Stand-in Bride Read online

  "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 an
d 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."