He responded with a wry smile. “As I said, it’s not much of a boat. In fact, it’s a pitiful excuse for one.”
Gabrielle turned toward his radeau, a wide, flat-bottomed boat whose sole purpose was to haul products up a fast-moving river. There was a makeshift sail, topped by a bottle of rum hanging from its mast, its presence indicating to all that Jean Bouclaire wished to conduct business. In the boat’s center, amidst the endless crates, hides and lumber, was a raised deck where Gabrielle assumed the Captain sought refuge during storms and to sleep. Its interior was lighted softly by a kerosene lamp.
“Would you like a tour of my magnificent vessel,” the Captain asked, offering an elbow. “It requires getting your feet wet, but I do have something to offer you once aboard.”
Gabrielle knew she must refuse; it was unthinkable to agree. The sly twinkle in his eyes should have made her all the more wary. But she placed a hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her through several feet of water before embarking his rugged boat. His strong arms lifted her into the boat, and he combined two empty packing crates to allow her a seat. While she made herself comfortable, pulling her shawl about her in an effort of modesty, Jean disappeared into the cabin.
“I have some wine,” he called out to her. “Some cheese and bread.”
What was she doing here? she thought madly. Alone on a boat at night with a man professed to be a pirate? Gabrielle glanced toward shore and wondered how fast she could reach it if the Captain attempted to compromise her. But when Jean emerged back on deck, a bottle of wine under an arm, two glasses in one hand and a plate of food in the other, her fears disappeared. Although she knew no earthly reason why, she trusted the man.
“You mustn’t go to any trouble on my account,” she said.
The Captain spread the food on a neighboring crate, then uncorked the bottle and filled a glass. He sat opposite her on a barrel once used for gunpowder.
“No trouble at all.” He handed her a glass. “In fact, it is quite a pleasure. But I am surprised a lovely woman such as yourself is not enjoying the crazy Englishman’s music. And I would suspect there are several young men wondering where their dance partner has gone.”
If Gabrielle hadn’t known better, she would have blushed at the comment. But she was too logical for such flirtations. “I am neither lovely nor missed.”
Jean regarded her above the rim of his wine glass, then stretched his legs before him and leaned back against the side of the boat. He ran a lazy finger across his lips, studying her. His attentiveness was disconcerting.
“Why, monsieur, must you stare at me so?” Gabrielle insisted.
Jean straightened and rested his elbows on his knees. They were so close she could make out the golden specks flitting inside deep brown eyes. He was such an enormous, viral man. Gabrielle nearly dropped the plate of cheese in her lap.
“I am baffled, mademoiselle,” he finally said. “Amazed that a woman as remarkable as you would not realize her beauty. I am equally astonished that a search party hasn’t been ordered.”
Gabrielle laughed at the thought, and the merriment broke the tension between them. Jean smiled broadly before refilling their glasses. “What is wrong with these men of yours? Is blindness a trait of the Acadians?”
Gabrielle placed a hand over her glass to keep him from filling it to the brim. She trusted him, but only to a point. “Is charm a trait of French pirates operating on the Mississippi?”
Jean mockingly placed a hand over his heart. “Pirate? I am wounded to the core.”
Perhaps Rose was wrong, Gabrielle thought with horror. Piernas might have been joking about Bouclaire being a pirate and Rose believed it as fact. Before she could retort, Jean leaned forward again. “I prefer to call myself a maritime businessman,” he said with a grin. “Whether or not my business practices agree with the colonial powers I happen upon is another story.”
“Then you are a pirate.” Gabrielle couldn’t stop the thrill that ran up her spine. She hoped it hadn’t emerged in her voice, but feared it did.
Jean watched as the lantern’s light reflected off Gabrielle’s eyes, now widened as large as Spanish medallions. He didn’t know why he didn’t discredit the label. After all he was at best a smuggler, and a good one at that. But a pirate? Hardly. He expected a gasp of surprise, an outburst of some sort, maybe a demand to be taken back at shore, safe from his pirating ways. Instead, the woman’s eyes sparkled with rapture.
“Have you sailed to the Caribbean?” she asked excitedly. “South America? Have you robbed other ships, taken the jewels of monarchs and buried them on some remote island?”
Jean couldn’t help but smile at her romantic notions no doubt gathered from the imaginations of bored shipmates on her sail from Maryland. His crew was quite talented at weaving tall tales while at sea, outdoing one another as the days turned into weeks without sight of land. But pirates were a smelly, murdering lot. Jean only wanted to haul cargo to places in need of such niceties with men willing to pay top money for the luxury. Most of it was illegal, but he considered himself too educated and well-groomed to be labeled an ordinary pirate.
“Let me rephrase this,” he said, hoping to set the record straight without losing her esteem. “I have sailed throughout the West Indies and South America. I have had jewels and other riches aboard my ship. But I have robbed no one. At least not at gunpoint. And I would never dream of burying anything anywhere. There is a great chance of never finding such a stash again.”
Gabrielle peered down into her glass. “You must think me very silly indeed.”
“Indeed not. I think you’re charming. If being a pirate raises me in your eyes, then I shall happily call myself a pirate.”
Gabrielle looked up then, and the smile she conveyed struck him to the core. What was it about this dark beauty that caused his blood to stir? “Why are you here?” he asked.
Her smile disappeared and she took a long sip from her glass. “The music makes me sad, reminds me of home. The water soothes me.”
Jean wished there was something he could offer her family besides a useless roll of fabric. Then a thought emerged. “I am leaving tomorrow for New Orleans. Shall I stop in St. Gabriel and inquire as to your father, your sister and the fellow she was with.”
Gabrielle instantly brightened. “I would like that,” she said quickly, then frowned as if regretting her outburst. “That is, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s on my way downriver. I’d be happy to.”
“But you have done so much for us already.”
“I have only given you a gift of fabric.”
“One we cannot possibly accept.” She met his eyes and for an instant Jean wanted nothing more than to meet those luscious lips pursued in a frown with his own. Instead, he focused on the conversation at hand.
“Mademoiselle, I found no buyer here for that fabric. I will lose money if I return it to New Orleans for market. And if I have to bring it with me it will be one less space on this miserable craft. You would honor me if you accepted that gift.”
Gabrielle bit her lip and stared off downriver. Her profile, Jean realized, was just as exquisite. Round, full cheeks, a petite nose rising ever so slightly on the end, deep-set haunting brown eyes that threatened to engulf him every time they looked his way and the fullest lips he had ever witnessed on a woman. Her silky black hair was gathered in a round braid at her nape and offered a startling contract to the ivory color of her long, elegant neck.
But there wasn’t one particular aspect of Gabrielle that caught his attention; more like a myriad of attributes. Her long, graceful fingers kept turning the wine glass round and round, making him wish they would navigate a course along his body. Her dawn-tinted dress filled out in all the right places, causing him to imagine his fingers exploring her uncharted waters. The cross hanging from her neck descended into a steep valley beneath her breast bone, a spot now rising and falling dramatically with every breath.
Did h
e make her nervous? he wondered. Did she wish to be rid of him, to escape back to her solitude along the shore? As much as Jean swore off women, cursing their lot to be an endless stream of plagues and misfortunes, he longed for Gabrielle’s company. He hoped she wished for his.
“Do you have family in New Orleans?” she asked softly.
Was she asking if he was married? His hopes soared. Then he remembered what family he did have in New Orleans. Perhaps Gabrielle would retreat back to shore sooner than he imagined.
“I have a daughter,” he said, watching her for a reaction. “But I’m not married to her mother.”
Gabrielle turned toward him and exhibited neither surprise nor condemnation. Jean never spoke much of Delphine, never wanted shame or scandal to ever figure into his daughter’s life. But he felt the need to discuss her now, to share his life with this dark beauty, to share his pain.
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” he continued. “But her mother set her sights on someone more important than a second son smuggling goods into the wilds of Louisiana. She married a count, a rich man with social ranking on both sides of the Atlantic.”
Gabrielle sipped her wine, her eyes soft from the lantern’s light. They lacked the typical censure of most of New Orleans society, so he continued. “I wasn’t opposed to the marriage, there was nothing I could offer the child. I only asked to be a visiting uncle of sorts. But when Delphine was born, she was my mirror image. Only a fool would have missed the resemblance. The count gathered every coin of Delphine’s mother’s inheritance and left for France. Delphine’s mother has the social standing she had always hoped for, but is now impoverished and without a husband. I support them both.”
Gabrielle reached out and lightly touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”
If it hadn’t been such a loving gesture, Jean would have laughed. “Don’t be. Only Delphine’s birth has kept me from cursing the day I ever laid eyes on Louise Delaronde.”
Gabrielle surprised him even more by moving closer and refilling her glass. Clearly piqued with interest, she gulped down the wine and asked, “Why?”
Jean refrained from cupping her adorable face with his hands and letting his thumb dance across those cheeks flushed from the wine. “She is bitter because I have ruined her life.”
Gabrielle frowned. “I hardly see how. It was her mistake marrying for a title and not for love.”
This time Jean did laugh. “There was no love between us.”
“But how?”
“Too much wine one night at a garden party,” he answered and instantly wished he could retract the words. Gabrielle cleared her throat, then placed the wine glass at her feet.
With lightning speed, Jean retrieved the glass and handed it back to her. “No, chèrie. This isn’t the same.”
He expected a sigh of relief, but instead Gabrielle appeared disappointed. Or perhaps he was imagining things. “We are friends, no?” he asked her.
Now it was her turn to stare, gazing into his eyes with abandonment. “We are friends, yes,” she answered softly.
Trying to ignore the pressure building inside him, reminding himself that it had been too long between females, Jean threw back his wine. “It’s late. I should take you home.”
Gabrielle nodded, then finished her own glass of wine. When she stood, she lost her balance and fell against his chest. He grabbed her by her arms, relishing in the softness of her body next to his. She smelled of cinnamon, of soap, of freshly laundered clothes and her hair felt like silk against his lips.
She hesitated, then pushed away. “Pardon me, I haven’t gotten my sea legs yet.”
Jean laughed and noticed a twinkle in her eye. “Some day, mademoiselle, I shall show you my ship. She is a beauty, a feather on the waves of the ocean.”
“Gabrielle.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name is Gabrielle. Friends don’t need to be formal, n’est-ce pas?”
Jean bowed before her. “At your service, Gabrielle. My name is Jean.”
A smile erupted from her voluptuous lips and it was everything Jean could do to keep his hands off her. Instead, an ingenious idea came to him. He jumped overboard, then leaned into the boat and pulled her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he carried her toward shore.
“I’m carrying you off to my remote island, me lady, where I shall drape you in stolen jewels from my wild escapades at sea.”
Gabrielle giggled, tightening the hold at his neck. “Louise Delaronde was a fool,” she whispered into his ear.
Jean deposited her on shore, but her last remark tore at his heart. “Gabrielle,” he said, still holding a hand at her waist.
They were closer than society allowed, but neither made a move to push away. “Yes, Jean.”
“May I kiss you?”
Jean felt the waves lapping against the shore at their feet, saw the hawks chasing mosquitoes above their heads but the only sounds he heard were Gabrielle’s next words. “Yes, Jean, you may.”
He leaned in ever so slightly and brushed his lips against hers, then slowly, gently, he deepened the impact. With a chaste hand at her waist, he savored the taste of her ample lips against his as he deepened the kiss, angling his head to gain better access, but not too evasive as to offend Gabrielle.
She evoked images of sweet wines, a warm hearth, fresh baked bread. Everything Jean missed in his life. And as he refrained from delivering more powerful affections, she responded purposefully, her head tilted upward, her fingers gracing his neck. Like their meeting several days before, their kiss seemed natural, as if destined to be.
Time seemed to stand still, yet he left the comfort of their embrace in what seemed to be seconds. “Your family will be worried,” he whispered, breathing in her delicious scent one last time.
When she opened her eyes, there were no regrets. Nodding, Gabrielle pulled the shawl about her, but hesitated and removed the mahogany cross at her neck. Placing it over his head, their lips almost touched a second time.
“God speed on your journey,” she said, then walked up the path toward home.
Piernas watched the Acadians rebuild the fire so they could continue dancing. It was well past midnight and no one wanted for sleep. Coleman finished another jig, his bow sailing across the fiddle as if possessed by a demon, then followed Rose’s lead as she sang a sad ballad about a lover lingering in prison. Amazing how happy these depressing songs made the Acadians, Piernas thought. He had never witnessed them so joyous.
Piernas hated being the bearer of bad news. Especially when the young Englishman was enjoying himself and his inhabitants were agreeable for the first time since they had arrived. Still, he had a job to do and a governor to answer.
“Madame Gallant,” he said, approaching Marianne. “I’m afraid time is running out.”
Marianne’s face turned ashen, but she didn’t appear surprised. “I know,” she said softly.
“I must send a dispatch to New Orleans and report your daughter and Lorenz Dugas missing.”
Emilie
Chapter Twelve
Coleman slammed the bottle of rum before Piernas, causing the papers on his desk to scatter about the floor.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Piernas said, clearly displeased with Coleman’s impertinence.
“How can you do that to Rose? How can you call the dogs on her sister and her friend?”
Piernas stood and gravely looked Coleman in the eye. “I gave them two months to return. Which is more compassion than they deserved considering their defiance. Any commandant would have reported them missing immediately, especially since I have distinct orders not to allow an Acadian to go to any settlement but the ones they are assigned to.”
Coleman began pacing the small office, his temple burning from the news, from the ridiculous rationale. “This isn’t a game of chess between colonial powers, damn it,” he said, turning back toward Piernas. “These are people. You are continuing to keep a family separated. A f
amily that has not seen their father in thirteen years.”
Piernas glared back at him, his dark eyes afire. Coleman knew the commandant called him a friend, a tentative one considering his nationality, but Piernas wasn’t going to allow an upstart Englishman to address him in such a fashion, especially since his men were within earshot.
“I know the situation of every man, woman and child here,” Piernas said sternly. “And they have all been treated with respect and provided shelter, food and materials to start a new life in a fertile land. I have not been unfair to these Acadians. God knows, they have made my life miserable.”
Coleman erased the distance between them. “You can’t do this to Rose,” he said softly, hoping the Spaniard’s feelings for the woman might sway him. “You’re the one who introduced us, the one who begged me to help your angel and her family.”
“I’m going to the Illinois territory to take command of a fort there,” Piernas said. “I have to settle all business before then.” Placing a hand on Coleman’s shoulder, he added, “I know how much you love her but I have done all that I could. It’s out of my control now.”
Coleman pushed his hand aside and strolled toward the open window. A cold biting wind rattled the shutters and he thought of Rose and her sister and mother shivering inside the cabin with a thousand holes in the walls. Without the father around, who would look after them, see to their needs? Who would plant and tend their crops, repair their roof when the violent rains of spring arrived?
“I am heading west,” he told Piernas. “Today is my twenty-first birthday and I come into my mother’s inheritance. I have a land grant in the Opelousas District and I plan to start a farm out there.”
“I think that’s wise considering everything,” Piernas said. When Coleman turned, the Spaniard handed him a drink. “Come now, friend. One last drink among comrades?”
Coleman hesitated, then accepted the glass from Piernas. “To your health and prosperity,” Piernas said. “And may you find happiness wherever life takes you.”
Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1) Page 16