Stand-in Bride Read online

  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 lif
e, 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—"