A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5)

by Claire, Cherie

  When the shirt opened freely, Amanda hesitated.

  “Touch me,” René whispered. “And promise me you won’t run away.”

  Amanda giggled and blushed at the mention of that night in his bedroom. But she did as she was told. Her fingers combed their way through the fine brown hairs of his chest, lingering slightly at his own nipples. René thought he would lose all control of his senses.

  Taking a deep breath, Amanda reached down to unbutton his trousers. After the second button, however, she turned crimson and stopped.

  “Let me,” René said.

  He turned toward the far wall and discreetly removed his pants, coming back to bed underneath the sheet. Amanda, too, removed her gown and worked herself underneath the sheet until they found each other. René could no longer control himself. He snaked his arms around her while Amanda moved her arms about his shoulders. They kissed passionately while their bodies melted into one.

  Again, René lowered his wife on to the pillows, his lips never leaving hers. She parted her legs, offering herself to him willingly. While he devoured her mouth with his, deepening the kiss as he pulled her hips toward his arousal, he slowly entered. Amanda reacted immediately, gasping at the intrusion and clenching her eyes shut in fear.

  “Look at me,” René instructed.

  Amanda gazed at him trusting. René brushed back her hair from her cheek, then placed his hands by the sides of her face.

  “I love you,” he said in English.

  “Je t’aime,” she whispered back.

  René entered her again, but Amanda never strayed her eyes from his. He felt her stiffen, but her hands contradicted her body’s natural reactions by drawing him closer. He was deep inside her when he felt her relenting. She swallowed hard when her breathing quickened, and stared lovingly into his eyes. It was all he could do to hold back.

  Soon, their bodies began to beat a rhythm all their own. They moved together in unison, a passion bound in love. René felt the burning intensifying. He wanted to shut his eyes, to release the tension, but he held on, delving into the blue depths of his wife’s eyes.

  “It’s coming back,” Amanda whispered.

  Before René could comprehend her statement, Amanda shut her eyes, arched her hips forward and moaned. Her hands, only moments ago grabbing at the flesh on his back, reached up and over her head to grab the headboard. While her teeth bit into her lower lip, she shuddered violently, tipping her head back with a passionate sigh.

  René felt the waves flow over him as he released his own blazing need. He called out her name as Amanda’s hands found him once more, holding him so close he couldn’t fathom where he began and she ended. They lay there for quite some time, kissing and caressing until René moved over on to his back and pulled her tightly into his chest.

  Before sleep finally washed over him, René imagined heaven could not possibly be as sweet.

  A Cajun Dream

  Chapter Fifteen

  James didn’t know which was more disconcerting, Tanner disappearing or the overseer’s cottage ransacked, its contents left in scattered remnants. Apparently, Tanner caught wind that the Judge was wise to him or his creditors were growing impatient. The only consolation, James figured as he surveyed the splintered mahogany of the bed frame and the down feathers littering the floor, was that Tanner, in all probability, was fast on his way to Texas.

  The slaves couldn’t hide their excitement when James informed them of Tanner’s disappearance. As James drove the carriage back into town, he could hear the music ringing out over the cane fields and the hearty laughter of the men, women and children who shared his land. Their merriment tugged at his heartstrings. He never heard their laughter before, nor ever been conscious of whether they were happy or not. He always considered them fortunate to have food and a place to live.

  Have I been dead to life all these years?, he thought. Was I so preoccupied that the happiness of everyone around me was sacrificed?

  James immediately thought of Virginia and how only recently he learned of her marital situation. How miserable she must have been when she first came to work for him, so newly widowed and without family. She took care of their every need, nurturing Amanda’s wounded heart and maintaining a household without complaint when all along her own heart must have been breaking from the loneliness.

  He couldn’t lose her now. It might be his own selfish nature speaking again, but James couldn’t bear living without her. How could he awaken each morning without Virginia’s cheerful greeting at breakfast, without the constant lectures on his poor eating habits and her opinions of his judicial business?

  There would be no campaign consultations, no more parental discussions regarding Amanda. No more of her soft, ruddy complexion that lit up brilliantly when she smiled. No more admiring the way her silky auburn hair escaped its prison of pins and cascaded down in tendrils at the end of the day. No more chance of tasting those sweet, prominent lips that had eagerly met his that morning in the foyer.

  The thought exploded through his mind, causing him to almost lose his balance on the buggy seat. Dear God, he thought, I’m in love with her.

  Virginia stirred the simmering stew for no other reason than to give herself something to do. Most of the families in town, including the Americans, preferred gumbo, a Louisiana twist on the French bouillabaisse, only with New World ingredients and highly seasoned with spices introduced by the Spanish. Virginia had heard gumbo was filled with contributions from several nationalities: filé from the Indians, okra from the Africans and the basic roux from the French. Still, until the Irish had a stake in this melting pot of a soup, she was going to cook a good old-fashioned Irish stew.

  It had been half a day since the Judge left, and her stomach tightened at the thought. Mr. Comeaux said James would contact the sheriff, but what was taking them so long? Midnight was approaching. She sent a prayer to the Virgin Mother and began stirring again.

  “Don’t tell me you saved dinner for me?”

  Virginia nearly dropped her spoon as James crossed the threshold of the kitchen door. She wanted to hold him, to feel his arms about her to convince her he was all right. Instead, she turned back to the stove and discreetly made the sign of the cross against her chest.

  “You weren’t worried about me?” James asked, his voice sounding almost seductive. He moved so close Virginia swore she could feel his breath at the back of her neck.

  “Of course, I was worried about you. I wouldn’t want to not get paid this week.”

  James slid his hands on to her waist and slowly turned her around so that they faced one another. “Is that the only reason?”

  Say something witty, Virginia instructed herself. Say something smart. When James’ eyes gazed into hers, as if searching for some hidden meaning, suddenly Virginia’s tongue turned to stone.

  “I need to ask you something,” James began. “And I want you to be completely honest with me.”

  “I didn’t vote for you in the last election.” Thank God she found her voice.

  James smiled at her humor, the laugh lines about his pale blue eyes responding. “That’s not what I wanted to ask.”

  He’s so serious, Virginia thought nervously. And so near. Why was he making it so hard? If he only knew how much she wanted to be close to him, he would probably stand in the other room to carry on a conversation.

  “Do you care for me?”

  Virginia knew she heard wrong. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” James brushed a red thread of hair from her face. “Do you care for me?”

  “Of course, I do.” Virginia tried desperately to keep the emotions from her voice. “I have always cared for you and Amanda.”

  James shook his head and smiled again, that same endearing smile that always made Virginia’s heart flutter. He was alarmingly attractive tonight, Virginia thought, with his blond hair wild about him from the buggy ride home and his shirt unusually opened at the neck. One more smile and she would loose all self-
control.

  “Virginia,” James said, grasping her hand in his, “I want to know if you care for me.”

  Virginia’s heart stilled and all logic left her. There were no more witty remarks, no clever verbal barriers to protect her. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I have for quite some time.”

  As the words left her lips, Virginia felt a great weight leaving her chest. She knew what was coming, but the burden of the secret was more than she could bear. Regardless of James’ reaction, the wound had been flushed and would now be allowed to heal.

  To her amazement, James smiled. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  Before Virginia understood what had transpired, James reached into his breast pocket and removed the diamond ring he always lovingly kept attached to the chain of his father’s pocket watch.

  “This was my mother’s,” he began. “It was too simple for my wife; she preferred a more pretentious piece of jewelry to show off to her friends. But I have always been partial to this ring. My father and mother were very happy.”

  James placed the ring on Virginia’s hand that was now shaking considerably. If she wasn’t mistaken, the room itself was beginning to spin. “I have to sit down,” she whispered.

  “Of course.” James quickly pulled out a chair and helped her into it. To her equal amazement, he took the opportunity to kneel before her.

  “Virginia O’Toole,” he pronounced proudly, “I am probably the most disagreeable man you have ever met. I have a terrible disposition, a stubborn nature and I work too much. But if you will do me the honor of marrying me, I promise I will make you the finest, most committed husband to ever grace the great state of Louisiana.”

  The dizziness passed, but Virginia knew she was crying when she felt a tear roll down her cheek. “I promise to be a good wife,” she managed to whisper.

  James smiled as he took her face in his hands. “You already have been.”

  They kissed softly, Virginia gingerly reaching down to touch his face. As her fingers led a gentle trail down his cheek, James intercepted her hand and passionately kissed the inside of her palm.

  Virginia hoped for more, but James suddenly stopped, taking a moment to clear his thoughts. “We should make arrangements for you to stay somewhere until the wedding.”

  “I could stay with Marsha McKinley,” Virginia offered, although she dreaded leaving her home and the man she loved, who finally loved her in return.

  “You should pack,” he said solemnly. “I can take you there tonight.”

  Always doing the right thing, Virginia thought as she stared into the incredibly rich blue eyes of the man kneeling before her. But she recognized the passion lurking behind his gaze, the sexual need tearing at his proper countenance. She recognized it as her own.

  “It can wait till tomorrow,” she whispered.

  Before she could regret her wanton remarks, James lifted her from the chair, kissing her passionately as he carried her from the kitchen and up the stairs to his room.

  By early morning a lull descended over the dance floor at the LeBlanc house and small groups of people stopped dancing and began mulling about in the doorway, talking quietly while they sipped their cool drinks. The enthusiasm prevailing before the midnight gumbo had waned. With René and Amanda gone, and all discussion about their marriage exhausted, there was little excitement left to the dance.

  For the thousandth time that night, Alcée searched the room for Marguerite. She was usually helping with the cleaning or assisting in pouring everyone drinks, but never inside. Unless he took a break and stepped outside the house, Alcée wasn’t able to even steal a glimpse of the coal-black hair and penetrating eyes of the woman he loved, let alone talk to her.

  A few more songs and he would call it a night, Alcée decided. One way or another he would get close to her.

  Between songs, Alcée saw Marguerite bring in a pitcher of water to the young girls congregating by the side of the makeshift dance floor. She kept her head down while she filled their glasses, as if purposefully refusing to meet Alcée’s eyes. Alcée tried to remain aloof during the evening, consciously making it appear that her presence at the dance made no difference to him, but her current disinterest unnerved him. Besides the years of relentless pain tearing at his heart, Alcée felt the heat rise in his temples. He wanted an answer and he wanted it now.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and began the waltz, a slow mournful tune he composed years before, a song born from the pain of a broken heart and an intense longing that was never to be satisfied. Alcée wrote the song for Marguerite’s wedding, but the tune was not created for the couple being joined together that day but rather how love could never be denied or destroyed. It was the perfect choice for lovers, deeply sentimental, passionate and moving, even though only Marguerite and Alcée knew its true meaning. Marguerite had cried through the entire piece, and for some time afterwards. He had wanted her to cry, to realize she was ripping his soul in two by severing their love. He wanted her to know just how much he would always love her.

  Alcée watched Marguerite pause as she filled the last glass. He saw her tremble slightly as the violin wailed its lament. He studied the silken braids pulled tightly behind her head, released into rivulets of black curls down her slender shoulders. He slowly absorbed the curves of her waist and the soft roundness of her skirt. He remembered how well her figure fit into his embrace, how her fingers lovingly rubbed his back in response. The sweet, seductive taste of her generous lips that so easily pursed into a frown when things didn’t go her way.

  Alcée wanted to cry out, to release the aching pressure suffocating him all these years. Instead, he closed his eyes and transferred the powerful emotions threatening to tear him apart into his music. He furiously worked the bow across the strings, and began to sing. The original words had described how his life had ended when she chose another, but that he wished her well. Tonight he added how the years had not lessened the pain in his heart, that he would never love another until his dying day.

  “My soul died the day you married,” Alcée sang. “And my life has since ended. I walk the world a lonely man.”

  Alcée was so intent playing the song he failed to notice Marguerite moving to the center of the floor between the waltzing couples. When he opened his eyes at the last strain, his violin strings still humming from the beseeching tune, Alcée saw Marguerite standing before him, tears streaming down her face.

  The couples stopped and stared at Marguerite, and Alcée heard someone mention retrieving Marguerite’s in-laws. Before the messenger left the room, Alcée moved quickly to her side, placing a cautious hand at her waist in case she fainted. When her eyes, filled with a mixture of pity and desire, met his, Alcée lovingly wiped the tears away. Only the buzz of commotion, some semblance of reality, kept him from taking her into his arms.

  “I have to see you,” he whispered heatedly. “I have to talk to you.”

  “I can’t,” Marguerite whispered back.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alcée saw her in-laws walk through the door. “Meet me at the stables in an hour,” he said before they reached her side.

  The LeBlancs immediately put their arms about her, asking what had transpired, but Marguerite refused to talk, her gaze never leaving Alcée’s face. She swallowed hard trying to keep the tears at bay.

  “I played the song I wrote for her wedding,” Alcée told the mother when she glanced accusingly in his direction. “Marguerite is remembering Francois.”

  Marguerite finally looked away, turning the corners of her lips down in her typical childish pout, the simple action Alcée always found so charming. He closed his eyes to calm the passions pulsating through him. He had to have her, or he would die for sure.

  “It’s time to retire,” Monsieur LeBlanc instructed Marguerite. “Sleep will do you good.”

  Alcée wanted to appreciate the LeBlancs’ comfort and support, but they remained a symbol of the man who stole Marguerite’s heart from him. Now they were the
ones taking her away. As the LeBlancs began to lead Marguerite from the room, he felt the anxiety rising in his chest. He couldn’t bear another night without her, or at least not knowing how she felt. Just when he thought he would burst from the pain, Marguerite quickly met his eyes and very gently placed a hand over her heart. A second later she was gone.

  He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the gesture, but suddenly Alcée had hope. He began to quickly clear the room. “Time to go home,” he announced and amazingly found only a couple of objections. Usually, the Acadians demanded he play until dawn.

  Paul LeBlanc handed Alcée his pistol, loaded and cocked. Alcée moved outside to a clearing and shot the pistol into the air. “Le bal est fini!” he exclaimed, the traditional announcement marking the end of the dance.

  When Alcée returned, most of the people had retrieved their sleeping children and disappeared into the night. Through the intense darkness, Alcée could hear the wagons rolling away.

  Alcée walked the short distance from Paul LeBlanc’s house to the stables and waited. Sitting anxiously on a bale of hay, wondering if Marguerite would even think of joining him, he played a soft tune to serenade the horses. Mary’s Blessing neighed in approval.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll scare them?”

  It was the first full sentence she had spoken to him in more than five years. The heavenly words fell about him like a soft misty rain.

  “God, I missed you.” Alcée tried hard to keep his emotions in check, but five years of grief had destroyed his self-control.

  Marguerite moved closer to the lantern and Alcée instantly reached for her. Before he could slide a hand around her cheek, she withdrew and looked away.

  “I came to tell you I can’t meet you tonight.”

  Alcée laughed nervously. “But you are meeting me here tonight.”

  “I didn’t want you waiting here all night for me,” Marguerite said without looking at him. “I have to go back now.”