Love Is Lovelier Read online

  “Oh, I suspect there is.” She studied him as he focused on something of great interest on the tabletop.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re a fraud, William Armstrong. The big, bad empire builder is a softie underneath all that swashbuckling.”

  Now he was blushing. And she was delighted with him.

  He caught her gaze, and the warmth in his sent an answering ripple through her. “Anne.” Layers of meaning, worlds of possibility threaded his tone.

  Mon Dieu. She wanted to fan herself. Had a strong urge to run from all that he frothed up inside her when she’d thought what was left to her were years of, at best, peace. Acceptance that she was now only a mother…a grandmother…

  Never again a woman in that ripe, delicious, best sense of the word.

  Why, oh why, did the man who stirred up her juices have to be Remy’s old rival?

  She leaped to her feet. “I’m going to get my own corn.”

  He did a double-take. “What? Jerome will be right back.”

  Of course he would. But she needed to escape. Order her thoughts, away from William’s overwhelming presence.

  “I want to meet Miss Celia.” Without another second’s pause, she made her way toward the kitchen.

  WILLIAM WATCHED HER GO, too bemused to sort out what in blazes had just happened. One second, she was teasing him, the next, her hazel eyes had gone dark with what he’d stake his fortune was a passion that was a match for his own…then she’d jumped up and—

  A smile she’d very likely term a swashbuckler’s slowly curved his lips.

  Go meet Miss Celia, indeed.

  Anne was running scared.

  Which meant he was making progress.

  Just then, Jerome emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of corn on the cob, a fistful of napkins and a very flustered expression.

  William rose to his feet and waved him closer.

  “Mr. Armstrong, I— That lady—” The boy brandished his burden. “The corn will be cold, and—”

  William scanned the small dining room. Spotted a mother with two strapping sons. “Leave some of the napkins here, take the corn to them with my compliments and put it on my tab.” He stepped around Jerome.

  “But what will you do, sir?”

  William nodded in the direction Jerome had just left. “Why, I’m going to the kitchen, son.” With a clap on the boy’s back, he left the befuddled young man behind.

  Before he entered, though, he paused in front of the small window in the swinging door. Celia was a good woman, but a tyrant in her kitchen. She had endless patience with her food and her grandson, but little for anyone else. William thought it prudent to scout the territory first and determine if Anne required rescuing from a woman he’d seen freeze a burly deliveryman in place with only a scowl. She most emphatically did not like being interrupted while she was cooking.

  He should have known, he thought as he peered inside. Anne had once again wielded her magic. Where he’d expected thunder, she’d apparently not only soothed but delighted. Celia was still assembling dishes and stirring pots in the way only veteran cooks could do, juggling ten things at once—but she was smiling and talking to Anne at the same time.

  He pushed open the wood a bit, so he could hear.

  “Miz Marchand, no one ever compared me to a French Quarter chef before,” Celia was saying.

  “Anne, please. I’m telling you that Remy was the best I ever knew, but you’ve managed something with your spices on that shrimp that he would be gnashing his teeth over. He’d be begging you to come work with him, I can promise you that.”

  “Well, ain’t that just somethin’?” Celia shook her head. “You want the recipe, that it?”

  Anne laughed. “My daughter and her fiancé, who’s our chef now, would kill for it, but…no. What you have here is a treasure box of a place, Miss Celia.”

  “I can’t be calling you Anne if you won’t call me Celia.”

  “Celia, then.” Anne nodded, and William’s estimation of her only increased with the respect she’d accorded a woman who’d likely never even finished high school and was clearly several steps below her own exalted position in the very stratified society of New Orleans.

  “At any rate,” Anne continued. “I’d want to be the first to know if you ever got tired of running this place, yes indeed, because the Hotel Marchand would be lucky to have you. But I think you love what you’re doing, and I only barged in back here because I wanted to pay my respects in person.”

  “I thank you for that.” Celia nodded soberly. “I’m mighty honored. Remy Marchand was a legend in New Orleans food. But Mr. William gave me—”

  William pushed inside then. “Celia, my love, is this woman trying to steal you from under my nose?”

  “Now, Mr. William, you know I won’t never forget—”

  “Tonight’s shrimp is as magnificent as ever,” he interrupted before she could tell all.

  Anne shot him a look that said she was onto what he was doing. “William,” she said sweetly while her eyes twinkled. “Why don’t you just go on back out there while Celia and I finish our little chat.” She turned back to Celia. “Exactly what part has William played in this establishment, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all. Mr. William believed in me when no one else would. I was cookin’ at the nursin’ home where his great-aunt twice removed stayed, and I was lucky to get that job ’cause I had a little trouble with the law, see, some years back.”

  “Celia, it’s not necessary—”

  She silenced him with a look. “Oh, yes, sir, it is. Fact is that I wanted my own place all my life, but I woulda settled for just workin’ in someone else’s restaurant, long as I respected the quality of the food.” She glanced sideways at Anne. “Someplace like Mr. Marchand’s woulda been my idea of heaven.”

  “Thank you. He would have appreciated that compliment from someone of your skill.”

  “Imagine that. Remy Marchand and Celia Dubois crossin’ paths.” Celia shook her head. “Anyway, Mr. Armstrong here, he heard Miss Letty goin’ on about my food so much that he came to see for himself one day when he visited. Long story short, next thing I know, he’s talkin’ to me ’bout my own place.” Her dark face split in a huge grin. “’Course I thought this is one crazy white boy, but no reason not to hear him out, was there?”

  William felt Anne’s perusal like a caress. He hadn’t brought her here to learn this about him, but he was resigned now.

  “Of course not,” Anne murmured, still watching him.

  “Anyhow, he tried first to hire me for The Regency, but he has this fancy-face chef from France who didn’t want no part of me, I could tell, and I wasn’t out to cause trouble for Mr. William when he’s givin’ me a chance, after all. I asked him to let me do some cookin’ for him first, the kind I like to make, as a tryout.” The smile she aimed in his direction was bright as summer sun. “The rest, as they say, is history. I didn’t see how any bank was ever gonna loan me one thin dime, but turns out that Mr. William was going to be the bank, with extra generous terms.” She looked at him, then Anne. “No finer gentleman in New Orleans than this one, I promise you that. He gave my whole family a chance at a future.” She laughed. “And now, I think I’ve just about embarrassed the daylights out of this man, so you two get on back to your table. I’m makin’ you a special dessert.”

  “Oh, Celia, that’s not necessary.” She brushed one palm over the curve of her hip, just where William would like to place his own hand. “I’ve eaten so much already.”

  “Yes, it surely is. I always fix somethin’ special for Mr. William, and it would be an honor to serve Remy Marchand’s wife.”

  Anne looked distinctly uncomfortable then. Was it the reminder of Remy or—

  He wasn’t sure, but suddenly it hit him that perhaps, given the threat to her health, she had dietary restrictions he should have thought about. “Perhaps Anne and I could share a portion, Celia?”

  Anne’s
expression thanked him for the save. “That would be perfect.”

  He bent past her to press a kiss to Celia’s weathered cheek, glistening with sweat. “We’ll just get out of your way now. Thank you for yet another amazing meal.”

  Celia’s face glowed with pleasure. “I’d feed you every day and not make a dent in what I owe you. You bring this fine lady back soon, you hear me?”

  “I will do my very best.” Tendering the hand that had been itching to touch Anne, he kept it light on the small of her back as he ushered her back to their table.

  She smiled up at him, and he bent closer to hear her words over the chatter and clink of forks and glasses and plates. “You fraud,” she said.

  Her face was near enough that he could see the softness of her skin, the fine lines of a life in which he’d had no part. Joys and sorrows, passion and loneliness, exasperation, anger…he wanted to see beneath the masks Anne utilized to keep her thoughts private, her needs buried, her longings at bay.

  All the sounds retreated, leaving them inside a shell of silence in which he could feel her breath on him, spiced from the food they’d shared, her eyes wide and open to him as never before. It came to him then that though Anne Marchand was toughened by life and able to withstand its storms and demands, there was within her a fine, gentle creature that had known fear, had learned to guard itself in order to be strong for others.

  In this moment, he glimpsed that creature, fragile as a butterfly’s wing, fluttering on the currents of an insatiable curiosity about people and a tender regard for their vulnerabilities, understood precisely because she had soft places of her own.

  Within William rose a determination to shield her, to do whatever was required to protect the gentle mysteries of Anne Marchand.

  And to give her more chances to laugh and be free of her worries. He would offer to safeguard her past the current crises and usher her into a new life, one where he could show her new puzzles to solve, share with her the joy of exploring a wide world for which she had such a thirst. What good was all the money he’d amassed if he couldn’t put it in service of the woman he—

  “William?” Questions circled in her eyes.

  But he was still caught with one foot on the cliff-edge of a startling new vision, and he didn’t answer quickly.

  Loved.

  Could it be that he loved Anne Marchand?

  He hadn’t thought this day would ever come, yet he couldn’t help grinning with the sheer, crazy wonder of it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, and already she was closing in, becoming the person who was strong and alone, who watched over others.

  He pressed that hand on her back and brought her nearer. Traced her hairline with a finger that wasn’t quite steady. Remembered, just in time, that they were in the center of a restaurant.

  “I’m just great,” he responded, hearing his voice husky and low.

  Her pupils darkened in response to the unspoken message he knew she wasn’t ready to hear.

  So he rescued her, understanding that he was in for the negotiation of his life.

  But she was worth the effort.

  And he would win.

  He released her, though he wanted to touch much more of her, and pulled out her chair. “So you think I’m a fraud, do you? Mighty tough word to bandy about, Miss Anne.”

  She visibly relaxed at his light, bantering tone and gifted him with a quick, flirty smile. “But accurate. What else is there that you’ve been hiding from me?”

  He winced, glad for the chance to dodge as he rounded the table. If only he’d known he’d be playing for all the marbles when he’d set his offer on the hotel in motion.

  Too late now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUC’S PHONE CHIRPED later that evening. He frowned at the number that flashed on his screen and merely shoved the phone back into its holster.

  “You need to get that?” asked the woman at the hotel bar.

  “Nah. They’ll leave a message.” Not the Corbins, for a change. An international number.

  “Persistent girlfriend?” The blonde dug for information, her own interest evident in her gaze. “You must meet a lot of women in your job. Anyone special?”

  “Only you, sugar.” He grinned and patted his chest. “My poor heart hasn’t recovered since you walked in.”

  She dimpled at the byplay. “Anyone make you register that smile as a dangerous weapon?”

  Leo the bartender snorted, and Luc’s gaze flickered over, saw him roll his eyes. “Leo, you’re tough on a guy’s ego.”

  “Best I can tell,” the bartender replied, “your ego isn’t hurting for attention.”

  The blonde laughed. “You must have to beat the women off with a stick.”

  “Oh, darlin’.” Luc assumed mock sadness. “My tastes run to pleasing women, not hurting them.” The phone at his hip started the irritating beep that indicated a message waiting. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m off-duty, but as long as I’m here, I’m never truly off the clock.” He nodded to Leo. “Would you please give the lady a drink on my tab?” He turned to go, needing privacy before he listened to news he was sure he wouldn’t want to hear.

  “Will you come back?” she asked. “We could go somewhere…else, so you wouldn’t be bothered.”

  “Much as that tempts me, it’s been a long day.” And he was too professional to do more than light flirting with a guest. If he ever figured out a way to stop the freight train barreling toward the Hotel Marchand, he wanted, more than ever, to be able to stay here. He liked this job. This place. The people who were family, even if they didn’t know it.

  The blonde made a moue of disappointment. Leo, bless him, distracted her with discussion of the drinks he could prepare for her.

  Luc headed for a quiet corner and flipped open his phone. Punched in the code for voice mail.

  “Luc,” the voice said. “This is Ram Singh.” A friend with whom he’d worked in Thailand. “I have some news, gossip, really, but you might need to hear it. Please call me.”

  Luc started dialing.

  WHEN THEY LEFT Celia’s, a fine, nearly-full moon hung, melon-ripe, in the sky. Its lure was so potent, its mystery so compelling, that Anne felt the call in a way she hadn’t since her body had turned from the once-inexorable tide of its rhythms.

  How many moons had she ignored since last she’d danced to its tune? How many nights had she been so distracted by the needs of family or business that she’d missed its quiet beauty?

  Now the sensation of William’s palm was tingling at the small of her back, and tendrils crept along her nerve paths, tempting her. Unsettling her. She was a moth circling in starlight, and he brushed at her wings, rending the layers of protection she’d built up, scattering the flakes like showers of moondust.

  She might have resisted the sheer physical allure of him or that effortless charm. In the beginning, she’d suspected that she was merely a conquest, a prize long-delayed in the granting, the trophy he could now wrest from Remy, though the father he needed to impress was long departed.

  But Celia had changed all that with one story, and William with his discomfort over Anne hearing it. The warm, giving man beneath the urbane exterior was the pick that shattered the lock on her own heart.

  She shivered, as much in anticipation as fear.

  “Cold?” he asked, even his deep voice a tangible caress.

  Don’t make me weak, she wanted to plead. I have to be rock-solid yet.

  “William,” she began. “I know we joked about coffee and—”

  “It was no joke for me.” He caught her chin. Turned it up to him. “I want you, Anne.” His eyes searched hers. “For many reasons. It’s not just sex.”

  Dear God, was she actually blushing? “William…” She was helpless to explain in any terms but the bald truth. “I’m…done with that now. I’m too old.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You’re normally seen with younger women.”

  He was silent for so long that she was sure
he agreed.

  Then he sighed. Chuckled, but the sound was tinged with rue. “I can’t decide whether to be flattered that you’ve paid attention to my social life or insulted that you’ve just made me sound like someone who needs his ego propped up. And if you’re too old for sex, then what am I?”

  She started to respond but didn’t get a chance.

  “I do not for a second buy that you’re too decrepit for lovemaking—and don’t kid yourself, Anne—” The empire builder stared at her now, the prince who’d abandoned the comfortable castle and scrambled to create his own kingdom from the ground up. “It won’t be simple sex between us. You and I will make love.”

  “You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? It must be nice.” Even she heard the pique in her voice.

  The laugh was full-throated. “I had an easier time convincing the banks to gamble on a destitute black sheep’s first hotel purchase than I am talking you into bed.”

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “No, ma’am, I surely am not.” The buccaneer’s white teeth gleamed. “But I did offer to flip for whether we go to your place or mine.”

  A part of her wished it was just sex they were talking about. Though the very idea of getting naked with a man who didn’t see her through the veil of a shared youth terrified her, he was right; she was lying about the desire she felt for him. Every encounter reminded her only too clearly that she had definitely not lost interest in the communion of two bodies. He was more frank about his attraction, that was all.

  But the physical realities weren’t at the heart of her reluctance; it was the notion that the two of them would connect on other levels. That, as he challenged, there would be more between them.

  She could not allow that more to distract her, not yet.

  “You’re going to reduce me to being Stanley Kowalski, bellowing up at your window, aren’t you?”

  The notion of blueblood William Armstrong, unkempt and sweaty in a wifebeater undershirt, shouting her name from the sidewalk like Marlon Brando, forced a giggle from her.