The Creole Princess Read Online Free

in the Redmonds’ home.
    Lyse. Her name was Lyse. He deliberately removed his gaze from the curve of her waist, made even more alluring by the glossy black curls that clung to her apron sash. He turned to Daisy Redmond, seated at his left, and found her watching him with a twinkle in her large blue eyes.
    “Caray!” He thumped himself in the forehead. “I have turned my back upon my hostess, when she is so kind to take in a stranger and feed him the most excellent of creole dishes!”
    The twinkle became a dimpling smile. “Lyse taught me to make it, señor .”
    Do not look at the French girl, he told himself again, as he blew across the steaming fish stew and spooned it carefully into hismouth. She was like the spices melding upon his tongue, with her Gallic-accented English and dark gold eyes in that caramel-skinned face. Such Creole girls walked all about New Orleans, as common as flowers, so that one eventually became dulled to their exquisite beauty. But this one was different, and he wanted to know why.
    He swallowed, closing his eyes in ecstasy, then smiled at Miss Redmond. “You are a student to be commended. My nose thanks you. My belly thanks you. Indeed, I am your slave forever. Only tell me your lightest wish, and I shall cross a hundred seas to grant it.”
    She laughed. “Lyse was right. You are droll.”
    He contrived to look hurt. “Droll? My English is not of the best, but I think I would rather be intrepid or gallant—or even irresistible. Droll, Miss Redmond? Really, you wound me.”
    Her mouth pursed even as her blue eyes danced. “I beg your forgiveness, Don Rafael. How may I make it up to you?”
    Rafa placed a finger between his brows and crossed his eyes, as if the act of thinking were painful. “Hmm. Perhaps you might . . . Yes!” He beamed at her. “I will allow you to take me on a tour of the fort and the city on the morrow. Then we shall once more regard one another with mutual respect and admiration, sí ?”
    This time she laughed outright. “I’m very sorry to turn down such a wonderful offer, but Thursday is my day to teach the children of the town their letters.”
    “Ah, that is very much too bad.” He gave the French girl a sidelong look, unable to resist teasing. “Then perhaps, if I solemnly promise to refrain from singing or playing my guitar, Señorita Lanier would agree to take your place.”
    Lyse was bending over the littlest Durnford child’s dish, picking the shell off an oyster. Hearing her name, she looked up and gave him her crinkle-nose grin. “Your restraint is admirable, sir. But it seems I have given you the impression that I dislike music—when nothing could be further from the truth.”
    Miss Redmond was looking from her friend to him and backagain, clearly perplexed by the conversation’s subtext. “But do you have a guitar with you? You must entertain us this evening!”
    Rafa shrugged. “I was a cantor as a child, so, yes, I have been trained. But I didn’t mean—” He saw Lyse’s satisfaction. “I mean, of course I will sing. Allow me but to fetch my guitar from the antechamber.”
    Miss Redmond caught her father’s attention by clinking her spoon against her goblet. “Papa! When everyone has finished eating, let us adjourn to the salon, where Don Rafael will give us a bit of a concert, shall we? Timbo—” She turned to the elderly slave who had been quietly removing empty dishes and refilling wine glasses. “Will you set up the tea cart in the large salon?”
    “Yes, miss.” The man inclined his grizzled head and backed out of the dining room.
    As he dealt with his dinner and fielded Miss Daisy’s prattling, Rafa covertly watched Lyse Lanier as she took her place at the table, opposite Daisy. He couldn’t quite place her in the social strata. The French of New Orleans, he had noticed, tended to hold a rather inflated view of their importance, despite the fact that they were a conquered people in a Spanish colony. Here in British