Fat Tuesday(123)

Did the bitch actually expect him to take her to bed? He felt like laughing out loud, in her face, but it wasn't yet time to spring the surpnses she had in store.

"Get some sleep," he told her, patting her cheek."I want you to look your best tonight."

"Tonight?"

"At our party."

"Party?"

"Remy, is that echoing speech pattern something you acquired from Basile?"

"I'm sorry. What party?"

"A Mardi Gras party. Have you forgotten that today is Fat Tuesday?

Tomorrow we must atone for our sins, but tonight we can be self-indulgent. I certainly intend to satisfy "

"I can't attend a party tonight."

"That's another tiresome habit you've picked up," he said, frowning.

"Interrupting me while I'm speaking." She bit back another interruption. After a moment, she said with that soft tremor in her voice, "It's just that I'm flabbergasted that you expect me to host a party on my first night back."

"What better time to celebrate your safe return?"

"I'd rather we celebrate alone."

"That's sweet, my dear, but I'm afraid I can't call off the festivities now. Too many people would be disappointed." He tweaked her cheek.

"Including Flarra. I've invited her to participate."

Her face drained of color. She swallowed convulsively, as though to hold back nausea."Really?" she said with transparently faked excitement."What made you decide to include her? You never have before."

"I've reconsidered the points you made during our last discussion about her. I think they're valid. It's time we cut her some slack. She is, after all, no longer a child, but a young woman."

"Actually, I was wrong, Pinkie. You were right. You're always right about these things."

He frowned."Your turnabout comes too late, Remy. I can't disappoint Flarra now that she's already been invited. You wouldn't want me to do that. That would be cruel. Now, you take a nap," he said, coming to his feet."Maybe it'll put some color back into your cheeks. Forgive me for saying so, but you look a little worse for wear."

"I realize how frightful I must look. My hair and nails are a wreck.

I'll arrange to have them done before tonight."

"You can take care of the beauty treatments yourself after your rest."

He moved toward the door."Oh, by the way, I removed the telephone so you wouldn't be disturbed."

She glanced toward the nightstand, and he delighted in the frantic expression that appeared on her face."I'd like to call Flarra.

It's been over a week since I spoke to her, and I'm sure she's wondering why."

"Not to worry. I told her a little white lie about your having strep throat. By now she's been told that you've recovered and that you're looking forward to seeing her this evening."

"But I need to speak with her."

"Tonight will be soon enough. I've instructed the staff to leave you in absolute privacy. I alone will be checking on you throughout the day." He blew her a kiss, then made certain that she saw him locking the door from the outside before he pulled it closed.

Remy rushed to the door and gripped the knob with both hands. She tried moving it up and down, and from side to side, but it didn't budge.

With a sob of frustration, she slumped against the door.

She had trusted in the paradox that she must return to Pinkie before she could successfully escape him. She had known it would take all her acting skills to convince him that she was devastated by her capture, and anxious to put the unpleasant episode behind her and resume her life as it had been. She was willing to continue the charade for as long as it took to get Flarra safely out of Pinkie's grasp, even going so far God help her as to share his bed, although she hadn't told Basile that.

But Pinkie hadn't immediately hustled her up to bed, which was uncustomary, and because it was, it was also alarming. There was only one reason he would abstain: if he suspected her of being intimate with Basile. And if he suspected that, then her life, as well as Basile's and Flarra's, was in peril.

Pinkie must have guessed as soon as he kissed her, or even before, that she was coming home to him different than when she left. It must have been instantly obvious to him that she was radically changed. If he could spot a minute imperfection on a blossom of one of his orchids, or detect that the wine was served a degree too warm or too cool, he could sense something as profound as the change she had undergone in the swamp, where she had come to love Burke Basile, in addition to coming to love herself again.

If she lived to be a hundred, or died today, she would be grateful for those days of isolation in that exotic and primal place. She'd been forced to take a good hard look at herself and acknowledge that she had become just what Basile had called her a whore. She had prostituted herself for the best of reasons, and that was to protect her sister.

But everything had been sacrificed to that end her pride, her self-esteem, her soul. Having wholly given up herself, what good was she to Flarra or to anyone?

She now despised Mrs. Pinkie Duvall, who was passive and afraid, whose only means of survival was through feminine wiles and manipulation.

But she had developed a growing respect for Remy Lambeth, whose opinions had merit, who was strong and courageous, who was a survivor, who warranted the love of a man with humanity and integrity.