Читать книгу Winds of Nightsong - V. J. Banis - Страница 10

CHAPTER SIX

In Paris, Marcus Nightsong sat in a quiet little cafe just off the Rue de la Paix, sipping his morning coffee. Things had become so confused in his mind since he’d gone to San Francisco and learned the truth about his real parents. He’d been happy to hear that Lydia was his mother and Peter MacNair his father. Marcus had never liked his supposed mother, April, and had never really known his supposed father, Raymond Andrieux.

“You’re twenty-one now, Marcus,” Lydia had told him. “I think you’re entitled to know the truth about yourself.” And then she’d explained the circumstances of his birth.

Raymond Andrieux was dead now, murdered by Marcus’s real father, Peter MacNair. Peter was dead now, too, and Marcus regretted never having known his own father. In fact, he now felt he didn’t even know himself any longer. Who am I? he wondered.

“A vagabond,” he said to himself. “A nomad who’s been living in Paris and dreaming about racing automobiles.”

He didn’t want to be a vagabond forever, though. He wanted to marry Amelia Wilson, and she wanted to marry him. But Marcus couldn’t stop thinking of racing motorcars. He wondered at times if he cared more for the fast machines than he did for Amelia. He knew no one, including Lydia, approved of his love for fast motorcars.

“They’re far too dangerous, Marcus,” Lydia had warned.

“Racing cars don’t kill people, Mother. It’s only the drivers who kill other drivers. I’m a good, careful driver. Nothing will happen to me.”

She didn’t believe him. No one did. Amelia sympathized with him, but he often thought she too was set against his getting behind the wheel of any racing machine.

He had no idea where his sister was but he and Caroline had never been very close. He could understand that now. She wasn’t really his sister, not even his half-sister. They were from different parents entirely. Such a mixed-up family, Marcus thought as he finished his coffee. No wonder he felt so mixed up himself.

Marcus looked very much like his father: the same thick sandy hair that spilled carelessly over his forehead, the same dark brown eyes that turned black when he was angry; and he had his father’s square, stern chin, along with the ruddy complexion of a true Scotsman, flawless and manly.

Marcus rather liked the idea of being Peter MacNair’s son; he doubly liked being his grandmother’s son...Lydia’s son. It had been easy, strangely enough, to call her “Mother.” The transition was quick and natural. Almost immediately he stopped thinking of April as his mother. That, he told himself, was because she had never really been much of a mother to him.

Now that he was of age and free to be the man he chose to be, he was glad to disassociate himself from that half-crazed woman who’d been the first to gloatingly tell him the truth about his birth. He was equally content to have no father to deal with, only a very concerned mother who loved him because he was her son by Peter MacNair.

Yet, now that he was so free and unencumbered, he was anxious to get on with the rest of his life. He wanted to marry Amelia and yet he didn’t—not right now at least. He knew it was her sexuality that made him want her. He was more eager to become her lover than her husband. There was too much excitement going on in the world for him to start thinking of settling down and raising a family.

He was terribly in love with Amelia. There wasn’t a single doubt of that. And he would marry her, just not for a while. First he had to satisfy all his dreams of speed and adventure. Amelia would understand that, because she was the only girl he’d ever met who truly understood him. She would wait for him, and he would never marry anyone else but her. This solemn promise he made to himself as he paid for his coffee and left the little cafe on the Rue de la Paix.

It would be a sweltering day, Marcus decided as he felt the heat of the late morning sun on his way back to his pension. He hadn’t wanted to stay in a hotel, as his mother had insisted he do. He wanted to feel Paris, the real Paris with real Parisians. His French had improved to the point where he could now converse with any of the locals, could ask the most difficult questions and receive complicated answers, could understand and be understood.

When he reached his pension on Rue Voltaire he decided not to go up to his small suite of rooms. Instead, he’d taxi over to Madame Clair’s and see if Denise was free for the afternoon. Denise was the whore, crude and crass, whom he’d met on the train the night he first arrived in France. She’d initiated him into the mysteries of sex in his private compartment, and since then he’d been unable to get enough of what she so willingly and expensively offered him.

As he turned from the door of the pension, it opened and the concierge beamed at him. “Good morning, Monsieur Nightsong,” she said. “There is a cable for you on the hall table. It came just after you went out.”

Marcus looked surprised and a bit upset. He wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone, and a cable always meant bad news.

“It is from America,” the old woman said as she held the door for him to enter and motioned to the marble table that sat along the wall of the large foyer.

Marcus tore open the flap and read the cablegram:

ARRIVING SOUTHAMPTON ON FRIDAY ABOARD THE LUSITANIA. CAN YOU MEET MY BOAT? AMELIA.

“Good news?” the concierge asked as Marcus folded the cable and put it in his pocket.

“Yes. My fiancée is coming to England. I’ll meet her in Southampton.”

The old woman kissed her fingertips and threw the kiss into the air. “Ah, l’amour. It is what makes life pleasurable. You must bring your young lady here so that I can meet her. I will fix up rooms for her.”

“I don’t know how long she intends staying, Madame Tourmet. I don’t even know why she’s coming.”

“She is coming because she is in love with my handsome Marcus. Why else?”

“I think it’s more than that. Something must be wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong when two young people are in love. A young lady would never travel across the ocean just to bring bad news. When does she arrive?”

“Friday. We’ll stay in London, I suppose. If she can come here, I’ll send you word.”

Marcus was worried. It wasn’t like Amelia to do anything without a lot of planning. The cable, he’d noticed, had been sent from aboard ship. This was Wednesday, which meant she’d waited until she was almost in Southampton before cabling him. He wondered why.

Of course she hadn’t been too pleased when he’d announced his intention to return to Paris to help his mother straighten out the mess left behind after Raymond’s death. He was no expert businessman, but Leon had thought it advisable to have a family member in the Paris office to keep things tidy and running the way the Nightsongs wanted them run. Marcus knew he was little more than a figurehead, but he was a Nightsong and the employees and officers of the company gave him every courtesy even though he did nothing more than look at their reports and insist upon seeing receipts and expense and production figures the two or three days he visited the offices each week.

He didn’t much like the idea of working as a perfume manufacturer, but it was his father’s business as well as his mother’s and he felt duty-bound to do what he could for them.

“You and Leon are the only two sons I have,” his mother had told him after Peter MacNair’s funeral. “Empress Cosmetics and MacNair Products will belong to you when I’m gone. It isn’t too soon for you to start learning the trade, Marcus.”

But the trade was of no interest to him. Marcus could read a balance sheet and knew how to study a journal and a ledger book. He was quick with figures, but his mind kept wandering away to thoughts of motor acceleration units and pressure gauge readings and numbers of miles per minute. These were the figures that really fascinated him.

Although he felt somewhat guilty about it, he couldn’t help resenting Amelia’s ill-timed visit. There was a race at Le Mans this weekend, which he’d been planning to attend. Perhaps he could talk her into coming with him, but then he’d be forced to stay on the sidelines instead of mingling with the mechanics and drivers and examine the engines of the newer racing cars, his usual practice. He wanted to get grease on his face and hands, smell the oil and gasoline and the burning of rubber.

He touched the pocket where he’d put Amelia’s cablegram. Suddenly he had no interest in going to see Denise. Instead he’d go up to his rooms, change his clothes, and stop in at the Empress Cosmetics offices. There were a lot of things he could do to keep himself busy in Paris until Amelia arrived in Southampton. He didn’t have to see Denise. He didn’t want to see her.

Back in his rooms, he started to think of Amelia’s beautiful face and her perfect, young, exciting body. Maybe he should go to Southampton tomorrow in case her ship docked early. His blood started to race as he considered the possibility that she might even let him make love to her for the first time.

He found himself becoming aroused at the thought of holding Amelia naked in his arms. Denise was nothing but a physical outlet, he admitted to himself. Amelia was the true treasure of whom he knew he would never tire. God, how he wanted her. Denise had introduced him to pleasures he never thought a man could possibly experience. To enjoy those pleasures with Amelia, a woman he truly loved, would surely be like heaven on earth.

As it happened, the Lusitania docked a day late, and Marcus was annoyed at having missed the races at Le Mans. When he saw Amelia stepping down the passageway, however, he felt no emotion except the terrible ache of love. She was carrying a small jewel case and wore a pale blue travelling outfit that set off her dark hair and enchanting blue eyes. She had on a small hat with a long pheasant feather and a tight-fitting, ankle-length skirt that flared slightly at the bottom and clung seductively to the sensual curve of her hips and buttocks.

She ran into his arms the moment she saw him. “Oh my beautiful Marcus,” she cried as she flung herself at him, kissing him unashamedly on the mouth. “I’ve missed you so terribly.”

“Amelia.” It was all he could say. His heart was so full, his love so great. Everything was forgotten, all his restlessness and indecision. He wanted nothing more than to stay in her arms forever.

Once inside their compartment on the night train to London, his thoughts veered in another direction. He remembered having shared a similar compartment with the whore Denise, who’d taken him into her mouth and brought him to orgasm. He was thinking of that now, looking at the delicate fullness of Amelia’s mouth and wondering if she would ever do such a thing. It seemed unlikely, yet he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything.

“Darling,” he said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her passionately. He moved his hand down slightly and cupped her breast.

“Marcus, behave yourself,” she said, blushing and looking at the raised curtains on the door leading to the corridor.

“I can’t help myself. I want to touch you all over.”

“Marcus,” she admonished, adjusting her hat and patting her hair nervously. “Living in Paris has changed you, I see.” She smiled seductively. “I’m not sure I approve of the change. You’re looking at me quite lewdly, you realize.”

His penis was pulsing to erection as he kissed her again. “I feel quite lewd,” he murmured.

“Please, Marcus,” she whispered, pushing him away gently.

“I want you so badly, Amelia.”

She wanted him as badly and damned her righteous upbringing, her sense of propriety, for keeping her from throwing herself into his arms, ripping away his suit, baring herself to him, and letting him ravage her. She saw the lust in his eyes and lowered her eyelids to hide her own desire. She began to tremble as he took her hand and placed it over the erection that was pulsing under his trouser leg.

She let her hand touch it for an instant and then immediately pulled away. The temptation was too great. She couldn’t trust herself.

“Don’t you want me?”

“Oh yes, darling, I do want you so very much. But can’t we wait until things are as they should be?”

“Damn,” he swore as he backed up into the corner of the seat and started pouting like a little boy.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I just don’t think we should.”

He scowled at her as he felt his erection begin to subside. “You still haven’t told me the reason for this sudden visit and why you kept it secret from me until you were almost here,” he snapped.

“Please, Marcus, don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I just want to know why you’ve come.” He knew he was acting like a schoolboy, but he couldn’t help it. He had grown accustomed to Denise’s compliance; she always was so quick to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He’d expected as much from Amelia. And now he felt a little cheated. Or was he acting spoiled? he asked himself. Whichever, he was aching for sex and she was depriving him of it.

“Well,” she said brightly, ignoring his dark mood. “There’s quite a to-do going on between your mother and Lorna MacNair.”

“What kind of a to-do?”

“There’s going to be another lawsuit unless we do something to avoid it.”

“Lawsuit,” Marcus groaned. “Good Lord, I had hoped we were finished with the Nightsong-MacNair scandals.”

Amelia hurriedly told him how Lydia had invited her to the mansion and explained the whole situation. “Lorna MacNair is instituting a suit against Lydia for control of fifty percent of Empress Cosmetics and all of MacNair Products,” Amelia said.

“Mother mentioned something about it in her last letter, but she said it was nothing to worry about.” He started to reach for Amelia’s hand but decided against it. “At least Mother’s back at the helm of the company again. I was worried about her before I left San Francisco. She seemed so terribly determined to stop living after burying Father.”

“She’s rallied beautifully. You know how Lydia can stiffen her back whenever there’s a fight to be had with Lorna MacNair.”

“I still don’t understand what any of that has to do with your coming here so unexpectedly.”

“It was your mother’s idea. Lydia didn’t want anyone to know what she intends doing to avoid a scandalous lawsuit.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’m a sort of emissary. I left San Francisco in quite a cloud of secrecy so Lorna MacNair wouldn’t know what was going on. Lydia told me to contact you after I got out to sea and to arrange that we meet in England. We’re to communicate with Adam Clarendon.”

“Adam? What on earth for?”

“He’s Lorna MacNair’s grandson, isn’t he?”

“So?”

“Lydia wants us to talk Adam into returning to San Francisco, just for a short while. She thinks that Adam might be able to reconcile the MacNairs and the Nightsongs.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You don’t realize what Adam means to Mrs. MacNair.”

“She scarcely acknowledged him when Mother took him home for Father’s funeral.”

“Lorna was grief-stricken over Peter’s death. You’re really a MacNair too, you know, just as Adam is. Lydia thinks Lorna will have second thoughts when she sees Adam again. After all, it was quite a shock to have him appear out of nowhere, looking so much like her dead son. The way your mother sees it, Adam might be able to fix everything. “

“I still don’t understand how.”

“You know your mother is more or less immune to scandal, whereas Lorna MacNair will do anything to keep her family skeletons buried. A law suit is one thing but a scandal is another, and Lydia intends to threaten Lorna with a very steamy scandal unless she backs off with this lawsuit business. Oh, Lydia’s perfectly willing to give up MacNair Products, but she has no intention of handing Lorna any part of Empress Cosmetics. According to the MacNair lawyers, Lorna is going to try and get all of Empress Cosmetics for herself and make your mother a pauper.”

“She’d hardly be that.”

“By the time Lorna finishes with her, Lydia will have nothing. Empress Cosmetics, she told me, hasn’t been doing all that well since Nightsong can’t be reproduced without Raymond Andrieux.”

“Leon wrote me that he is working in the laboratory developing Nightsong Two. He said it should be almost exactly like the original Nightsong.”

“Almost but not exactly like Nightsong. There’s a gamble involved, as you know.”

Marcus shook his head. “It’s all too confusing. I don’t see how Mother can blackmail Lorna MacNair with Adam.” He gave her a sharp look. “And that’s what she’s trying to do: blackmail her by threatening to make a scandal out of all this.”

“You aren’t aware of the facts, obviously. Lydia told me in the strictest of confidence that it was Lorna and her hired detective, a man by the name of Ramsey, who took Adam away from April that night. Leon found out about it. Lydia is going to expose Lorna’s whole kidnapping plot unless she behaves herself.”

“Lorna MacNair kidnapped her own grandson?” Marcus said, astonished.

Amelia nodded. “There’s proof.”

“Then why doesn’t Mother just confront Lorna and be done with it? What does she need Adam for?”

“She wants Adam there as some sort of insurance. Lydia will confront Lorna and, with Adam staying in the Nightsong mansion, apply further pressure by threatening to tell him the whole truth. That would presumably turn Adam completely against his paternal grandmother.”

“And Mother thinks Lorna cares enough about Adam for this to work?”

“Lydia is certain of it. It’s been over a year since Lorna buried her husband. Since then she’s been living alone. Her son seldom comes to see her, and I know for a fact that Susan wants nothing to do with Lorna. So Lorna is completely alone. Lydia thinks she will snap at the chance of having a grandson to dote on.”

“And what about me? I’m actually a MacNair, though a bastard.”

“Do watch your language, Marcus. Honestly, I don’t understand this sudden change in you since you’ve come to live in France.”

“Sorry.”

No, Amelia was the one who was sorry. Why had she corrected him? She’d heard the word often enough. Why object to his using it now? Habit, she told herself. Damned habit. She could see that Marcus had grown a little wilder and she wished with all her heart that she’d been with him this whole time so that she too could have had the opportunity to shake off all her inhibitions, get rid of her old Victorian ideals. She wanted to flirt outrageously, pull up her skirt and show her legs, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either.

Something shrivelled inside Marcus at Amelia’s admonition. It was true, he had changed drastically since making Paris his home. He was accustomed to saying whatever he thought, using whatever words came to him.

He’d forgotten how proper and staid Amelia and the other young ladies of San Francisco could be. He’d gotten used to the earthy girls of Paris who didn’t care a hoot about showing a lot of ankle or swaying their asses or giving a seductive wink. The girls here didn’t make such a big deal about going to bed with a man. They were freer, more open and honest, and they didn’t live by the double standard. Marriage was something they entered into for security; sex was something they enjoyed simply for the pleasure of it.

Amelia was nothing like the girls he’d recently grown to like. Still, when he looked at Amelia’s beautiful face, her radiant purity, all he wanted to do was rip her clothes from her body and make her moan for the need of him.

Amelia sat silent for a moment. “Where can we find Adam?”

Marcus shrugged. “At Clarendon Hall, I suppose. I haven’t seen him since Father’s funeral. But he’s still a Clarendon insofar as anyone over here knows. Mother was very careful to emphasize that nobody here must know Adam’s true identity. It would cost him his lordship as well as the Clarendon inheritance.”

“Nobody has to know why we wish to see him. It will all be hush-hush. That’s one of the reasons Lydia chose me to come rather than a member of the immediate Nightsong family.”

“Then I’m not expected to see Adam? I’m a Nightsong, remember.”

“It will be alright for you. After all, you met Adam when you were here in London with your mother. Adam will remember you, and you can introduce me so he’ll know I’m not some wild woman who came upon him out of the blue.”

“Like his real mother,” Marcus remarked, almost to himself.

Amelia frowned. “April is much improved, Marcus. She’s still a bit dreamy at times, but Lydia says she isn’t half as bad as she was. I think Adam had a lot to do with that. She knows now that he’s alive, and that has helped her mental state considerably.”

“But April thought Adam was her husband when he came to San Francisco.”

Amelia shrugged. “Only because Adam looks so much like David. Lydia said there were times when she knew who Adam really was. I spoke with April when I was at your house. She seemed quite rational and very pleasant, though she was rather obsessed with the idea of returning to China. She spoke of nothing else.”

“She’s still mad as a hatter,” Marcus said.

He thought for a moment, then asked, “Won’t Mother’s threats to Lorna expose Adam for who he is? That kind of scandal would be certain to reach England and then Adam would have to kiss the Clarendon title good-bye.”

“I don’t think Lorna will let any of it reach the public. She did, after all, arrange for Adam’s kidnapping, which is a criminal offense.”

“If you ask me, I think they’re all crazy.”

She frowned at him. “You are so changed, Marcus,” Amelia scolded. “I almost don’t know you.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m just tired, I guess. All this has come as quite a surprise. I had intended being in Le Mans this weekend for the motorcar races. I guess I’m a little disappointed that I won’t be able to take you there.”

“You still have your heart set on racing motorcars, I see.”

“Of course.”

It surprised him when she laughed, then kissed his cheek. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed.”

“I thought you disapproved.”

“Not really. I’m frightened out of my mind that you might hurt yourself, but I find the noise and the speed very exciting.”

“You do?”

“I’d so like to go to Le Mans with you, but I don’t see how we can. I want to get back home as soon as possible.”

“I understand.” A sudden fright grabbed him. “I’m not expected to go home with you, am I?”

“Would that displease you?” she asked, looking hurt. “I thought perhaps you’d want to come home with me.”

“It isn’t that, Amelia. It’s just that there is so much that has to be done with the family’s business in Paris,” he lied.

“You don’t have to return home with me,” she said flatly. “Just introduce me to Adam, and I’ll take it from there. You can go back to your beloved Paris whenever you wish,” she finished angrily.

“Amelia,” he pleaded, knowing he’d offended her.

“It’s all right, Marcus. I really did think you’d be a little bit pleased to see me. But obviously you aren’t.”

“I am pleased to see you,” he said heatedly. He tried to take her in his arms, but she stiffened and eased away.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Come to bed with me and I’ll prove it to you,” he said boldly.

She wanted that more than anything in the world, but something deep down inside her would not permit it. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” He pressed closer. “We’re engaged, aren’t we? What’s the difference if we do it now or later?”

The nearness of his body, the sweetness of his breath on her cheek were making her weak with desire. “I can’t, Marcus. I just can’t,” she found herself saying.

He slumped in his seat. He suddenly felt like going back to Paris to Madame Claire’s and Denise. There, things were so much less complicated and he could be himself.