Underground Captive (9 page)

    
             
"
Merci beaucoup
,
mademoiselle
," Jared said, smiling.  "Ye have been a gracious hostess, but I won't take anymore of yer time. 
Au revoir
, Nicollette."  He turned King George as rider and horse flew like the wind toward River Road.

    
             
Nicollette watched him ride away, admiring the skill with which he handled the palomino.  Watching until he was out of sight, she decided the next time she saw him she would ask him to help her find Ricard.

5

   
             
"I'd like a scotch, Angus," Jared grumbled in greeting, walking into his house by the ramparts where he'd lived for the past five years.

    
             
"Aye, master," the tall, dignified servant answered, closing the entrance door as Jared made his way to the drawing room.

He sat, fuming, as angry with Nicollette for being a Duplantier as he

was with himself for wanting to bed a Duplantier.  Who the hell was she to awaken any desires in him?

Yet, the temper she displayed, especially from his kiss, amused him.

'Twas pure luck that she'd used the palm of her hand on him instead of the riding crop.  The slashes on Williams's face would take a while to heal and the scars might never fade.

    
             
Well, the bastard deserved a reminder of what he'd tried to do to Nicki.

'Twas pure luck for the overseer that Nicki had subdued him before Jared got to him.  The extent of the girl's moxy first startled then amused him as he had rode upon the scene.

    
             
Seeing Nicki fight Williams had made anger rip through Jared.  Aye, the worthless sonofabitch was indeed lucky to have escaped Jared's wrath.

    
             
His thoughts leapt to the kiss he and Nicki had shared.  When he'd kissed Nicki, he'd had an impulse to bury his face against her breasts.  Instead, he'd looked into her amethyst eyes and at that moment he'd been unable to summon any resentment toward her for being a Duplantier.  He'd liked the way the girl--his enemy through no fault of hers--made him feel.  At that moment, he'd been conscious of only one thing--his want to have her quivering beneath him in pleasure.

    
             
Bloody damn hell!  'Twould be best to stay as far away from Nicki as possible.  She was even more beautiful now than when he first saw her on the boat.  How would she look if he continued to see her?

'Twas simple, the answer--more unearthly beautiful each time.

    
             
He couldn't forget Nicollette's flawless complexion and her pouty lips, made for kissing.  He remembered the swell of her proud, high breasts and the slender curves of her hips that flared out from her tiny waist.  Would she be as passionate in bed as she seemed to be with everything else?  His body responded to thoughts of Nicki and he groaned.

    
             
Damn, he didn't need this blasted distraction, nor did he want it.

    
             
Nicollette Duplantier represented everything he was opposed to. 

Everything that he tried to undo when he donned his black garb to relieve surrounding plantations of their "burden" of excess slaves.  Of all their slaves.

She was an outsider to his world.  She was an amethyst-eyed, Creole

vixen, who thought nothing of the wrongs of holding another human being in bondage.  She and her family stood for everything he hated by continuing their way of life at any cost.  Even murder.

    
             
But more sickening than that was the fact that she was a Duplantier.  Certain that Nicollette's brother murdered his wife, he was just as certain that Nicollette was a spoiled brat, who expected the world to bow at her feet.

    
             
Yet, he couldn't forget the sight of her beautiful face and the tilt of her chin.  Or those wide eyes, flashing defiance the moment she saw the contemptuous look he gave her when they spoke of the slavery issue.  Another woman should have, nay,
would
have been frightened, but not Nicollette Duplantier.  His ardent thoughts of her should’ve been quelled when he confirmed the fact that she was definitely a Duplantier.  To his dismay, it did little to temper them.

    
             
All reasoning left him now and he couldn't think of a base enough punishment for Ricard Duplantier!  He kept reminding himself the beautiful, young Creole woman was Duplantier's sister.

    
             
Thinking Nicki might be of use to him in sniffing Ricard out of wherever he hid, unwarranted guilt assailed Jared.  She was so young.  Despite their sparring, he knew she truly liked him.

    
             
'Twas more than that.  'Twas genuine attraction.  He didn't want Nicki hurt in any way.  Especially not by him.  Anguish seared his heart and a terrible sense of bitterness suddenly assailed him.  Had it not been for Nicollette's miserable brother, Patricia would still be alive.  Nonetheless, she awakened something inside him that had lain dormant since Patricia's death.

    
             
As he put the memory out of his mind, Angus placed the scotch before him.

"It's about bloody time."  Jared glanced at the timepiece on his desk. 

"I've waited for almost twenty minutes."

Without responding, Angus stepped back to await further instructions.

    
             
"What the deuce do ye want now, Angus?"

    
             
"I dinna wan' ennathin', master.  I stan' before ye as yer servant," Angus said in a thick, Scottish burr.  Though he'd been in America fifteen years, he’d lost nothing of his native speech.

    
             
Jared glimpsed up from his chair at him and took in a deep breath.  "Forgive me, Angus."   He passed his hand across his brow.  "I am tired and I shouldn't take it out on ye."

    
             
"Why are ye noot 'appy, sir?  Did ye 'ave problems at the Duplantiers?"

Remembering Nicollette, Jared let out a sigh.

    
             
"The Duplantier lass, the one ye met on the boat, upset ye, master?"

    
             
"A little bit, Angus.  She's more beautiful than 'tis necessary for any woman to be.  More outspoken and bold than most women would think of being.  But she's the sister of Patricia's murderer."  Jared worked the lines in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

Angus gazed at him with fear and understanding, believing his quest was destroying him.  But he’d been in service at the Fleming house for thirty-five years, three years before Jared's birth, and understood Jared's need for retribution.  Only then could Jared have peace.  "Mayhap a bath willa put master in a betta frame."

"Aye, Angus.  Perhaps a bath would be relaxing."

    
             
"Aye," Angus agreed and left to heat the water.

    
             
Taking off his coat, Jared leaned back in his chair, weary to his bones.  He was tired of it all.  The only thing that kept him going was his insatiable thirst for vengeance.

He tried to put Nicki out of his mind.

'Twas impossible.  Nicollette was fire, a beacon of light to forever burn

brightly in his soul.  Patricia had been gentle strength, unobtrusive and compliant, and would forever hold a place in his heart.  Nicollette, a slave owner's daughter, was everything he didn't need; and suddenly everything he wanted.

    
             
A knock sounded on the door and Jared stood, thinking Angus was fetching him for his bath.  "Enter."

    
             
"Milord," his housemaid, Mary Douglas said, entering the room.  For her

large size she was quite agile, curtsying with a slight, quick dip of her knees.

    
             
Jared rolled his eyes heavenward in defeat and resignation.  All his servants had been told, even warned, never to address him by his title of lord.  Either Mary Douglas was daft or it pleased her to disregard his request.  Jared found himself constantly reminding her that in America, he was not Highland Laird Jared Fleming, Seventh Earl of Lismore, but simply Jared Fleming.  Master, if ye will.  But never lord.  "What is it, Mary?" he asked in exasperation.

"I dinna mean tae say it again, Master Jared," Mary said, catching the

look on his face.  "It jus' slipped oot.  I'll try tae do betta."

    
             
"Aye, Mary.  Do try to do better," Jared responded, not entirely unkind.  "What is it ye want?"

    
             
"Do ye wan' the lamb stew or the beef roast tae sup on taenight, master?"

    
             
"Ah, what a choice ye've given me, Mary.  How can I pass up either?" He smiled at her.  "Make the choice for me.  I know I'll enjoy either one ye choose."

    
             
Mary grinned a wide, toothy grin.  "Aye.  Methinks both dishes willa be much satisfying."

"Aye, Mary," Jared agreed, laughing, "most satisfying."

Angus appeared in the doorway.  "Master Jared, ye ba' is ready."

    
             
"Thank ye, Angus," Jared said, glancing at Mary Douglas.  "I shall look forward to tonight's fare, Mary." 

    
             
Following Angus to his bedchamber, he again thought of Nicki Duplantier.

    
             
The scotch Jared had drunk warded off the slight chill of the dimly lit hallway, but it did nothing to alleviate the cold contempt sinking to the depths of him.  Now he knew.  With unerring clarity and piercing reality, he knew.  The tide of his quest had shifted.

    
             
Advice had been given to Jared.  Pleas had been made.  Alternatives had been formed.  Give up his search for Ricard, his friend, Morgan Turner, had counseled.  If Jared continued, it would lead to naught but self-destruction and personal defeat.

It seems Morgan had been correct.

    
             
Never would Jared be the same.  Today at Crescent Wood his life had been irreparably changed.  Nicollette--tempest, temptress...Jared laughed harshly, unreasonable anger stalking through him.

Nicollette--tempest, temptress--and tormentor.

6

   
             
The next evening, finished with his evening meal in the dining area, Jared stood in the doorway of the sitting room of Mespero's where the pungent scent of cigar smoke hung heavily in the air.  After ordering a scotch, he sat in one of the leather chairs, wondering what his next move should be with the Duplantiers.

    
             
"
Monsieur
Fleming?"

    
             
Above the din of booming voices and loud bursts of laughter, the sound of his name cut into his senses.  Jared peered up, draining his glass.

"It is you! I'm
Monsieur
Aupre. 
Monsieur
Louis Aupre."

Squinting his eyes, Jared looked vacantly at the man.

"
Monsieur
,
monsieur
.  The boat.  The Creole Belle."

How could he forget this man? 'Twas because of him he didn't go to

Nicollette when he saw her on deck.  He laughed.  "Of course! Louis Aupre. 'Tis a pleasure to see ye again."

    
             
"
Monsieur
, please.  There are some people I want you to meet," Louis said, sweeping his hand in the direction where seven men sat at a table playing cards.

    
             
Setting his glass down on the server in front of the leather chair, Jared stood and followed Louis to the table.

    
             
"
Messieurs
," Louis said, upon reaching the players.  "I would like you to meet my new found friend, Jared Fleming."  He went around the table, introducing each man individually to Jared.  "To your left, Jared, is
Monsieur
Andre Dumaine, to his left is
Monsieur
Henri Robicheaux.  Next to him is
Monsieur
Allain Deveraux.  At the center is
Monsieur
Charles Duplantier.  Next to
Monsieur
Duplantier is
Monsieur
Pierre Charbonnet.  And the other two gentlemen are
Messieurs
Phillipe Dureau and Jacques Hebert."