Angel at Risk

by Leann Harris

  She was grateful that he hadn’t pressed his advantage, because if he had, well, there was no telling what her reaction would have been.

  “I need to check my truck. Why don’t you go on to bed?”

  As he walked down the steps, she said, “Thank you, Jean-Paul.”

  He looked up. “I’m a fool, chère.” He disappeared into the darkness.

  * * *

  He didn’t need to check his truck. It was just a convenient excuse to put distance between him and Angeline. If he’d stayed a second longer on that porch with her, he would have crushed that sweet body to his and kissed her the way a beautiful woman should be kissed. But that would have been taking advantage of a vulnerable woman.

  Not that he hadn’t been tempted. He wasn’t a saint, just a man who was drawn to a woman. When she’d been in his arms, he’d seriously considered taking her into his room, laying her down on the bed and loving her. It would have kept away the demons that hounded them both.

  It had felt right, having her body move with his. It was a glimpse of heaven. And now his body was in hell, twisted into knots of wanting.

  He walked around the house and climbed up the front stairs. After turning off the porch light, he stood looking out into the night. The music from the radio floated on the soft breeze.

  Everything appeared peaceful. It was a lie. This was just the unnatural calm before a storm.

  Chapter 8

  Jean-Paul gave up any pretense of sleep, threw back the sheet, slipped on his cutoffs and padded into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of tea.

  “May I have a glass, too?”

  He nearly dropped the plastic container at the sound of Angeline’s voice. He glanced over his shoulder and found her standing at the kitchen door dressed in her lacy white robe. Her hair hung loose, reaching almost to her breasts. Jean-Paul groaned. He didn’t need anything to highlight that part of her anatomy. He’d already spent too much time thinking about her body. That was one of the reasons he couldn’t sleep.

  “Sure.”

  He retrieved two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice and tea. He handed her the drink and leaned back against the counter. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

  She sipped her tea. “That’s the reason I’m awake at three o’clock. I’m worried about the town’s reaction. I mean, I’ve caused quite a stir. Can you imagine the furor tomorrow’s revelation will cause?”

  Oh, yeah, he could. The truths that would be divulged in that courtroom would tear this town apart with the strength of a nuclear blast. “There’ll be some reaction.”

  She laughed. “An understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

  The sound was sweeter than the song that the birds brought in the morning. “You should laugh more, chère. It brings such a beautiful sound to this harsh world, where there’s too little beauty and too much ugliness.”

  There was a need in him to draw her to him, to forge a bond that would survive the coming courtroom battle. He took the glass from her fingers and set it behind her. His thumb traced the bone of her cheek. “And your kisses bring more joy than viewing the bayou at sunset.”

  The large vein in her neck throbbed with her reaction. His finger lightly rested on the pulsing vessel. “Do you find as much delight in my kisses as I do in yours?”

  Her pink tongue darted out, moistening her bottom lip.

  “Ah, ma petite, what you do to me.” His lips settled on hers as softly as a butterfly on a leaf. He waited for some sign from her that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She moaned and opened her mouth. He rejoiced at her invitation by slipping his tongue into the moist heat.

  Shyly, she returned the caress. The jolt of electricity nearly knocked him into the next parish. The need to touch her overwhelmed him. He slid one hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head, then wrapped his other arm around her waist, molding her form to his. She fit him perfectly.

  His lips trailed across her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear. His teeth nipped the velvety soft skin that was rose-petal soft and as fragrant. Her arms slipped around his waist. The heat of her small hands on his back was like hot embers, urging him on.

  While he kissed his way down her neck, his fingers undid the belt of her robe. Slowly, he pushed aside the white satin to reveal her beautiful breasts showing through the lace bodice of her nightgown. “You are beautiful,” he breathed, leaning down and kissing the generous swell of her breast. A shiver ran through her body.

  “Did you like that, little cat?” Before she could respond, he moved his head slightly to the right, his lips capturing her nipple. Her fingers dug into his back.

  He found it intolerable that there was anything between his mouth and her skin. His fingers curled under the thin straps of the gown and pulled them down her arms. But before he could reveal the treasure he sought, her hands covered his, stopping him.

  “What is it, chère?”

  She refused to look at him as she fumbled with her nightgown, pulling it back in place, and retied her robe. Finally, she met his gaze, and he read regret in her eyes. “I can’t... It’s too... Maybe I’d better try to get some sleep,” she said, taking a step backward.

  “That’s a good idea.” Not what he wanted, but a damn smart idea.

  She paused at the door. “Jean-Paul?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish—I’m sorry...” She shook her head. “Good night.”

  He listened to her footsteps going down the hall and the bedroom door closing. Quickly the night sounds returned to normal. Too bad his heart couldn’t return to normal, also.

  * * *

  The next morning, Angie emerged from the bedroom dressed in a flowing print dress. She’d pinned up her hair into a soft bun. Gold stud earrings and a watch were her only jewelry. She placed an extra dab of makeup under her eyes, to conceal the dark circles resulting from her sleepless night. A night spent vacillating between nervousness about the outcome of the court case and her body’s traitorous longing for Jean-Paul.

  She smoothed down her skirt. “How do I look?” She felt awkward with him, after the heated kisses she had shared with him the previous night.

  Jean-Paul’s gaze moved over her with a lazy thoroughness. “Like a lady. A very, very beautiful lady.”

  The frank appreciation in his eyes made her heart beat in a crazy rhythm. “Would you like something to eat before we leave for the courthouse? I have croissants and coffee on the table.”

  She nodded and followed him into the kitchen, grateful for the delay. The coffee was hot, strong and a comfort this morning. She lingered over her second cup, stalling for time.

  Jean-Paul glanced at his watch. “We have to leave, Angeline, or we’ll be late.”

  “I’m scared, Jean-Paul.” The words popped out before she had time to think. Usually, she wasn’t so free sharing her feelings with others, but there was something about this man that made her act in odd ways.

  His hand covered hers. “I’ll be with you, Angeline.”

  The sincerity in his eyes and the warmth of his hand comforted her.

  The first inkling of how things were to go came when they tried to find a parking spot. There were no places around the court building or in the parking lot.

  Jean-Paul cursed. She glanced at him.

  “This is not a good sign, Angel. Be prepared.”

  He found a spot on the side street and they walked. By the time they reached the front steps, Angie felt like a wilted flower. Ted was waiting for them inside the main entrance, in the cool of the air-conditioned hall.

  “There’s a crowd,” Ted said after the exchanges of hellos.

  “You’ve looked in the courtroom?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “Yes.” He pointed down the hall. Old-style hanging fixtures threw pools of light on the tile floor. “Look for yourselves.”

  Jean-Paul and Angie peeked in the direction Ted pointed. Several people stood around the open double doors.

>   Jean-Paul muttered something in French. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what he’d said. Angie took a deep breath, trying to fight off the fear pounding in her brain. Jean-Paul stepped closer and snagged her fingers in his.

  “We’re here for you, chère. Don’t let this frighten you. Everything’s okay.”

  She acknowledged his support with a nod.

  Ted glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time. We need to get in there.”

  As they approached the doors leading to the courtroom, the whispered conversations of the people outside stopped and everyone turned and stared.

  Running the gauntlet of bodies, Angie felt their icy gazes like cold chills up her spine. As they walked down the center aisle, all talking ceased and a tense silence settled on the room. Ted sat down at the table across from the state-appointed attorney. Behind him, in the first row of seats, sat Roger Boudreaux and his son, Guy.

  Their startled gazes flew to Angeline.

  Jean-Paul nodded to the men. “Roger, Guy. How are you today?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled Angie into the first row on the opposite side.

  She glanced over at the men. Guy’s face took on an unnatural pallor, while Roger’s expression turned steely.

  Immediately, the proceedings were called to order and the judge asked the appointed attorney administrator if any heir had been found to Marianna Courville’s estate.

  He rose. “No, your honor. None has been found.”

  Ted stood. “Your honor, just this past Saturday an heir has come forward.”

  “And who is this heir?” the judge asked.

  “Marianna Courville’s daughter.”

  A murmur raced like fire throughout the courtroom.

  The judge had to gavel the audience to silence. “Where is this daughter?”

  Ted motioned Angie forward. “This is Angeline Fitzgerald. She is Marianna’s daughter.”

  “And what proof do you have of her claim?”

  Handing the documents to the bailiff, Ted said, “There are Angeline’s birth certificate and a copy of her adoption by Sarah and Thomas Fitzgerald.”

  The judge took the documents, scanned them, then handed them back to the bailiff to give to the state attorney. “Have you verified their authenticity?”

  “Yes, your honor. I have faxes from the hall of records in Boston and from the courthouse where the adoption was finalized.” He handed those to the bailiff.

  After studying them, the judge looked at Angie, then at Roger. “I will say that your presence comes as a great surprise to this court, Miss Fitzgerald, but all the documents are in order.” He addressed the state’s attorney. “Do you have any objections, Mr. Kelso?”

  The lawyer looked up from the papers he’d been given. He glanced over his shoulder at Roger. Roger shrugged. “No, your honor.”

  “Well, since there are no objections and the proof is convincing, I can rule in no other way. I declare Angeline Fitzgerald the heir of Marianna Courville and award her the said estate.”

  With a final stroke of his gavel, court was dismissed.

  Sound and movement exploded throughout the room, as everyone started talking at the same time. Angie sat frozen to her seat, the controversy caused by her appearance swirling around her like a hurricane. And through the din, Angie heard bits and pieces of conversation.

  “Illegitimate...”

  “A bastard. No wonder Marianna didn’t tell anyone. Why...”

  “Who was the father?”

  She jerked when she felt the heat of a hand on hers. Her gaze flew to Jean-Paul. There, in his eyes, were the comfort and understanding that she so desperately needed at this moment. He leaned close and whispered, “You won, chère.”

  “Did I?” She motioned to the mass of people behind them. “Marianna’s name has been damaged. Now the entire population of Mirabeau knows she had an illegitimate child. Her private shame is now public.”

  “Non. You, Angeline, are only a credit to Marianna. She would be proud of you.”

  Angie had withstood the pointed stares, the public display, the whispered words. But it was his confidence, his obvious pride in her, that brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured through the thickness in her throat.

  “What a touching scene.” The sarcastic words ripped apart the isolated world they’d created.

  Jean-Paul stiffened but didn’t turn toward the speaker. Angie frowned, then looked up into the intense, cold eyes of Roger Boudreaux. A hatred, old and powerful, rested in those depths.

  Jean-Paul must have seen her reaction, because he turned to face the older man. Roger’s attention refocused on him.

  “Roger.” Somehow Jean-Paul infused the name with such contempt, it sounded like a profanity.

  “Delahaye.”

  The room around them fell silent.

  “So, you think you’ve won?” Roger sneered.

  Jean-Paul slowly stood. He towered over the other man. “It was not a contest.”

  “Hah, what a liar you are. Everything you do is aimed at trying to bring me down. Well, let me assure you, you haven’t won.”

  Jean-Paul’s hands knotted into fists. Angie stood and laid her hand on Jean-Paul’s arm.

  “You’re calling me a liar, Boudreaux? You, who’ve built an empire on deceit and lies?”

  “I haven’t been convicted of corruption and sent to prison.”

  Angie jerked as if she’d touched a live electric wire. Roger immediately honed in on her surprise.

  “Oh, so you didn’t know that the man you’ve taken up with is an ex-con?” He looked at Jean-Paul. “Tut, tut. You didn’t share with this young woman that you once were a hotshot lawyer, until you were convicted of official corruption? How negligent of you, Delahaye.”

  What this bitter old man was saying had to be a lie. Jean-Paul wouldn’t have purposely withheld something that important. Not after all the time he’d spent comforting her. She turned to him, needing his assurance. “Is what he says true?”

  All Jean-Paul’s attention was focused on Roger in a silent battle of will. It took several seconds before Jean-Paul looked at her. There was a remoteness and resignation in his expression.

  Her heart plummeted to her feet. It was true. And for the second time in less than forty-eight hours, Angie knew the bitterness of betrayal.

  “I’d be careful if I was you, Ms. Fitzgerald. Jean-Paul only wants revenge. He blames me for his father’s drinking. He will use anyone for his own ends. I think you are his latest victim.”

  With a poisonous smile directed at Jean-Paul and Angie, Roger strode out of the courtroom.

  Angie slowly sank down onto the wooden seat. She’d trusted Jean-Paul, opened her heart to him. She peered up at him, hoping that he would somehow negate Roger’s assertions.

  “Jean-Paul, is what he says true?”

  “Which part? Yes, I’m an ex-con. Yes, my father drank himself to death because Roger tricked him into signing away his oil rights.”

  “And were you using me to get back at him?”

  The bleakness and shame that crept into his eyes ripped her heart like steel talons. The pain made her gasp.

  “I see.” She would not fall apart in front of all these witnesses. Later, when she was alone, she could give in to her grief. Gathering her tattered pride, she stood. “Ted, would you drive me to Mr. Delahaye’s house so I can retrieve my things?”

  “I—” Ted glanced at his silent friend. Jean-Paul nodded his head in consent. Ted hesitated, then said, “Sure, Angie. I’ll take you.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Angie walked through the milling crowd. Never once did she look back.

  * * *

  Jean-Paul watched Angeline disappear into the press of bodies. He turned his back on the curious looks thrown in his direction. Grasping the railing that divided the spectators from the court proceedings, he took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. If he gave in to the rage pounding in his chest, he would grab one of the chairs
from the defendant’s table and throw it across the room. Of course that would just confirm the general opinion about him, that a Delahaye had no breeding and didn’t know how to act in proper society.

  He didn’t care what the folks in the town thought. What had hurt and caught him off guard was Roger’s assertion that he had used Angeline as a tool of revenge. When faced with that ugly truth, Jean-Paul couldn’t deny it. Oh, consciously, he hadn’t used her. But when he looked deep inside himself, he had to confess revenge was a motivating force in his offer to help Angeline. It wasn’t the only reason—but still it was there.

  When Angeline had turned to him for a guarantee that his motives had been purer than that, and he couldn’t give it to her, it had proved to be the most painful moment of his life. Even through his arrest, conviction and imprisonment, Jean-Paul had known he was innocent of the charges. This time, he wasn’t so innocent.

  He ran his hands through his hair. What was he going to do now? Could he leave Angeline to fend for herself, against Roger and his minions?

  He didn’t have to debate the answer. He knew he couldn’t turn his back on her. So what if his reasons had been selfish? Wasn’t Angeline’s safety more important than his impure purpose for helping? If he hurried and got back to his house before she left, maybe he could explain to her the danger she was still in.

  Jean-Paul whirled and plowed through the lingering group of onlookers.

  * * *

  Jean-Paul breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ted’s new car was still parked in his driveway. Ted greeted him at the door. His old friend looked uncomfortable. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Jean-Paul might be tempted to laugh. Never had he seen such an expression on Ted’s face.

  “Where is she?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “In the bedroom, packing.”

  “Of course, what did I expect?”

  Jean-Paul strode into the room. Angeline paused, glanced at him, then resumed folding the skirt she’d had on the day before. Her nightgown and robe were lying on the bed next to the suitcase. That bed had been his grandparents’, then his parents’, now his. His grandfather had carved the headboard with long, twisting vines of grape leaves. Seeing Angeline’s things there pierced him with a longing.