by Meg Hennessy
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Oh, please, Papa.” Maisie came to life and reached out for Aurèlie.
Aurèlie fought back the mist in her eyes when Jordan conceded but kept Maisie huddled within his arms. His family had once again become off-limits.
The house, which usually had the dark and musty feel to it, seemed brighter and as they exited the dining room, laughter followed them.
Aurèlie realized how often she had heard laughter in her own home, but never here. With Jordan’s family together at last, might he find the peace that he sought?
He pushed the door to Maisie’s room open with his foot and carried the little girl to her bed. Aurèlie drew a tunic from the child’s wardrobe.
“We will be a moment.” She motioned for Jordan to step outside the room for Maisie to dress. Aurèlie combed through her long blond curls, then rolled her hair up into her mobcap. After she was done, the child wrapped her arms around Aurèlie’s neck and hugged her.
“Don’t leave me again, Miss Aurèlie, please.”
Aurèlie unraveled her arms and wiped her own eyes, unsure of what had changed between her and Jordan, or why? “I will not. Now under the covers, we call in your father, oui?”
“Oui.” She giggled with her clumsy French. “Papa!”
Jordan peeked around the door. “Is my little lady ready for bed?”
“Oui.” She giggled again.
Jordan smiled, strode across the floor, knelt down next to the bed, and kissed her on the forehead. “I bid you goodnight, my precious. Sleep well.”
Aurèlie kissed her as well before she and Jordan left the child’s room. They entered the hall and Jordan slowly closed Maisie’s door.
She and Jordan stood face-to-face, alone for the first time since his sister’s rescue. Though his face was slightly shadowed in the flickering lights of the wall sconces, she could see the true goodness of the man in the deep color of his eyes and felt his quality through the depth of his soul but he was troubled. She could see that in his expression.
Laughter rolled up the stairway and whirled around them, but he seemed not to hear. He reached out and gently took her by the arm. The heat of which mercilessly raked her body. All of her fantasies about wanting a man of her own color, a Creole, had withered away. He was an American and she was not. She could never legally be his wife but no longer found that of importance. Only Jordan mattered to her now. His daughter—his family—their future family.
Slowly, he drew her into him, pressing her against his body. His desire as palpable as his touch. He curled his fingers around her face and lifted her lips to his. He kissed her long and hard, a challenging kiss that spoke of despair, not happiness, a loss versus a gain. Her heart started to hammer with fear. There was something in his look, something in his kiss that left her feeling shattered.
Had she become another broken heart sentenced to Rampart Street?
“Come, Aurèlie, to my study. I have something for you.”
Jordan struck a dip-match and lit the desk lamp. Aurèlie had followed him step for step from the upstairs through the library to here. Colette had already gone upstairs with the baby, and Hattie was busy making the two of them comfortable. Loul had gone outside for a smoke.
“I have something for you,” Jordan said again, closing the door behind them.
She hesitated, unsure of what he intended to give her, and worried about his mood, about the contract between them, about their future.
“A few weeks ago, you confessed that you married me to join the plantations together, that you wanted this land back. Several times, you’ve said so.”
Oh, this was not a good beginning, making her chest ache with a fear that she had lost Jordan before she ever had him. She stepped toward him. “Jourdain, much has changed.”
“No, not really.” He stepped away from her, driving the fear deep into the pit of her stomach. “Listen to me. You got what you wanted. I had your name applied to the deed. You own Liberty Oak, or Yellow Sun, whatever damn name you call it.”
From his desk, he drew a document and handed it to her. “The deed.”
Aurèlie gasped, unable to fathom owning Yellow Sun. Her heart slipped into an irregular rhythm. Her body warmed not only with that knowledge, but also with love for the man standing before her, the dreaded American, who had made her heart’s desire a gift. “You do this, why?”
“Because…” he drew a deep breath, as if his next words would be painful. “You said I was kind.”
“When did you do this?”
“The night of the dinner. I had the city attorney revise the deed.”
That is why the curse had been lifted. Jordan had saved himself. She stepped closer, knowing now they’d all survive together and the battle for the city, for the power of her people were no longer against him, but were now with him, as they had been on their perilous journey across the gulf.
Aurèlie reached up to run her fingers down the sweat of his temple, across his lips, and beneath his chin, but when her fingers had migrated only to his lips, he stepped out of her reach. Her hand fell to her side and that ache in her stomach grew ten times.
“You are very kind,” she whispered.
“No, I am not.” He surprised her by taking her hand in his and brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing them lightly but a sense of deep regret hung tightly around his features. “I, too, must confess that I used you.”
Aurèlie held her breath, feeling a need to brace herself. His voice hard, unyielding.
“I used you. Your father threatened to expose me, turn me in. I needed to keep the charade of being a planter going until I found Colette. I married you for that purpose. That’s why I tried very hard not to make love to you, so you could return to the plaçage market after I dissolved the contract, after I found Colette. I never intended to stay in Louisiana, nor give this land to anyone.”
His confession got all balled up with the hurt in her stomach and churned it into a pain she had never felt, a pain she had tried so hard to protect herself from. But Jordan had defeated her defenses and would now leave her to flutter her life away on the ramparts.
“The deed, was not from kindness but to clear your conscious? To make you believe you had done nothing wrong?”
“Allow me that, please.”
“No, no, I will not accept. I do not want Yellow Sun. Not like that.” The tears overtook her eyes. She tried for calm but couldn’t stop the sobs that burst from her heart. “I do not accept this from you. I know you love me, but will not say, non? Why will you not say? Why would you do this to us?”
“This contract is not what you wanted. I don’t want this for you.”
“And what of my wants?” Feeling stripped of what she thought would be her life, her mind filled with images of the little house on Rampart, a broken heart, and the white man who deserted her. How could she have been so foolish? All her fears had come to fruition. How dare he? How dare he think to do this to her, after giving him her heart? A heart that had nearly stopped beating. The blood rushed her face; she turned hot. Wanting to strike out at him in some way, she raised her hand to slap him but Jordan caught her wrist in mid air and reeled her into him.
“What are your wants? Say it!”
“Jourdain…I want to be a family.”
“Say it!”
“I want to be Maisie’s mère.”
“Say it!”
The breath caught deep in her throat, she could not swallow, nor form a word in her defense. She loved him. Tell him! Tell him! Her mind screamed. Her heart begged. She tried to move her lips, but her body felt frozen, fear blocked all thoughts. He could so easily destroy her. Her body felt weak, her legs crumbled beneath her. “I…I…”
“Just as I thought.” He held her steady on her feet, then released her, his voice hard, detached. “We have reached an end, we used each other, Aurèlie. You have what you wanted, as do I.”
…
Unable to bear the loss of her, Jordan walked past
her and headed for the door. He halted only after Aurèlie spoke.
“Do you think that I betrayed you?”
He turned to face her. “With who?”
Seemingly encouraged by his attention, she stepped toward him. “With the British or the Americans?”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“It is.”
“No.” Her directness on the subject surprised him and he wouldn’t deny there were times that her or her father’s politics had concerned him. He thought for a moment about the value of discussing it, but with the look of determination on her face, he knew she’d not let it rest. He waded in. “Somehow the British figured out who I was, when the Americans had no idea. How did that happen?”
“I do not know this. I admit to using you to get my grandfather’s property back, but a crime I did not commit.”
“Did you go through my desk?”
“I did in hopes to find some evidence to force you to give me the land, in the case I do not conceive a child. But that was in the beginning before—”
“Before what?”
Her gaze fell to the floor. He suspected he knew what she was thinking but would she give voice to what he knew her heart felt? He dropped the question with her continued silence and returned to the center of the study.
“Someone betrayed me.” As much evidence as there was that pointed in her direction, he couldn’t believe it of her. Even with their parting, he refused to believe she had betrayed him. “But I don’t believe it was you. At least, I don’t want to.”
She came to life, meeting him halfway in the study. “Remember the night of the dinner with your American guests?”
He nodded, bringing the image to mind, and before she spoke, it hit him. “The consulate? So you place suspicion on him but I remember you and he leaving the dining room and returning at the same time.”
“I had put Maisie to bed, then bumped into him in the hall. He claimed to have asked that his hack be brought about at half past nine but I knew that to be a lie. Where would he go? He had to know someone in these backwaters. I saw images of him in the library. I did not remember all that I saw in my vision until now.”
“What else do you remember?” The light from the lamp washed over her face, embracing her beauty that ambushed him with every glance.
“Colette’s medallion had been in the consulate’s hand. He held it shortly before someone took it away from him?”
“In the library?”
“No, long before that.”
“You’re saying he had seen the medallion before and was here searching for it again.”
“I think so.”
“Then who took it away from him? Do you know?”
“I do now.” She ran her tongue over her lips, preparing to speak, then pointed to a portrait on the wall. “Your father.”
“My father.” Jordan turned away from her. He physically swayed from the impact of that knowledge and walked over to the window, needing a breath of fresh air. He opened the casement window and drew swamp-scented air into his lungs, feeling in need of purging. All the mysteries unraveled and formed a cohesive scenario of what had happened in his father’s efforts to find Colette. The American’s voice he had heard the night of the abduction was that of the consulate. So much now made sense, but that knowledge did not answer the final question. Who had killed his father?
Aurèlie had followed him toward the window, placing a light touch to his arm with her fingertips. He looked over at her.
“Jourdain, you gave me your property. Why?” Her face gleamed under the soft, mellow light of the moon through the window, reflecting off the waters. Shadows wavered over her face, but her eyes, those deep, lustrous, dark eyes, trimmed in lace fans, watched him. Her tongue swiped across her lips, before she swallowed hard. He could see her heart pounding by the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. “You know why.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll say it like this.” He reached out and pulled her into him, wrapping his hand in the lustrous folds of her hair and forcing her face up to his. Her eyes met his, sending a deep rousing heat throughout his already taxed body. Pooling into his groin was lust, desire, and…love.
He loved her. Damn it.
He slammed his lips to hers and held her firmly beneath his grip. Her lips parted, welcoming his intrusion, his exploration of her, melting all resistance. Hell, he loved her, every inch of her, the damned French accent, and her ability to love Maisie. But it wasn’t to be.
He let her go.
She stumbled slightly then ran her fingers across her lips. “You love me, that I know, Jourdain, though you refuse to say it, non?”
Hearing the words aloud brought a swelling heat to his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He shook his head, refusing to let his feelings derail rational thought. He had a ship to destroy and the swamps were crawling with the enemy.
“I have not heard you say it.”
Her eyes widened with a sudden deep breath, a sudden awareness. The same fear he had seen when he’d asked before. She looked away from him as if gathering her thoughts. Her head shook slightly as she cleared her throat. “Jourdain, you must understand.”
“I understand.” Rejection bit hard into the lining of his stomach and convulsed what was left of his heart. He couldn’t change his color. He understood perfectly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jordan pushed through the dining room door and took the stairs to the loggia where Loul waited. Jordan fought to keep his concentration, Aurèlie’s expression of betrayal forever imprinted on his mind. Maybe he had been a little hard on her, but he knew she’d hate him when he dissolved the contract, having hoped Liberty Oak would soften the blow. It hadn’t. Taking all of his energy to do the right thing, he struggled not to pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her. For he did, with every breath he took. But she was young, beautiful, and had pined after a different life.
With the riches she gained from the plaçage, she’d be able to choose her life, make her own decisions. She was financially wealthy and the properties were now combined. He didn’t know what to think when she’d refused to accept the deed. She had chastised him for not saying he loved her, when in fact, she could not say it to him. Their love, their future, rested solely on her; she had to make her own choice, but refused.
Loul was smoking a cheroot when Jordan arrived. Loul gave him a once-over. “I see you’re in a dark mood. The trouble is over. We didn’t exact our revenge but we have a far greater reward.”
Jordan nodded, lighting his own tobacco. No one could argue otherwise. “We do, but not answers. Colette knows little of who took her. Nor do I understand the role of Edgar Brunette and his Lady Tempest? Why did he try to kill me? Aurèlie remembers more of her vision. She saw the consulate holding the medallion and that it was taken from him by…our father.”
“Our father. He was trying to trade it for Colette.”
“My thoughts exactly, but why an American consulate?”
“To ask for help? The consulate might have been a possibility for him. Enjoy our victory, brother. It was the most successful voyage of our lifetime.”
“Agreed.” Jordan drew off the cheroot, not wanting to share the fact that Donato de la Roche knew his true identity, greatly changing the future. He glanced over at Loul who stood there grinning. A smile Jordan didn’t share. Why hadn’t the celebration cooled his burning heart? Why was the pain nearly intolerable? Aurèlie. That’s all that came to his mind. Aurèlie. The woman he could not have. “Tomorrow, we join General Jackson. We need to get rid of that ship before suspicion falls on us in our retirement.”
“Do we scuttle her?”
Jordan halted at the idea, feeling a pang of regret roil up his throat. “Probably. Let’s plan our strategy to move the weapons to help the Americans and get rid of that ship.”
“The men won’t like it.”
“No, but they get it. Barataria is gone and with the British here…”
&
nbsp; Jordan and Loul pushed through the back door and took the stairs to the grounds.
The cool December night had a bite to the wind that penetrated Jordan’s shirt and leather breeches. Familiar sounds of the nearby waters creaked and croaked through the dark night.
A thin film of perspiration cooled his body, but his heart pounded in unison to his steps. He walked through the cane break, closer to the shore, and wandered out to the dock. Loul boarded first and once Jordan was aboard, Loul pushed off.
The men of Le Vengeur were working on the ship. Jordan had ordered the stolen booty from the British warship to be off-loaded into his private warehouse built off one of the inlets. In usual times, he’d bring some of the loot to Barataria for sale but he always kept a cache of arms, powder, and flintlocks. Any decent pirate kept himself well armed in addition to a foolproof escape route. But he wasn’t a pirate anymore.
He stepped off the pirogue and headed toward the warehouse, knowing how to negotiate the treacherous swamp in the dark. He had been a pirate for more than two years while searching for Colette. In essence, his mission had been accomplished but one thing nagged at him: if la Roche hadn’t been the man who had kidnapped her, who had?
The men were busy unloading the cargo when Jordan arrived. The destruction of Barataria ended much of his prosperity and that of his crew, but finding his sister ended the need.
Jordan drew on the cheroot and inhaled the deep, rich tobacco smoke into his lungs. With each exhalation, more and more of his world seemed frayed and unraveled.
As the men disappeared from sight with the loaded pirogue, Loul remained with the warehouse, checking the supplies to give the Americans. Jordan headed toward the ship. In his cabin, he found a bottle and poured the rum down his open throat.
The liquor felt heavy, potent, and rushed to his head, exactly where he wanted it. He loved this ship, Le Vengeur, but she had served her purpose. He had learned to love the sea, the open waters, the freedom, and dangers. But what now? He had never thought beyond the point of finding Colette. And with achieving what most would have said was an endless search, was it necessary to find his father’s killer?