Emerald Ecstasy (3 page)

“I'm not here to cater to your prurient interests,” she said and tried to hide her amusement, but her face grew serious. “It seems you bedded the soprano in Monsieur Dubois' troupe last night. The man was extremely angry. In fact he looked ill, and I feared he'd die on the spot. Paul helped him clear out the trunks in here. Daniel, I think you owe your brother an apology for embarrassing him with your bedroom antics.”

“Apologize? Like hell! I won't apologize to him for anything I do! He's my brother, not my keeper.”

“I'll have no more profanity from your lips, Daniel Flannery. You were wrong to do what you did, and I hope the whore you bedded knows it, too.”

“She wasn't a whore!” he shouted and jumped up from the couch, tucking the quilt about him. “And my name is Daniel Flanders, not Flannery. How often must I remind you and Paul of that?”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don't care which name you use or whether you wish to be associated with this family, but please have some sensibilities about whom you bed and where.”

Long vertical shafts of sunlight streamed through the windows, haloing Allison's white-gold hair. She looked so much like an angel that he calmed down, sorry for his anger. “I apologize. I shouldn't have embarrassed either one of you, not when you and Paul have been so generous as to offer your hospitality to his prodigal brother.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders, not caring that he wasn't fully dressed. “I shouldn't have lost my temper.”

Daniel smiled down at her, lost in the loveliness of her face. They stood in loving camaraderie until they were made aware of Paul hovering near them.

“I believe we played this scene in Dublin once,” he said in lieu of a greeting. His massive frame rivaled his younger brother's and the small summerhouse seemed much too tiny for the two of them together. Paul carried a whip and was dressed in dark boots and pants with a tanned shirt. He had just ridden from the tenant farms and his hair was windblown.

Allison giggled and pulled away from Daniel to enter the circle of her husband's arms. “Daniel has apologized for his scandalous behavior.”

“I'd think he'd apologize for his scandalous attire.”

“How can a person dress with an audience?” Daniel asked, knowing his brother wasn't really bothered by finding Allison in his arms. He didn't think he was a threat to their marriage. In fact Paul never really considered Daniel would take Allison away. Grudgingly Daniel admitted Paul was right. Allison loved only her husband and had eyes for no one else.

Allison blew Daniel a kiss, then kissed Paul soundly on the lips before her departure. Both men watched her cross the lawn to the house. “You're very lucky, Paul.”

Paul nodded in agreement. “I nearly lost her once, in fact twice, but never again. She belongs to me.”

Daniel grabbed his discarded clothing from the night before and started to dress. Paul poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat on a chair, long legs thrust out in front of him and contemplated his brother. “You really should curb your impulsive nature, Dan. If last night is any indication of things to come, I'd advise laying off the liquor—and the women. You're worse than Father ever was.”

Daniel finished buttoning his shirt and turned in fury. “Don't categorize me with him, and don't think you're any better than me! Remember the two of you coveted this damned estate so much that you deceived Allison into marrying you to inherit, and Father was no better. Once he arrived here from Louisiana he couldn't bear to leave his ancestral lands and look where it got him. Six feet under.”

Paul shrugged. “I've more than made up to Allison for my deception. I love her. She loves me. It's as simple as that. What about you? Why don't you go home to Louisiana, bed your wife? Perhaps then you won't have to tryst with opera singers in summerhouses.”

“You know I can't do that!” Daniel's voice was strangled and at that moment he wanted to choke Paul. “Amelie's condition prevents lovemaking.”

Paul swirled the dark liquid in the glass. “I received a letter from Mother. She thinks Amelie is much improved and suggests that your wife is faking a bit for sympathy.”

Daniel stormed over to the half-filled bottle of whiskey and helped himself to a heaping glassful. He didn't bother to reply to Paul. He knew Amelie was more than faking for a “bit” of sympathy. She wanted everyone to wait on her, to treat her like a queen, but he knew the seriousness of her paralysis. Amelie's condition was because of him and though Paul would never have guessed, because of Allison, too.

“She's my concern,” he said at length.

Paul was fond of his brother so he didn't push the issue further. “Tell me, was your little French pastry a delightful treat?”

“I don't really remember,” he said and downed the contents of the glass. As he poured another one, he looked at his brother. “Where was the troupe headed next?”

“Belfast, I think. I hired Dubois in Dublin for the anniversary ball, and he made mention that after the performance here, they'd most probably head in that direction. Why?”

“No special reason. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go bathe and dress for lunch.”

Daniel entered the manor and headed straight for his room where Allison had already ordered a bath. After undressing, he slid into the warm water and watched the shadows on the wall for a long time. He lied to Paul when he told him he didn't remember the woman he had bedded in the summerhouse. Their coupling was more than a bedding. He had made love to her. Love. Something he hadn't felt since Allison rejected him. And the woman with the pale, porcelain flesh had made love to him. He had been very drunk, but he remembered her with a clarity which startled him. Perhaps he remembered her because she was nothing like Allison or Amelie.

The years melted away and Daniel recalled how devastated he had been when Allison spurned him, how because of his disillusionment with his family, he swore to use the name of Flanders, not Flannery. Flannery was their true name, but his father had escaped from Ireland on false charges of murdering Allison's uncle who was also the first husband of Dera, Daniel and Paul's mother. Quint Flannery took the name of Flanders to hide his identity and then when he met Dera again and married her, they kept using the fake name in their new life together. However, when Paul married Allison, and Quint decided the estate was now in the family, they began to use the Flannery name—everyone except his mother, who still lived in Louisiana and called herself Dera Flanders to avoid confusion. Because Daniel knew how much pain the Flannery name had caused her and hated the double deception of his brother and father against Allison, he vowed he'd never be a true Flannery.

He had kept that promise. After Allison told him she didn't love him, he returned to Louisiana and paid court to Amelie Marchand, who lived at Belle Riviere, the neighboring plantation. Daniel had never been too interested in her before his trip to Ireland, but when he saw her again upon his return, she had bloomed into a beautiful, pale-skinned creature with blonde hair and light blue eyes. He wanted her because she bore a resemblance to Allison, the woman he could never have. Before his mother arrived as a widow from Ireland, he had already married Amelie and was living a tortured existence at Green Meadows.

Even Dera, who was kind and able to get along with everybody, could barely tolerate her. Amelie whined incessantly. When she didn't get her way, she threw the most awful tantrums. Worst of all, her tongue was sharp and she never seemed to know when a person had had enough browbeating. “Why don't you stop painting and spend time with me?” she'd demand of him. “Why do you spend so much time with the slaves? I want a new ball gown. We must go to New Orleans and order satin slippers. Where is that lazy Lallie? She should have been up to do my hair long ago.”

She'd go on and on until he thought he'd go mad. His visits to the slave quarters to see his friend Claude, a mulatto, had helped him deal with Amelie. Claude always told him the mistress was just high-strung like a prize filly. She needed soothing and wasn't really as bad as everyone thought. Daniel didn't agree with him. Though he tried to assuage her, he couldn't stand her possessiveness or her temper tantrums.

The accident occurred one night after a particularly violent argument about a new hat she wished to order.

Daniel calmly told Amelie that she had enough clothes. She swore she'd get the funds from her brother if he was too stingy to dress his wife in grand style. Philippe understood how important beautiful things were to make a lasting impression. Daniel told her that if she asked Philippe for the money, he'd send her back home with her request. This infuriated Amelie and she threw a crystal vase at his head, missing him by an inch. This undid Daniel.

He strode across the bedroom floor and grabbed her by the arms and shook her until her curls bobbed free from her upsweep. “Never hurl anything at me again, be it a vase or a word, my wife. How could I have married such a woman? You're nothing like Allison. You may look like her, but she's an angel, the only woman I shall ever love.”

He hadn't expected her stricken look or the terror in her eyes. Never had he wished to wound her so deeply. A part of him did care for her, but she required more of him than he could give. Without warning, she yanked herself free, her howls of desolation rising to the rafters. Amelie ran to the stables and mounted the wildest stallion though Claude tried to prevent her from leaving. She kicked at him and flew fast down the road.

Daniel and Claude rode furiously to catch up with her. Minutes later they found her sprawled and bleeding on the road which led to Belle Riviere. She made a slow recovery, but in the doctor's estimation, she might not walk again.

They began an existence as polite strangers. She never uttered another nasty word in his presence. She just withdrew into a private world which no one could penetrate. He expressed his sorrow, but she said it didn't matter, that he should do whatever he wished. So he did. He packed his bags, kissed his mother farewell and headed for France where he met the artist known as David who was about to take the French nation by storm with his paintings.

David introduced Daniel to Josephine Bonaparte, and he cultivated a circle of friends in high places. Josephine commissioned a miniature portrait of herself to be presented to Napoleon before he left for the Egyptian campaign. This led to many portrait commissions and a proposition from Josephine herself which he charmingly refused. He didn't wish to incur the wrath of Napoleon Bonaparte. After a successful showing of his paintings in Paris, he grew weary of the drinking and the many women he bedded. So, he returned to Ireland to visit his brother Paul, his half-sister Beth and her husband Patrick. He discovered that Beth and Patrick had moved to Ulster, but Paul and Allison made him more than welcome in their home.

Up until last night, Ireland held no particular interest for him.

Now he found himself intrigued by a beautiful auburn-haired wanton. He didn't know her name, but he wanted her, needed to possess her glorious flesh again. Something had passed between them in the summerhouse, something beautiful and unquenchable. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, could still feel her warm body pressed against his own. He needed to find the magnificent creature with the emerald eyes.

“I'll find you,” he said to the wall before him and saw her face imprinted there. “And when I do, you won't flee me again.”

“This way, señorita.”

Lianne followed the tall, tight-lipped servant down the deserted corridors of the palace, the crisp swishing of her green silk gown the only noise. The flickering wall sconces cast ominous shadows on the walls. A feeling of dread washed over her, and she wondered if she should turn around, go home, and forget this interview. But she had heard of Don Raoul de Lovis's reputation as a powerful man in Madrid and knew he wielded much influence with the king, as well as the Spanish nobles. Rumors circulated about how he had crushed promising careers or political aspirations with a shake of his head or a well-placed remark to King Charles or Manuel de Godoy, his protégé. No, Lianne decided, it would not be wise to displease Don Raoul when he had sent for her. She had her child to think about now, and she was also curious why he should have singled her out from the other performers.

The servant stopped at an elaborately carved door. When she entered the room, he perfunctorily departed, leaving her to gaze in awe at the furnishings which surrounded her. A highly polished table was set with gilt-edged plates and gold eating utensils. Two brass candles illuminated the sitting area with its high-backed chairs. A few feet away parted drapes framed the door of the bedroom and gave her an unimpeded view of a large four-poster bed with white silk bed covers. Fragrant rose petals rested upon the silken sheets. Lianne averted her eyes, her palms grew clammy. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Don Raoul didn't know her; she'd never seen him. There was no reason the vision of the scattered petals across the sheets and the candlelit table should unnerve her. Don Raoul only wished to speak with her about her career. His message had expressed that thought.

She peered into the gilt-edged mirror. Her mind flew to another night after another performance. Even now in the dim candlelight, she saw the rosy flush creep into her cheeks. How wanton the man must have thought her! What an easy conquest! However, she had no regrets about the short time she spent in the stranger's arms. No matter what pain, humiliation or desire she'd felt after that night when she mentally relived each moment, she would never be sorry for giving herself to him. At that second, her daughter Désirée slept in her little bed with the faithful Maria Alvarez nearby for protection. Lianne couldn't imagine life without Maria's support. She'd been lucky to make the woman's acquaintance when she arrived in Madrid, six months pregnant and out of money.