“That’s most of New Orleans. And I don’t care. I’ll look pretentious, and people will talk. I’d rather wear my leather pants than pretend to be someone I’m not.”
“You aren’t Penny Lafitte, either.”
“I’m more Penny than I am this beauty queen you want to show off tonight.” She dropped her hand. Fighting Jean was pointless and took too much energy. “The last time I wore a tiara you wanted to show the British how educated and wealthy you were. But this time, you have nothing to prove. New Orleanians adore you. I don’t get it, but I’ll wear it. Reluctantly.”
Jean reached into his pocket, and when he opened his hand a pair of teardrop diamond earrings glimmered in his palm.
“Come on, Jean, this is way too much. I’ll need bodyguards if I wear all these jewels.” She held one up to the oil lamp. “They are extraordinary, but I won’t wear them.”
“You have to. They’re a matched set and part of the treasure that came off a Spanish galleon.” He took one of the teardrops and clipped it on her ear, then the other one. “You look beautiful, and if O’Grady doesn’t fall at your feet, I’ll challenge him to a duel.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Nothing is extreme when it comes to you.” He cocked his head and added, “Or maybe everything is.” Then he fingered the teardrop on her necklace, and his warm knuckles brushed the swell of her breasts. “I thought you were the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen when we dined with the British, but you’ve exceeded my expectations tonight.”
“I don’t understand why I’m letting you have your way. I’m an independent woman. I make my own decisions, but for some insane reason, I submit when it comes to you.”
“Only because you know I have your best interests at heart.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just go and get this over with. Once we walk in and speak to the general, I can disappear, and you can dance the night away with your ladylove. This is Marguerite’s coming-out party, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin it for her.”
“If O’Grady doesn’t show up, I refuse to leave you unattended to be pawed by New Orleans aristocrats. Marguerite will understand.”
“She might understand, but I’d rather dance with Mr. Livingston than have Marguerite suffer through an evening of watching us together with her heart in her throat.”
“If that happens, I’ll make it up to her.”
Estelle returned with the matching court train and held it for Penny while she slipped the red velvet braided cords over her shoulders and clasped an embroidered band beneath her breasts, connecting the ends with an attached diamond pin. The damn court train added at least twenty pounds to the weight she was already carrying. No wonder she was on the verge of wilting.
But standing in front of the French giltwood demilune console table and mirror, she had to admit the ensemble was gorgeous, and, except for the small blue curl, she looked like a princess.
But was it the right look for her?
Estelle knelt to help Penny with her shoes. The dress that had dragged on the floor now just grazed it, and her ruby-red pumps were barely visible. And suddenly, whatever reservations she had about the gown or the jewels evaporated, as if her fairy godmother had flicked her wand. Penny had on her power shoes and was ready to strut her stuff on the catwalk. She had her groove on…
There’s been so many things that’s held me down… / …I know I’ve got a long long way to go / And where I’ll end up, I don’t know / But I won’t let nothin’ hold me back… / I’ve got the groove…
As she moved from the bedroom to the parlor, soft light glided over the red velvet and lit sparks off the tiny diamonds embedded in the borders of both the dress and the train.
Jean stood by the door, holding a swordstick—a hidden rapier for an expert swordsman. “Tu es magnifique.”
“Thank you.” She flicked a glance at the swordstick. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“I always expect trouble, as do you, mon Capitaine. You never go anywhere that you don’t assess your surroundings with quick visual sweeps. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a blade attached to your leg—somewhere.”
“Not tonight, Commander Lafitte. I’m putting my life in your hands. Of course, that’s where it’s been for six weeks.”
“Not entirely.” He opened the door. “Dominique said he would meet us there.”
Her gown twinkled as she swooshed her way out into the hall. “Are we walking?”
“Walk? With all the celebrating on the streets, I wouldn’t risk your welfare even if you were wearing your leather pants. There’s a carriage waiting for us.”
Estelle gathered the train and folded it over Penny’s arm. “You should wear boots and change when you arrive at the Cabildo.”
“I’ll take her straight to the door, and carry her if necessary,” Jean said.
“I’d rather go barefoot than be carried in like a helpless maiden.”
“You? Helpless? Never!” He swept his arm toward the staircase. “Your chariot awaits, mon coeur.”
“Then let’s be off.” Since she first discovered Rick, Soph, Pete, and Remy had come for her and the Fontenots were stranded here as well, the Military Victory Ball had always been the date in the future when they’d all go home.
Then it was changed to whenever Soph finished her paintings. And that happened today. The official portraits would be unveiled at the ball tonight.
Penny was finally going home. But home to what? To whom? She had her father’s betrayal to deal with, plus she had to find a way to assimilate Penny into Billie’s life. Both of which would be painful and possibly impact her business.
After a short ride across town, the driver pulled the carriage up to the entrance on Chartres Street, and, despite her protests, Jean picked her up and carried her inside.
The doorman held the door, and Jean swept into the foyer and kissed her cheek before putting her down. “There you go, mon coeur. Your shoes are safe from the mud and the cracks in the stone walkway.”
Saving her shoes had been a priority all those weeks ago. So why was she complaining now? “Thank you for doing that.” She straightened. “Looks like we’re fashionably late. And there’s hardly a crowd waiting, so we should be able to sneak inside and hide at the rear of the ballroom.”
She’d find a place to wait for her chance to dance with Rick—if he showed up.
He had such a uniquely recognizable—and sexy as hell—dance style. The entire time she’d watched him slow dance at the gala a few years ago, with his silicone lady pressing her fake boobs against him, she’d dreamed of enjoying one steamy dance with him.
The couple in front of them reached the landing between the first and second floors, and when they turned to climb the next level of steps, the woman saw them and rudely pointed and whispered loud enough to hear, “That’s Jean Lafitte and his cousin. What happened to her blue hair and eyepatch?”
Penny couldn’t hear the man’s response. But Jean must have because his jaw tensed, and he reached for his pistol.
“Keep your gun in your pocket tonight. Okay?” She smiled. “Whoever they are, they aren’t worth it.”
“Your fame will enter the ballroom before you do.”
“Great. Just great. I hope the crowd won’t be disappointed because I’m not wearing my eyepatch.”
“Everyone will be curious about you, with or without the eyepatch. You helped the general save New Orleans.”
She didn’t want New Orleanians to remember her since she didn’t really exist. How could she write herself out of the history books? “Do me a favor. When I’m gone, tell reporters I died an honorable death, and you buried me at sea.”
He gave her a silly grin. “Maybe I’ll tell the newspapers you died in childbirth. And leave everyone to wonder if I was the father of your child.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “If you do that, people in my time will claim to be the descendant of Penny Lafitte’s illegitimate chi
ld. Please don’t do that to me. Just let me die in peace.”
They reached the landing between the first and second floors, and he stopped and turned to face her. “If O’Grady hadn’t come for you, you would have lived the rest of your life in the 1800s. I will give you an honorable death and report your passing to all the newspapers so there will be no doubt about your demise. But if I could keep you here, I would.”
“You’re in love with Marguerite, not me. I would only get in your way.”
He turned away from her, and his handsome silhouette was barely visible in the light from the oil lamp wall sconces. His whole body sighed. “You would never be in my way, Wilhelmina. I’ll always love you—as one loves a sister. Until the day I die, you will have a part of my heart.”
She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I am not your sister, Jean. I’m your dear, dear friend who loves you. If things had been different—in time—we would have been lovers.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her, and the hug vibrated with their feelings for each other, but they said nothing more. And she sensed in the marrow of her bones that somehow this might be their goodbye.
They finished their climb to the second floor, where Penny dropped her court train and flicked the velvet to straighten it. “Does it look okay?”
Jean bent and made a quick adjustment. “Now, it does.”
He held his hand out to her, and she placed her gloved hand on top of his. And walking heel first in her power shoes, head up, shoulders straight, she glided across the wood floor, weighted down by the gown and court train, to the rear of the short line of guests entering through the center door into the ballroom.
A soldier in full dress uniform acknowledged Penny and Jean’s presence and held out his arm to stop them from entering until the path had cleared. The soldier then announced, “Commander Jean Lafitte and his cousin, Captain Penny Lafitte, King and Queen of Barataria.”
Oh, crap! She gave Jean the evil eye. So much for sneaking into the room and hiding in the crowd.
An embarrassing hush fell over the window-filled gallery crammed with women in evening gowns and men in formal wear. They overpowered the room with overheated bodies and a hundred different perfumes.
The orchestra at the far end of the right side stopped playing, and shouts of thanks and applause began. At the opposite end of the wall of windows that ran the length of the building and faced the square, Jackson and the governor, also applauding, stood on a raised dais in front of a triumphal arch decorated with freshly cut evergreens and colorful flowers.
When Penny and Jean neared the dais, she spotted Marguerite, Philippe, Rhona, Remy, Soph, Pete, and even Churchill…
…but no Rick.
She did a quick visual sweep of the room, her heart plummeting to her stomach. She wanted to pivot and run even before the applause stopped. She could master her game face and talk to people all day long, but her hands never lied, and right now, they were trembling.
Sensing her distress, Jean whispered, “I’ll send the bastard a challenge to meet me at dawn.”
She swallowed a throat full of tears and rasped, “I’ll be your second.”
53
New Orleans (1815)—Rick
Rick was at the opposite end of the gallery from the general’s dais, conferring with the orchestra conductor when Penny and Lafitte made their grand entrance.
And grand it was.
The entire room hushed, and women hopped on their toes to see above people in front of them. Others whispered behind open fans. If possible, the women in the audience might be more jealous of Penny than Rick was of Lafitte.
A vise gripped his heart, squeezing so hard he couldn’t breathe. He loosened his cravat, but that didn’t help. Nor could he think while his blood pumped hotter and faster, and the tightness in his chest blocked out everything except—the beautiful lines of Penny’s face, the curve of her nose, the little furrow of concentration as she negotiated the crowd, and fuck, yeah…the swell of her tits where he wanted to bury his face.
She was the sexiest, most luscious woman he’d ever seen, even with the damn blue curl. He smiled at that, remembering the first time he saw her dressed as Penny, and how disgusting he thought she was. Funny, but right now, he’d be more comfortable if all her hair was blue, and she was wearing her leather pants. Then he’d have her to himself.
The general’s inner circle had accepted her because of Lafitte. But once she proved herself to them, she won them over. Now, seeing this side of her, they’d all be drooling, even the married men. But not the general. He was so in love with his Rachel that all women probably looked like blue-haired Penny to him.
The guests parted as she and Lafitte walked toward the general. With that damn train, she looked like a queen, and he was jealous as hell of Lafitte for being at her side.
She belongs to me. I should be walking her down the aisle. And I will…
Rick left through the back door and hurried to the opposite end of the ballroom by way of the outside corridor, and he stood in the shadows watching her approach the dais.
Music was his passion, passed on to him by his mother, who had performed in musicals on Broadway. Lyrics and tunes pulsed in his blood and echoed in his mind, not to mention the way it eased his soul in difficult times.
But even if he lost his voice forever, if he had Penny, he would hardly miss the music.
“On behalf of the City of New Orleans…”
Rick tuned out the general’s words of thanks. His total focus was on the elegant woman at the dais who would, hands down, be the most photographed woman at any red carpet event anywhere in the world.
When she and Lafitte moved away from the dais, he slipped out of the shadows and hurried back to the opposite end of the room.
The men he hired had moved the pianoforte to the front of the musicians along with Remy’s improvised drum set. Rick, Remy, and a New Orleans musician who played the double bass had spent the past several days rehearsing for this performance.
As soon as Jackson finished inviting everyone to enjoy the food and music, Rick nodded to the conductor, who concluded the soft sonata the orchestra had been softly playing.
And before the din grew louder, Rick played the intro to “Misty,” and then the drums and bass joined in, finally attracting the audience’s attention.
That’s when Rick began to sing…
“Look at me / I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree / And I feel like I’m clingin’ to a cloud / I can’t understand / I get misty, just holding your hand…”
54
New Orleans (1815)—Penny
When Penny heard the piano and then Rick’s voice, her legs almost gave out on her. The music vibrated through her body as if it came from her soul. His voice whispered to her, seductive as a lover’s lingering caress.
She grabbed Jean’s arm. “You knew about this. Didn’t you? It was all a setup.”
“I think the line is, ‘Us guys stick together.’” Jean’s eyes glistened. “Go to him, Wilhelmina.” His voice dropped, and he whispered, “He loves you.”
“He wants me, but he doesn’t love me.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask him.” Jean nodded toward the opposite end of the gallery, where Rick sang to an enthralled audience. “He’s singing to you, not them.”
He was speaking to her through the music, and the melody and harmony were a love song that reached her very core. She took a step, and the crowd parted for her. But the second step froze in mid-air. She wiggled her toes inside the ruby-red pumps.
Don’t fail me now.
Her fairy godmother must have zapped her feet because her shoes suddenly had wings, and she floated toward him while he sang the same song that had lulled her to sleep the night before the battle. And from the enthralled audience’s reaction, he seemed to be mesmerizing them as well.
His eyes were a lifeline, pulling her toward him. And if eye-fucking alone could make babies, she and Rick could be parents in nine months. It w
as supernaturally intimate, and she never wanted the moment to end.
As he finished the song, the audience sensed something momentous was about to happen, and with an audible inhale, they held their collective breaths.
The director led the orchestra into a poignant, soulful waltz, and Rick moved away from the piano and bowed over her hand.
“May I have this dance, Wilhelmina?”
Pinch me!
She was so nervous that she poked her finger with the point of the diamond clasp as she unpinned the court train and slipped the red-velvet braided cords off her shoulders. Rick handed it to Remy.
“How long have you been planning this?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Forever…”
Rick swung her around into his waiting arms and into the swirl of the enchanting music. They were so close to each other their breaths tangled. She licked her lips to get rid of the tingle, and he chuckled, low and deep, pulling her closer, his sexy, hot mouth skimming her cheek up to her ear.
“All I want is to hold you and never let you go.” The guests stepped aside, and he whirled them across the dance floor with natural grace to the strains of the waltz.
The music came alive, and they were joined on the dance floor by other couples, all wearing bold colors, whirling around the floor like a glittering rainbow. Rick gazed at her with devotion and old-fashioned chivalry. She was in the arms of a man whose body and soul expressed the dance, creating an exhilarating sensation of something beyond her comprehension.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I don’t give a damn what color your hair is or what you call yourself. You’re mine.” His arm tightened about her waist, and the room seemed to recede and disappear until they were alone, dancing in harmony, two moving as one.
His eyes were the same hot, bottomless depths they always were, and she fell into them again, more and more breathless as the music swelled behind her, and the voice in her heart said, “You’re dancing with him now. He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.”
The Topaz Brooch Page 60