by Meg Hennessy
But she was in charge. This was her declaration. She had done exactly what she had promised herself she would not do, allow her heart to feel for an American. Unsure of who angered her more, him or herself, she pushed away and spun on her heels toward the door, this time leaving him with heated breath and unanswered desires.
“Aurèlie?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
She halted and slowly turned to face him.
“You looked beautiful tonight.” He was breathing hard and his whiskey-soaked mind seemed to have cleared. “You were, without compunction, the most beautiful woman at the table.”
“Merci.”
For a hesitation in time, she stood facing him. Her breaths hard and labored, as was his.
“Why were you waiting for me?”
“The gentleman you had for dinner…the consulate…”
“What about the consulate?”
“Tread carefully, husband, he pretends, but has secrets of his own, I think.”
A seriousness creased Jordan’s forehead as his eyes turned dark. “How do you know that?”
“I just guess, that is all. Bonne nuit, my husband.” She smiled, feeling energized by her own outburst. “Bonne nuit.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jordan pushed through the back door and rejoined Lafitte on the rear loggia. “I need some air. I’ve had too much to drink tonight.”
“Good wine, not always easy to find, non?”
“No, but easy as hell to drink, and the whiskey.” Jordan drew on a lighted cigar, disappointed with the outcome of the dinner, which had been meant to garner information about the United States Navy and British movement in the salt swamps. “We learned little.”
Lafitte shrugged. “We learned the commodore would like to destroy us, but doesn’t have a grasp of the waters back here. That is good. On the bad, he won’t collaborate with us against the British. That is foolish.”
“He believes the mere existence of Barataria is his own personal failure. I would like to see his face if he knew your real name, Monsieur Clement.”
“He is a fool.”
Through the darkness, Jordan could see the light from Aurèlie’s bedroom window. Smashing his decanter was a bold move. She shocked him, but hell, he should stop drinking. She had made her point well. If he’d learned anything about Aurèlie Fentonot, she was anything but demure. She wondered if he wanted her? Hell, he could think of nothing else. But he had no future to offer her. She wanted this land. He hated it. She loved Louisiana. He despised it. She wanted a family but he would no longer risk it, for he had lost most of his. Perhaps it wasn’t the land, but him. Maybe he was the curse that had destroyed all whom he loved?
Aurèlie had weathered the test of American guests with grace and beauty. The dinner had been extraordinary, from the new decor, polished silver, to the four course French cuisine. The delivery was excellent, pacing good, and the servants knew their duties perfectly. But Aurèlie…she had outshined them all in her American dress. The golden gown had accentuated her pure innocence and had contrasted remarkably with the tint of her skin.
She was beautiful, inside and out.
Jordan drew on the cigar, allowing the smoke to curl around his face as he watched the shadows of her movement through her window. She was graceful, elegant, her body moved like a soft breeze rippling through still water.
He shook his head, not wanting his thoughts to go where he knew his body should not—to her arms—to her bed. Never had he anticipated that he’d want the woman who had been sold to him in a strong-armed plaçage. But he couldn’t give her what she wanted most—a real marriage. Nor should he consummate the plaçage, preserving her value was the only honorable thing to do. She thought to be angry tonight, what would she be when she learned it had all been a fraud?
Her family’s land had not been stolen, but when her defenses were down, when her words spilled from her heart and not her carefully constructed facade as a plaçee, she always brought up the land. It was in the land where Aurèlie’s passion resided.
But he found her love for the land curious. A love they did not share. She wanted Liberty Oak. So be it. He’d give her Liberty Oak, lock, stock, and barrel. Before the city attorney left in the morning, Jordan would give him the proper documentation to transfer the title to Aurèlie. Perhaps he could do that one good thing for her, so she wouldn’t hate him when he dissolved the plaçage and moved back to Boston.
The light went out in her bedroom, and Lafitte was still talking, bringing Jordan back to the conversation.
“We learn there is political pressure to rid the Gulf of the pirates—privateers. Meaning me, of course, and you. But that is no different than before, non?”
Jordan narrowed his focus on Lafitte, wanting to catch a subtle hint of response. “I was ambushed at the meeting you set up.”
Lafitte turned to face Jordan. “Mon ami, if I so wish you dead, dead you are.”
Jordan shook his head, trying to keep the suspicions from speaking for him. “I think I killed someone there. He rushed me. He sounded American. Have you heard who that might have been?”
“A dead man tells no tales. Perhaps you now have your revenge.”
“But not my sister. What do you know about Lady Tempest?”
“American, that’s about all but I did hear the captain of the Lady Tempest, Edgar Brunette, had disappeared.”
“I think I know why. I heard an American in Port au Prince, in the tavern where my father was killed. The night Colette was abducted, I heard an American.” Jordan drew on the cigar, wishing the smoke would carry away his fears that the only hope of finding Colette might have fallen into the water the night of the ambush. “Is Thornburg on your payroll?”
“Thornburg is a man of many means. Loyal to the highest bidder.” Lafitte glanced over to Jordan. “Those barrels lost, yours?”
Jordan nodded, feeling more and more on edge. The pieces to the puzzle continued to scatter about him, never landing long enough for him to understand the players. “They can be traced to Fentonot, Aurèlie’s father.”
“The consulate, not an honest man, at least tonight, eh? He ordered those barrels raised. He knows if smuggled, they are quite valuable. You lost much, non? He already knows they had the Fentonot seal on them. Which would not have mattered, had they been filled with only wine, n’est pas? But the man does nothing except for personal and political gain. Tread lightly, mon ami.”
“Who are his alliances?”
Lafitte shrugged. “I do not know.”
“You had to know Donato de la Roche was in New Orleans, yet said nothing.”
“If you wish to accuse me of betraying you, do so.” Lafitte drew long on his cigar before landing his gaze on Jordan, adding, “At your own risk.”
Jordan drew a deep breath, sorting out his thoughts, not wishing to alienate the only ally he had, yet suspicion ran rampant thought his mind. Who was the man at the tavern who had warned Jordan? “Did you know la Roche was in New Orleans?”
“I was surprised as you to hear. I always do know, except this time. Suspicious, eh? Tread carefully, mon ami, you are new to this game, nor do you have the manpower to fight Donato de la Roche. Even I hesitate.”
“Is there a way to contact la Roche—” Jordan stopped speaking, having heard a soft repetitive sound in the darkness around them. “Do you hear that?”
Lafitte stiffened, listening. “What should I hear?”
“Sounds like drums. Faint, but drums beating.”
“I don’t hear drums, maybe wine is not so good, eh?” Lafitte looked around and scanned the grounds. “Wait…I see something. There’s something moving out there.”
He climbed down the stairs from the gallery with Jordan close behind. Jordan took over the lead, silently moving down the brick walk to the dock. The air was thick with fog, and the water ever so silent as the sound of beating drums had abruptly stopped, but something moved within the darkened mist.
Jordan motioned to Lafitte and the two of them climbed do
wn on the land side of the dock and waited, hearing the soft, but steady parting of the water. Ripples started to arrive, circling around the dock stocks and rising to the shore followed by the plunking sound of pirogue poles, silently pushing through the night. A silhouette glided past them. Though washed within the hazy light of the moon, Jordan clearly saw the men aboard as did Lafitte.
“Ah, mon ami, this is not good,” Lafitte whispered as he and Jordan watched the pirogue soundlessly float past them. “The old salt swamps have become too busy, non?”
“So it appears. They must have a ship hidden in here somewhere to travel on pirogues and right under the nose of our astute commodore, upstairs in a guest room.”
The pirogue, carrying British soldiers, skimmed the surface of the dark water until rounding the peninsula and disappearing from sight.
“They pass your place and go where? What is down there?”
“Les Richesses du Bayou.” Jordan drew a deep breath, glancing up at Aurèlie’s bedroom window. “Fentonot’s place.”
…
The guests were all gone by half past nine in the morning. Eating their fill at the collation table, they said their good-byes, and finally, Liberty Oak returned to normal.
Through the entire morning, Aurèlie had noted Jordan watching her, as if measuring her for something. He was polite, almost overly so, but seemed to be concentrating on her.
Maybe her outburst last night had put him on edge. Or maybe she was not to have learned about the missing barrels. He had failed to mention that he was robbed when the subject had come up and why the pretense about speaking French? Regardless of his motives, today she’d find out, but she needed an excuse to go home.
Le Réveillon was only days away and she wanted some of her mother’s recipes and greenery to set about the house. That would be her excuse to leave the house today and find out about her father’s barrels.
They had returned to the small dining room overlooking the loggia. The sun dove behind building clouds and darkened the small room. Maisie sat eating her breakfast and perked up with interest when Aurèlie and Jordan strolled into the room. He poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowed a gulp or two, then faced her.
“I would like to see you in my library…now.”
Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t mistaken his signals this morning. Something was amiss. Her window of opportunity was closing.
“As you wish, but first, monsieur, I would like to discuss a visit with my family today, do you give me, ah…permission?” He was watching the water’s edge, then slowly lowered his cup to set it on the sill. “Jourdain, we go to my mères, oui?”
“No, we can’t do that.” His posture shifted. He continued to stare out the window. He glanced over to Hattie and seemed to speak in their silent communication.
But to Aurèlie’s advantage, the fuse had been lit and excitement captured Maisie’s face as she inhaled a quick breath of anticipation. “May I come?”
Aurèlie smiled, she could not have arranged a better ally. “But of course, little one, if your père approves, non?”
“Oh please, Papa, please.” Maisie clasped her hands to her chest as she entreated him with a beautiful smile. “Can we go to Miss Aurèlie’s house, Papa?”
“This is Miss Aurèlie’s house.” Jordan seemed lost in thought when he made the comment that yanked him back into the present. He cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t meant to say that, and once again, Aurèlie caught his glance toward Hattie. “I doubt there will be time. I have much to do today.”
“Of course, if there is much to do, I wish not to impose, but could journey on my own. I too have much to do.”
“For?”
“Le Réveillon. It is just eight days away.”
“Ah…Christmas,” he said in a whisper without taking his eyes off the water.
“Can we go, Papa?” The little girl held her breath watching her father.
He sighed, obviously not at all pleased, but finally, most reluctantly, gave a nod of approval. His eyes landed squarely on Aurèlie, causing her skin to rise with tension.
“I will see you in the library.” He spun on his heels and left the room.
Aurèlie had not missed the constant eye contact between Hattie and her husband, suspecting there was something more going on, but she had learned that Hattie was not her ally, but his.
Aurèlie rose from the table, having at least finished off her coffee, and made her way through the library and the sliding doors into his study.
Jordan had been standing with his back to the door of the library when she slid the panels aside. He had a glass in his hand filled with whiskey. She glided quietly across the floor and sank into the butacas opposite his desk.
He turned to face her. Swirling the whiskey in the goblet, he closed the distance between them. His dark eyes matched the color of the swirling liquor and she thought it odd that he’d drink so early in the morning. Especially after she had destroyed one of his many decanters last night.
Watching her, he downed the remaining liquor and put the glass atop the desk. Though dressed in gentleman’s attire, he looked tired, drained, his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. He had pulled off his coat and cravat, and the silver medallion hung in plain view.
He circled around her as if considering his prey. The intensity of his gaze burned off her courage. Her body shivered slightly.
“You wished to see me, oui?” Her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears.
“Yes, Aurèlie, I did.” The tone of his voice brought her some relief. He didn’t sound as angry as he had looked. In fact, he sounded somewhat defeated as he reached out with his arms and boxed her in the armed chair. “I want to know what powers you have.”
Her breath caught in her throat, she sucked in a shallow gasp. “I have no powers.”
“Of course not.” He pushed off the chair and again paced back and forth. “Why the sudden visit home?”
“I, ah…wish to see my mère and tell her the dinner went well. She helped me much and plan for Le Réveillon, ah, Christmas.” Aurèlie swallowed hard. The lies that entangled within her throat left her short of breath and feeling flushed. She drew another deep breath, hoping he’d not notice. He was on the hunt for something.
“You heard much last night. If the British were to know anything…you understand that?”
His comment gave her an opportunity. “What is it, husband, that concerns you?”
He smiled a fake, exaggerated smile, before falling back into his pacing. “These were American guests who shared information the British would be happy to hear. Your family is Creole.”
A heated rush spread throughout her body at the reference to her family and questioning their loyalties. She stiffly nodded, waiting for him to mention the stolen barrels of her father’s wine. “I do not understand.”
“I find it suspicious you wish to visit home right after several American dignitaries were here and spoke quite freely about the war efforts.”
“War efforts? I wish only to see my parents. I do not understand the politics or why you are angry.”
“I’m not angry.” He looked away from her for a moment. “I have much on my mind, Aurèlie.”
“A short visit.”
A moment of silence filtered through the room as he returned his gaze to her, as if he was trying to figure out what she was really thinking. He turned and again perused the shoreline through the window but it wasn’t a casual glance, he was searching for something.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, assuming with his preoccupation about whatever haunted the shoreline that she had been dismissed. She headed for the door, which seemed to stretch off into the distance.
“Aurèlie.”
She halted, her heart nearly in her throat as she heard him approach.
“Don’t mention anything about the barrels of wine to your father. I will investigate this further and will have the appropriate facts to share with him.”
She turned and faced him. “He
already knows, eh?”
Jordan shrugged. “No, he most likely does not. They disappeared on my watch before they were added to your father’s stock.”
“I see,” Aurèlie answered, though suspecting that he was not telling the truth. “I tell him you see him on the matter, oui?”
“No.” His tone hardened at her lack of understanding. “I’ll manage the matter; you are not to involve yourself or your father at this point.”
“You will tell him soon?”
After a heavy sigh, Jordan turned back to his desk. “Yes, yes, soon. I want time to replace the lost barrels. Surely you can see my point and as my wife, I expect you to understand your loyalties.”
Her loyalty to her family is what had put her in this situation. Encouraged by his softened tones, she pushed back from the door and closed the distance between them. Not more than an inch or two from his chest, she looked up into the dark, rich color of his eyes. Her hands brushed the medallion he wore around his neck until slowly, she wrapped her fingers around it.
“I will do as you ask of me, Jourdain.” She distracted him as she inhaled and closed her eyes briefly. Images flashed through her mind of the barrels falling off a pirogue, gunfire, and Jordan falling into the water.
Afraid he’d become aware, she started to release the piece until his fingers curled in around hers and held both firmly in his hand. Discovered, she looked up him. His eyes darkened as he narrowed his focus on her.
“My patience is quite thin this morning, Aurèlie. You’ll tell me what powers you have.”
“I have none.”
“What are you seeing?” His question shocked her. She tried to free her hand but he held her firm. More images floated through her mind of guns drawn and pointed at Jordan…an ambush. He jerked her hand, holding it tightly within his. “What do you see?”
“I see nothing.”
His grip tightened, becoming painful. She winced. “Tell me what you see.”
Her breathing ragged against his body, she sucked in all the air she could capture in her lungs. Feeling nearly faint, she tried to concentrate, to allow the images to flow through her mind, but her ability to manage them had never been strong.