Journey to Victory, page 25
“I intend to,” Christiane replied as the scarlet-robed Sultana swept stylishly away.
Major Andre, on Christiane’s right, asked, “I see your supper is done and the violins are striking up another minuet. Will you do me the honor?”
“Of course.” Christiane hopped up, handing the disgruntled captain her plate and cup. The mulled wine had lightened her mood even more.
The major swept her onto the floor. The stately minuet with its set poses and pauses was perfect for flirtation. “Madame, you are the loveliest lady at the ball,” he murmured as he bowed to his partner.
“You are too kind.” She bent her neck in polite welcome.
“The major is too careless of you. If you were mine, I would not stand idly by and let others take my place.” With his hand above her head, he turned her in a sedate circle.
As if on cue, Major Eastham appeared and tapped Andre on the shoulder. With a disgruntled look, Andre gave way. The steps of the dance became more intricate, but as soon as she was able, she whispered, “I hope you have been enjoying my performance. What do you think?”
“Adequate, madame, barely adequate.” For some reason he was nettled and he took it out on her.
“Only adequate?” she hissed.
“Yes, I am sure Mrs. Loring could put on a much better display.”
She almost sputtered, but controlled herself. A better show he wanted, a better show he would get. At that moment the persistent major returned to reclaim her. Eastham gave way without a word. Christiane voiced her pleasure. “Major Andre, I was pining to see you again.”
As they finished the dance, she was again surrounded by three officers. She chose a colonel. During the next few dances, she began to cast flirtatious glances at the men, gliding nearby with other partners. This tack netted her even more suitors at the end of each song.
It delighted her to see that the major himself had stopped dancing and now stood, sipping wine and watching her intently. She hoped he was enjoying her show. Lt. Colonel Weston, whom she was curtseying to, whispered, “Aren’t you tired of this dancing? Would you care for a hand of cards?” She nodded. A quick exit would add an interesting note to her plot. They slipped off the floor and down a side hall to a private room. Once inside she was surprised to see that they were alone.
“A private card game?” she asked warily.
“I wish to play, but not cards. I am sure you will find that I am much more generous than Eastham and much more attentive.” Before she could make any reply, she was in his arms, tasting the rum on his lips. Her efforts to push him away were ineffectual. At the ball he had not looked so strong or so demanding. As his embrace tightened rather than loosened, a feeling of panic shot threw her. Memories of Morristown choked her. She began to twist and struggle in earnest.
The door opened. “Pardon me,” a cool voice spoke lazily. “The Virginia Reel is about to begin and, Christiane, you promised it to me.”
Weston released her. She turned to view Eastham, lounging casually in the doorway. “Of course, Major,” she managed to gasp. She walked unsteadily over to him and took his arm.
“Later,” Eastham said to the officer. The lieutenant colonel nodded curtly and they left. As they strolled down the hall, Christiane gripped the major’s arm with unusual force as she tried to gain control of her breathing.
“Don’t try that again,” he whispered in her ear. “You are not viewed as one of the blushing virgins here. You are considered fair game.”
At a darkened alcove in the turn of the hall, Christiane tugged at his arm. She couldn’t stop shaking and feared she might burst into tears.
He paused a moment to let her regain her composure. “Are you all right?” he whispered. A few moments passed. Finally she nodded, unwilling to admit how shaken she was. Cold fear still coursed through her, but she forced herself to go on.
They re-entered the ballroom and joined the others in the parallel lines of the reel. The sheen had been taken off Christiane’s light-heartedness, but the rollicking tune began to restore her. She began to breathe normally again. The American folk dance, like folk dances everywhere, had more bounce and lilt than the formal steps. She found herself smiling at the major as they exchanged bows and swings. He gave her a surprise smile in return. This made her chuckle, because it was perhaps the first honest smile she had ever seen on him.
At the end of the reel she applauded genuinely, but before she could speak to the major, her flock of admirers regathered and separated them. They returned to their former venue of passing each other nonchalantly on the floor as well-bred lovers would.
Hours passed, and finally Christiane was completely exhausted. It must be near two in the morning, she thought, scanning the assemblage. Surely the major had had his money’s worth and could take her home now. But she could not see him. It occurred to her that she had not seen him during the last two dances. She turned to Lord Hazelton, who had come to stand near her. “Have you seen Major Eastham?”
“Oh, the major?” he returned evasively.
“Yes, the major.”
“He will be back soon,” a younger officer at her elbow supplied helpfully.
The older man frowned at him.
“You means she doesn’t know?” the younger burbled.
“What should I know?” she asked, suddenly alert.
The younger officer studiously ignored her and examined the floor ahead of him.
“You should not bother your head with such details, my dear. It is just a small matter of honor. No one will be hurt seriously, I’m sure,” Hazelton explained.
A matter of honor? This could mean only one thing: a duel. “Who is with the major?” she asked numbly.
“Weston.” The man who had tried to seduce her in the private room. That is what the major had meant by “Later.”
“Where are they?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t get involved, Christiane,” he advised. “The duel has already begun. I’m sure it is over or will be over soon.”
“But it is so unnecessary. Nothing happened.”
“Only because Eastham intervened,” Hazelton replied with a touch of irritation. “Weston needs to be taught a lesson in manners. He behaved most unbecomingly.”
“I don’t want anyone to be hurt.”
“I will go and see if I can find them,” he offered. “You must wait here, though. It would be most unseemly for you to be a witness.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. To discourage any further suitors, she wandered by the windows, hiding behind the extravagant draperies. In the lamplight outside she glimpsed Lord Hazelton walking across the yard toward the inn’s large stable. The stable, of course, the perfect place for a duel on a cold, winter night. It would be well lit, reasonably warm, roomy enough, and secluded.
Without thinking, she was at the side door, sending a footman to fetch her cape. Then, leaving the sounds of the stately music and laughter behind, she slipped and slid silently across the frozen ground in her thin dancing slippers. As she neared the stable, she could hear the unmistakable sound of metal rhythmically striking metal. She recalled Lord Hazelton’s advice. If she burst in now, the major would most certainly be deeply embarrassed or, worse yet, wounded by the distraction. Scanning the outside of the stable, she saw a small window at the far end. She hurried over to it, hoping there would be enough light to see by.
There was. The two officers, stripped to their ruffled shirts, parried back and forth. Eastham was calm and deliberate, as was the other man. Each thrust was deflected excellently as they moved back and forth, neither giving ground. She knew instinctively that neither one intended to do serious harm to the other. This was merely a formal duel, a ritual that gentlemen observed; but there was always the danger that the two might get so involved in the heat of the action that an accident could happen.
She gritted her teeth with worry. The metallic rhythm continued. Then, when she least expected it, Weston quickened the pace of his attack. The major matched it. A staccato of light clashes rang out. Then a bright red crease on the inside of the lieutenant colonel’s arm silenced the blades. Blood had been drawn. Satisfaction had been paid. She gasped in relief. The major had not been wounded, either in body or in honor. Now she must manage to get away without being seen. She spun around and fled over the snow patches and ruts. Deciding that the participants might see her enter the well-lighted front entrance, Christiane sought out the side door again and entered quietly. The ending of a dance camouflaged her entry. As casually as possible she made her way to the front hall. She intended to wait there for Eastham and demand to go home. There she stood, tapping her foot and hugging her cape around her.
“Well, madame, I find you at last.” His voice came from behind. Evidently the duelists had also used an alternate entrance.
“Major,” she said, “I wish to go home now.”
“Oh?” His tone matched hers. “But I came to claim one more dance.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he whisked off her wrap and tossed it to a nearby servant.
Taking her arm firmly, he drew her back to the ballroom. He walked purposefully over to the small group of musicians and conferred with the head violinist, who nodded profusely. The melody they were playing ended abruptly and then began the strains of a Viennese waltz. Christiane gasped. The waltz was—even in France—considered shocking.
Christiane’s mother and grandmother had argued over whether the waltz would be accepted in Christiane’s time or not. Finally over her grandmother’s objections, Christiane had been tutored in it. But this was not the court of Louis XV. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Leading my partner to the floor.”
“But-but—” she stuttered.
“But me no buts, madam. Do you know the waltz or no?”
She was stung by his tone. “Of course I do.”
“Then let us begin. This will be our grand finale.” He whirled her into his arms and then they were gliding to the music.
As she had feared, the floor was empty except for them. Probably no respectable woman in Philadelphia could waltz. She almost pulled away, but then it came to her. Whose reputation was she trying to protect? Christiane Kruger would never have to pay for Christiane Belmond’s indiscretions. Philadelphia be damned. Tomorrow she would slip away as humble Christiane Kruger, but tonight… A smile illuminated her face and she answered the major’s every lead gracefully.
On his brow, she could see the light perspiration he had worked up during the duel and she liked the light smell of brandy that lingered on him. The muscles of his shoulders moved rhythmically as she rested her arm on them and his hand at the small of her back guided her firmly. She had the sensation of floating as they moved together and her heart beat a bit faster with the excitement of their display. They whirled on the empty floor in solitary grandeur, giving an artistic performance for the gawking, scandalized audience that encircled them.
The melody was almost over when one couple finally joined them, the general and Mrs. Loring. Christiane chuckled inwardly. The Sultana evidently had heard that they were waltzing and was not about to be outdone. The two couples spun artfully around each other. The song ended. The major bent over Christiane’s hand, formally thanking her for the pleasure.
Without further conversation, they left the floor and claimed their wraps. Then she allowed the major to escort her out to their carriage in the brittle night air. As usual, they rode in silence. Back at the officers’ quarters, a generous fire awaited them in their room. The major lit a few candles and set them on the ivory mantel.
Still holding her fur cape close about her neck, Christiane perched in her wing-backed chair, allowing the fire to thaw, bit by bit, the chill that had overpowered her in the carriage. The major brought her a warming brandy and sat down across from her. The contrast of the noisesome ball and this quiet haven made her mute. They sat companionably, sipping the clear, amber liquid and watching the crackling flames and their flickering shadows. As she sipped, she felt herself relax, lower her guard.
“Your performance was gifted,” he said finally.
She turned her face to him. Her eyes swept over him. In that faraway fort years before, he had made an unforgettable impression on her. After living with him these past weeks, she knew more clearly why. Though maddening at times, he was an exceptional man: honest, intelligent, and arresting. She allowed herself to gaze at him lingeringly, to admire his lithe figure as he lounged in his chair. Finishing his brandy, he rose and went behind the dressing screen.
With this their nightly routine began. She savored the final sips of her brandy, which left her feeling drowsy. She waited till she heard him scrape back the bed curtains and climb into his bed. She rose then and took her turn behind the screen. Languidly she slipped her arms from the sleeves of her gown. She reached up to undo the pearls. The clasp argued with her and would not come loose. She felt too dreamy, too sleepy to unclasp it. Holding up the front of her gown, she stepped out from behind the curtain and went over to the major’s bed.
Sliding open the curtain and sitting down on the edge, she said, “Major, would you undo the pearls. I can’t.”
He sat up and looked at the lovely, velvety back just inches in front of him. The night of dancing and dueling had left him tired yet restless. Soon this episode would end. This beautiful girl would leave and his life could return to normal.
Tentatively he reached up to unhook the protesting clasp. Unexpectedly his hand brushed her shoulder. A tingling raced up his arm. He fumbled with the clasp and then got up on his knees for a better perspective. Finally the clasp separated and he held the pearls forward in front of her throat for her to take; she did not reach up for them. And in those seconds he was snared by the last of her perfume, and more so, her own natural fragrance. The creamy skin of her nape glowed in the firelight, tempting him.
Half-remembered sensations swept through him and without intending to, he leaned down and pressed a kiss there, one and then slowly another, another. How long had it been since he had touched, kissed anyone so wondrously soft?
Of course, he had never consciously thought of making love with her. He had guarded himself against thinking about her, but now as his lips touched her smooth shoulder, he felt lightning flash through him. And wonder of wonders, he felt his body preparing to love her. He pictured her lying under him, silken and yielding. A groaning, a pleading welled up inside him. His lips sought her skin.
Christiane felt his lips. She knew she should rise and walk away, but the feelings his touch released caught her in their web. It had been almost a year since a man had touched her like this. The kisses, so soft yet so insistent, ignited an inner fire. Just a few more, then she would withdraw. But the inner flame grew and her resolve melted. The pearls slid over her and dropped to the floor.
His hands claimed her naked shoulders. He began to stroke her arms with adoring fingers and his kisses were relentless. She leaned back slightly, offering him more of her neck. She opened her mouth to say, “Stop,” but all that came forth was a mixture of a sigh and a moan….
Chapter Fifteen
Dawn’s light filtered through Christiane’s eyelids and the events of the night before paraded before her half-conscious mind. They ended with a vivid love scene. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was in Major Eastham’s bed, but this time not in innocence. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the truth. But closing her eyes changed nothing.
For one night she had allowed herself to behave as her mother, and she had done just as her mother would have from beginning—to the end. She cringed inwardly. She was engaged to another man. And not only had she been unfaithful, but she had been unfaithful with the enemy.
Even in her distress though, she could not believe that Eastham had planned what had passed between them. He had had ample opportunities in the weeks they had been together to try to seduce her. He hadn’t. The events of the night had moved them both to a point neither of them had intended to reach. She writhed in shame and regret. No, no. But the truth could not be denied. Her cheeks burned as if she’d been in the sun too long.
And she could not face his scathing wit. What mocking phrase would he greet her with upon waking? Then she recalled the fact that at the end of their lovemaking, he’d wept in her arms. Why? Did that mean he cared for her? Did that matter?
She glanced then at the sleeping major. She cared for him, She knew that now. But I cannot stay and live as his mistress. Her eyes shut just thinking of the word. Two days ago she had planned to leave this morning for Valley Forge. Looking at his sleeping face once more, she made her decision. One night of wayward passion would not change the direction of the rest of her life. She must act.
She crept out of bed. As her bare feet touched the chilling floor, she quivered with fear. What if she were pregnant? Forcefully she pushed this from her mind. She had no time or stomach for more worry this wretched morning.
Quietly she stood by the embers of last night’s fire. She donned both of her plainest dresses, wearing the brown one outermost. Then she wrapped herself in her warm shawl. She glanced around the room to see if she had everything. Her chain with her engagement ring. She retrieved it from a little box on the dressing table. Perhaps if she had been wearing it last night, she would have remembered to whom she belonged.
Opening the door, she slipped out, closing it silently behind her. At this hour the back steps might be in use, but the main hallway would be empty, so carefully she made her way down the front steps and out the door. The yard was deserted. She hurried away, already becoming chilled in the brisk wind. When she stopped to claim Nancy, she was sure the Widow Schulz would offer her a cup of tea.
***
Upstairs in his warm bed, the major turned over in his sleep. Something startled him and he awoke. Sleepily he blinked his eyes. Was it real or had it been a dream? He looked over. Christiane was gone, but the pillow still showed where her head had lain. Sitting up, he scanned the room and listened. An icy fear flashed through him. She had bolted!
