His Dark Desires

by Jennifer St Giles

  Mignon laughed. “Sometimes it seems as if we will all be eighty before we finish all of the chores that need doing.”

  “If we keep talking, we will still be cleaning this attic at eighty.” I picked up a large box and carried it over to the rocking chair by the window, then I heard the sounds of music coming from the courtyard. Curious, I set the box in the chair and turned to the window. Andre and Mr. Trevelyan were sitting by the fountain, sunlight gleaming off their dark heads, which were bent close together. It appeared Mr. Trevelyan was showing Andre how to play the harmonica. A smile tugged at my lips.

  “What is it?” Ginette came to the window.

  “It looks as if Andre is learning a new instrument.” I moved over, making room for Ginette, bumping the rocker when I did. Suddenly a deep chill stabbed through me and a force pressed me against the window. I grasped the windowsill.

  “Watch out!” Mignon shouted.

  Whirling around, I saw the stack of trunks falling toward Ginette and me. I pushed her to the side and jerked away from the window as a heavy trunk crashed down on top of the rocking chair, splintering its wooden arms and crushing the box I had set there.

  “Mon Dieu,” Ginette gasped.

  My knees shaky, I stared at the chair, speechless, amazed by how narrowly I had escaped severe injury, if not death. I drew several deep breaths, forcing a calmness I did not feel to my voice. “Are you all right, Ginny?”

  “Oui,” she whispered, staring at the trunk.

  The thunder of feet coming up the stairs shook me from my frozen state, and Mr. Trevelyan and Andre burst into the room.

  “What is it? What happened?” Mr. Trevelyan demanded, slightly breathless from running up four stories.

  “A trunk fell from the stack,” Mignon said.

  Mr. Trevelyan bent down and studied the broken chair. After a minute he lifted the trunk off, pushing back the stack it had tumbled from with his shoulder to keep the other trunks from falling, too.

  “Who piled them so dangerously high and uneven to begin with?” Fury roughened his voice. He set the first trunk down with a thud and then separated the rest of the trunks, placing them around the room. Strength and anger poured from the tense set of his straining muscles and clenched jaw, showing me a deeper side to his dangerous edge. But this was a comforting side, as was his outrage for my safety. Still my heart pounded harder as he marched toward me, for the passion in his gaze tied a knot of anticipation in my stomach.

  “Well?” he demanded. He stood inches from me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, a heat that seemed to double in seconds. “Who?” he asked again, grasping my shoulders. His hands heated my chilled skin and his concern warmed my heart, easing my shock.

  “I don’t know, I don’t remember seeing the trunks stacked like that yesterday.” I shivered. “I was about to sit in the chair. If I hadn’t heard your harmonica, I would have been sitting there when the trunk fell.” And if something hadn’t pushed me toward the window, my legs would have been hit.

  His piercing gaze searched mine; then after a long and tense moment, he released me and turned away. “You need to be more careful,” he said harshly. “I don’t think this was an accident.”

  “What do you mean, Monsieur Trevelyan?” I bent down, examining the rocking chair.

  “The back legs are splintered now, but look here and here.” He pointed at two smooth cuts in the wood. “It was meant to collapse backward into the trunks, and they were piled to cause serious harm.”

  My blood turned cold, making me shiver.

  “Mère?” Andre’s voice called for reassurance.

  “I am all right,” I told him.

  “I am not all right,” Ginette declared, her dark eyes angry and her cheeks flushed. “There is something happening to our home, Juliet. I feel it. Something evil!”

  “Ginette’s right,” Mignon said, her eyes tearing. “Just before the trunk fell, I saw the shadow of a man appear behind you, Juliet. I blinked, disbelieving it, and the shadow disappeared. Then the trunk fell.” She backed up several steps. “It was a ghost; it had to be.”

  “We have a murderous ghost!” Andre turned white.

  “No,” Mr. Trevelyan said firmly. “Ghosts don’t set traps.”

  “Monsieur Trevelyan is right. There are no ghosts.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Mignon asked, surprising me by her challenge.

  I opened my mouth to assure her, but the words wouldn’t come. What about the incident at Blindman’s Curve and the deep chill that had struck me? For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a practical answer.

  The rest of the day resonated with tension, making me thankful for Mr. Davis’s invitation to the carnival. During an early dinner, we learned everyone planned to attend the affair, and Andre, finally showing some enthusiasm, invited Mr. Trevelyan to ride with us. Everyone strained to put on a happy face, determined to leave what had happened in the attic behind and to enjoy the carnival.

  One jostle of the carriage sank my week-long efforts to think of Mr. Trevelyan as a stranger. His hard thigh pressed against mine, and the warm muscles of his arm constantly brushed my shoulder, rendering my clothing and the presence of my family little protection against his seductive spell. Right or wrong, I wanted to lean into him more to feel the things he awakened inside me. His ungloved hands rested in his lap and were more interesting than the passing scenery of magnolia trees and sprawling homes along the river. Though large and capable, his hands bespoke a man who enjoyed touching. The edge of my skirt lay against his leg and his fingers absently brushed the dark blue silk as he conversed with Andre, telling him about a traveling adventure. I felt as if he were touching me, softly, secretly.

  “By stowing away on our father’s ship, my brother and I got a full tour of the coast of South America before our mother got her hands on us back in port. Though she had us on our knees for a week in penance, sore knees were well worth the price.”

  “I would love to stow away on a real ship and see the world,” Andre said with enthusiasm.

  Mr. Trevelyan quickly curtailed Andre’s notions. “My brother and I had special circumstances. My father not only owned the ship, but was captaining it as well, so we knew we were safe. I’ve heard stories of young boys being sold for slaves when caught as stow-aways.”

  “Truly?” Andre asked, horrified.

  “Adventure is like a two-edged sword. The very next year, the adventure we took was the last one we made together.”

  “What did you do, monsieur?” Andre pressed, completely captivated by Mr. Trevelyan’s words.

  “We went on a treasure hunt. Both Benedict and I were sure an island in the bay concealed buried treasure. We’d seen the lights at night from our manor’s tower, our raft was ready, and not even the heavy fog could stop us. Luckily, my brother left a note of our plans with Katherine, our sister, so she wouldn’t worry. I thought the note unnecessary, for I was sure we would find the treasure and return home before she awoke.”

  “Real pirate treasure? Like gold?” Mignon asked, thrilled.

  Mr. Trevelyan nodded. “Exactly. We pushed from the shore with poles until the water became too deep. Then we used oars. The fog was so thick, Benedict and I could barely see each other across the raft. We argued. My brother wanted to turn back, and I wanted to keep going after the treasure. Suddenly a ship appeared out of the fog and smashed right through our raft. We floated until we were rescued, because my brother managed to lash us to a barrel. I ended up with a lung ailment that took months to recover from, and my brother bore the brunt of the criticism for our folly.” His voice roughened. “It changed everything in our lives.” Then he shook his head, as if he’d spoken too long.

  “Things we experience when we are young can affect us forever,” Ginette said softly, her eyes shadowed with what appeared to be pain. I wondered if she referred to the war, the years of it and how its aftermath had stolen our youth.

  Andre frowned. The idea that a childhood j
aunt could have long-lasting consequences did not sit well with him. Again, in just a few words, Mr. Trevelyan seemed to convey what I had been trying to get Andre to understand for years.

  “My apologies. I did not mean to put a damper on the evening. Do you know I have never been to a carnival?”

  “Never?” Andre sounded as surprised as I was. With Mardi Gras celebrated every year, carnivals were the flavorful spice of New Orleans’s charm. A life without that taste seemed unimaginable.

  “Then you are in for a treat,” I said.

  “I hope so,” he murmured, his voice vibrating over my senses and heating my cheeks.

  “You must let us show you all of the fun things to do, right, Mère?” Andre said, dispelling my hopes of escaping from Mr. Trevelyan’s seductive presence.

  Still, I tried to save myself. “I’m sure Mr. Trevelyan would—”

  “Like nothing better than to have your company for the evening.”

  “Perfect,” Mignon said. “Ginette can chaperone me with Monsieur Davis, and Andre can accompany you and Monsieur Trevelyan.”

  I shot Mignon an admonishing look. She knew very well Andre would likely run from one attraction to another so quickly that Mr. Trevelyan and I would often be alone. But there was little that I could say to change the arrangements without seeming contrary.

  The music coming from Jackson Square reached us before the sights and smells did. We exited the carriage near St. Louis Cathedral. Mignon’s dress caught on the carriage door, and Mr. Trevelyan helped free her.

  I gazed over the square, waiting for them. The cool breeze off the Mississippi softly brushed my face as the passion of the celebration captured my blood. Musicians belted out a lively tune, garish clowns mingled with the crowd, and men and women shouted for the revelers to sample their wares or play their games.

  “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten,” Mr. Davis said, quickly approaching. He interjected himself between Mignon and Mr. Trevelyan, who’d just joined the rest of us. “I am so pleased that you came,” Mr. Davis said, taking Mignon’s hand.

  She slipped her hand from his, but smiled. “It was a wonderful idea.”

  I introduced Mr. Davis and Mr. Trevelyan.

  “Where did you say you were from, and your business?” Mr. Davis asked Mr. Trevelyan.

  “I didn’t,” Mr. Trevelyan replied. “Nice evening, isn’t it?”

  Mr. Davis sighed, inching his spectacles further down his nose. “A hot evening, but nice. And nicer still now that the DePerri beauties are here.”

  I hid a smile. Mr. Trevelyan had politely curbed Mr. Davis’s nosiness in one exchange, whereas Mignon, Ginette, and I hadn’t been able to in two months. I wondered how effective Mr. Trevelyan would be in curtailing Mr. Latour’s persistence in trying to buy La Belle.

  “On that we can agree,” Mr. Trevelyan said.

  “Mère, I must try and win that bag of candy,” Andre said, pointing to a nearby booth for tossing rings.

  “Excellent idea,” Mr. Davis said. “Meanwhile, I’ll show Miss DePerri some jewelry. The necklaces are so colorful. Several would go well with your cream gown.” He held his arm out to Mignon.

  “We’d love to see them,” Ginette said, taking Mignon’s hand in hers.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Davis apparently resigned himself to having a chaperone and offered my sisters each an arm. “It will be an honor to escort two lovely ladies tonight. There’s a green necklace that will match your dress perfectly,” he told Ginette.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to find Andre had already dashed to the booth. Mr. Trevelyan narrowed his eyes at Mr. Davis’s back. “A rather rude gentleman.”

  “Other than talking too much, he usually isn’t. I think you made him jealous when you helped Mignon from the carriage. He’s been calling on her.”

  “Does she return his interest?”

  “No.” I narrowed my gaze. “Why do you ask?”

  “He doesn’t seem to be the right sort of man for either of your sisters. Marriage to the wrong person can destroy lives.”

  He spoke with such conviction that I took a step back.

  “You speak as if you’ve had a personal experience. Are you married?”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “No. And I have never been, but I saw my brother’s life ravaged by an arranged marriage.”

  I forced a smile, unable to hold his gaze as a pain hit my heart. “We had better catch up with my son.”

  Mr. Trevelyan caught my elbow. “Look at me, Mrs. Boucheron,” he said softly.

  I glanced up, and he slid his thumb under my chin to keep my gaze on him. “Your marriage was arranged, wasn’t it?”

  My stomach clenched, and my pulse sped. “Oui. His death in the war was tragic, but our marriage was fine. Being older, Jean Claude was patient and kind.”

  “How much older?”

  I pulled back from him and started toward the booth where Andre stood clapping and happily shouting. Mr. Trevelyan edged too close to raw emotions I didn’t want exposed.

  He caught up to me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no right to probe into your personal life.”

  I sighed. Given the attraction between us, questions were inevitable. “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that it doesn’t really matter. My marriage gave me Andre, and I’ll never regret that. Jean Claude was fifty.”

  I thought I heard Mr. Trevelyan curse under his breath, but I chose to ignore it, for I looked up to see Mrs. Gallier and Mr. Fitz approaching us.

  “Excellent carnival, isn’t it?” Mr. Fitz held up a fried confection. “I have never tasted food as good as the fare in New Orleans, and that includes your wonderful meals, Mrs. Boucheron.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fitz.”

  Mrs. Gallier, who’d been scanning the crowd, turned and smiled. “We’re just looking for Miss Vengle and Mr. Gallier. We seemed to have lost them in the crowd.”

  “We haven’t seen them,” Mr. Trevelyan said, setting his warm hand to my back. “We’ve just arrived.”

  “Then don’t let us keep you. You know, Mr. Fitz, they may have stopped back there. A woman had some wonderful shawls for sale.”

  Nodding their good-byes, Mr. Fitz led Mrs. Gallier away.

  Mr. Trevelyan’s arm stiffened, and he turned me firmly toward the booth where my son stood. “Wait with Andre. I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, and left before I could question him.

  I continued on to my son, but glanced back to see Mr. Trevelyan disappear behind a booth. The incident unsettled me. Reaching Andre, I found he wasn’t alone. Phillipe Doucet and Will Hayes stood with him, and not far away was Letitia Hayes. I kept back from the boys, letting Andre have a few minutes with his friends.

  Letitia, elegantly turned out in a rich black lace and burgundy dress, kept glaring at me. After a short time, she marched my way.

  “Nice to see you again, Letitia,” I said as she neared.

  High color flagged her cheeks. “I have never been more embarrassed in my life. Don’t you dare speak to me in public again! How dare you infer to Mrs. Drysdale and Mrs. Pitts my dress was as old as the ones you wear. They’re presidents of the Royal Fashion Society, no less. That dress I had on was brand new, and I’ll never be able to wear it out again.”

  Her anger over so trivial a matter surprised me. Had I ever been as caught up in fashion as she was? Every dress I owned had been bought before the war. Several people nearby turned to look at us. “You’re right, Letitia. You do a good enough job embarrassing yourself.”

  “Mrs. Boucheron, forgive me for being delayed. The evening was quite empty without you by my side,” Mr. Trevelyan said seductively, placing his hand against my back again as he stepped close to my side.

  Letitia’s eyes widened as she looked at him, clearly wondering why so sophisticated and richly dressed a man would have any interest in me.

  “Monsieur Trevelyan, this is Madam Hayes, an old acquaintance of mine.”

  “Madam Hayes.” Mr
. Trevelyan nodded. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I steal Mrs. Boucheron away. We’ve had so little time together that I am greedy for every moment.”

  “Of course,” Letitia murmured.

  Mr. Trevelyan swung me around and brought me to the edge of the crowd, acting like a besotted, attentive lover.

  “You’re incorrigible,” I said, smiling at him.

  “What I am is incensed. That woman is a witch.”

  “She used to be my friend. We grew up together.”

  “There’s an old saying: ‘With friends like that—’ ”

  “ ‘You don’t need any enemies,’ ” I said.

  He smiled. “Besides, I didn’t lie. The evening was empty without you.”

  “Where did you go?”

  He shrugged. “I thought I saw someone I knew. I was mistaken.” He glanced toward Andre, who now stood alone, about to take his turn at the ring toss. “Let’s go win some confections. I have a sudden craving for something sweet.”

  Looking up, I discovered that Mr. Trevelyan had his gaze centered on my mouth. If I’d been capable of moving, I think I would have bridged the heated gap between him and kissed him. Instead, Andre called to us, and Mr. Trevelyan led me to my son. Regaining my sanity, I put my best effort into making the evening as much fun as I could. Mr. Trevelyan showed Andre some pointers on how to toss the rings, and they both won bags of sweets. We saw bears dance, had our fortunes told, watched magic tricks, and then saw a sleek black panther leap through a circle of fire. Mr. Trevelyan bought Andre and himself fur hats with tails, which I teasingly banned, declaring that I’d have no critters in my home. We didn’t encounter Mignon and Ginette with Mr. Davis, but I didn’t worry. There were so many people jostling about the square that they could have been standing next to me and I wouldn’t have known it.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon and torches lit the square. The spires of St. Louis Cathedral cut a black silhouette against the dark blue sky. The moon, full and bright, hung low, just tempting a dreamer to reach out and grasp it. I didn’t.