Creole Fires by Kat Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

groin just to look at her. Hair the color of newly minted pennies, eyes like aquamarines. Her lips were full and the loveliest shadeof pink.
Nom de Dieu
, he had never been attracted to such a young girl.
    “This is your last warning,” he told her. “Unless you wish to wind up back on the auction block, you’ll learn to behave yourself.”
    “Please … it wasn’t the way you think.” Just the thought of being sold again made her feel sick. “I was just … looking around … at … at all the pretty things you have.” Women’s things, she realized, the truth finally dawning. Frilly lace and heavy perfume. Alex was married! “I—I just couldn’t help myself.”
    Alex was watching her face, and it was clear he knew she was lying. She wanted to die.
    “Those pretty things belong to somebody else. You’ll do well to remember that.”
    “M’sieur du Villier,” she said softly, repeating his name as the maid had, careful to say it with a trace of an English accent. “I appreciate what you’ve done.”
So far.
She hadn’t forgotten his ominous threat about her being an
amusement.
“I won’t steal from you. I give you my word.”
    “And just how much is a thief’s word worth?” His look said not one franc.
    “I’m not a thief. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. I didn’t do the things they say. I’ve never stolen anything. As far as my word is concerned, I value it above all things. It’s all I have left.”
    Alex regarded her closely, the straightforward way she met his eyes, the proud tilt to her chin. This time she was telling the truth. He was sure of it. There were hundreds of people living on Belle Chêne. Hundreds of people who were his responsibility. He hadlearned quickly how to judge a man or a woman, and he was rarely wrong.
    “All right, Nicki. I’ll accept your word.”
    “You will?” She looked so surprised, he almost smiled.
    “That’s what I said.” He extended his hand, but the girl just stared at it, reminding him of some untamed wary animal. He held his hand immobile, allowing her to test his intentions until tentatively she reached for it. Her fingers felt small and warm in his, but it was her smile that touched his heart. It was only the second time he had seen it and instantly his regret in buying her began to fade.
    “I don’t imagine you’ve had a lot to eat lately.”
    She wet her lips at the mention of food. “No.”
    “Why don’t you go downstairs and see what Cook can find for you? I told her you’d be down.”
    “Thank you,” she said, but didn’t move.
    “Go on,” he prompted.
    With another quick smile she was gone, leaving a certain dimness in the room. For the first time Alex realized it was getting dark outside.
    Nicki had been just a child when last she had seen Belle Chêne.
    Too little to remember the magnificence of the great white plantation house rising two stories, with an attic above the half story that lifted it off the damp black earth near the river. Dozens of columns ten feet apart surrounded each level, creating wide galleries that kept the rooms cool in summer. A massive hip roof, enhanced by tiny dormer windows, separated tall brick chimneys at each end of the house.
    But even as the carriage rumbled up the oak-lineddrive beneath draping gray-green moss, Nicole remembered the beautiful black mantels of rare Belgian marble she would find in the receiving rooms downstairs, the pink Baccarat crystal chandelier with its hand-blown chains of small individual links that lighted the entry. As luxurious as Meadowood had been, none compared to Belle Chêne.
    The grinding of the carriage wheels against the oyster-shell drive in front of the house marked their arrival. Alex helped her down, and they walked inside.
    “I’ve brought you some help,” he told the housekeeper. “Nicki, this is Mrs. Leander. She’ll get you settled in.”
    Mrs. Leander, a buxom, graying woman at least half a head taller than Nicki, took her firmly