The Creole Princess (20 page)

He closed his mouth and looked down at Daisy Redmond, who said under her breath, “Come, Don Rafael, let us proceed, or everyone will think I have hauled in some particularly unwieldy statue of Don Quixote instead.”

He laughed, patted her hand, and managed to unstick his feet from the tavern floor. “Do you want to dance?” he said as they made their way through the crowded room. “Or should we wait for the next one?” Do not look at Lyse, he told himself.

But why not? that stubborn oaf Rafa wanted to know. She was the most exquisite thing in the room, like a priceless painting dimmed by bad lighting
.
Why was her beautiful hair covered by that awful cap? And why was she dressed like his grandmother?

And why in God’s name was she dancing with the young British rooster—Niall? Was that his name?

“I think we’d better dance after all, sir. You are attracting attention.” Daisy tugged him toward the end of the country dance, pushed him none too gently in line with the other men, and picked up her skirts to skip past him.

Mechanically he performed the steps. Not knowing where Lyse would be when he arrived in Mobile, he’d decided to first complete his business by delivering the wheat to Major Redmond. The major had invited him home for a drink, where, fortuitously, Daisy had told him about the dance—and that Lyse had been invited.

Now he was here, Lyse was here, and everything felt wrong, as if he’d sailed into the wrong port, as he’d joked about with her so very long ago. But really not so long ago as that; it had only been just over a year since he’d confiscated her deadly little knife and metaphorically taken it into his heart.

She danced past him, eyes downcast. No, there—a flash of topaz eyes, just before she escaped to round the end of the line and disappear. He was mad to follow her, but the music surged to an end. Daisy curtseyed in front of him, and he was obliged to bow.

“Thank you, my lady.” He took Daisy’s hand upon his arm. “I suppose there must be refreshments somewhere. Are you thirsty?”

She pulled a lacy fan from her pocket and plied it to her flushed face. “I am indeed. But take me to Lyse first, if you please.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Must we?”

“If you don’t wish to stand glowering at her across the room, I do indeed suggest it.”

“I am not glowering.”

“Scowling, then. You look like you ate an unripe persimmon.”

He gave up and allowed her to steer his reluctant feet toward a corner of the room where Niall’s fiery head could be seen beyond the powdered wigs of two or three substantial gentlemen and their ladies.

No scowling. No glowering. His tongue felt like a side of bacon.
What was
wrong
with him tonight? He never had trouble thinking of what to say to a woman.

He and Daisy rounded the last powdered gentleman and there she was. The demure dress was buttoned up to her chin, the hideous cap covering nearly all those glorious black curls. He wanted to yank it off, thrust his fingers into the curls, and kiss her smiling lips.

Instead he gave her what he feared was a supercilious smirk. “Miss Lanier! Well met. And Mr. . . . Mr. . . . Oh dear, I’m afraid I don’t remember your name, sir.”

“McLeod.” The rooster made an awkward leg. “How d’ye do, Lord Rafael? Are you in town, then?”

“I believe I must be,” Rafa said. “Unless you perceive me to be somewhere else, in which case I must hurry up and arrive . . . er, here.” He grinned. “I’ve important business with the major, you see.”

“Major Redmond is in that corner with the Guillorys and Sergeant Anderson.” McLeod glanced over his shoulder. “But I wouldn’t bother him if I were you. He’s been in a bit of a snit lately, begging your pardon, Daisy.”

“Oh, we’ve already conversed today,” Rafa said. “I just delivered a hundred barrels of wheat to Pensacola, and brought another fifty to leave here in Mobile.”

He was watching Lyse, and his words brought her eyes to his face. She clung to McLeod’s elbow as if she were about to fall down. What exactly was going on here? Had she promised herself to the rooster while Rafa was in New Orleans?

McLeod seemed aware of his regard, for he patted Lyse’s hand in a revoltingly familiar way. “How nice. Lyse and I were just about to step outside for some air.”

But Lyse pulled her hand away and stepped back. “I’m not—I mean, no, let us not go yet, Niall.” She blushed. “Don Rafael, you are very kind, to go to so much trouble to bring us foodstuffs. We haven’t been able to get wheat because of blockaders along the
Alabama River, and—oh, it will be so good to have real bread again!”

“It is my pleasure to bring you pleasure,” Rafa purred, pleased to see the darkening of McLeod’s freckled young face. “Would you like to accompany Miss Redmond and me to address the major? I need to speak with him again regarding arrangements for transfer of the wheat.”

“I imagine you have to return to New Orleans right away,” McLeod said hopefully.

“Oh, no, I shall be here for quite a while—a week or more at least.” Rafa extended his free arm to Lyse. “Coming, Miss Lanier?”

She glanced at McLeod’s stubborn expression and lifted her chin. “Yes. I am.”

And just that easily, Rafa walked away with the two most beautiful women in the room, one on either arm, leaving Niall McLeod to fume and plot whatever revenge he wished. Rafa simply did not care. The warmth of Lyse’s hand tucked close to his body filled him with a euphoria that no amount of self-scolding could dispel. He wanted to hear her voice.

“Miss Redmond tells me that you have been helping to teach the little children their letters—and that you have come to live in town with her and the major. I confess, I’m curious as to what brought about such a change.”

Lyse’s shrug was matter-of-fact. “Sooner or later one grows up and wishes to be less of a burden upon the family purse strings. In fact, I have been able to contribute somewhat to my siblings’ welfare.” There was quiet pride in her voice, and Rafa could only applaud her loyalty and unselfishness.

Still, he sensed there was something she hadn’t told him—something perhaps Daisy didn’t even know. He longed to get Lyse alone so they could speak more freely.

Patience, Rafa,
he told himself. Secrets often unlocked themselves if one waited long enough.

“Lyse is too modest,” Daisy said warmly. “I don’t know how I should have managed this fall without her to take the primary levels. The school has nearly doubled in size since the spring.”

“Indeed?” Rafa would have inquired further, but Major Redmond looked around at that moment.

Redmond smiled at his daughter. “Well met, my dear!” He turned to the companion on his left, a stocky gentleman in stiff evening clothes and a powdered wig. “Guillory, see who Daisy and Lyse have brought to the party! Our good friend Don Rafael, always a welcome visitor to Mobile.”

The wigged gentleman smiled. “Indeed. Our Joony will make good use of the wheat as soon as it can be milled.”

Rafa thought wryly that if one’s notoriety depended on delivery services, then he was destined for immortality. He bowed. “I am only too happy to provide Miss Joony with material for her beignet genius—which played no small role in my determination to remain for several days.”

Guillory laughed. “Your room is already prepared, sir, and I assure you, you may stay as long as you wish.”

Rafa scanned the crowded tavern. “You’ve attracted quite a large company this evening.”

Major Redmond nodded. “Loyalist emigrants from the northern colonies have flooded into West Florida in droves. One wonders if they will stay here after His Majesty’s troops have quelled the rebels.”

Rafa could detect no lack of confidence in the major’s voice. Clearly he believed British victory was only a matter of time. Rafa stifled a yawn. “No understanding why a man would voluntarily return to all that ice and snow when the scenery is so pretty here in the south.” He winked at Daisy.

“Don Rafael, you are laying it on too thick.” Daisy tossed her curls and took her father’s arm. “Perhaps you should try your blandishments on some of those northern girls. We southerners are awake to your nonsense—aren’t we, Lyse?”

Apparently caught off guard at being addressed, Lyse took a sharp breath and allowed her gaze to flick upward to Rafa’s. Her teeth caught that sweet lower lip.

He stared at her, helpless to come up with further witticisms.

“Awake,” she finally said, looking away. “Yes, of course.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I hear the Tully brothers tuning up for another jig. Why don’t the two of you join the set that’s forming, while Papa and I find some refreshments. I declare, I’m parched.”

Rafa nodded, relieved to have the decision made for him. “I’d be honored, Miss Lanier.”

Lyse hesitated, then once more slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. As they crossed the room, her gaze remained downcast, her body stiff. “I don’t feel like dancing,” she muttered.

“Then come outside onto the gallery, where we may converse. I knew something was wrong.” Sorry for her discomfort but giddy with relief that he wouldn’t have to remain separated by the movements of the dance, Rafa steered her toward the front door and then outside into the thick darkness. A lamp threw a smoky splash of light beside the door, but a wooden swing waited in the shadows at the far end of the gallery. He headed there without hesitation. Allowing her to sit first, he settled beside her, close enough to hear the rustle of her skirts and breathe in the faint fragrance of her hair.

After a few moments of silence underlaid by the muted strains of the dance, she sighed. “Your English has improved since I saw you last.”

“As has yours.” He laughed. “Your accent has become so very . . . British.”

“Time spent with Daisy,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “And the children. They’re constantly correcting me.”

“And—Ensign McLeod?”

She hesitated. “He doesn’t correct me.”

“Wouldn’t have the nerve, I’m sure. You seem very close.” There
was no jealousy in his voice, he was quite confident. Probably. “I mean, I believe you have been friends for a long time, have you not?”

“We have.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. He wished he could see her face, somehow interpret her emotions. “Rafa, he asked me to marry him.”

He found that he could hardly breathe around the pain. Somehow he managed, “Did he? And what was your answer?”

“I haven’t—I didn’t say no, but—you have been gone for a very long time. I didn’t know if you were coming back—”

He took her face in both hands and crushed her mouth with his. After a long moment, when he felt something warm splash against his thumb, he broke the kiss. “You knew I would return,” he said hoarsely. “I told you I would.”

“Men lie. You meant it at the time, I told myself, but one cannot live on promises.”

“I am not like your father.”

“Neither is Niall. He is very good to me.”

“But you do not love him.” She would have said so if she did.

“Of course I love him. Wait, Rafa!” With a shaky laugh, she put a hand against his lips. “No more kisses—please!”

He kissed her palm, then held it against his cheek. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t think, and I need to think!”

“Thinking is unnecessary in some instances. What does your heart tell you?”

“Oh, Rafa! My heart is so unwise. I cannot trust it, especially when you appear without warning, on a day when I am crushed by grief and worry—”

“What? What has happened? Has someone hurt you? I will kill him!”

“No—no, it is not like that. Of course you mustn’t kill anyone! It is very bad, but there is nothing one can do. It is my cousin, Scarlet. She has been sold to a slave trader, and I don’t know where she is or—or if I’ll ever see her again.”

Rafa’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could see tears flowing freely down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. “That woman is a she-devil.”

“Yes, she is.” Lyse uttered a shaky laugh. “But cursing her will do no good. If only I knew where the man took Scarlet, I would—but Madame Dussouy refuses to tell. She locked Cain up and slapped my little brother when he tried to let him out.” Drawing back from Rafa, she swiped at her eyes. “It’s a very bad situation.”

“Yes. It is. I shall fix it, somehow. Depend on it.”

“You are very much like Simon, you know. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word
impossible
.” She said it the French way, spitting the word as if it were something nasty.

Perhaps it was. “I find that most things can be remedied with a little ingenuity and persistence.” He grinned at her and touched her nose. “You will find that we Spaniards are a very persistent race. Now come, let us return to the party before I forget my good intentions and persist in kissing you senseless.”

Daisy watched Lyse come back into the hall with Don Rafael and knew a pang of envy—not because she wanted the Spanish gentleman’s attention, but because Lyse’s cap was askew, her lips were berry-red, and a significant beard burn marred one cheek. What would she not give to be held in Simon’s arms and feel his kisses as her friends had clearly enjoyed one another! But Simon had lately become so circumspect, so—so careful of her reputation, of her father’s good opinion, that he refused even to be alone with her.