by Meg Hennessy
“He had learned something, Loul. His letter stated it was about Colette. He was not killed without reason. It’s a place to start. Make the barrels. Once you have that insignia, how long?”
Loul nodded as a confident smile brightened his dark face. “I’ll have at least ten done within forty-eight hours.”
“They need false bottoms with fake wine.” Jordan winked.
“Fake as this here plantation.”
“Ah…now you’re hurting my feelings—” Jordan halted, pulling free his pistol. The shadows of the darkened bayou seemed to whisper to him, close to his ear. “Did you hear that?”
Loul looked around. “I heard nothing.”
“Must have been the wind.” Jordan stepped off the dock onto a pirogue and waited for Loul to board. He pushed off through the marshland, silently moving across the black water. The winter air had penetrated the back swamps, stirring cool mist into the night.
With hardly a ripple, the pirogue floated through the tussocks and over the murky waters floored by deep sand and dense undergrowth. As they floated away from shore, Jordan concentrated on listening to the sounds of the midnight marsh. He had heard something out of the ordinary, something faint—rhythmic—like drums.
…
A brutal morning sun filled up Aurèlie’s room before she was ready to surrender her sleep. Most of the night she had tossed about. Once, thinking she heard something, she had again climbed out of her bed.
Through the glass window, she thought she’d seen some men grouped to the rear of a sugarcane field near the water’s edge but they had disappeared before she could be certain. Her mind raced through the image of Jordan last night. He had been heavily armed. Why?
The brass washstand, basin, and pitcher that stood to the rear of her room had been filled with water. She unpacked her handwoven cane baskets, a present from her grandfather, years ago. One she had filled with savon and the other with assorted hair adornments.
After her morning wash, she plowed through several dresses, pulling on a bright orange calico dress with capped sleeves, trimmed with blue and orange and a high-buttoned corsage. She so needed a dose of color to face the day. After tying her hair up, she added long bobbles to her ears.
She approached the door, suspecting it would not be locked. Someone had filled her water basin, but why had it been locked last night?
Aurèlie followed the sound of voices to the breakfast dining room and found all three of Jordan’s household having a morning meal. Jordan had his back to the table, watching through the window toward the bayou. Maisie chattered away. Hattie said something as she walked from the table and disappeared into the storage room. The little girl kept right on talking until she saw Aurèlie.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Aurèlie.” She jumped off her chair and raced to meet her. “Look, Papa, Miss Aurèlie is here.”
Jordan turned to answer Maisie. “I see that. Good morning, Aurèlie.”
“Bonjour monsieur and Mademoiselle Maisie.”
Jordan returned his attention to the window as he mumbled, “Good morning would suffice.”
Aurèlie decided against the smile she had practiced. Day one already had a sour flavor.
Maisie ran to the side door of the storage room, and shouted, “Miss Aurèlie is here!”
Aurèlie fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was a room of complete disarray without any proper decorum. How dreadful for the little girl to grow up in such chaos.
Jordan turned around and pointed to Maisie’s empty chair but before he could say anything, Aurèlie spoke up. “Maisie, sit down and eat your meal, oui? Serve me, Hattie will.”
Her soft reprimand of the child brought Jordan’s attention to her. With a little annoyance, Aurèlie tapped the top of the chair. He looked up at her and something registered in his expression. He suddenly rose from the chair and formally bowed before pulling a chair out for her. “I apologize for my manners, I was ah…distracted. Please, Madame, join us.”
Aurèlie nodded her appreciation and sank into the chair.
“Did you sleep well?” her husband asked.
She wanted to say no. Being locked in her room all night had caused fear to invade her sleep. Hearing voices and seeing men creep about the grounds…she had hardly slept at all. Even more troubling, who had silently unlocked the door this morning?
“Oui,” she answered. “I slept well.”
Maisie smiled and leaned on her elbow looking at Aurèlie. “You are soooo pretty, Miss Aurèlie. Right, Papa?”
Jordan glanced up at Aurèlie and flashed a quick conspiratorial smile, as if she knew he’d play along. She hated the fact that for some reason, she wanted to know what he thought.
“Maisie,” Aurèlie corrected. “We do not ask for compliments. Especially of a gentleman.”
“I ask for you, not me. I only asked Papa, not a…a…”
“Yes, she is very pretty.” Jordan ended the debate.
“See.” Maisie grinned.
“Merci.” The momentary concession brought a warm flush to Aurèlie’s face, even if his daughter had solicited the compliment, it was kind of him to respond. He had a much gentler tone this morning than last night. She hoped it was the lack of whiskey and wasn’t only for the sake of his daughter.
“If you will excuse me…” Jordan finished off his cup, pushed his plate aside as he stood from the table. No longer was he heavily armed and his shadowy beard of last night was gone. His hair had been neatly tied back. He wore black riding breeches over muscular legs, a clean white shirt, and a silver waistcoat hung from his broad shoulders.
Without a cravat, she could see the same silver chain he had worn last night. As he turned, the sunlight flashed off the face of the medallion. Again, she felt a mesmerizing pull. She swallowed, trying to disengage her reaction.
“Miss Aurèlie, please join me in the library when you have finished your morning meal.”
She managed a nod, having nearly choked on the bland coffee. It wasn’t chicory flavored, as was her usual, but there was much in an American home she had to learn. Hattie placed a large plate of eggs, potatoes, and ham for her to eat. Having expected light toast with marmalade, she could hardly stuff the heavy breakfast down.
She stood, wiping her damp palms on her dress.
“Maisie, your père’s library, you will show me, oui?”
Maisie took great delight in leading Aurèlie through the house, chattering the entire time.
Despite the grandness of the house, it seemed so confining. Most of the doors were closed and shut out the sunlight, few pictures hung on the walls, and some of the furniture was crude, made on the plantation, rather than imported like her mother’s. If the house were opened up and allowed to breathe, it would be as airy as a pavilion. With double French doors in nearly every room, the house had been intentionally designed to do just that, yet here it was, dark and stuffy.
Aurèlie followed Maisie into the library, a room lined with armoires filled with books.
Sun light streaked through a small cathedral-shaped window in the corner. Directly in front was a small dais that held a large bible and next to the bible a prie-dieu, a praying chair of carved mahogany. Though his bible was covered with a thick layer of dust, the small connection to his religion gave her comfort, having been raised a Catholic.
They continued through the library to a closed door on an inside wall.
“Here’s Papa’s room.” Maisie knocked on the closed door a second before she pushed it open on her father’s command. “Papa? I bring Miss Aurèlie to you.”
He was sitting behind a writing desk made of sweet gum. There were two side tables, each with a side chair. In front of the desk were two butacas lined with faded leather, which appeared comfortable.
He rose as she and Maisie entered the room. The walls, covered with bousillage and painted ivory, threw off a soft glow from the lamp on the desk but with the outside doors leading to the veranda closed, the room was hot and filled with eerie shadows.
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“Thank you, Maisie. Leave us now.”
Aurèlie jolted when the door closed behind her.
Day one.
Chapter Six
Jordan placed his pen in the ink jug. He was a handsome man with dark, sultry eyes draped in long, thick lashes. The muted honey color of his hair contrasted with his dark features and tanned skin, meaning he spent more of his time outside than in.
Sitting in the chair across from her, he leaned forward on the desk, less than a foot away. She liked his eyes, rich like creamy caramels, the kind she used for making sweet pralines. She found comfort in his eyes, something upon which to anchor her hopes for a successful union between them.
The morning humidity clung to her face and droplets of perspiration ran down between her breasts. Her throat felt unusually narrow as she forced a swallow.
“Do you know the terms of our contract?” he asked.
“Non, monsieur, I do not.”
He turned the paper he had on the desk around for her to see. “Do you read English?”
She nodded, in spite of the fact that reading English was a challenge. Gleaning the document, she recognized enough to know that Jordan had paid her father a lump sum of thirty-five hundred dollars and would continue to pay a generous monthly endowment of one hundred dollars as long as they cohabitated.
Included in the bargain, she would live with him on Liberty Oak. But for her protection, he’d provide her with her own home if he married a white woman. Her parents had indeed driven a hard bargain for the garnered price was slightly higher than the usual rate and she wondered why a man who didn’t want a wife or mistress would pay such a sum.
“Any questions?”
Aurèlie shook her head that she did not. As things stood this morning, no one could lay claim to Liberty Oak except their son unless…she couldn’t give him a son or Jordan married a white woman. The land was so close, yet still far from her grasp. There had to be another way.
“You sign here.” He unfolded a paper that had been sitting on the desk. “This is the title to a house I purchased for you on the ramparts.”
“Non.” She pushed the deed back to him. “I prefer gold coin of equal value to buy my own home, should the occasion arise.”
Dismissing any fear of him breaking the contract, she was not going to be discarded or hidden on the ramparts like many young Creole women after having engaged a white protector. It was a risk, but her duty was to Yellow Sun and that meant staying right here.
He watched her, his dark eyes deepened and narrowed slightly. “Very well, Miss Aurèlie, when I sell the house, I will forward all coin earned.”
“Merci.” She nodded her agreement and would have celebrated her small victory had it not been for recognizing his kindness in meeting her demand. He didn’t have to give her gold, the contract specified he’d provide her with a house on the ramparts, of which he had.
“Merci,” she whispered again in true appreciation.
“You’re welcome.” He pulled out two key rings from his top drawer, one with several keys attached and one alone. As he did, a document came with it. Catching it quickly in his fingers, he stuffed it back into the drawer, but not before she caught a sense of alarm in his expression as well as the English letters m-a-r-q.
Her curiosity hung with the hidden document, even after he locked the drawer.
“Other than a settlement on the house, I have paid all monies involved for this arrangement to your father. The monthly compensation, I’ll give to you to do with as you please, and I will pay all of your expenses.”
As he spoke to her, the deep, rich sound of his voice, harmonized with compassion and sincerity, reached inside of her with a soothing touch. Like his eyes, she anchored her hopes to the tenderness she not only heard but also felt.
“These remaining keys are to the storeroom, smokehouse, pantry downstairs, kitchen outside, and doors. Hattie will show you around. She runs the house and takes care of Maisie. So you won’t need to concern yourself with that or my daughter. But a rule you must follow, the doors are locked at all times.”
If that was the case, Aurèlie examined the keys, wanting to ask which one locked her bedroom door. Her confinement last night had been intentional and the lack of discussion about it at the morning table made her cautious about broaching the subject. Nor had she missed the reprimand regarding his young daughter. Maisie was off-limits. But why, if they were to live together as a family?
“My door to the upper galleries is ah…cassé…ah…broken, oui, broken? Open it, I cannot.”
“It is October, Miss Aurèlie. The casements are closed.”
“But should open, non?”
“I’ll have it checked.”
That gave her encouragement. “And my door to the hall, it too must jam, for it did not open last night.”
He didn’t change expression but she caught a glimmer of something flicker through his dark, seductive eyes. He pushed his chair back from the desk and crossed his arms, signaling the conversation had ended. “It seems I have much to fix.”
Feeling she had pushed as far as she should, she nodded her appreciation. “Merci.”
He unfolded his arms and leaned forward on the desk, his hand brushing the top of hers. A slight intake of air kept her steady. Why did she react like this to a man she had been forced to marry in order to retrieve what had been rightfully hers?
“I want you to be comfortable, Aurèlie, and not to want for anything. Come to me if you are in need.” He had pulled his hand away but as he spoke, his hand slowly migrated back to hers.
“I am content, merci.”
That seemed to relax him, yet he didn’t remove his hand from hers but continued running his roughened thumb over the surface, the warmth of which ambushed her with a thrill down her spine. “I told you I will give you time to become accustomed to me.”
Her breath eased through narrowed lips as he lightly stroked her hand, a slow burn trailed behind each stroke. She ran a tongue over her upper lip. “Oui.”
His thumb, rough, glided over her skin with a gentle touch. “Normally there would have been a courtship, time to see each other.”
“Oui,” she barely whispered. The coarse surface of his thumb going over and over her skin drew a spark of heat that soaked through to her palm. He swallowed hard, as if wrestling with something within his own mind and for a few seconds they were silent, his thumb going around and around atop her hand until she turned her hand upward, pressing flesh to flesh. His fingers lean and strong, wrapped around hers with one sensual stroke.
Why do I feel this way?
He looked up at her. Falling directly into his gaze, she sucked in a slight gasp, his glance so intimate. Slowly, he ran his fingers upward along her arm, across her shoulder, then grazed the side of her face. With deliberate casualness, his hand migrated down her throat to tap the top button of her dress.
“It is quite warm in here. Why don’t you unbutton that?” His voice carried a note of ownership.
A strange sensation niggled through her carefully constructed exterior. Obligation made her obey but the little stroke of heat that rushed her belly made her want to. As he watched, she unbuttoned. The fabric parted. She glanced up to catch his reaction.
He looked pleased, sliding his fingers between the dress and her skin, before he whispered in a husky voice that sent a warm tingling caress across her shoulders. “Another.”
She unbuttoned the next, her nerves vibrating within her body. He slid his hand along the inside of the front placket, lingering over her beating heart. Her eyes met his for merely a second before she continued to unbutton until the corsage had been completely undone. Jordan followed the slow dismantle of her dress with his fingers, gliding over her heated, damp skin.
The room seemed so incredibly warm, she fought a faint. His touch so tempting, she wanted more. Without prompting, she pulled back the sides of her bodice, exposing the top of her breasts held high and firm within her corselet, though exposing n
othing more than what he had already seen from her low-cut wedding dress. He seemed to like her initiative, smiling slightly, running the back of his curved fingers along their plump ridge.
Her breath quickened with shallow gasps as her body’s heat rose to challenge a Louisiana sun, sizzling and dangerous. She watched as he rose from his chair. Taking her by the elbows, he brought her to her feet and stood behind her. Her knees were weak, wobbling beneath the weight of her dress or perhaps…his touch.
She tried to sort out all the odd little feelings that ravaged her body at will, a tiny bite here and there until her body ached with a need to feel his arms around her, to feel his fingers stretched across her breasts, his tall frame pressed to hers. But he was not moving as quickly as her imagination. With his hands on her hips, he leaned into her hair at the base of her neck.
“You smell good. What is that scent?”
She scrambled for the name, her mind reeling from the stirring sensations that fluttered about her body without abandonment, without propriety, just want. “Ah…strawberry. Savon.”
“I like it.” His warm breath curled around her neck like a hot bayou night. “Please, buy more.”
“My mère makes it.” Her failing knees caused her to fall against him, captivated by the compelling potency of his seduction. She closed her eyes to block out the dark surroundings of the American’s home. Instead, she inhaled the immediate moment, which for some reason seemed nearly magical, so…unexpected.
He held her flush against him and whispered, “Are you getting accustomed to me?”
“Oui, ever so.” She could muster nothing more.
His hands slowly migrated upward and over her breasts but that sudden boldness brought on a jolt, her body stiffened. His movement stopped as if sensing her retreat.
“Me pardonner,” she said, shaking her head to chase off her fear.
“It’s all right,” he whispered.
His hands floated away as he turned her around in his arms. Her breathing ragged, she allowed herself to sink into his dark, sensual eyes.