Spring Fires Read online

  Cynthia Wright

  By

  Spring Fires

  Contents

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part Two

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part Three

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Part Four

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  "WILL YOU KISS ME? I MEAN REALLY KISS ME, UNTIL I'M WEAK?"

  Taking her at her word, Nicholai kissed Lisette thoroughly, with an intimacy that stunned her until a sudden jolt of pleasure shook the center of her being.

  His strong, sure embrace, the heady male scent of his bronzed skin, the thrill of his warm lips moving over her own, his tongue probing her mouth in a way that made her answer, needing more… all these sensations combined to ignite a fire of desire within Lisette.

  She was twenty-one years old, yet lived the chaste life of a nun… the part of her that was meant to love had lain dormant. Now, as Nicholai kissed her, the fire spread, surging through Lisette's ripe body.

  She had never been naked with a man before, but tonight she felt utterly mad and didn't care if sanity ever returned…

  Also by Cynthia Wright

  Published by Ballantine Books:

  TOUCH THE SUN

  CAROLINE

  SILVER STORM

  For my extraordinary parents,

  Gene and Priscilla Challed.

  I love you!

  Copyright © 1983 by Cynthia Challed Wright

  ISBN 0-345-27514-4

  First Edition: March 1983

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  LISETTE HAHN—proprietor of Hahn's CoffeeHouse in 1793 Philadelphia

  NICHOLAI BEAUVISAGE*—a man who has been driven back from France, after a decade, by the Revolution

  ERNST HAHN—Lisette's ailing father

  HYLA FLOWERS—Lisette's co-worker and friend

  JAMES STRINGFELLOW—CoffeeHouse barman and friend

  PLUS some familiar faces from past books

  From CAROLINE:

  ALEXANDRE and CAROLINE BEAUVISAGE—Nicholai's brother and sister-in-law

  ĖTIENNE, NATALYA, and KRISTIN—their children

  JEAN-PHILIPPE and ANTONIA BEAUVISAGE—Alec's parents

  NICHOLAI*—the younger Beauvisage brother

  KATYA BEAUVISAGE—the youngest sister, now Lisette's best friend

  RANDOLPH EDWARDS—Katya's fiancé

  PIERRE DUBOIS—Alec's valet

  From TOUCH THE SUN:

  LION and MEAGAN HAMPSHIRE—a couple now married four years

  MARCUS REEMS—Lion's half-brother

  BRAMBLE—the Hampshires' cook

  WONG—Lion's valet

  ANNE BINGHAM—a wealthy Philadelphia socialite

  GEORGE WASHINGTON—the President

  From SILVER STORM:

  ANDRĖ and DEVON RAVENEAU—a sea captain and his wife

  MOUETTE and NATHAN—their children

  HALSEY MINTER—André's first officer

  Part One

  They meet but with unwholesome springs

  And summers which infectious are;

  They hear but when the mermaid sings.

  And only see the falling star,

  Who ever dare

  Affirm no woman chaste and fair.

  What madman, 'cause the glow-worm's flame

  Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire?

  Cause some make forfeit of their name,

  And slave themselves to man's desire,

  Shall the sex, free

  From guilt, damn'd to bondage bet

  WILLIAM HABINGTON (1605-1654)

  Chapter 1

  March 17, 1793

  Smoky rose light filtered hazily through the dormer windows. Under a mound of colorful quilts, Lisette Hahn was curled in resistance to the wintry dawn. Long golden lashes brushed her cheeks, though behind them, she was awake and dreading the prospect of rising to face the chilly morning. Her pretty mouth curved down on one side, then parted to allow a groan to escape. The quilts were pushed aside, and Lisette swung long graceful legs to the icy floor while running a hand through her sunbeam-colored tousled hair.

  Hurriedly, she built up the fire to a cheery blaze, lit a candle and went downstairs for fresh water. She washed herself with the aid of the exquisite pitcher and bowl that her mother had brought from Austria; they were made from the finest porcelain, patterned in red and silver on a white background. Lisette could still remember her mother chatting idly to her as she packed them for the crossing to America. She had daydreamed aloud about the new life that lay ahead for them in Philadelphia, and the lovely home that awaited the Hahn family.

  Seventeen years had passed since that day, but Lisette's eyes still burned whenever she remembered her mother's sweet, hopeful expression. Their ship had been attacked by an overeager English brigantine and all the money and treasures belonging to the Hahns were confiscated. Lisette's distraught mother sickened with a strange fever and died before ever setting eyes on Philadelphia. Penniless and grief stricken, Ernst Hahn and his daughter had arrived alone in a foreign world. The long years since had been crammed with numbing work, but the fruits of their labor were visible in the CoffeeHouse they owned, which had become a tremendous success since Philadelphia had been designated America's capital in late 1790.

  Bradford's London CoffeeHouse had long been the favorite, but Lisette's beauty had intensified apace with her skill as a cook, and the Hahns' establishment drew larger and larger crowds. There were no women allowed in the CoffeeHouses, which were cherished havens of male conversation and negotiation, so the fair and remote Lisette was a sweet diversion. Customers were fascinated by her ability to combine intelligent charm with an inaccessible aura that frustrated and yet tantalized her admirers. In an atmosphere where men bragged of their conquests, real or exaggerated, there was not one who dared claim to have sampled Mistress Hahn's tempting and succulent favors. The Austrian beauty became the ultimate challenge.

  The fire was blunting the chill edge in the air now, and Lisette could see the sun rising over the Delaware River, dripping its hot crimson juice into the frosty water. Pulling a clean tan cotton frock over her head, she could feel the sore muscles in her arms and back. The past few weeks had been exhausting. There had been the birthnight balls for the president on February 22, and then the second inauguration on March 4 with all its accompanying festivities. Hahn's CoffeeHouse had been full to bursting with celebrating citizens since before Christmas and straight through the New Year of 1793 to this day in mid-March. There were signs that the pace in Philadelphia was slowing, if only because everyone was utterly exhausted.

  Brushing up her saffron curls,
Lisette wondered idly how many tortes she had labored over in the past dozen weeks. Hahn's CoffeeHouse owed a large portion of its success to the fact that it, unlike its competitors, served meals. Lisette did most of the cooking, with the help of two rather inept young girls, and her talents were becoming legendary. After selecting a clean folded apron and kerchief from her drawer, Lisette closed the door of her bedchamber and started downstairs. Pausing at her father's door, she could hear his rumbling snore; she smiled indulgently before continuing on her way. A tiny part of her couldn't help thinking that the more work there was to do, the older her father became and the less he was able to help. Still, she loved Ernst Hahn fiercely, and was determined that even if he was completely undone by the cruel ravages of time and could help her only with his wisdom, she would go on with the CoffeeHouse. Lisette smiled as she came into the huge sun-dappled keeping room, thinking of the probable reaction of her friends if they knew of her intention to defy convention. None of them could understand how hard she had worked for this success… Lisette swore that she would never surrender any part of her life simply because she was a female.

  Early morning sunshine was splashing across another bedchamber in a dwelling just miles from Hahn's CoffeeHouse. North of Philadelphia, off Germantown Road, sprawled the grand estate known as Belle Maison. Its master and mistress were as celebrated as the house itself, and the handsome couple was just then waking up.

  Alexandre Beauvisage blinked turquoise eyes against the glare of morning light and rolled in the opposite direction, enraptured by the sight of his enchanting wife. Caroline's honey-colored curls were spread across the satin pillow, haloing a face that was half-awake and irritable. She wrinkled her nose and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut just as Alec slid muscular walnut-brown arms around her and pressed warm lips along the line of her soft throat.

  "Mmm." Caro protested halfheartedly, and was answered by a low chuckle from her husband. She shivered as his fingers slid the straps of her bed gown from her shoulders and caressed her full sleep-warm breasts. Alec kissed the rosy nipples tantalizingly and they hardened beneath his tongue, while Caro pressed nearer, her fingers twisted in his raven hair, her breath warm on his brow. Easily, Alec removed the gown and when his hand crept up her thigh to find the warmth between her legs, Caro did not protest, but moaned sweetly instead. She could feel his rigid manhood pressing against her soft flesh and reached toward it just as Alec forced her back into the pillows, moving above her, palms on her cheeks as he kissed her hungrily. As her silky thighs spread in welcome, and her arms rounded his wide, hard shoulders, a faint knock sounded at the door.

  "Papa?"

  "Argh!" said Alec to Caro, black brows knitting above flashing eyes. She repressed a giggle as he swiftly shifted back to his pillow only moments before the door swung open to reveal two of their three children. Eight-year-old Ėtienne held the hand of five-year-old Natalya, whose tiny chin quivered warningly.

  "What the—" Alec began testily, cut off by Caro's hand over his mouth.

  "What's wrong, you two?" she inquired softly.

  As a fat tear escaped Natalya's aqua eye, Ėtienne explained, "It is my fault, Maman and Papa. I called Talya a name."

  "P-p-potato face!" she supplied, then burst into tears and ran straight to her father, who cradled her close and glared at his stalwart son. The boy was his double, except for his eyes, which were a deeper blue. Natalya's were closer in their soft aqua, but otherwise she was her mother all over. In Caro's early days with Alec, she had also cried with alarming frequency.

  "Ėtienne, why would you say such a thing?"

  "I'm truly sorry, Papa. I told her so. It just slipped out She drew on some of my papers and made a terrible mess, and it just slipped out!"

  "Oh, Alec," Caro interceded softly, "he's awfully good to admit it. Talya shouldn't be encouraged in these tantrums."

  "The entire episode sounds ridiculous to me!" Alec burst out, patting his daughter's honey curls all the same. "Henceforth, I expect you two to settle these petty matters between yourselves, and do not come bursting in on your mother and me at such an early hour!"

  "Yes, sir," quavered Ėtienne.

  "Don't call me sir!"

  Talya giggled at this and slid off her father's lap. Her brother grinned in relief, caught her hand, and the two of them scampered out of the bedchamber, closing the door as they ran.

  "Children!" Alec growled, emerging naked and magnificent from the testered bed.

  Caro laughed. "Charming, aren't they? Shall we lock them up somewhere?"

  Alec grinned wickedly from the washstand. "Now, there's a brilliant idea!"

  Caro watched as he shaved, thinking how handsome and irresistible he was at forty, no less than he had been at thirty-one. She remembered clearly watching him shave from this bed during that first winter of their marriage, and if anything, he seemed even harder and leaner now, the new lines about his eyes and mouth lending him a new dimension of magnetism missing in his younger days. If anyone had told her then that he could improve, she would have thought it impossible, but it was true. And their love had also grown more vibrant, passionate, and mellow with each passing year.

  "What are you dreaming of, chérie?" Alec inquired with amused affection, bending to rinse the last traces of his shaving lather. "A huge breakfast or perhaps an elegant new frock?"

  Caro arched a toffee-hued brow. "Just for that, I should insult you, but truthful as ever, I must confess I was dreaming of my husband."

  "The lucky rascal." Alec smiled. "What are your plans for today? Have you time to exercise the horses with me?"

  "I would love to, but I fear I promised to appear on Meagan's doorstep by ten o'clock. We're going to plan and shop for the party."

  "Party?" Alec threw himself back onto the bed, still naked, and let out a loud lazy groan. One long arm bent and dropped across his eyes.

  "The party for Philadelphia's newest senator, Lion Hampshire!" Caro retorted with mock formality. "Honestly, your memory. I spoke to you about this several times last week and even checked with you about the dates!"

  A dramatic snore rumbled beside her, causing her to break off with a grin. He was impossible. Caro lay back against the pillows and let her mind drift, thinking nostalgically of the past and the changes that a decade had wrought. They continued to live at Belle Maison and sleep in the same bed, but large pieces had shifted in the puzzle of their lives. Two of Alec's sisters, her good friends, had moved from Philadelphia. Danielle Engelman and her family now lived in New York, and Natalya had moved to Charleston with her new husband over seven years ago. Alec's dear grandmère had passed away the previous autumn of 1792 after a very long and exceptional life. Her death had left a gaping tear in the fabric of their lives. And, Nicholai Beauvisage had gone off to manage the family chateau and vineyards in France in late 1784 and had not been seen since. He and Alec had been close as brothers, in spite of Nicholai's ardent affection for Caro, and his absence was still sorely felt. Contributing to the pangs the couple felt for Nicholai was the French Revolution, which had lately reached a fever pitch. The rumors that crossed the Atlantic were frightening. The king had been imprisoned, France was at war with several of her neighbors, countless aristocrats were losing their heads to the wicked-sounding guillotine, and a republic had been declared. Nicholai's parents were openly worried, for the last male Beauvisage to live at the chateau—Grandmère's husband, Ėtienne—had been a marquis. Caro pretended all was well, but in truth, she thought of her brother-in-law constantly. He had been so carefree and charming… it was impossible that any harm could befall him. Besides, he was a Beauvisage: strong, quick witted, and courageous.

  A cool finger touched her cheek and Caro glanced over, catching a glimpse of Alec's raven hair before warm lips captured her own. A hand snaked out to whip back the quilts, then he was over her. Caro melted as crisp chest hair brushed her nipples; she grew warm and eager, pulling him close, fitting her legs to his.

  "M'sieur?" a voice quer
ied beyond the door. "I have your coffee."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake!" shouted Alec. "Go away!"

  When Pierre replied, his French-accented voice was choked with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, m'sieur! The children—they told me you and Madame were astir." The valet coughed, stalling. "I do have news of some importance…"

  Grumbling, Alec turned and shifted back to his pillow once again, then readjusted the covers. Caro sighed as her husband barked, "Come in, then!"

  The impish, earnest little Frenchman did as he was bade, scurrying to the bed with a silver tray bearing a fragrant coffeepot, a plate stacked with cranberry muffins, and a dish of butter. Pierre's blush darkened when Caro did not scramble for the food, but remained under covers to her neck.

  "Give us this earth-shattering news before the suspense does me in," Alec suggested sarcastically.

  "They've killed the king," Pierre said. "Louis has been guillotined. The middle of January."

  "Oh! Dear lord…" breathed Caro. "I pray that Nicholai is safe! Alec—?"

  The scowl of irritation had vanished from her husband's face. His vivid turquoise eyes were focused at a point on the far wall, and they mirrored the shock and tide of worry that was growing inside of him.

  "It's that bad in France, then…" he whispered. "The entire country must be a bit insane… and I fear matters will worsen before the people regain their sensitivity." Alec blinked, suddenly conscious of the pressure of Caro's hand on his taut forearm. "It won't do any good for you to carry on about Nicky, chérie. You can take comfort in the fact that he is neither a royalist or an aristo, in the strict sense of the word. If he keeps his wits about him, I've little doubt he'll emerge unscathed."