Creole Fires by Kat Martin Read Free Book Online

of petticoat—she couldn’t stand the thought of putting them on again.
    Glancing around the chamber, she noticed it opened into a bigger room and peeked inside to find a larger chamber gaudy with frills and cloying with the smell of sweet perfume.
    Wondering whose room it could possibly be, she quietly backed away and returned to the task at hand. A search of the carved antique chest of drawers turned up nothing, but in the bottom of the rosewood armoir she found an old muslin sheet which she hastily tore into strips and stashed beneath the clean black uniform on the bed. Then she headed toward the big copper bathing tub that sat in the corner.
    The water in the tub had cooled to just the right temperature by the time Nicki stepped in and slid beneath the surface. The scent of rose drifted up from the water.
    She used to love violet, she remembered, the memory coming from somewhere far away. Then anotherthought occured: Alexandre du Villier, Duc de Brisonne, had remembered her. At least a little. For the first time in years, her other lifetime seemed not so far away.
    Enjoying her bath, Nicki scrubbed herself all over. A bottle of harsh-smelling liquid had been set out for use on her hair. When she had finished using it, she started scrubbing herself again. Marie came in before she’d finished, so she slid lower in the soapy water.
    “There is no need to hurry.” She flashed Nicole a smile. Marie stood a few inches taller than Nicki, with mouse-brown hair and a plain but unlined face. “What did you say your name was?”
    “Nicki. Nicki Stockton.”
    “Nicki,” she repeated, her voice warm and friendly—until she noticed the slight disturbance Nicki’s search of the room had caused. Her warm smile narrowed to a disapproving line.
    “It isn’t what you think,” Nicole said quickly, but Marie ignored her words. Stiff-backed, the chambermaid headed out the door.
    Why did everything she tried to do turn out wrong? Nicki despaired as she finished her bath and hurriedly toweled herself dry. Worried Marie might return before she was finished, she quickly rebound her breasts and pulled on a cotton chemise. Clean and smelling of soap, the thin, worn fabric felt the height of luxury, the simple black uniform with its crisp white apron more precious than a Paris gown.
    Using the silver-handled brush on the dressing table, Nicki combed her hair, then braided it and circled each braid beside her ear. The white starched mobcap went on next, covering most of her once-again shiny copper hair. When she glanced in themirror, she noticed the dress rose several inches above the floor, displaying a bit of white-stockinged ankle and a length of petticoat, the style fashionable for a younger girl.
    She did look young. She had always had a look of innocence. But her woman’s body had allayed any doubts about her age. Now that her figure was disguised, she didn’t doubt her ability to deceive the most discerning. It would serve her purpose for a while.
    Awaiting Marie’s return, Nicole sat down on the tapestry stool in front of the dressing table and looked out the window at the garden below. She was enjoying the riot of color, the yellows, lavenders, and pinks, when the door slammed open with a rush of air and Alexandre du Villier strode into the room.
    His thunderous expression told her all she needed to know.
    “I thought you understood,” he said, his voice again hard. “I’ll not tolerate your thievery—” Alex stopped in mid-sentence. For an instant he thought he had entered the wrong room. The girl who stared back at him bore little resemblance to the waif he had purchased at the auction.
    “Thank God Fortier never got a good look at you. He’d damned well have paid the two thousand.”
    “Two thousand?” she squeaked, coming to her feet. “That’s what you paid for me?”
    “Yes, though you may rest assured I already regret it.” God, did he. The girl was little more than a child, yet he felt a tightening in his