Spring Fires, page 12
Unsympathetically, he tore the front of her chemise to reveal full firm breasts, their nipples taut with arousal. In the daylight, Nicholai blinked at such creamy beauty, almost allowing his heart to soften. He ran his tongue around the puckered edge of one nipple slowly, feeling it tense. Finally, he covered it with his lips, kissing and tugging gently until Lisette moaned and fought to free her arms. Nicholai's mouth seared a trail to her other breast, and then he released his hold on her wrists. Aching to touch him, Lisette buried her fingers in his gleaming hair and endured the sweet agony that transmitted itself between her tingling breasts and the throbbing place beneath her skirts.
At length, craving another potent kiss, she urged him upward with her hands. Nicholai did shift so that his forbidding face was above hers, but there were no kisses. Deliberately, he moved the rest of his body so that he lay between her legs; then he pressed his hips to hers. Through her gown, Lisette felt Nicholai's tantalizing rigid maleness against the core of her own hot ache. Swallowing a tiny whimper, she moved her hips hesitantly, and prayed he would lift her skirts and end this torture.
"You want it, don't you?" he asked harshly.
She saw the ruthless glint in his eyes, but couldn't help nodding. After all, he knew it was true. "Yes," she whispered.
Nicholai swung his legs free and stood up. "Dear Lisette, you must make a record of this, for it is certainly a milestone—not only have we discovered an undertaking that you were not quite self-sufficient enough to complete alone, but I've also witnessed your first request for assistance." Rolling down his cuffs, he never looked at her, but continued caustically, "However, knowing how adamantly you reject all forms of rescue from men, my conscience will not allow me to interfere. You may have weakened momentarily, but later you'll certainly be pleased to be standing alone."
Seething with angry humiliation, Lisette stood to face Nicholai, and promptly slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "You arrogant, odious beast!"
Instantly, his hands gripped her sore wrists with crushing strength. "Knowing your views on equal treatment for women, I ought to return that slap. Strike me again and you will be repaid."
"Let go, before I call for Stringfellow. I must fasten my gown and return to work." When the task was done, she stared murderously up at Nicholai. "I'd have been better off with that villain Marcus Reems!"
"Mistress Hahn, may I remind you that you wanted to continue this little—interlude, and it was I who called halt. Your pose as victim will not alter the facts."
Lisette opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a quiet knock at the study door. She glared at Nicholai and went to answer it.
"Hello, Lisette."
It was Lion Hampshire. His eyes quickly took in her state of dishabille, then fell on Nicholai.
"Well! Hello, Mr. Beauvisage. I'm sorry if I interrupted your conversation—" He searched Nicholai's face for a hint of the situation.
"No!" countered Lisette. "He was just leaving."
"Please—stay a moment," Lion said to Nicholai, raising blond brows meaningfully. "I'll be brief."
"As you wish," Nicholai said tonelessly.
"The fact is, Lisette, that Hyla spoke to me today and told me that Marcus Reems has been harassing you about a loan, and pressuring you to sell the CoffeeHouse to him."
"That is correct, Senator—but I think Hyla should tend to her own affairs."
"She is concerned, Lisette—and so am I. For an hour, I've sat alone in a corner of the public room, considering this matter. I know that you want to keep the CoffeeHouse in business on your own, but after all, it was your father who took the loan. Shouldn't you be able to begin with a clean slate?"
"Please sit down, Senator." Lisette offered him the corner chair, then seated herself opposite. In the background, Nicholai lounged against the far wall and listened.
"My offer is simple. I would like to loan to you the amount due on Ernst's note, so that you will be able to free yourself from Marcus Reems. I attach no conditions except repayment as you are able. You will be able to tell Marcus Reems that you stand alone and will not need his contribution."
To Nicholai's incredulous amazement, he heard Lisette reply, "Senator, I wish I were in a position to say no, but I am not. I am honored to accept your kind offer—and I shall repay you with all possible speed."
Nicholai's reaction was immediate and brusque. "I must leave. Good day." Passing them, he nodded once at Lion, but ignored Lisette completely.
Back in the keeping room, he was oblivious to Hyla Flowers's curious stare as he retrieved his cravat and jacket. Pulling them on while he walked, Nicholai went through to the public room. Stringfellow was winding his way between the tables when he felt an iron band grip his arm. The tray almost slipped and he looked around crossly.
A dangerous-looking Nicholai Beauvisage narrowed jewel-hard eyes at him and growled, "Stringfellow, don't you ever again consider me as a possible savior for your Lisette-in-distress. If she makes a mess of her life, it won't be more than she's striven for and deserves!" .. Stringfellow was still rooted to the spot, staring and clutching his tray, a full minute after Nicholai's broad shoulders had disappeared through the CoffeeHouse door.
Chapter 14
April 18, 1793
The baskets of crimson strawberries were a pretty sight in the twilit keeping room. Lisette sat on her stool, rinsing and cleaning them with uncharacteristic languor, pausing at intervals to sample a particularly plump berry.
Across from her, Hyla Flowers was polishing silver. Thank God for Sundays, she thought. Without a day to catch our breath, we'd never survive. She pushed back a lock of frizzy coral-tinted hair and regarded Lisette. How listless she seemed! Her thick-lashed blue eyes were dreamy and sad, and each breath she took was nearly a sigh, "What's wrong, honey?"
"Hmm?"
"I said, what ails you? Are you sick?"
"Oh—no, no, Hyla." She managed a weak smile. "Perhaps it's spring fever."
"I know what you need," Hyla decided. "You spend every waking moment cooped up in this CoffeeHouse. The only fresh air you ever get is when you go out to the market. I think the best thing you could do would be to treat yourself to a nice long walk. It's a rare evening and you'd have a chance to just relax and clear your mind."
Lisette started to decline, then paused. "Do you know, Hyla, I believe you are right. It isn't healthy for me to stay in here all the time; I will go out for a stroll."
Grinning with pleasure, the older woman sent her upstairs to wash and put on a fresh gown. A quarter hour later, Lisette was waving good-bye, clad in a soft butter-yellow frock with a fichu of white gauze, her tousled blond curls intertwined with a yellow muslin fillet; against these sunny colors, her eyes sparkled like sapphires.
It did feel wonderful to be outdoors. The smells of the waterfront were a welcome change, and it was fun to pass people on the footpaths and exchange smiles and greetings. As the flaming sky shaded toward violet blue and lamps were lit, Lisette meandered up Front Street to Walnut, then strolled south along the bends of Dock Street. She watched the handsome three-story brick row houses turn inward for the night, curtained windows burnished gold, and wondered where Nicholai was—with whom was he talking… laughing?
A woman?
She wondered, leaning against a dogwood tree, what sort of life he led. Since the day in the study, when she accepted Lion Hampshire's loan, Nicholai had not set foot in the CoffeeHouse. Lisette knew, because not an hour passed that she did not find an excuse to tour the public room. Her mind insisted that she was well rid of his disruptive influence, but her heart and body found him difficult to forget. At night, when she lay in bed, blurry eyed with fatigue, she remembered what he had said to her about "needs," the expression on his face when he'd said that she possessed qualities he wanted to explore, and the offhand tone with which he'd offered to lend her the money to pay off Marcus Reems. Alone in the darkness, Lisette tried to ignore the nagging inner voice that insisted that she had erred in the way she'd handled that situation. In fact, it seemed that she hadn't ever said or done the right thing in Nicholai's presence… she'd been shrewish, moody, stubborn, childish— and shamelessly lacking in willpower.
With a bitter sigh, Lisette continued to walk alone through the night, south toward Spruce Street. She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes and tried to convince herself that she was better off without emotional involvements… especially with a man like Nicholai Beauvisage.
At that moment, Nicholai was seated in a wing chair in his study, smoking a cheroot and staring at a message just arrived from Lion Hampshire.
It is important that I speak with you tonight. May I come to your house at eight o'clock?
L.H.
Nicholai scowled at the words. He could guess what was on Lion's mind, for he hadn't gone near the CoffeeHouse or Lisette Hahn in more than a week. There was simply no possible way for him to continue this charade of keeping track of Marcus Reems, for he refused to endure another meeting with the maddening Mistress Hahn. Lisette had believed his visits to be products of his entrancement with her, and after her cutting acceptance of Lion's loan, Nicholai refused to flatter her any further.
But how to explain to Lion? Why couldn't Marcus Reems's scheme have involved some other female? Nicholai truly wished he could help Hampshire—but not at a sacrifice to his own self-respect. And he couldn't explain to Lion what existed between himself and Lisette Hahn.
"Damn it!" he swore. The note from Lion was crushed in his fist and he tossed it into the fire. After shifting the chair around to the handsome fall-front desk, Nicholai took quill in hand and wrote:
Sorry, NO.
N.P.B.
It seemed that the only solution was for him to be so rude to Lion that there would be no questions. It was simpler to be thought callous and irresponsible than to expose his chaotic relationship with Lisette.
Oliver was summoned to deliver the message, and when he was gone, Nicholai relaxed with a brandy and the remainder of his cheroot. A strange night indeed. He had wriggled out of an invitation from Anne and William Bingham to share supper with them and the unlovely Ophelia after Caro begged him to join them at Belle Maison. However, it had been nearly a week since he'd been with his lady friend, the restlessly married Amelia Purdy, and when her message arrived yesterday informing him that her husband would be away for tonight, Nicholai canceled his plans at Belle Maison. He was more in the mood for unemotional sex than for another performance of Caro and Sacha as the consummate married couple. If there was any justice in the world, he'd be at Amelia's now and be spared the problem of Lion's request, but it seemed, as of an hour ago, that Mr. Purdy had a last-minute change of plans.
Nicholai ground out his cheroot and drained the brandy. He should have found another woman or two by now; this business with Amelia was ridiculously unpredictable, and besides, she wasn't his match under the sheets. That would have to be his spring project now that he'd rid himself of the Reems-Hahn enterprise. It was cheering to look forward to lovely, uncomplicated coquettes who would gaze at him adoringly and melt in his embrace. Just the thing. Much more enjoyable and relaxing than trying to get close to the prickly, fitful Mistress Hahn. Let her eat bear meat until kingdom come—he certainly didn't care.
There was a knock at the front door. Welcome and Felicity had already retired to their quarters attached to the kitchen building behind the garden. Oliver usually slept in a chamber located in front of the study, but tonight he had asked if he might pay a visit to his sweetheart after delivering the message to Lion Hampshire.
Sighing, Nicholai rose and glanced in the mirror. His cravat was loosened casually, his hair ruffled even more negligently than usual, and he wore no jacket, only a waist-length, unbuttoned fawn waistcoat. Deciding that, as master in his own home, he had a right to be as disheveled as he pleased, Nicholai went down the marble hallway.
When he pulled open the door, he found Lisette Hahn standing there, looking humble and utterly lovely in her yellow gown.
"Lisette?"
"Had you forgotten me?" She gave him a hopeful smile.
"Of course not! But what is it? Is something wrong?"
Still on the doorstep, Lisette noted the appearance of his clothing. "No, nothing is wrong. Is there a woman here? If you were busy, I will go… it was foolish of me to knock at all—"
"Of course there isn't a woman here!" Nicholai chided in mock dismay. "Come in. I am breathless with curiosity to learn why you are here."
He took her back to the study and Lisette looked around the narrow, cozy room while Nicholai poured some wine.
"I like your furniture much better without the dust covers." She smiled. The camelback sofa was upholstered in a Chinese pattern of terra-cotta, gold, and dark green, while the chairs were velvet covered in matching solid colors.
"Thank you." Nicholai's entire approach was wary, from the humor in his voice to the amount of wine he poured. What the devil is the vixen up to now? seemed his one coherent thought. "Let's sit here before the fire while you tell me what has prompted this most unexpected visit. I wasn't aware you ever wandered more than a few feet from the CoffeeHouse."
"You have endowed me with several peculiar traits, Mr. Beauvisage. First you believed me unable to laugh—"
"Nicholai. For the hundredth time, call me Nicholai." Somehow, he felt that she used this formality to keep him at arm's length, to prove her indifference, rather than as a sign of polite respect. "And, since we are in my house, before my fire, I must take a turn at naming the conditions to be met if you remain."
Lisette strove to show no reaction. Was he going to try to trick her into another night in his bed? The mere thought of this threw her senses into conflict. A part of her was shocked and outraged, but another part—the one born the night Nicholai taught her the splendor of lovemaking—was frankly excited by the prospect.
"All right, I accept."
"Fine." Nicholai's brow was arched slightly, as if he could read her mind. "I want you to tell me, honestly, why you came here tonight. That is all I ask."
A little crease formed down the bridge of her nose.
"The truth," Nicholai pressed.
"I heard you!" She glared at him, "All right. I came here because I had been thinking about you. I regretted the unfortunate way our last encounter ended—" Her voice broke off as she swallowed the more humbling reasons.
"Not half the truth, Lisette, all of it."
"You are a vile man! I will say the rest, but I've changed my mind since I felt this way!" She took a deep breath. "I had considered some of the things you said to me—about the appetites I'd neglected, and about your friendly feeling towards me. It seemed that you put out your hand to me more than once, offering me your friendship and help, and it was mean spirited of me to strike it away. I think, now, that it was a reflex—to protect myself from hurt and rejection." Lisette no longer looked vexed. She met his gaze and felt a spreading current of relief now that the words were being spoken. "I've realized that I have been a coward, which is not to say I accept all the blame, for you have behaved badly as well. And, I don't plan to leap into your bed now or weep a confession of love. I just wanted you to know I've been working to fix my 'hard head'… I apologize for my childish scenes, and…"
"And you have been lonely? It's not much fun to exist in a world where there is no special intimacy with another person, is it?"
"No." Her chin quivered.
Nicholai put his hand against one side of her face and queried gently, "Did you miss my aggravating visits just a bit?"
After a moment, Lisette nodded, and tears glittered in her thick lashes. "I—I kept remembering the succotash… how you made me laugh in a way I hadn't known for so long. It wasn't just a reflex—it felt good, because the laughter bubbled out when I tried to keep it inside. Just talking, about politics and the other everyday things was a treat for me. I used to chat by the hour with Katya, but she's always with Randolph now, or planning her wedding and that's as it should be. I suppose"—her voice quavered as a few of the tears flicked free—"I had forgotten the pleasure of stimulating conversation, instead of just going through the motions with Hyla or the customers… even Papa. But there, I did try; he was so withdrawn toward the end."
Nicholai carefully gathered her into his arms, cradling her close as she wept. He sensed that she'd broken down a few of the barriers, but not all—when that happened, there would be a flood of tears rather than this trickle.
"It's hard to admit, to you," Lisette whispered brokenly, "but I think the only times I have felt really alive lately have been in your presence. I couldn't put a name to it, but there's no doubt that you stir me up somehow… Nicholai."
He smiled against her soft vanilla-scented hair. Tonight there was a hint of strawberries in it. "That is good, Lisette. We all need a bit of stirring up from time to time."
"Promise me—promise that you won't use my confessions to embarrass me. I couldn't bear it if you were constantly laughing at me with your eyes, reminding me that I've told you of my secret feelings. I—"
"Lisette, will you never learn? If you mean to embark on a—friendship with me, you mustn't continue to harbor these suspicions, particularly aloud—to my face! It's very insulting and makes it difficult for me to remain patient with you."
Lisette drew back to look at him, relieved to find the sardonically amused undercurrent in his voice reinforced by a quirk on one side of his mouth. "I am sorry." She grinned.
