River Road
Page 11
“Don’t get cute with me, Stevens,” she called over her shoulder as she walked down the hallway. Isaac spent endless hours working in his study. She’d place odds of finding him there.
“Mrs. Leblonc, you cannot barge—”
The door to the study swung open, and the object of her search appeared in the corridor, his face a mask of shock. “Hope, you never visit Magnolia House. Are you all right? Come inside,” he said, stepping aside. “Tell me what is amiss.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Ring for refreshments, Stevens, and be quick about it.”
Hope strode into the center of the room but refused his offer to sit in one of the portly armchairs opposite his desk. Instead, she tossed her bonnet and gloves on the seat. “Enough of this foolishness. I demand you return my property this instant. And please don’t deny what you’ve done. Omère confirmed the transaction last night.”
He sank onto one of the chairs and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Then the rumors are true. You gave yourself to a stranger last night, no doubt in exchange for information on your missing relic from that blackguard, Allemand. I’ll string him up by his toes. Damn my soul, but I would’ve bet my fortune you wouldn’t do something so foolhardy.”
“And you would’ve won,” Hope spat, folding her arms over her chest. “You know me better than to believe I would sell my body for any reason.”
“Then how . . . ” A corner of his mouth curled as he stared at her with more than a little wonder shining in his eyes. “But, of course. Whose secrets did you divulge?”
Hope grinned then, for once having the stronger hand. “Are you afraid I sold you out?”
“Not in the least,” Isaac said, folding one leg over the other. “Omère has nothing to fear from me.”
“Give me the asson, Isaac.”
He leaned forward, his fingers forming a steeple over his lips. “I can’t do that. Your well-being is at stake, and I won’t allow you to bury yourself out of foolish pride. The Daughters of Dorcas are gaining momentum. Le Havre is their first target. I can’t stop the temperance movement. If the police storm the premises and discover evidence of voodoo . . . Well, I needn’t expound on the repercussions. You will bring an end to this nonsense—even if I must threaten you with the loss of your family’s most precious voodoo relic.”
“I’m not blind to the dangers of practicing my craft!” She took a turn about the room, unable to contain the raw anger coursing through her. This wasn’t any of his business; Le Havre would survive any assault unscathed. The pitfalls for herself were obvious, and her defense against them strong. “Why do you think I keep meticulous notes regarding my customers’ affairs? What you’re asking of me . . . to pretend as though I’m not destined to be a powerful mambo . . . I may as well cease breathing or starve myself.”
He came to her side and would’ve embraced her, but her scowl warned him off. He sighed and rubbed his fingers over his forehead with a look so forlorn she almost regretted the rebuff.
“Blackmail can only buy you so much insurance, Hope. If an entire mob rises against you, the authorities will have to take action. They’ll discredit you.”
A growl built in the pit of her belly, but she fought it back. “You mean your wife will discredit me. You’re the most influential man in this city, and you’re trying to convince me you can’t control your wife? Threaten to burn Harmon Grove if you must.”
His neck flushed red, and he turned away, walking to the French doors overlooking the courtyard. “You know I could never hurt her that way, or my son. The plantation isn’t mine to barter with. That is Charles’s legacy. Believe me, I’ve tried reasoning with Lucetta, but she’s a stubborn woman.” He glanced over his shoulder with a resigned look that said “much like you.”
Was it stubbornness or perseverance? Her will to prevail was as solid as a block of ice. He wouldn’t budge in his position, thus leaving her no choice but to threaten his own livelihood.
“The final ceremony on my journey to mambo is days away,” she said, her tone calm. “You will give me my asson, or I’ll leak the truth of Jenny Cobbs’s death to The New Orleans Times. You know I have proof to back up my story.”
He whirled around, his face ashen. “You wouldn’t—”
“I will. You leave me no choice.”
“There is always a choice! Please trust me in this matter. I promise this untenable situation will soon pass,” he said, his shoulders tightening. “Let us call a truce. I’ll relinquish the asson to your care for purposes of the ceremony, if you promise to give it back immediately after. Until the threat of the Daughters of Dorcas passes, the evidence you’re a priestess will stay locked in my vault at the bank. Please, don’t gamble with your future as your mother did. Make the right choice.”
“I do not need, nor want, your protection!” she spat. Why must she negotiate over her own goods with this man? If it weren’t for Isaac’s wife, she wouldn’t even be in this position. This situation was ludicrous.
“Perhaps not, but you should take it. No one would dare search my private bank vault and you know it. Your plan might work, whereas mine most certainly will.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she glanced away. His proposal was a compromise and would offer foolproof protection against those who would see her fall. In that regard, he was right.
She nodded. “Truce.”
“One more thing. I’m giving you one week to remove all traces of voodoo from Le Havre, or else I’ll have no choice but to shut the boardinghouse down.”
She sucked in a lungful of air and grabbed hold of a nearby chair. An idle threat, surely. But the tight set of his jaw was all the evidence to the contrary that she needed. When Isaac set his mind to something, he was unmovable.
“Damn Lucetta to hell,” she hissed, leveling him with a glare. “I’ve never called upon black magic, but if your wife ruins the livelihood of my girls, she will pay, dearly.”
Gathering her gloves and bonnet, she exited the study, head held high. Scampering footsteps echoed in the hallway, leading in the direction of the parlor. Had Stevens pressed his ear to the study door, unable to quell his curiosity? The man had always been loyal to Mrs. Moore. Well, he’d gotten an earful to relay to his mistress!
Tugging on her gloves, she called out, “Don’t bother rushing to the door, Stevens; I’ll see myself out.”
But as she neared the foyer, she caught a glimpse of a gentleman’s figure disappearing into the parlor before the door clicked shut. From what little she saw of him, he was tall and impeccably dressed. So, the intruder wasn’t Stevens, after all. Could it be Isaac’s son, Charles? Even better. Let him run to his mama and warn her of the Widow Leblonc’s diabolical plans. Hope would be too busy trying to save her boarders’ livelihoods to care.
Chapter Fifteen
The hour was late when Hatchet stood on the front porch of Le Havre. He smoothed his hands over the lapels of his jacket for the second time and twisted his head to the side, cracking his neck. Though unsure of his welcome, his gut told him Hope would be furious.
He’d chosen to walk out of the auction last night, with no intention of ever walking back into her life. Until he’d overheard her heated discussion with his father earlier that afternoon at Magnolia House.
Hatchet breathed deep, counteracting the butterflies clattering in his stomach. He was a bloody fool for ever doubting her. The woman possessed a magnificent mind and courage beyond most men. Trust me. Why hadn’t he listened to her plea? He let out a breath, accepting the truth.
Because the stakes were too high, and he couldn’t see any alternatives to the outcome.
He’d seen what the owner of Le Grand Maison wanted him to see. The situation had spiraled out of Hatchet’s control. He couldn’t stand by and watch as he had so many times during the war. Not when he’d wanted to fight to keep Hope for himself. A battle she denied him.
But, as it turned out, his girl didn’t need a champion. Victor’s retelling of the events confirmed what Hatchet already kn
ew: Hope was cleverer than he gave her credit for. God, he was so damned proud of the way in which she’d gained the information she wanted, without compromising her values.
But her meeting with Isaac earlier in the day had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Spying on their conversation was a low point. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist when he heard her voice as he passed by the study.
He would lay odds Hope’s threats against his mother were little more than posturing. Black magic came at a high cost, and she would never jeopardize her craft. Perhaps his father’s tactics were extreme, but better to be cautious than find Hope hauled to jail. Given a while to mull over the situation, she would come around to his thinking.
A trill of laughter brought Hatchet back into the moment, and he didn’t hesitate any longer before knocking on the door.
“I was wondering if you were going to stand there all night, sugar. I’m glad you found your courage.”
He glanced over at Adeline, who was poised in a seductive pose against the window frame of the parlor. “Should I be nervous?”
Her nose scrunched, and she held her forefinger and thumb an inch apart, but before she could clarify, the butler greeted him with a scowl.
“Good evening, Albert. I’m here to speak with Hope,” Hatchet said as he stepped over the threshold.
The giant moved to cut him off, placing his hand in the middle of Hatchet’s chest, pushing him back to the porch. “She isn’t accepting visitors, mate.”
After peering at the hand restraining him, Hatchet met the butler’s icy stare. The man had a big set of ballocks. “All visitors or just me?”
Albert’s toothy grin mocked him. “Just you.”
“Fuck,” he said under his breath.
The odds favored the butler in a fistfight, given his advantage in both height and weight. But Hatchet was handy with his fives. Add motivation to his side, and he was sure he could take the man on and win if he wanted to press the issue. The glint in Albert’s eyes dared him to lash out.
Every muscle in Hatchet’s body vibrated from a rush of adrenaline, but he backed away with his hands in the air. Hope wouldn’t thank him for smashing his fist into her butler’s jaw. Nor did he want to incite trouble for any of the other guests.
The door slammed in his face. He stumbled backward and grunted. That hadn’t gone well.
“You’re not giving up, are you, darling?” Adeline said from her perch on the windowsill.
He lit a cigarillo and puffed on the end until billows of smoke cascaded in the air. The sweet scent curled in his nostrils and soothed his ire. Adeline patted the empty space on the windowsill beside her, and he leaned his buttocks against it for support, staring into the dark street ahead.
“What would you have me do? She doesn’t want to see me.”
“Of course she does.” His companion’s throaty laugh echoed in the night. “Hope has been irritable all day, fussing with her herb garden and mumbling to herself. She needs a tumble in the sheets, if you ask me. She ordered Albert to send all guests away . . . then changed her mind, joining us in the parlor, and then she changed it back again. Almost as if she was expecting company and became frustrated when you didn’t arrive by a reasonable hour.”
He would’ve arrived earlier, but he’d spent his afternoon at the library, scanning the newspaper archives. Had his father killed Jenny Cobbs? Murder could incite a curse, even from a slave girl. Mary had found a voodoo doll at the plantation. The facts fit.
Still, Hope’s accusation clashed with Hatchet’s memories of the event. Mary had written to him of the slave girl’s tragic accident while he was off at war. Perhaps he would pen a note to Pauline on the morrow to clarify. Tonight, he needed to apologize to Hope.
“You believe she was waiting for me?” he asked with a lift of his brow.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Hatchet blew out a ring of smoke and chuckled. “So Albert was getting my goat?”
“More like getting even.” Adeline grinned. “And protecting his girls. Callers have been leaving their cards all day, but Albert knows you’re at the heart of her agitation.” She leaned in closer. “We all know you visited in her bedroom. The first man ever since I’ve lived here.”
“And how long have you lived here?”
“Since the beginning.”
His heart swelled a bit, though Hope had already told him as much. But that part about Hope waiting for him to come and being angry when he hadn’t? That was a golden nugget.
“So what do you suggest I do?”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Walk around to the servants’ entrance. There’s a stairwell in the back. I’ll unlock the door for five dollars.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
“Slow night, Hatchet. A girl has to make a living somehow.”
Indeed, she did. With a nod, he pressed the butt of his cigarillo on the bottom of his shoe then handed over the bill. “Around back, you say?”
“Hurry along,” she whispered, shoving the bill into her décolletage. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
Finding the back entrance was simple enough, but his hands began to shake as he climbed the flight of stairs. What would he say? All he wanted was to haul Hope into his embrace and kiss her senseless, but he felt honor bound to confess his identity. Yet, how could he? The truth would not go over well, and he still needed her to banish the curse. That bit of news must wait a while longer, until Hatchet had convinced his mother to focus her battle elsewhere. There were plenty of brothels within the French Quarter.
“Through that door,” Adeline whispered with a wink. “Don’t let her scare you away. She’ll spit fire, but not for long if you play your cards right. Just remember this: she fancies you.”
He nodded and entered without delay. Best to rip off the bandage.
Hope sat upright on the chaise longue, setting aside a square of red flannel she’d been cutting. Her silk gown was cut daringly deep and teased the eye with hints of her plump breasts.
His cock stiffened as she stalked toward him, her dark-chocolate eyes burning with anger.
“Get out of my bedroom!” she growled, pointing to the door. “Who let you in?”
“Hush,” he said, capturing her in his embrace. She struggled, but he held her firmly, meeting her eye to eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the strength to watch another man win the chance to bed you, not after I foolishly rejected your offer.”
Her hands stilled against his chest, and his heart rate quickened.
“Don’t you mean Omère?” she goaded. “He’s a generous lover.”
“Especially him,” Hatchet grunted. “You should’ve told me you didn’t plan to sleep with him.”
Her chin lifted. “Omère is a handsome man, and we had a deal. What makes you think I didn’t spread my legs to get the information I desired?”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he stroked her cheek. “I know you didn’t bed him, because you’re so angry with me. You asked me to trust you, and I walked away. I’m sorry.”
“Victor told you what happened.”
“Well, that, too,” he admitted, nuzzling her ear. “Adeline told me you waited all evening for me to arrive. I’m here, Hope. Do you really want to argue or kiss?”
“Argue.” She pushed away from him and sat on the chaise longue, picking up the red flannel once more. “Why are you here?”
“To grovel at your feet,” he said, kneeling before her. “Please, forgive me. Teach me to let go of the past, let me breathe life into you again.”
Her eyebrow lifted as she dabbed oil on the red flannel. A cloyingly sweet scent wafted into his nostrils: cinnamon, oranges, and . . . He breathed deeper. Roses.
“What are those?” he asked when she placed two gnarled roots on the cloth. “Good Lord, but they’re ugly.”
She snorted and began threading a needle. “Blood roots: one king, one queen. I’m making a sex charm. If one sews it to the mattress, there will be marital bliss in the bedroom.”
“You’re not even married.”
“True, but I might be someday. Can’t fault a man for planning ahead,” he said, nibbling on her ear.
She turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck. “I’m still angry with you.”
He trailed his lips over her flesh, kissing ever so softly, inhaling her exotic scent. His hands roamed up and down her back, slow and rhythmic. “Don’t be mad. I’ve apologized, and I’m groveling. Tell me who bought your asson.”
Her head fell all the way back. “Why should I?”
He smiled against her neck and suckled the delicate line of her collarbone. “Because you want to gloat, and I want to know so I can help you recover your stolen treasure. I still need a meeting with Marie Laveau. Before you fall in love with me.”
She giggled and slapped him on the arse. “Pompous man!”
“I am not! You like the way I touch you.” He cupped one breast in his hand, and she moaned. “And I make you laugh. So you’re at least halfway in love with me.”
Bending, he clamped his mouth over her taut nipple, sucking through the fabric of her gown. She held his head, and her breathing quickened.
“Maybe a quarter of the way in love, but keep doing that and—”
He nipped harder before standing once again. “If you want more, you’ll have to tell me where to locate your treasure.”
“Isaac Moore deposited my asson in a lockbox at the bank. He bought it last week in a private auction from Captain Corbin. We spoke this morning, and he will give me the heirloom for my final ceremony. I no longer require your help.”
All information he already knew but couldn’t let on. He found her lips and dipped his tongue inside. She tasted of strawberries and honey, so unbelievably sweet. Pulling away, he gazed into her triumphant eyes.
“But I still want a meeting with Marie. Tell me, what is your price?”