Stormfire (85 page)

Bed. She tried not to think of it.

But too soon, dinner was done. Although she had eaten slowly to conceal her lack of appetite, Catherine knew
Raoul
was not fooled; he even looked faintly amused and she wondered how their dinner conversation might have slanted had the butler not been present. She had already met five servants: butler, cook, gardener, and two maids. She would have little to do but smile once the obligatory correspondence was completed, and
Raoul
had even suggested a secretary for that!

Now he was suggesting they retire, and feeling the butler's eyes boring into her brain, she fixed a smile on her face and laid her napkin by her plate. After all, my girl, you're not a virgin. There's nothing your husband can do to you that hasn't been done already.

Balustrades topped with flambeaux set off the staircase where, as throughout the rest of the house, cream walls blended with peach marble floors.
Raoul
led her along the upper landing. "This is your room."

Grandmère's
old room. As he opened the door, she held her breath, expecting a travesty of the senior comtesse's femininity. A moment later, she impulsively flung her arms around Raoul's neck. "You found nearly everything, even
Grandmère's
bed! It's just as it was. . . . How did you ever do it?"

He grinned and his arms tightened.
"Maman
remembered how the room was from the old days."

"She's recalled everything wonderfully.
Oh,
Raoul,
thank you!"

When he kissed her, taking his time, she made herself relax and, trying to block a swift, bitter pang of memory, answered his ardor. After his head lifted, his eyes were dark with desire. "Don't be too long,
chérie.
I'm impatient for you."

When he came to her, wearing a dark green velvet robe,
Catherine
stood tensely waiting in a white Grecian negligee that had been laid out on the bed. She knew what her bridegroom saw when he caught his breath. Caught simply at the shoulder, the filmy fabric draped across the breasts leaving the arms bare. Slashed to the hips on both sides, it hung straight, revealing her body: the long legs, the soft darkness between her thighs; the high, haughty breasts. Her handspan waist was thickened but not yet misshapen.

Raoul
came close and lifted the cloud of her hair in his fingers to feel its softness. His lips lightly brushed hers, and as his fingertips brushed her nipples through their diaphanous covering, she shivered. "I'll warm you,
p'tite;
never fear." He unhooked the shoulder catch and let the negligee fall, then caught it just under her breasts. "Beautiful." But as he dropped
thè
negligee, he noticed the scar under her right breast. "Where did you get that?" he asked abruptly.

Startled by his change of mood, she murmured, "I was injured in a riding accident. Does it disturb you?"

He frowned. "No, of course not. It's just that otherwise, your body is perfect." He felt her stiffen slightly and his teasing manner returned. "I want a woman tonight, not a goddess." Suddenly, he caught her face up to his with one hand and kissed her almost brutally; his other hand undid his robe and pulled her close to feel his hard nakedness. "Touch me," he whispered against her lips. "Hold me." He smiled as her eyes widened at his size. "I'll keep you very happy,
chérie."
He lifted her and laid her on the satin sheets, then cast off his robe.

Involuntarily, she thought of Sean's lean, hard beauty, the fierce arrogance of his virility, and a knot of desire grew in her belly. Ruthlessly, she tried to concentrate on
Raoul. Raoul
was real, inevitable. But for all her resolve, a ghost entered her that night, green eyes burning into hers even as his lips seared her body. She moaned and arched, wanting him so badly that his rhythm broke cadence and, startled, elated and greedy, he plunged into her. It was over quickly for them both, for Catherine's impassioned response had excited her lover to shuddering, precipitate release.

"Dieu, chérie.
What
a
woman you are!"

His voice brought her back to reality, to guilt, and a kind of fury that led to hard resolution. "I want to be everything you need,
Raoul."

Because she meant it, he believed her. "If only you knew what you're saying," he whispered, flushed with pleasure. "Nothing will be denied us. I have dreams beyond anything you can imagine. We'll share them
all.
The past will fade, you'll see."

Thoughtfully stirring her
café noir,
Madeleine Rochet listened to the downstairs door close and the whisper of silk as
Mei
Lih ascended the stair. The Indo-Chinese entered the bedroom and bowed. The girl's youth and beauty were useful, but this morning, the Frenchwoman felt a twinge of jealousy.

The night before, Culhane had carried the Oriental directly into the front bedroom; then there had been only sounds of lovemaking and the clink of a decanter behind the closed door. Perversely, Madeleine had felt like demanding money before he left, but then he would never have returned. Gentlemen knew what was expected of them, and Culhane was generous.

She sipped the coffee. "Did Monsieur Culhane say anything of interest?"

"He intends to leave France within the fortnight, madame."

"Anything else?"

"No,
madame."

Madeleine's mind began to click, the momentary distraction enough to make her miss the oblique opacity of the Oriental's eyes. "Bring pen and paper, Meh Lih."

A few hours later,
Raoul
d'Amauri kissed her wrists and smiled. "How beautiful you always look, Madi. I received your message, but you're wicked to use perfumed paper; af
ter
all, I'm a married man now. Is there some problem?"

"Perhaps." She drew him to the sofa, then glanced up at the girl. "You may leave us, Meh Lih."

The girl's dark lashes fanned downward as she bowed.

With her light, graceful walk, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Her resemblance to my wife is remarkable." Amauri smiled lazily. "You're a devious womam, Madi. I'm beginning to see why my brother-in-law is letting the women of Paris languish."

She inclined her head, demurely accepting the compliment. "Still, I'm not so clever as you. May I congratulate you on your promotion,
mon Général?"
She rose and went to the sideboard, where she drew a chilled bottle of champagne from an ice bucket for his approval.

"Merci bien!
Here, let me open it." She rejoined him on the sofa and handed him the bottle. Moments later, blond liquid bubbled into waiting glasses. They sipped. "Excellent year." The new general leaned back into the cushions and stretched comfortably. "Now, what's this possible problem?"

"Culhane plans to leave Paris within a week or two."

"Damn, I was afraid of that." He looked at her over the glass rim. "This is where you really begin to earn your money, Madi. Culhane has to stay. Persuading you to discourage your current patron in order to be available to Culhane has been expensive, but I'm prepared to be far more generous if my plans go well. My wife signed the papers reclaiming the
Vigny
estate this morning."

Madeleine smiled. "Everything seems to have gone as you wished. You're now possessed of a promotion, a great fortune, and a very beautiful wife. I've heard the
comtesse
is even more beautiful than Josephine."

"You've only to look at
Mei
Lih for proof of that." He paused. "But how did you choose the girl without seeing my wife?"

"La comtesse
was described to me and Madame
Hortense
suggested this girl." She watched his eyes. "Monsieur Culhane won't return until this evening. Would you like to see her privately?"

He thought a moment. "Culhane was here last night?"

"He was with her from early evening until dawn."

"I suppose I can spare an hour before I drop by Maman's." He smiled slowly.

Rotted Roses

Catherine soon learned her husband's playful manner hid more than a shrewd mind. Far from being disappointed by her lack of virginity, he reveled in her skilled ability to arouse him and appeared bent on teaching her every technique of a courtesan. While patient and considerate, he was also insatiable.

The newlyweds first rift came almost immediately and another facet of Raoul's character was clarified. The quarrel was over the house. Its original facade had been clumsily renovated to the neoclassic style in the early days of the Directorate.
"Raoul,
do you suppose we could restore the exterior of the house?" Catherine suggested one evening as they returned from a dinner party. "The old facade was much more graceful."

"You've inherited your mother's penchant for remodeling," he said lightly as he held the gate open for her. "Do you have any idea what such changes would cost?"