A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5)

by Claire, Cherie

  Amanda doubted Alcée would explain; men were not prone to talk about such emotional subjects. Her father stood as a prime example. Surprisingly, Alcée continued.

  “I was one of six children. Louisiana law states that parents must leave their land equally to all children. My family’s farm could barely provide for one family, let alone six more. I left Loreauville with René hoping to make enough money to either buy my own petite habitation or enable my father to enlarge his farm. Marguerite married another in my absence.”

  “But why?”

  “She was worried about becoming an old maid.”

  His words descended on her like the earlier thunderclap had done, startling her senses. Amanda backed up along the porch until her hands found the swing and she gingerly sat down. Hearts weren’t broken because of her fear of becoming a spinster, but her whole world had been transformed anyway. Had this Marguerite experienced the same fear?

  “Did she love you?” Amanda asked.

  Alcée stared thoughtfully down at Amanda, at the same time loosening his cravat. “I suppose,” he answered softly while joining her on the swing.

  “Didn’t she ever declare her love to you?”

  Alcée hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

  Two people torn apart simply because one feared growing old alone. Amanda understood such apprehensions, but seeing Alcée in such pain made her wonder how a woman could do such a thing.

  “He was a good provider,” Alcée said, as if reading her mind. “She was never sure that I would be. I was always playing my fiddle instead of worrying about finding us a stable farm and a means to support ourselves. She was better off with him.”

  “Was?”

  “He died last winter of influenza.”

  “She’s a widow?” Suddenly, things sounded a lot more optimistic.

  Alcée, however, didn’t appear uplifted by such news. The darkness that had permeated his countenance at the beginning of their conversation returned.

  “Where is she now?” Amanda asked.

  “With his parents.”

  “Has she...?”

  “No.”

  Alcée abruptly stood, leaning on the front gallery railing and stared off into the moonless night. The bright lamplight from the living room cast a glow on to his thick, black hair and subtly handsome face, allowing Amanda a rare chance to study his interesting profile. His equally black and quite bushy eyebrows popped from his forehead as if they had minds of their own. His cheeks were well rounded and sun-kissed and, were it not for the classic shape of his elegant nose, would have made him appear like Pere Noel himself. His discreet lips and laugh lines that appeared when he smiled gave him an aspect of authority.

  In whole, Alcée resembled what Amanda envisioned as the perfect big brother. She found Alcée excitedly passionate at times, especially when recounting a favorite story or performing his beloved violin. He was mostly playful and full of smiles, yet always concerned.

  She wanted so very much to be a sister of sorts.

  “She’s in mourning,” she offered. “If I were in her shoes, I would not have contacted you until a year and a day had passed.”

  Alcée sent her an appreciative smile. “It has been eleven months.”

  “Eleven months is one month shy.”

  “Perhaps.”

  For what seemed like an eternity, Alcée remained silent until he finally changed the subject. “Have you ever been in love, Amanda?”

  René rubbed his eyes, thankful that the last entry had been made. Alcée was right. It was too hot in August to race horses in Louisiana, and it was time he took a break. Tomorrow he’d announce the track closed until cooler weather.

  Watching Amanda talking amiably with his uncle gave him hope. They seemed to agree with one another, even though Alcée still expected Amanda to bolt home. Why she hadn’t was still quite a mystery to René.

  Sneaking into his room in the middle of the night, insisting that they only show love honestly — all signs that she cared. Yet, at times her actions proved otherwise.

  If only Amanda would let him show her his feelings, he thought, trying to fight the tension in his trousers. Just the mention of her name or the thought of her delicate hand in his sent blood rushing to places he couldn’t control. He wanted her so badly he felt as if he was slowly being consumed by a blazing, internal fire. The perspiration he lost at an hourly rate made him wonder if he would be half his weight by week’s end.

  René grabbed the book and moved toward the bookcase at the other end of the room. As he approached the front threshold, he overheard his uncle asking if Amanda had ever been in love. For the several moments that followed, René swore he could hear his heart beating in his chest. Amanda hadn’t answered, but Alcée’s next question made him realize she had shaken her head.

  “Never?” Alcée asked.

  “No.”

  “I find that very hard to believe, a woman as pretty as yourself.”

  “Pretty?” René heard his wife ask with a laugh. “Hardly the daughter of ‘formidable’ Genevieve Vanier.”

  “You must stop comparing yourself with your mother.”

  “But I’m not my mother, you see,” Amanda said firmly. “There were no suitors.”

  “None?”

  Alcée turned to lean upon the railing and caught René’s eyes. The two exchanged a knowing glance, but Alcée continued on as if his nephew was still seated at the back of the room, well out of earshot.

  “I’m a Catholic,” René heard Amanda say. “The American families we associate with are Protestants, and they don’t marry Catholic girls. And the Catholic families are, well, mostly French. I don’t have to tell you how my father feels about them.”

  “But surely there were suitors,” Alcée prodded.

  René assumed his wife was again shaking her head for she said nothing. Alcée, on the other hand, frowned in disbelief. “None?” he asked again.

  Even with a wall in between, René heard his wife sigh. “None.”

  Was it likely Amanda knew nothing of his first meeting with her father, René wondered, or was she cleverly pretending in lieu of everything that had happened since then?

  “And there was no one who caught your eye?” Alcée inquired further.

  René instantly wished he had not intruded upon the conversation. He willed himself to walk away, to escape the torture his wife was inflicting upon him, but his curiosity demanded he stay. Perhaps he would learn the painful truth and be done with it.

  After several excruciating moments, he heard his wife giggle. “There was one,” she said, and René feared the worst. He pictured the guy, some dandy American fellow who spoke proper English, danced the latest steps and knew what wine to drink with what course. And because he hadn’t the nerve to leave the damn bookshelf, he was forced to listen to every horrifying detail.

  “He was a tall, friendly man who used to shadow me with his presence,” Amanda began. “I looked forward to seeing him every day because not only was he interesting to talk to, but he blocked the hot sun from my face, as well.”

  Amanda giggled again before she continued. She was enjoying herself, remembering a man who meant more to her than he ever would.

  “He wore the most unusual hat, some kind of native plant, I believe. I was so intrigued by it that I actually offered my hand in greeting just for the chance of meeting him. Can you believe I did something so bold? He must have thought I was the most brazen woman.”

  Alcée shot René a sympathetic glance, but René’s thoughts suddenly turned hopeful.

  “I actually lied to my family because of this man,” Amanda continued. “I had never done that before. I told them I was interested in learning how to garden, which I actually despise, just so I could be at the front fence every morning when he walked by. He used to come by my house every morning about ten o’clock.”

  Before René could adequately digest her words, his palmetto hat came slamming down upon his head. “What the...?”

 
Turning, he found his normally shy cousin grinning from ear to ear. “Caught you,” T-Emile whispered. “I can’t believe you’re eavesdropping on your wife.”

  Alcée heard the teen talking and quickly remedied the situation. “Here’s René now,” he announced to alert Amanda to change the subject.

  T-Emile followed René on to the front gallery and for a brief time the men awkwardly stared at one another. Amanda, surprisingly, appeared at ease and was smiling a heartfelt smile. She left the swing, rose up on her tiptoes and removed the hat in question from René’s head.

  “What is this thing made of anyway?” she asked, blushing profusely in the light pouring from the open door.

  René knew Alcée finally understood who the man of her description was; he could almost feel his broad smile at his side. The object of René’s complete attention, however, was the blue-eyed darling standing in front of him.

  “Palmetto,” he answered. “We learned it from the natives.”

  “Indians?” Amanda asked, looking both astonished and still happy to see him.

  “Someone had to teach us how to live in the wilds of Louisiana. Besides, it makes a great hat.”

  Until that evening, René had doubts about that hat. He entertained thoughts about buying a cotton planters hat, like the ones Americans wore. Dressing like the Americans might make his wife more comfortable, more likely to care for him, he believed.

  After tonight, he was going to wear that hat every chance he could.

  “I came to tell you, René, that there’s a man in the stables,” T-Emile interrupted. “I went over there to check on that sickly Vaughn horse and this guy arrives and says he wants to see you.”

  The light glistening in his wife’s eyes suddenly grew dim. He couldn’t leave her now, not after those touching words of endearment. René sighed and turned toward Alcée who seemed genuinely puzzled he was glancing his way. “Alcée, do you mind?”

  Alcée smiled broadly once again and slapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Of course not. I’d be glad to.”

  René felt a thousand times relieved until T-Emile stopped Alcée from re-entering the house and grabbing his hat. “No, he asked for you, René. He asked for you by name.”

  There was nothing anybody could do. René built his business on a reputation that he was available to anyone day or night. You reap what you sow, his mother always said.

  René felt the familiar burning of unrequited passion searing his flesh. Looking up at Amanda, he read disappointment in her eyes. Why tonight? he thought, wondering if God enjoyed a good joke once in a while at his expense.

  Taking a deep breath to try to relieve the pounding in his head and loins, René turned and headed off into the dark night toward the stables.

  Amanda couldn’t believe her luck. A barrier had come crashing down tonight, she was sure of it. She felt it in the air between them, as if René had actually listened in on her declaration of love. The way he had stared down at her on the gallery, the love that seemed to be sparkling in those rich brown eyes; he had to have feelings for her. But now his mistress the racetrack was luring him away, and Amanda could only sit and watch him walk off into her commanding arms.

  Alcée, too, appeared disappointed that his nephew was again taken away by the demands of their business. He sent Amanda an empathetic look.

  Then suddenly, Alcée’s eyes glistened. “Amanda,” he said like a call to action, making her jump. “His hat. René needs his hat.”

  Amanda caught his meaning instantly and bolted down the path leading away from the house. René hadn’t gone far from the house’s encompassing light, and Amanda found him quickly. “René,” she called to him breathlessly.

  When René turned, Amanda swallowed hard, hoping the action would slow down her fast-beating heart. “You forgot your hat.”

  While her heart raced like a thoroughbred, her husband’s actions seemed to slowly unfold before her. He accepted the hat, staring at it as if it had suddenly turned back into a palmetto palm. Then René glanced up at Amanda, at the same time cupping her cheek with his left hand and wrapping his right hand around her waist. In seconds, his lips were on hers.

  Amanda wasted no time pulling her own hands to his shoulders and wrapping them tightly around his neck. His lips were hot and demanding and so welcome. As Amanda threaded her fingers lovingly through his soft hair, signaling to René that she approved, René sent his tongue flickering inside her mouth, dancing to a tune Amanda never dreamed of before. The action sent sensations coursing through her, awakening areas of her body that suddenly required she press closer.

  She leaned into his embrace, tightening her hold around René’s shoulders and allowing her tongue to discreetly meet his. René groaned and laid a flat palm against the curve of her back, pressing her into his arousal. Amanda remained ignorant of men, but she instantly recognized that her husband desired her intensely. To her amazement, the following moans of pleasure were hers.

  René’s lips left hers, leading a trail of sensuous kisses along her cheek to the tip of her jawline while his hand slipped up to her bodice and gently massaged her soft breast and nipple. His touch made Amanda gasp, and her knees weaken. If this was lovemaking, Amanda thought as she tilted her head back to allow René ample room at her neck, then fear be damned.

  Amanda smiled at her use of profanity, even if it was only within her mind. Bringing her head level, she looked into René’s eyes, placing a soft hand at his face. René sighed and drew her close, holding her tightly against him.

  “I have to go,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Amanda softly answered, but she refused to relinquish her hold on his neck.

  Life was so ironic, Amanda thought during the brief moments they held each other. Only days before she had longed for a kiss from a man she despised and only conversation from a man she adored. At the time, it made perfect sense. Now, it had all been made right.

  René finally broke away, never taking his eyes from Amanda’s face. He placed his hat firmly on his head, adjusting the angle and smiling grimly. He lovingly touched the tip of her chin, allowing his thumb the pleasure of caressing her cheek once more. Then, without a word, he was swallowed up into the darkness.

  René couldn’t help but feel ten times happier. His wife cared for him, and obviously had done so for quite some time. The dark Louisiana night seemed a thousand times brighter.

  Why she denied knowing he had asked her father for her hand was still unclear. Did her father lie about Amanda not accepting an Acadian’s affections, or was Amanda trying to change history to suit her current situation?

  Familiar doubts returned, but René willed them away. She could have left, had the marriage annulled at any time, he reminded himself. Amanda offered herself to him tonight, and that wasn’t the action of a woman waiting to return home to her father.

  Whistling happily, René entered the quiet stables, lighted only by a sole lamp in the small corner the men called an office. As he approached the area, René could make out a medium-sized man with dark, wavy hair exquisitely kept in the latest style. He stood poised by a wall, his arm delicately draped on the sill of the makeshift window, as if afraid the stable dust might infiltrate his clothes. His dress and manner were equally impressive, exuding wealth and good breeding. René wondered what the dapper man could possibly want from him.

  “Bonsoir,” René said, instinctively believing the man to be French. “I am René Comeaux.”

  The man turned, said nothing, and refused to accept René’s outstretched hand. Instead, he grinned slyly as he took in René’s attire, starting with the crude palmetto hat and ending with his dirty, work-worn leather boots.

  “You’re an Acadian,” he said with a patronizing smirk.

  Ever since he was a boy, French Creoles had always incited two reactions from René, depending on the severity of their scorn. If he wanted their company or saw an opportunity by mixing with the upper-class French descendants, he adopted their mannerisms and accent. If they
looked upon him with distaste, attempting to re-instate the aristocratic-peasant social class system in France, then René strutted his Acadian heritage with pride. He’d be damned if he would bow down to anyone.

  “What on earth are you wearing on your head?” the Creole asked.

  René folded his arms defiantly across his chest. He left the comfort of his wife’s arms for this harassment? “May I help you with something?” René asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. This was business after all.

  The man straightened and began to remove imaginary lint from his sleeves. “I have a business proposition for you, if you’re interested.”

  René wanted to offer the middle-aged man a chair, but the stables had never been a place he conducted business dealings. “My home is only minutes away. May I suggest we continue our conversation there? I could offer you some refreshment, some...”

  The Creole waved his hand in front of him. “There’s no need. I’ll not keep you long. I’m interested in a race between my horse and several other gentlemen from New Orleans. I’m from New Orleans, you see.”

  “Really?” René hadn’t meant the remark to sound so biting, but it emerged with quite a sting. The man ignored it and continued.

  “I would like to have the racetrack for an entire day, to ensure privacy.”

  “That is quite difficult to do,” René said, folding his arms across his chest. “I have races scheduled every day.”

  “I’ll pay handsomely for it.”

  René laughed. “Yes, you will.”

  The Creole pulled out a large leather billfold from his waistcoat pocket. Inside René spotted a thick wad of currency. “I aim to pay you very well,” the Creole said quietly, “for more than just the use of your track.”

  René stared at the Creole, searching for that familiar glint of greed that appears in the eyes of the most unselfish men. He had seen it numerous times, men driven to desperate acts because of financial misfortune. If he had a piastre for every time he had been bribed, René could have easily quit the horse racing business.