Spring Fires (23 page)

Jean-Philippe was there, putting an arm around his wife. "That is so true. This will be like a scratch for Nicky."

Lisette edged away from the bed, but relaxed when she saw Katya and Caro coming toward her from the doorway. Alec and Randolph brought up the rear.

"Mrs. Beauvisage..." Lisette met the older woman's eyes. "I am so sorry. Has someone explained—"

"Randolph rode out to tell us," Jean-Philippe said. "We understand the circumstances, Mistress Hahn, so you must know that it is perfectly clear that you are in no way to blame." He guided his wife around the side of the bed and the two of them studied Nicholai as he slept.

Katya hugged Lisette tightly. "How terrible for you! Randolph says you were standing right beside Senator Hampshire when he fired at Marcus Reems!"

"He was going to try to stop—the duel." Lisette gulped back a fresh wave of tears. "I took the senator to Wadelands because I couldn't think what else to do!"

"You mustn't feel responsible in the least," admonished Antonia, turning to seek out her anguished eyes. "In a few days, he will be as good as new."

Lisette nodded bravely, then let Katya hug her one more time. She barely saw the men, or the keen speculation in Caro's watchful eyes, but she was suddenly conscious of the fact that everyone in the room belonged to the Beauvisage family but her.

"I—I am terribly thirsty." She looked around. "If you'll excuse me..."

After Lisette had left the room, Caro went over to stand beside her mother-in-law. She gazed at Nicholai and touched his brow; then, satisfied that he would recover, she lifted delicate brows in Antonia's direction.

"Well?" she whispered. "I hope that you have decided to follow Meagan's advice regarding Lisette Hahn!"

* * *

Lisette found the kitchen on her own; there was no sign of either the Hampshires or any servants, which seemed quite odd for a house so large. Her hands shook as she poured water into a cup and drank, then poured and drank again. Finally, she drifted restlessly out the back door and discovered a sprawling garden laced with paths of brick and punctuated by weeping willow and honey locust trees. The morning air was perfumed with boxwood and spring flowers. Unable to stay still or examine her churning emotions, Lisette prowled the garden, pausing from time to time to look up at the window of Nicholai's chamber. Inexplicably, she felt acutely involved in his situation. She could almost feel his pulse in her own heart, almost sense the degree of his pain, his frustration, the confusion twisting about behind those closed eyes and deceptively peaceful body.

As the distant window curtains fluttered in the spring breeze, Lisette wondered why she felt she should be with him instead of his family. Of course, she decided, she should leave him to his mother's care and return to her CoffeeHouse, where she knew she was truly needed...

But Lisette was still in the garden when Meagan appeared, carrying shears and a large straw basket.

"I thought I would cut enough flowers to make an enormous bouquet for Nicholai's bedside," she announced. "I'm afraid that it will have to substitute for Lion and me when he awakens and needs cheering." Carefully nonchalant, Meagan clipped several daffodils and dropped them into the basket.

Lisette followed her. "I don't understand—"

"I'm afraid that we are going into Philadelphia this afternoon, and tomorrow we depart for several months' stay at Pecan Grove, the plantation in Virginia where I was raised. Our baby will be born there."

Watching as Meagan cut red tulips from a sloping terrace, Lisette attempted to mentally assemble this new puzzle. "Do you mean to have Nicholai remain here during his recovery—?"

"Naturally we wouldn't think of moving him; after all, we won't be using the villa ourselves."

"Will his mother stay to care for him?" Lisette tried to keep her tone conversational.

"Well, that's the problem." Meagan stopped and turned toward Lisette, then she sighed. "It seems that Antonia and Caro both are so involved in preparations for Katya's wedding next month that it is impossible for either one to move down here for the length of time it will take Nicholai to recuperate. And, of course, Caro can't just flit away and leave her children for days and days...." She paused. "Unfortunately, it looks as though one or two servants will have to look after Nicholai. A shame, isn't it?"

"It certainly is!" exclaimed Lisette in frustration. "If only I did not have so many responsibilities at the CoffeeHouse, I would be more than happy to stay with Nicholai. You must know, Meagan, that he will be terribly restless! He could do something reckless if he has no one to make the monotonous hours pass a bit more easily—"

"That is exactly what has us, and his family, so worried!" Meagan bent to cut a crowded patch of yellow and violet pansies. "Nicholai really does need someone by his side who understands his moods and can help to stave off boredom...." On cue, she straightened with an expression of sudden inspiration. "Do you know, I have just thought of two different solutions that I prefer vastly to the idea of servants tending Nicholai."

"Really? Can you tell me?"

"It suddenly occurred to me that there are several young ladies in Philadelphia who would be overjoyed to nurse Nicholai back to health. We could make inquiries and perhaps the volunteers could take turns spending the day here and trying to amuse Nicholai. I'd wager we could get the Misses Allen, Chew, Oswald, Penn—and, certainly, Anne Bingham's cousin from England. She is quite taken with Nicholai." Meagan bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Unfamiliar with Ophelia Corkstall, Lisette felt herself bristle. The idea of Nicholai being ministered to by a parade of simpering husband-hunting females was more than she could stand. "Have you considered the possibility that he might not care to be left at the mercy of some of those girls for hours and hours?"

Meagan could scarcely contain her glee. Turning to the flower bed on her left, she attacked some innocent lilies of the valley with her shears. "I admit there are flaws, but at least it seems a feasible plan. My other idea is so farfetched—"

"What? What is it?" Lisette moved as close as possible, thinking that she would approve of savage Indians from the wilderness over the Misses Chew, Oswald, Penn, and Allen.

"You are bound to say no, but it occurred to me that if the Beauvisages and I were to send a few servants over to the CoffeeHouse, that they could attempt to fill your many roles while you remain here at the villa and assume a new role: nurse and companion to Nicholai."

"Yes!" Lisette's voice was emphatic with relief and what sounded to Meagan like elation. "I believe that is the best solution." She took another breath, intending to invent a logical-sounding reason for her willingness to stay with Nicholai, but Meagan lifted her eyes to hold hers with a clear gaze that destroyed all pretense.

"You don't have to pretend, Lisette," she said gently. "I know how you feel because I once struggled against the same forces. If it is love, the current always pulls you under... you try to get a breath of reason, but it's hopeless. I can see that you don't want to be in love—I didn't either. My obstacles were different from yours, but I can tell you one thing: love is more than worth the trouble... and once you've tasted it, the real world seems stale."

Lisette glanced up at the second-floor window with its fluttering curtains, and prepared to protest. Meagan was wrong; she definitely did not love Nicholai Beauvisage. She had no intention of becoming ensnarled in the sort of predicament Meagan had just described. However, when she looked away from the window and opened her mouth to speak, she found herself without an audience. She spied Lion, across the garden near the house; he was laughing softly as he met his diminutive raven-haired wife. They spoke and embraced while the basket slipped from Meagan's fingers, sending a bright shower of cut flowers over the lawn.

* * *

Nicholai felt as if he were trying to swim in a sea of mist... so strange, as though his limbs were free-floating, beyond his control. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. There seemed to be a layer of fleecy cotton covering his eyelids, tongue, and the inside of his head, but he didn't care. It was protection, padding his brain against the wicked needles of pain that tried to invade and disrupt his dreams. So, he relaxed in the mist and let himself float, back to Paris....

He was lying in Gabrielle's bed, with her cheek resting on his chest; he had studied the incredible plaster-ornamented ceiling with its circular painting of fat naked nymphs at the center. The ribbons and festoons of flowers carved above were as incongruous in this Paris of blood and sans-culottes as Gabrielle herself. She belonged in a different world, insulated from reality and trouble. How he wished he could convince her to stop worrying about her brother and let him take her away from Paris, from France, to a place where she would be safe, swathed in satin and Alencon lace, until the Revolution ended. Her stubbornness was deaf to reason... the only time she could make Nicholai lose his temper was when she pouted, but he was unable to stay mad under her coaxing lips and skillful fingers. Gabrielle had skin like velvet, heady with the scent of gardenias she always wore, and when they made love Nicholai forgot all the gaps in his understanding of her, all the questions she laughingly deflected. For once, he held a beautiful woman who wasn't so eager she dampened his desire, or so obviously angling to trap him in marriage that he wanted only to escape. Gabrielle was a sensuous, luxurious mystery.

"Gabrielle..." Nicholai wondered if he had spoken. The layers of cotton wore away; the mist cleared. Pain—his shoulder burned and throbbed, sending knife-sharp currents down his arm, through his neck, and into his head. His chest was so hot; he couldn't move. Was Gabrielle here? Was this a dream? "Gabrielle."

Cool slim fingers touched his brow, and cheek, smoothing back his hair with exquisite gentleness. It was a blissful sensation. Somehow he managed to open his eyes, only to find darkness. After a few moments, he discerned a window, framed by fluttering curtains and luminous with moonlight. A silhouette was etched against that silvery background... a female, slender, and elegant, with a delicately drawn profile that was familiar to him.

She bent closer, tracing the lean strength of his face with soft fingertips, and searched his eyes. "It is Lisette, Nicholai," she whispered. "Do you remember?"

She smelled, not of gardenias, but of sweet meadow grass and—vanilla? He attempted a crooked smile. "Of course... I remember."

Lisette reached for a cup of water from the side table and helped him to lift his head for a few welcome sips. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you." As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he stared at her as the pain receded. "The duel. I remember... my shoulder was hit."

"Yes, but the doctor says you'll mend without problem." Briefly, she reminded him about Marcus Reems's death and his current whereabouts, all the while continuing to smooth the crisp curls from his forehead.

"Where am I? At home?"

"No, you're at the Hampshire's country house. We brought you here after the duel."

"Your fingers are like feathers," he sighed. "I almost hate to ask, but why are you here instead of at the CoffeeHouse? It feels late—"

"Past midnight," she confirmed, smiling. "The Hampshires had to leave for Virginia, but they, and your family, have sent a few servants to the CoffeeHouse to substitute for me while I take care of you."

"Either I am dreaming, or this is a cruel joke," Nicholai groaned. "Do you expect me to believe that all those people have conspired to leave us alone here for an extended period of time? My
mother
? She barely knows you!"

"I don't think you should try to talk."

He ignored her. "Is it possible that you would elect to play nursemaid to a temperamental character like me when you could be managing your CoffeeHouse? Why, you grow feverish when you're away from the place for one hour!" He was conscious of the intensifying pain in his shoulder, but somehow he felt removed from it. All that mattered were the sparks that crackled in the air between his body and Lisette's.

"I agree. Your mother and I have both behaved inexplicably today." Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were on the dot of blood that appeared on his white-wrapped shoulder. "Actually, I believe your mother was persuaded she could not take care of you because of the preparations for Katya's wedding."

"Are you making this sacrifice out of friendship for my sister?"

"No. And it's not a sacrifice. I chose to stay with you."

Their features were muted by the darkness, but his eyes held her own until she shivered. "You must be in a great deal of pain. Let me get the bottle of laudanum."

His right hand snaked out and caught her fragile wrist. "I don't want the laudanum, Lisette. You can give me something that will kill the pain without numbing the rest of me."

"You mustn't make sudden movements like this, Nicholai. Dr. Wistar says—-"

"Dr. Wistar has never been alone with you in a moonlit bed." His hand moved to her elbow, easing her forward.

"You are insane—and
we
are not in bed! Nicholai, you have been seriously injured—" She had to put her other hand on the bed above his shoulder to keep from losing her balance and falling on his wound, but this was just the move he hoped she would make. Now her head was close enough for him to reach up easily and slide a hand around her neck. Lisette could not believe what was happening. She saw his sparkling eyes as he drew her down slowly until her lips touched his warm mouth.

The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through her body. She could feel Nicholai smiling as he began to kiss her, taking his time, caressing her throat, temples, and unbound curls with his free hand.

"I should have gotten shot long ago," he murmured at last, in a voice heavy with ironic amusement.

Part III