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Stand-in Bride









 

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Stand-in Bride
By
Carole Halston

Contents





Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten












"I Can See Only One Solution," he
said, eyeing her speculatively. "You can take
Angela's place."

Nicole sprang to her feet, her dark eyes huge with
disbelief. "I can't marry you!"

"Why not?" he asked curtly. "Being my wife certainly
offers certain advantages."

"Of all the nerve!" she blazed at him, her hands pressed
to her crimson cheeks. She burned with humiliation at the
cold-bloodedness of his proposal.

"Before you rush off in a blaze of righteous indignation,"
he said, "I suggest you consider the advantages of my proposal. You
said last night you would do anything—I
believe that was your exact word—to help your brother."


CAROLE
HALSTON is the wife of a sea captain, and writes her stories while her
husband is out at sea. Her characters frequently share her own love of
nature and enjoyment of active outdoor sports.


Dear Reader:

Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing venture.
We will be presenting the very finest writers of contemporary romantic
fiction as well as outstanding new talent in this field. It is our hope
that our stories, our heroes and our heroines will give you, the
reader, all you want from romantic fiction.

Also, you play an important part in
our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or
comments on our books and I invite you to write to us at the address
below.

So, enjoy this book and all the
wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!

Karen Solem

Editor-in-Chief

Silhouette Books

P.O. Box 769

New York, N.Y. 10019


Copyright © 1981 by Silhouette Books,
a Simon
& Schuster Division of Gulf & Western Corporation

Map
copyright © 1981 by Tony Ferrara

ISBN: 0-671-57062-5

First Silhouette printing February, 1981



Chapter One





Nicole glanced nervously at the clock shaped like an
old-fashioned iron skillet and then back to the young man slumped over
at the kitchen table. Discouragement etched every line of his listless
posture and dulled the fine dark eyes that were so like her own.

"Andrew, dear, I know things look hopeless to you right
now, but the important thing is—" Her voice broke
traitorously. "You're alive."

Tears filled her eyes at the painful memory of the funeral
for her father just two weeks ago. Goodness knows, she couldn't afford
to submit to the dull ache of misery. She felt like slumping down
beside Andrew at the plain, white-painted table and wailing her
anguished question: "Why? Why?"

But she had to remain strong, and the clock reminded her
of the wedding rehearsal that was to take place in just twenty minutes.

"Sure, I'm alive," Andrew countered bitterly, "but I might
as well be dead. Like Dad!" His composure failed
him as his young face twisted in grief and his shoulders shook with
deep, choking sobs. He had moved numbly, almost like a sleepwalker
unaware of his surroundings, through those days following the violent
storm that had snatched away the life of their father and destroyed
their big wooden fishing trawler, leaving Andrew clinging to a piece of
refuse for hours until he was finally rescued by another boat.

"Andrew Baronne, don't say that!" Nicole protested
sharply. "Don't ever say that. God may punish you—" Her voice
broke at the blazing fire in her brother's tear-reddened eyes. She had
spoken automatically, without thinking, the words welling up out of a
background of religious teaching at parochial schools.

"Seems to me He's already done a pretty good job of
fouling things up," Andrew said angrily, brushing away the tears from
his face with harsh movements of his callused young hands.

Nicole's heart constricted unbearably as he continued.
"You know as well as I do the insurance money's not enough to buy
another boat, even an old wooden one like we had. What bank's going to
lend that kind of money to a twenty-year-old?" He shook his head in
despair at the truth of his own argument. "I'm looking at five to
seven years of hard work on somebody else's boat, unless I can get my
hands on some big money."

The cold anger in his last words filled Nicole with
foreboding. In Andrew's distraught condition, he might do something
foolish, something to ruin his whole life. She felt so helpless, so
terribly inadequate to alleviate his enormous problems. If only there
was something she could do! Anything!

Meanwhile, another quick look at the clock revealed she
had only fifteen minutes to get over to the church for the rehearsal.
Andrew intercepted her nervous glance and said with cutting irony,
"Better not keep your rich friends waiting. Say, why couldn't you
be the one marrying Louis Chauvin? That'd take care of all our
problems."

"Don't be silly," Nicole scolded gently. "I could never
fit into that kind of life. Angela and Louis are meant for each other."

"Maybe so, but she sure doesn't act like someone about to
get married till death do us part," he said scathingly. "She's been
running around all over the country with Lord What's-His-Name!"

"That's just vicious gossip," defended Nicole
automatically, glad Andrew's mind had been diverted somewhat from his
bleak prospects. With a quick kiss on his smooth, tanned forehead, she
hurried out to the battered old Chevrolet her father had bought when it
was new.

She tried to shrug aside a vague uneasiness aroused by
Andrew's comment about Angela and Gregory Benton, the sophisticated
Englishman she had seemed to consider a fascinating escort during the
last few weeks. In spite of the nearness of his wedding date, Louis
Chauvin had spent little time in Iberville, the old southern Louisiana
town located in the heart of the sugarcane-growing region. Angela
hadn't seemed to mind her fiancé's absence during the weeks preceding
their wedding. She had merely shrugged and pouted prettily. "Louis is
no fun anyway. All he ever thinks about is that dirty old sugar
business."

Such remarks had been very strange to Nicole, who harbored
very old-fashioned notions about marriage. She had observed her former
classmate very closely, trying to detect some underlying seriousness,
some telltale sign of love for the man she planned to marry. But Angela
had flitted blithely through the preparations for her wedding with the
same lighthearted abandon she had shown the previous year when she was
Mardi Gras queen of one of the prestigious old carnival clubs, called krewes,
in New Orleans.

Nicole parked the old white Chevrolet outside the Sacred
Heart Church in the middle of Iberville, noticing ruefully how it
contrasted with the other sleek automobiles. She didn't fit in at all
with the other participants in Angela's wedding, but the headstrong
Angela had been insistent: "You're the only person in the world who
accepts me for what I really am. Besides, you're
a perfect contrast to me with those huge dark
eyes and your hair pulled straight back in that old-fashioned style!"

She had circled Nicole's waist and pulled her over in
front of a full-length mirror. "Look!" she commanded, her cheeks
flushed with lovely color, her blue eyes sparkling with exhilaration.

Angela was a storybook princess with satin blond hair
curling loosely about her face, exquisite white skin, and wide blue
eyes. In contrast, Nicole felt drab and plain with her heavy brown hair
parted in the center and pulled back into a loose coil at the nape of
her slender neck. She was unaware of the natural grace with which she
held her head and the expressive movements of her hands when she spoke
in her low, musical voice with its faint Cajun French accent. She would
have been surprised if someone had told her she had an ethereal beauty
that increased rather than diminished on closer examination.

As always, Angela had her own way, whatever her reasons.
Nicole knew from past experience that her lovely, pampered friend
couldn't bear to have her will opposed and could make life unpleasant
for all around her when it was. It was simply easier to give in to
Angela's wishes than to incur her displeasure. Against her better
judgment, Nicole had reluctantly agreed to be Angela's maid of honor,
her final hesitation swept away by Angela's insistence that she would
provide all the necessary wardrobe for the teas and parties as well as
for the ceremony itself.

Angela had pulled Nicole over to her capacious walk-in
closet. "Here! Take whatever you want. The rest will go to the Junior
League, anyway." She gestured to a whole section of beautiful clothes
she had set aside to be discarded.

And so, for the next hour, Nicole had tried on evening
gowns and dresses while Angela gave her critical opinions. In spite of
her reluctance to accept the lovely garments, Nicole delighted in the
beauty of the lustrous fabrics and the excellent styling. Her cheeks
flushed with pleasure at the sight of herself in sleek clothes she
could never have afforded to buy.

For the final rehearsal and the dinner party afterward she
was wearing a severely simple beige shirtwaist dress of silk jersey
with long sleeves and a softly pleated skirt. Angela hadn't actually
insisted Nicole wear this particular dress tonight, but she had
suggested several times that it would be appropriate. Nicole thought it
was extremely plain for the festivities following the rehearsal, but
she instinctively bowed to Angela's taste in such matters.

Hurrying into the vestibule of the church, she found
everyone waiting for her and apologized breathlessly for being late.
Her slight embarrassment at having all eyes fastened upon her was only
heightened by Angela's exclamation: "Nicole, darling, that plain style
fits you perfectly. It never did anything for me!"

Nicole's cheeks burned with humiliation at the revealing
remark. Now everyone present knew without a doubt she was wearing
Angela's cast-off clothes.

At that moment Nicole became aware of Louis Chauvin
standing tall and detached over to one side. His unreadable blue eyes
swept over her with a scrutiny that evoked a painful emotion blended of
humiliation and resentment. She fought an overpowering urge to turn and
flee those eyes that awakened in her a consciousness of her body that
she had never before experienced.

What was he thinking? she wondered. Did Louis Chauvin
regard her as an intruder, an opportunist hanging on to favors from his
beautiful and wealthy fiancée? Nicole cringed at the thought.
Fortunately, Angela made some remark to pivot the attention back to
herself, and Nicole's discomfiture eased as she found herself forgotten
in the background.

Her sense of propriety was jolted at the daring of
Angela's dress, a luscious mint-green creation with a low-cut neckline
that afforded a generous view of her rounded breasts. Nicole glanced
down thoughtfully at the modest lines of her own dress, remembering
Angela's remark about Nicole's being a perfect foil. Was that the
reason Angela had insisted she be in the wedding, even though she
obviously was out of her social depth? Angela's marriage was certain to
get top-priority attention in the New Orleans society pages as well as
in the local newspapers.

Suddenly everyone was looking at Nicole again, and she
realized she had been so engrossed in her own puzzled thoughts she was
oblivious to what had just been said.

"Nicole, you be the substitute bride," Angela was
instructing. "Surely you know by now your routine for the real thing
tomorrow," she said flippantly, anticipating Nicole's protest. The
flash of temper in Angela's eyes and the slight tightening of her full
lips made it evident to everyone that she would not be crossed; she
would have things her own way regardless of what was customary.

"Greggy, you be the bridegroom," she commanded the suave
man who was the focus of the recent gossip to which Andrew had alluded
earlier. Gregory Benton was of slight build, with sandy-colored hair
and light blue eyes, now ablaze with mockery in response to the impish
tone in Angela's voice that seemed to dare him to refuse.

"My pleasure," he said smoothly, stepping forward to smile
into Nicole's dark eyes. "My dear, you make a lovely bride," he said,
placing his hand lightly on the small of her back.

"Don't get any ideas about Nicole," Angela said sharply.
"Her secret ambition is to be a nun."

Nicole flushed in angry embarrassment at the titters of
amusement following Angela's barbed comment. How dare she blurt out a
confidence shared in a rare moment of schoolgirl intimacy!

Nicole had been one of the few pupils at the exclusive St.
Therese's School for Girls who did not come from a wealthy Louisiana
family. Her tuition was paid out of a trust fund established by a rich
parishioner of the church she attended. Her gratitude for the
opportunity to attend the well-established, first-rate Catholic girls'
school had instilled in Nicole an urge to do something generous in
return, to perform some service for mankind.

It was in that spirit that she had confided to Angela her
admiration for the dedicated nuns. Nicole had been flattered to have
the dazzling Angela Peltier seek her out for a friend and confidante.
After a mutual baring of some of each girl's most private feelings,
Nicole had dared to mention, hesitantly, her innermost ambition,
inchoate though it was. Even then Angela's giggle of derision had made
Nicole regret the fleeting confidence.

Gregory Benton's hand pressed reassuringly against
Nicole's back as he protested jokingly, "There are plenty of ugly girls
to take the holy vows. Nicole is much too beautiful for that calling."
The laughter following his irreverent witticism released the tension,
and everyone concentrated on the matter at hand, the final rehearsal.

A marked change had come over Angela at a few low words
from the tall, imposing man she would meet at the altar tomorrow. The
vague uneasiness Nicole had felt that afternoon driving to the church
persisted. She sensed a disturbing restlessness and impatience in
Angela, who made low comments to her fiancé while her eyes followed
every movement made by Gregory Benton. What words of Louis Chauvin had
caused that sharp little frown on Angela's pretty forehead and that
stubborn set of her lips? Nicole wondered if he had intercepted the
rumors about Angela and her titled escort. Was he censuring her for
behavior not appropriate for the future Mrs. Louis Chauvin?



Later that evening Nicole gave an inexplicable little
shiver as she observed Louis Chauvin at the party held, contrary to
custom because of special circumstances, at Angela's lovely home. He
was a sternly handsome man with crisp black hair and probing blue eyes.
Probably in his mid-thirties, he was at least twelve years older than
Angela and Nicole. Maybe his age accounted for the aura of total
mastery he exuded. It was common knowledge that he had assumed control
of the family business interests after his parents had gone down in a
disastrous airplane crash about five years ago. Those business
interests included huge sugarcane farms and sugar refineries as well as
other investments, all of which seemed to require a great deal of
travel. Nicole knew he still maintained the gorgeous old antebellum
home called Mimosa House and was guardian of his young sister, Elaine,
who had been about seven or eight years old when their parents died.

"And may I have this dance before you make any rash
decisions to enter the convent?" a smooth voice cut into her
reflections, and Gregory Benton led her out on the dance floor. "These
Southern moneyed aristocrats certainly know how to do things up
properly," he observed in his clipped accent, his amused glance taking
in the splendor of chandeliers glittering overhead and the orchestra
situated on a carpeted dais at the far end of the room.

The man definitely had charm, Nicole had to admit as she
relaxed in his arms and laughed at the witty comments he directed at
various unsuspecting guests gorging themselves at the lace-draped
refreshment tables. She could understand. Angela's enjoyment of his
droll company, but in Nicole's opinion he paled considerably in
comparison to Louis Chauvin. It was like placing a lightweight sponge
beside a granite boulder.

The music having ended, Nicole found herself and Greg
standing next to Angela and the man Nicole had been comparing to a
solid rock. Angela looked cuttingly at Nicole and said petulantly,
"Greg, darling, you've been dominating the maid of honor and ignoring
the bride. Dance with me."

The music resumed and for an awkward moment Nicole and the
tall, stern man beside her watched Angela and Greg glide away in a
close embrace. What had happened, Nicole wondered, to change Louis
Chauvin from the urbanely charming man he had been a few short months
ago at the engagement party to this sober, unsmiling person who didn't
look at all the way a prospective bridegroom should look? Had he heard
the snide rumors about Angela and Greg Benton? Was he having second
thoughts about the marriage that would take place in less than
twenty-four hours?

Suddenly he appeared to become aware of his surroundings
and of Nicole poised uncertainly beside him. The frown on his brow
smoothed and he suggested politely, "Shall we?"

Heart pounding with nervousness, Nicole moved stiffly into
his arms. He held her carefully for a few seconds, then suddenly drew
her closer, commanding in a low voice, "Relax."

Surprisingly, she did relax, and gradually her body became
perfectly attuned to his as they moved in unison to the slow music.
Closing her eyes in an instinctive repudiation of her immediate
surroundings, she sank deeper and deeper into a world where there was
nothing but the hard closeness of his lean body, the aromatic sweetness
of tobacco clinging to his clothing, the cleanly masculine scent of
aftershave lotion—all intensified by the haunting melody of
the old love song the orchestra was playing.

Dancing had never been like that for her before, and she
was too enslaved by her total sensory responses to marvel that this was
happening to her, Nicole Baronne, in the arms of the man who would in a
few short hours become Angela's husband. At the moment she could only
wish that this blissful feeling wouldn't have to end.

"Thank you," he murmured against her hair. "That was
lovely." She opened her eyes abruptly, her face flaming with the sudden
realization that the song was over and she was still standing in the
close circle of his arms, oblivious to reality.

"Oh!" she murmured, breaking away from him with every
intention of bolting to hide her embarrassment. As if reading her
impulse, he grasped her arm and escorted her off the dancing area to
the perimeter of the large room crowded with talking, laughing people.
She struggled to regain her poise as he guided her through tall French
doors opening out upon a broad veranda along the side of the house.
"Shall we brave the mosquitoes and escape this bedlam for a few
seconds?" he asked, not waiting for an answer.

Nicole was grateful for the cool darkness and leaned
forward, bracing her hands on the railing, which was damp with evening
dew. She was still adrift in an alien sea of unsettling emotions
aroused in her body by that brief dance with her friend's future
husband.

After courteously obtaining her permission, he lighted his
pipe, releasing a heavenly cloud of that aromatic tobacco smoke Nicole
had detected earlier when her face was pressed close against his
shoulder. During the brief moment when his lighter flamed, illuminating
the lean, hard contours of his features, his eyes locked with hers in
an electric contact that set Nicole's body atremble. He snapped the
lighter closed with a click and dragged deeply on the pipe, causing the
tobacco to glow scarlet and gold.

Nicole ventured to break the silence. "Angela's probably
looking for you."

"I doubt it," he answered shortly.

The night chorus of raucous insect sounds closed around
them, the familiar cacophony a deafening roar to Nicole's heightened
senses. Dimly she could hear the laughter and music in the room behind
them. She felt again that disorientation of a traveler who awakens in
an alien land stripped of all familiar landmarks. It was a ridiculous
sensation now, and she cleared her throat with determination, breaking
the spell.

"Will you and Angela live in Iberville after you're
married?"

She could feel his shrug of indifference. "Perhaps." Then
he took her completely unawares. "I'm sorry to hear about your father.
It's good of you to carry on with this wedding business under the
circumstances." He questioned her gently about the recent tragedy, his
sympathy so genuine in the dim intimacy of the veranda that Nicole
found herself telling him about the terrible accident and her brother's
bitterness, which made her fear he might do something really foolish.

"I would do anything to help
Andrew," she was saying, when suddenly the French doors behind them
burst open spilling golden light and sounds of
revelry.

"So here you two are!" came gay
voices, ending the brief interlude.

Nicole felt mingled relief and regret. Her common sense
told her that after tomorrow Louis Chauvin would move forever outside
the narrow boundaries of her life. He and Angela would go away to the
British Virgin Islands on their honeymoon, and she would have to see
about getting a full-time job to support herself now that her father
was gone.

After high school she had chosen to stay at home and keep
house and cook for her father and younger brother, at the same time
working part time at the local library to earn money for her personal
needs. She had tried her best to make the small cottage into a home for
the three of them. Her reward had been the gleam of appreciation in her
father's eyes and the warmth in his voice on those rare occasions when
he would express his emotion with words.

"Your mamma would be so proud if she
could see her little Nicole now." His face would soften with that
faraway expression, and Nicole would know he was remembering the woman
who could never be replaced in his affection after all these years.
She'd died in an influenza epidemic when Nicole was a small
child…

As Nicole allowed herself to be swept back into the
ballroom, she looked around for Angela, half expecting to see her
flirting with her latest conquest, the urbane Gregory Benton, but there
was no sign of either of them. Oh, dear, had Angela grown angry at her
fiancé's disappearance? Not that Angela could ever
have reason to be jealous of her.

Suddenly she felt drained and leaden. The last week had
been too much of a strain for her to keep up the outward pretense of
enjoying herself. Besides, deep down she wanted to be alone and relive
those magic moments tonight when she floated in Louis Chauvin's strong
arms and later when they were alone on the veranda. Not that there was
any future in such recollections, Nicole knew, but she would treasure
them in the lonely days ahead. Not even Angela could take away Nicole's
memories.

She skirted the crowd and located Angela's mother and
father. They stood together, so engrossed in a serious conversation
that they seemed oblivious to her approach.

"It's not right—she can't
just go off at a time like this—" Mrs. Peltier's voice broke
off in midsentence as she finally took notice of her daughter's maid of
honor hesitating close by.

Nicole said goodnight quickly and departed, wondering
what had happened to cause that look of concern bordering on panic on
the faces of Angela's parents.

Chapter Two






Nicole awoke early to a quiet house. A quick survey of
Andrew's room showed it exactly the way it had been last night when she
had arrived home: the bed still neatly made and unslept in. Where had
he been all night? Heavy with worry for her brother, so young and so
vulnerable at this difficult time in his life, she brewed a pot of
strong black coffee and took her steaming mug out to the small back
porch overlooking the vegetable garden.

Sitting down on the top step in the early morning
sunshine, she noticed that the okra would soon be ready to pick. Then,
with a little moan of remembrance, she realized that her father would
never again walk with tired steps into the homey kitchen and lift the
pot lid on the old iron Dutch oven, bending forward to sniff deeply the
rich aroma of stewed tomatoes and okra seasoned with ham trimmings the
way he loved them. It was little day-to-day things like that she would
miss so terribly.

The unshed tears blurred her vision as she gazed at the
neat rows of vegetables. Somehow it was wrong for
everything to look so normal on this glorious June morning. The
mockingbirds flitted tirelessly in the branches of the oak tree in the
far corner of the fenced back yard; the sun's delicate rays caressed
the thriving garden plants whose leaves rustled in the refreshing
morning breeze. The natural harmony all around Nicole seemed a callous
affront in view of her own depression.

The ringing of the telephone roused her from her lethargy.
"Oh, no!" she cried, panic rising from the instant fear that something
might have happened to Andrew! She jerked open the screen door, leaving
it to slam behind her as she ran to the wall telephone in the kitchen.

"Yes?" she managed to whisper into the black plastic
receiver, her heart pounding with fright.

"Nicole, did I waken you?" came the smooth voice of
Angela's mother.

"Oh, Mrs. Peltier, it's you!" Nicole
breathed, her body sagging weakly against the wall in relief.

"I apologize for calling you so early, dear, but could you
come over right away?"

"Of course. Has something gone wrong?" Now that her fright
had abated, Nicole detected a strange note in Mrs. Peltier's calm voice.

"I'll explain everything after you arrive. Please come
right over."

Nicole stood holding the receiver in her hand seconds
after the small click had released the impersonal buzz of the dial
tone. Now what? she wondered dully.

She slipped on tailored navy slacks and a cotton knit top
of bold red and white stripes. She knew her father's opinions about the
living mourning the dead, and he would have heartily approved her
selection of crisp colors that seemed to have a soothing effect on the
turbulence of her emotions.



Half an hour later she sat in the library of the Peltiers'
rambling old Louisiana mansion, staring with shocked disbelief at the
other three people in the room.

"Angela left?" she repeated
foolishly. "But she's getting married at one o'clock this afternoon."

Mary Peltier sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, her
face pale beneath its layer of perfectly applied makeup. Her clothing
and hair arrangement were impeccable, as always. She looked up from the
piece of paper she held in one manicured hand.

"I suppose her father and I are much to blame," she said
in her composed voice, as if she were analyzing the failure of one of
her many charity organizations to raise the expected amount of funds.
"We have always spoiled her. She always looked like a little angel when
she was pleased."

Nicole's thoughts whirled and her heart twisted with pity
at the shamed look on Mr. Peltier's normally jocund face. How could
Angela bring such embarrassment upon the two people who loved her so
devotedly? According to the scrawled note, she had realized last night
that she wasn't ready to tie herself down with marriage. It would be a
terrible mistake right now, so she'd decided to go away somewhere for a
few months to think. She'd be in touch with her parents; they weren't
to worry about her, because Greg Benton had kindly agreed to go along
and look out for her. She'd signed "Love, Your Angel."

Nicole's eyes strayed to the tall, implacable back of
Louis Chauvin, who stood gazing out the window beyond which the wide
lawn sloped gently down to the brown currents of the bayou. She'd
caught a glimpse of his face when she first entered the room, and it
had resembled a carved wooden mask, his eyes smoldering with suppressed
emotion. He had not spoken one word during the Peltiers' mortified
explanation that their daughter had bolted the evening before, leaving
her parents and fiancé the enormous task of canceling the elaborate
wedding proceedings.

How would they be able to inform all the guests just hours
before the wedding? Nicole felt dazed with the unexpectedness of it
all, but she was beginning to wonder why she had
been the one to be called in like this. Where were the other
bridesmaids and attendants? They were all more a part of the Peltiers'
social world than Nicole could ever be. What did they expect of her?

"I'll be glad to help telephone people, if you'll just

give me a list of the guests," she offered quietly, stifling

the spontaneous impulse to apologize for Angela's

deplorable behavior, knowing intuitively they would

resent any criticism of their beloved daughter even at

this time.

Mary Peltier glanced nervously at the rigid figure of the
man her daughter had deserted practically at the altar. As though
sensing her glance, at that moment Louis Chauvin turned, his shoulders
squared, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. Nicole noticed
quite irrelevantly that the soft gray fabric molded the taut muscles of
his thighs. She quaked inwardly at the controlled fury in his eyes as
they raked across the three of them facing him in uncertainty.

"The wedding will not be canceled,"
he announced coldly, looking straight into Nicole's eyes with an
intensity that made her hotly uncomfortable. As puzzling as his words
were under the circumstances, they fitted her image of him, a proud and
formidable man who would not take public humiliation lightly.

Following the thunderous silence during which everyone in
the room seemed to be holding their breath, Mary Peltier stood up,
smoothing her crisp skirt with restless hands. She looked questioningly
at her husband, who gave a barely perceptible nod before he spoke to
the tall man towering before the window. Nicole felt vaguely that some
prearranged sign was being exchanged among the other three people
present.

"We will go along with you, Louis, whatever
you decide. I don't have to tell you how apologetic I feel at this
moment. Your parents and Mary and I always looked forward to the day
when their son and our daughter…" His voice drifted off into
a deep sigh. Then, with an inscrutable glance at Nicole, he led his
wife from the room.

As the door closed soundlessly behind them, Nicole's
pulses throbbed with apprehension. She felt completely out of her
depth, unable to comprehend the currents of communication between
Angela's father and this stern man facing her. What was her
role in this alarming state of affairs? What did any of this have to do
with her? The questions crowded her mind in a
confused jumble, making rational thought impossible.

"What do you—how can you…" she
murmured incoherently.

"What you're asking is how can there be a wedding without
a bride," he cut in harshly.

She nodded mutely, trying in vain to tear her eyes away
from his compelling gaze, his blue eyes darkened with emotion in a way
she found most disquieting.

"I can see only one solution," he said, eying her
speculatively. "You can take Angela's place."

"What!" Nicole sprang to her feet,
dark eyes huge with disbelief. "You're out of your mind! I can't marry you!"

"Why not?" he said curtly. "Perhaps it's conceited of me
to think so, but being my wife certainly offers some advantages over
hiding yourself away in a convent. Such a life may be commendable for
the right woman, but not for you." He paused slightly. "It is
fortunate, too, that you can wear the wedding dress."

"Of all the gall!" she blazed at
him, her hands pressed to crimson cheeks. She burned with humiliation
at the cold-bloodedness of his proposal, the insulting implication that
she was a nonentity with no plans, no life of importance, just a
convenience to enable him to save face rather than cancel his wedding.
Why, the very suggestion that she take Angela's place was
arrogant—even barbaric.

"Before you rush off in a blaze of righteous
indignation," he said coldly, "I suggest you consider the advantages
of my proposal. You suggested last night you would" do
anything—I believe those were your exact words—to
help your brother. I'm prepared to advance your brother the money he
requires to purchase a new, up-to-date fishing boat with all the
latest equipment. He can repay me over a long period.

"All I ask of you in return—in addition to the
general supervision of the staff at Mimosa House—is that you
take charge of Elaine. She's twelve now and needs the influence of a
woman. I was hoping—"

Nicole completed the sentence in her mind. He had been
hoping Angela would take an interest in his young sister. He looked at
her expectantly, waiting for her response. She felt a sense of panic at
the responsibilities of the life he so calmly outlined. Nothing in her
background had prepared her to be the mistress of one of the oldest and
most historic homes in the whole of southern Louisiana. She struggled
desperately against the current of change sweeping her away from the
familiarity of her old circumscribed existence.

"You're forgetting one person in this neat little plan of
yours," she protested with a note of hysteria in her voice. "Andrew
would have his boat, you would save face in front of all your friends
and get a companion for your sister in the process, but what about me?"

"What about you?" He shrugged. "What
are your alternatives? The tedium of a low-paying job, with the
possibility of marrying some local young man. I'm offering you all the
advantages of being Mrs. Louis Chauvin, including a beautiful home, a
comfortable allowance for your personal needs, and the opportunity to
give your brother a future. Frankly, I fail to see how I'm doing you an
injustice," he said.

How clever of him to emphasize her ability to rescue
Andrew from the dangers facing a young man filled with bitterness at
what he considered the inequities of life. How could she ever forgive
herself if she denied Andrew this rare opportunity out of selfish
consideration of herself, and then something terrible happened to him.
She admitted with a rueful little insight that Louis Chauvin hadn't been wrong in assessing the
limitations of her own future. She had no education beyond her
excellent high-school studies, and her only work experience outside of
her varied domestic duties was that of part-time library assistant.

He watched her inner struggle with perceptive eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "Well, have you decided?"

She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and replied
evenly, "I have decided to accept your proposal."

He relaxed slightly at her words. "Good. That's settled,
then. I'll take care of everything while you go home and pack whatever
you wish to move to Mimosa House. Don't worry about the legal
complications— money talks," he said cynically.

She bit her lips, mustering the courage to speak her one
condition. How could she tell him she wouldn't— couldn't
bear, under the circumstances… She faltered even in her
attempt to frame the reservation in her mind. He noted her agitation
and a swift expression of comprehension flashed in his eyes.

"I see," he drawled mockingly. "Your chaste instincts are
offended by the sexual obligations of marriage. Most women don't find
me physically repulsive, but I can assure you I do not intend to enter
your bedroom by force!"

Chapter Three






Four months later Nicole's memories of her wedding day
formed a kaleidoscope of vivid scenes. The blank incredulity on
Andrew's face changing quickly to hope as she explained honestly the
turn of events that would alter his future and hers for the better. The
image of herself as she stood in front of the full-length gilt-framed
mirror in Angela's bedroom staring at the exquisite stranger in
sumptuous wedding regalia. The almost funereal atmosphere in the
limousine on the ride to the church with Mr. Peltier, who, true to his
word, supported Louis Chauvin in his decision to take a substitute
bride—right down to walking down the aisle with Nicole. The
sea of faces, turned to watch the bride, gradually contorting with
shock as the realization undulated through the assembly: "That
isn't Angela!"

She remembered that strange floating sensation as she
proceeded down the. long, carpeted aisle to stand beside the tall,
remote man whose eyes kindled with a strange flame when she dared to
look directly at him as she repeated the sacred vows of marriage. Then
there was the shock of his firm mouth pressed against hers before they
retreated hurriedly back up the long aisle, with her clinging
desperately to the hard rock of his arm.

He had ignored the limousine with the uniformed chauffeur
waiting in readiness, guiding her instead around the corner of the
church to his pale blue Mercedes. Inside the car she had collapsed
against the smooth leather upholstery with a convulsive little shudder.

"It's done," he said with grim satisfaction. In a terse,
clipped voice he explained that they would bypass the reception, going
directly to Mimosa House instead, where she would be safely secluded
from wagging tongues and curious eyes until the sensation of their
wedding had died down. Meanwhile she could become acquainted with the
Holdens, the middle-aged couple who maintained Mimosa House, and have
some time to get to know Elaine, who fortunately was at home on summer
vacation and would be spared the curiosity of her classmates.

"The newspapers will have a field day with this," he said
bitterly, "but as far as they're concerned, the happy couple are
honeymooning in the British Virgin Islands."

Nicole still flushed scarlet every time she remembered
the mocking look Louis had flung her at the mention of the hypothetical
honeymoon. He had certainly been true to his word, she reflected
ruefully, as she stepped over to her dressing table to brush her
waist-length hair. There was little chance he could demand his rights
as a husband when she hadn't seen him since the day of the wedding. On
the few occasions when she had spoken to him on the telephone, he was
as polite and courteous as a well-mannered stranger.

She bent forward now and vigorously brushed the mass of
dark hair streaming over her shoulders. The length and thickness of her
hair had never been a problem before, but since taking up tennis she'd
seriously considered a shorter hairstyle.

She could hear the rapid crack of the tennis ball's
contact with the center of the racquet strings as Adrian and Elaine
practiced on the private court located beyond the brick-paved patio.
"Great shot!" came the masculine voice of Adrian Dessommes, who managed
the Chauvin sugarcane plantation and lived in his own cottage on the
estate.

What a dear, Nicole thought fondly as she fastened her
glossy hair with a large gold filigreed barrette at the nape of her
neck and gave herself a critical survey in the mirror. She looked
like a proficient tennis player in her crisp white terry dress with its
matching jacket. Now, if only she could learn to hit a backhand! Adrian
was such a patient teacher, always complimenting her progress and never
criticizing her frequent lapses.

Standing beside the court a few minutes later, she watched
admiringly as Adrian threw up high, floating lobs for Elaine to put
away with her deadly overhead smash. At age twelve she was an
accomplished tennis player, as her collection of trophies proved. She
regularly won all the local tournaments for juniors in her age group.
For some time an idea had been forming in Nicole's head, born of some
wistful comments Elaine had made.

Now the wiry young girl raised her arms dramatically in
the sign of triumph the professionals displayed when they made the
final winning point in a big tournament. She bounded over to Nicole
with long-legged grace, a feminine version of her older brother, with
black hair and deep blue eyes. Nicole wondered if his sternly handsome
face had ever radiated that same youthful spontaneity.

"Your turn, Nicole! I tired him out for you!" Elaine
teased the stocky, muscular young man who strode over to join them. His
sun-bleached light brown hair was a mass of unruly curls, and his
liquid hazel eyes had tiny wrinkles around the edges from squinting
into the sun.

"Listen to the arrogant brat," he jeered. "I'm not even
warmed up yet!"

Their banter was so good-natured and so much fun. Nicole
gave a little prayer of thanks that everything had turned out so
unbelievably well in her new life. In retrospect, she could perceive
the wisdom of Louis's decision to be candid with his young sister in
explaining the circumstances that had led to his marrying Nicole rather
than Angela, who apparently had never been one of Elaine's favorite
people. Louis had reasoned that his young sister would inevitably hear
gossip when she returned to school in the fall, if not before, and she
would be better off armed with the truth.

From the very beginning, Nicole and Elaine had struck up a
rapport that was only strengthened when Nicole admitted that she had
always nourished a secret desire to play tennis but had never found the
opportunity. Elaine had insisted that Nicole buy the best equipment
and a whole selection of tennis clothing. "In a little while you'll be
playing tournaments at the club," the girl predicted.

In addition to having an excellent court in her own back
yard, Nicole was fortunate to have the expert instruction of Adrian,
who had also proved to be good company and a fertile source of
information about the huge Chauvin sugarcane plantation. She knew he
must be puzzled about the strange marriage relationship between herself
and Louis, but he had not yet asked any intrusive questions.

"Ready?" he asked now with a friendly smile.

"Hey, I'll leave you two to your lesson. There's a big
women's tennis final on TV today," called Elaine as she loped away
toward the house.

"Does that kid ever walk in a normal way?" Adrian inquired
humorously.

"Not that I've noticed." Nicole laughed. "I think the
stage is labeled 'preadolescent'."

"You've certainly made a hit with her. She's so outgoing
and poised for a kid her age that people forget she had the rug pulled
out from under her life five years ago when her parents went down in
that crash. Deep down there's a little girl who needs love."

"But Lou—her brother loves her," Nicole
protested, hoping he hadn't noticed the way she had stumbled over her
husband's name. Why did she avoid speaking his name? She colored
faintly under Adrian's shrewd gaze. One day soon he would ask those
questions hovering on his lips.

"Sure, Louis loves Elaine," he countered with a slight
emphasis on the first name, "but she needs more than all the Chauvin
money can buy. She needs to be important as a person to someone in her
own family; she needs someone to talk with about problems and growing
up, someone to guide her in making some of the tough decisions coming
up in the next few years. And giving her everything in the world isn't
going to substitute for that basic need."

"You're right," Nicole agreed reflectively, her mind
slipping back to that interview four months ago that had transformed
her life, when Louis—even in her thoughts she tripped over
the intimacy of saying his first name—had emphasized Elaine's
need of a woman to guide her as she grew into a teenager. Adrian
couldn't realize the depth of his employer's concern for his younger
sister.

She wondered now if Elaine had not been his primary reason
for taking a wife. Apparently his mind had registered data about
Nicole's character—her youthful admiration of the nuns, her
devotion to her father and brother, her loyalty to Angela. When Angela
had let him down, he had gambled that a person like Nicole would take
her responsibilities very seriously.

Well, he was right, but after four months Elaine was far
more to her than a responsibility—she loved Elaine like a
dear little sister.

"Hey, I didn't mean to set you off on a soul-searching
junket," joked Adrian. His eyes roved appreciatively over her slender
figure, its smooth brown skin contrasting vividly with the virginal
white of the tennis dress. "What I can't
understand about Louis…" He broke off at the warning
expression in Nicole's eyes. The time still wasn't right to probe for
answers to puzzling questions. He changed the subject swiftly.

"Let's warm up on a few forehands, and then we'll work on
backhand technique."

Nicole was relieved to shrug aside the touchy subject of
her unconventional marriage arrangement and her absent husband. One
reason she loved tennis was its requirement for total concentration.
She was able to clear her mind of all disturbing thoughts.

Adrian had assured her she had natural ability for the
game, and she tried hard to follow all his instructions. He definitely
knew what he was talking about, having attended LSU on a tennis
scholarship and at age twenty-eight having a ranking in the South in
the under-thirty-five category. It had occurred to her that his prowess
at tennis might have been as important a job qualification as his
agricultural degree. He was certainly young to have so weighty a job as
supervisor of a plantation system as vast as this one, and one of his
regular duties was to work out with Elaine on the tennis court.

"Sorry, I just can't seem to get the grip right," she
apologized after misjudging another backhand swing and sending the ball
careening off the court to bounce against the high wire fence
encircling the court.

"Here, let's take a look." Adrian stepped over the net
separating them and came over to stand close beside Nicole.

"You put your thumb here," he
corrected. He reached behind her to grasp the racquet shaft with his
left hand, and with his right hand extended across the front of her
body he adjusted her hand placement on the racquet handle. Nicole was
so intent on the instruction that she gave no thought to the intimacy
of their position. Adrian frequently found it necessary to show her how
to do something when mere verbal directions failed.

"Oh, I think I understand now what I was doing wrong," she
exclaimed, smiling into the face so close to her own. Her smile faded
as she saw he wasn't looking at her, but at the open gate giving access
to the court from the patio. Her head turned curiously to locate the
object of his intent gaze.

"Very interesting instructional technique, Dessommes,"
came the cool drawl of Louis Chauvin as he stood observing them, hands
thrust casually into the pockets of his fawn trousers.

Nicole felt the blood rush to her cheeks as his
penetrating blue eyes moved over her body appraisingly, as if he were
inspecting an article with the possibility of purchasing it. Adrian's
arms fell to his sides, and he walked beside Nicole toward the man
whose name she avoided because just speaking it caused a disruptive
sensation she couldn't identify. An astonishing thought widened her
eyes and heightened the color of her tanned skin to a dusky rose: This
tall, assured man whose vital masculinity could never fail to draw the
gaze of women wherever he went—this man was her husband!

Chapter Four






Nicole gave an annoyed sigh of exasperation and threw off
the pale yellow satin coverlet. Would she ever be able to get to sleep
tonight? Her mind was like a captive of some crazy movie projectionist
who took perverse pleasure in playing the same meaningless scenes over
and over again in changing sequences. All she wanted to do was turn the
controls in her head to off
and sink into blessed sleep and forget the past week since Louis had
returned.

Why had his presence at Mimosa House shattered the
previous serenity of her new life? She kept asking herself that
question over and over again. He was polite and distant whenever she
saw him at meals, and he was busy most of the remaining time, either
consulting with the manager of the Chauvin sugar refinery in the
neighboring town of Stapleton or out with Adrian Dessommes overseeing the vast acres of sugarcane
plantation.

She hadn't been alone with him for more than a few
minutes, a circumstance for which she was grateful, since in his
presence she seemed to revert to the painful awkwardness of a teenage
girl on her first date. Fortunately, Elaine always seemed to be there,
basking in the unaccustomed treat of her older brother's attentive
company. Rambling on at length, she talked happily of her experiences
with Nicole, especially their occasional expeditions to New Orleans to
take in a movie and do some shopping. Nicole was frequently aware of
Louis's speculative gaze directed at herself, and she wondered
uncomfortably what he was thinking.

During the past months Adrian, at the insistence of both
Elaine and Nicole, had fallen into the habit of taking most of his
meals at the big house, and Louis noted this practice without comment.
Nicole found herself turning to the friendly younger man more than she
had before, grateful for the approval and admiration he radiated
toward her. She felt much more sure of herself with him than with the
rather formidable man she had married.

Adrian's manner toward her had seemed to undergo a subtle
change since the return of his employer. There was an increased
protectiveness, and occasionally the clear hazel eyes were shadowed by
a puzzlement, an expression of concern.

Now, as Nicole turned on the bedside lamp and paced back
and forth across the deep-piled white carpet in her bare feet,
frustration welled up within her. Nothing had
happened to unsettle her like this! Absolutely nothing! Why, why, why,
then, couldn't she sleep?

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her
vanity table. Her hair floated around her bare shoulders, and her eyes
were huge dark pools with questions hovering in their depths. She
stopped pacing with a smile of derision at her disheveled appearance.
Why, she looked like some overwrought actress portraying Lady Macbeth!
Enough of this senseless anxiety.

With swift resolve, she squared her shoulders in a gesture
amazingly similar to that she had displayed four months ago when she
had faced Louis Chauvin with her grave acceptance of his marriage
proposal. She would stifle the irrational insecurity that had plagued
her during the past week. Deep within were resources of strength she
had drawn on before, and she would face up to the
future—whatever it held.

Her first objective was to get some sleep. Maybe the
proverbial glass of milk would have a soothing effect. It couldn't hurt
to try it, and at this late hour nobody would be up to notice her
insomnia. She didn't even bother to slip a robe over the long white
satin nightgown that left her smooth brown neck and shoulders bare except
for the slender straps. It had been a gift from Elaine, who had noticed
Nicole admiring it on one of their shopping trips and had made an
excuse to sneak back to the store and buy it for her. Touched at the
impulsive gift, Nicole couldn't help reflecting upon the casualness
with which the wealthy could spend money, even one as young as Elaine.

The exquisite simplicity of the gown suited Nicole
perfectly, and she looked like a graceful young ghost as she descended
the curving staircase into the lofty central hall and turned back
toward the big kitchen that was really an innovation of more modern
times; the original house had had its kitchen in a separate building
connected to the main house with a covered walkway. In the days of
numerous servants and no air conditioning, the master of the house and
his family and guests were spared the heat of the wood-burning
cook-stoves.

The present kitchen was a stainless-steel and porcelain
marvel of modern appliances with its huge range and array of ovens, its
oversized refrigerator, and its separate upright freezer. It was
obviously a kitchen designed to accommodate the elaborate preparation
of food for large numbers of people. Elaine had mentioned the big
parties her parents used to have on holidays and special occasions.

What would Louis Chauvin think now if he knew his own wife
felt trepidation at helping herself to a glass of milk in this
showplace of a home! Nicole grimaced with wry amusement as she poured
herself a tall glass of milk. She lifted it to her lips and drank its
rich coldness.

"I'll take a glass of that, too," came a low familiar
voice close behind her. She jumped convulsively and whirled around. She
hadn't heard anyone, so engrossed had she been in her own private
thoughts, but there in the dim light stood Louis, clad only in dark
green pajama bottoms. Her heart pounded riotously at the unexpected
nearness of his tall, muscular body with the bare expanse of chest
covered with curly black hair.

"You scared me!" she whispered breathlessly and then
looked down at her clinging nightgown in sudden awareness that she
wasn't any more modestly covered than he.

"Sorry," he said with cool amusement. "You looked like a
dream goddess standing there. I was afraid you would melt away if I
spoke."

She became acutely aware of his eyes traveling slowly and
deliberately over the curves of her body revealed so embarrassingly by
the shimmering fabric of her nightgown. Why hadn't she taken the time
to pull on a wrap? How foolish to walk around as if she were the only
person in the house. If he weren't standing directly between her and
the door, she would flee with her partially drunk glass of milk and
escape to the safety of her own bedroom.

As if reading her thoughts, he said evenly, "Don't go. I'd
like to talk to you alone for a change. Sit over here."

As if under a spell, she mutely followed his instructions
and perched on the edge of the bench behind the kitchen table, a
massive affair made of thick cypress planks.

She watched, mesmerized, as he poured himself a glass of
milk and then searched in a high cupboard for a bottle of brandy.
Seated opposite her, he poured a generous splash of amber liquor into
the milk before pushing the bottle toward her. "Here's the secret to
the sleep-inducing power of milk," he said, draining half of the
mixture in several big gulps.

"No, thanks," she refused nervously, taking a quick sip
from her own glass. She could not control the strange quickstepping of
her pulses at his physical nearness. In spite of herself, she couldn't
keep her eyes off the taut muscles of the bare chest and arms, close
enough that she could have reached over and touched the tanned skin.
She shivered at the sudden overpowering urge to do just
that—to reach over and stroke his warm masculine flesh.

Unconscious of the sharp breath she drew, she controlled
the insane urge and stared with fascination at his lean, shapely hands
clasped loosely around the glass in front of him. As the silence
lengthened between them, she looked up to find him watching her
intently.

"I couldn't sleep," she blurted needlessly.

"Nor could I," he returned musingly, his eyes sliding over
the thick tresses of dark hair hanging free over her shoulders and then
examining with open boldness the bare neck and rounded breasts molded
by the sheen of white satin. His gaze so intensified her discomfiture
that she half rose from the bench in an overwhelming need to escape the
hot tide of emotions he aroused in her.

His fingers flicked out to grasp her forearm in an iron
grip, forcing her to return to her seat. "What's wrong?" he asked
huskily.

"You—you shouldn't look at
me like that!" she said in confusion, her breasts rising and falling in
such a noticeable way as to draw his attention again.

"Why not? After all, I am your
husband, even without the enjoyment of conjugal rights," he said,
relaxing his hurting grip on her forearm to stroke the numbed skin with
a small caressing motion that ignited her arm in a melting warmth that
spread slowly and insidiously through her entire body, leaving her
unaccountably weak. She pulled back from his touch, using the pretext
of brushing back a long strand of silky hair.

"You promised—" she reminded in a strained voice.

"I know what I promised. That was before
I saw you in your nightgown—" he began in a low, disturbing
voice and then held up one shapely hand in a conciliatory gesture as
her lips flew open and her eyes blazed in protest. "Okay,
okay… I've been waiting for an opportunity to tell you how
pleased I am that you and Elaine get along so well. It's quite obvious
she's very fond of you."

"I'm fond of her, too," Nicole replied. "So is Adrian. The
three of us have a lot of fun together."

"So I've noticed," he said with a coldness in his voice.
"Which reminds me of something else I wanted to discuss with you in
private. It's been four months now since our rather sensational
marriage. The time has come for us to go out together
socially—as Mr. and Mrs. Louis Chauvin. We'll begin by
accepting the invitation to the Martins' dinner party this weekend.
It'll be a big affair, I expect."

His unexpected announcement brought stabbing fear to
Nicole's breast at the alarming prospect of going out into Iberville's
top society as Louis's wife. Didn't he realize she didn't belong? What
if she made an utter spectacle of herself and brought shame on the
Chauvin name? She didn't even have the wardrobe for that level of
social life. Aside from tennis dresses, she hadn't bought any new
clothes, in spite of the generous allowance she received from Louis
each month. Somehow she hadn't felt that the money was really hers to
spend. It was enough to live in luxury in his stately home.

Unaware of the troubled expression shadowing her sensitive
features, she sat immersed in her fearful thoughts. As if reading her
mind, Louis spoke again, authoritatively. "You'll need appropriate
clothes, of course. I won't have my wife wearing someone else's
hand-me-downs." The last was spoken in a grating tone that brought a
blush of mortification to her cheeks.

He wanted to make sure she didn't wear any of Angela's
clothes. Was he afraid of being reminded of the woman he'd wanted to
marry, who had left him the night before the wedding? Was the memory of
Angela's rejection still a raw place in his heart? Somehow the thought
of his pain was unbearable to her.

"I'll do my best not to embarrass you," she said in a
stilted little voice to cover up her conflicting emotions.

The man opposite her studied the proud set of her head,
the graceful curve of neck and shoulder, the rich abundance of dark,
silky hair. He opened his lips as if to speak and then checked the
words, rising abruptly.

"You'd better get to bed now. It's late."

She rose quickly, chafed by the brusqueness of his tone.
She picked up their two glasses and carried them to the sink, taking
her time rinsing them with clear water, hoping he would be gone when
she turned around. But he stood in the same place by the table, as if
waiting for her.

They left the kitchen together and made their way through
the wide hall to the elegant staircase, climbing the seemingly endless
steps side by side in the hushed night silence of the old house, as if
headed for a common destination. She paused outside the door of her
room, awkwardly aware that he had every right by law and custom to
enter her bedroom, even though he had promised he would never force his
way in without invitation.

"Goodnight, la belle dame sans merci,"
he said in a low, mocking voice that made the blood pound in her ears
with deafening loudness. After a tension-filled moment, he picked up a
dark tress of lustrous hair and lifted it to his lips. "Elaine
mentioned you are considering having your hair styled short. Don't."
With those peremptory words, he turned abruptly to stride down the hall
to his own room and disappeared inside.

Why had he called her that? she mused wonderingly. The
lovely lady without mercy was from one of Keats's incomparably
beautiful poems. It had been one of her favorites in English Literature
class at school. She'd felt so sorry for the young man who'd awakened
as if from a dream to find himself alone, the beautiful girl he'd
discovered having disappeared. The girl in the poem had had long,
tangled hair, she remembered.

Mind and senses in a turmoil, Nicole walked into her room
with the distinct knowledge that she was not the same girl who had
slipped down the stairs only a short time ago. For one thing, now she
knew why she'd had trouble going to sleep earlier. She'd been fighting
an honest confrontation with herself and her deep attraction to the
man she had married.

Never had she been so physically aware of a man before, so
sensitive to touch and voice and glance. She knew now, with undeniable
certainty, that she would never have the strength to enforce the
marriage condition she had exacted from him if he chose not to abide by
it. Even though he did not love her, she would be his if he decided to
take her—and some alien part of her wished desperately he
would!

Chapter Five






The next morning when Nicole went down to breakfast, Louis
wasn't there. A hand-scrawled message announced that Andrew had called
earlier. He would be docked at the marina for several days. She felt a
little surge of happiness at her sudden resolve to get away from Mimosa
House alone today and visit her brother on his prized new boat, High
Hopes.

Several times in the past four months she had managed to
get him to Mimosa House, but he was very busy, especially during the
shrimping seasons when he would go out for days at a time, anchoring
out in the Gulf and returning only when his storage compartments were
filled to capacity.

Elaine was head-over-heels in love with him and always
elated at the prospect of dropping by to visit at the marina, a world
of fascination heretofore unknown to the young girl. So, even though
Elaine had to go to school, anyway, it was with a small twinge of guilt
that Nicole determined not to mention her intention of visiting her
brother today.

The young girl chattered in her usual exuberant manner
about a whole range of topics. Nicole smiled absently and half listened
until she realized that an answer was expected of her. "I'm sorry,
dear, what was that?" she murmured in apology.

"The mixed doubles tournament coming up at the club. Why
don't you and Louis team up for that? He's pretty good. He and his
partner won last year."

"All the more reason he will want a good partner, not me,"
Nicole replied firmly, wondering fleetingly who his last year's partner
had been. She fought a rising sense of panic at things moving too fast,
carrying her along. First Louis last night announcing she had to step
out as his wife into Iberville's top social life, and now Elaine
pressing her to enter a tennis tournament at the country club when she
hadn't even had nerve enough yet to go there, let
alone play tennis in front of all those people who knew she
hadn't been born with a tennis racquet in her hand. It was only in the
last ten years that anyone outside the elite class played tennis in
this area of south Louisiana.

"You could play with Adrian," Elaine insisted doggedly.
"He's a guest member. And he doesn't even need a partner he's so good!"
She twitched with delight at her own cleverness.

"The whole idea is nonsense, Elaine. Adrian wouldn't be
seen on the court with the likes of me." Nicole wished fervently she
could eradicate this whole idea from Elaine's head.

"You underrate yourself and don't do justice to your
instructor either," came an amused male voice from the doorway of the
small breakfast room. Nicole flushed at the intent expression in
Adrian's eyes as he smiled at her. Elaine was jumping up and down in
her seat, nodding her head in elation at Adrian's words.

"Tell this stubborn child, Adrian, that I'm not ready
for play in a tournament. I'm just learning the basic strokes of the
game," Nicole pleaded, pouring him a cup of coffee as he slid into the
chair opposite her.

"Actually, the brat may be right." He grinned disarmingly
as her mouth opened in protest. "Sooner or later you have to get out on
the court and get a taste of competition. It lets you see your
strengths and weaknesses and gives you incentive to work harder." He
sipped his coffee and drawled, "And I'd be honored to have you
as my partner anywhere, any time."

Nicole was startled by the undertone of seriousness in his
voice. Was Adrian getting emotionally involved with her? She dismissed
the disturbing thought as ridiculous, and the moment passed. Elaine and
Adrian discussed plans for their practice session that afternoon after
school, leaving Nicole to outline her own day's activities in her mind.

First she would drop by the boat and visit with Andrew
just like old times. Then she would drive to Lafayette and shop for a
dress to wear to the Martins' dinner party. She guessed the other women
would wear gowns purchased in Dallas or Atlanta or even New York, but
for her Lafayette would have to do.



Later that morning she parked her silver-gray Mercedes
convertible in a space between a mud-spattered red pickup truck and a
dented olive-green Blazer. She remembered her shocked reaction the day
the Mercedes was delivered to Mimosa House shortly after the wedding.
That evening Louis had telephoned from Houston, and she had blurted
clumsily, "I can't drive a car like that!"

He had replied coldly, "My wife doesn't have to drive a
secondhand Volkswagen." She had cringed in embarrassment as she
regretted the tactlessness of her remark. He had then explained in more
even tones that he preferred her to have a reliable car since she would
be taking Elaine places with her; besides, he found it simpler to stick
to one make of car.

She loved everything about the car—its easy
handling, the subdued luxury of the interior. The top was still down in
October, even though the day was damp and cloudy, with the threat of
rain in the air.

Sniffing deeply of the familiar pungent odors—
creosoted pilings, fishing nets thoroughly permeated with salt water,
the distinctive fish odor of fresh seafood—she walked
carefully along the uneven planks of the dock, noting with the
practiced eye of the fisherman's daughter the purposeful activities
going on. The business of running and maintaining a working boat
required constant attention to the cleaning of the craft from top to
bottom, the mending of nets, the repairing of engines and equipment.
The older wooden boats like the one her father had owned also had to be
scraped and painted regularly to protect the wood from the insidious
threat of rot.

She stopped and chatted briefly in Cajun French with old
Mr. Perrin, who sat on the foredeck of Lady Godiva,
a fishing net darkened with use and preservatives spread across his
bony knees. A wizened old Frenchman with weather-stained and wrinkled
skin, he spoke with a lisp because he didn't have a tooth in his head.
Nicole had known him since she had been a child skipping along the
docks to her father's boat.

Mrs. Perrin, stout and kindly in her man's overalls and
cotton shirt, emerged from the inside of the boat carrying a mug of
steaming coffee for her husband and greeted Nicole with surprised
welcome. She worked side by side with her husband, as did many of the
fishermen's wives who accompanied their husbands out into the Gulf for
days at a time, cooking for the crew as well as lending a hand with the
actual manual work.

Nicole knew that her own mother had never been strong
enough for that kind of life—and, besides, her father had
preferred to have his wife home, protected from the raw conditions and
hardships of the fisherman's lot.

Today the simplicity of these people's lives appealed
strongly to her. They grappled daily with real challenges: the
vicissitudes of the weather, the dependability of their fishing crafts
and equipment, the caprices of the sea. Their lives had solidity and
meaning.

Still mulling over these thoughts, she arrived at the
mooring slip where High Hopes was docked. All
gleaming white fiber glass with smart black trim, her brother's boat
was one of the most modern and well equipped in the marina. She could
hear the vibrant hum of the boat's engines, but Andrew was not in sight.

After a second's hesitation, she stepped aboard lightly
and walked down the side deck to the open door of the pilothouse, where
she stopped to look inside with an expectant smile on her face. The
floor hatches covering the big twin diesel were open directly in front
of her, and she could see Andrew kneeling at the edge, peering down at
the motors throbbing with quiet precision.

"Hello!" she shouted, joy rising within her at the light
of welcome in his eyes as he looked up without surprise. She knew he
had been aware the instant she had stepped aboard. Now he rose and
walked over to the instrument panel, flipping a switch to still the hum
of the engines. In the sudden stillness, her voice sounded loud and
excessively dramatic to her own ears.

"I've decided to abandon my life of idle luxury and move
in with you, Andy. I'll become a boat woman!"

Her younger brother looked startled and embarrassed at
her words, causing her to taunt, half joking and half serious, "What's
the matter? You don't want me, either?" She took a step inside the
pilothouse and gasped with surprise as she realized that Andrew was not
alone. Standing in the companionway leading down into the galley and
sleeping quarters was Louis, looking at her with a wry twist to his
mouth.

She gasped. "I didn't know you were
here."

"Obviously," he said ironically. "I didn't realize things
were so bad at Mimosa House that you wanted to leave."

"That's just a game Nicole always played with Dad and me,"
Andrew said swiftly to fill in the awkward silence. He folded down the
big hatches to cover the open engine compartment. "I've been showing
Louis the boat," he explained to his sister with a young dignity that
made her very proud of him.

"I'd like to go out with you sometime," Louis said
quietly. "I have to agree with your sister—this life does
have an appeal."

Andrew's face beamed with pleasure as he talked about his
work. Although only twenty, he had worked with his father since he had
been a small child. He knew the fishing business inside and out, and he
loved it with a passionate devotion.

Nicole listened with quiet contentment as Louis asked
questions and Andrew answered them. She watched her husband covertly,
noticing with a small stir of excitement how handsome he looked in the
rugged clothes he wore. Tight-fitting denim jeans and a navy cotton
knit turtleneck shirt molded his tall, muscular form. A light blue
windbreaker had been tossed carelessly to one side. His black hair
glinted in crisp waves, and his intense blue eyes jolted her with every
glance in her direction.

How she wished she hadn't blundered in that way,
announcing her wish to move aboard the boat with Andrew. It sounded so
ungrateful in view of the fact that there would be no boat if it
weren't for her marriage to this disturbing man. Well, it was obvious
that Louis had made a hit with Andrew. Her brother's feelings were
clear in the way his mobile features lighted with friendliness.

A glance at her watch told Nicole it was lunchtime. She'd
better get on the move if she planned to shop in Lafayette, which was
at least an hour and fifteen minutes' drive. At a lull in conversation,
she stood up to leave, glad of the opportunity to get away by herself
and reflect on this surprising new view of Louis she'd glimpsed. He was
so natural and down to earth sitting with Andrew and talking about
fishing. An observer would never guess he had been born into one of the
oldest and wealthiest families in Louisiana.

To her chagrin, he arose to leave at the same time she
did, acting very much as if they were together. Further-more, his
invitation to Andrew to join them made clear his assumption that she
would eat lunch with him. Andrew declined, explaining he had an
appointment with the director of the regional fishermen's co-op who was
supposed to drop by the boat in the next hour or so.

As Nicole stepped gracefully from the boat to the dock,
Louis reached for her hand to assist her. She hesitated for a second,
then took his hand out of courtesy. He kept hers in a firm clasp as he
thanked Andrew for showing him the boat and giving such an interesting
insight into the shrimping industry. Then he invited warmly, "I hope
you'll take time often to visit Mimosa House. You're welcome any time."

Part of Nicole longed desperately to pull her hand out of
his as he strolled casually beside her along the dock, making comments
about the bustle of activity going on all around them. But another part
of her delighted in the touch of this man who was her husband.

"Let's eat lunch here at Vera's instead of going back
home," he suggested, leading her toward the small, unpretentious
restaurant built up on pilings over the edge of the water. It had a
screened porch on three sides where people ate at oilcloth-covered
tables during most of the year, except for the coldest months of
January and February when they might be driven inside by the cold and
dampness. Today was so delightfully bright and crisp that Louis didn't
even ask if she preferred eating inside. He led her toward a table
overlooking the color and activity of the fleet of docked fishing boats.

The specialty of the house was fresh seafood, whatever
happened to be in season: hard-shelled crabs, shrimp, crawfish,
speckled trout, catfish. Boiled seafood was extremely popular with
Vera's customers; hence the practicality of the oilcloth table
coverings. The eating was messy but delicious.

Louis and Nicole both ordered large bowls of seafood
gumbo, a delicious concoction of shrimp and crabmeat in a dark, spicy
gravy thickened by the addition of chopped okra and the extremely
fine-ground spice the Louisiana Indians had first used called file.
Gumbo was served on a mound of steamed rice, making it a hearty meal
along with crusty hot French bread and butter.

"Hm-m-m—delicious," she murmured appreciatively.

"Can you cook gumbo?" he asked, eating his own lunch with
undisguised gusto.

"Can I cook gumbo!" she answered with mock asperity. "What
self-respecting south Louisiana girl can't make gumbo, red beans and
rice, and jambalaya, just to mention the more obvious!"

"Do you miss cooking?" he asked after a companionable
silence during which he seemed to be pondering her jocular statement.

She considered her answer carefully, wanting to be
truthful but at the same time not wanting to sound ungrateful for her
present state of luxury.

"Yes, I miss it in a way. It's not the cooking itself so
much, but the mealtimes when Daddy and Andrew and I were all
together—" Her voice quavered slightly at the poignancy of
those memories. "For me cooking wasn't so much an art in itself as a
way to please somebody special," she tried to explain, forgetting her
usual self-consciousness in his presence. She wasn't aware that her
accent had become more discernible in her earnestness.

His blue eyes darkened with some emotion, and she
remembered he, too, had suffered the loss of his parents. Was he
thinking of them now? She tried to lighten the mood. "You should have
seen Mrs. Holden's face when I offered to help her in the kitchen!"
Nicole mimicked perfectly in the gruff tones of the housekeeper: " 'Mister Louis's mamma didn't know the difference between a rolling pin
and a fry pan'."

To her surprise, instead of smiling, his lips tightened in
a grim line. Now what had she said wrong?

"What you don't seem to understand," he said in that
commanding tone that made her shiver at the thought of making him
really angry, "is that you are my wife, the mistress of Mimosa House.
You can do anything you like in the kitchen, regardless of what Sarah
Holden thinks or says. All you have to do is assert yourself."

She was suddenly at a loss for words, the atmosphere of
easy familiarity between them having vanished at his disapproval.
Memory of the dinner party at the Martins' intruded, along with the
necessity for purchasing something appropriate to wear to it.

"I really must go now," she said tersely. "Thank you for
lunch—and thank you for being so human
with Andrew," she added on impulse.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "I'm glad to know you
admire 'humanness' in a man. As soon as I can figure out exactly what
that quality denotes, I'll devote all my time and effort to developing
it."

With those puzzling words, he led her out to the Mercedes
convertible, his hand curved possessively into the contour of her lower
back. He opened the door and waited until she had slid into the
driver's seat, where she rested her hands lightly on the wheel, looking
up at him uncertainly with flushed cheeks and parted lips. His swift
changes of mood kept her unsure of what to say or do next.

His next action caught her completely off guard. He leaned
over and took her chin in one lean brown hand, bringing his face inches
away from her own. She noticed breathlessly how thick and black his
eyelashes were. Then, slowly, he closed the distance between them and
kissed her lips with a searching thoroughness, arousing a response that
jolted Nicole all the way to her toes and fingertips.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Chauvin," he murmured huskily and,
after a provocative brush of his lips against hers, he was striding
across the parking lot with long, graceful legs. She watched him, her
fingers lifted wonderingly to her lips, which still tingled from the
imprint of his mouth.



"Gosh, you're beau-ti-ful," Elaine exclaimed admiringly,
drawing out the syllables of the last word, a speech mannerism she'd
developed since returning to school in September.

"I'm glad you like the dress," Nicole answered anxiously,
having reached the point where she would soon have to leave the safety
of her room and meet with Louis's inspection before they went on to
their first social engagement as man and wife. She had bought the dress
two days ago in the most expensive dress shop in Lafayette, since then
vacillating between certainty that it was perfect for her and an awful
lack of confidence in her own taste in clothes.

Elaine's wholehearted approval gave a little boost to her
self-confidence. The younger girl lay sprawled across Nicole's bed, her
chin propped on her cupped hands.

"Why don't you and Louis sleep in the same bedroom, like
most married people?"

The question dropped like a bombshell, exploding Nicole's
thoughts and bringing warm color to her cheeks. The younger girl wasn't
being impertinent; her question was a testimony to the closeness
between the two of them, and it had to be answered carefully. Elaine
was at that age when girls become fascinated with the relationship
between male and female and discuss the subject endlessly among
themselves, often arriving at amazingly erroneous conclusions.

"You remember when you started back to school last month
and all the girls asked you questions about Louis's and my wedding?"
Nicole began, perching on the edge of a yellow velvet chair near the
bed.

"Yeah, I remember. I wanted to tell them to take a flying
leap and mind their own business, but you told me ahead of time to
expect their curiosity, that it was natural."

"Have they been asking you more questions?" Nicole probed
gently.

Elaine looked uncomfortable, as if she suddenly wished she
hadn't opened up the subject. "No, but I overheard some people talking
at the club. They're wondering what's going to happen now that old
Angela is back—"

"Angela… back!" With an
exclamation of shock, Nicole rose involuntarily from her seat. Did
Louis know? He must have heard; if so, why hadn't he told her? A sudden
suspicion pierced her like an unsheathed dagger. Was it mere
coincidence that he had come home to Mimosa House at almost the same
time his former fiancée was returning to her hometown? He'd wasted no
time in asserting his intention of joining the social life that would
be sure to bring him in contact with Angela.

The tumult of her thoughts was interrupted by a tap on the
bedroom door. Elaine swung off the bed. "That's probably Big Brother
now. He's a real stickler for being on time. Have fun, Nicole. You'll
be the most gorgeous female there, for sure!" She gave Nicole a quick;
hard hug and covered the distance to the door with a few strides of her
long, graceful legs.

Louis stood outside, looking unapproachable in his formal
dinner clothes, a little frown of impatience on his brow. Probably the
result of being kept waiting, Nicole thought nervously.

"Nicole's prettier than you!" Elaine flung at him impishly
before disappearing down the hall. Nicole instinctively lifted her head
and squared her shoulders as he stood in the open doorway and surveyed
her slowly, from the dark hair swept up on top of her head to the
classically simple lines of the garnet red velvet dress with its deep
scooped neckline, close-fitting bodice, and long skirt flaring
gracefully around her ankles.

"Well? Will I pass as Mrs. Louis Chauvin?" she asked,
still smarting with the suspicion that he knew of Angela's return and
hadn't told her, whatever his reasons. No wonder he'd made an almost
specific reference to her not wearing Angela's cast-off clothes tonight.

At her tone of voice, a strange expression flickered
briefly across his austerely handsome features. He ignored the
sarcastic query and turned away abruptly with a terse order. "Stay
here. I'll be right back."

She had not moved when he came back into the room carrying
an oblong black velvet case, which he placed on her vanity table. With
a deft movement he pressed back the hinged lid to reveal the dazzling
glitter of diamonds. "I forgot about Mother's collection of jewelry
until this minute," he said, lifting the necklace in supple brown hands
and bringing it over to clasp around Nicole's slender neck. The light
touch of his fingers against her skin sent feathery sensations down her
back.

He took her firmly by the shoulders and propelled her over
in front of the vanity mirror. "Here, you'll have to put these in
yourself," he said, reaching around her to pick up the matching diamond
earrings sparkling brilliantly in the lamplight. Her fingers felt stiff
and awkward as she removed her own plain gold hoops and fastened the
glittering earrings in her pierced ears.

Her eyes wide pools of brown velvet, she looked back at
her transformed image in the glass, conscious of Louis as he stood
close behind her looking over her shoulder. "Perfect," he said, with
satisfaction in his voice. He leaned over and pressed his mouth against
her bare neck, triggering that wild acceleration of her heartbeat his
touch inevitably caused. Afraid he would hear the tremendous commotion
in her chest, she picked up her evening bag and headed for the door.

"What's the big hurry?" came the low, teasing voice behind
her, causing the blood to rush to her cheeks in confusion. Could he
tell the effect he had on her, and was he amused at her inexperience
and obvious lack of sophistication? Well, she'd show him tonight who
was self-assured, even if it killed her. Not absolutely clear in her
mind what showing him entailed, she steeled
herself for the evening ahead—her first test as Mrs. Louis
Chauvin.



It was a good thing she hadn't known what lay in store for
her at the Martins' big mansion, she reflected later that evening as
she danced with her host to music coming from the elaborate stereo
system at one end of the enormous game room paneled in rough cedar
planks with massive exposed beams overhead.

Louis certainly hadn't been wrong when he predicted the
party would be a "big affair." It was that indeed, the women
resplendent in jewels and sensational gowns. It was bad enough to face
all the curious eyes of people she had heretofore only read about in
the society pages, but the most traumatic moment had been the dramatic
entrance of Angela, exquisite in ice-blue satin and sapphires.

Excitement had rippled through the guests close enough to
witness the meeting between Angela and her ex-fiancé and his wife.
"You're looking charming, Nicole, darling," she'd cooed in honeyed
tones sharply at variance with the ice in her blue eyes. Then she had
turned to Louis and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him
lingeringly on the mouth. "How could you marry
somebody besides me?" she crooned in a low voice full of proprietorship
that stiffened Nicole's body and brought her head up in dignity.

Louis had only laughed smoothly and disentangled her arms
from around his neck, his eyes seeking Nicole's, then looking faintly
surprised at the expression he found there. He showed no sign of
offense at Angela's public display of affection, Nicole thought
bitterly.

The two of them were dancing now, Angela's gilt curls
against his chest as they moved slowly to the seductive music. It was
just infuriating the way the two of them had seemed inseparable the
whole evening.

Left on her own, she summoned every shred of pride she
possessed and talked and laughed and danced as if she had been
attending parties like this one her whole life. If there was gossip
resulting from tonight, it wouldn't come from her
behavior, she assured herself somewhat self-righteously. Yet, every
time she had noticed Louis heading in her direction, she had adroitly
turned away to join another group or to accept an invitation to dance.

The music stopped now and she strolled over to the
full-length bar with Joe Martin, an enormous man with a sweeping
mustache and a deep, booming voice. She perched on a stool and smiled
at him as he talked enthusiastically about his collection of carved
wooden duck decoys displayed on glass shelves behind the bar.

"I've come to claim my wife for this dance," came a
steel-edged voice behind Nicole, and she felt two hands pressing firmly
on each side of her waist.

"Can't blame you," boomed Joe Martin. "I'd keep her close,
m'boy!"

"Easier said than done tonight," Louis said dryly, lifting
Nicole bodily off the stool and pulling her close against him. She
almost choked with the sudden rush of emotion. How dare he put on this
kind of display after spending practically the whole evening with
Angela!

He steered her over to the area where couples were dancing
and without a word drew her close into his arms. Her breath came
raggedly and at first she held herself stiffly, resisting the dangerous
contact with his body. But he pressed her even closer until she could
feel the hard warmth of his thighs moving against her own.

With a small sigh of surrender, she gave herself up to the
unutterable delight of being in his arms. Her eyes closed and her mind
turned off, giving full range to her senses as she had four months ago
on that night before her precipitate wedding. She breathed in the
clean, tangy scent of his aftershave lotion blended with the faintly
sweet pipe tobacco.

"It isn't kind to give your husband the cold shoulder at a
party," he said against her hair in a low voice that vibrated right
through her.

"You seemed busy with Angela," she murmured, too drugged
by his closeness to retain any semblance of aloofness.

"Fortunately, not every woman is as indifferent to my
masculine charm as my wife," he teased. "You're giving me a complex."

To her mixed relief and disappointment, the music ended,
bringing release from that strange physical bondage. The party showed
signs of breaking up, and she readily agreed when Louis asked if she
were ready to leave.

She pulled away from the protective arm he had kept around
her waist and went upstairs to the blue-and-white bedroom where she'd
left her new evening cape. She was searching through the pile of satin
and velvet evening wraps when the door to the bedroom closed with a
sharp click and a voice shrilled with malice. "Here you are, you little
sneak! I've been waiting for a chance to talk
to you alone."

Turning to face Angela, Nicole flinched involuntarily
before the ugly anger contorting the goddesslike features. "I know
what you probably think," she began earnestly, "and it isn't at all
true."

"Don't bother to tell me what's
true," Angela hissed. "Just let me tell you one
thing, little friend. Louis is mine. He always has been and there's
nothing you can do about it. He married you to get back at me, and as
soon as he realizes what a mistake he's made—that you can
never fit into his world—you'll be right back where you were
before, a poor little mouse, and I'll be Mrs. Louis Chauvin!" Her blue
eyes darkened with venom as she glared meaningfully at the diamonds
ablaze at Nicole's neck and ears.

Nicole's heart felt raw, as though someone had scraped it
with one of those stiff wire brushes that fishermen used to remove old
paint from their boats. She grabbed her cape and rushed from the room,
holding back the tears burning her eyes.

Aware of Louis's close scrutiny as she descended the long,
sweeping staircase, she concentrated with all her determination on
maintaining her outward composure. He reached for the cape and placed
it around her shoulders.

They were making their parting remarks to Clare and Joe
Martin when Angela appeared at the top of the stairs, drawing the
attention of those below with a husky "Louis" and then decorously
gliding down the stairs fully aware of the charming picture she made.
Nicole faded into the background as Angela smiled glowingly into
Louis's upturned face.

"I'll be over tomorrow. Mamma's put me in charge of Mimosa
House this year."

He frowned his annoyance. "I haven't even had time to
mention the Tour of Homes to Nicole—your mother just asked me
tonight if she could make Mimosa House the main feature again this
year."

Angela smiled up into his face and said in sugary tones,
"Nicole will probably just want to stay in the background and watch
this year. We need someone familiar with the house's main points of
interest— someone who can answer the questions that come up."

Nicole inhaled sharply at the oblique attack. The
insinuation was plain—someone of Nicole's background would
be unprepared to answer questions about the art treasures, the antique
furniture, and the special architectural features of the fine old
house. The visitors paid a substantial price for the tickets to tour
some of the old homes in the parish, and the annual event raised money
for the Iberville Historical Society.

She stood silent and numb beside Louis, feeling like a
helpless spectator. He said coldly, "My wife is the only
one who will act as official hostess of Mimosa House. If she is not
inclined to do so, your mother will just have to substitute another
home."

He turned abruptly to leave, his arm rigid around Nicole's
back. She glimpsed the barely controlled anger in Angela's eyes. It
would seem that Louis wasn't ready to forgive Angela's desertion,
Nicole mused. He evidently wished to teach her a lesson—she
couldn't waltz back into his life and resume her old place of
importance.

Louis was silent on the brief drive home, apparently
absorbed in his own thoughts. Nicole huddled on her side of the car,
becoming more miserable every moment as she recalled in agonizing
clarity the ugly confrontation with Angela in the upstairs bedroom and
the later scene at the foot of the stairs when Angela had
presented
herself as one much more qualified by birth and background to be
Louis's wife. Was he regretting that impulsive act four months ago when
he had married a girl completely outside his own social class?
Unconsciously, she sighed heavily, drawing a probing look from the man
beside her.

He stopped in front of the big formal front doors with
their elegant panels of beveled and leaded glass. "I'll take the car
back to the garage," he said, reaching across her to open the door. She
didn't waste any time going straight upstairs to her room, where she
unclasped the sumptuous necklace and laid it carefully inside the
velvet case. Next she slipped the earrings from her ears and placed
them alongside the necklace.

It was a relief finally to be in the privacy of her own
room, but the ache inside was too intense at the moment for the release
that tears would eventually bring. With arms of lead she unzipped the
velvet dress and hung it in the closet. Slowly she stripped off slip,
bra, and panties, dropping them into a silken heap.

As if in need of some comforting contact with her old
life, something to smooth away the insult, she reached for a soft white
batiste nightgown with delicate smocking she had done herself in
shades of yellow. It was paper thin from many washings and made her
look particularly young and vulnerable as she sank down on the small
chair in front of her vanity table and began to pull out the hairpins,
releasing cascades of silken brown hair.

A soft tap on her door. It swung open and Louis came in,
two delicate-stemmed glasses in his hands. "Thought you might like a
glass- of sherry to help you relax," he explained matter-of-factly,
moving with lithe grace to place both glasses in front of her. Her eyes
were huge, shadowed pools and her voice quavered with her uncertainty.
"I was going to bed."

"I've wanted to do this all night." He ignored her
statement and began slowly to pull pins from her hair until it rippled
over her shoulders and down her back. A quick movement of his hand and
he had picked up her hairbrush and begun to brush her hair in long,
rhythmic motions.

The room was silent except for the sound of their
breathing and the soft whisper of the brush strokes. She surrendered to
the moment of fragile intimacy with a little sigh of relaxation,
closing her eyes in sheer enjoyment.

"There," he said huskily and put the brush back on the
vanity table before pulling off his jacket and tossing it across the
brass footboard of the bed. He reached for the tiny glass and sprawled
with a groan into the velvet chair, which looked ridiculously
inadequate for the lean length of his body. He jerked at the collar of
his shirt and loosened it, looking around her room with curiosity.

Nicole stood up, unaware of the transparency of the thin
material billowing around her slender, curving figure. She couldn't
think of anything to say, and she wished desperately he would leave. To
hide her nervousness, she half turned away from him, saying in a small
voice, "I think I'd like to go to bed now, if you don't mind—"

Strong arms closed around her, and surprise made her sag
limply against him. "Let me go. How dare you!"
she whispered desperately, alarmed at the tide of excitement coursing
through her weak body in response to the crushing contact with his hard
masculinity.

"I dare because you're my
wife—" His low voice vibrated with passion and she shivered
as he pushed aside her long hair with one hand and pressed his mouth
against her neck. She was powerless to protest when he turned her
around in his arms, smoothing her hair back from her face with hands
that were strangely unsteady.

Without warning her knees buckled under her, and she
reached out and grasped his waist for support. With a low groan he drew
her against him in a bone-crushing embrace, his heart pounding
erratically under her cheek.

"Nicole, I need you…" he
murmured, and she lifted her head to stare up at him in wonder, eyes
widening at the expression on the face of this man who was always so
utterly self-possessed, so completely in control. Then, before she knew
what his intentions were, he had picked her up and laid her across the
yellow satin coverlet, lowering himself beside her and taking her lips
in a long, searching kiss that took her breath away with its
undisguised urgency.

Panic gripped her as she realized what was happening, and
she tried to push him away. But her efforts were made feeble by the
tremors of sensation awakened by the tantalizing exploration of his
mouth on her neck and cheeks and eyelids and finally the trembling
softness of her lips. Her hands turned traitor and slipped up around
his neck, caressing the strong bone structure under the fine dark hair.

Her caresses inflamed his already aroused passion, and he
half lay on top of her, one taut, muscular leg pinning her to the bed.
The intimacy of their contact made her aware of his masculine need and
unleashed a sexual response in her body so powerful and unfamiliar that
it shocked her into the realization that she was on the very brink of
making love with a man who had married her without love and did not
love her now— who might in the very near future realize that
she was unsuitable to be his wife.

Her only recourse now that matters were so out of hand was
to remain passive, she resolved frantically. When Louis awakened to her
lack of response to his lovemaking, he, too, would come to his senses
and remember the marriage condition to which he had agreed.

But in spite of her firm intentions to the contrary, her
lips softened under his, and she moaned deep in her throat as his
tongue probed the sweetness of her mouth, which no man before him had
ever known. "No!" she whispered as his hands slid under the thin fabric
of her nightgown and caressed the slender curves. She held her breath
as he captured her rounded breasts, lack of experience having left her
totally unprepared for the surge of longing that assailed her as her
nipples hardened against his kneading palms. An unfamiliar ache
throbbed into life in her lower torso.

He was breathing unevenly as he sat up and began to
unbutton his shirt, awkward because his hands were trembling. Nicole
watched him dazedly, perceiving his intentions. During those few
seconds when he was not touching her, the cold chill of reason
descended on her feverish brain. She couldn't allow him to make love to
her—not when he didn't love her the way she loved
him—with all her heart and soul.

What was she thinking! It was true—she loved
Louis. The shock of her newfound insight gave her the strength she
desperately needed to resist him. "You promised!" she whispered
pleadingly.

He went rigid, staring down at her white face with its
enormous dark eyes, the long tresses of shining brown hair rippling
over the yellow satin coverlet. She closed her eyes against the
unspoken question in his, not daring to risk giving away the truth.
Deep down she didn't want him to keep his promise, but she couldn't
bear to let him know how much she wanted him, because then he would
know she loved him. With the tenuousness of their marriage
relationship, it was fairer to both of them to conceal from him her
deep emotional involvement.

"You promised," she said again, dully, as if she had
already retreated to some safe place out of his reach. During the long,
tense silence, it took all her willpower not to open her eyes and look
at him.

"Why did I ever make such a fool arrangement!" he grated
angrily and rose abruptly from the bed. The muted click of the door
held painful finality. Nicole was alone. The tight leash of control
slipped and her slender body convulsed with great, painful sobs for the
hopelessness of her situation. She had only herself to blame for
falling in love with a husband who didn't love her, who might still be
emotionally bound to the woman he'd wanted to marry. And that woman had
made it plain she still wanted him—and intended to get him.

Chapter Six






Ignoring the faint dark smudges under her eyes, Nicole
plaited her thick brown hair into a single braid, fastened the favorite
gold hoops in her pierced ears, and went downstairs to breakfast in a
crisp navy tennis skirt and a beige knit blouse with a navy collar and
pert cap sleeves. She carried the tailored navy jacket that completed
the smart outfit.

She pushed aside the nagging memories of the previous
evening and looked forward to a tennis lesson with Adrian this morning.
It was one of those crisp fall days so rare in Louisiana, where the
humidity lingered in the enervating eighties or nineties most of the
year. She couldn't wait to get outside in the exhilarating air and
abandon herself to the freedom of physical movement and the total
mental concentration tennis demanded. How she loved it! And how
grateful she was to Adrian for his tutelage.

Her springy step faltered and her smile faded around the
edges as she saw one person too many sitting at the table in the sunny
breakfast room. A golden head was positioned in her
customary place. Angela evidently had considered the previous night
only a temporary setback in carrying out her plans to reinstate herself
in Louis's life. She was already here for breakfast!

Her icy blue eyes raked Nicole from head to toe, taking in
every detail of the chic tennis outfit. The corners of her mouth seemed
to turn down in a quick spurt of contempt.

"I told her she was sitting in your chair, Nicole," Elaine
blurted vehemently, resentment clouding her usually vivacious young
face.

"Oh, you don't mind, do you, Nicole?" Angela parried in a
tight voice, looking daggers at Nicole's young ally. "It's not easy to
break old habits."

Nicole slid into a chair beside Adrian, who looked
extremely uncomfortable with the collision of personalities. She
turned to him with a glowing smile. "I can't wait for our lesson this
morning. I've been looking forward to it for days, and it's gorgeous
outside!"

His eyes ignited in response to her warmth. "Sorry I've
had to neglect your tennis lately…" His voice .trailed off
lamely, as if he'd realized suddenly that the person responsible for
his being so busy was his employer and also seated at the table.

Up until now Nicole had avoided looking directly at Louis,
but a quick glance under her lowered lashes confirmed the cold
.arrogance stamped on his handsome face. He didn't look at all pleased.

"Adrian says Nicole is a real natural at tennis," Elaine
said pointedly, looking at Angela with open dislike.

The compliment to Nicole brought twin spots of angry color
to Angela's cheeks. Suddenly an idea dawned, illuminating her features
as she spoke to Louis. "I almost forgot! The mixed doubles
championship tournament is coming up. Shall we defend our title from last
year?"

Nicole bristled in resentment at the intimate tone in
Angela's voice. Instinctively she knew Louis would refuse out of the
same sense of propriety that had prompted him to tell Angela last night
that no one except his wife would be hostess of Mimosa House for the
Tour of Homes.

"Adrian has kindly agreed to be my
partner," she inserted quickly into the short silence, feeling the
surprised looks from both Adrian and Elaine. In the electric pause
following her announcement, she concentrated on spreading strawberry
preserves on a hot biscuit.

"I guess we have our work cut out for us, Angela," Louis
said in a sardonic voice.

Nicole didn't have to look at Angela to comprehend the
smug expression on her blond features. Satisfaction oozed in her voice
as she suggested eagerly, "I'll just run home and slip on some tennis
togs, and Louis and I will take you two on in a little practice match!"

"Not a chance," Adrian refused flatly. "Nicole and I have
a lesson scheduled."

"Louis," Angela objected plaintively, "it's your
tennis court."

"Never let it be said we denied our opponents every
advantage," Louis said mockingly, and Nicole could feel his stinging
gaze, but she steadfastly resisted the temptation to look over at him.
"We can probably get up a practice game over at the club this morning,"
he said finally.

"Ready, Nicole?" Adrian's expression betrayed his
eagerness to escape the abrasive atmosphere. She rose quickly and
accepted his help in donning the navy-blue jacket, well aware that, if
baleful eyes could kill, she would be at least seriously wounded by the
hostility in Angela's blue eyes.

On her way out she heard Elaine proclaim, "Those two are
going to be a tough team, believe me." The little troublemaker!
Nicole's lips twitched into a small smile of gratitude for the girl's
intense loyalty.

Five minutes later she had forgotten everything except the
business at hand as Adrian drilled her on ground strokes and net
volleys. After some forty-five minutes of intensive practice, he began
to instruct her in the correct technique for hitting an overhead smash.
Thirty minutes later she was gasping from the strenuous exertion.
Adrian took pity on her and called a halt to the lesson. "That's enough
for today."

"Thank you, Adrian," she said with a smile of appreciation
as they stood together at one side of the net zipping on racquet covers.

"I loved every minute," he said simply. "But I was
a little surprised to learn we were playing together in the mixed
doubles tournament."

"It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment impulse," she
admitted ruefully, wondering how much Adrian had grasped of the
undercurrents at breakfast. "I don't, for one minute, expect you to go
through with it. You deserve a real partner."

"Don't give me that 'real partner' business. You've
committed yourself. No backing out now." She closed her mouth at the
finality in his voice.

"In the meantime, I have a book back at the cottage I want
you to read. On mixed doubles strategy. Why don't you walk back with me
now? It's at least an hour before lunch time, and we can start going
over some of the main points."

They strolled side by side along the shell-covered lane
winding under huge live oak trees with great sprawling limbs wreathed
in Spanish moss. Adrian's cottage was about five hundred yards from the
main house, nestled in lush azalea shrubs that blazed into blooming
glory in early spring. Nicole had been inside it several times, but
always before with Elaine. Now she felt a slight sense of
embarrassment as she followed him up the steps onto the front
porch—called a gallery or veranda in this area of the
South—overlooking the swift brown currents of the bayou.
"I'll wait here," she said, dropping down on the cushioned porch swing
at one end of the porch.

It was gloriously quiet and peaceful here near the bayou,
with just an occasional mysterious splash. On the other side the
cypress trees grew right down to the swampy edge of the water, their
rich green prickly foliage having faded to a brownish yellow in the
fall. Out of sight beyond the border of low marshland were canefields
stretching mile after mile, all part of the vast Chauvin plantation
system.

Adrian returned with the book and dropped down beside her
on the swing. Heads close together, they studied the illustrations and
diagrams in the first chapter, with Adrian explaining the role of each
player in several common situations in doubles.

Something alerted Nicole to a subtle change, and she
looked up from the book to find him staring at her with an intent
expression on his face. Their eyes locked for several breathless
seconds.

"I want to know what's going on," he said bluntly, and she
didn't bother to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. It
was inevitable that sooner or later she would have to take him into her
confidence, at least to a certain degree. After all, he was undeniably
a close friend to the three of them—Louis, Elaine, and
herself. He must be puzzled. With a heavy sigh, she explained briefly
the circumstances behind her marriage to Louis, expressing as
delicately as possible her role as wife in name only.

"And now the original bride-to-be is back, making
disgruntled noises about having been replaced," he commented
perceptively.

Nicole's velvet brown eyes were haunted with memories of
last evening. "Angela wants him back," she said, unaware of the pain in
her voice.

He reached out a gentle hand with strong, blunt fingers
and tilted her chin so that she had to look up into the honey warmth of
his hazel eyes. "And how do you feel about the fallen angel's pursuit
of your husband?" Something in his voice and eyes told her the answer
was of more than casual interest to this very kind young man.

She did not mask the truth from him as she stared up into
his concerned features, and an expression of fleeting torment darkened
his eyes before he pulled her close into his arms. "You love him, don't
you?"

She nodded mutely, feeling no inclination to pull away
from the warmth and understanding he offered. It was such a relief to
share the closely guarded secret with another human being, even though
the sharing made it terribly real.

"Being my wife's tennis partner doesn't
give you the freedom to make love to her."

They instinctively jerked apart, giving an impression of
guilt, at the black fury in Louis's voice, and the book in Nicole's lap
crashed to the floor. He had come around the corner of the house
without either of them having been aware of his approach. He stood
there now, looking tall and virile in tennis shorts and shirt that
emphasized the taut masculinity of his tall physique, but the
clean-cut features were chiseled of uncompromising stone and the dark
blue eyes were almost black now as he glared at the couple in the porch
swing.

"Are you ready?" he asked Nicole in a voice brittle with
control that hovered on the edge of violence.

"This isn't what you think," Adrian said in a strained
voice, and she understood in a flash why he hadn't launched into an
explanation immediately upon Louis's appearance. Adrian felt
constrained not to say anything to give away her
confidence. He preferred to risk looking like a culprit rather than
betray her!

Louis ignored Adrian altogether, staring at Nicole as she
picked up the book with clumsy fingers and began to walk stiffly beside
him toward the main house. Her knees were shaky at the realization of
what he might have heard had he arrived a few seconds earlier. He would
have witnessed her abject admission to Adrian that she loved this
arrogant man to whom she was no more than a pawn he'd employed when he
needed her. Better that he misconstrue Adrian's innocent embrace than
know the truth.

"Did you have a good game at the club?" she asked
tentatively after seconds of tense silence.

The dark blue eyes scorched her face. Ignoring the
banality she'd offered as a bridge to their former polite relationship,
he said scathingly, "Nice of you to pick Adrian for your doubles
partner without even consulting my wishes on the matter. I'm not
exactly a clumsy oaf on the tennis court, if I do have to say so
myself."

"But you wanted to play as Angela's partner," she said
lamely, puzzled at the note of injury underlying the anger in his words.

His eyebrows rose in furious mockery. "Oh, did I? And how
did you happen to glean that bit of insight, since you couldn't
possibly overhear what I say in my sleep?"

She reddened at the implication. They'd come to a
standstill beneath the hoary branches of one of the aged live oaks. She
was breathtakingly aware of his physical presence, his anger only
intensifying the potency of the masculinity he emanated. Her fingertips
tingled with the daring impulse to reach out and smooth away the frown
on those tense, handsome features.

Taking a deep breath, she chose her words with care,
trying to be as honest as possible without revealing too much. "Elaine
first suggested Adrian and I play together in the club mixed doubles
tournament—she probably assumed you and Angela wouldn't want
to break up a winning team. I had no intention of playing at all, since
I'm just a beginner."

"Then this morning, when Angela brought up the subject of
the tournament, I was afraid you would refuse to play as her partner
out of consideration for my feelings. So—I…"

"You ignored my feelings and
announced you were playing with Adrian, who doesn't seem in the least
bothered at having a beginner for a partner." She flinched at the
savagery of his sarcasm. He sounded really angry over what didn't seem
to be very important.

"Adrian is a very good friend," she praised sincerely.

"Oh, is he?" he mocked, with a curl of the handsome mouth.
"Well, he'd better keep his hands off my wife, if he knows what's good
for him."

She had to walk fast now to keep up with his long strides.
"I'm not going to play in the tournament," she stated into the silence
broken only by the crunch of their tennis shoes on the bleached
clamshells covering the winding lane.

"Oh, yes, you are." He laughed without humor. "Angela took
care of that today, much to the delight of everyone present at the
club. If you backed out now, the tongues would really wag—and
the Chauvin name has been the main topic of gossip long enough."

So that was the reason for this display of anger and
resentment. She had entertained the tiniest hope he cared
that she was teaming up with a man other than himself. How foolish of
her!

Her spirits dropped dismally as they went into the house
together for lunch. She looked around expectantly in the small
glassed-in sun porch where they usually ate breakfast and lunch. She
had fully expected Angela to be there gloating.

"Just the two of us, I'm afraid," came his low voice
behind her, as if reading her mind.

"How dull for you," she blurted without sarcasm. He must
find her colorless indeed after a morning in Angela's company. The
thought accentuated her natural shyness in his company, and he seemed
totally absorbed in his own thoughts. The result was a silent meal that
Nicole found impossible to get down.



In the days following, she saw very little of him. He
seemed occupied with business responsibilities most of the time, coming
home only to sleep at Mimosa House. Although he still traveled
frequently to various cities outside the state, the trips never lasted
longer than two or three days, making Nicole certain he had
deliberately stayed away during those first four months of their marriage.

Angela had spent several days at Mimosa House outlining
the tour scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving when the graceful old
homes would be festive in their fall decorations.

"It's a good thing I know the house so well," Angela had
grumbled ill-humoredly, obviously put out by Louis's absence. She and
Nicole both knew that her only reason for spending time on the
Historical Society event was to have an excuse to be in his home. "I
need to talk to Louis about some of those old Civil War stories. I just
halfway remember them," she said scornfully, not hesitating to reveal
to Nicole her real attitude toward the reverence for history and
tradition the Tour of Homes symbolized.

What a blessed relief not to have Angela here today,
Nicole reflected gratefully, delighting in the rare combination of circumstances
that allowed her to have the whole estate to herself. Mrs. Holden had
gone somewhere with her husband, Elaine was at school, and Adrian was
spending much less time at the big house since that day Louis had
discovered him holding her in his arms.

She had decided to take the opportunity to practice her
serve, using a wire caddy full of balls. When it was empty, she walked
to the opposite end of the court and began collecting the balls by
placing the caddy on top of each one and pressing it through the spaces
between the wire framing. It wasn't even necessary to bend over with
this ingeniously designed carrier.

How easily she had adjusted to all this luxury. The newest
acquisition was a ball machine that Elaine used for hours every
afternoon. It could be set at varying speeds and angles for practicing
any stroke, catapulting the balls across the net with unerring accuracy
and eliminating the necessity for a second person. As a result, Adrian
had to spend much less time at Mimosa House drilling with Elaine,
although he still coached her on strategy and provided the competition
she needed to improve.

In spite of Elaine's insistence that she use the ball
machine herself, Nicole didn't feel comfortable with a mechanism firing
balls at her, preferring a person at the other end of the court.
Besides, much of her time had been dominated by Angela before she
became discouraged at Louis's absence and made her visits shorter and more
infrequent.

The tournament was only two weeks away now, Nicole
reminded herself nervously. She and Adrian had practiced a few times
against Elaine and Jimmy Martin, the teenaged son of Joe and Clare
Martin. They'd beaten the teenagers, but not without a struggle.
Adrian could easily have played the entire court with his speed and
skill, but he had insisted that Nicole hold up her share of the game.
"You'll never learn doubles by standing in the alley and watching your
partner play," he'd said.

She tossed the ball high into the air and forced herself
to extend and reach for it with the racquet head the way Adrian had
taught her.

"Tough serve."

She was startled at the low voice she had heard so rarely
lately. Louis stood in the open gateway, dressed in white shorts and
shirt that emphasized the muscular brownness of his legs and arms and
made his black hair and blue eyes even more vivid by contrast. He
dangled a tennis racquet in one lean brown hand. Where had he come from?

"You continue to serve and I'll return," he instructed,
walking to the opposite end of the court. "You need to get used to the
ball coming back hard. Adrian's probably been taking it easy on you."

After a second's nervous hesitation, she tossed up the
ball in her hand and served to his forehand. He returned the ball with
a sharp crack of the racquet strings, and it skidded so close to her
feet that she jumped aside to keep from being hit.

"I think you're right," she said lightly. "Not even Jimmy
Martin hits the ball that hard at me."

"So far you've just played against well-meaning friends,"
he said in a friendly voice that made her spirits soar. "In a
tournament, there's no such thing as friendship or pity. You pick on
the other team's weakness."

"How brutal," she protested.

She continued to serve to him, both to the deuce and ad
sides of the court. After a while he suggested, "Would you like to try
getting my returns back across the net?"

"I guess that would be valuable practice," she agreed,
somewhat skeptical of ever getting a racquet on the low, hard returns.

"By the way, has Adrian mentioned to you that it's a good
idea to mix up your serves and not serve consistently to either
forehand or backhand?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't have that much control yet," she
admitted.

"Sure you do. Just concentrate on where you want the ball
to go and turn your shoulders in that direction as you follow through."

She obeyed the clear instructions and to her amazement
was able to direct the ball to his forehand or backhand according to
her decision ahead of time. "It works!" she exclaimed elatedly.

For the next half hour she concentrated with all her
mental powers on serving and then returning the lightning-fast ball as
it skimmed back at her. Her percentage of success improved until
finally she had to admit that her arm was becoming fatigued from the
serving motion.

"Would you mind serving some to me?" she asked timidly.

His serves crashed across the net with such speed she
couldn't even touch them. She was beginning to realize what a powerful
player he was. "I can't even see the ball," she said apologetically.

"Stand farther back behind the baseline and watch the ball
the whole time when I toss it up into the air and hit it. Don't be
distracted by my motions."

Following the impersonal directions, she found herself
able to block back some of the serves, until finally she was too tired
to concentrate any longer.

"That's enough," he said, beginning to pick up the balls
scattered all around the perimeter of the court.

"It's good of you to help me," she said as he came over to
set the caddy down and reached over to pick up his racquet cover.

"I have to hand it to Adrian's teaching. He's done a good
job with an apt student," he complimented, bringing a blush of pleasure
to her cheeks.

"You're really good," she praised.

"I had a little trouble at first concentrating," he said,
with a vibrant undertone that dissolved the impersonal camaraderie
between them. His dark blue eyes roved over her body in an assessing
gaze that lingered on the swell of her breasts under the soft fabric of
her khaki-colored tennis dress and then slid down over her hips and
long, shapely legs. She trembled at the impact of his survey.

"Maybe I should try to capitalize on that during the
tournament," she teased daringly.

"If you're willing to take the consequences," he returned,
an enigmatic smile softening the lines of his finely modeled mouth.

Out of her depth now in this conversation, she turned away
and walked along the bricked path leading through the rear patio with
its rich profusion of plants and comfortably cushioned furniture. He
followed close behind her, carrying the caddy of balls and both tennis
racquets.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes to change," he announced.

She flung a startled look over her shoulder and met the
disturbing blue of his gaze. "We're going to the club. I told Mrs.
Holden not to bother to prepare lunch today," he said in a tone that
clearly tolerated no objections to his plans. He had not bothered to
consult her wishes at all.

"But I'm perfectly capable of preparing lunch my-self,"
she proclaimed, torn between the unknown peril of being all alone with
him in the house and the dread of facing people at the country club.

"Have you forgotten already that I have no intention of
avoiding other people? The only way to lay idle gossip to rest is to go
out together like any ordinary married couple." His commanding manner
had a chilling effect, and without another word she went to her room to
change her clothes and resume her empty role of legal wife.

Chapter Seven






Nicole wore her new cranberry dress, which hugged her
waist and hips and swirled gracefully around her calves. Its matching
jacket had a mandarin collar and narrow cuffs buttoned at the wrists.
The rich hue accentuated her brunet coloring, and she made a lovely
picture beside Louis with her dark hair drawn back from a center part
into a loose chignon at the nape of the neck, the large gold hoops in
her ears the only jewelry she wore besides the wide gold wedding band.

She needed a boost to her self-confidence when she entered
the country club dining room filled with people who all seemed to know
Louis and be eager to attract his attention. Their progress was slow as
he stopped to exchange greetings right and left.

"Oh, hi, Mary Jane. I want you to meet my wife,
Nicole… How's the golf game these days?… Good… No, she prefers tennis… Yes,
I'm back in Iberville to stay now I have a good reason.."

He greeted each person with such ease, seeming to know
what to say to each of them, and he was careful to introduce Nicole,
until her head was spinning with names she wouldn't be able to remember
or to connect with the appropriate faces.

Finally, they arrived at their own table, a choice
location out on the glassed-in veranda overlooking the golf course.
Expelling her breath in an audible little sigh, she sank into her chair
and then colored charmingly at his keen look of understanding.

"It wasn't that bad, now, was it?" he chided lightly.
"They're all just people, like you and me."

"Like you, but not like me."

"Nonsense, you wear luxury well. No one seeing you at this
moment would doubt you had been born with all that money can buy. As a
matter of fact," he added with dry amusement, "you are getting some
rapier glances with more than a hint of envy from some of the female
company present here today."

"That's due more to my being here with you than my
appearance. You're easily the best-looking man here," she said with
honest appraisal. He was not just tall and well built, but there was a
grace and aura of mastery about him that drew the eyes of women like
steel to a magnet.

"An honest-to-God compliment from my wife! And I didn't
think you'd noticed," he teased sardonically, a disturbing light in his
dark blue eyes. "Now that we've established our mutual admiration,
shall we decide on some more mundane matters such as what to order?"

"What do you recommend?" She had been staring at the large
menu without really deciphering the print.

"The turtle soup here is excellent. So is the eggplant
stuffed with shrimp and crabmeat dressing. But perhaps you would
prefer steak?"

"Oh, no, your recommendations sound perfect. I'm afraid
I'm a real Cajun," she said, in the low, vibrant voice with its
tantalizing hint of an accent.

"You'll never be able to hide your Louisiana French
background when you speak," he agreed.

She was relieved when the waiter appeared to take their
order, necessitating the transfer of Louis's attention away from her.
Warmth suffused her entire body at the directness of his gaze, causing
her to feel flustered, like an unsophisticated adolescent. Today was so
wonderful, thanks to their newfound friendliness. She loved to be in
his company, even though she knew deep down he couldn't possibly find
her as fascinating as the women in his own social circle, women who had
traveled and undergone experiences she had only read about in
magazines. If only things were different, and they could meet on an
equal footing. But that wasn't even a remote possibility.

"Hey, remember me? The good-looking chap you were having
lunch with?" The teasing question brought her back to the present.
"That's better. What were you thinking about with such frowning
concentration?"

"I was thinking I should take advantage of this rare
opportunity to talk to you alone—" Her voice faltered at the
look he flashed her. "That is, I've wondered if you've ever considered
letting Elaine play some of the sanctioned tournaments to get official
ranking in the state. Possibly even in the South."

His eyes caressed her lips and nose and smooth brow and
then returned to her lips with such a distracting effect that she had
to fight the temptation to place both hands on her cheeks to block the
electric scrutiny. "Well?" she asked nervously.

At that moment the first course was served, causing a
momentary lull. When he spoke, she realized he had been listening to
her hesitant suggestion. "I have considered the
possibility, but she would have to be accompanied by an adult
companion, someone with enough interest in her development to put up
with the travel and tedium of sitting around whole weekends at
courtside, staying in motels, eating meals in restaurants. It's hard
to find that kind of devotion in anyone besides a parent."

Her words came in a soft rush, the musical accent more
pronounced than usual. "I'd welcome the
opportunity, for more than one reason. Not just for Elaine, although
she deserves the chance to prove herself. She works so hard on her
tennis. I'd like to do something useful. Right now I'm pretty much of a
freeloader, since Mrs. Holden seems to regard my efforts to help her as
a threat to her position."

Something unreadable in his expression set off the beat of
a little pulse in the hollow of her throat, a detail that did not
escape his attention. "You've earned your keep at Mimosa
House—in more ways than setting my mind at ease about Elaine,
and heaven knows she was on my mind at the time I proposed"—he
gave the word an ironic inflection—"to you. At the time it
seemed like a good thing to do."

The nuance of regret in his voice as he spoke of his
impulsive marriage twisted like a knife in her heart. What had seemed
like a good idea must have backfired in his face when he returned to
Iberville and saw Angela again and realized he still loved her. Now he
didn't know what to do with the woman he had made his titular wife,
Nicole reflected despondently.

The only decent thing for her to do was to remove herself,
but the thought was unbearable. Aside from her own misery at having to
relinquish the right of seeing him, she knew Elaine would be deeply
hurt by her leaving. The young girl had opened up her heart without
reserve and would consider Nicole's departure a personal rejection,
even though it certainly would not be.

"And now you're sorry you married me?" The sumptuous
turtle soup tasted like vinegar as she waited with a heavy heart for
his reply to her half question, half statement.

A slight disturbance in the main dining room worried at
the fringes of her consciousness. She glanced up from her study of the
ornate silver soup spoon to find Louis looking in the direction of the
loud voices and laughter. She turned her own head and recognized Angela
at the center of a small group of latecomers. Louis had an abstracted
look on his face as he said reflectively, "I've experienced moments of
regret."

It took every ounce of control she possessed to conceal
the raw torment washing over her at his open admission of what she had
previously only surmised. Fortunately, she was spared the necessity of
replying, as Angela turned in their direction, motioning her companions
to follow.

Nicole felt like an encumbrance to him, a reminder that he
was not free like this carefree group of young single men and women.
Was he sorry now he had insisted on bringing her to the club for lunch?
She determined to excuse herself on some pretext and return to Mimosa
House alone so that he could remain and enjoy Angela's company.

"Louis! You didn't wait for me!" Angela wailed in a
spoiled-little-girl voice. "I thought I told you last night I'd be a
little late."

Nicole's eyes betrayed her as they swung quickly in
Louis's direction, comprehension clouding the brown depths as she
realized Louis had obviously been with Angela when he had not appeared
for dinner at Mimosa House. His blue eyes met hers steadily, his lips
tightening as he replied, "You don't seem to be suffering for lunch
companions today, Angela."

"Why don't we have the waiter pull up another table, so we
can join you?" Louis looked forbidding at Angela's suggestion, but she
was already directing the waiter, who had arrived with Nicole's and
Louis's main course. Looking like a petite temptress in a silvery green
pantsuit which clung to voluptuous curves, Angela managed to place
herself next to Louis.

Nicole concentrated hard on eating the savory eggplant
dish that she would ordinarily have attacked with relish, but the
strain she felt in the present awkward situation constricted her throat
muscles until she feared she wouldn't be able to get down a mouthful.

She knew the other young people with Nicole, since they
had all been involved in the wedding festivities. Craig Johnson was a
heavyset young man of about twenty-five who worked in his father's
insurance business after having obtained his college degree in
business administration at Louisiana State University. Larry Dupuis
also worked for his father, who owned a tugboat and barge company. He
was a wiry young man about Craig's age, with a wry drawl and heavy
eyelids which drooped over his brown eyes, making him look perpetually
sleepy or hungover. The two girls, Sally Robichaux and Michelle Hart,
had both been bridesmaids in the wedding that had begun as Angela's and ended
up Nicole's.

It was a thoroughly embarrassing situation for Nicole,
robbing her temporarily of the power of speech. It had been bad enough
confronting social acquaintances of all ages at the Martins' dinner
party, but the size of that gathering had made it less painful than
this, where she had to face Angela's contemporaries who must have been
stunned at Nicole's appearance on that unforgettable day, dressed in
Angela's wedding gown.

The whole notion of a bridesmaid substituting for the
absent bride seemed too bizarre to be believed in the light of everyday
reality as Nicole sat there miserably, pretending to eat. How could she
ever have consented to such a farce? And now Louis admitted he was
sorry they had gone through with it.

The waiter brought cocktails for the four late arrivals,
and they chatted easily about topics common to all except her. Louis
seemed constrained in his manner, not joining in unless pressed by a
direct question. Undoubtedly he was aware she didn't fit in and was
probably sorry he had brought her. If only she could think of something
to say to break what seemed to her own exaggerated perception a
conspicuous silence.

"Do you play bridge?" Craig, who was seated on her left,
addressed the question directly to her in an obvious attempt to include
her. They had been talking about a Friday night group which they all
seemed to belong to, even Louis being an occasional participant.

"I'm afraid not," she admitted ruefully. "I've just never
been interested enough to try to learn." A wry smile tugged the corners
of her mouth at the amazed looks turned at her in response to her
comment. From their attitude, she might have stated lack of interest in
sleeping or eating. Most of them probably regarded bridge as a basic
survival skill, as no doubt it was in their social world.

"In college I was known all over campus for my prowess in
teaching bridge to young lovelies," Larry drawled invitingly, making
the others laugh in appreciation. "Seriously, I'd be glad to introduce
you to the intriguing mysteries of the game, and I promise you'll be
just as hooked as the rest of us."

"I'm perfectly capable of teaching my wife the rudiments
of bridge if she's interested." Nicole was startled at the hauteur in
Louis's face and the ice in his tone.

Larry was undaunted by the rebuff. "From what I hear, old
man, the husband is the last person to teach his wife. I understand
Adrian's practically made a tennis pro of Nicole in a few months'
time." His voice was alive with good-natured teasing, but the words
must have sunk into a sore spot if Louis's livid features were any
indication. He seemed to pale under his healthy tan.

"We'll see about that when we meet her and Adrian in the
tournament, won't we, Louis, darling?" Angela interposed sarcastically.
She leaned toward him, placing her perfectly manicured hand on his
tense arm, which lay in front of him on the table. There was blatant
possessiveness in the easy familiarity of her gesture.

He shrugged carelessly. "What difference does it make?
It's only a game."

"Well, I'm betting on Nicole," Larry taunted with a daring
look at Angela and Louis and a broad wink at Nicole. He was working on
his second martini, which might account for his high spirits, even
though Nicole remembered him as the life-of-the-party type at the
wedding festivities where she had encountered him.

He gave an exaggerated sigh as he complained, "Well, I'd
better get back to the office and make at least a token effort at
working before the old man gets on my back again. I'll leave the rest
of you lucky stiffs to your unearned leisure. Anyone need a lift?"

"I do."

Heads turned in surprise at Nicole's quick answer. It had
come almost involuntarily, arising out of her intense need to escape a
situation she did not feel able to cope with. She was aware of Louis
tensed as if about to uncoil from his chair. Surely he realized as she
did that she did not belong in this country club environment.

To her consternation he rose to his feet and held his hand
out to her. She risked the merest glance at the thundercloud on his
chiseled features as she took his hand and murmured, "Please stay. I
promised to do some shopping for Elaine this afternoon."

For a moment he looked as if he might argue, but a
laughing comment from a nearby table seemed to make him aware that the
dining room was full of people and he and Nicole were drawing a few
interested looks. Louis was not the type to enjoy making scenes in
public, Nicole thought with relief. That thought was followed by an
action that thoroughly contradicted her private observation.

Louis tightened his hold on her hand and drew her close
against him. She looked up in surprise, realizing in the stunned second
before he kissed her what he intended to do. It wasn't a quick little
peck of a kiss, either, that people exchange in public. He kissed her
hard and passionately right there in front of everybody.

It wasn't easy when he released her to muster up enough
composure to bid the curious young people remaining at their table a
general farewell. She could feel the crimson color in her cheeks and
knew her lips looked like they'd been kissed.



On the drive back to Mimosa House, one part of her mind
concentrated on the conversation with Larry while another part puzzled
over the parting scene in the club dining room. Why would Louis kiss
her in front of everyone when just minutes earlier he had admitted to
her he had regrets about their marriage? Angela, in the background, had
looked furious.

Then, with a sinking heart, Nicole comprehended the only
reasonable explanation for Louis's unexpected action. He was punishing
Angela for the torment she had caused him, and at the same time
declaring to the outside world, in this instance his social
acquaintances at the club, that his marriage had worked after all. If
only it had worked, Nicole thought despairingly,
as Larry drove up the circular driveway to the front of the lovely old
house with its slender Grecian columns and elegant portico.

Even in her distracted state, she had perceived that under
the glib exterior Larry was a sincere person, genuinely interested in
her opinions and ideas. When he parted with the hope that they would
meet again soon, she knew he was not just being polite but had enjoyed
-her company. The knowledge provided a much-needed boost to her
flagging spirits.

That afternoon time hung heavy on her hands, since the
excuse she had given Louis for leaving the club wasn't genuine. On
sudden impulse she decided to risk Sarah Holden's wrath and bake
several of the apple pies that had been her father's and Andrew's
special delight. Tomorrow she would take one down to the marina on the
chance that Andrew might be tied up at the dock. Besides, she felt the
need to do something to keep her hands busy and her mind still.

As she peeled apples and kneaded pastry, she thought
nostalgically of those years she had cooked this same recipe for her
father and brother in the small cottage that had been their happy home.
When Mrs. Holden came in and began preparations for dinner, Nicole
ignored her resentful sniff. After all, hadn't Louis said she could do
anything she wanted in that kitchen? At least for the time being, she
was Mrs. Louis Chauvin.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Holden expressed admiration when Nicole
removed the golden-crusted pies from the oven, even going so far as to
suggest she might like to have the recipe if they tasted as good as
they looked. "Every now and then I just have the urge to get in the
kitchen and create something special," Nicole confided and was
surprised to note an approving expression on the normally sour face.
Even Mrs. Holden had feelings! She felt as if she had just made some
kind of breakthrough in being accepted by the housekeeper. Not that her
position there was permanent enough for it to matter.

Somehow she wasn't surprised when Louis wasn't present at
dinner that night. She and Elaine ate alone, with the younger girl
confiding her crush on Jimmy Martin. "I let him beat me at singles this
afternoon," she admitted in a shamed voice, her shining eyes attesting
to her inner confusion at the complications of love.

"Don't you think he'll like you even if you can
beat him at tennis?" Nicole asked gently, containing her amusement at
the younger girl's obvious chagrin over a defeat even if it wasn't
deserved.

"Oh, Nicole, what if he doesn't like me as much as I like
him? What will I do?"

Nicole couldn't help recognizing the irony in the
questions as she tried to assure Elaine everything would work out
satisfactorily. It would seem that girls of all ages faced the same
questions and uncertain…

Hours later she nestled in the corner of the huge
chintz-covered sofa in the downstairs family room with the big color
television. Sleep was out of the question, and after reading for
several hours in her room she had padded quietly down the formal
staircase to watch a vintage movie featuring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren
Bacall.

She was more asleep than awake when the door opened
quietly and in walked Louis, carrying a glass of milk and a wedge of
the apple pie she'd baked that afternoon. Instinctively, she kept her
lashes lowered in feigned sleep as he sat on the sofa, so close that
her bare feet pressed against his thigh. He ate pie and drank milk
without speaking, his eyes directed toward the figures on the big
screen with only an occasional glance at her. Her heart pounded with
alarming volume as she withdrew her feet an infinitesimal space from
that disturbing contact with his rock-hard thigh.

.After what seemed like eons, he leaned over and placed
his plate and glass on the low table in front of the sofa. Then, with a
lithe maneuver that took her breath, he reached over and lifted her
into his lap, where her senses were immediately swamped by the
tantalizing masculine smell of his pipe tobacco and cologne blended
with the warm muskiness of his flesh.

"Thanks for deserting me for a younger man," he said wryly.

"You must have liked the company," she blurted, forgetting
she was supposed to be asleep. "You didn't come home for dinner."

"I didn't dare," he murmured enigmatically, picking up a
lock of glossy brown hair and lifting it to his face. "The temptation
is too great."

She hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about,
but before she knew what was happening, he stood up holding her in his
arms and strode out of the room and up the curving flight of stairs to
her bedroom. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart and
attributed it to the exertion of carrying her.

Then he was laying her gently in bed and pulling up the
covers. His brief, tender kiss brought tears to her eyes, but before
she could speak he was already gone, closing the door soundlessly
behind him.



The next morning there was a softbound volume lying next
to her empty plate at the breakfast table. It was a compilation of all
the sanctioned tournaments for both juniors and adults in Louisiana.
She was turning the pages with fingers that trembled with excitement
when Louis came in, tall and distinguished in a slate-gray suit that
darkened the intense blue of his eyes. Shy wonder shone in her eyes as
she smiled at him.

"You decided to let Elaine try?"

"Try what?" came the girl's curious question as she
skimmed into the room on long, slim legs and dropped into her usual
chair at the table, not wasting a second in pouring herself glasses of
orange juice and milk and smearing blackberry jelly on a slice of toast.

Nicole looked questioningly at Louis and read his silence
as permission for her to break the news to Elaine, who leaped out of
her chair and raised both arms in a spontaneous gesture of excitement.

"No kidding! Whose idea was it? Nicole's, I'll bet. Oh,
you're a dear. You're the greatest thing that's happened around this
old house in years!" She rushed over and gave Nicole a swift hug and
then danced around to the other end of the table to give a twin hug to
Louis, who tolerated her outburst with fond indulgence.

"I had no idea playing sanctioned tournaments had this
kind of importance to you." There was a touch of self-reproof in his
voice.

"I guess I did kind of hint to you,
huh, Nicole?" Her dark blue eyes, so like her brother's, were fairly
brimming with joyful mischief, causing Nicole to laugh with genuine
amusement, a sound Louis had never before heard, to judge from his
bemused reaction.

"You know a sucker when you see one," Nicole teased, and
then regretted the impulsive rejoinder at a strange expression on
Louis's face. What painful memory had her thoughtless words evoked? To
cover her confusion, she opened the book and began to scan the pages.
"Let's see. What is the first event?"

"Probably the Dryades in New Orleans at Thanksgiving,"
Elaine prompted, helping herself to ample portions of bacon and
scrambled eggs placed on the table by Mrs. Holden.

"You're right. That should fall during your week off from
school. Since it's only a three-hour drive to New Orleans, we may not
have to stay in a motel." She appealed to Louis for his opinion.

"Driving back and forth is out of the question. In any
event, there's no need to stay in a motel." At her puzzled expression,
he explained, "I have an apartment in the French Quarter."

Her surprise must have shown on her face at this
revelation. He continued in an even voice, "We've always maintained an
apartment in the city as long as I can remember. My parents used to
stay overnight when they went into the city to concerts or parties.
During Mardi Gras it comes in handy for putting up out-of-town guests."

"It has a neat balcony that overlooks the parade route,"
Elaine put in enthusiastically.

"Isn't the French Quarter dangerous?" Nicole asked,
remembering the narrow streets and alleyways, the homeless men who
always seemed to be lounging against the uneven brick walls.

"I have no intention of allowing the two of you to stay
there alone," Louis stated firmly. "I'll arrange to be in the city
myself."

Nicole's involuntary "No!" blended with Elaine's exuberant
"Oh, boy!" but Nicole knew her reaction had not escaped his keen
notice. Her face was suffused with pink under the smooth tan as she
inquired, "How big is the apartment?"

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile in immediate
comprehension of the import of her question. "It has bedrooms to
accommodate an intimate group of three."

She sought to cover her discomfiture at his knowing irony
by reminding Elaine it was time for her to go to school. As she arose
from the table intending to drive Elaine, Louis halted her with his
voice and eyes. "Holden will drive her. I want to talk to you."

"Uh-oh, Nicole, that's his bossy voice. Watch out," Elaine
flung over her shoulder as she loped out of the room.

Unexpectedly, he smiled at her with disarming
friendliness. "I meant to forewarn you yesterday, but you dashed off
with Larry Dupuis after lunch, and then last night I was held up with a
political dinner. And you didn't seem to welcome conversation when I
got home." The gentle mockery in his voice aroused a thousand tiny
prickles in her nerve ends at the memory of being held close in his
arms as he carried her up the stairs to her room.

"What was it you were going to forewarn me about?" How
maddening for her voice to vibrate with apprehension.

"I want you to drive into New Orleans with me today with
plans to stay overnight. I have some business to take care of, while
you do some shopping." He hesitated slightly. "A friend of mine, Carol
Larrison, has jumped at the opportunity of shopping with you. I thought
you might like some company."

"You don't trust my taste," she accused quietly, stung at
the thought that he had asked one of his friends to accompany her to
make sure she didn't buy anything inappropriate.

"It's not your taste I worry about. It's your apparent
reluctance to spend my money. We're dining tonight with Carol and her
husband Ed at Antoine's."

Suddenly remembrance dawned on Nicole's somber features.
"Adrian and I are supposed to practice against Elaine and Jimmy Martin
this afternoon. The tournament is next weekend, remember."

His lean, handsome face darkened with irritation as he
rose in one fluid motion. "That's too bad. You're going with me. Adrian
will just have to find someone else to dazzle with his tennis prowess.
I'll give you fifteen minutes to get ready. You can buy everything you
need in the city."

What did he mean by that remark about Adrian? She wasn't
dazzled by him. Quite the contrary. She felt relaxed and comfortable in
his presence, while every sense and nerve end trumpeted her awareness
of her husband's virile masculinity. Maybe her responses weren't as
obvious as she had feared, she reflected with relief as she dialed
Adrian's number to tell him she would not be able to play tennis that
afternoon.



Louis took her cheap avocado-green suitcase and stowed it
in the spacious trunk next to the luxurious tan of his own leather bag.
"Pick out some luggage while we're in New Orleans," he instructed
peremptorily, closing the trunk lid and helping her into the passenger
seat of the pale blue Mercedes, his hand impersonal on her elbow. She
could never complain about his manners. He treated her with the same
flawless courtesy he might employ with anyone else.

Much of the road between Iberville and New Orleans was
winding two-lane with an occasional stretch of four-lane highway. She
relaxed in the soft luxury of the leather upholstery and let her
thoughts range freely to the music from the FM radio. Her imagination
was always captured by the fleeting glimpses into the lives of
strangers as she passed through the small towns with their inhabitants
engaged endlessly in the business of everyday living.

They passed lonely farmhouses surrounded by flat fields of
pastureland with grazing cows. Nearly every house, even the most humble
little weather-beaten shotgun shacks on the outskirts of small towns,
had its patch of garden, which looked depleted and forlorn this time of
year.

"I wonder how these houses came to be called 'shotguns,'"
she said musingly as they passed a cluster of narrow, unpainted houses,
each with a small front porch. A very old black woman rocked slowly on
one, her toothless mouth moving rhythmically.

"Actually, I've never bothered to ask," he admitted,
glancing at her in a way that made her conscious of the space she had
put between them as she sat pressed against the passenger door. "Maybe
the name reflects the fact that you walk straight through from room to
room with no hallways. The old ones in New Orleans have become quite
sought after for renovation. I'll have to show you some on Magazine
Street."

From that point on, there was no lag in the
conversation. They discussed the revival of interest in all things
old and traditional, giving rise to barn sales and auctions all over
the southern half of the state where people vied for possession of old
coins, furniture, jewelry, and nostalgia items like antique cash
registers and record players.

"I don't have the collector's urge," she admitted, "even
though graceful old furniture appeals to me because of that aura of
being built not just for service but also for beauty." How it had hurt
to have to give up her grandmother's secretary and the old armoire she
had painstakingly stripped and refinished herself, restoring a clear,
lustrous patina to the carved walnut.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "What happened to the
furniture when Andrew sold the house?"

"It went with the house. A couple of the pieces brought a
good price, and it seemed silly to pay to store them."

He made an impatient sound. "As though there isn't all the
room in the world at Mimosa House to store ten times as much furniture
as that small house could have contained."

Artful questioning elicited a detailed description of the
treasured pieces of furniture, and the indignant suspicion occurred to
her that he was testing her discrimination. Well, for his information,
one didn't have to be born rich to appreciate beauty, and being poor
didn't necessarily relegate one to the ranks of those with vulgar taste!

She tilted her head to a haughty angle and stared out the
window at the low marshland extending for miles before they reached the
West Bank area, separated from New Orleans proper by the broad majesty
of the Mississippi River. She held her breath as they drove across the
dangerously narrow Huey P. Long Bridge, giving a dizzying view of the
teeming waterway that had played such a crucial role in the development
of the United States.

To her left sprawled the gigantic plant of Avondale
Shipyard, its docks extending as far as the eye could see, crowded with
mammoth ships in different stages of construction or repair. To the
right the mighty river was lined with vast warehouses dwarfed by the
bulk of ships from all parts of the world. The human beings visible on
the decks looked like insignificant insects in comparison to the
gigantic cranes lifting crates of merchandise from the docks to the
ship or vice versa.

"Pretty impressive," Louis said in a low voice. "I always
feel I have my hand on a mighty pulsebeat when I drive over this
bridge."

Minutes later they were on the expressway, caught up in
the frantic rush of city traffic. How could one ever get used to
driving in a large city? She was definitely a small-town person when it
came to the brazen maneuvering from crowded lane to crowded lane as though
every second were crucial. She took advantage of Louis's preoccupation
to study him surreptitiously as he directed the car through traffic
with ease. His lean brown hands on the wheel fascinated her with their
capacity for cruel strength as well as gentleness.

They left the expressway and proceeded down St. Charles
Avenue into the historic old Garden District. With a deft twist of the
wheel, he entered Felicity Street and halted in front of a narrow
three-story house of pristine gray with intricate white ironwork on its
triple balconies. The merest excuse of a front lawn was separated from
the uneven brick of the street by a tall iron fence, also painted white.

"I'll leave you in Carol's capable hands," he explained
as he hurried her up the steps carved into the steep slope of the tiny
lawn. "I'll meet you downtown later this afternoon. After a drink with
Carol and Ed, we'll change at the apartment and meet them later at
Antoine's." He punched the illuminated button beside the door, setting
off a faint melodic bell in the interior of the house.

A chic woman with short auburn hair greeted Louis with
arms outstretched, pulling his head down for a kiss on his smiling
lips. "It's about time you brought your new wife to visit your city
friends," she scolded, giving Nicole an appraising look. "Run along,
now, and we'll meet you later." Louis didn't seem to mind her bossiness
in the least.

After he had left, Carol ushered Nicole to the powder room
in the hallway with the assurance that she would be ready to venture
out on their shopping trip as soon as she collected her handbag and
gave some last-minute instructions to the maid. With a pang of despair,
Nicole noted that the older woman's grooming was absolute perfection.
Could she ever look like that?

Her brief glimpse of the house revealed high ceilings with
old-fashioned light fixtures suspended on chains, dark, polished wood
floors with jewel-tone Oriental rugs, and graceful antique furnishings.
It was all very elegant and yet inviting at the same time, showing the
touch of an expert at decorating. If Carol was responsible for the
charming atmosphere of this house, no wonder Louis wanted her to assist
his wife in choosing a wardrobe.

"Your house is lovely," she complimented as Carol rejoined
her in the narrow entrance hallway. She was especially enchanted by the
graceful spiral staircase with its slender railing of gleaming polished
wood.

"We love it!" Carol beamed. "Actually, it was probably
more fun restoring it to its original beauty than it is living in it.
Come over for lunch tomorrow, and I'll bore you with the thousands of
details."

They drove downtown in Carol's dark blue Cadillac

Seville, which they left in a parking lot right off Canal

Street. Nicole found herself in the company of an

experienced shopper who was recognized instantly in

each of the exclusive women's departments, none of

which Nicole had ever so much as entered. She was

quickly initiated into a whole new world of shopping for

clothes.

Instead of bumping shoulders with other bargain hunters
searching through racks of garments, she sank up to her ankles in
deep-piled carpets and allowed herself to be seated in brocade luxury
while evening gowns and dresses and slacks suits were offered for her
inspection and set aside if she expressed an interest. In some
instances, the garment was an original model not for sale. The store's
own dressmakers would make up a replica according to her own
measurements.

It was undeniably a heady experience for a fisherman's
daughter from the bayou country, but one she was enjoying in spite of
the awareness that she had neither money nor credit cards to purchase
these fashions. She had been too rushed that morning to withdraw money
from her savings account, and Louis hadn't offered her a loan. After
some moments of apprehension, she decided to just sit back and enjoy
the ride, so to speak.

At the first store, she fell in love with a sleekly
sophisticated black dinner dress, but hesitated to voice her admiration
until Carol noted her expression with perceptive eyes and exclaimed,
"That would look stunning on you with your classical hairstyle and
cameo features." She also urged an oyster-white suit, a severely
tailored camel-tan trouser suit in herringbone tweed, and a long skirt
with matching jacket in gold velvet.

They all looked so becoming that Nicole flushed at the
extravagant compliments from both Carol and the bosomy saleswoman who
managed the department. "I like all of them" Nicole admitted wistfully,
hoping Carol would make her decision easier.

Carol shrugged. "In that case, why don't you just take all
of them?"

At that fortuitous moment a young clerk came to the door
of the large fitting room to announce apologetically that there was an
important telephone call for Mrs. Carson. As soon as the department
manager had made her extremely unwilling departure, Nicole gathered her
courage and asked Carol timidly, "Aren't these clothes terribly
expensive?" So far, not a single price had been indicated.

Carol smiled with sudden understanding. "Now I understand
your very atypical reluctance. My dear, your husband is a millionaire
many times over. What we spend today is the merest drop in the bucket,
to use a vulgar but apt cliché."

Nicole felt dizzy at the frank revelation. Of course,
she'd realized Louis was a wealthy man, but she'd never once thought of
him as being fabulously rich, which he obviously was. What a strange
idea that she, Nicole, was married to a millionaire. Somehow the
knowledge made him even more unattainable for her, farther out of her
sphere than she had realized.

At least she understood now his impatience with her
failure to use the generous allowance he gave her each month to dress
in the style he expected of the women in his close acquaintance. The
balance in her savings account grew each month as she deposited the
money, somewhere in the back of her mind lurking the shadowy certainty
that her stay at Mimosa House would end and she would need a nest egg
to live.

With a mental shrug of inevitability, she submitted
herself to Carol's direction and went obediently from store to store
trying on expensive clothes and relying on her companion's subtly
offered opinions in making her choices. She soon lost track of the
number of gowns, dresses, suits, and slacks outfits. No money was
needed once she was identified as Mrs. Louis Chauvin, and she reflected
wryly that she could easily have walked out with a whole store,
including furniture and clerks.

"When do we select the glass slippers?" she finally asked
breathlessly, beginning to tire more from the emotional stimulation
than for physical reasons. By now they had spent thousands of dollars
on everything from nightgowns to lingerie to expensive shoes and
matching handbags, all of which would be delivered either to the French
Quarter apartment or to Mimosa House.

"I think we've accomplished our goal." Carol sighed with
satisfaction, glancing at her tiny gold watch. "Jewelry takes a little
more thought and time, but I'm forgetting you already have Mrs.
Chauvin's lovely collection. By the time we get to the Pontchartrain
House, the fellas should be waiting for us."

A short time later in the dimly lit cocktail lounge at the
opulent Pontchartrain House, Nicole resisted the impulse to pinch
herself. If she weren't careful, she might begin to believe the role
she assumed in the friendly eyes of Carol and Ed Larrison, who appeared
to accept her wholeheartedly as Louis's wife.

Ed was a soft-spoken man with a powerful, burly physique
that reminded Nicole of a wrestler. It was soon obvious that he and
Louis were very good friends, the conversation inevitably touching upon
people and events outside Nicole's acquaintance. Somehow, though, she
was made to feel included, with none of that uncomfortable sensation of
being an outsider that had prompted her to flee the company of Angela
and her friends at the club the day she had lunched there with Louis.

He appeared pleased with Carol's vivacious report of the
afternoon's shopping, and his demeanor did nothing to correct the
faulty impression that Nicole was his wife in every sense of the word.
Surely good friends like the Larrisons knew the truth behind their
marriage?

The feeling of unreality continued as Carol and Ed left
them after confirming the time they would all meet later for dinner at
Antoine's, one of the more famous of the old gourmet restaurants in the
Vieux Carre or French Quarter. "That's part of
the charm of living in old uptown New Orleans," Carol exclaimed.
"You're close enough to take advantage of what the city offers. The
suburbs are for the birds!"

Waiting in the formal lobby with its awesome glitter of
crystal chandeliers while Louis claimed the car from the hotel parking
lot, she realized fully that for the first time she was alone with him
for the night. After dinner with Carol and Ed, she would have to return
with him to the apartment with none of the protection afforded at
Mimosa House by the presence of other people. The thought was
frightening.

If he perceived her nervousness, he gave no sign during
the short drive to the apartment through narrow old streets with lacy
grillwork and tall, slender shuttered windows giving off an aura of
secrecy. As a tourist walking along the streets on previous occasions,
she had felt a curiosity about the real world going on behind those
ancient brick walls and solid cypress doors scarred by generations of
tenants.

The apartment was on the second floor of one of the narrow
old buildings so typical of the French Quarter. Louis led the way up a
steep wooden staircase and unlocked the door, leaving her to enter on
her own as he returned to the car to get their luggage.

With an exclamation of pleasure she wandered through the
high-ceilinged rooms with the original plaster on the walls painted
soft neutral tones. The living room was furnished in cheerful
chintz-covered sofas and chairs. The kitchen had an old-fashioned
porcelain sink with a ridged drain on either side and tall wooden
cabinets painted a soft blue-gray.

A quick tour revealed four bedrooms furnished with antique
beds with high carved headboards and massive armoires to substitute for
the closets of modern houses. Altogether, it was a charming apartment
furnished appropriately for the age and character of the old building.

She opened narrow French doors leading from one of the
bedrooms to a small balcony with the typical wrought-iron railing. "Is
this your choice?" She started with surprise as Louis dropped the
suitcases he was carrying inside the door and walked lithely across the
room to stand close beside her on the balcony. "Do you like the
apartment?" he asked lightly.

"I love it. It's perfect," she replied, trying to relax
and forget her apprehension at being alone with him tonight.

"We just have time for a quick drink before we get dressed
for dinner. What would you like?"

"Is there any wine?" she asked hesitantly. "I'm not really
used to drinking." She already felt a little dizzy from the two gin and
tonics she'd had earlier.

"Whatever Madame desires," he said in a teasing voice,
assuming the manner of a dignified maitre d'hotel
and bowing stiffly from the waist. With a giggle of delight, she.
raised her head high and led the way to the living room with the
exaggerated elegance of a highborn lady, some little corner of her mind
noting the presence of his expensive leather suitcase beside her own
shabby green bag just inside the door where he had left them.

"Some of your parcels have been delivered," he said as he
handed her a glass of wine. She held up the fragile crystal glass
appreciatively before sipping the cool, light Chablis.

"How do you like Carol and Ed?" he asked, sprawling beside
her on the deep cushions of a rust-and-blue sofa.

"I like them very much," she answered impulsively. "I
wondered, though—do they know?"

"Do they know what?" he asked noncommittally, his dark
blue gaze moving over her in a way that made her very conscious of his
masculine hardness so near her on the sofa.

"You know," she said impatiently.
"That we're not really—" Her voice trailed off with the
awkwardness of trying to express their unconventional relationship in
words.

"They know you're my wife," he answered in a low, husky
voice, leaning over to place his drink on the low table before taking
her glass and putting it beside his. "I guess we should
dress for dinner," he said regretfully as he slowly lowered his head
and placed his lips against hers in a lingering kiss that produced wild
havoc in her veins. Throwing all caution to the winds, she slid her
hands over his broad shoulders and linked them behind his head.

"Yes, we really should," she murmured, thinking she really
should not have drunk the wine.

Finally, he put her firmly away from him. She dazedly
shook off the spell induced by the contact of his mouth and hands and
hard body. "Where are the parcels you mentioned?" In her mind she
visualized herself in the black dress Carol had insisted she buy. It
was far more daring than anything she had ever before worn.

To be alone with Louis in an elegant apartment in the old
French Quarter of New Orleans getting ready for a dinner at Antoine's
was intoxicatingly unreal! Nicole whirled in front of the mirror over
the old-fashioned vanity, incredulous that the alluring woman in the
low-cut black dress was actually herself. Sometime while she was in the
antiquated bathroom with its huge claw-footed tub, Louis's luggage had
disappeared from her bedroom. Her relief was inexplicably mixed with
disappointment.

The diamond necklace and earrings she had worn to the
Martins' party would have been perfect with the dress, she thought
regretfully as she fastened the heavy gold hoops in her ears. With a
last look at her appearance, she picked up the small jet-beaded handbag
and turned toward the door, intending to wait for Louis in the living
room.

The door swung open magically and Louis stood there
surveying her with disconcerting eyes that lingered on the exposed cleavage
before sliding down to the tiny waist and slim hips. "Well?" she
prompted with defiance born out of sheer nervousness.

"We'd better be going," he said tersely, offering her his
arm. Somehow she was disappointed at his lack of reaction or comment.
What had she been expecting— or hoping for?



The evening had all the enchantment of a fairy tale with
lovely ladies and handsome princes. Carol glowed in a dress of emerald
green that offset her titian hair. Ed was quietly impressive in his
well-fitting suit. But Nicole hardly dared look at Louis, dark and lean
and powerful in dinner clothes tailored perfectly to his athlete's body.

Her apprehensions faded under the influence of the
congenial company and relaxed atmosphere. Food had never tasted better
as she worked her way through oyster soup, spinach salad with hearts of
artichoke and fresh mushrooms, and trout amandine. The wines Ed and
Louis chose to accompany each course were excellent, and she lost all
trace of the reticence she usually felt in the presence of Louis and
his friends, laughing and talking as freely as she did with Elaine and
Adrian. Once or twice she caught Louis looking at her as if he couldn't
quite reconcile this glowing young woman with the very reserved person
he had come to expect.

Dinner at Antoine's was a leisurely affair, each dish not
so much served as presented by the white-coated waiters. "I feel
positively guilty in this place if I don't savor every mouthful," Carol
announced in a theatrical whisper that brought laughs of sympathetic
agreement. The waiter had just completed an elaborate tableside ritual
of preparing Cherries Jubilee, serving them with a solemnity befitting
a church service.

Carol's comment expressed Nicole's own feelings perfectly.
What she didn't realize was how much her own spontaneous enjoyment of
the food and surroundings had contributed to the success of the
evening.

It was after eleven o'clock by the time they'd finished
dessert and consumed several cups of strong black coffee with
afterdinner liqueurs. Ed refused the invitation to drop by the apartment for
a nightcap, explaining he had an important day in court tomorrow and
still had a little last-minute work to do before retiring to bed.

"Besides," moaned Carol, "after this three-hour ritual of
food and drink, I can't even manage a glass of water!" She seemed
genuinely disappointed to learn that Louis planned to drive back to
Iberville the next day and urged Nicole to stay at her house and visit
for several days. Nicole blushed when Louis firmly refused the
invitation without even giving her a chance to speak.

"Well, pardon me!" Carol laughed, exchanging a knowing
look with Ed. "Well, you two will have to come into the city more
often. Just let me know ahead of time, and I'll throw a big party so
Nicole can meet everybody," she promised, looking delighted at the
prospect, as if she were already making up the guest list.

On the short drive from Antoine's to the apartment,
Nicole's shyness crept back, dulling her mind as she searched for
something to say to dispel the silence. What caused that sharp frown of
irritation as he parked the car in front of a big brown Lincoln
Continental which hadn't been there earlier?

The French doors on the second floor opened and light
flowed across the balcony and out onto the street. From the sounds of
laughter and music, someone was having quite a party up there, she
thought idly—and then came a jolt of realization. That was
Louis's apartment! Had he invited guests without telling her?

The expression on his face was so thunderous she didn't
venture a question as they mounted the steep, narrow stairs. He pushed
upon the door and waited for her to precede him into the tiny foyer.
Her dazed senses struggled to assimilate the scene in the living room.
Angela was standing in the open doorway leading to the balcony, a smug
smile on her face. Her ice-blue glance flickered across Nicole's
stunned face and rested on Louis, who stood close behind Nicole with
his hands curved supportively around her waist.

"Last night you didn't mention coming into the city
today!" she accused. Well, so much for Louis's political dinner,
thought Nicole with a sinking heart as she jerked away from those lean,
attractive hands whose touch brought ecstasy to her responsive flesh.
She might have known he had been with Angela. Then why
had he brought her to New Orleans and introduced her to his close
friends and, worst of all, raised her hopes that he might care?

"Nor did you mention plans to make use of my apartment without
permission," he said curtly to Angela, his eyes following Nicole as she
walked stiffly over to one corner where Larry Dupuis appeared deeply
absorbed in picking out another tape. "How did you get in?"

Angela pouted, her manner showing a trace of uncertainty
at this brusque reception. Craig Johnson sat on a sofa between Sally
and Michelle, the three of them looking highly uncomfortable. The
tension in the room was almost unbearable for Nicole. Everyone seemed
to be waiting breathlessly for Angela's answer.

"Darling, you gave me the key, don't
you remember? You said I was welcome to use the apartment any time."
She flashed a glance of triumph in Nicole's direction before walking
seductively across the space separating herself and Louis.

His anger was almost a tangible thing, but when he spoke
his voice was icily controlled. "That was before
the wedding, when you and your mother were coming to New Orleans almost
daily to shop for your trousseau. Circumstances have changed since
then."

Nicole's heart plunged at the deep bitterness in his
voice. Love for him made her achingly conscious of the unhappiness he
had suffered months ago when Angela deserted him and must be suffering
now with this new reminder of how all his plans had crumbled.

Angela's confidence in her ability to smooth things over
faltered slightly at this unexpectedly hostile reception to the intrusion of
herself and her friends. She used her most beseeching tone as she
cajoled, "You can't just put us out on the street this time of night!
After all, it's not our fault all the hotels are filled up with doctors
in town for the medical convention."

"You should have checked into that before you came," Louis
replied unsympathetically.

"Oh, come on, darling, please,"
wheedled Angela. "There's room enough with four bedrooms. It's obvious
you and Nicole were planning to occupy separate rooms, so maybe she
wouldn't mind sharing with one of us girls. It's chummy, but we can
work something out."

Mortification flooded Nicole's cheeks and neck with hot
color at the tactless words. Angela evidently had already surveyed all
the bedrooms and noted the location of her and Louis's luggage in
separate rooms. At that moment she knew she was incapable of staying
another hour in the apartment, much less having to share a bed with
Angela or one of her girlfriends. Summoning her courage, she spoke with
a flippancy born out of sheer desperation.

"Personally I volunteer to return to Iberville tonight and
escape the sardine act. Someone else is welcome to my bed."

Her announcement caused titters of surprise that gave her
a certain grim satisfaction. Obviously she had been expected to go
along meekly with whatever was decided. Angela's eyes narrowed with
suspicion at this unexpected turn of events.

"Well, do I have a chauffeur?" Nicole prompted with a
brittle poise she was far from feeling.

Larry started to speak, only to be silenced by a curt
gesture from Louis. "Nobody is driving my wife home except me."

Later Nicole would replay the scene in her mind and
remember details she hadn't even realized she'd noticed: Angela's
whimpered protest and the look of pure enmity in her eyes as she glared
at Nicole; the expression of surprise on Larry's face; and, most of
all, the subtle change in attitude evident in Craig Johnson and the two
other girls, as if they had suddenly made a startling
discovery…

The long ride back to Iberville was silent and strained,
idle conversation being impossible because of a high invisible barrier.
It was hard to believe this impassive, stern man was the same person
whose company she had enjoyed on the drive into the city, the same
attentive companion who had made her pulses drum with awareness all
during dinner.

She mustered up her courage and spoke tentatively as they
speeded along in the heavy darkness with dense swamp spreading out on
both sides. "You really didn't have to leave tonight. Larry probably
wouldn't have minded—"

"I'm sure Larry wouldn't have
minded," he interrupted with cutting irony that brought tears to her
eyes. It sounded as if he hated her. Her insides shriveled as she
huddled into the corner against the door. Her thoughts went round and
round in endless circles as she relived the events of the day, bitter
that it had all ended this way. An hour passed and her eyelids grew
very heavy. It was just too much trouble to hold them up.

Some time later the flashing brightness of a caution
light blinded her, and with a start she realized that somehow she had
moved from her position against the passenger door and was sitting
pressed against Louis, her cheek rubbing the rough fabric of his jacket
sleeve.

She sat bolt upright, trying to clear her mind and wake
up. The fuzziness enveloped her head again, and she heard herself
murmur, "I can drive now if you want to rest." She didn't know anything
after that until the car finally came to a complete stop, and strong
arms were gathering her up against a hard chest that thumped with deep
regularity. She relaxed into the warm security of those arms with a
blissful sigh.

Chapter Eight






The next morning she awoke in her familiar brass bed in
the pale yellow bedroom and tried to remember how she had gotten there.
A peek under the covers showed she wore a filmy, pale blue nightgown,
but she didn't remember undressing last night. She didn't remember
anything except that wonderful sensation of being carried in strong
masculine arms.

Evidently she must have awakened enough to remove her
clothes and loosen her hair from its heavy coil at the nape of her
neck. Unless— The thought was so embarrassing she raised both
hands to cheeks flushed at the thought that perhaps Louis had undressed
her and taken the pins out of her hair. How could she face him if he
had?

She needn't have worried, because he wasn't at the
breakfast table when she went down. Elaine was full of questions about
the trip into the city, and Nicole did her best to answer them with the
enthusiasm expected of her. She tried without success to divert the
girl's attention to the upcoming Dryades tournament at Thanksgiving.

"Say, you and Adrian had better get on the ball and

practice for that tournament next weekend. He looked

awful disappointed when you canceled practice to go

off to New Orleans with Big Brother," the girl observed shrewdly.

"I still say I'm not ready to play in a tournament,"
Nicole said worriedly.

"Well, at least Angela won't get a chance to practice with
her partner," the girl said with unmistakable
satisfaction.

"Why not?"

"You know, silly. Louis will be in
New York until Friday. He left early this morning. Didn't he tell you?"
she asked incredulously.

"Of course," Nicole lied, struggling to hide her dismay
that not only was he gone, but he hadn't even bothered to tell her.
That's how much he regarded her as a wife, she thought bitterly.

"Hey, it's not the end of the world. He'll be back."
Elaine eyed Nicole with a penetration discomfiting in a girl so young.
"Besides, I didn't get the impression you were that crazy about Big
Brother."

"It's time for you to get to school," Nicole reminded,
caught in an impossible situation where, no answer would satisfy Elaine
without being either dishonest or too revealing. She just hoped Louis
didn't get the impression she was "that crazy
about him." Cringing inwardly at the humiliation such a discovery by
him would cause her, she faced again the grim truth that leaving Mimosa
House seemed the only real answer to her problems. If only there
weren't Elaine to consider.



Nicole missed Louis with an aching force that dismayed her
at its intensity. The big house seemed hollow and empty without him.
She went down to breakfast each morning despondently aware that he
wouldn't be at the table looking up at her with those enigmatic blue
eyes. It seemed pointless to take any care in dressing for dinner when
it would be just herself and Elaine and possibly Adrian now that Louis
was away.

She struggled to combat the listlessness undermining every
effort. Everything just seemed to be too much trouble. Just a few weeks
ago she had been serene in her life at Mimosa House, content with the
company of Elaine and Adrian. Nothing essential had changed, except for
her feelings. Doggedly she tried to rationalize herself out of the
deep depression.

Even Elaine and Adrian commented on her moodiness. The
three of them spent many hours on the tennis court along with Jimmy
Martin. They all praised her improvement and worked hard at jockeying
up her confidence for the tournament just two days away. Somehow,
though, she couldn't seem to care about the outcome of a tennis
tournament when there were so many more crucial problems to ponder.

She wondered how she had allowed herself to get embroiled
in such a bizarre situation in the first place. Her marriage to Louis
had defied every rule of rational behavior and landed her in the middle
of a situation no girl would envy: married to a man who loved the girl
who had jilted him. The crowning touch to the whole cruel melodrama was
that the bride of convenience had fallen in love with her husband,
knowing he would never reciprocate the emotion. What a hopeless mess!

In the eyes of the world she had everything anybody could
desire, everything, that is, that money could buy. What she didn't have
was love…

"Hey, she's tripped off again. Somebody hit her over the
head with the racquet!" Elaine's teasing voice held an undertone of
concern that prompted Nicole to straighten her shoulders and pretend
mock offense at the chiding. Goodness! She would have to stop this
endless introspection. Lately she found herself standing motionless
right in the middle of some task, lost in the maze of her own thoughts.

"Say, why don't you and Adrian go out to dinner or a movie
or something? It'd do you good. Get your mind off the tournament."

Nicole instinctively rejected Elaine's suggestion, but
Adrian looked like a hurt puppy at her prompt refusal. Why not, for
heaven's sake? Louis obviously dined out with other women even here at
Iberville, and maybe it would do her good to get
out and clear her mind, even though she wasn't dwelling on the
tournament as Elaine believed.

"How about it?" asked Adrian, studying the indecision on
her face and speaking with a wistfulness that made up her mind.

"I'd love to get away from you-know-who for an evening,"
she said brightly, wrinkling her nose at Elaine, who feigned hurt by
grabbing her chest in a mock attack of pain. "Say, maybe you and Jimmy
would like to join us old stodgy folks for a pizza or something?" she
suggested and immediately noted the joy on Elaine's features and the
downcast expression Adrian struggled to conceal. Oh, well, she couldn't make
everybody happy. That was obvious.

"Say, I'm real sorry, but I can't make it tonight," Jimmy
stammered, his face red with adolescent embarrassment.

"I had other plans, anyway," Elaine prevaricated blithely,
hiding her disappointment with female stoicism.



Nicole reflected upon her own indifference as she looked
into her closet of beautiful clothes for something to wear. Getting
dressed for a man other than Louis just lacked the spice of
excitement—there wouldn't be that breathless moment when
those disconcerting blue eyes slid over her figure, making her bones
weaken as if the joints were coming unglued.

Scolding herself mentally, she pulled out a long skirt of
soft wool jersey in a tartan plaid design of green, red, and black.
With it she wore a close-fitting silk blouse of a matching dark green
with long sleeves and a scooped neckline. The overall effect was
stunning after she had braided her long hair and arranged it in a
coronet around her head and slipped heavy gold hoops in her ears. She
descended the graceful sweep of stairs trailing in one hand the fringed
shawl of the same material as the skirt.

The young man who walked into the hallway at that moment
looked up, entranced by the lovely woman whose beauty was only
heightened by the faint shadow in her wide velvet eyes, the slight
pallor to the creamy complexion. Adrian Dessommes was definitely not
given to fanciful poetic comparisons, but he thought whimsically that
Nicole looked like a heroine in a classical tragedy.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his warm hazel eyes exposing
feelings she preferred not to recognize.

"You look pretty, too," she said lightly, and meant the
compliment. Adrian was attractive enough to get his fair share of
female attention. No doubt about it. He wasn't as tall as Louis, but he
had the compact, muscular build of an athlete and carried himself with
a lithe grace. His open, good-natured face was framed by the thick mass
of sun-bleached curls.

"Well?" His voice held a tinge of amusement, and she
blushed at the realization that she had been staring at him for several
seconds.

"Uh-huh. I was just telling myself how lucky I am to have
such a handsome escort," she quipped lightly and couldn't repress the
imp in the back of her mind who taunted, Why can't you be
casual and natural like this with Louis? Because he matters
too much, she hissed back at the tormentor.

"Too bad you tied yourself down without considering the
advantages of a permanent escort like me," he returned in a voice
equally light, but serious at the same time.

"It's a little late for such thoughts," she said slowly as
they walked out to Adrian's low-slung sports car.

"There's always divorce," he said very carefully.

"You're forgetting one thing. Someone with my upbringing
takes her marriage vows very seriously. Besides, I have no grounds for
divorce." Her voice was husky with the effort of speaking calmly about
divorcing the man she loved. She knew she would never be the one to
initiate divorce proceedings, while at the same time she wouldn't stand
in the way of Louis's happiness if he asked her for a divorce.

Both she and Adrian seemed to make a conscious effort to
direct the conversation to pleasant topics on the drive to Lafayette,
where they dined at a new steak house with a Spanish decor. The
atmosphere was quietly intimate and the food good. Afterward they drove
around and checked to see what movies were playing, deciding finally to
see a light comedy.

"I think you chose this one because it's G," Adrian
teased, referring to the rating of the movie for the general public,
which meant it lacked explicit sex scenes and raw language.

"I'm only thinking about your young
morals," Nicole retorted, unable to restrain a tiny blush at the
astuteness of his observation.

Settling into seats about midway in the theater, Adrian
offered her a gigantic container of buttered popcorn, whispering, "Now
for the real reason behind coming to the movies."

The movie was definitely lightweight entertainment about
the mishaps and practical jokes at a large summer camp for children.
Nicole laughed spontaneously at some of the slapstick antics, more
relaxed than she had been since that fateful trip to New Orleans.

Afterward she declined his offer of a drink or a cup of
coffee, insisting it was late and they should be making the drive back.
He didn't demur, and they passed the next hour in companionable
silence, except for several desultory lapses into conversation. She
wondered wistfully why she couldn't have gotten herself emotionally
involved with someone warm and safe like Adrian.

"How about just one little cup of coffee?" he wheedled as
they drove into the big half circle in front of Mimosa House.

"It's late," she protested, hearing the halfhearted
consent in her own tone.

"One late night isn't going to put permanent hollows in
your lovely cheeks. Please."

"Okay, okay, you win. But just one
cup!"

They tiptoed into the house like fellow conspirators,
giggling at the noise they made in their exaggerated effort to be
quiet. Nicole led him back to the kitchen and filled the kettle with
water. While it came to a boil, she ladled coffee grounds into the
central compartment of the French drip-style coffeepot.

A few minutes later they sat opposite each other drinking
the fragrant coffee. Adrian cocked his head toward the door. "Hear
anything?"

"No, it's probably just a new ghost taking up residence,"
she teased playfully.

He leaned over and laid his hand on hers, causing her to
look up into his eyes with a startled expression. "I can't tell you how
much I've enjoyed tonight," he said in a low voice filled with an
emotion that made her squirm uncomfortably.

"Please," she whispered, pulling her hand away with gentle
determination, only to have him reclaim it in a firmer clasp. Sighing
deeply, she said in a regretful voice, "Adrian, please don't get
involved with me. It isn't wise. As I tried to explain tonight, my
marriage vows are forever."

He looked at her with a strange light in his eyes. "It's
awkward bringing this up—but I have to.
A marriage can be annulled if—if it hasn't been consummated."

"I'm afraid that condition doesn't exist in this marriage,
Dessommes, so I'll bid you goodnight." The icy voice came from the
doorway. The couple sitting at the table jerked their heads in that
direction, and Nicole snatched her hand from Adrian's as the scorching
glance of Louis Chauvin eyed the clasp with withering scorn.

With an incoherent exclamation she jumped to her feet,
hating the guilt she emanated. "Where did you come from—you
weren't supposed to—" Adrian was staring at his employer with
a sickened expression on his tanned features, looking as if his
greatest hope in life had suddenly dissipated right before his eyes,
"Sorry, old man," he said soberly. "I guess I had no right."

"No, you didn't," Louis said sternly. "If you plan to stay
here, you'll have to get one thing clear. Nicole is my
wife. There will be no divorce."

Adrian looked questioningly at Nicole for a long moment,
then left the room with a strangled "Goodnight." She stood next to the
table with her head slightly bowed so that her gaze was riveted on the
glossy brown leather shoes of the implacable man in the doorway. Her
hands were clasped in front of her in an unconsciously beseeching
attitude.

There was no sound except for their breathing and the soft
hum of the refrigerator motor as it clicked on decisively. The silence
welled suffocatingly until Nicole lifted her head in a regal motion and
looked at the man leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms
folded purposefully across his chest, his eyes narrowed in an attitude
of waiting.

"I hope you aren't angry at Adrian," she said huskily,
quailing inwardly at the hardness in that tall, masculine frame and
inflexible features.

"Angry is hardly the word," he snapped, moving with the
sudden swiftness of a jungle cat toward her and with one lithe movement
swooping her up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, too startled to struggle.

"What I should have done a long time ago," he gritted
tersely, striding out of the kitchen and up the spacious hallway toward
the stairs. Unreasoning panic swept her, and she struggled to get down,
to no avail. His arms were fastened around her like an iron vise,
crushing her against his hard masculinity with that beguiling musky
scent of his flesh.

Not like this, she thought
agonizingly as he swept past her bedroom and pushed open the door to
his own, slamming it shut with one foot. Then he stood her on her feet,
holding her upper arms in a grip that sent pains shooting up her
shoulders. Her mind was numb with shock as he bent down and bruised her
lips with a kiss so demanding that her knees buckled under her, forcing
her to reach out for his broad shoulders.

She forced herself to think of Angela, the real object of
his love, anything to give her strength to object to the rough caresses
of those brutal hands as they slid down her back and molded her hips
hard against the masculine contours of his lean body. He
doesn't love you, she chastised herself desperately as her
lips opened under his and her hands slipped up around his neck and
burrowed into the crisp black hair.

It was useless. All the bitter imprecations against
herself failed to elicit any cooperation from her
treacherous body—even when his insistent fingers undid the button
of her skirt and slid down the zipper, shoving the skirt down her hips
to land in a heap on the floor. Then he slipped his hands under the
silk blouse, tugged it over her shoulders and head with an impatient
oath, and finally pulled her arms free of the clinging material.

"No!" she murmured pleadingly as he bent his head to kiss
the deep hollow between her breasts, his hands fumbling with the catch
to her bra and dropping the interfering garment to the floor with a
deep sound of satisfaction in his throat. She gasped with tingling
pleasure as his mouth moved sensually across her breast and captured
one erect nipple.

She could feel the tremor in his hands as they removed the
remainder of her undergarments and then caressed her bareness, arousing
wild responses that made her sag weakly against him. "Help me," he
whispered, bringing her hands to the buttons on his silk shirt. She
freed the buttons, dimly aware of the metallic slide of a zipper and
the rustle of fabric flung carelessly aside, and then his body was
naked and urgent against her own.

When he picked her up and laid her across the bed, he was
whispering her name, and all her defenses crumbled under the onslaught
of his caresses. Every nerve in her body sang in response to his
passion, and she gave herself unreservedly to the ecstasy of sensation
which went on and on until they became one. I love him! I
love him! I love him! The unspoken refrain ran through her
mind as the exquisite pleasure built and built until it peaked and they
lay in a close embrace.

As her body gradually calmed and her mind cleared, she was
torn between wishing he would say something and dreading to hear words
that might tarnish for her the magic of what had just happened. Her
happiness steadily diminished with the fear that for Louis their
passionate union might have been something entirely different than it
had been for her—an expression of deep love. She didn't
understand exactly what had prompted his sudden possession after months
of marriage, especially since he had just destroyed any possibility of
an annulment. He'd told Adrian there would be no divorce; but if he
loved Angela, wouldn't he want to marry her?

His breathing became regular and even, but when she made a
tentative move with the intention of sneaking away to her own bedroom,
the circle of his arms tightened and he said sleepily, "Oh, no, you
don't. Stay here with me." She quieted her tormented thoughts and lay
there, exulting in the intimacy of their close bodies in the dark
bedroom. Deep down she admitted to herself that in spite of everything,
whatever might happen tomorrow or the next day
or the next, she was glad this had happened. She would have the
richness of this memory forever.

With the serenity of these thoughts, she finally fell into
a deep, restful sleep, dimly conscious that any time she shifted her
position his body would follow to mold its long length to hers.



She awoke with a startled sensation that she was not
alone. Someone was watching her. At the same instant she became aware
that she wasn't in her own bedroom and was lying nude and uncovered.
Remembrance brought hot color to her cheeks, and she turned her head to
find Louis propped up on one elbow, looking at her with those
disturbing blue eyes.

She blushed more deeply as her eyes moved down his leanly
muscular body, which he made no move to cover, seeming totally relaxed
under her shy scrutiny. Her embarrassment was so acute at the
realization he had been studying her as she slept that she made a quick
move to get out of the bed, her mind suddenly cleared of all drowsiness
as it dawned on her she didn't even have a robe. Her clothes from last
evening were crumpled in a pile on the floor.

"What's the hurry?" His hand moved like lightning and
imprisoned her wrist. The plaguing uncertainties rushed back in the
light of morning, and an unreasoning panic gave her sudden strength as
she jerked free of him and stood beside the bed, her long dark hair
rippling like a screen around her shoulders.

"It must be late," she blurted in her confusion. "Adrian
and I are supposed to practice this morning. Tomorrow's the tournament,
remember?" She reached, down and picked up the skirt and wound it
around her nakedness, avoiding those penetrating eyes that had hardened
at her words. He swung to the floor in one fluid movement and walked
over to the big walk-in closet.

Taking a dark green silk robe off a hanger, he slipped it
on his tall frame, knotting the sash carelessly. Then he reached again
and turned around with another garment in his hand—her white
satin robe. He came close and pulled the tartan wool skirt from her
inert fingers and helped her into the robe with punctilious courtesy.
"By all means, you can't keep your tennis idol waiting," he said
sarcastically.

"You planned what—what
happened last night!" she whispered incredulously. "Why?"

"Aside from the more obvious reasons of personal
pleasure"—she flushed angrily at the sardonic inflection in his
voice—"I came to the same conclusions as your ardent admirer
and tennis mentor and decided it was time to consummate our marriage
before anyone got any ideas about annulment. I would not have been
quite so forceful if I hadn't come home last
night to find you two out together."

Acute disappointment flooded through her at the words,
which confirmed what she already knew. That throbbing love scene last
night held none of the deep significance for him that it had for her.
He had cold-bloodedly decided to consummate their marriage as a kind of
keep off
sign to Adrian. His possession of her was merely an act of arrogance
and an assertion of ownership.

"Well, it won't happen again!" she flared, her anger only
accentuating her beauty as she stood there in the white satin robe
belted snugly around her narrow waist, her long hair a dark cloud
floating down her back, her head set at a proud angle.

"After last night, I'm afraid I can't make any promises.
Sometimes they turn out impossible to keep." The faint irony in his
voice as his eyes moved suggestively down her body brought a rush of
emotion compounded of anger and resentment and some other feelings she
refused to analyze at that moment.

"Nicole, where are you? Adrian and Jimmy are downstairs
already!" Nicole inhaled sharply at the sound of Elaine's impatient
voice out in the hallway. Louis laughed softly at her chagrined
expression.

"Caught in your husband's bedroom. It's perfectly legal
and moral, darling."

"Don't call me that," she choked and caught her clothes up
from the floor, starting for the door. He moved with the incredible
swiftness of a predatory animal and caught her by the shoulders,
pulling her so close she was thrust against his warm, hard chest and in
danger of sinking, of succumbing to the dizzying appeal of his virility.

It was maddening, but she was helpless to stop him when he
lowered his mouth against hers in a slow, tantalizing kiss that revived
the flickering flames of desire in her flesh. "To hell with Adrian and
the tournament—why don't you just stay here with me?" he
murmured caressingly.

She came down to earth with a shock of indignation. "You'd
like that, wouldn't you? Then you wouldn't run the risk of being
embarrassed by the amateurish efforts of your wife. I don't think you
care about anything except your precious name and
reputation!" She jerked away from him and fled to her own bedroom,
mindless of the picture she must make with her last night's clothing
bundled in her arms.

It took a lot longer than usual for her to dress. How she
dreaded facing Elaine and Adrian—not to mention Louis. She
stood for some indeterminate period of time under the hot, stinging
spray of the shower, stepping out finally to towel off vigorously as if
she were trying to erase all evidence of those searing caresses.

There was no erasing the memory, though, nor the
aftereffects. Her body was different in some subtle way, and she
worried irrationally if everyone would be able to detect the change.
With that discomfiting thought, she remembered Elaine's impatient
reminder earlier outside her empty bedroom that Adrian and Jimmy were
already waiting downstairs. Today was the last practice before the
tournament tomorrow.

Speeding up the dressing procedure, she slipped on a pale
aqua tennis dress made of a stretch fabric that had the appearance and
soft feel of a thin velour while being washable. It had been shockingly
expensive, but she hadn't been able to resist when Elaine insisted it
was made for her. The fullness of the graceful skirt was created by
elastic shirring in the waistline. The neckline was round, and simple
cap sleeves completed the dress's utter simplicity.

It was cool enough this morning for the jacket of the same
soft material with accents of a deeper aqua. There were also warm-up
slacks with the outfit, but they wouldn't be necessary today.

After brushing her hair straight back and fastening it
with a rubber band at the nape of her neck, she tied an aqua silk scarf
to conceal the rubber band. Quelling her nervousness, she marched
downstairs to breakfast.

A hasty glance revealed Elaine, Jimmy, and Adrian already
seated at the table. "Where have you been?"
demanded Elaine, looking annoyed at her tardiness on this of all
mornings. "You didn't answer when I knocked on your door, and when I
peeked in, your bed—" She halted abruptly at the expression
on Nicole's face and, with amazing sensitivity for one so young,
changed in midsentence. "How's this for starting breakfast off with a
whole gang?" She waved her hand at the unusually large number of place
settings at the small table.

Nicole avoided Adrian's eyes as she slid into her place
and poured a cup of coffee. When she did look up to accept a hot
biscuit from the basket he offered, she noted the hint of reproach in
the soft hazel depths, mingled with unmistakable pleading.

Jimmy looked more interested in the sausage and eggs than
in the undercurrents swirling around him. "Hm, that's a snappy outfit,"
he managed in between bites.

At least she was spared the inquisition of those mocking blue eyes. Her
reflection was a mixture of relief and disappointment at Louis's absence.
Refraining from any question or comment about the two
other places set at the table, she spread blackberry jam on a biscuit,
refusing the sausage and eggs.

Elaine shifted restlessly in her chair. Things were moving
much too slowly for her this morning. After much pleading she had
gotten special permission from Nicole and the headmistress of her
school to be absent from classes today. She had even talked Jimmy
Martin into persuading his parents to let him do the same. Both of them
were excellent students, so that it really hadn't been all that
difficult to wangle a day off.

Nicole had been secretly amused at Elaine's machinations.
The ostensible reason behind the day's holiday was to help Nicole and
Adrian practice one last time before the tournament. But in reality
that could have taken place after school. Somehow an outing on Andrew's
boat had been arranged, much to Jimmy's unbounded enthusiasm. Nicole
suspected that without the lure of the boat trip Jimmy might never have
agreed to the proposal to miss a day's classes.

"How was the movie?" Elaine asked just as the two late
arrivals to breakfast walked in. Nicole almost choked on her mouthful
of biscuit at the sight of Angela clinging to Louis's arm. He was tall
and casual in a close-fitting navy silk shirt and khaki slacks.

Nicole was breathlessly aware of the leanness of his waist
and hips, the length of the muscular legs, the breadth of shoulders.
She remembered the way she had seen him uncovered by any clothing only
an hour ago. The intimate expression in the dark blue eyes as they met
hers only accentuated her confusion—could he read her
thoughts?

Angela wore a red knit jumpsuit that emphasized every
curve of her petite figure. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the
silent exchange between Nicole and Louis.

After a polite round of greetings, Elaine sighed in
exasperation, beginning to fear for the success of her day's plans.
"Where did you two come from?" she asked in a voice clearly indicating
her wish that they had stayed wherever they had been previously.

Louis and Nicole spoke simultaneously in censure of her
rudeness, but Angela looked pleased at the question. She replied in
silken tones, "When Louis came by the club last night, I simply insisted
he take some time to assist me in planning the Homes tour. Nicole, even
though she's willing enough, just isn't much
help."

Her implication couldn't have been more obvious if she'd
spelled out her attack in neon-lighted letters. Nicole didn't have the
social background or the familiarity with the history of Mimosa House
to be of any help. It was just another way of stating her unsuitability
to be Louis's wife.

But what hurt even more than her barbed innuendoes was
the knowledge Louis had been with her last night
before—before… It was too painful to complete the
thought.

"What Angela started to explain," Louis said evenly, "was
that I dropped by the club last night after I
arrived home to find the place empty. I ran into Angela along with a
whole party and arranged to pick her up this morning since her car is
in the shop. I thought maybe you would be free to sit down with us for
an hour or so and go over this Tour of Homes schedule." The last was
addressed to Nicole.

"I was here last night," Elaine corrected.

"It was after ten, and you were in bed where all spoiled
young girls should be at that hour," Louis replied sternly. A teasing
light in his eyes betrayed his affection.

"Where was Nicole?" Angela demanded.

"Say, what kind of third degree is this?" Adrian was
indignant, well aware of the discomfort on Nicole's expressive face.

Angela didn't look willing to drop the subject, but a
quick glance at the others revealed an unwillingness to pursue it any
further. She shrugged indifferently.

"Well, Louis, it looks like Nicole is all ready for a
tennis game with her favorite partner. I doubt she has time for
anything so mundane as a tour of your home by hundreds of interested
visitors."

"Nicole won't be here for that tour thing, anyway," Elaine
announced blithely, not at all pleased at the hurt in her beloved
companion's dark eyes.

"Why not?" Angela demanded, regarding Elaine as if she
belonged to some particularly unappealing species of insect.

"Because the tour's at Thanksgiving, isn't it? We'll be in
New Orleans at the Dryades Tournament this year!" What started off as
one-upmanship ended on a note of irrepressible excitement.

"I see." There was no regret in the reflective tone. "And
it's too late now to withdraw Mimosa House from the tour. The programs
are already at the printer. I guess we'll just have to get someone to
substitute for you, Nicole. It shouldn't be too difficult to find
someone… capable."

She turned to Louis appealingly. "You'll be here, won't
you, darling?"

He shook his head in disagreement. "Sorry, but I can't
expose Elaine and Nicole to the dangers of the city without a male
escort. I plan to accompany them. I trust your mother and Mrs. Holden to look after things
here. They're both old pros at this tour business."

Angela's full lips tightened. She swung an accusing glare
at Nicole. "It's going to be a little awkward to
explain that tennis is more important to you than fulfilling your
responsibilities as hostess of Mimosa House," she spat, almost choking
on the last words.

Nicole bit back the angry retort on her lips. Elaine was
far more important to her than a benefit run by a group of affluent
women with time heavy on their hands. Angela wouldn't understand her
feelings anyway, so what was the use? Instead, she replied coolly,
"I'm sure some compromise can be worked out so Louis can satisfy all
his obligations."

His eyes narrowed to blue slits. She spoke hurriedly to
conceal the disturbing effect of that gaze on her nerves. "The
tournament lasts for several days. If Elaine is in the
finals—and I fully expect her to be—perhaps Adrian
would agree to pinch-hit—"

Her voice faltered at the reactions to her incompleted
suggestion. An explosive epithet from Louis, who looked as if he could
shake her senseless. An eager "Sure!" from Adrian, who looked in
complete agreement with the idea. A delighted "Of course!" from
Angela, whose expression rivaled the supreme satisfaction of a cat
licking its paws after a particularly sumptuous and unexpected bowl of
cream.

Jimmy Martin sat hunched in his chair, completely
forgotten. He wondered how long all this jawing was going to take. He
might as well have gone to school as sit here all morning. Whatever
else happened, he hoped the boat trip was still on. His face lighted
with accord as Elaine said crossly, "At this rate we'll all still be
sitting here at Thanksgiving. I don't know about you guys"—with a belligerent look at
Angela—"but we have plans."

Louis looked at his watch with a slight frown. "Aren't you
two late for school?"

After his long silence, Jimmy suddenly was compelled to
take part in the conversation. "We're not going to school today. We
have permission from our schools to take a day off. After a practice
match with Nicole and Adrian, her brother is taking us out on a real
fishing boat!" His voice vibrated with anticipation.

"Playing hooky from school!" Angela's exclamation was
heavy with malice. "See what goes on when you're away?" She turned to
Louis with a sympathetic cluck.

If she had expected some open criticism of Nicole for her
laxity, she was badly disappointed. Louis's expression was guarded,
his thoughts unreadable, as he said, "Elaine is an excellent student,
and I trust Nicole's judgment implicitly. Now we'd better get a move
on. If I know Andrew, he'll expect his party to be on time."

Nicole expelled the breath she had unconsciously been
holding. Surely she'd had sufficient proof before now that her
self-possessed husband would never berate his wife in front of
outsiders. Such behavior would violate his ironbound code of family
pride and decorum.

What really took her by surprise was what followed. They
all stood up from the breakfast table about to go their separate ways.
Louis came around to stand beside Nicole and said in a voice blatantly
proprietorial, "I like that outfit on you, darling." Then he bent with
slow deliberation and brushed his lips against hers. "Off to your
tennis game, now," he ordered briskly, ignoring the seething resentment
in Adrian's eyes and the undisguised fury in Angela's.

"What kind of game is he playing, anyway?" Adrian demanded
in a low, harsh voice as he walked with Nicole to one end of the tennis
court.

"What do you mean?" she hedged, still numb with shock.

"The great display of husbandly affection after all these
months," he retorted. "Not that any man in his right mind wouldn't love
you," he said in a voice husky with emotion.
"But why is he still hanging around with that poisonous little blonde
who ditched him in the first place?"

Her heart ached so with the obviousness of the answer to
that last question that she had great difficulty concentrating on the
game. It was by far her worst performance to date. Adrian's question
tormented her. Underneath the delicacy of phrasing it was obvious that
he wondered, too, how a man could make love to one woman and love
another.

Where were Angela and Louis now? What were they doing? Was
he holding her in those strong arms, caressing her with the finely
shaped hands whose touch banished all willpower and common sense from
Nicole? She loved everything about him, but especially his hands.

"We might as well call it quits today." The tone of
resignation in Elaine's voice was seconded by the way Jimmy walked
quickly to the side of the court and zipped the cover onto his
expensive graphite racquet. Nicole's feelings of apology were exceeded
only by relief at getting off the court. This was one dismal instance
when tennis had failed to get her mind off her troubles.

"What time shall I meet you at the marina?" Jimmy's voice
was eager. The four of them consulted on the time schedule and then
separated. Adrian would return in thirty minutes to drive Nicole and
Elaine in one of the plantation four-wheel-drive vehicles. They needed
lots of room for the bounteous lunch Mrs. Holden had prepared, plus
additional coolers of soft drinks and beer. It had all the makings of
quite a party.

Andrew had been good-natured but convincing in stating he
took no freeloaders aboard his boat. They might as well come dressed as
crew members, not "duded up in fancy yachting rigs." That notion suited
Elaine perfectly, since jeans and T-shirts were second only to shorts
and T-shirts in her preference of clothes to wear.

Nicole pulled on a pair of beige brushed-denim jeans that
molded her supple figure like a second skin. Her dark brown cotton
turtleneck was tucked under the snug waistband. No doubt it would be
cool out on the water when the boat was under way. With that thought,
she slipped on a brown-and-beige plaid shirt which she left unbuttoned
and knotted casually at the waist.

Some elfin instinct made her plait her glossy hair into
two heavy braids. It was the same way she'd worn her hair when she was
Elaine's age and her father took her out on his boat along with Andrew,
who even at that tender age had been fascinated with the whole process
of fishing for shrimp. With dainty gold rings in her ears and a jaunty
brown cap pulled low over her forehead, she looked closer to Elaine's
age than to her own twenty-two years.

"You look cu-ute!" Adrian's eyes seconded Elaine's
compliment as they climbed into the sturdy jeeplike vehicle with CHAUVIN PLANTATIONS
painted on the side doors. The back was loaded with lunch hamper and
coolers.

"I wonder what happened to Louis and Angel Face." Elaine
echoed Nicole's own thoughts as she voiced the question. Adrian
muttered something unintelligible, suspiciously akin to "Who cares?"

Nicole instinctively defended Louis. "You've got to admit
he's not exactly a slave driver, at least where you're
concerned," she chided gently.

He grinned a rueful acknowledgment. "You're right. I'd
sure hate to give up this job, for more than one reason. As a matter of
fact, I've always liked Louis a lot—admired him,
too—until… just lately…" His voice
trailed away lamely, and Nicole realized he was too tactful to speak
frankly in front of Elaine.

She knew instinctively what he had not verbalized. He had
always liked his employer until she had come
along and appealed to Adrian's chivalric instincts. He apparently saw
her as a kind of underdog, overshadowed by the glamorous Angela, and he
felt sorry for her.

Only there was no contest here, just a cut-and-dried
situation where she could only lose. It looked more and more as if the
only considerate thing she could do for everybody concerned was to
remove herself from the playing field. The last thing she wanted was to
cause Adrian problems with his job. A young man with his interests
would be hard put to find another job so perfectly tailored to his
needs, one offering so many advantages.

And then there was Elaine. It all seemed to come back to
her. Nicole heaved a sigh, mindless of the searching look she received
from the clear hazel eyes of the man at the wheel. Well, she would
definitely stay at Mimosa House until after the Dryades Tournament at
Thanksgiving. After that Elaine would have already proved her
exceptional ability, and Louis would see to
it
she had the opportunity for further competition. Nicole was sure he
would. He loved Elaine very much. After that—well, who could
say? She noted with relief their arrival at the marina. This outing was
going to be fun for all of them, and nothing should be allowed to spoil
it. Nothing!

Chapter Nine






Jimmy was waiting in his canary yellow VW convertible when
they pulled into the marina parking area. He wasted no time in hefting
one of the heavy coolers to a stout shoulder. Adrian did the same with
the other cooler, and Elaine and Nicole managed the wicker lunch hamper
between them. The four of them proceeded cautiously along the
weathered dock in time to Jimmy's teenage litany, "Wow, man, is this
neat! This is cool!"

Andrew was out on deck waiting for them. For several
minutes everyone was preoccupied with getting the lunch hamper and
coolers aboard and situated where they would be accessible yet not in
the way. The coolers went into the capacious wheelhouse, which also
doubled as a dining room, and the hamper went into the compact but
well-equipped galley.

Jimmy's eyes couldn't stop moving as he plied Andrew with question after question. Nicole's sisterly
pride swelled at the grave assurance of her younger brother. After all,
he wasn't all that many years older than Jimmy, but he had already felt
the heavy hand of tragedy and had been forced to mature young. Yet he
appeared happy and confident as he introduced his admiring young guest
to the wonderful mysteries of a shrimping boat.

Elaine was already familiar with the electrified winches
and mammoth trawling nets and huge storage compartments of the boat,
having been given the tour on earlier visits with Nicole. But she
tagged along nonetheless, standing as close to Jimmy as she dared. It
was clear to the aware observer that proximity to Andrew revived her
former crush on him and produced a conflict of interests.

Andrew glanced at his watch several times as he led Jimmy
from one point of interest to another. "I wonder what he's waiting
for?" Nicole said in a low voice to Adrian, as the two of them stood
together watching the three younger members of the group with a mixture
of indulgence and amusement. Seconds later it was obvious that
sometime during the morning two additional guests had been invited to
the party.

"Uh-oh. Look who's coming," Adrian muttered suddenly.

"You can all blame me for holding
you up!" trilled Angela from the dock, clinging tightly to Louis's arm.
Her self-confidence wavered slightly at the sight of the group already
aboard the boat. She had obviously made a mistake in choice of clothing
for the outing.

She wore white silk slacks and a blue blazer over a
navy-and-white print blouse. It was a stunning and obviously expensive
ensemble, perfect for a cruise on a luxurious motor yacht but
strikingly out of place in the rustic simplicity of the marina where
the fishing fleet docked.

Her most glaring mistake, though, was choice of shoes.
Nicole wondered how she had managed to negotiate the long, unevenly
planked dock without breaking her neck in those incredibly high-heeled
backless sandals that were the latest rage. There was a moment of
awkward silence as Andrew looked with visible distaste at the spiky
heels, certain to damage his shiny new decks. Yet how could he refuse
to extend hospitality to the companion of the man who had paid the bulk
of the cost of the boat?

With the quick comprehension that could easily manifest
itself in brutal tactlessness, Elaine gasped, "Oh, ma gosh, Andrew
doesn't let anyone come on this boat with
hard-soled shoes!"

"I suppose I have to take the blame." Louis looked as if
he would gladly toss them all overboard at the slightest provocation.
"We were late and I'm afraid I paid little attention to Angela's
footgear."

A likely story, Nicole reflected
rebelliously. She pulled herself out of the lethargy induced by the
galling sight of Angela's blond head pressed possessively against that
rugged shoulder. The light blue of the windbreaker emphasized the
blackness of his windblown hair and the electric quality of his dark
blue eyes.

Nicole, caught right in the middle in her dual role as
Andrew's sister and Louis's wife, definitely had to do something to
ease the painful situation. Besides, she felt a twinge of sympathy for
Angela, whose lip trembled slightly at the unexpected censure elicited
by her expensive shoes and the chagrin at not having dressed
appropriately.

"That's a striking outfit, Angela," she praised warmly,
moving forward to smile at the pouting young woman. "Those shoes are
too dangerous to wear on the boat, but fortunately I keep a pair of
sneakers aboard just in case I drop by to see Andy on the spur of the
moment. Here, you can fit into my moccasins. Sorry they're not the
right color."

She slipped her feet out of the brown rubber-soled
moccasins and thrust them across the gap between the boat and the dock
into Louis's outstretched hand. His eyes showed gratitude mixed with
some other indefinable emotion in their blue depths.

Angela hesitated only a second, wisely deciding to concede
the issue. Nicole couldn't repress the wry thought that this was the
first time in Angela's spoiled life she had made an error in dressing
for an occasion.

The awkwardness eased as Andrew stepped forward to help
Angela aboard, his sensitive features relieved. He looked slightly
breathless when the exquisite little blonde stumbled and clung to him
for several seconds.

"Nicole never mentioned having such a handsome brother,"
she purred, gazing up at the mobile features that were so like his
sister's.

Nicole groaned inwardly at the obviousness of Angela's
appeal to her young brother's masculine instincts. Fortunately, he
wasn't in her league and consequently wasn't in any serious danger of
becoming one of her conquests.

"You'd better stop acting like a mother hen and get those
other shoes on." At the sound of the low, amused voice close beside
her, she started and looked up guiltily into Louis's teasing eyes. He
had correctly appraised her protectiveness toward Andrew and now read
the unspoken question in her face.

"Andrew telephoned this morning while you were out
practicing. He wanted to confirm the time for today's excursion. When
he found out I was home…" He shrugged
expressively.

Nicole could finish the explanation for herself. Of
course, Andrew had extended the invitation to include the man who was
his benefactor and whom he also genuinely liked. She didn't wait to
hear how Angela had come to be included, but turned quickly away from
him, murmuring, "You're right. I'd better get the other shoes." She
hoped he wasn't aware of the havoc his nearness produced in her body,
speeding up her heartbeat and creating strange feathery sensations down
her backbone.

Things went smoothly as Andrew took charge and gave clear
directions to the other men. They untied the docking lines and pushed
the boat away from the creosoted pilings when it threatened to graze or
bump up against one of them. The young captain handled the wheel and
backed the boat from its slip with expertise. Once they were clear of
the channel and out into open water, he turned the wheel over to a
hopeful Jimmy Martin.

By this time everyone was feeling the tug of hunger, and
Elaine offered to help Nicole in the galley. Angela didn't even bother
to offer. She was hanging on Andrew's arm, giving a breathtakingly
convincing performance that a shrimp boat was an object of utmost
fascination and its young captain even more so. Andrew's face glowed
in response to the heady experience of attention from one of
Iberville's most beautiful society girls.

Adrian had acted very detached since the arrival of his
employer and stood now in conversation with Jimmy in the wheelhouse.
Louis was out on deck leaning against the rail up in the bow, his arms
crossed over his chest with one hand cradling the bowl of his pipe as
he stared reflectively out to sea.

Tall and lean in soft denim jeans that hugged the muscles
in his taut thighs, he looked very much at home in his surroundings.
There was an aura of command and confidence about him that made one
instinctively sure he would be a good person to have along in a crisis.
He would not hesitate to act when the need arose.

"Come on, Nicole, you're just standing there staring at
Louis like you've never seen him before! I'm starving!" Elaine's
insistent voice awoke Nicole from her reverie with a start.

"Come along, impatient one, and we'll set out lunch," she
said, giving the girl a playful slap on her trim rear end.

When the contents of the lunch hamper were arranged on
the table in the wheelhouse, Andrew turned off the big, throbbing
engines and allowed the boat to drift in silence on what was a
relatively calm sea.

"We're lucky," he said. "According to the forecast, the
wind from the north is supposed to pick up."

"What happens then?" Jimmy's voice and expression
indicated he would be satisfied with nothing tamer than a hurricane.

"We'd have some pretty rough seas. Hopefully, we'll be
back in before things get bad."

Nobody had to be urged to help themselves to golden fried
chicken, potato salad, ham and roast beef sandwiches, and assorted
pickles and relishes provided by Mrs. Holden. They loaded food on paper
plates of the stout, unbendable variety and fished the drink of their
choice from the ice-filled coolers.

Jimmy wandered outside with his plate, followed by a
dogged Elaine, who settled down beside him on the foredeck. Angela
brought a luminous light to Andrew's eyes when she suggested, "Let's go
outside and sit where we can talk without so many other
people around." A few minutes later he had lifted her to the top of the
forward cabin with the care he might have exercised with a shipment of
fragile porcelain.

That left Adrian, Louis, and Nicole in the wheel-house.
One part of her mind was uneasily considering where she should eat her
own lunch, while the other part was fuming angrily. What was Angela
trying to prove, making a play for Andrew like that? He was undeniably
a good-looking kid who had attracted his share of girls his own age,
but Angela was a gilded butterfly from another world. Was she plotting
some devious punishment for Nicole through her vulnerable young brother?

"Well, shall we choose some place to light or just hover
here?" The irritated amusement in Louis's voice brought her attention
sharply back to her own indecisive presence in the wheelhouse. Close
beside her was her husband, who awoke every nerve end in her responsive
flesh, and Adrian, who displayed, a sullen unwillingness to abandon her
to the other man's company.

She looked from one man to the other helplessly and then
glanced nervously out the front windshield at the couple leaning so
intimately together on the cabin top.

Without any further word, Louis strode out the door along
the side deck, edging around toward the spot where Andrew and Angela
sat. Disappointment sucked at Nicole's insides as he swung himself up
beside Angela, making some remark that obviously triggered her
pleasure. She unfurled a dazzling smile at him, turning her back quite
callously on Andrew.

The shadow crossing her brother's face hurt Nicole, but
she recognized the bitter irony in the scene. How ambivalent were her
own feelings! Louis was rescuing Andrew from the threat Angela
presented; the only damage so far was the blow to his ego. Yet the
relief Nicole breathed at Andrew's safety was undermined by a sharp
stab of pain at the proximity of those broad shoulders to the tousled
gold of Angela's curls.

"Watch an expert at work," Adrian gibed between clenched
teeth.

Watch two experts at work, Nicole
felt like retorting, but she bit back the words. At least it was clear
now that Angela had only been flirting with Andrew to make Louis
jealous. Apparently she had succeeded, judging from the way he was
smiling into her eyes.

Nicole plopped down on the settee running along the wall
of the wheelhouse. "Since everybody else has vacated, why don't we just
sit here out of the wind?"

He sat down beside her. "Yeah, it looks to my
inexperienced eye like the wind is picking up. Hope it doesn't get too
rough before we get back into the marina."

"Don't worry. Andrew will take care of us," she assured
him.

In a short time her brother came into the wheelhouse to
start the engines. Distress from Angela's blatant rejection of his
company in favor of the older man showed only in the tight set of his
lips and the proud tilt of his head, the last a family characteristic.

He'll live, Nicole decided in relief. Now she just had to
work on her own survival.

"We'd better get back in," Andrew announced briskly, a
faint undertone of concern in his voice. "The seas are beginning to
kick up."

Nicole began to pack away the remains of the lunch,
relieved to have something to do to keep her occupied for a while. Too
bad what started off as a carefree excursion had been spoiled, at least
for her. As large as the boat was, it was too confining for the
unfortunate combination of people. It was disturbing enough to her
equilibrium to be near Louis, knowing how hopelessly she loved him, but
to have to watch him with Angela was no longer bearable. Not after the
intimacy of last night when she had given herself to him completely.

Add to all this the presence of Adrian, who showed every
sign of getting too involved with her as her protector, and you came up
with overwhelming awkwardness. She was even beginning to doubt the
feasibility of her decision to stay on at Mimosa House until . after
Thanksgiving.

Andrew ordered everyone back into the wheelhouse and
explained the need for utmost caution in going out on deck if the seas
became any more violent. The boat gave a sudden lurch and Elaine
moaned, "I feel sick." Her sentiments were
reflected in the slightly greenish color in the features of Jimmy and
Adrian.

"There're lots of bunks down below," Andrew informed them.
"If you feel sick, find a place and relax. We won't be out here long."

The
sea motion didn't bother Nicole, but the suffocating closeness of Louis and
Angela did. She went down the companionway steps from the wheelhouse to
the galley as though she planned to follow Andrew's suggestion, but
instead of entering the sleeping quarters, she ducked out the door
leading from the galley to the side deck.

Walking to the stern of the boat, she held firmly to the
handrail to keep from losing her footing in the lurching motion. In an
incredibly short time the winds had increased, churning the dull
grayish water into a choppy, foaming sea. The skies were overcast, but
fortunately there seemed no imminent threat of rain.

The wind cut cruelly through her flannel shirt and cotton
turtleneck, numbing her skin, but its bite was preferable to the
confinement she had escaped. Actually, if it weren't a constant effort
to keep her balance, she could enjoy this wild abandon of the elements.
There was something tremendously exhilarating in the awesome expanse of
surging seas, something that was uplifting and humbling at the same
time.

Her shivering introspection was interrupted by a movement.
She stiffened resentfully at the sight of Angela half walking, half
stumbling toward her and then recoiled as she met the other girl's
eyes. The blue eyes were ablaze with a deep enmity that made Nicole
think of a snake about to strike. She hates me!
Nicole realized in a split second of awareness.

A rigid outstretched hand reached for her just as the bow
of the boat crashed jarringly into a wave. Whether the thrusting
movement of the small white hand was deliberate, or an accidental
by-product of the violent movement of the boat, or just imagined by
Nicole as a tangible evidence of Angela's hatred, Nicole would never
know for certain. But she felt her feet leaving the solid surface of
the deck and her body hurling uncontrollably through space for a
terrifying instant before impact with the churning sea.

She tunneled down, down, down, endlessly, into murky
nothingness, her ears exploding with the roar of the depth and her
lungs screaming for oxygen. Finally the descent reversed itself and she
bobbed to the surface, gasping for air, only to be slapped brutally in
the face by a crashing wave. An unreasoning panic paralyzed her arms
and legs as she realized she was going to die.

Recognizing a gasping whimper as a sound coming from
herself, she prayed desperately to overcome the panic that urged her to
fight. Some ray of common sense told her she
would only use up her strength quickly if she combated the power of the
violent sea.

Gradually she relaxed and concentrated on staying afloat,
allowing the swelling waves to buoy her helpless body. Oh, God, surely
somebody on the boat must have missed her by now! Andrew would come
back and save her if she could just stay up a little longer.

Time was impossible to gauge, but it seemed as if she had
been tossing around for hours when she felt the vibration of an engine.
She was terribly weak and couldn't see anything because of the sting
of the waves and the lank strands of hair across her face. She made a
swiping movement with one numb hand, aware suddenly of shouts
somewhere low on the surface of the water. A terrible fatigue enveloped
her, a feeling of lethargy just when rescue might be somewhere very
near.

She was only dimly aware of a strong grip on her arms and
struggled weakly to escape. It was useless. Slowly, painfully, her body
was pulled up out of the water and dragged heavily across something
hard and unyielding. It felt like a wall, bruising her stomach and hips.

As she tumbled into the bottom of the lifeboat, the light
clicked off in her consciousness. She was oblivious to everything. To
the racking aches in her exhausted body. To the sickening heave of the
boat on the aroused seas. To the self-condemning oaths of the man who
crushed her limp body against his as if to infuse it with his own
throbbing life.



Nicole shifted slightly and winced at the pain and
soreness in every muscle and limb of her body. She might have been
sucked between giant rollers, judging from the way she felt. Someone
was holding her hand and saying something in a low, soothing voice, but
she couldn't get her eyes open no matter how hard she tried. Her
eyelids felt like cement.

There was something terribly important she had to do
today, if only she could remember. She moaned impatiently as the vague
outline of memory eluded her again, and someone smoothed the hair back
from her brow with wonderfully gentle fingers. She relaxed under the
calming touch and stopped fighting the overwhelming need to sink back
into darkness. Maybe later…

It was some time before she roused up again to the brisk
instruction from a crackling antiseptic presence at her bedside. This
time she managed to lift the heavy eyelids a fraction and focused
hazily on the ample white figure booming good-naturedly, "And what are you doing just lying here on this nice Saturday morning?" She
strapped something bulky around Nicole's upper arm, and there followed
a wheezing sound that tightened the band until she could hear the loud
regular thump of her pulsebeat.

Memory clicked. Today was the tournament. But she wouldn't
be able to play. Not the way she felt now, all heavy and drowsy, with
that awful soreness all over. She had to get word to Adrian somehow,
though. He'd be counting on her. The sounds she made seemed
unintelligible even to her own ears, causing a terrible frustration.

"What, dear? What is it you want?" came the efficient
voice underscored with kindness.

"Adrian—I want Adrian," Nicole croaked, each
syllable an immense effort.

There was movement somewhere out of the range of her
indistinct vision. Was someone else there? she wondered fleetingly as
the nurse raised her eyebrows, which were tufted and bristly like a
man's, and turned her head in a questioning look. Nicole tried to lift
herself up so she could see who was there, but the dull ache in her
head throbbed louder. She decided to put everything off for a
while…

When she awoke, her mind was clear and she was hungry. The
clatter of metal against metal and the soft whir of wheels out in the
corridor combined with the tantalizing odor of food must have awakened
her. She looked around curiously, realizing she was in a hospital bed.

She hadn't drowned after all. Somehow she had been saved,
but she didn't remember a thing except that stranglehold grip on her
arms. The whole scene on the
rear
deck immediately preceding her plunge over the rail flashed before her
in crystalline clarity, but she still didn't know exactly what had
happened. Had Angela pushed her deliberately? Etched into her memory
were the outstretched white hand and the flaming ice of hatred in those
pale blue eyes.

She shuddered as the young orderly skillfully manipulated
the controls at the end of her bed to raise her into a half-sitting
position. "Come on, now, this supper ain't that
bad!" he quipped, setting the tray on the high table he swung across
her bed. She wouldn't have to move an inch to eat her meal.

"It looks delicious," she said weakly as he lifted
stainless-steel covers to reveal broiled chicken, rice dressing, green
peas, and mashed potatoes. There were also tomato juice, iced tea, a
small hot roll, and Jell-O topped by a dollop of whipped cream.

"Feel like a little company now?" queried the stout aide
who bustled in just as she was pushing the table to one side after
eating a little of everything. There was something mannish about the
middle-aged woman, perhaps the bristly eyebrows mixed with gray. A
little whisper of memory teased the edges of Nicole's mind; the woman
had been in the room before.

"I'd love some company." Nicole's hands went quickly to
her hair. She probably looked a wreck. The aide noted the movement and
made clucking sounds as she opened a drawer and took out a hairbrush.

"Here, let me brush your pretty hair. You look fine for
somebody who tried to go for a swim during a norther."

"My hair was in braids when I fell overboard," Nicole
remembered aloud.

"It was a tangled mess sure enough when they brought you
in, but you were too out of it to care. That good-looking husband of
yours combed it out himself, just as gentle as you please."

Nicole digested that news with wonder. Louis had been here
with her in the hospital room. Maybe those were his gentle hands she
remembered smoothing back her hair. The very thought quickened her
pulse and brought a tinge of pretty color to her pale face.

"There, now. I'll just tell your visitors they can come in
for a little while."

Moments later Elaine and Adrian were hovering in the
doorway, looking worried and slightly apologetic the way healthy people
usually look when they visit the hospital.

"Come in," Nicole urged, her eyes straying beyond them for
the sight of a broad set of shoulders that didn't appear. Adrian and
Elaine tiptoed forward to stand on either side of her bed. She held out
a hand to each of them, fighting a big lump of disappointment in her
throat.

"Gosh, you look like you're gonna cry," Elaine wailed, her
young features downcast with concern.

"I'm just happy to see both of you characters," Nicole
said brightly through a mist of tears. "Now pull up those chairs and
sit down. I want to know everything, including how I was rescued and
who won the tournament. Adrian, I'm so sorry I
let you down!" She appealed to him with the dark eyes that looked
entirely too large in the pale face.

"Don't be ridiculous! As if you could help what happened,"
he scoffed huskily, tightening his grip on her hand.

Elaine, displaying the resiliency of the very young now
that she could see with her own eyes Nicole was all right, launched
into a narrative of the rescue operation. "Louis saw you go over and he
threw his windbreaker over real quick to mark the place you
fell—wasn't that quick thinking? Then he ran to the
wheelhouse and told Andrew to turn around and then he got the lifeboat
ready to put overboard."

There followed a slight pause, during which Nicole mocked
lovingly, "And then?"

"Well, we almost had a fight over who was going in the
lifeboat, but Louis won. He had a real hard time 'cause the water was
so rough it just kind of tossed the boat around, but he finally got to
you and pulled you into the boat. We were all so relieved,
Nicole—I was so scared you were going to drown!" Her youthful
poise crumbled and she buried her face in the covers.

"Hey, enough of that," Adrian scolded gently. "We're
supposed to cheer Nicole up, not make her feel worse." He and Nicole
tactfully ignored the tearstained face and sniffles that quieted as
Nicole demanded the details of the mixed doubles tournament.

"Did you get another partner at the last minute?" she
asked hopefully.

"Who could possibly take the place of my original
partner?" he teased, rewarded by her smile and Elaine's giggle.

"Anybody!" Nicole retorted.

"You're sounding almost normal," he said approvingly.

"Louis and Angela won?" She finally worked up the nerve to
ask.

"Nope. They defaulted." Elaine took over again.

"Louis stayed here with you all last night and
today— you should have seen him when he got home this
afternoon. He looked awful. Seems kind of weird to me to take off on a
business trip on Saturday evening, but he did. Atlanta. I asked him
when he'd be back and he just said who knows."

It took all Nicole's powers of self-control not to show
her terrible disappointment. How she longed to have Louis sit beside
her bed and hold her hand while he told her how he had rescued her! She
wanted to share the awful loneliness and terror of those minutes before
he had hauled her out of the sea. How could he leave her at a time like
this when she needed him so terribly?

Adrian stood up and leaned forward to kiss her gently on
the forehead. "We have to go now and let you get some rest. According
to the head nurse, the doctor plans to release you in the morning, with
strict orders to take it easy a few days. I'll come for you unless you
prefer to ride in the ambulance."

"Oh, no, I'd rather not!" she said
firmly. "Please come get me. I want to get back to normal as soon as
possible."

They left, to be replaced almost immediately by a drawn
and anxious-looking Andrew. She put aside her own heavy thoughts to
reassure him she was fine and very grateful to him for his skill in
maneuvering the boat in heavy seas.

"It's Louis you have to thank. He was great," Andrew said
fervently. His dark eyes were haunted at the specter of another tragic
loss at sea.

Finally, the intercom bristled with static and a bored
voice instructed all visitors to leave the patients' rooms. What a
relief, Nicole thought, to stop pretending and release the tears
scalding the backs of her eyelids! God knew she was grateful to be
alive, but things sure didn't look any brighter than they had before.
Why had Louis saved her life and stayed by her side all night, only to
leave her again? Why? The sleep of sheer weariness finally came,
leaving the question to be pondered many times in the next few days.

Chapter Ten





She had been home for a week now and felt as good as
ever. Physically, that is. On the surface, life proceeded as smoothly
as it had those first four months at Mimosa House. Louis might never
have come home and destroyed her fragile peace of mind.

He hadn't returned since her accident. Nor had Angela,
whose whereabouts no one seemed to know, since her mother was as vague
as she had been immediately after the wedding.

Nicole consulted with the Holdens in the running of the
household and the upkeep of the estate grounds, almost comfortable now
in her role as mistress of Mimosa House. Much of her confidence grew
out of Louis's insistence upon the authority of her position during
those weeks he had been home.

She spent a great deal of time with Elaine, who turned to
her for companionship and advice as the younger girl coped with the
pain of that difficult transition from childhood to young adulthood.

Adrian was still a familiar figure, working out almost
daily with Elaine on the tennis court and coaching her for the upcoming
Dryades tournament. Mrs. Holden always laid an extra plate at the table
in case he could be pressed into staying to share a meal.

One difference, though, was Nicole's decreased dependence
upon him for her own tennis practice. She had mastered the intricacies
of the ball machine and always managed to practice when he was busy
with his duties on the plantation. He made no comment and soon stopped
offering to help. Even though he was still warm and casually
affectionate toward both her and Elaine, Nicole knew their relationship
had undergone a subtle change that prevented any possibility of return
to the old, unselfconscious camaraderie.

She didn't know how deep his emotional attachment to her
went, but she could only hope to convince him she was happy and didn't
require his championing her cause any longer. She hoped he would find a
girl who deserved him and appreciated his fine qualities.

If only Louis would return, so that she could confront him
and answer all the questions plaguing her! Until then she would be
caught up in a strange state of suspension, not unhappy or pining away
like some storybook heroine, but just waiting.



He returned without any forewarning one blustery evening
early in November. It was a short time before dinner, making it
impossible for Nicole to talk to him alone. Elaine was jubilant at his
presence, spilling over with news of all she and Nicole and Adrian had
been doing. With little competition from Nicole or Adrian, who looked
uncomfortable at being there, she dominated the dinner conversation.

Adrian tried to escape right after the meal, but Louis
insisted he stay for a brandy and coffee. Standing with his back to the
open fire in the family room, he looked formidable and unapproachable
as he exchanged a few general comments with Adrian about the cane crop.

His air of formality and aloofness sucked away every ounce
of confidence she had been fostering so carefully during the days since
her accident. She had spent hours examining every past conversation,
searching for signs of possible affection. Now he questioned her
politely about household matters without the slightest indication of
emotion.

He was that same tall, imposing figure who had towered
before her that fateful day in the Peltiers' library, commanding her to
take Angela's place in the wedding. There was no suggestion of warmth
in those impenetrable blue eyes as they surveyed her where she cowered
in a deep armchair.

As soon as she could escape without seeming rude, she
excused herself on the pretext of having some letters to write. It took
supreme discipline not to hurry as she left the room with the blue eyes
boring into her back.

For hours she prowled like a prisoner in her room, unable
to concentrate for any length of time on writing letters or reading.
She soaked a long while in a hot tub and washed her hair, taking her
time afterward to comb it dry. After slight deliberation, she had
donned the white satin nightgown she'd worn that night Louis had
surprised her in the kitchen.

Elaine had stopped in to say goodnight some time ago, and
surely Adrian must have left by now. Finally, there seemed nothing left
to do except go to bed, even though she was much too keyed up to sleep,
too filled with a nerve-racking expectancy.

She turned out all the lights except the reading light on
her bedside table, propped herself up on a mountain of pillows, and
opened up a paperback novel, determined to try again.

The stairs and upstairs landing were carpeted, muffling
sound. She did not hear the footsteps pause outside her door just prior
to a brisk tap. Her heart gave a great leap as the door swung open and
the broad-shouldered outline of Louis's tall frame loomed against the
dim light from the hall.

She couldn't see his face clearly as he stood there
surveying her. Her shining dark hair steamed across the pillows and her
eyes were gigantic pools of uncertain emotion.

"Don't worry," he said tersely as she made an abrupt
movement from sheer nervousness. "I haven't come to force myself on
you. Quite the opposite."

She half raised from the bed, her mouth opening to form
the words she had been rehearsing for so long. He didn't have
to force himself on her. She wanted him even if he didn't love her!

He stilled her with a brusque motion of his hand.
"Actually my only reason for coming back was to set your mind at ease."
He paced restlessly at the foot of her bed, stopping to grip the brass
frame. "I'm sorry I bullied you into this senseless sham of a marriage."

He gave a harsh laugh that rasped across her heightened
nerves. "I'm afraid annulment is pretty much out of the question, since
I didn't have enough control to keep my promise. I had
hoped—" He shrugged and began pacing again.

"All I can do to make things up to you is promise you'll
never have to worry about me again, even though
right now that means I have to stay away. As far as I am concerned,
this is your home, and I hope for Elaine's sake you see fit to stay."

There was a formal, rehearsed quality about the whole
speech and a tense control about the tall body. "One last thing." A
note of bitterness crept into his voice. "I made it clear to Dessommes
tonight after you left—his job is secure." He turned and left
the room without a backward glance.

The next day he was gone.



Elaine protested only briefly at the news, her thoughts
completely absorbed now in the upcoming tournament. Adrian said nothing
about the short visit, but his eyes held a note of puzzlement at times
when Nicole caught him looking at her.

An expensive tape-recording device couldn't have captured
that terse speech delivered in her room any more clearly than her mind
had, and she played it repeatedly in the days that followed. She
stopped the recording to examine the inflection of a certain word, to
puzzle over every pause.

It just didn't make any sense at all that he didn't want a
divorce and hoped she would stay at Mimosa House but for some reason
couldn't keep his promise to honor her marriage condition unless he
stayed away. And then there was that puzzling remark about Adrian's job
being secure. Why shouldn't it be secure? She had never heard any
complaints about the way he carried out his responsibilities.

She kept coming back to the sense of guilt he had revealed
over having "bullied"—that was his word— her into
the marriage. He seemed to have forgotten completely her willingness to
do anything to provide Andrew with some measure of security after the
death of her father.

She certainly had no complaints about her end of things.
Who would object to living in a gracious old house like this one and
wanting for nothing that money could buy? At times she was scandalized
at how easily she had adapted herself to affluence.

The night Louis had assaulted her with that strange
speech, her strongest emotion had been a sense of rejection so
overpowering that she huddled in her bed, sobbing in utter
hopelessness. He obviously didn't want her for a wife in the fullest
sense of the word.

The next morning when she dragged herself out of bed, she
knew he would be gone. Not the type to take to her bed and waste away,
Nicole continued her life as best she could with the distraction of
that inexorable recording playing endlessly in her mind. There were
times she despaired of her sanity.

Fortunately, Elaine was too self-absorbed to notice
Nicole's abstraction. The morning before they were scheduled to drive
to New Orleans, Elaine could hardly eat her breakfast for excitement.
"Could you do me a big favor today?" she begged.
"My racquets are over at the club being restrung. Could you pick them
up?"

Nicole nodded agreement. She hadn't been back to the club
since the day Louis had taken her to lunch there. Why not, though? She
had nothing to fear from these people. She could thank Louis for that
realization. She remembered how he had mocked her smilingly for
assuming patrons of the country club were any different from her.

After dropping Elaine off at school, she drove to the
Peltier mansion for a last-minute conference with Mrs. Peltier
concerning the Tour of Homes at Thanksgiving. In spite of Angela's
insistence to the contrary, her mother seemed unconcerned that neither
Nicole nor Louis would be present during the tour. That had all been a
ploy in Angela's bag of tricks.

"Come in, my dear," Mary Peltier invited graciously.
"Surely you're ready for another cup of coffee at this hour." Nicole
smiled her agreement and followed the faultlessly groomed woman into a
small sitting room that doubled as her office, judging from the
businesslike arrangement of papers on the antique secretary over
against one wall.

The next quarter hour was taken up with the serving of
coffee and the confirmation of the schedule for the tour of Mimosa
House. Only certain rooms would be open to public inspection, and
informed guides would be on duty at each area of interest.

"I'm sorry neither Louis nor I will be present," Nicole
apologized. She intended to make her departure as soon as possible.

"That's quite all right. It's not at all unusual for the
owners to be unavailable. We appreciate your cooperation." There
followed a slight pause, as though the other woman were searching for
the right words to open an entirely different line of conversation.

"How is Angela?" Nicole asked gently and knew instantly
from the expression on Mary Peltier's face that Angela was the subject
she had longed to introduce.

The blue eyes flooded with tears. "Oh, Nicole, I'm so
worried about her. She's been staying with a cousin in New York. She
has this horrible obsession that she tried"—her voice
faltered and lowered to a whisper— "to kill you!"

The goosebumps broke out on Nicole's flesh as she
responded automatically, "How foolish! It was all an accident. I
remember every detail. Angela lost her balance and stumbled." Who would
ever know the truth of that afternoon? At least the older woman's gray
coloring was disappearing, her cheeks flushed with obvious relief.

After leaving Mrs. Peltier's, Nicole decided to go by the
club on her way home to Mimosa House. It was still early and she was
unlikely to encounter a lot of curious members.

The young man who walked from behind the counter at the
pro shop responded with alacrity to her explanation of her errand. The
Chauvin name sure works miracles, Nicole reflected wryly, noting the
lightning change in his manner from bored to solicitous.

She was examining some pullover sweaters as she waited
when a masculine voice drawled, "Well, well, where have you
been lately, Mrs. Louis Chauvin?"

She turned and looked into the quizzical eyes of Larry
Dupuis. In a flash of remembrance she recalled the last time she had
seen him: that night in the French Quarter apartment when she had
insisted on going home.

She countered his question with an indifferent shrug, the
light in his eyes acknowledging a point in her favor.

"How about a cup of coffee?" At her grimace he amended,
"Better yet, a Bloody Mary?"

"Why not?" She surprised herself at her own acceptance.
Bloody Marys at the country club were not a part
of her usual morning schedule!

He escorted her to a table and smiled disarmingly into her
eyes, cutting through layers of politeness and decorum with a
directness that took her breath.

"You were positively magnificent that night you walked out
on all of us. I applauded your sheer guts."

"At the moment there seemed no alternative," she admitted
thoughtfully, remembering suddenly the firm touch of Louis's hands on
her waist as he stood behind her. Now she wished she had been able to
see the expression on his face. Maybe she should have stood her ground
instead of retreating. Would things have worked out differently? Maybe
better?

"Well, you killed the party, for sure," he declared with a
bland smile. "I've never seen dear Angela at such a loss."

Their drinks were served. Nicole sipped the spicy
tomato-juice concoction, grateful for the lull in conversation. She
instinctively liked Larry, but there was definitely something
disconcerting about his directness.

He offered a cigarette, frowning in mock disgust as she
refused. "Surely you have some vice?" He lighted
one and blew a cloud of smoke. "Louis is making himself scarce these
days," he observed.

She hesitated for only an instant before explaining that
Louis was out of town on business most of the time lately. Then she
changed the subject to the Dryades tournament. She was totally unaware
of the effect of her low, musical voice on the young man as he listened
carefully to its intriguing cadences.

"No wonder Louis fell for you," he said later as they were
parting after she had collected Elaine's racquets and walked with him
to her car.

"What a line to waste on a married woman!" she retorted
with good-natured scorn to veil her self-consciousness.

"Seriously," he declared, "I never thought I'd see the day
Angela Peltier was as desperate as she was that night Louis left her to
drive you home. She thought she still had him wound around her little
finger. Never in a hundred years did anybody expect her to lose him to
her meek little school friend." He shook his head in humorous wonder.

She pondered his words as she drove home. The tiny nucleus
of a plan had flickered into life during the morning, born not so much
out of the actual conversations with Angela's mother and her longtime
friend, but with their attitude toward Nicole. They regarded her as
Louis's wife, not as a self-serving impostor.

At noon she pulled on a vivid yellow windbreaker for
protection from the chill of the damp November wind and crunched her
way along the shell-covered lane to Adrian's cottage. The daring of her
plan was like a stimulant in her veins, increasing her heartbeat and
causing a strange lightheadedness similar to the feeling she'd had in
high school when Angela would talk her into taking medication in order
to stay awake all night to study.

"Adrian, it's me," she called, knocking at the side door
that led into the kitchen of the cottage. The plantation vehicle he
drove was parked under the trees, indicating he had returned home for
lunch. She was glad, because any delay in carrying out her plan might
weaken her resolve.

The door opened and the hazel eyes changed swiftly from
irritated questioning to welcome. Curiosity mingled with hope in their
tawny depths.

"This is too good to be true, to find you on my doorstep,"
he said lightly, reminding Nicole how she had managed lately not to be
alone with him. He held the door open wide.

He gestured to a chair at the table set for one and walked
over to stir the contents of a saucepan on the stove.

"Could I tempt you with some delightful canned soup?" he
asked and leaned against the counter with arms loosely folded as she
shook her head vigorously. "No? Now, what's so urgent it couldn't be
transmitted by telephone?"

"Have you been in touch with Louis lately?" That was
certainly a roundabout approach, but at the last moment her courage
failed her before that questioning light in his hazel eyes.

"Certainly. When he's away, we usually talk on the phone
once or twice a week at least. Why?"

"Do you have a telephone number where he can be reached
now?"

Incredulity flashed across his face at her words. "You
don't mean—sure, I'll get it for you right now."

He left the room, giving her a chance to quell the
embarrassment of having to admit indirectly that Louis did not
communicate with her. She might have gotten the number from the
Holdens, but she could bear Adrian's curiosity more easily than theirs.

"I hope nothing's wrong. Is everything still on for the
tournament?" His voice preceded him as he entered the kitchen and
handed her a slip of paper.

"Everything's fine. We're driving into New Orleans
tomorrow. Carol Larrison has invited us to stay with her and Ed." She
stood up, folding the paper neatly into halves and then into halves
again. "I hope you still plan to come in and stay at the apartment.
Elaine would be terribly disappointed if you didn't see her play."

"I wouldn't miss it. Call me tomorrow evening and let me
know her schedule."

The slight restraint in his manner told Nicole he was
probably hurt that she and Nicole wouldn't be under his masculine
protection at the French Quarter apartment, since they would be
staying at the Larrisons'.

"Thanks for everything, Adrian," she said warmly, grateful
he had spared her the questions that her request must have aroused. He
held the door open for her as she left, a somber expression on his open
features.

Now that she had the telephone number, her confidence
eroded as she plodded back to the main house, rehearsing what she would
say. She placed the call from the library, sitting at the big walnut
desk. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply to calm her erratic
heartbeat, she listened to the faint ringing.

A bored, nasal voice answered, "Marriott Hotel. May I help
you?"

"Mr. Louis Chauvin, please."

"One moment, please. I'll see if Mr. Chauvin is available."

What if he wasn't there? That possibility hadn't even
occurred to her before. Oh, God, she hoped he wasn't there!
What would she say? What if he were cold and unfriendly the
way he had been that last time home? Her carefully mustered courage
dissolved rapidly into panic.

"Yes?" came the familiar deep voice, polite but tinged
with impatience.

"Hello, Louis, It's me, Nicole." She
was horrified at the tremor in her voice.

"Nicole? Is anything wrong?" She could visualize the
concern on the lean features.

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Everything's fine!"

Silence. This was worse than anything she'd expected. In
every imagined version of the conversation, he had supplied questions
to help her along.

"I called to remind you the Dryades tournament begins
Monday. Elaine and I are driving to New Orleans tomorrow. We're staying
with Carol and Ed." Her voice faltered. Why didn't he say
something? Anything to give a hint of what he was thinking.

"Isn't Adrian going with you?"

"He's going, but he isn't going with
us. He'll drive in to watch her play. He'll stay at the apartment."

Again that baffling silence at the other end.

"The reason I called—it would mean an awful lot
to Elaine if you were there, especially if she makes it to the finals."

"Did she ask you to call?"

"No," What a horrible mistake this was turning out to be!
"Of course, I realize you are probably too busy—I just
thought…"

"I'll see what I can do," he said noncommittally. "Thanks
for calling to remind me."

Afterward she crumpled into a disconsolate heap in the big
leather-upholstered chair. Oh, God, how humiliating! She might have
been speaking to a stranger for all the warmth and response he
displayed. How could she ever have fooled herself into thinking he
might care for her? …

So certain was she of the failure of the telephone call
that, next morning, she didn't even mention to Elaine the possibility
of Louis's being present at the tournament. The girl didn't seem to
give her older brother a thought.

They drove to City Park as soon as they arrived in New
Orleans the next day and checked the tournament draw. Elaine would play
Susan Carradine from Shreveport at one o'clock the next afternoon.

"At least she's not seeded," Elaine said excitedly. "Could
we come back this afternoon? I'd like to hit for an hour or so."

"Of course, dear. I'll be happy to hit with you if nobody
better is around."

Nicole enjoyed the company of Carol and Ed that evening,
even though renewing their acquaintance brought back poignant memories.
There was little mention of Louis, his friends seeming to accept
without question the necessity of his being away on business. The only
uncomfortable moment was when Elaine complained unexpectedly, "Louis is
never home."

The next morning Nicole had her hands full. Elaine was up
at dawn, pacing the floor with a case of nerves. Somehow, with Carol's
help, they managed to get through the hours before the match, but
Nicole was exhausted by the time Elaine was warming up against her
opponent. She welcomed the sight of Adrian's familiar face just as
Elaine won the spin of the racquet and elected to serve first.

She won the match in two easy sets, 6-4, 6-2. Afterward
Carol invited Adrian to join them for cocktails and dinner, and much of
the conversation centered on the tournament.

Nicole settled back with a sigh of relieved pride as
Elaine proceeded to defeat each of her early-round opponents with
relative ease. The semifinals, though, would be tough. She was playing
a girl who was seeded second in the tournament. The match was scheduled
for ten o'clock on Wednesday.



Adrian sat beside Nicole watching the two girls warm up
prior to the match. "What do you think?" she asked anxiously, aware of
a flutter of nerves in her midriff. This tournament was taking a
heavier toll on her than on Elaine.

"I think our precocious child has her hands full," he
replied reflectively.

His prediction was unerring. Elaine's opponent won the
toss and elected to serve. Every point was a battle as each girl held
serve, finally having to resort to a tie breaker at six games all.
Elaine lost by two points.

By the end of the second set, which went to Elaine by
another tie breaker, Nicole's nerves were hopelessly shredded.

"I can't stand it!" she exclaimed, standing up to stretch
nervously as the two girls took a break to towel off and drink from
their thermoses at courtside.

"The rules allow her to talk with her coach during the
break following split sets," Adrian said tersely, leaving her.

They had been watching the match from the open porch on
the second story of the unadorned brick building that housed dressing
rooms, the pro shop, and the park director's office in addition to a
sparsely furnished lounge on each of the two floors.

A few seconds later she saw Adrian down by the court with
Elaine. She decided to walk inside the lounge to avoid the brisk wind
that whipped tendrils of escaped hair across her face.

Her heart flip-flopped crazily as she turned and walked
toward the glass door of the lounge. There, standing just inside the
glass partition to the right of the door, was Louis, whose inscrutable
eyes registered her surprise and confusion. How long had he been there?
Had he seen her grab Adrian's arm several times and bury her face
against his shoulder in the height of nervousness over a hard-fought
point?
He made no move to come to her, instead beckoning for her
to come inside. "Yes, I've been here the whole time," he said,
answering her unspoken question as he took both her hands in his and
squeezed them hard for a brief second. His gaze explored her face with
the lingering impact of a physical caress and then lowered
disconcertingly to the dull gold of her long-sleeved knit blouse with
its high turtleneck and then down to the trim tailored slacks in the
same gold color.

"You're looking good." Abruptly he released her hands and
thrust his own into the pockets of the tailored gray business suit. A
curtain swung across the vibrant welcome in his dark blue eyes as he
explained impersonally, "I got here in the middle of the first game and
decided not to risk upsetting Elaine by joining you and Adrian. Now I
don't dare show myself for fear of breaking her concentration."

"Isn't she playing like a real little champion?" Nicole
said huskily, the glow in her dark eyes more a result of the incredible
closeness of the tall man in front of her than her very real pride in
Elaine.

"I would settle for a more lopsided score in this last
set," he said wryly.

"Me, too," she agreed heartfully.

"I'm surprised Carol's not here. Didn't you mention you
were staying with her?" His voice was guarded.

"This is the first match she's missed so far, but she had
some kind of prior commitment she couldn't get out of."

"Looks like they're about to start. Uh-oh, you've just
lost your seat."

News had evidently spread of the exciting match on Court
Two, and the upstairs lounge and porch had suddenly become very
crowded. Adrian hadn't returned.

"I'm too nervous to sit, anyway," she protested, finding
herself being jostled by interested spectators crowding nearer the
glass panel.

"Here, stand in front of me." He guided her with authority
directly in front of him where she had an unobstructed view, but her
nerve ends tingled at the pervasively male scent that assaulted her
senses.

As the third set progressed, she could hardly bear the
agonizing tension as each girl held serve until the score was 5-5.
Several times Louis's hands crushed her shoulders in the middle of a
particularly nerve-racking point. Her senses screamed into life when he
bent to speak close to her ear in that low, resonant voice.

Finally, Elaine wavered under the terrible pressure of playing the
number-two seed in the semifinals of her first big tournament. She lost her
serve. Then the other girl won her own serve to take the final set 7-5.

"Oh, no," Nicole murmured disconsolately, her body limp
with nervous release and disappointment. She turned and relaxed
instinctively against Louis as his arms closed around her, drawing her
close against the muscular wall of his chest.

"She has nothing to apologize for," he comforted, rubbing
his cheek tenderly against her smooth, dark hair.

"She's going to be heartbroken," she mumbled into that
muscular warmth, loving the unbelievable closeness.

"Let's go cheer her up." He shielded her from the
good-natured crowd with an arm thrown protectively around her shoulders.



"Louis! You came to watch me play!" Elaine's drooping
features lighted at the sight of her brother, and she hurled herself at
him.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You weren't half
bad, either!" He tousled her dark hair.

To Nicole's amazement, Elaine took the defeat in stride,
assured by the two men she loved most that she had done extremely well
in her first tournament.

"You know what she said?" she marveled proudly. "She said
the finals tomorrow couldn't possibly be any tougher!"

Suddenly she was bored with any further discussion of the
tournament, shifting her interest to the fascinating possibilities of
entertainment now that Louis was in New Orleans.

"Hey, can we all stay at the apartment tonight? Please!
I'm just dying to see Bourbon Street. I'm the only girl in my whole
class who's never seen it!"

Nicole silently applauded Elaine's suggestion. She had
been too shy to broach the subject of staying overnight in the city.
How wonderful to be young and armed with sledgehammer tactics.

The four of them ate lunch together before Adrian insisted
he must drive back to Iberville that afternoon. He left then! to pick
up his suitcase at the apartment.

Nicole surrendered herself willingly to the flow of
activities, grateful that so little was required of her except smiling
acquiescence. Louis took over the wheel of the convertible. In a short
time they had returned to Carol's, packed their suitcases, and left a
note of explanation for Carol. Louis shook his head unhesitatingly
when Nicole asked if she should suggest meeting Carol and Ed later in
the evening.

The rest of the afternoon entailed transferring luggage
to the apartment and walking along Royal Street to peer into the quaint
specialty shops. Later, as they climbed the stairs of the apartment,
Louis queried, "Where would you girls like to eat?"

"The Fatted Calf," Elaine answered promptly, giggling at
the shocked echoes her choice elicited from Louis and Nicole alike.
After much good-natured objection on their part, she got her wish to
eat in the French Quarter restaurant that served at least thirty
varieties of hamburger. Its fame among teenagers extended as far away
as Iberville.

Afterward Louis consented to a very rapid stroll down
Bourbon Street, obviously amused at the girl's open-mouthed amazement.
The hawkers stood on the sidewalks urging the tourists thronging the
street to come inside the striptease clubs and enjoy the spectacle of
bare female flesh. They held the entrance doors open for glimpses of
the nude dancers gyrating to loud music.

"Oh, my gosh!" Elaine kept murmuring, her neck working
overtime in the effort to swivel her head fast enough to see everything.

She made no protest when they arrived back at the
apartment and Louis announced it was high time she got to bed. It had
been a long, excitement-filled, day, and she was yawning as they
climbed the stairs.

Finally, Louis and Nicole were alone, with no talkative
teenager to fill in the silences. She accepted a glass of white wine
and kicked off her high-heeled shoes with a sigh of relief. A swift
search of her mind for some topic of conversation brought recall of the
Tour of Homes. She told him of the arrangements she had discussed with
Mary Peltier.

Then she added impulsively, "Angela's in New York."

"Yes. I saw her there recently."

The revelation jolted her like an electric shock.

"Oh! Her mother's very worried about her. It seems she's
convinced she pushed me overboard."

"She's under the care of an excellent psychiatrist who
happens to be an old classmate of mine." Then he changed the subject to
his pleasure at the outcome of the tournament and his gratitude toward
Nicole for convincing him to allow Elaine to play in it.

Her hopes ebbed with dismaying swiftness as they talked
compatibly about a range of safe topics. He had been friendly and
attentive all afternoon, but there was precious little evidence he
cared for her the way she cared for him.

"You look tired," he said suddenly. "Why don't we follow
Elaine's example?"

There was no denying her fatigue, but that didn't mean she
could sleep. She stood in the darkness of her bedroom, reflecting with
bitterness how nothing had changed after all, even though Louis had
returned and there had been those wonderful hours in his company. How
she had hoped for some sign, some movement from him to close the huge
gulf separating them! But here she was in her own bedroom while he was
across the hallway in the solitude of his own bedroom.

A faint sound brought prickles of alertness to her
sensitive flesh. Louis must be opening the narrow French doors
connecting his room to the small balcony outside. At least he wasn't
able to sleep, either. There was some small comfort in that knowledge.

Well, she just couldn't stand the indecision about her
future life with him another second. She had to know if there was any
possibility that this empty pretense of a marriage could become real
and meaningful. If he rejected the proposal she was about to make, she
didn't know what her next move would be, but at least she would know
where she stood with him.

With one fluid movement she was across the room and
standing in the narrow hallway. No sound followed her soft tap, and
after a moment of tense uncertainty, she turned the old-fashioned brass
doorknob and pushed open the door. It swung open into semidarkness. The
streetlights outside shed a faint illumination, silhouetting the tall,
still frame of her husband in the rectangle formed by the open French
doors.

She closed the door behind her softly and leaned on it for
support, facing him across a silence that crackled with the unanswered
questions separating them. Surely he was able to hear the jangling thud
of her heart, which threatened to dash itself fatally against the wall
of her chest.

"Louis, I just can't stand this anymore," she said
huskily, noting with sinking despair the perceptible stiffening of his
body as he faced her across the darkness.

"I wondered what was behind the telephone call," he
answered coldly.

"It isn't easy for me to come to you like this, but I want
a real marriage," she said, urging the words
through a painfully constricted throat.

"I see." His voice was bitter, the tone making her feel
that her fragile hopes were doomed before she even explained them.
"Surely you realize there's no possibility of an annulment now?" he
rasped impatiently.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she
asked in genuine puzzlement. His comment didn't make any sense to her
at all.

The silence lengthened between them. She was tempted to
flee to her room and nurse her wounded pride, but she couldn't face the
bleakness of total defeat just yet. As much as it would hurt, she
wanted him to spell out his feelings in words. She didn't want to
continue to live with a tenuous hope that might never be realized. It
would be better to know the worst now.

"I don't want an annulment," she whispered desperately.
"I want to be your wife."

One moment he was a forbidding presence in the lighted
rectangle of the open French doors. The next thing she knew he was
across the room and gripping her arms in a viselike hold that sent
pains shooting up to her shoulders.

"What are you saying?" he demanded fiercely.

"Even though you don't care for me, lots of marriages are
based on a one-sided love," she quavered, refusing to succumb to the
cowardice that was causing her legs to tremble uncontrollably.

"Nicole, are you trying to say—" His voice
throbbed with emotion.

"I love you, Louis," she confessed in an abject little
voice.

The brutal hands softened their hold and went up to frame
her face with a gentleness that awoke the tiniest ray of hope. "God,
I'd given up all hope of hearing you say that," he said in a strangled
voice. His lips came down to caress hers with a deep tenderness that
brought tears to her eyes.

Her hands found their way up to his strong neck, while his
own hands began to work their magic on her responsive flesh, shaping
the curve of her slender neck and then sliding across her shoulders and
crushing her against him. The tender kiss grew urgent with awakened
passion.

She was breathless when he suddenly tore his mouth from
hers and asked huskily, "Are you sure, my darling?" The little note of
fear caused an odd constriction in her chest, and she answered by pulling
his head down to hers. When he carried her over to the bed, there
wasn't a trace of her former resistance to his passionate lovemaking.
His wonderful hands raised her to new heights of arousal as he
whispered assurances of his love, removing her last remaining doubts.

Afterward she snuggled close beside him in a contented
glow, unable to restrain her wonder at the miracle of his love. "I was
so sure you loved Angela."

"I never loved Angela, not from the very beginning, but
marrying her was an idea I accepted. Since I didn't love anyone
else…" She felt his shrug. "Then I became aware of you those
last days before the wedding, and you were everything Angela wasn't.
Warm and kind and sensitive."

His words amazed her and at the same time awoke a whole
new wave of happiness. But there were still unanswered questions
between them.

"Why did you leave so suddenly when I was in the hospital?
I kept waiting for you to appear—I was so
disappointed…" Her voice reflected the hurt and loneliness
she had experienced after her close encounter with death.

He sighed and nuzzled the soft darkness of her hair with
his lean cheek. "I was there in your hospital room when you woke up for
the first time and asked for Adrian. I'd been so worried about you and
had already decided to tell you the way I felt—it was almost
more than I could stand to know you wanted him and not me. But the
thought of giving you up was intolerable. So I ran away to lick my
wounds."

Her hand went up to caress the sculptured jawline, tense
now with remembrance. "I just vaguely remember worrying about letting
Adrian know I wouldn't be able to play in the tournament." She expelled
a little sigh. "Oh, Louis, we've wasted so much time, but finally our
feelings are out in the open. Everything's worked out wonderfully.
Who'd ever have given a marriage like ours a chance of succeeding!"

His arms tightened around her. "I have a terrible
confession to make, darling. Greg Benton isn't the cad he was made out
to be at the time. He came to me that night before the wedding and
told me Angela was having a severe case of nerves. I pressed him not to
dissuade her from running away."

"But why?" Nicole was dumbfounded at this revelation.

"I'd realized by that time that marrying Angela would be a
terrible mistake for everyone concerned. And having become aware of you
already, it didn't take me long to arrive at an alternative to
canceling the wedding arrangements at the last minute. I hoped with
Angela out of the way I could talk you into taking her place. My big
ace in the hole was your concern for Andrew." His voice was underlined
with apology. "In my defense, I have to say that the marriage seemed a
solution to a number of problems—mine, yours, Andrew's, and
Elaine's."

"I just can't believe it!" Nicole exclaimed softly. "You
certainly had me fooled. I was convinced you were brokenhearted,
especially when you left right after the wedding and didn't come back
for four months."

He chuckled happily. "Your marriage condition set me back
and definitely damaged my male ego. I decided to give you ample time to
recover from your father's death and adapt to Elaine and Mimosa House.
Then I came home all prepared to woo you—and found you in
Adrian's arms."

"No!" she objected.

"Literally," he insisted. "That day on the tennis
court—remember? I came close to firing him on the spot."

"Then Angela came home, and I
thought—"

"What a mess," he murmured, hugging her so tight against
him she could hardly breathe. Then, gradually, the pressure of his
muscular length awoke a faint stirring, kindled almost immediately into
a flaming need at the skilled exploration of his demanding lips and
hands.

Later, as she lay drowsily against him, delighting in the
solid warmth of his body, he murmured, "Goodnight, my darling. I have a
surprise for you when you get home."

She insisted she would never fall asleep if he didn't tell
her. "Okay," he surrendered indulgently, half asleep. "I managed to
track down your grandmother's secretary and the armoire you refinished.
You'll have to decide where you want to put them!"

"Oh, Louis, that's the best surprise you could ever have
given me!" she whispered, overwhelmed with a renewed wave of love for
his thoughtfulness. Somehow, having those dear reminders of the past made
everything perfect, intensifying her optimism for the future as Louis's
real wife. She'd put the secretary somewhere
so that she could see it and touch it every day… In the
middle of that absorbing decision, she sighed happily and fell asleep.