“You were asked to never come here,” Josephine growled as she marched into the room, her mouth and face as grimly severe as her home. “My post in no way hinted otherwise.”
“So you did write the note about Jean Claude.” Part of me had hoped the note a forgery, for I did not want to believe Jean Claude was responsible for the menace stalking us. Yet part of me had hoped that Jean Claude would walk through the door with her. I could then confront his wrongs and move on with my life.
“Since you contacted me, you have no one to blame but yourself, Josephine. We have several questions and then, once Andre has seen his grandfather, we will leave.”
“Father is unwell.”
“All the more reason for Andre to see him,” I said. “Have you seen Jean Claude since you wrote to me?”
“No,” she said dourly. “He came while I was at church, spoke to father, collected his trunk of belongings, and then left without speaking to me.”
“He has not contacted me, either.”
“I am not surprised. What man would want a wife who abandoned his family’s home when he had to fight?”
I gritted my teeth. Josephine believed that if I had stayed on the Boucheron Plantation, the renegade Federal troops that burned the house and killed Jean Claude’s brother would have been more lenient, and subsequently, Jean Claude wouldn’t have stolen the gold. “Have you had any contact with him at all since he left the army?”
“I have not.”
“Then if you will direct us to Andre’s grandfather, we will leave shortly.”
“He is in the solarium,” she replied tightly, and quit the room without ever looking at Andre or Stephen. We went to the back of the house and through a glass door. The bright sunshine transformed the dullness of the small room. Near the windows, a uniformed nurse sat beside a feeble man in a wheeled chair. He did not resemble the vital man who had carved a successful plantation out of the untamed wilds of Louisiana’s swampy land. Sliding my hand into Andre’s, I urged him forward. Stephen stayed close behind, making true his shadow promise.
The old man looked up and beamed at us, but instead of looking at Andre, his cloudy eyes were focused on Stephen. “My son, I knew you had not forsaken me. Come sit with me for a while. It was very naughty of you to leave so quickly on your last visit. I have waited so long to see you.”
Stephen returned my look of shock.
“What does he mean, Mère? Do Monsieur Trevelyan and my father look alike?” Andre murmured.
“No,” I whispered, feeling uneasy.
The nurse said, “Don’t take mind of his ramblings. He is often confused, and these past few days have been worse.”
Leaning down, I met the old man’s bleary gaze. “Monsieur Boucheron, do you remember me? I am Juliet, Jean Claude’s wife.”
The old man looked at Stephen, a broad smile on his face. “You married well, son.” He looked at Andre, beaming with pride. “This must be your boy then, my own grandson. Come closer, lad. These old eyes can barely see anymore.”
Andre stepped forward awkwardly and held out his hand. “Grandpère, I am Andre.”
Taking Andre’s hand, his grandfather pulled him into a surprisingly strong hug and patted his back with a gnarled hand. “You are a fine boy. The spittin’ image of your father when he was a lad. Bet you are a devil at chess, aren’t you?” he asked as he released my son.
“I enjoy the game very much,” Andre said modestly.
“You have done well, Jean Claude. Thank you, my son, for coming back and for bringing Andre to me.” The old man kept his gaze on my son.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realized Jean Claude’s father held no hatred for Andre and me, despite what Josephine had claimed years ago.
The old man’s expression became somber as he looked at Stephen again. “Be careful. I will die before I breathe a word of what little you have told me, but this plan is a dangerous one, and greed is stronger than loyalty to any cause. Watch your back, son.”
My heart skipped a beat, but Stephen didn’t even blink an eye as he replied, “Tell me what worries you. Would you have me do anything different?”
“The whole setup bothers me,” the old man said, his agitation growing. “A spy for us or not, that lad, the…Shepherd Boy, does not have the experience to help you and Roth, should things go wrong.” He coughed heavily. “No one is going to believe you innocent, and a man’s honor is a hard price to pay for any victory, much less a minor one. But I agree with you: if you are sure our salvation is safe, then at least the families who sacrificed will not starve, no matter what the outcome of the war.”
Jean Claude’s father lapsed into another coughing spell, suddenly exhausted.
“What are you doing to him?” Josephine shouted as she stomped into the room. “Is your intent to kill him for what little inheritance remains?”
Andre gasped, clearly horrified. Laying a protective hand on him, I faced Josephine. “I pity you. You have so little joy yourself that you try to steal it from others. What has it gained you to keep Andre from his grandfather?”
“I will not have anyone poison my father against his only daughter.”
I shook my head sadly. “We will leave, but Andre will be back to see his grandfather, now that I know the truth of things.”
I ignored Josephine’s ranting as I ushered Andre out of the house with Stephen close behind us. The cloud of Jean Claude’s theft and desertion that had hovered darkly over my life now roiled with questions.
“Well, that was enlightening,” Stephen said the moment the carriage door shut.
I drew a deep breath. “As confused as Jean Claude’s father is, anyone could have claimed to be Jean Claude and collected his trunk. I am beginning to wonder if anything I believed about Jean Claude’s betrayal is true.”
“You mean my father might not have stolen the gold?” Andre asked.
“Non, but it is clear from what your grandfather said that your father did not act alone. And there was a plan and a purpose for the gold.”
“I hate to say this, but I must,” Stephen said. “What we have is Jean Claude, a man who has never been seen by anyone he cared about since he went on a mission for a cause that he was willing to sacrifice his honor for, so that others would not starve. And we have a plan for seven hundred and fifty thousand in gold that was never put into action.”
“You think my father is dead. That he really did die in the war,” Andre said, his tone so bleak that my heart wrenched for him. I held my hand out to him and he slid his hand into mine.
“Yes,” Stephen said.
The sounds of the creaking carriage, rolling along the rutted road, and an occasional screech of an owl above the low hum of katydids filled the silence.
“I am curious,” Stephen said after a time. “Why did your sister-in-law have Jean Claude’s belongings and not you?”
“Josephine claimed everything had been destroyed in a fire.”
“If your sister-in-law was any smarter, I might suspect her as being the power behind the malevolent forces darkening your life.”
14
Upon waking Tuesday morning, I had one thing on my mind: the man who’d filled my hot dreams during the night. I couldn’t solve the mystery of Jean Claude’s disappearance, but I could reach out for the man I now loved. I went to the French doors with an anticipation for the coming night that not even the heavy rain outside could dampen.
Opening the doors, I almost screamed at finding a man lying at my feet. He rolled over in a flash. “Bon Dieu,” I gasped.
“Morning,” Stephen mumbled, sitting up, damp from the rain.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Guarding the gates of heaven while the world sleeps,” he said with an impish smile.
Warmth filled my heart, and I leaned down to cup his beard-roughened cheek in my hand. He brought my fingers to his lips, then turned my hand over and brushed a kiss to my palm and my wrist.
“Stephen,” I whisper
ed as he kissed his way higher, rising to his feet. My knees nearly gave way when his lips reached mine, brushing softly at first, and then delving deeply.
“Juliet,” he said softly, when he ended the kiss. His gaze sought an answer from me.
“Please,” I said. A gripping anticipation captured my pulse as he set his hands on my shoulders.
“Please what, dear Juliet?”
“Love me.”
“Yes,” he said, swinging me into his arms as his mouth covered mine. He walked to the bed and set me on my feet. “I have longed to touch you again, to feel all of you, to love you.”
Taking the hem of my gown, he lifted it over my head, leaving me naked in the lamplight.
He groaned as he raked his gaze over me, his eyes burning. He reached for me, but I stepped back.
“I want to see you, too.”
“Whatever the lady wants. Touch me. Feel me. See how much I want you.”
I brushed his hand from the buttons of his damp shirt. With each button I loosed, I slid my fingers over his supple skin, feeling his silky hardness, and the warmth of him. Pushing his shirt back from his shoulders, I trailed kisses from his firm jaw down to his chest, tasting his saltiness, breathing in the heady elixir of his scent. Then I slid my fingers to his belt, unbuckling it. His erection burned hotly and I brushed my hands over the bulge of his pants, relishing the pulsing heat and power of his body.
“I need you now,” he rasped, sliding his fingers through my hair and bringing my mouth to his for a searing kiss.
“Let me finish,” I gasped.
“Next time you can torture me,” he growled, pushing me back onto the bed. Lying beside me, he cupped my breasts in his hands and covered one tip with his mouth, then the other, laving his tongue over the hardened peaks until I squirmed.
I reveled in his hot passion, pouring over me with every stroke of his silken tongue. He slid between my legs and rose to his knees, looking down at me.
“You are pure heaven.” Sliding his hands from my breasts, he brushed his fingers over the dark curls of my femininity, pressing his hand against my yearning flesh, then caressing me. Fire burned. I rocked my hips to him, wanting more, wanting him.
He reached for my pillows against the headboard. “I must have a taste of heaven.” Then he lifted my hips up, placed the pillow beneath, and spread my legs wide.
Pure sensual vulnerability rippled through me at having my secret flesh so exposed. “Stephen, what are you doing?”
“Praising you with my silver tongue.” He pressed his hands against my thighs, holding me still, and kissed me right at the center of my aching need for him. The instant pleasure launched a storm so wild and intense, I could do nothing but give myself over to its passionate wind. Stephen drove me almost to the peak of madness with his lips and tongue. Then he rose up and entered me, driving his erection deep. I arched up, gasping for more.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Let yourself go, Juliet.” His gaze locked on me as he thrust harder and deeper and faster. “Feel me,” he rasped.
I wrapped my legs around him, matching the power of his thrusts, yielding to his consuming passion. “I do,” I cried, fevered from pleasure so intense that I thought I would die from the hot ecstasy of it. Suddenly heaven burst inside of me, and I cried out and shuddered uncontrollably.
“More,” he demanded. He slid his finger over the very spot his tongue had lashed and teased my nipple, sending me out of my mind as he shuddered into me. I screamed as fulfillment shattered through me.
In mere moments, I heard the rumble of feet in the room next to mine.
“Mignon! She must have heard my scream,” I said, painicked.
“Hell,” Stephen muttered, rolling from me. He threw my robe at me, grabbed up his pants and shirt, then he ran naked out my French doors. Scrambling, I pulled on my robe and kicked Stephen’s boots under the bed just as Mignon burst in on me. She looked wildly about, then focused on the bed.
“Did you have a nightmare? You screamed.”
I nodded, unable to speak from the embarrassment burning me.
“By the looks of your bed, it was bad.”
I drew a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”
Then I heard noises from downstairs—knocks on doors, the shuffle of feet, voices calling out.
Ginette showed up next, wavering in the doorway like a starved street urchin. “Juliet,” she said. “Are you—”
She fell over. Mignon and I barely caught her before she hit the floor, looking as lifeless and gray as death itself.
“Nonnie, was Ginny worse last night?” I cried.
“I thought her better. We spent a good amount of time in the sitting room, she with her embroidery, and I with my writing tablet.”
“Help me get her back to bed and we will have Monsieur Trevelyan send for Dr. Marks. If he cannot come immediately, we will send for Dr. Lanau.”
When the smelling salts failed to revive Ginette, we carried her to her room, alarmed not only by the lightness of her frail body, but by her continued unconsciousness. Nonnie ran immediately to fetch Stephen, Mama Louisa, and Papa John.
I knew Ginette breathed, for I counted every rise and fall of her chest. The pulse at her neck thrummed faintly beneath my fingertips. Her skin was cold and clammy. I rubbed her hands, her face, her feet, and covered her with blankets, trying to warm her. She didn’t respond, didn’t move, and I held onto her hand and prayed.
“Juliet?”
I looked up to see Stephen in the doorway, pale, somber, and still dressed in his damp and rumpled suit. “I am going for Dr. Marks. Give me thirty minutes. Please, don’t leave the house while I am gone.”
“I am not leaving Ginny’s side.”
He nodded, started to leave, then turned back. “Did Miss Vengle tell you she was going anywhere?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
He ignored my question. “When did you see her last?”
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “Yesterday morning. I saw her standing on the corner of Canal and Chartres. She was with you.”
He sucked in air, as he stared intently at me a moment, then left. I felt very much alone at that minute, as if the intimacy of this morning was nothing more than a wild dream. Why hadn’t Stephen offered an explanation?
Mignon brought me clothes and I quickly dressed. Stephen soon returned with Dr. Marks, both of them soaked from the heavy rain.
Mignon followed them into the room with an armful of towels.
“We rode horseback,” Stephen said. “It was faster.”
Dr. Marks shed his sodden overcoat, dried his face and hands with a towel, and came to Ginette’s bedside.
“She fainted this morning and hasn’t awakened.” I told him.
“Has she been worse since I was here, exhibited any other symptoms?” he asked as he examined her, listening to her chest, checking her pulse, and then opening her eyes.
“She seems more chilled all the time.”
“After I am done, I want to know everything that she did, and everything that she ate and drank yesterday and last night.”
“Mignon can speak to you about that. I was away last evening and did not return until late.”
Mignon and I waited hand in hand. Dr. Marks’s examination was thorough, and when he finished, I nearly cried at the grim expression on his face.
“Mrs. Boucheron, might I have a private word with you?”
“Of course.”
He looked hard at Mignon. “Miss DePerri, stay with your sister. If she awakens, call me immediately and do not give her anything to eat or drink. Do you understand?”
“Oui, Dr. Marks.”
The doctor then motioned for me to join him in the corridor. “I have been thoroughly investigating her symptoms and trying to match them to a cause. There are two things that bother me immensely: the inconsistency of her attacks and the rash on her hands. Mrs. Boucheron, I believe your sister is being poisoned.”
“What?” I grabbed the wa
ll behind me for support.
“Whether by accident or on purpose, I cannot say. But usually accidental poisoning occurs as a single incident. Is there any reason someone would poison her but try and make it appear to be an illness? An inheritance, maybe?”
“Non. We have only what you see here, Dr. Marks. My sisters and I equally share La Belle.” The gold, my mind shouted. The intruder. But why poison Ginette?
“Can Miss DePerri be trusted?”
“Nonnie? Oui. A thousand times so.”
“Your sister cannot be left alone with someone you do not trust implicitly. She is in a very vulnerable state. Any more exposure to the toxin could kill her.”
His warning echoed alarmingly in my mind as I called for Mignon to speak with Dr. Marks.
How could I have let this happen? Maybe if I hadn’t kept Mr. Goodson’s telegram a secret, everyone would have been more alert. From the expression on Stephen’s face when he entered Ginette’s room, it was clear Dr. Marks had divulged his suspicions.
“I cannot believe someone would do this,” I said.
“I can.”
“But why?”
“The gold.”
I threw my hands up. “But we do not have the gold! We do not know anything about it!”
“That doesn’t matter. Someone thinks that you do.”
“What does poisoning Ginette have to do with it?”
“Were one of you to die, how long would the rest of you hold on to La Belle? At what point would the memories become too painful to face?”
Never, my heart wanted to cry. But was that true? “Oh, Stephen. If something happened to both Ginette and myself…Mignon and Andre are but babes, susceptible to anything….”
Stephen grabbed my shoulders, his eyes fierce. “Something has already happened to Ginette and to you. Remember the attack yesterday? The trunks in the attic? The man with the knife? My guess is that whoever is behind this is just waiting to come back and finish what was started.”
Stephen left to confer with Dr. Marks and Mignon as they searched the house for the source of the poison, while I examined Ginette’s room, looking for anything she might use on her hands. Before long, I had accumulated half a dozen bottles of hand lotion and set them aside for Dr. Marks to see. Then I settled in a chair by Ginette’s bed to keep vigil.
His Dark Desires Page 16