Underground Captive (48 page)

    
             
"That's right, Jared.  It was just an act of God that saved my house," Falgout said, trying to elicit the same sympathy and outrage from Jared that he’d gotten from the other men.

             
Nay 'twas my act that saved yer house.

             
"Who would want to burn ye out, Edmond?" Jared asked without emotion.

    
             
"Who? 
Who
?" shouted Dureau.  "Who else but that sly bastard.  That...that man who calls himself the Black Rider!"

    
             
"But we don't know that it was the Black Rider this time," Dumaine said.  "He certainly didn't follow his usual pattern."

    
             
"My slaves insist that a spirit they call Bouki paid them a visit last night and told them to stay inside their cabins for three days.  Told them if they did any work before that time, he would strike them dead," Falgout snarled, his fleshy face menacing.  "Ignorant
nigras
!"

             
"Jared, if Edmond could have persuaded his people to help put out the fires, his crops, or at least a part of them, would have been saved," Hebert said.

             
Wondering if his act on Rags’ and Emma’s behalf would cause more

misery for Falgout’s unfortunate slaves, Jared asked, "Did anyone see the Black

Rider?"

    
             
"No!" Falgout answered.  "Ac
cording to the slaves the only thing that was seen was the floating face of the spirit Bouki, who by the way was seen at the slave quarters."

    
             
"Then ye actually don't know who set the torch to yer fields?" Jared asked, arching his brows.  Except for the heavy heart he held for Charles and Rags, and the worry over the plight of Falgout’s slaves, he was thoroughly enjoying the anguished state of the planters--
especially
Edmond Falgout.

    
             
"In all sincerity,
monsieur
," the constable said, "we do not have any suspects.  Indeed, we are not really sure it was the Black Rider."

    
             
"That's right," Charles sighed.  "The Black Rider operates on land.  This time the deed was done from a boat!"

             
A frown knitted Jared's brow.  "How do ye know this?"

    
             
"Because the boat exploded," Falgout answered.  "Destroyed my landing and everything around as far as fifty yards away."

             
"Did ye find a body?"

    
             
"It was The Ghost Ship," Charles answered.  "There were no bodies.  Just debris.  No one saw it arrive or knows how it got there."

    
             
Jared drew in a breath and walked to the window.  Looking out across the grassy clearing, he saw his magnificent palomino grazing.  He turned back to his acquaintances.  "Could there be two...uh...crazed riders out there?"

    
             
"That's what I said!" Phillipe agreed loudly.  "Besides, I don't want to be bested by a Negro."

    
             
"Don't be stupid, Phillipe," Henri snapped.  "You're the one who said he was a Negro.  A Negro from somewhere up in the northern part of Luzianna.  He didn't have the same ac
cent as the New Orleans blacks, you said.  You were ready to string up some poor, innocent black who, as it turned out, was on his master's plantation with a broken leg.”

             
Phillipe glared at Henri.

    
             
"
Messieurs
,
messieurs
," the constable interrupted.  "Please,
messieurs
.  No more fighting among ourselves.  We must fight this scoundrel, the Black Rider.  Because let me tell you,
messieurs
, if he burned one field, who is to say he will not come again to burn another?"

    
             
"Exactly what are yer plans,
messieurs
, to fight this slip
pery fellow?" Jared asked smugly.  He alone held the secret of the infamous Black Rider.

             
"My son is going to try to work out a plan...." Charles began.

             
"Yer...son?" 

    
             
"
Oui
, Jared.  God took away Nicollette but he sent Ricard back to me.  Forgive me, my friend.  I've been so grieved over Nicki I almost forgot my joy of having my son back."

    
             
Jared's composure didn't falter.  His expression didn't change.  But his mind said soon--very soon.  “I'm happy for ye, Charles.  But where is yer son now?  I would like very much to meet him."

    
             
"No offense, Charles," Dureau piped up.  "But this is Ricard we're talking about.  The man who allowed himself to be shanghaied and thrown on a boat that traveled up and down the Mississippi River.  He was too scared to make a run for it.  Why, if the boat hadn't blown up, he'd probably still be on it!"

             
So he would be.  Nicki was right!  'Twas Ricard's voice she'd heard!

Ricard and the captain are one and the same!

             
Jared turned back to the window.  “Strange that he didn't die in the

explosion.”

    
             
"In all the excitement, he jumped off the boat before the ex
plosion," Charles explained, ignoring Phillipe's comments.   "He was found about a mile away bearded, dazed and confused still dressed in those awful black clothes they made him wear!"

             
The sneaky scoundrel.  He has guts.  Who better to play the part of the captain than Ricard?  He has such a reputation for being a sniveling coward that no one would believe he has the backbone to do this.  Bravo!  Bravo, Ricard Duplantier.  Ye're a man after my own heart!  Too bad I have to kill ye.  Perhaps, ye and I together could have made history.
    
             

    
             
Charles explained to Jared that Ricard had traveled to Parc Les Deux in an effort to trace what was believed to be the path Sam took to the Clemenceau plantation.  When Jared pointed out that any clues left from the initial journey would have long dis
appeared after so many months, Charles agreed with him but con
fessed he could not stop Ricard from going.  And that he, Charles, secretly hoped for some sign, some miracle that would help solve the mystery of his daughter's disappearance.

    
             
Jared didn't relish seeing the anguish and trust on Charles's face.  He hated to concede what Nicollette had stated repeatedly--Charles trusted him implicitly.  Jared saw that that trust went beyond that of his trust for his older friends with whom he had closer ties.  It made him uneasy, too, that, besides Ricard, Charles looked to him to uncover the enigma of Nicki's vanishment.  Knowing that she was alive and safe at Highland Acres, 'twas hard for him to show the same concern for her safety that Charles and the other planters shared.  If not for the empathy he felt for Charles’ con
sternation about Nicollette, he would have registered no emotion at all.

    
             
"Take heart, Charles," he said sympathetically.  "I promise I'll leave no stone unturned.  I pledge my life and honor that I'll find her and bring her back to ye safely.”

    
             
Was it a lie, this vow he made?  Not really.  'Twas a decep
tion, but not a lie, he reasoned.  If Nicki really had disap
peared, he wouldn’t have left a stone unturned in his efforts to find her.  And he had already pledged long ago to keep her safe.  If he lied at all, 'twas in the deception that he pretended to believe she was missing.

    
             
Charles convinced him to dine with him and the other planters and when Jared took his leave of Crescent Wood, the first star of the evening twinkled in the dusky sky.  The hot dusty trail of the late afternoon had given way to a gentle, cooling night breeze.  The fragrances of the wild flowers permeated the air with their stale, sun-dried scent.

    
             
As King George ran at a gallop, Jared mulled over the day's events.  Charles told him that Ricard was beside himself with anger and grief at the apparent loss of his dear, beloved sister.  It would probably be days before Ricard returned to Crescent Wood.  He intended to scour the countryside in search of his sister.  If part of that countryside included Highland Acres, Ricard would make his task that much easier.  But would he?  How could he kill Ricard in the presence of Nicki?

    
             
Thinking further, he realized Nicollette's reappearance de
pended on Ricard's demise.  But he surely couldn't kill Ricard before he found out how Ricard came to be in the same slave free
ing business as himself.  How much longer had he to wait before that fateful meeting would occur? However long, he thought.  He had waited this long, a little longer wouldn't make a difference.

    
             
By the time he reached Highland Acres, the stars hung low, floating like scattered pearls across the darkened sky.  Night had descended and he hoped he would catch Nicki to talk to her before she was bedded down.  She deserved to know about her brother's safety, and indeed, everything else that transpired in the hours since he'd last seen her.

    
             
Turning King George over to a stable hand, he wearily made his way to the house.  The momentous changes in his life in the past five years, and all that had happened in the past year to intensify those changes, weighed him down.

    
             
He walked up the stairs and, before he could put his hands on the doorknob, Angus opened the door for him.

    
             
"Master Jared, I'm glad ye've returned, sir.  I took it upon m'self tae relieve the ladies of their duties fer the night.  If ye be wantin' tae eat, I willa call Mary."

    
             
"Nay, Angus, that won't be necessary.  I supped with Charles but I will have some scotch brought to my study.  I suppose Nicki has already retired?" Jared asked with some disappointment in his tone before he had reason to be disappointed.

             
"Nay, master.  She 'as availed 'erself o' the books in yer study.  She

reads even as we speak."

    
             
Jared arched an eyebrow.  "Oh?"  His disappointment turned to expectation.  "Bring the lady a glass of wine, Angus."  He went down the hall towards his study, anticipating Nicki’s reaction when he told her that Ricard was still alive.

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
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Jared opened the door to his study and Nicki looked up from her place at his mahogany writing desk, where she sat reading a book on the care and breeding of Arabian horses.  He smiled at her, his mood intensely buoyant.  "Interesting reading, Nicki.  Perhaps, I can show ye some of the intricacies of running a horse farm."

    
             
Nicki closed the book and laid it down, pushing the chair out from under her, walking from behind the desk.  "I-I would like that, Jared," she drawled shyly.  "I hope you didn't mind that I took it upon myself to expand my knowledge of horses."  Despite their parting this morning, she felt a strange joy at seeing him.

    
             
"Of course not," Jared intoned, immediately suspicious of her.  Was she planning an escape?  Maybe the belief that Ricard was dead motivated her into trying to find a way of escaping.  If that were true, he would put her mind to rest.  And his.

             
Nicki started toward the door.  "I won't intrude," she said softly.

   
             
"Nonsense, Nicki," Jared murmured, his mouth curving into an unconscious smile.   "Ye're not intruding.  Please stay.  I took the liberty of asking Angus to bring ye a glass of wine.  There's something I've got to tell ye."

    
             
Nicki looked quizzically at him.  The sensuous flame lighting in his green-flecked eyes brought a familiar shiver of desire leaping through her.

    
             
At that moment, Angus brought in their drinks.  Carrying the tray to the desk, he sat it down.  "'Ere ye be needin' me anymore taenight, master?"

    
             
"Nay, Angus.  Ye're free to go," Jared answered, never taking his eyes off Nicki.  "Sit down, Nicki," he said, pointing to the sofa across from the desk after Angus departed.  He took the drinks off the tray and gave Nicki her glass of wine.  Retrieving the chair from behind the desk, he placed it facing the sofa, sat down, and took a sip from his glass of scotch, sighing his appreciation of the amber liquid.

             
Nicki watched him with interest.

    
             
Jared was aware of her scrutiny.  He was aware of more than just her scrutiny.  She presented quite a delectable sight com
pared to the last time he'd seen her.  Wet and muddy from head to toe, she had also been just a little smelly.

             
But now.... That elusive scent?  Had she just had a bath?  Was there a

scent?  Flowers?  Herbs?  He couldn't be sure.  She looked so deli
cious to him.  He wanted to just eat her up.

    
             
By the way her low cut dress clung temptingly to her slender curves he was sure she wore no undergarments.  Her breasts, smaller than most women he’d bedded, were pushed up so high by her tight bodice, he expected to see them pop out from behind their modest cover with each breath she took.

    
             
Black as a moonless night, her hair spilled down her back over her shoulders and onto her bosom, where the silken waves caressed the twin peaks.  Her mouth softened into a half-smile as she looked up at him with those hard to define luminous eyes.  Tiny lines creased the side of her mouth, and unconsciously the tip of her small, pink tongue snaked out to lap a drop of wine that errantly settled on her sensuous lips.

    
             
"Well?"  Nicki widened her eyes in question.  "What is it you want to talk to me about, Jared?"  She tried to stem the dizzying currants racing through her.  It couldn't be the wine.  She'd only had a couple of sips.

    
             
Clearing his throat, Jared took a big gulp of his scotch.  "Nicki," he began.  "I was rough on ye yesterday and I'm sorry if I hurt ye."

             
Nicki sat very still.

    
             
Jared saw that she was reliving those moments and that it must have taken some effort on her part to be as calm as she ap
peared now.  He fervently wished he could be that calm.  Just being in the same room with her affected him like no other woman ever had.  He found himself envying her long mane, wanting to press his lips to the white mounds on which the flowing locks rested.

    
             
Nicki didn't answer him.  She just sat there waiting to hear what he had to tell her.

    
             
He had difficulty concentrating.  It wasn't that she was sit
ting in any particular way.  But coupled with a kind of mystical innocence and despair, she was an act of seduction without even trying!

             
Jared moaned. 
How in bloody hell will I ever keep my hands off her?

    
             
"Nicki," he began again, only to falter once more.  He drained his glass.  "I'm going to get more scotch.  I'll be right back."

             
"May I have more wine while you're going, please?"

    
             
Jared eyed her.  "Are ye sure, Nicki?  Did ye have wine at dinner?" he asked with tender concern.  From past observations he knew that two glasses were her limit.  After one glass, she was usually rather playful.  Two made her sleepy.

             
"No, I didn't have wine with dinner, Jared.  But have you placed a limit

on me?" she asked, smiling coyly.

    
             
"Of course not, my sweet Nicki.  As long as ye can handle it."  He'd called

her 'sweet' several times.  'Twas the first word of endearment he used with any

woman with sincerity since he used words of endearment with Patricia.  He’d tasted

the sweetness of Nicki and his defenses were weakening.  How he wanted her!

But he didn't dare.  Not with Ricard standing between them.  He would tell her what he had to tell her and then leave.

             
When he returned with their drinks, Nicki lay sprawled on the sofa, her

eyes half-closed.  Tempting.  Too tempting, Jared thought, as her breasts rose and fell languidly with every breath she took.

             
She slowly opened her eyes and her blue-violet gaze fell on him,

mesmerizing him.  "Oh, thank you,
monsieur
.  You've brought my wine," she said lazily, sitting up and taking the glass from Jared's hand.

    
             
He noticed a slight huskiness in her voice, making her present appeal all the more engaging.  He grinned wickedly.  "My pleasure,
mademoiselle
."

             
She laughed.  "Jared," she said, a rush of pink staining her cheeks at his look.  "Perhaps you really would like to be alone.  If I may, I would like to borrow the book I had started to read and take it, along with my wine, with me to my bedchamber."

    
             
Relief and disap
pointment enveloped him.  "Ye certainly may, Nicollette."     
             
Nicki got up, fixing her gaze on him once again.  "Goodnight, Jared," she said, going through the door.

    
             
"Goodnight, Nicki," Jared replied.

    
             
He looked at the place where she had been.  That scent. 
Her
scent.  Her delicious scent still lingered.  He drew in a tired breath and with one gulp drained the glass he held of its con
tents.

    
             
As long as he was already in his study, he'd go over some recent sales of thoroughbreds and catalog those sales in the ledger.  It only took him about fifteen minutes to complete.  Thoroughly agitated, he sat tapping his fingers on the desk.  The whole household was asleep and it was damnably quiet in there.  And lonely.

    
             
Perhaps, Nicki had had a sterling idea to read in her bedchamber until she fell asleep.  She was probably already asleep.

    
             
There were books in his bedchamber that he could look over.  He took his boots off to keep from disturbing anyone who might already be asleep.  Then, he snuffed out the lamp and went upstairs to his bedchamber, pausing momentarily at Nicki's door before going into his own room.

    
             
In the privacy of his bedchamber he stripped off his clothes, covering his nakedness with a breechcloth.  Then, he picked up the book he'd selected and settled on his huge, four poster bed.

             
He couldn't read.  His thoughts on Nicollette, he sighed irritably.

    
             
It came to him that he hadn't told her about Ricard.  He found her actions a little bemusing.  He’d expected her to be rant
ing and raving about Ricard.  His mind wandered on.  There would be no sleep for him soon. 

             
Perhaps, I should go out to the stables and look over the pregnant mares.

             
Perhaps, bloody not.

    
             
He picked up the book again and opened it to where he'd left off.  It took all of the resolve he possessed not to go across to Nicki's bedchamber and make slow, passionate love to her.

*  *  *    

             
Nicki sat in bed propped against a cushion of pillows, barely absorbing the words she read.  She'd undressed down to her bare skin before slipping on a cotton nightrail.

             
Last evening, she'd run from Jared heartbroken and angry.  How could he run away and leave Ricard to such a fate?  To die in the burning wreckage of that boat? She wasn't crazy.  That
was
Ricard's voice she'd heard.  And now...now he was gone forever.

    
             
Alone in her bedchamber, she'd wept almost uncontrollably for the beloved brother she'd lost.  And she'd hated Jared for deserting him.  Yet, unexplainably, she was relieved and grateful for Jared's safety.  When her anger subsided, she decided once again to ac
cept her fate.

    
             
She felt hollow and defeated.  She was at Jared's mercy and until he caught Patricia's murderer, she knew he would never release her.  He would be easier to hate if he didn't stir feelings inside her.

    
             
She turned the page in the book and, stuck in the crease, found a bill of sale for one of Satan's offspring.  It was recent and she thought Jared should have it.

    
             
He wasn't in his bedchamber yet because she hadn't heard the sound of his heavy boots as he walked down the hall.  She decided to quickly scurry across the hall to his bedchamber and put the document on his bed.  She didn't need to put on a dressing gown or slippers for that quick task, she reasoned.

    
             
She opened her door and stuck her head out, looking up and down the hall, listening a moment before racing across to Jared's room.  Opening the door, she ran into the room and put the bill of sale on...on the wide expanse of Jared's hard muscled, bare chest.  Jumping back as if to escape a rattler's strike, a startled sound emitted from her lips.

    
             
Jared was as surprised as she.  "Nicki!  What are ye doing here?" he asked, all the while appraising how exquisite she was.  The thin nightrail clung to her voluptuous body, revealing every perfect line of her curves.  Her eyes, wide with surprise, rooted to his body.

    
             
Nicki's mind whirled, flashes of him lying sick and wounded on the bed at Crescent Wood passing before her.  Then, he'd been near death and she'd ignored his near nakedness as she'd nursed him.  But now...now tanned, whipcord sinew replaced the ashen pallor that once frightened her so.  Strong, powerful muscles bulged from his arms and long, well developed legs.  She was transfixed as her eyes traveled to Jared's breechcloth, and the healthy, throbbing bulge beneath it.

    
             
"
M-monsieur
, please cover yourself," she managed weakly, trying to fathom the delicious tingles going through her body.

    
             
Jared got up, pulled the top cover off his bed, and secured it around his lower body.  "Why are ye here, Nicki?" he asked hoarsely.