Stand-in Bride Page 8

  "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 m
outh 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.