Iron Lace Part 20

She forced herself to imagine her father's reaction. She fell to the bed and closed her eyes. It wasn't a lack of courage that made her heart pound faster. She lived what was to come so that, when it did, she would be strong enough to face it.

It was late afternoon when she rose from the bed and went to the armoire to choose another dress. A sour smell rose from the basin where she had vomited. But the legs she stood on didn't buckle, and the hands that sorted through tea gowns and walking costumes were steady.

etienne was almost afraid to believe that everything he had worked for was within his grasp. He had spent the years on Bayou Lafourche dreaming of revenge. But even after he had come to New Orleans and the moment was closer, he hadn't known how to ruin Lucien. He had a.s.sumed that finding a way would take years. He would have to gain Lucien's trust and favor first, then slowly, carefully, work his way into a position of importance, where some plan would present itself.

Instead, he had caught Lucien's eye immediately. Through no calculation of his own, he had come into Gulf Coast Steamship at a crucial juncture in its history. Expansion had made an old man out of Lucien, and he'd seen the need for young blood.

etienne's rise had been a series of talent and accidents. He had the correct combination of youth, energy and intelligence. His background and education appeared good enough not to raise suspicions about his character, and lowly enough not to raise suspicions about his motivation or ambitions.

Now etienne was on the verge of taking his revenge. Years hadn't elapsed; ideas and methods hadn't been traded in for better ones. The vehicle for Lucien's destruction had been so clear that at first etienne feared it was too easy. He had gone over and over it in his mind, rehea.r.s.ed it, sorted through the consequences, but still revenge remained simple. Long ago he had pieced together Lucien's motivation for setting the skiff free. The details were murky, and might remain so, but etienne was sure that Lucien had murdered his mother and sister because their existence had begun to threaten him. Whether the threat had been to Lucien's reputation or his a.s.sets was a small matter. Now etienne was in a position to destroy both.

One evening, he sat in his small apartment, staring at the photograph Aurore had given him. She was dressed in the white gown in which she had made her debut, with rows of lace accentuating her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her hair was pulled high off her forehead, with one long curl resting on a bare shoulder. Her eyes sparkled, as if her thoughts were tantalizing.

Aurore's was not a face best captured in repose. She was beautiful only when she moved, talked, laughed. Love, and the confidence that came with it, had changed her. Now her skin glowed. Her features were more animated; she smiled more often. In bed, where it was impossible for her to hide her feelings, she was capable of a pa.s.sion the woman in the photograph could never imagine.

etienne felt the cool metal frame, the gla.s.s protecting the image. The flesh-and-blood woman was warm, and a familiar yearning stole over him as he stared at her face. In the past weeks, he had given up pretending that he had seduced Aurore to avenge his family. There was nothing of Lucien in his daughter. She had suffered at her father's hands. Not as his mother and Angelle had, but she had lived through a painful, loveless childhood and sacrificed her own yearnings on the altar of Lucien's selfishness.

Now, after years of seeking Lucien's love, she had given up all hope of it. She had come to etienne with no promises, come like a starving child grateful for any crumb he offered. And what had started as a quest for revenge had turned into a fierce need to have and protect her always.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He laid the photograph in his desk drawer and opened the door to find the real woman. She fell into his arms before he could close the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought we decided it wasn't safe for you to come here." He clutched her tightly. She was trembling against him.

"It seemed safer than the office."

He touched her hair, drawn back from her face with a spray of seed pearls and white silk roses. His hand settled there, and he dug his fingers into it. "Safer, maybe, but still not safe. Does your father know you're out?"

"I waited until after he'd gone upstairs. I'm supposed to be at a party tonight, and I was afraid he might attend with me but he didn't come back down. I don't think he's feeling well." She raised her face to his. "But what he thinks doesn't matter anymore, etienne."

He cupped her chin and searched her eyes. "Come in and sit down. I'll get you some coffee. You're freezing."

She turned paler. "No. I can't drink coffee."

He frowned. "Tea, then?"

Something wavered in her eyes. A failure of resolve, perhaps. She drew back a little. "All right."

He led her to a love seat and left her there. In the kitchen, he put the kettle on to boil and searched for tea. When he had a tray ready, he set it on the table in front of her. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. It's warm in here."

He noted that she had removed her wrap. Her gown was mauve, trimmed with pearls and roses to match those in her hair, and her skin was the translucent white of the pearls. He poured the tea, even though it hadn't had enough time to steep properly, and added three sugar lumps to her cup. He handed it to her, despite her protests. "Drink."

She sipped. Little by little he watched color returning to her cheeks. "Now tell me what's wrong," he said, when she had finished. "Has your father found out about us?"

She shook her head. "No, but he will."

He waited for her to go on. She looked tormented. "Has he ordered you to marry someone else? Is he sending you away?"

She shook her head. Fear began to nibble at him. He wondered if Lucien had discovered his ident.i.ty. Had he told Aurore the full story? Even as he worried, he discounted that possibility. Lucien could never tell anyone what he had done the night of the hurricane. But he might tell an altered version, one that absolved him of all blame.

"Has your father upset you?" he asked.

"No. Not my father." She set down her cup. "It's us."

Fear devoured him. She had changed her mind. So close to making a final commitment, she had realized what she would be giving up. In moments of pa.s.sion, he had promised to care for her, to someday give her as rich and full a life as she would be forced to abandon in New Orleans. But the fear of losing everything had overwhelmed her. She didn't want him anymore.

As if she saw his fear, she shook her head wildly. "No, etienne. I still love you." She clasped his hand. "More than ever. But I'm afraid..."

"Of what?" he demanded. "In heaven's name, tell me, Aurore!"

"I'm going to have your baby."

The possibility hadn't occurred to him. Perhaps in the first moments of their lovemaking on the Dowager, Dowager, before he realized that taking her virginity was not an act of revenge so much as one of love, he had thought to get her pregnant. Perhaps he had imagined the look on Lucien's face when he learned that Raphael Cantrelle had planted his seed, the seed of a man of mixed blood, in his only daughter. But the thought, if he'd had it at all, had been fleeting. before he realized that taking her virginity was not an act of revenge so much as one of love, he had thought to get her pregnant. Perhaps he had imagined the look on Lucien's face when he learned that Raphael Cantrelle had planted his seed, the seed of a man of mixed blood, in his only daughter. But the thought, if he'd had it at all, had been fleeting.

And it hadn't recurred. Not until now. "A baby." He felt her hands stiffen around his. He covered them and brought them to his lips. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as a woman can be without seeing a doctor."

"Are you well?"

"No!" She looked away. "I'm frightened, etienne. What will happen now?"

A grand denouement. A drama brought to its close. He squeezed his eyes shut. A vision of Lucien's face stretched across his eyelids. Lucien, as pale, as tormented, as his daughter.

He opened his eyes. "That's easy. We'll get married. And we'll move away, to New York or the Great Lakes. We'll make a home and a life together, and we won't look back."

"A home and a life." Her voice trembled. "Are you sure?"

"How can you believe otherwise?"

"I won't be allowed to bring anything with me except our child and the clothes on my back."

He saw Lucien's handiwork as clearly as he had on the night a small skiff was set free to tumble into the face of a hurricane. She believed she was worth nothing, just as she had been conscientiously taught. "You'll bring everything. You'll bring yourself. I don't want anything else."

"Oh, etienne." A teardrop ran down her cheek. "I can work to help us get started. There's not much I know how to do, but my French is perfect. I could tutor young ladies-"

He put a finger to her lips. "Hush. You have nothing to worry about. We won't be poor. Far from it. I told you I had an inheritance from my father, but I've never told you what it was."

"You don't have to. It's not my concern."

"It soon will be. We should get married immediately." He stood. "Wait here."

She was sitting in exactly the same position when he returned. She looked lost and frightened, but fear was only a thin veneer. She was a woman who would get through this trial, and every other foisted on her. Behind the shadowed eyes was a woman who would persevere.

He sat beside her and placed a wooden box on her lap, although he knew the weight would make her uncomfortable. "Before you open this, you should know that you're looking at dreams."

Her hand smoothed over the satin wood. "Dreams?"

"A young boy's, a young man's." He watched her stroke the wood. "An old man's, too."

"Your father's?"

He had been thinking of Juan, but now he thought of the man, the slave's son, he had never known. "I'm sure my father had dreams for his son, though I never knew them."

"And he left you this?"

"Yes." He covered her hand and lifted the lid on the box.

"My G.o.d." She stared at the contents, transfixed. "etienne..." She fell silent.

He knew each of the pieces as well as he knew the bitterness in his heart. "Touch whatever you like."

"Like? What a funny word." Still, she didn't move.

He broke the spell, reaching for a strand of rubies. He dragged it across her cheek, and they warmed her skin. "These suit you."

There was little jewelry inside the box. The man responsible for the cache, probably an ancestor of Juan's, had not been sentimental. etienne guessed that when the booty was divided, he had chosen mostly gold and silver coins as his share. Or perhaps Juan himself, or others who had once possessed the treasure, had sold off everything else. Now there remained only the necklace, a pair of emerald-and-diamond earrings, a ruby-and-sapphire ring.

And the cross, executed in purest silver.

Aurore lifted the cross. It shone in the cradle of her lap. "I've never seen anything so beautiful."

"I haven't been able to make myself sell it."

She laid it carefully in the box, against a wealth of gold doubloons. "How and where?" she asked. "These aren't the usual family heirlooms."

"Pirate treasure."

"Dear G.o.d."

"Very dear." He scooped up a handful of coins and let them dribble through his fingers. "I can only guess where it came from, Aurore. There was a parade of Spanish ships that carried treasure back and forth from the New World to the Old. Some of them are known to have gone down in Louisiana waters. Some were taken by pirates."

"But how did your father-?"

He told her a story he thought she would believe. "When my father found me in the marsh, the hurricane had also churned the earth nearby. Trees lay uprooted. As he was carrying me to his pirogue, he saw a chest that the storm had uncovered. Inside was this."

"And he never spent it? Never tried to make your lives better? Your work easier?"

"I think he knew treasure couldn't change him into someone else. And he was a miserly man. Perhaps he was waiting to spend it one day when he was old. He told me where he had hidden it just before he closed his eyes for the last time."

"But etienne, once it belonged to someone."

His lips quirked in a half smile. "But to whom? The Spanish who pillaged the Aztecs? The Mayans? Should I return it to them, do you think?"

She closed her eyes. "How much-?"

"I don't know. Some of the coins are very old. They'll be worth more to collectors than they're worth for their gold. I don't know if a price could even be put on the cross."

He lifted the chest from her lap. Her eyes were still closed, and she was still too pale. "There is no one this belongs to more than it belongs to us." He touched her cheek at the same moment he kissed her. The kiss was gentle and undemanding. He wanted nothing except color in her cheeks.

"I'll be marrying a rich man," she said as she opened her eyes.

"Rich? Maybe not. But this can be parlayed into real wealth, Aurore. We can start a business together. We have the means to do it."

"Then why, with all this, have you been working for my father?"

"Because money is nothing without experience. And the things I had to learn couldn't be taught in cla.s.srooms."

She seemed to believe him. She nodded. "But this still won't make my father accept you as his son-in-law."

"I don't want his acceptance. I want his daughter."

"She's yours." The color he had hoped for flooded her cheeks. "She was yours before this." She swept her hand toward the treasure. "And she will be yours after. She'll be yours forever!"

He clasped her to him. He tried not to think of anything except the woman in his arms. But, despite himself, he thought of Lucien, and what Lucien would say.

"I don't want you to tell your father," he said, against her hair. "He'll attempt to stop us. We'll arrange a place and time to meet. I'll have tickets for the train. We'll leave Louisiana, and we'll never look back."

She turned her face to his. He saw both sorrow and hope in her eyes. But as he kissed her, the sorrow disappeared.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

On Lundi Gras, Rex, costumed as a French monarch of happier times, arrived at the riverfront on his royal yacht and paraded to Gallier Hall. Crowds lined the streets to cheer the king of carnival in his gold-and-white carriage. The city simmered with excitement as the clock ticked off the hours to Mardi Gras. By evening, when the Proteus parade was to begin, antic.i.p.ation seeped through every street, from the palatial mansions of Saint Charles Avenue to the crowded shacks of Freetown in Algiers.

Up until the hour before Proteus was to appear, mothers worked on hampers of food to share with friends who lived on Tuesday's parade route. Children designed and redesigned costumes, sewing bits of ribbon and small silver bells to cheap cambric and sateen. Then a flood of humanity spilled from houses all over the city and headed downtown to Ca.n.a.l Street.

Aurore pushed her way through the good-natured crowds, swimming against the tide. In the streets the shrill honk of automobile horns blended with the screeches of horses. On one corner a small boy waved a carnival bulletin and pleaded for a dime. She had no use for it, but she bought one as a defense against fellow vendors at every corner. She was halfway to the riverfront before she realized that she was carrying a last colorful souvenir of her life in New Orleans. In days to come, she might look at the beautifully rendered lithographs of each float in the Proteus parade and dream she was home again.

Except that now home would be wherever etienne planned for them to live. Afraid that her father might learn the truth before they were safely away, she hadn't asked their destination. She was willing to turn her back on Lucien, but not to lie.

The crowds thinned. Far away she heard the music of a bra.s.s band. Then, as she neared the river, the sounds faded.

Carnival, with its relentless preoccupation with social status, its numbing regard for the most ephemeral of human values, would be easy to put behind her. She had never experienced carnival from the streets, never scrambled for a place on the parade route or worn a daring costume of her own creation. She wouldn't miss what she had never really known.

The river was another matter. As she hurried toward it, she could smell its mysterious scent. Odors mingled into an essence as encompa.s.sing as the fog rising toward the darkening sky. The river was running faster and higher now, in antic.i.p.ation of spring. Tears burned her eyes. She wasn't sorry to be leaving New Orleans, because she was leaving with etienne. But she hoped that someday, somewhere, she would know the river again.

She walked faster, because it was growing late. She was to meet etienne that evening at the train station. They had chosen this night because her father would be occupied with the parade and the ball to follow. It would be late before Lucien realized she was not among the young women in the call-out section. By then Aurore would be gone. But first she had one last goodbye.