by Meg Hennessy
“Pardon me, Aurèlie, I assumed you came when you were fully rested and appreciated the later hour.”
“I do not.”
Jordan nodded his approval but only after a slow appraisal of her, as if trying to find a motive. “Tell Hattie what time you wish for the table to be set, and it will be so. In my library?”
She slowly nodded and watched as he left the room. The dark breeches well outlined every pulsating muscle of his legs. He wore high black boots, similar to the other night, but these were well polished and struck the floor as he walked. As a broad-shouldered man, he carried his height with ease as his lithe form disappeared down the dark hall.
Her morning meal went down considerably easier today than it had previously and the walk to his library didn’t seem nearly as long.
“Come in.” She heard after she had knocked lightly on his door.
She stepped inside. Jordan was sitting behind the plain desk, pen in hand, with a pair of spectacles atop the bridge of his nose. Standing next to the desk was a tall dark man, most likely of mixed blood. He turned and watched as she approached.
Jordan removed the glasses when she approached his desk, rose and bowed slightly—a nice improvement in manners. He then motioned to the man standing to the right of him. “This is Loul, Aurèlie, you can trust him with your life. I do.”
Loul smiled and snapped his heels together, followed by an exaggerated bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame.”
Aurèlie acknowledged his introduction with a slight nod of her head, waiting for more, but without another word the tall man exited the study. She faced Jordan. “Who is that?”
“I just told you. A man I trust with my life.” Jordan motioned for her to sit in the same chair she had sat in yesterday. Her heart started to pound as she lowered herself into the worn, but comfortable, leather of the butacas.
He sank into his chair. “I await your decision, Aurèlie.”
“I will stay, Jourdain.” Of course she would and he knew it.
“Then I will try to make it more palatable for you.” The color of his eyes deepened, and she caught a flash of relief in his expression.
“I see your efforts, merci.” The truth, for he seemed to want to make her comfortable and she was most grateful.
“Good. I have a guest list for the dinner party I’m having in six weeks. I will have the invitations dispatched today.” He placed the list on the desk between them. “Hattie will help you with preparations, but if you’d prefer not to be involved—”
“I will do.” Admittedly, she was surprised, having suspected the dinner was something he had conjured up and the list was to cover his pretense, though why she didn’t know. She’d figure him out, as soon as she made use of her special key.
“We’ll go to New Orleans day after tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time to have a dress made for Maisie. Right? I’ll have it delivered.”
She pulled her eyes off the guest list, running the names of American dignitaries through her mind. Remembering the conversation she had overheard in the men’s salon the night of her wedding, she was curious about the members of the American Navy he intended to invite.
No longer did she believe he had hastily planned a social evening but instead had put serious thought into the occasion. She cleared her throat, unsure of how much conversation Jordan would allow. “Husband, I see you wish to invite Commodore Patterson. Isn’t he the one in search of the pirates? In search of Le Vengeur? He had not, ah…catched him, non?”
A small, crooked smile spread across Jordan’s face. “No, he hasn’t caught him but please do not insult my guest by making a point of his incompetence.”
“Je ne l’offenserai pas.” She waited but he didn’t take her French spoken bait; instead he looked confused. She sighed before repeating herself. “Offend him, I will not.”
Jordan nodded his appreciation with a slight flicker to his eyebrows. “Thank you.”
He pushed the drawer beneath the desk closed with a bang, then turned the lock. She watched as he dropped the small key into another hidden drawer protruding from the side of the desk. He looked up at her as if expecting more challenges.
“Cela est bon, Jourdain, ah…this is good.”
His posture had relaxed a degree. “I understand that to mean good. You will make all preparations?”
“Oui,” she whispered, noting his attention had fallen to the heavy jewel nestled between her breasts. Today she had worn an emerald silk dress with a dipping corsage, emerald earrings, and a necklace that hung at just the right height near her bosom, the calico dress replaced with elegance.
Anticipation raced her spine as she awaited his next move. Having barely touched his lips last night, she could hardly keep her eyes off them today, noting how every syllable, every sound seemed to accent his rugged handsomeness. She envied the cup he drank from, the tip of the quill he had kneaded between his teeth as he considered the list of invites.
Slowly, he rose from the desk and walked around it, coming face-to-face with her. He leaned down and drew a deep breath near her hair, fingered it lightly, before stepping back from her. “Another fragrance I like.”
“Rose.”
His hand lightly traced down the side of her face and across the bulging ridge of her breasts. “A dress I like.”
“Shall I wear this the night of the dinner guests?”
He chuckled with a slight shake of his head. “Oh I have learned my lesson well. Never will I again engage in a discussion about what a woman wears.”
“Our sparring was of benefit, I see.” She ignored the flutter of her heart.
“I wish not to spar with you, but seem to be at your mercy.”
Oh, so much power he offered her. She smiled, soaking in the influence she seemed to have over him and took the challenge. “Such a gentleman, n’est pas?”
A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned into her. “You think I’m a gentleman?”
“If you are not, you are disguised well.”
“Perhaps.” He dropped a light kiss to each breast as he slowly knelt down in front of her, his warm hands resting for a moment on each of her knees before he slid them down her legs to her feet. He glanced up at her from beneath those dark, comforting eyes, checking her reaction. She waited; she’d not stop him as she had the day before. Today, more prepared for what to expect, she’d concentrate on what she’d sense about her new husband.
“A man of many disguises, non?”
“Perhaps, my talented lady, as many as you have. Most of which I hope to discover.”
“As I will you.”
He hesitated, glancing up at her with his dark eyes. “It appears, Madame, I may have more than I had bargained for.”
Aurèlie allowed the relaxation from his touch to wash through her body, enjoying the intrigue. “Perhaps.”
Each of his hands, resting on her ankles beneath her dress, migrated upward, past the top of her boots, along her tight calves, pausing for only a moment behind her knees. After a gentle massage, his hands continued to journey upward along her bloomers. As he reached her thighs, he spread her legs and lightly traced over their tender insides. “A language we both speak.”
Using her powers, Aurèlie tried to concentrate on soaking in anything that would help her understand him. A vision raced forward of large waves crashing the side of a ship but quickly evaporated before she could bring it into focus.
“Oui,” she whispered. Her visions floundered under his touch. She sucked in deeply as he rotated his hands up her thighs barely touching her heated core and circling downward.
His odd guest list and the dreary room faded with her sudden want of him. He coaxed a pulsating need from the depth of her soul. Her breathing deepened with each rotation of his hands. Her stomach tightened, and her buttocks pulled tight.
No longer able to think, only feel, she leaned back in the chair and rested her head, allowing these new sensations to own her. Desperately, she wanted to feel his hands
on her bare skin. Without thinking, her body knowing what she needed, she reached down and captured his hand, pulling it toward her, toward that heated fire in need of stoking.
But he resisted. Instead, he took her hand to his lips and gently kissed the very tips of her fingers. After turning her hand against his mouth, he kissed her palm. His warm breath brought on a tingle that raced up her arm and thrilled her heart. She struggled for a breath and had decided to allow her mind to float within the sheer ecstasy of his touch when he suddenly rose to his feet.
Surprised, even disappointed that he was abandoning the session so quickly, she straightened her posture, waiting for her heart to return to a respectable beat. She brushed the length of her skirts over her knees, drawing in one long heated breath after another. Having enjoyed the pure sensation of his exploration, she felt as if something were left undone. He leaned down and gently kissed her temple.
“Please tend to the guest list, Aurèlie, and make preparations. That evening is of great import to me.” His voice sounded tired, even exhausted.
“Oui, I will do.”
She watched as he left the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man who, for some reason, today seemed weakened by something. Though he took the time to make her accustomed to him, his heart was not with him today. Was she the cause? He seemed to struggle to arrange her around his secreted life. When she had the power to read the hearts of so many, why could she not see into his?
The question lingered on her mind as she tiptoed toward the door, pressing an ear against it to listen for any activity in the library. Convinced she was safe, she raced back to his desk, fished the key from the secret drawer and unlocked the desk.
Reaching inside, she found the document, she had glimpsed yesterday, neatly folded against the back. She smoothed it out atop the desk and read.
It was a letter of marque, a letter authorizing privateering for Cartagena against the Spanish, as had many of the local corsairs claimed. The letter had blanks for the name of the captain and the ship. Why would a plantation owner have such a document, or perhaps the authorization to rob Spanish ships?
If Jordan was involved with corsairs, that would explain his knowledge of Le Vengeur, but he was an American and the letter of marque was blank.
“Miss Aurèlie?” Maisie’s voice floated in from the library and jolted Aurèlie. Startled, she stuck the letter back into the drawer, but in her haste crumpled it. Quickly, she pulled it out and smoothed it out on the desk.
“Miss Aurèlie, are you in here?” The door started to open.
Aurèlie had to abandon any hope of neatly refolding the letter. Stuffing it inside, she slammed the drawer shut and had barely turned the key when Maisie appeared.
“Miss Aurèlie? Papa says we’re going to New Orleans and for me to put my things in order. He said that is my chore today, but I don’t know what he means by things.”
“He means of which you will take, oui? I will help.”
Aurèlie rose from the chair, having to leave his drawer as it was, for now. Tonight, with secret key in hand, she’d follow Jordan.
…
Aurèlie curled up in a side chair she had pulled in front of her bedroom window watching as night slowly sank over Jordan’s plantation. A full moon rose above the bayou, casting an eerie glow over the sugarcane fields, their large stalks wavering in the faint breeze off the sleeping waters. Toward the side of the house were numerous large oaks, with draped branches and closer to the water, cottonwoods and black willows coalesced to form a shady curtain.
It would be easy to move about the grounds at night undetected. There were so many shaded areas hidden from the moonlight, but tonight she had planted herself at the window determined to see who walked the property at night and why. As usual, an hour or so after she had retired, her door was again locked.
Tonight would be different.
As she suspected, her door had a ward lock. The key from her mother was a skeleton key and worked beautifully. In the morning, Aurèlie had hung it on her chatelaine along with her timepiece, scissors, and vinaigrette. During the day, she had practiced on several doors with her secret key. Tonight, she waited, dressed and ready, to follow Jordan the moment she saw him outside but to her disappointment, she hadn’t seen any activity at all.
How could she follow Jordan if she couldn’t see him?
The mantel clock read ten minutes past midnight. Wearing a dark blue douillette over her dress, Aurèlie unlocked her door and silently slipped into the hall.
Maisie’s room was just down the hall on the other side of Jordan’s. Her door was closed. Hattie slept in one of the connecting garçonnières, and Jordan’s door stood open to expose a dark room.
Feeling her way down the hall, Aurèlie headed toward the back stairway. Reaching the lower level she decided to sneak out the front rather than risk meeting Jordan in the morning room or the outside loggia. She continued down the hall toward the front of the house when she halted. A faint light wavered through the open French doors of the large dining room.
“Come in, Aurèlie,” Jordan said in a hushed voice.
Her heart sank, the element of secrecy gone.
She stepped inside the dining hall. Her breath caught in her throat. There he was, sitting at the massive cypress table. On that table stood a bottle of her father’s wine. Next to it, were two filled glasses.
“So, you have yourself a key.” He smiled and made a sweeping motion toward the glasses. Lounging in the chair, his white shirt hung open, exposing a thick, muscular chest adorned with the ever-present silver medallion. “I expected you sooner.”
“You know this, how?”
“The chatelaine. Hattie noticed the addition of an interesting key. When she heard you fussing with the door today, she knew your key worked.”
“Knowing this, you still locked me in?”
“I have underestimated you, Aurèlie.”
“That is why?” Aurèlie straightened her shoulders and walked into the room with a stiff gait. “As you have made point of, monsieur, I’m not chattel and wish not to be locked in the room at night.”
He sighed. “I do this only for your protection, to keep you safe.”
“I keep safe from?”
He picked up his glass and took a sip. “American gunboats have moved into Grand Isle, pushing the smugglers into these back swamps. Look outside, you’ll see their pirogues gliding by here at night. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Why would they come back here?”
“Cargo holes. They use some of these inlets and swamps to store cargo. Ships could hide in here and no one would know.” He shrugged as if that were obvious.
“You do business with them, n’est pas?”
“They use my inlets at times.” He held out the glass for her to take. “Will you join me? Your father’s imported wine is by far the best I’ve ever had.”
“I grew up on the bayous, Jourdain. I am not frightened at night.” She lied, remembering with clarity the night of the drums and that she had never again walked the chenier.
“So you did and perhaps you’re not.” Again, he motioned to the wineglass with his concession. “Join me?”
She moved forward to accept. As her fingers touched the cool glass, a vision flashed through her mind of a tincture of opium mixed with the wine.
“Merci,” she whispered, pretending to sip a sample. Along the outside wall of the dining hall were several double French doors allowing a narrow view of the water. “Something is outside. A pirogue, I see?”
Jordan turned and peered out the window. Careful not to let him see her in the reflective glass, Aurèlie switched her goblet with his.
“There is nothing there.” He turned to face her, picking up his glass and drinking more wine. He refilled it and motioned to her drink.
“Join me, Aurèlie, it is your father’s best.” He leaned back. “I must keep you safe. Shall I have the locks changed?”
“I am safe.”
�
�Not if you wander about at night.” His voice sounded heavy, almost sorrowful. “You are a beautiful woman, would command quite a price in the right market.”
“I may be a woman of mixed blood, but a free woman.”
“It is my intention to keep you that way.” He swallowed another portion of the wine. Aurèlie watched his eyes begin to droop slightly. “It’s the world we live in…you…and…me.”
“Oui.” Aurèlie sat down across from him, waiting for the tincture to take effect. His breathing slowed to being barely audible. He didn’t say anything more, just closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Aurèlie returned to her room the moment Jordan drifted off to sleep on the opium meant for her. She decided against going outside to explore, at least until she had learned the layout of the plantation better. A hint of danger lingered in her thoughts after her conversation with her husband. For a man like Jordan to be frightened, something was amiss.
Besides, once Jordan woke up, he’d be furious that she had outwitted him. Her best defense was to play the innocent and wait in her room, not wander the fields at night. She had changed into a white muslin negligee and for warmth added a long flowing red mantel.
She couldn’t help but wonder why he was so concerned that something might happen to her. She’d lived here all her life. Reflecting over the past few days, she had noticed how overly strict he was with Maisie. Her time outside was always well guarded.
Aurèlie stiffened, hearing the creak of the stairs. Shadows from the hall spilled into her room under the door. Some one stood there. Her heart started to pound as she held her breath.
The knob slowly turned.
Chapter Eleven
Aurèlie’s door blew open, and there stood Jordan Kincaid. His rumpled clothes and mussed hair, spoke of an unscheduled nap. The color of his eyes had darkened more than the bayou night outside and the slight twitch in his jaw showed he was not pleased.
She backed up to the opposite wall of her room.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“You are very smart, Aurèlie.”
His expression forced her to smile. He seemed genuinely impressed, if not slightly puzzled.