Bayou Bride Page 5

  She turned her gaze, cold with contempt for his high-handed interference, full upon him. The limousine, the expensive hotel. She should have guessed something was wrong. “I will pay you back, every cent. I told Paul I would rather make my own arrangements."

  "It doesn't matter—now. Do you want to go out to the camp or would you prefer to wait until Paul returns?"

  Sherry pressed her lips together. Despite Lucien's high-handed methods, the offer to take her to Paul was a concession. In some way she must have convinced him of her sincerity. She could not afford to stay at the hotel Lucien had chosen. Paul had mentioned this fishing camp, Lucien's retreat, a number of times. It was a large place, from all accounts, a modernized plantation house. She should not be too much in the way, even if there were business clients around. Anyway, she would not be staying long. The sooner she saw Paul, the sooner this masquerade would be over. “I would like to go, if it isn't that much trouble."

  "Not at all,” he replied, his tone carefully neutral. “We can reach there before dawn. Tomorrow is Sunday so there will be no hurry about returning."

  "You mean—leave tonight?"

  "It would be best, if you are determined to see him."

  There was an undercurrent in his voice which sent a tremor along her nerves. She slanted a glance at him in the dimness, seeing the chiseled planes of his bronze face, the firm lines of his lips and his dark, unreadable eyes. There was something taut in his stance that communicated itself to her, as though he attached unusual importance to her answer.

  "Tonight it is then,” she said, but found she could not respond to his sudden, tight smile.

  The cabin cruiser was blue and white with sleek, rakish lines and brass work that gleamed in the glow of the running lights. It sliced effortlessly through the muddy water, heading into the dark night. Its powerful motor throbbed in the paneled cabin below decks where Sherry lay. It would be a trip of several hours to the fishing camp; it had seemed wise to follow Lucien's suggestion that she rest. But whether it was the swish and swirl of the water along the hull of the boat, or the knowledge that she was alone upon it with a man she hardly knew, she lay wide awake with her arms crossed behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. In spite of the fact that the bunk built against the wall to conserve space in the nicely appointed cabin was extremely comfortable, she could not sleep.

  Was this a foolish thing she was doing? Somehow Lucien's about-face filled her with a growing feeling of disquiet. It was not in Character for him to give way to a woman, she thought, and she could not feel that her determined stand against him, or her meager explanations of her relationship with Paul, had been sufficient to make him change his mind. It could be he had had a sudden urge to see what the effect of her sudden appearance would be on his brother. One thing she was convinced of—this trip was no mere whim, no easy acquiescence. There had to be a reason.

  As certainty grew, so did her unease, and she wished she had not been so quick to accept Lucien Villeré's offer. But with their hurried return to the hotel so that she could pack her things, there had been no time to consider the reasons behind it. Now, in retrospect, she had the feeling that she had been rushed. And she did not like that feeling.

  Sherry stared up into the dark ceiling until her eyes burned. The more she thought of Lucien's interference, the more unbelievable it seemed. She had heard of the old French tradition of the authority of the head of the family, still she had never thought to see it in action. She was happy she did not have to endure it. She was also surprised that Paul would. Was he, perhaps, more immature than she had realized, and Lucien felt he was responsible for straightening out his affairs?

  Affairs. An unfortunate choice of words. She was not having an affair with Paul, though she was sure nothing she could say would convince Lucien otherwise. That fact had been made plain enough by the way he had failed to introduce her to his relatives in the restaurant. Now, when it was too late, she regretted the angry impulse which had caused her to defy his wrong impression of her. She should have faced him as a quiet, demure young thing, a victim of Paul's fatal charm and his carelessness with the affections of young women. Lucien would have been in a real quandary then, forced to decide which of the two, Aimee or herself, Paul had wronged more.

  Under the circumstances, she supposed she should be glad that she had not been packed ignominiously off to the airport and put on the first flight back to St. Louis. Short of throwing her job in Lucien's face, there would have been little she could have done about it. That he had relented enough to take her to Paul should be a reason for satisfaction, and would be, if she did not have this uncomfortable, feeling that his reasons for it were strictly his own.

  What would Paul say when he learned that Lucien had intercepted her arrival? Would he laugh it off, or would he be indignant for her sake? She was by no means certain her supposed fiancée dared to clash head-on with his formidable elder brother. If he had, he would have done so over the question of his long-time commitment to Aimee. There would have been no hurried flight to St. Louis. He would never have made a midnight visit to her apartment. And she would not be here, lying in sleepless apprehension, aboard a boat in the Mississippi channel below New Orleans with a man she had known less than twenty-four hours.

  The river tonight was just as dangerous, just as filled with snags and floating debris and shining sandbars as it had ever been in the days of the steamboats. The safety of the boat and herself depended on Lucien Villeré's knowledge of the river and his quick reflexes. Physical safety was not what concerned her, however.

  With an exclamation of impatience she swung her legs off the bunk and reached above her to switch on the light. Rummaging in her suitcase, she found her jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. They would be more suitable than the evening gown she had taken off to save it from wrinkling while she lay down. Though she had not packed a sweater, she could have used one against the damp night air. It was surprisingly cool on the river.

  She had taken her hair down before she crawled into the bunk. Now she tied a length of ribbon around it to keep it out of her face, leaving the ends streaming down her back. A wry grin curved her mouth. If she had gone about it deliberately she could not have done a better job of turning herself into a country girl, the antithesis of the kind of woman Lucien considered her to be. Would he notice? She doubted it very much.

  Slipping into canvas shoes, she made her way cautiously, watching for the rock of sudden waves, from the sleeping area back to a tiny compact galley. It contained a minute sink of gleaming stainless steel and a small but serviceable built-in gas range. In the neat cabinets she discovered what she had been searching for—a kettle, a coffeepot, and a container of coffee. Filling the kettle, she set it on the gas burner, a faint frown between her brows. Lucien might find a cup of coffee agreeable too. There was no harm in making the offer. Open antagonism would get them nowhere. Now that she had gained a certain measure of acceptance, it was pointless to harbor a grudge.

  She found a rattan tray, then hunted out cups and saucers, sugar packets, and a jar of instant creamer. As she stood leaning against the back of the eating booth, waiting for the water to boil, she heard a change in the cruiser's motors. An instant later they ground to a halt. Pushing aside the curtains, that covered the porthole, Sherry cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the glass.

  She could see very little in the darkness; still it seemed that the boat was in a lock of some sort. Were they leaving the river, then? It appeared so.

  Just then the kettle began to whistle and she turned to pour the coffee water into the pot. By the time the brew had dripped they were again on their way, though she felt they were not moving quite so swiftly as before.

  With a glance around to be sure she had left the galley as tidy as she had found it, she carried the tray with the filled cups and cream and sugar up the steep steps to the deck, ducking as she eased out the small door. Lucien stood before the wheel.

  "Coffee?” she said with a force
d brightness as she stopped beside him.

  He barely glanced at her. “What are you doing up?"

  "Too keyed-up to sleep.” Since he had not refused the coffee, she set his cup off onto the instrument console within easy reach. “Cream and sugar?"

  He shook his head without taking his eyes from the twisting stream beyond the windscreen.

  The strong searchlight mounted on the roof of the cabin cruiser bored a tunnel into the darkness. It illuminated the gray-green banks of the stream they were navigating, now and then picking out the gleaming red and green eyes of startled night creatures. The sound of their engines vibrated around them, echoing back from the close-pressing swampland.

  Sherry slanted a glance at the man beside her. He had taken a few minutes, after coming aboard, to exchange his evening jacket, shirt, and tie for a dark knit shirt, and his leather shoes for canvas loafers that would grip the deck. His hands held the wheel with an easy competence, and yet his face, in the dim light of the instrument panel, was set in the same harsh lines as earlier. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and there was a determined thrust to his chin. Sherry thought, however, that the job at hand, the piloting of the boat along this narrow body of water, did not have his whole attention. On the other hand, she could not convince herself that it was she who occupied his thoughts. It was more as if he had a problem on his mind, something that he had no intention of leaving unsettled.

  She took up her own cup and raised it to her lips. More for something to say than from any wish for the information, she asked, “Is it much further?"

  "To Bayou's End? Depends on your definition of far,” he answered noncommittally.

  "From what Paul has told me of it, it sounds like a great place to get away from it all."

  "I've never known Paul to need to get away, but yes, I'd say it serves that purpose well.” Without urging, he went on. “It was once a sugar plantation, built by my great-great-grandfather. He was a sea captain and liked the easy access to the gulf through the bayous. It was a profitable venture for nearly a hundred years, until storms from the gulf several years in succession covered the land with salt water. The house stood empty for a time, then some fifteen years ago it was renovated for use as a vacation and weekend cottage."

  "I thought you called it a hunting and fishing camp earlier."

  "Camp is a local term for a vacation home. As for hunting and fishing, we are in the path of the great southeastern flyway for the annual bird migrations. We get duck and geese as well as the more decorative species. The freshwater fishing is good, of course. And, as I said, it's not so far from the gulf by the back door, the bayous. We go out often for tarpon and red snapper or pompano."

  "Does Paul go to—to Bayou's End often?"

  He shook his head, smiling without amusement, “Not often, and then it's usually with a crowd. There are a few uncles, cousins, friends, and men from the office that come down during the hunting and fishing seasons in a party. Paul plays host then, as a rule."

  "I can imagine.” Sherry smiled, thinking of Paul and his liking for people, for gaiety and good times. She felt rather than saw Lucien's quick look at her. She thought he was going to comment, but the impulse was obviously quelled.

  Such indecision was unlike him, she felt, and she found herself turning over in her mind the possible comments he might have made. Was he going to tell her it was not only men whom Paul had invited to Bayou's End? Why had he stopped? The fact would hardly be a surprise. Paul had never made a secret of his pleasure in the company of women. It was a part of his charm that he liked and appreciated her sex. So many men gave the impression of seeking the company of women for one purpose only and that against their finer instincts. They had little use for women as companions, and nothing but amused contempt for their conversation and their thought processes. Paul, without departing in the least from his masculine point of view, seemed to find everything about them enjoyable and interesting.

  The silence between them spread until she was aware of the sound of the insects and the chorus of the frogs above the hum of the outboard motors, the evidence of teeming life beyond their light beam.

  "I appreciate your going to so much trouble to take me to Paul,” Sherry said after a moment. “I hadn't realized it would be quite so far, or I would have tried to make other arrangements."

  "Not at all, Chérie," he returned. “I am only too happy to take you to Bayou's End. Besides, I expect you would have had difficulties getting there, alone. There are no regular means of transportation to the camp. You would have had to hire a boat, and even if you had found someone willing, there is no guarantee that they would have been able to find the place."

  "Not able to find it? Is it so remote then?"

  "Remote, yes. But there is also the nature of the bayou country to consider. The streams twist and turn for hundreds of miles, one leading into the other, sometimes dividing a dozen times in a mile stretch. The direction they run is not always the same; it depends on the weather, the tides, the time of year. Sometimes they don't run at all. Some are so wide that it is impossible to identify a friend on the opposite bank, while others are so narrow that it's possible to touch the sides with your outstretched hands. A few are deep, but others are so shallow that they amount to little more than dew over mud. Some bayous head for the gulf with no nonsense, others meander for miles, then suddenly disappear. Even men born and raised on the bayou can get lost, especially during flood times or bad weather. There are few landmarks, and the oaks, the cypress, the Spanish moss, the alligator grass, and water hyacinths have a sameness about them."

  "I—see. Then I am even more in your debt, Mr. Villeré."

  "Call me Lucien,” he said with a strange smile and a Gallic flick of the fingers that made nothing of her gratitude. But though Sherry had thought of him by his first name in her mind, she did not avail herself of his permission to use it. There was a strange sort of intimacy in their being alone on the boat at night in the loneliness of the encroaching bayou country. She saw no reason to add to it.

  And yet for all her caution, her next words, coming almost without volition, were personal.

  "You aren't married, are you?"

  Lucien looked at her. “No."

  "I thought not,” she said, aware of the heated rise of blood to her face.

  "Would you care to explain?"

  She shook her head. “I was only going by something I heard Paul say, plus the fact that you set off tonight without telling anyone where you were going.” He had also been willing to allow his relatives, Etienne and Estelle, to consider her his mistress, scarcely the act of a married man, though she had no intention of trying to explain that bit of reasoning.

  "Does it matter?” he asked, slanting her a quick glance.

  Since she had embarked on this line of conversation, she might as well see it to the end. “Not particularly,” she answered. “It just seemed strange to me that you, who have managed to shy away from the altar all these years, should take such an interest in the girl your brother marries. If it makes such a difference whom you welcome into the Villeré family, surely the least you could do is set him a good example."

  "Isn't that a poor reason for tying myself to someone for life?"

  "There are all the usual reasons, of course—a home, a family, to perpetuate an aristocracy of French Creole merchant princes."

  "Is that how you think of me?” he queried, a hard edge to his tone. “Cold-blooded and calculating? I will have to see what can be done to change your mind."

  4

  Ahead of them the bayou forked and unhesitatingly Lucien swerved to the left. Seizing on this action as a change of subject and a means of breaking the peculiar tension between them, Sherry asked, “How do you find your way through the bayous if they are so dangerous?"

  "Practice, Sherry. You need not be nervous. I have been taking this route for twenty years, since I was a boy of twelve."

  Lucien reached out and picked up his mug. When he spoke again his vo
ice was bland.

  "You make a good cup of coffee."

  "Thank you,” she said without looking at him.

  "You are also a beautiful young woman, but I'm sure you are aware of that."

  Sherry flicked him a suspicious glance through her lashes but made no reply.

  "Intelligent, also,” he went on. “Intelligent enough to know that the simple approach is best in my case.” He eyed her jeans and she flushed, aware of her own thoughts on that score earlier.

  "Look, Mr. Villeré—"

  "I thought we had decided that I should be Lucien."

  Her voice overrode his suggestion. “I did not dress for your benefit and you must admit that if I had wanted to it would be highly unlikely that I would just happen to have the necessary clothes with me."

  A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he ignored her attempt at reasonableness. “Yes, I find a great deal to applaud in my brother's choice of an unofficial fiancée. His taste, it seems, is improving. I must not forget to tell him so."

  "There is no need for this, I assure you,” Sherry said, setting down her cup. “What I think of you, or, for that matter, what you think of me, makes no difference!"

  "Doesn't it? I think you will find you are mistaken."

  They were perilously close to an open rift. Afraid she would say something she would regret, Sherry whirled to go below.

  Without letting go of the wheel, Lucien caught her arm. “Not leaving?” he asked. “Don't tell me you aren't enjoying my company. After all, it was you who sought me out."

  "I did not!"

  "Didn't you?"

  "If you can't accept a friendly gesture like a cup of coffee—"

  "Oh, but I can—when one is extended. I can also tell the difference between a friendly gesture and an attempt to influence me by the discreet application of sweet concern."

  "Why, you conceited—Why should I exert myself that much? I don't need your support. I have Paul's!"