«Are you afraid of me, chere?» Lucky asked softly.
Serena shook her head. «No. It's just that-«She broke off as another shudder of revulsion trembled through her and tears swam up to blur her vision. «He… touched me. And I feel… so… dirty.»
Lucky bent his head and kissed the teardrops falling from her eyes. He whispered to her in his low, soothing voice. «It's all right, chere. I'll take it all away.»
He filled the small clawfooted tub with warm water scented with a fragrant oil taken from a mysterious brown bottle in the medicine cabinet. When the water was ready, he finished undressing Serena and carefully placed her in the tub.
The water felt like heaven, warm and soft and soothing The fragrance of the oil drifted up in the steam, filling her head and taking away the remembered smells of sweat and liquor and fear. Serena closed her eyes and leaned back, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Lucky leaned over her with one arm around her shoulders and carefully washed away all the dirt. He ran the cloth gently over her face, soothing her with his touch as he washed all the places that had been scratched and bruised. With infinite care he touched the cut at the corner of her mouth, ran the cloth down her throat, stroked it over her breasts. As he pressed soft kisses to her temple, he brought the warm, scented water up in his cupped palm to pour it down over her skin again and again in a cascade of cleansing, healing fluid.
Serena didn't speak for fear of breaking the spell. She allowed Lucky to touch her, to try to take away all evidence and memory of what had happened. She leaned into his strength, absorbed his gentleness, soaked up the love he was giving her, hoarding it away in her heart. Tomorrow loomed on her horizon like a storm gathering at the edge of the swamp, making these moments all the more precious to her. She savored each one and prayed what was left of the night would last forever.
When the water cooled, Lucky lifted her from the tub and dried her, then wrapped her in a towel and sat her down on the commode to carefully comb the tangles from her hair. He tended to the worst of her cuts with more of the mysterious oil from the cabinet, then carried her to his bed.
Serena snuggled into his embrace when he slid in naked beside her, letting her arms find their way around his waist. Her head nestled into his shoulder as if it had been made to fit there.
«Lucky?» she whispered.
«Hush, cherie,» he murmured. «You need to sleep.»
«No. I need you.» She lifted her head and found his eyes in the soft light from the candle beside the bed. «Make love to me, Lucky. I need to feel you. I need to have you love me. I need to have it feel good and right. Please.»
Lucky studied her face in the glow of the candle's flame. His heart nearly burst at the earnest plea in her soft, dark eyes. Dieu, he loved her so! He hadn't thought it possible for him to feel such emotion again, but now he ached with it in his muscles, in his bones, in his blood; he could taste it bittersweet upon his tongue. He loved her. And while there was precious little he could give her, he could give her this: his touch, his body, a memory of tenderness to take away the pain.
«Please, Lucky,» she whispered.
Turning onto his side, he lowered his head and kissed her slowly as he stroked his hand down her side. He made love to her with a patience he hadn't known he possessed, with a tenderness he had long denied. He caressed her and kissed her endlessly, until Serena took the initiative and guided him to the soft heat between her thighs. He slid into her, his breath catching at the exquisite sense of being one with her, and he loved her slowly and gently, until they were both replete.
He didn't withdraw from her afterward, but held her close, stroking her hair, brushing whisper-soft kisses to her temple.
«I love you,» she whispered as she finally gave in to sleep.
Lucky gazed down at her as the candle on the stand guttered and died and darkness swept in around them.
«Je t'aime, mon coeur,» he whispered into the silence.
CHAPTER 19
«I MUST SAY, I'M A TRIFLE BAFFLED BY THIS SUDDEN change of heart,» Lamar Canfield drawled, his dark eyes wandering back and forth between the people who had summoned him to Chanson du Terre at such an unseemly hour of the morning. Young people had no sense of propriety. In the days when manners had still been in vogue, no one would have dreamed of calling on a person before nine o'clock.
He stared at the young woman seated behind Gifford Sheridan's massive cherry desk. She looked cool and composed in a forest-green suit with simple straight lines and a champagne silk blouse. There was a single strand of pearls at her throat. Her honey-blond hair was neatly contained at the back in a French twist. Her mouth lifted at the corners in a placid smile, but she twisted the large topaz ring she wore around and around on her finger, giving away her inner tension.
«It's really quite simple, Mr. Canfield,» she said with power of attorney. I am to settle this matter as I see fit. Now, I have examined all the options and taken into consideration all factors, and the only logical, practical conclusion is to sell the property to Mr. Burkes company.»
Lamar shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking and sighing as he crossed his thin legs at the knee. He stared up at a water spot on the ceiling for a moment, then returned his gaze to his hostess, looking as if he were about to speak. He opened his mouth, shut it, frowned darkly for a second.
«Is there some problem, Mr. Canfield?» Len Burke demanded to know. He sat in the matching wing chair three feet from the aged attorney, obviously nursing a hangover. The whites of his eyes-what could be seen of them through his squint-had turned bloodred. The color of his complexion matched the green-brown wrapper of his unlit cigar.
Lamar regarded him with the same condescension he usually reserved for common ruffians. «It seems to me, Mr. Burke, to be a rather abrupt change of loyalties. Why, just the other night Miss Sheridan seemed nothing short of appalled by the prospect of Chanson du Terre falling into your hands.»
Burke scowled at him. «Yeah, well, she's changed her mind. Woman's prerogative.»
«I have changed my mind, Mr. Canfield,» she assured him.
«I see,» Lamar said gravely. He sat forward in his chair, straightening the lapels of his seersucker jacket. «I must say, I am exceedingly disappointed by this, Shelby.»
«Serena,» she hastened to correct him.
«Yes, of course. Serena. I know what your grandfather had hoped to accomplish by giving this responsibility to you. He's going to be very unhappy,» Lamar declared dramatically, shaking his head in disapproval.
Shelby's eyes flashed and the line of her mouth tightened slightly. «Well, it serves him right, if you ask me,» she snapped.
Mason stepped in diplomatically, his innocuous smile spreading like sunshine across his face as he strolled behind the desk. «What Serena means to say, Lamar, is if Gifford is willing to give the power of the decision to someone else, then he must be prepared to face the consequences of that decision.»
«Amen.» Burke hauled a cowhide briefcase the size of a calf onto his lap and popped it open. «Now, can we get on with the paperwork? I have everything drawn up here in the terms we agreed on. All I need is a couple of signatures and we can call it a done deal.»
He extracted a thick sheaf of papers, flipped to the final page, and handed the document across the desk to be signed.
«I'm surprised your sister hasn't come in to witness the transaction,» Lamar said with just the barest edge of sarcasm in his voice as he watched his hostess take up a pen. «Her moment of triumph, so to speak.»
His remark won him a cutting glare, but no comment from the woman behind the desk.
«I'm afraid Shelby is indisposed this morning. She's resting,» Mason said. «One of her migraines. Poor dear, she suffers terribly.»
«Well, I'm sure she deserves it,» Lamar said absently. He regarded the shocked expressions directed at him with bland innocence. «The extra rest,» he clarified. «I'm sure she deserves it.»