibly be any tougher!"
Suddenly she was bored with any further discussion of the tournament, shifting her interest to the fascinating possibilities of entertainment now that Louis was in New Orleans.
"Hey, can we all stay at the apartment tonight? Please! I'm just dying to see Bourbon Street. I'm the only girl in my whole class who's never seen it!"
Nicole silently applauded Elaine's suggestion. She had been too shy to broach the subject of staying overnight in the city. How wonderful to be young and armed with sledgehammer tactics.
The four of them ate lunch together before Adrian insisted he must drive back to Iberville that afternoon. He left then! to pick up his suitcase at the apartment.
Nicole surrendered herself willingly to the flow of activities, grateful that so little was required of her except smiling acquiescence. Louis took over the wheel of the convertible. In a short time they had returned to Carol's, packed their suitcases, and left a note of explanation for Carol. Louis shook his head unhesitatingly when Nicole asked if she should suggest meeting Carol and Ed later in the evening.
The rest of the afternoon entailed transferring luggage to the apartment and walking along Royal Street to peer into the quaint specialty shops. Later, as they climbed the stairs of the apartment, Louis queried, "Where would you girls like to eat?"
"The Fatted Calf," Elaine answered promptly, giggling at the shocked echoes her choice elicited from Louis and Nicole alike. After much good-natured objection on their part, she got her wish to eat in the French Quarter restaurant that served at least thirty varieties of hamburger. Its fame among teenagers extended as far away as Iberville.
Afterward Louis consented to a very rapid stroll down Bourbon Street, obviously amused at the girl's open-mouthed amazement. The hawkers stood on the sidewalks urging the tourists thronging the street to come inside the striptease clubs and enjoy the spectacle of bare female flesh. They held the entrance doors open for glimpses of the nude dancers gyrating to loud music.
"Oh, my gosh!" Elaine kept murmuring, her neck working overtime in the effort to swivel her head fast enough to see everything.
She made no protest when they arrived back at the apartment and Louis announced it was high time she got to bed. It had been a long, excitement-filled, day, and she was yawning as they climbed the stairs.
Finally, Louis and Nicole were alone, with no talkative teenager to fill in the silences. She accepted a glass of white wine and kicked off her high-heeled shoes with a sigh of relief. A swift search of her mind for some topic of conversation brought recall of the Tour of Homes. She told him of the arrangements she had discussed with Mary Peltier.
Then she added impulsively, "Angela's in New York."
"Yes. I saw her there recently."
The revelation jolted her like an electric shock.
"Oh! Her mother's very worried about her. It seems she's convinced she pushed me overboard."
"She's under the care of an excellent psychiatrist who happens to be an old classmate of mine." Then he changed the subject to his pleasure at the outcome of the tournament and his gratitude toward Nicole for convincing him to allow Elaine to play in it.
Her hopes ebbed with dismaying swiftness as they talked compatibly about a range of safe topics. He had been friendly and attentive all afternoon, but there was precious little evidence he cared for her the way she cared for him.
"You look tired," he said suddenly. "Why don't we follow Elaine's example?"
There was no denying her fatigue, but that didn't mean she could sleep. She stood in the darkness of her bedroom, reflecting with bitterness how nothing had changed after all, even though Louis had returned and there had been those wonderful hours in his company. How she had hoped for some sign, some movement from him to close the huge gulf separating them! But here she was in her own bedroom while he was across the hallway in the solitude of his own bedroom.
A faint sound brought prickles of alertness to her sensitive flesh. Louis must be opening the narrow French doors connecting his room to the small balcony outside. At least he wasn't able to sleep, either. There was some small comfort in that knowledge.
Well, she just couldn't stand the indecision about her future life with him another second. She had to know if there was any possibility that this empty pretense of a marriage could become real and meaningful. If he rejected the proposal she was about to make, she didn't know what her next move would be, but at least she would know where she stood with him.
With one fluid movement she was across the room and standing in the narrow hallway. No sound followed her soft tap, and after a moment of tense uncertainty, she turned the old-fashioned brass doorknob and pushed open the door. It swung open into semidarkness. The streetlights outside shed a faint illumination, silhouetting the tall, still frame of her husband in the rectangle formed by the open French doors.
She closed the door behind her softly and leaned on it for support, facing him across a silence that crackled with the unanswered questions separating them. Surely he was able to hear the jangling thud of her heart, which threatened to dash itself fatally against the wall of her chest.
"Louis, I just can't stand this anymore," she said huskily, noting with sinking despair the perceptible stiffening of his body as he faced her across the darkness.
"I wondered what was behind the telephone call," he answered coldly.
"It isn't easy for me to come to you like this, but I want a real marriage," she said, urging the words through a painfully constricted throat.
"I see." His voice was bitter, the tone making her feel that her fragile hopes were doomed before she even explained them. "Surely you realize there's no possibility of an annulment now?" he rasped impatiently.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked in genuine puzzlement. His comment didn't make any sense to her at all.
The silence lengthened between them. She was tempted to flee to her room and nurse her wounded pride, but she couldn't face the bleakness of total defeat just yet. As much as it would hurt, she wanted him to spell out his feelings in words. She didn't want to continue to live with a tenuous hope that might never be realized. It would be better to know the worst now.
"I don't want an annulment," she whispered desperately. "I want to be your wife."
One moment he was a forbidding presence in the lighted rectangle of the open French doors. The next thing she knew he was across the room and gripping her arms in a viselike hold that sent pains shooting up to her shoulders.
"What are you saying?" he demanded fiercely.
"Even though you don't care for me, lots of marriages are based on a one-sided love," she quavered, refusing to succumb to the cowardice that was causing her legs to tremble uncontrollably.
"Nicole, are you trying to say---" His voice throbbed with emotion.
"I love you, Louis," she confessed in an abject little voice.
The brutal hands softened their hold and went up to frame her face with a gentleness that awoke the tiniest ray of hope. "God, I'd given up all hope of hearing you say that," he said in a strangled voice. His lips came down to caress hers with a deep tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
Her hands found their way up to his strong neck, while his own hands began to work their magic on her responsive flesh, shaping the curve of her slender neck and then sliding across her shoulders and crushing her against him. The tender kiss grew urgent with awakened passion.
She was breathless when he suddenly tore his mouth from hers and asked huskily, "Are you sure, my darling?" The little note of fear caused an odd constriction in her chest, and she answered by pulling his head down to hers. When he carried her over to the bed, there wasn't a trace of her former resistance to his passionate lovemaking. His wonderful hands raised her to new heights of arousal as he whispered assurances of his love, removing her last remaining doubts.
Afterward she snuggled close beside him in a contented glow, unable to restrain her wonder at the miracle of his love. "I was so sure you loved Angela."
"I never loved Angela, not from the very beginning, but marrying her was an idea I accepted. Since I didn't love anyone else..." She felt his shrug. "Then I became aware of you those last days before the wedding, and you were everything Angela wasn't. Warm and kind and sensitive."
His words amazed her and at the same time awoke a whole new wave of happiness. But there were still unanswered questions between them.
"Why did you leave so suddenly when I was in the hospital? I kept waiting for you to appear---I was so disappointed..." Her voice reflected the hurt and loneliness she had experienced after her close encounter with death.
He sighed and nuzzled the soft darkness of her hair with his lean cheek. "I was there in your hospital room when you woke up for the first time and asked for Adrian. I'd been so worried about you and had already decided to tell you the way I felt---it was almost more than I could stand to know you wanted him and not me. But the thought of giving you up was intolerable. So I ran away to lick my wounds."
Her hand went up to caress the sculptured jawline, tense now with remembrance. "I just vaguely remember worrying about letting Adrian know I wouldn't be able to play in the tournament." She expelled a little sigh. "Oh, Louis, we've wasted so much time, but finally our feelings are out in the open. Everything's worked out wonderfully. Who'd ever have given a marriage like ours a chance of succeeding!"
His arms tightened around her. "I have a terrible confession to make, darling. Greg Benton isn't the cad he was made out to be at the time. He came to me that night before the wedding and told me Angela was having a severe case of nerves. I pressed him not to dissuade her from running away."
"But why?" Nicole was dumbfounded at this revelation.
"I'd realized by that time that marrying Angela would be a terrible mistake for everyone concerned. And having become aware of you already, it didn't take me long to arrive at an alternative to canceling the wedding arrangements at the last minute. I hoped with Angela out of the way I could talk you into taking her place. My big ace in the hole was your concern for Andrew." His voice was underlined with apology. "In my defense, I have to say that the marriage seemed a solution to a number of problems---mine, yours, Andrew's, and Elaine's."
"I just can't believe it!" Nicole exclaimed softly. "You certainly had me fooled. I was convinced you were brokenhearted, especially when you left right after the wedding and didn't come back for four months."
He chuckled happily. "Your marriage condition set me back and definitely damaged my male ego. I decided to give you ample time to recover from your father's death and adapt to Elaine and Mimosa House. Then I came home all prepared to woo you---and found you in Adrian's arms."
"No!" she objected.
"Literally," he insisted. "That day on the tennis court---remember? I came close to firing him on the spot."
"Then Angela came home, and I thought---"
"What a mess," he murmured, hugging her so tight against him she could hardly breathe. Then, gradually, the pressure of his muscular length awoke a faint stirring, kindled almost immediately into a flaming need at the skilled exploration of his demanding lips and hands.
Later, as she lay drowsily against him, delighting in the solid warmth of his body, he murmured, "Goodnight, my darling. I have a surprise for you when you get home."
She insisted she would never fall asleep if he didn't tell her. "Okay," he surrendered indulgently, half asleep. "I managed to track down your grandmother's secretary and the armoire you refinished. You'll have to decide where you want to put them!"
"Oh, Louis, that's the best surprise you could ever have given me!" she whispered, overwhelmed with a renewed wave of love for his thoughtfulness. Somehow, having those dear reminders of the past made everything perfect, intensifying her optimism for the future as Louis's real wife. She'd put the secretary somewhere so that she could see it and touch it every day... In the middle of that absorbing decision, she sighed happily and fell asleep.

