Emerald Ecstasy (5 page)

His hand loomed forward to strike her again, she seized it, and with a quickness which surprised her, she sank her teeth into his flesh. Instantly Raoul drew back. She rolled away from him, ignoring his cry of pain and the curses he heaped upon her. Running to the sitting room, Lianne pulled at the drapes. They fell forward and landed on Raoul just as he leaped toward her, like a tiger after a gazelle.

“Puta!”
he hissed and tried to disentangle himself from the mass of material.

At that moment she didn't care if he branded her a whore. She wanted to survive, to flee him, but she knew he'd follow her once he freed himself of the drapes. Noticing the wine bottle on the table, she picked it up and swung at the side of his face as he blindly headed for her.

Lianne blinked when the bottle cracked and shattered in green slivered fragments. Wine splattered across the walls and over the white draperies. She heard an agonized groan from beneath the fabric. In fascinated horror, she watched as Raoul staggered toward her. In a panic she searched for another weapon when he fell, landing inches from her feet.

His shrouded figure lay quietly before her. The crimson color which stained the drapes she assumed to be wine, but when she cautiously bent down and touched the stickiness oozing from the fibers of the thin silk, she knew it was blood.

“Don Raoul,” she whispered urgently. “Don Raoul.”

No answer.

She had killed him!

Standing up, Lianne backed away and grabbed for her cape. As she threw it over her shoulders, she kept her eyes on the still figure. Moving toward the door, she wrenched it open and stood for a moment in the drafty hallway. She took deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

Raoul's servant knew her identity but assumed she was spending the night with his master. That meant he wouldn't bother de Lovis until morning. She had at least six hours to get home, pack her belongings and take Désirée away with her. She had to leave Spain. She had killed a nobleman and would be hunted like an animal until found. No one would believe he had tried to rape her.

The horror of the situation struck her. Staying within the shadows of the corridors, she slipped from the palace and onto the street. When she was out of view, she ran home.

Lianne had no idea what she should do. She had to escape. But where?

Then the memory emerged through the tangled yarn of her thoughts. As a child her mother told her about her godmother, a woman who lived in Louisiana … a woman she could turn to if she ever needed help. Lianne didn't remember the woman. She knew only that when she was a small girl, she and her parents had lived in Louisiana.

Her mother and this woman had been as close as sisters. For a second, Lianne dismissed the absurdity of contacting the woman, but she was her only hope and she grasped it.

Running to the comfort of Maria and her baby, her mind was on her godmother. A woman named Dera.

Señora Maria Alvarez immediately understood Lianne's plight and took quick action as soon as Lianne arrived home, out of breath and barely coherent. Just the mention of Raoul de Lovis' name was enough to cause Maria to make the sign of the cross. “Madre de Dios,” she groaned and sent for her nephew Pedro.

“Not to worry,” Maria said, as she calmly packed the baby's clothing in a small valise. “All will soon be well.”

Lianne had learned not to question Maria when her forehead puckered as it did when she scooped up a sleeping Désirée and held her tightly against her ample bosom. The baby stirred and whimpered, but immediately fell asleep when Maria handed her to Lianne. “I'll pack your things,” she volunteered. Lianne watched her leave the room. Her large hips swayed beneath a simple black gown, widow's weeds, which she had worn ever since the death of her husband Fernando, some five years earlier. Lianne knew many people were intimidated by Maria's iron-faced look and austere hairstyle, a tightly coiled black chignon at the back of her head. However, Lianne felt Maria took the place of mother in her heart and knew her to be incredibly kind and generous and also practical. She'd never allow anyone to take advantage of her or harm those she loved. This protectiveness now inspired Maria to calmly gather Lianne and the baby. She helped them into Pedro's cart upon his return and climbed into the seat beside Lianne with her own valise in hand. “I'm going with you,” she said before Lianne had a chance to question her. “Pedro will look after the house and tenants until I can return. You don't really think Maria would allow you and the little one to leave Madrid alone?”

“But Don Raoul is dead, surely, you can't mean to go with us. What will become of you if you're caught?”

Maria laughed, her large bosom shaking. “Maria takes care of herself. What would happen to you and the baby if you're caught? No, I go with you. My brother has a ship in Cadiz. You tell him where you want to go. He'll take you.”

Lianne's eyes filled with tears. Her fondness for Maria so overwhelmed her that she threw her arms around her. The baby, jostled by the sudden movement, whimpered. Then they were off, flying down the side streets of old Madrid until they reached the open countryside.

After three months, the
Cristobel
finally docked in New Orleans. The Spanish town had once belonged to the French, but little evidence of that nation remained in the new architectural style of iron lace balconies which clung to the sides of peach and white houses and gateways with matching grillwork which enclosed the courtyards and shielded the inhabitants from the curious gazes of the passersby. Yet a French flavor revealed itself when Lianne caught the lyrical accents of her native tongue. She suddenly felt as if she were in Paris and Madrid at once.

Maria stayed protectively near as they hunted for a place to stay. Night was falling, and they were tired, the baby cranky. Many times Lianne suspected she'd have trouble with the landlords if Maria hadn't stood stoically by her side, glaring at them when they ogled her young friend. None of the rooms were satisfactory. If children were allowed, the rooms were too small.

They turned onto a side street and noticed a house with a room to let. Because it was growing darker by the minute and both Lianne and Maria felt they couldn't take another step, they rang the bell.

The landlady grudgingly showed the room to them and immediately they took it because it was clean and an escape from the sudden rainstorm which pounded upon the roof. When they were settled and Désirée had fallen asleep across Lianne's shoulder and Maria had long since begun snoring, Lianne decided they would move once she obtained a position with the opera company. The walls were cracked, and she swore she heard the scurrying sounds of mice within them.

A feeling of hopelessness swept over her. Maria's money was almost gone, and she was the reason the woman had used it. For the time being, they had escaped de Lovis's men whom she felt sure would scour the world to find her and bring her to justice.

She wanted more for her child than just survival or escape. She needed the love of her mother's friend, and she must find her. While she gazed at her child's angelic face, she realized she needed some connection to her family, her past, something which had been denied her since the day the peasants stormed the gates of Chateau de la Varre.

Three days later with Lianne holding the baby and Maria in tow, the Flanders butler helped them from their rented carriage. Lianne hoped she looked her best and purposely chose a gown of pale golden silk for her meeting with her godmother. The color highlighted her hair and set off her cat-like eyes.

She surveyed Green Meadows in long, appreciative glances. In many ways the elegant white house, supported by stone columns, reminded her of Chateau de la Varre, which was gone forever. How she envied her godmother and her family! Surely they must love sitting on the upstairs balcony on warm, summer nights and listening to the locusts hidden in the tall grasses or the slow movement of the river nearby.

A sense of peace filled her. If only she could share such serenity with one man. The stranger's face rose unbidden to her mind, and she smiled a too bright smile when the front door was thrown open.

Lianne handed the baby to Maria and was barely up the steps before a woman who smelled like spring flowers on a rainy afternoon embraced her.

“Lianne, let me look at you,” Dera Flanders said and held her goddaughter at arm's length. “You resemble your mother, but you kept your papa's hair color. What a lovable tyrant that Michel Chevalier was!”

Lianne laughed and dimpled. She liked Dera immediately. Instead of the overweight matron with gray hair she had expected, she found Dera to be slender, full-bosomed and tiny-waisted. Her hair was still dark but streaked with gray in places, and her eyes reminded Lianne of the wild purple blooms which grew on the mountainsides of France. For a woman near fifty, Dera was still incredibly beautiful.

“I was stunned to receive your note announcing your visit,” Dera continued in her lilting Irish accent which Lianne found charming. “I still haven't recovered, but I am so happy to see you again! I've paced the room all morning.” Dera put her arm around Lianne's waist and led her into the house then took the baby from Maria and played with her before Désirée grew fussy. When Maria and her charge were escorted to rooms upstairs by a servant, Dera smiled apologetically.

“Green Meadows has no nursery for a baby. My son Daniel and his wife are childless.”

Lianne patted Dera's arm in sympathy. “I'm certain they shall have children someday.”

Dera shook her head. “Amelie suffered a fall and can no longer walk.” She changed the subject. “What brings you to Louisiana?”

Absently stirring her tea, Lianne's face paled. She couldn't tell her godmother the truth, that she ran away because she had killed one of the most powerful men in Spain. So, she quickly hedged on the truth. “I wanted to see you and also my parents' home, the plantation they sold before the move to France.”

“Ah, yes, Belle Riviere. It's a beautiful plantation. My Quint was always jealous of your father's ability to turn a quick profit, but no sooner had Michel bought the best farm land in the Louisiana valley than he sold it for an exorbitant amount. I think your father would have been quite pleased if he had seen Belle Riviere even five years ago.” Dera sipped her tea.

“You sound as if it isn't prime property any longer.”

Dera sighed and laid down her teacup on the table beside the couch. “Not now, and it hasn't been since Philippe Marchand inherited it from his father.” She lowered her voice. “He is a terrible planter and businessman, but I shouldn't criticize him. Philippe is my daughter-in-law's brother. Poor Amelie received none of the land in the will. Her father hoped that by bestowing the plantation upon Philippe, it would make a man of him. It hasn't. He squanders the money like river water flowing through his fingers. But as the Mississippi is full, I'm afraid Philippe's river will soon run dry.”

“C'est dommage,”
Lianne said.

At that moment heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then a large man, the color of light brown velvet, entered the room. He carried an extremely fragile woman whose blonde hair framed a tiny face, set off by light blue eyes. He placed her in a cushioned chair as if she were a china doll and immediately lifted her legs to rest upon an ottoman. Then he moved silently away to stand in the corner of the room.

“Amelie,” Dera smiled and addressed the woman, “this is my goddaughter, Comtesse Lianne Laguens. And, Lianne, this is my son Daniel's wife.”

Lianne spoke a courteous greeting to Amelie, but the hard stare the woman bestowed upon her momentarily startled her. Never had anyone unknown to her looked at her with such hatred. “You're the mother of the baby I heard crying.”

“Oui.
Désirée is my daughter. I hope she didn't disturb you.”

Amelie shrugged as Dera poured her a cup of tea. “I'm not overly fond of children,” she said softly, but her face stayed hard.

“I shall inform Maria to see Désirée remains quiet.”

“Nonsense!” Dera's eyes flew to Amelie, and she frowned. “It's impossible to keep children quiet all the time. They were meant to play, to scream their lungs out. Remember, I raised two rowdy boys, and I know that for a fact.” She gave Lianne a smile. “Don't give the crying another thought.”

Amelie sniffed, not seeming to care for Dera's affinity for Lianne and her child. “I suppose children have their place in life, however, I shall never have to worry about them.” Her icy sapphire gaze settled on Lianne. “As you can see, I'll never have children in my condition. However, even if I were well and walking, my husband is never around. So, I doubt there would be bawling brats to keep Dera occupied. She wants grandchildren, you know.”

“I have three grandchildren already. By my son Paul.” She looked at Lianne, but her comment was directed to Amelie.

“How could I forget?” Amelie asked so sweetly that Dera winced. “The issue of your oldest son and the beautiful, wonderful, virtuous Allison. Mentioning Allison stirs up memories of Daniel. Have you heard from him, Dera? Any idea when he'll come home and honor us with his presence after taking the Parisian art world by storm?”