“That is correct. The fog was so heavy, the carriage had to move at a crawl,” I said, thankful to be truthful.
The sheriff paced across the room, and everyone sat silent, waiting for him to speak. “Then, given everyone’s testimony, including yours, Mrs. Gallier, sometime between nine last night and six this morning Miss Vengle was murdered. And yet with a household of people, some awake late into the night, no one heard or saw anything usual. Does anyone have anything to add to that?”
“I do,” Stephen said. “Considering the thickness of the fog, the menacing events surrounding Mrs. Boucheron and her family, and the fact that it appears Miss Vengle was wearing Mrs. Boucheron’s shawl and resembled Mrs. Boucheron in size and hair color, I believe Mrs. Boucheron was the intended victim.”
My heart went cold. Which of the people sitting in my parlor was a murderer? Which one knew about the gold?
16
“Juliet?”
I snapped my eyes open and sat up, surprised to find someone had draped a light coverlet over my shoulders. I’d fallen asleep in a chair at Ginette’s bedside, her hand in mine. Her skin had lost its cold, clammy feel and I thought her color better. The new nurse sat attentively on my sister’s other side. Turning to Stephen, I blinked. “What time is it?”
“After midnight.” His hair was damp, as if he’d just bathed. He wore a loose white shirt and dark breeches that were faded and soft looking. They appeared to have hugged the contours of his thigh muscles for a long time.
“Where is Dr. Marks?” I asked.
He’d arrived just before dinner and I had gladly made my excuses to the boarders. No one had said much of anything since Sheriff Carr’s questioning. Before the sheriff left, I told him privately of the relationship between Mr. Gallier and Miss Vengle, and of Mr. Fitz’s interest in Miss Vengle. To my surprise, he was already aware of the situation. He left, giving strict instructions that no one was to leave the city until the investigation into Miss Vengle’s murder had been concluded.
“Dr. Marks went home and will return in the morning. I thought his news positive that Ginette is in a restorative sleep.”
Rubbing my stiff neck, I moved toward Stephen. Dr. Marks had determined that the powder on Ginette’s embroidery was most likely a botanically derived pesticide. Many such substances were for sale on New Orleans’s darker streets, where a coin could buy a potion to cost a man his life. “It is late. You should not have let me sleep. There is still so much to do—”
“Everything has already been done. Andre and Mignon are in Mignon’s room with the puppy. Papa John is watching the first floor, and Mr. Phelps is outside. The house is completely locked and everyone is under strict instructions not to unlock any doors or windows until morning. Now it is your turn for someone to take care of you. Come with me.” He held out his hand, and I let him lead me into the corridor and down the hall.
I sighed. “If Mademoiselle Vengle hadn’t worn my shawl, she would still be alive.”
“You do not know that for sure. And there is no way you could have known that ahead of time. You should not blame yourself. I have learned the hard way that the only thing you can do in the face of tragic events is to determine not to waste a moment of your own life.”
“Was not Monsieur Phelps guarding last night while we were gone?” I looked up at Stephen, realizing that having a guard had not secured Miss Vengle’s safety.
“At my orders, Mr. Phelps kept watch inside the house in the corridor on the family’s floor until we returned last night. So, if anyone is to blame for her death it is I,” he said, bringing his voice to a whisper.
I whispered back, feeling odd at the necessity to do so in my own house. It was another reminder that my enemy might not be at the gate but in the very next room. “Then that would mean something happened to Mademoiselle Vengle before we arrived back at La Belle, which clears you completely as being a suspect. Why did you not tell Sheriff Carr?”
“As long as the murderer thinks that I am under heavy suspicion, he will be less on guard.”
I shivered. “What if I was not the target, Stephen? What if Monsieur Gallier or Fitz strangled Mademoiselle Vengle? What if my shawl was thrown out there to make it appear that I was the intended victim?”
“I have considered that, but we would then have to rule out Mr. Fitz.”
“Why?”
“Let me put this as delicately as I can. There is a distinct difference in the cry of a woman being pleasured and a woman being hurt. From Mr. Fitz’s embarrassment during Sheriff Carr’s questioning, I think it safe to assume that he suspected Miss Vengle and Mr. Gallier were together and that he wanted to interrupt them, perhaps even rouse Mrs. Gallier and expose the affair. That is why he went directly to the Gallier’s room when Miss Vengle did not answer her door. If he honestly thought Miss Vengle had cried out in distress, needing help, he would have just opened her door. It was not locked.”
My face burned like fire. Stephen leaned down and brushed his lips across mine.
“You need to rest. Go take a bath. Mignon has already placed your nightgown, robe, and slippers inside. I’ll stay right here to make sure you are safe.”
I opened the door to the bath to find a steamy tub, smelling heavenly of rose oil. Undressing, I slid into the water with a sigh. The languid heat eased into my body, chasing away tension and the dampness of the day’s rain. Rather than growing sleepy though, my senses seemed to come alive, beginning at the tips of my toes and steadily climbing until my breasts ached with anticipation. I was acutely aware of Stephen waiting just outside the door.
When I finished, I slid on only my robe and slippers, leaving off my nightdress. I had never been so bold.
I found Stephen pacing in front of the door, looking a great deal more ragged than he had fifteen minutes before. Anticipation curled hotly inside me and grew as he wordlessly accompanied me down the corridor to my room, where I noted a chair just outside my door.
“Keep the door ajar so that I can hear the least noise. You get some sleep now. Tomorrow I need to talk to you. There is something I need to explain.” He brushed a kiss against my forehead, then held the door open for me. My moment to reach out to him was fading, and I could not let it slip through my fingers. Halfway to my bed, I turned to face him.
“Stephen,” I said, emotion thickening my voice. “There is a problem.”
He darted his gaze over my shoulder to search the lit room. I didn’t hesitate. I slid loose the silk ribbons tying my robe and shrugged it from my shoulders.
“I need you tonight, Stephen. I want you.”
My breath caught at the intensity in his blue eyes. He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut as he grabbed the hem of his shirt, stripping it over his head. The broad expanse of his chest and shoulders gleamed in the lamplight. He covered the distance between us and backed me up to the bed, setting his pistol within reach on the bedside table. Then he stripped off his pants and stood before me naked, a mixture of vulnerability, power, and desire.
I drank in the sight of his dark beauty, the roughly hewn angles of his jaw, his jutting arousal, and the passion glittering in his eyes. He took hold of my robe, sliding the silk from me as he raked his gaze over me.
“I do not deserve what you offer, but I die for you, Juliet,” he rasped.
He pulled me into his arms, his mouth covering mine in a kiss so searing that it reached deeper than my soul, opening and exposing my every need with the brush of his lips and the stroke of his tongue.
I slid my hands along the hard velvet contours of his arms and back, up into the silk of his hair, delving into its thickness and warmth. I reveled in the seductive scent of sandalwood and spice enveloping me in a haze of desire.
“Tonight, I get to touch you and to feel you. To awaken your senses like you do mine,” I said.
“They are fully awake. You only need to glance down to see that.”
“There’s more,” I said, and slid my fingers lightly over his arousal. “L
ie down and let me touch you, Stephen.”
He drew a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’ll live through your sweet torture.”
I smiled and nodded toward the bed. Reluctantly, he went and lay down. Propping his head up, he raked his gaze over me so hotly that I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist his dark desire for long. Judging by his sensual smile, he knew it, too.
“Turn over and shut your eyes,” I whispered.
His gaze widened with surprise, bringing a secret thrill to me. I could almost feel his body warring with his mind as he turned to his stomach. I went to the bed, standing over him a moment, drinking in the sight of his hard curves and supple muscle. Starting at his shoulders, I slid my hands over the broad expanse of his back, softly pressing my fingers into his warmth and strength, feeling the power of him. Then I followed my touch with soft kisses that made him groan. With each touch, with each sensation, my blood heated and hot desire pooled in my center, making my breasts ache for him. I moved lower, easing down his spine to the fascinating firmness of his bottom and the hard contours of his thighs. When I pressed kisses there, his body jerked taut.
“Juliet,” he gasped, his breaths as ragged as mine.
“Turn over.”
He moved in a flash and tried to reach for me, but I stepped away.
“Put your hands behind your head.”
“What are you doing?” he demanded, complying but looking dangerously close to rebellion.
I wanted to love every inch of this man. I wanted to make his fantasies unwind. I ran my fingers up his leg to his arousal, wrapping my hand around him, feeling the throb of his pulse, and the burning heat of his desire.
“Developing a silver tongue,” I said. Leaning forward, I put my mouth upon his erection, brushing my tongue over the hot velvet of his desire. His whole body arched. Four more kisses and he groaned, grabbing me.
“Heaven help me,” Stephen cried as he pulled me down on top of him. He brought my knees to his sides, held my hips in place, and buried himself inside me in a single hot stroke. Then he reached for my breasts, teasing them mercilessly with his deft fingers, making their tips ache until my hips rocked with the need to ease my desire. I burned hotter with his every upward thrust, until he brought my world to a shattering pinnacle of pleasure and I shuddered with fulfillment. Then I watched as his body went taut, his breath came in a deep rasping moan, and his eyes lost focus in a shuddering release.
I collapsed on his chest and he pulled me close to his heart.
“I love you,” I said softly.
“I have never been loved so well, nor have I ever loved so deeply.” He kissed my forehead, then my lips, and wrapped his arms tightly around me. The tenderness, the warmth, and the love in his voice shook me, bringing tears to my eyes.
“Neither have I,” I whispered.
“All of life pales to the beauty of being in your arms,” he said softly.
I knew exactly what he meant.
Stephen spent most of the night with me, though I awoke alone to the dim light of dawn and the memory of heated passion. Rolling from the bed, I pulled on my robe and went to my door. Stephen sat in the chair outside of my room as I expected, looking rumpled and wonderful.
“Mornin,’ angel,” he said softly, his eyes telling me that last night was no dream.
“Have you slept at all?”
“And miss any moment of heaven?”
“You are an impossible romantic.”
He lifted a questioning brow. “Doth the lady protest too much? Or”—he reached for the front of my robe—“does she need reminding?”
“What the lady needs is not to have her head all a muddle, a condition you induce with a mere look. I need to see about Ginette.”
“The nurse has good news. Ginette moved restlessly in her sleep last night and spoke, as if she dreamed.”
“Then she is regaining some level of consciousness?”
“That is what the nurse thinks. Dr. Marks will be here in an hour. Everyone else still sleeps, and there was no trouble during the night.”
“I had best bathe and dress, then.”
“Quickly, or else temptation is going to win over my common sense. There is something about you in silk that not even a saint could resist, and we both know I am far from saintly.” He reached for my robe again, tugging it just enough to expose a breast to his view.
“Stephen,” I gasped as he stood, a familiar, determined gleam lighting his eyes.
Snatching my robe to my chest, I decided prudence the better part of valor and ducked back into my room.
The door flew open and then closed again behind Stephen. “Heaven can’t wait,” he said. “Fortunately, it will only take five minutes to get there.”
My eyes opened wide. “Dieu. Five minutes?”
“Make that four,” he said, pulling my robe open.
I think it took seven. I rushed down the hall a short while later, my body still tingling from the pleasure he brought me. I’d gone from famine to feast in a night’s span and thought I might expire from the bounty of it.
Mama Louisa, Mignon, and Andre were all in the kitchen when I arrived. Breakfast was well on its way and Mon Amie yipped a greeting from the comfort of her padded box. Dawn had given way to the sun of a bright day in a world washed new by the rain. The cool air drifting into the window carried a hint of blooming jasmine to mingle with the scent of baking biscuits and sliced oranges.
“I need to show everyone something important. Mama Louisa, where is Papa John this morning?”
“At the market, but he’ll be back before long.”
“Then I will let him know later.” I motioned for everyone to gather around the kitchen table, where I placed the papers from Mr. Goodson. “What we have here is proof that Jean Claude never deserted us or the army, but that some evil men betrayed him on his last mission.” I put my arm around Andre’s shoulders. “Your father was killed two days after braving capture to see us.”
I hugged my son tighter as I saw tears gather in his eyes. Though this was painful, in so many ways it was a release, as if the dark cloud over our lives had finally moved on.
Andre picked up the letter, holding it as if it was his most precious possession. He walked over to the light from the window and silently read it, tears falling down his cheeks.
As I went to him, the gold wax seal that had been on the back of the letter fell off and I stopped to pick it up from the floor. When I looked at it in the light from the window, something about the intricate pattern struck me.
“He was innocent of stealing!” Andre exclaimed. “He wasn’t a coward!”
I put the wax in my pocket. “He was no coward, Andre. I do not know what to say about the gold. The men who killed your father never found it. And we know from your grandfather that there was a special plan for the gold.”
“Then the gold could really be here at La Belle.” Mignon looked stunned.
I shook my head. “I do not think it likely. Monsieur Trevelyan says that much gold would require a considerable amount of space. We would have found it.”
“How do you know for sure? Have we really examined every trunk in the attic?”
“I…” Some of the trunks in the attic had been moved, and Papa John said he hadn’t moved them. Had our intruder been up there searching? And the ghost that I had determinedly tried to forget that I’d seen—was it here for a reason? Was it possible?
“We will begin a thorough search of the house later today.”
Andre and Mignon smiled widely. Eager for the task ahead, they quickly helped prepare breakfast.
Mr. Fitz and Mr. Gallier declined to join us for breakfast. Instead, they left immediately for town to make arrangements for Miss Vengle’s funeral. I offered to help with whatever they needed, and Stephen did as well, telling them that the expenses would be taken care of and to choose nothing but the best. Mr. Gallier had nodded. Mr. Fitz had tears in his eyes, and I thought Miss Vengle had made a poor choice with her affections.
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The shadows I saw in Stephen’s eyes stayed, and every now and then I would find him studying me. I asked him several times if there was anything wrong, but he only shook his head and said that it would have to wait until a better time.
Stephen and Andre played chess in the parlor while I dusted, and Mignon swept the center hall free of the dirt and mud that had accumulated from yesterday’s rain and visitors. We awaited Dr. Marks’s arrival, hoping that Ginette’s continued restlessness was indeed a sign that she was on her way back to us. Andre was in the middle of admonishing Stephen for making the game too easy, when Mignon cried out. Anxious, I ran for the center hall behind Stephen. We both came to a relieved stop as we saw Mignon standing unharmed, holding something in her hand.
“It is a cigar, Juliet! Here on the settee!”
“Let me see, Nonnie.” I went over to her and took the cigar she held out to me. “I have the other upstairs. I am going to see if they match.”
“Good Lord, you never said that you had evidence,” Stephen said.
I looked back at him. “Well, you didn’t ask.” I hurried on, anger fueling my steps. I pulled the stub from my drawer along with the crinkled newspaper and set them on my desk. Everyone gathered around it.
“They are a match,” Stephen said, even before I had focused on them.
“How do you know?” I asked.
He picked up the cigars. “Same quality and color of paper wrapping the cigars. And see this mark here?” He pointed to a faint line of script written about two finger’s width from the bottom. “These are a very expensive brand and are signed by the maker, Carlo San Fuenta from Havana. Fuentas sell for twenty dollars apiece in San Francisco.”
“Twenty dollars!” I gasped, shocked that someone would spend so much on something so frivolous.
“We still do not know who we are dealing with,” Stephen said, looking at me with concern. “Everyone was here yesterday in the center hall and in the parlor. And truthfully, I have three of these cigars in my room as we speak. I smoke occasionally.”
Mignon picked up the newspapers, spreading them out. I noticed for the first time that they had at one time been folded neatly into fourths, as one might do when putting a paper into a pocket. “The date on these is from two months ago,” she said.
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