Spring Fires (27 page)

May 5, 1793

It was a glorious day. Lisette was euphoric as she inhaled the fragrant sunny air and regarded the brilliant mosaic of flower beds. Following the maze of brick footpaths deeper into the garden, she paused under a giant weeping willow and set up her easel. It almost made her laugh when she thought of the difference between the way she had spent these recent May afternoons and those of other years. Spring seemed a new phenomenon to her... even the sunlight and the blue sky were more vivid than she had ever imagined during her long hours at work in the CoffeeHouse.

Carefully, she unwrapped a clean canvas and propped it on the easel. Next, she unlatched a wooden box filled with oil paints of every color imaginable. Katya had brought the painting supplies, remembering an idle wish Lisette had expressed the year before that she might one day have time to pursue such an avocation. Yesterday, she and Nicholai had discussed a related subject at length: Lisette's hidden talents. He suggested that she might find satisfaction in other ways besides toiling night and day. She was a woman of many talents, which were only now being tapped. He pointed out the insatiable enthusiasm with which she attacked literature and now art. Wasn't it a shame to extinguish these lights for the sole purpose of financial independence? Of course, he hadn't offered her any other solution.

The serenity and happiness of her life at the villa made Lisette feel that she was existing outside of the real world.

She would come rudely back down to earth only when another unwelcome visitor arrived to cheer up Nicholai. Even he seemed surprised by the quantity of women who were in competition for his attention, yet he played along gamely and Lisette grew increasingly frustrated.

As if sensing her situation, Antonia had arrived a day ago with an entire trunk full of beautiful gauzy muslin gowns, which, she explained, belonged to her daughter Danielle. Rather than pack for each visit to Philadelphia, the wealthy Mrs. Engelman kept a wardrobe at her parents' house. The oldest Beauvisage child was tall and slender like Lisette and the gowns fit perfectly. The one she wore today blended well with the rows of white lilies that swayed nearby in the breeze. Fashioned of white muslin, the frock was cut deeply at the neckline to display Lisette's lovely yet seldom-seen breasts. Under the bodice ran a sash of cool green satin. In her hair, Lisette wore a fillet of striped silk that set off her randomly arranged curls

Just as she finished setting up her paints and allowed herself a glance toward the upstairs window, where curtains fluttered reassuringly, a voice broke the stillness of the garden and sent Lisette's heart drumming with startled shock.

"You are looking extraordinarily beautiful today, Mistress Hahn."

She stood, frozen, thinking that it simply could not be Nicholai; that was impossible—so who was this strange man who spoke from somewhere behind her?

"I had expected a warmer greeting... at least a few memorable words if you cannot manage something more ardent."

It was Nicholai! Afraid to look, she turned slowly and found him leaning against a nearby honey locust tree with all the nonchalance of someone who spent every afternoon chatting with her in the garden. Lisette gasped. He wore snug buckskin breeches, the knee boots she had set in the kitchen to wait for their owner, and the white linen shirt she had soaked for two days to remove the bloodstains.

Nicholai's smile was wry. His dark hair, casually combed, gleamed in the sunlight and he his face was clean-shaven.

"I would say that I am seeing a ghost... except, in your case, anything is possible," Lisette said hollowly. "I suppose I must assume that you have lost your senses."

He chuckled. "Oh. I see."

Her tenuous control slipped. "Are you mad, Nicholai? Do you want to kill yourself? After all the hours I have spent changing your dressings, watching you like a little child to make certain that you don't move too vigorously—and I even took the responsibility on myself to disregard Dr. Wistar's orders about the laudanum because I believed that, between the two of us, we might muster the necessary maturity to keep you quiet until that wound had healed sufficiently—"

"My ears hurt more than my shoulder!" he laughed. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have the good doctor's permission to come outside?"

"What do you mean?"

"Only that Dr. Wistar arrived while you were downstairs assembling your paints and he authorized me to make the daring journey out the back door into the wilds of the garden."

"How do I know you are telling the truth?" Lisette asked warily.

"Come over here." Nicholai watched with less amusement as she approached, skirting the honey-locust tree uncertainly. "Here! I want you to look me in the eye."

"You aren't going to challenge me to a duel, I hope?"

He caught her slim arm so that their bodies touched, her muslin bodice brushing his linen shirt. "I ought to, wench! Look at me, Lisette, and see that if I choose to come into the garden—even
without
Dr. Wistar's approval—I shall damn well do so and there isn't a thing you could do about it. It is my body, not yours or the good doctor's, and I shall abuse it however the hell I please!"

"Why then have I wasted my valuable time taking care of you? I should have let you jump out the window that first night, or leap out of bed and run back to Philadelphia into the waiting arms of all your sophisticated strumpets—"

Nicholai's lips twitched with delight; his emerald eyes sparkled. "And why didn't you?"

Lisette looked away, displaying her delicately etched profile, complete with long soft eyelashes that glistened with gold dust in the sun. "I don't know."

"I do." His arm, curving slowly around her waist, burned through the thin white fabric of her gown. "You stayed because you love being here. You have had an excuse to play and be a woman without having to apologize for it... and you enjoy spending your time with a man, even one who is incapacitated—or perhaps
especially
one who is incapacitated." His warm breath caressed her brow.

She was unnerved by the sensation of her nipples puckering visibly against her bodice, while her heart thumped so loudly she was certain he must hear it.

"No angry retort?" he mocked. "No slap across my insolent mouth?"

"I am paralyzed with shock," murmured Lisette at length. "Honestly, your nerve..."

"Thrilling, eh? Let me give you fair warning, my beautiful, independent Mistress Hahn:
my
days of incapacitation are at an end. No longer will I be at your mercy, having to take an extra spoonful of soup when you hold it up to my mouth. As a matter of fact, there is something else entirely that I have been working up a powerful appetite for these past days. Weeks, actually." One chestnut brow arched wickedly. "I realize that you think you are as strong as any man, but if you stay around here to test that theory, the results may surprise you."

"Is that a hint? Would you like me to leave so that you can import a more willing victim?"

He laughed softly and tightened his embrace. "The only victim I have in mind is already in my arms."

When she opened her mouth to scold him, warm hard lips came down to silence her. Lisette melted, then simmered helplessly in his arms. Boldly, his tongue explored the sweet softness of her mouth, sending little explosions to other intimate parts of her body.

"Ahh-hem!
Mistress Hahn! Is it possible that you are trying to reopen Mister Beauvisage's wound?"

Her arms fell away from Nicholai's shoulders; she stepped backward, stumbled, and felt him reach out to catch her forearm. Dr. Wistar, his chin sternly lowered, was advancing toward them on the brick footpath.

"I returned because I thought it might be prudent to confer with you regarding my decision to allow Mr. Beauvisage to leave his bed, just so there was no danger of my instructions being embellished." He cast a disapproving eye toward Nicholai, then returned his attention to the pale Lisette. "I can see, however, that
you
do not know the meaning of the word prudence! Furthermore, I strongly suspect that you ignored my instructions regarding Mr. Beauvisage's dose of laudanum! If you had administered it as I specified, it is highly doubtful that he would be so frisky this soon after his injury. I had hoped for at least another week of bed rest, but it is impossible to reason with him. I will leave you two to your... activities. I must warn you, however, that if Mr. Beauvisage should suffer a relapse,
you
will bear the responsibility!"

Nicholai released Lisette's arm and took a few steps toward Dr. Wistar. "I am not interested in wasting my time arguing with you, Doctor, but I am compelled to ask you never to speak to Mistress Hahn that way again. You have been unpardonably rude to a young lady who has sacrificed a great deal to care for me night and day at a time when my life depended on it."

"Hmm!" Dr. Wistar pursed his lips.

"Please don't hurry off before you've apologized," Nicholai murmured, smiling coldly.

The doctor blinked. "Well. I may have been a bit hasty."

He wet his lips. "I am sorry if I judged you too harshly, Mistress Hahn."

"You are forgiven, Doctor." Lisette repressed an urge to giggle. "Please, allow me to accompany you to your phaeton so that we may discuss Mr. Beauvisage's progress." She looked at Nicholai. "
You
go and sit down and behave yourself until I return."

He gave her a short amused bow. "As always, I obey, my lady."

* * *

Lisette pretended not to hear the high voice calling from the front of the villa. She resented any interruption of the serene enjoyment she and Nicholai had found in each other's company this afternoon.

Two trays crowded with empty dishes occupied the stone bench at the end of the garden; between them reposed a long green bottle that had been filled with Burgundy wine just an hour earlier. Now Nicholai and Lisette were under the graceful willow. He was reclined against the trunk, his booted legs stretched out gracefully on the grass, tousled head tipped back. She, intent on capturing the line of his shoulder with her paintbrush, wondered if he was asleep. If he was, she could risk ignoring the female voice that persisted in calling from the drive.

"For God's sake," he mumbled, "go and see who is out there." His eyes remained closed.

Lisette wanted to tell him to do his own investigating, and when she went through the house and discovered
Anne
Bingham and a girl who looked like a wren standing outside the front door, she wished she had.

"How do you do?" Mrs. Bingham began, putting up her lovely nose. "You must be Mistress Hahn...? I have heard such admirable reports about your attempt to continue with the CoffeeHouse after your father's unfortunate death."

"I wouldn't use the word 'attempt,' Mrs. Bingham. I have been completely successful."

"Of course you have, my dear." Her smile was wooden.

"I would like you to meet my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall. She is visiting us from Britain, and has become exceedingly well acquainted with Mr. Beauvisage. We were out for a drive and just decided—very impulsively!—to pay a visit and let Mr. Beauvisage know how much Ophelia has missed him in Philadelphia of late."

Lisette exchanged strained pleasantries with Ophelia, who blushed and tittered at the mention of Nicholai's name. Feeling certain that her patient would not welcome this particular female guest, Lisette took wicked pleasure in showing Mrs. Bingham and her cousin back to the garden.

They found Nicholai pretending to touch up Lisette's painting; his eyes were full of mischief as he held the paintbrush in the air and tossed a nonchalant glance over his shoulder at them.

"Why, Nicholai Beauvisage, I didn't know you were an artist!" exclaimed Anne Bingham.

He shrugged modestly, put down the brush, and turned to kiss her hand. "There are many things you don't know about me, Mrs. Bingham." He turned his attention to Ophelia, who was looking especially like a wood thrush in her taupe gown and concealing fichu. "Ah, Mistress Corkstall, how are you? I have sorely missed our discussions about the House of Bourbon!"

Lisette gaped as she watched Nicholai press his lips to the girl's hand for an indecent length of time. She could have sworn he was watching her from the corner of one twinkling eye, but this seemed to be conceit on her part. It was more likely that the rogue went through life gazing at each woman he met as if she were the most ravishing and fascinating female in the world. After a few eternally long minutes, Lisette fabricated an excuse and took their luncheon trays back to the kitchen. By the time she heard the carriage, which was pulled by four perfectly matched grays, roll down the drive, she was in her own bedchamber behind closed doors, furiously mending a torn chemise.

After a few more minutes, she heard Nicholai slowly ascend the stairway and come down the hall. Moments later, there was a knock on the connecting door between their rooms.

"Lisette—is there something wrong?"

"How could you possibly imagine that anything could be wrong?" She tried, unsuccessfully, to sound indifferent.

"Please, open the door."

She prayed for the strength to resist the expression on his face, the powerful physical tug of his body, and opened the door... just a tiny bit. "What do you want?"

"I didn't expect you to react this way. I was just having fun in what would have been an intolerably dull situation—"

"React
what
way?" she demanded.

There was a note of challenge in her voice and it sparked anger in Nicholai. The little vixen was going to start fighting with him and deny what he
knew
to be true! "I shouldn't have to tell you," he replied smoothly. "You ought to be old enough to know when you are jealous."

"Jealous?"
she cried. "There is simply no end to your conceit, is there?"

"Perhaps not, but that isn't the issue! Are you going to tell me that you rushed up here to sulk because you needed a nap? It was perfectly obvious—"

"It was perfectly obvious to
me
that you were flirting with that poor Corkstall girl only to gratify your ego, Mr. Beauvisage, and I simply decided I had better ways to spend my time than watching you make a fool of her."