The Topaz Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 10)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  New Orleans (1815)—Rick

  Rick woke up with morning twilight inching toward a cloudy sunrise.

  He was hungover and cold after overindulging and passing out in the chair in Marguerite’s courtyard. What a dumbass. He’d never mixed alcohol and pain meds before because he knew better. So why last night? He must have been on a search and destroy mission—search out the demon residing in his soul and destroy everything in its path.

  And he’d succeeded in shredding his reputation and pissing off his friends. He had a few bridges to mend today—or he could sit alone in his room and wait till Remy decided it was time to go home.

  Rick’s mind screeched to a halt for a gut check. Yeah, the blowup with Remy went to shit on the express train. Kaboom! He couldn’t blame Remy, though, and he couldn’t blame Elliott either. If Rick was looking for a place to cubbyhole his fuckup, he didn’t have far to look.

  He stood, groaning from a monster headache and stiffness in his joints. Ibuprofen, a bed, and several glasses of water were the only things that could help him now.

  He reached for the doorknob to open the back door of the dress shop, and as the door squeaked open, so did the door to Marguerite’s townhouse. No one was going inside, but a man was coming out. Rick watched a shadowy figure cross the courtyard, and surprised, a chuckle popped out.

  I’ll be damned.

  “Lafitte!”

  The privateer turned quickly, reaching for his pistol. “Who’s there?”

  Rick closed the door to the shop before stepping out from under the second-floor balcony. He held up his hands so the pirate would see he wasn’t armed. “It’s O’Grady. I don’t have a gun.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Rick opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of the idea and closed his trap with an audible click of his teeth. A foggy but grisly memory of Penny’s story about a shooting and blood on her came to mind. Surely the pirate wouldn’t shoot him for being an asshole.

  Lafitte crossed the yard toward Rick and let his hand fall to his side. “You just now getting home?”

  “No, I just now woke up. I passed out in that chair.” Rick pointed a thumb over his shoulder, and an awkward silence followed. Rick wasn’t sure whether he should apologize for his behavior, ask Lafitte what the hell he’d been doing next door, or invite him in for coffee.

  He scrubbed his bristly jawline with his knuckles and finally asked, “Do you want a cup of coffee?” Lafitte glanced up at the sky, and Rick checked his watch. “It’s five-thirty. If you don’t want to be seen leaving here in the morning, I understand.” That whole walk of shame business was embarrassing. He always tried not to leave personal property behind that would necessitate a meetup later with a woman he didn’t want to see again.

  But hell, shit happened.

  “You’re right. I don’t want to be seen. There’s a restaurant not far from here that will open early for me. Let’s go there. I’m hungry.”

  They walked a block and turned into an alley, which reminded Rick of the two men he’d met last night who’d been kind to him, except for the punch in the gut. But he’d asked for that.

  Halfway down the narrow walk, Lafitte knocked on a door.

  A young Creole woman opened the door. “Commandant, bonjour.”

  She smiled at Lafitte and wrinkled her nose at Rick. Yeah, I stink. I know. There was enough alcohol in his system to produce a jet-fuel blend to fly him from New Orleans back to Kentucky.

  “Entrez. I’ll bring coffee for you and your”—her nose wrinkled again—“associer.”

  “Merci.”

  The aroma of rich coffee and fresh-baked beignets thickened the air, and Rick licked his lips. He might survive the day after all.

  Lafitte led the way through the kitchen to a small room off the main dining room. A fire popped in a brick fireplace, and a rectangular table with benches on both sides appeared to be waiting for them.

  “You must come here often,” Rick said.

  “Every morning that I’m in New Orleans starts here.”

  “So you rushed out of Marguerite’s bed for coffee and beignets. She’s a beautiful woman. Why?”

  Lafitte gave him the one-eye treatment and ignored Rick’s comment. “What happened to you after you left the Fontenots last night? You look like you slept in the gutter.”

  “I stumbled and fell a couple of times, got into a fight, and landed on my ass. Two men recognized me as being on the general’s staff and helped me to Marguerite’s. Without their help, I would have slept in the gutter.” He ran his hand over the top of his head, then down the back of his neck. He still wasn’t thinking clearly, but he was getting closer. He gave his neck a quick squeeze and decided to confess his sins to the pirate.

  “I had too much to drink and mixed alcohol with pain medication, which is a fucking idiotic thing to do.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  Rick propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. Lafitte didn’t seem in a hurry for an answer, and Rick didn’t have one anyway. He raised his head and looked Lafitte in the eye. “I could ask you why you were sneaking out of Marguerite’s bedroom at five-thirty in the morning.”

  “You could, but I’d deny you saw me.”

  “If you’re spending time with Marguerite, then what’s going on between you and Penny?”

  Lafitte flashed a wicked grin that would have done the devil proud. “I adore Wilhelmina. She’s”—he waved his hand in small circles—“like ma sœur. I want to protect her.”

  “Bullshit. I have a sister, and I’ve never kissed her hand.”

  “But you’d protect her at all costs. Am I right?”

  “You don’t know my sister. She can protect herself.”

  “As can Wilhelmina, but that doesn’t lessen my desire to keep her safe.”

  The young woman brought in two cups, a pot of chickory coffee, and a plate of beignets. She filled both cups, then left the kettle on the table. She smiled at Lafitte and closed the door behind her.

  Rick blew into his cup before sipping. “I thought you and Penny were lovers. She denied it the other day, but I see the way you look at each other, and I don’t believe either of your denials.”

  Lafitte picked up one of the beignets and bit into it. “I hurt Wilhelmina.” He brushed powdered sugar off his hands before taking another bite. “I didn’t know who she was at the time, but since then, I’ve tried to make it up to her. She is too much like me to be a lover.”

  Rick was relieved to hear that, although Lafitte could be lying. Rick bit into a beignet and sighed at the sweet taste. “I don’t think she’s like you at all. And she certainly wouldn’t shoot someone in cold blood.”

  “She could,” Lafitte said, brushing more sugar off his hands. “I saw it in her eyes when she looked at the English officer, Lieutenant Bowes. Does she know his descendant in the future?”

  “Yep, and I bet there’s a story there, but she won’t talk about it.”

  Lafitte drank from his cup, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “He hurt her far more than I did.”

  “Maybe. But she’s forgiven you, not him. The asshole in the future either never asked for forgiveness or did something so flagrant she couldn’t—and probably wouldn’t—forget or forgive.”

  “She knocked one of my men out cold and could have done the same to Lieutenant Bowes’s descendant before he could hurt her. So whatever he did, it happened before she became a warrior.”

  Rick spoke softly while he followed a new train of thought. “She didn’t know how to fight yet, or he took her by surprise. She might even feel guilty that she didn’t or couldn’t fight harder to prevent whatever happened to her.”

  “If he hurt her or raped her, it must have been terrifying when I sent her to the brothel. She knew she’d be used repeatedly until one of my men finally killed her.” Lafitte pushed back his chair, stood, and went to the fireplace, its flames dancing in the hearth. He braced his elbow on the mantel and s
craped his nails through his hair, all the way to his shoulder.

  “I’ve had nightmares of her naked and bleeding, mouth cut, nose broken, covered with bruises. They would have taken her two and three at a time.” He dropped his head, his hair covering the side of his face while he visibly shivered.

  After a moment, he looked up. “That’s why I shot him. It was my exorcism. I wasn’t going to shoot myself, although I should have. It would be better than living with my sick dreams.”

  “Does Penny know?”

  “About my dreams? No, and I don’t want her to.”

  “So why the big secret with Margurite?”

  Lafitte sat down again and refilled their cups. “She’d been my business partner for several years when one night we shared a bottle of wine and finished the evening in her boudoir. We were concerned it would change our business arrangement.”

  “Did it?”

  “Nothing changed except our meetings became longer and longer. But Marguerite’s reputation could be damaged if her customers learned she associated with a privateer. We pledged never to confess what we shared. I asked her to marry me and live at Barataria, but she doesn’t want to leave New Orleans.”

  “So Penny doesn’t know about the relationship?”

  “She suspects, but I’ve refused to discuss it. I don’t want anyone to disparage Marguerite.”

  “You’re in love with her.”

  Lafitte nodded. “I am.”

  “You’re so solicitous toward Penny, I thought for sure—”

  “I’m not in love with Wilhelmina, Mr. O’Grady. But you are.”

  “I’m not—” Rick said quickly.

  Lafitte’s chuckle grew into a throatier laugh. “‘Methinks thou doth protest too much.’”

  “Methinks?” Rick whacked Lafitte on the shoulder. “I didn’t take you for a Shakespeare devotee.” Rick ate the last bite of a beignet. “I admit to being very attracted to the woman I met several years ago. She was beautiful and elegant, graceful and caring, and I never heard her curse. I don’t like the blue-haired version. I find her vulgar and unattractive.”

  “Your friends could have said the same about you last night, but they didn’t. Sophia cried because she knew how much you were hurting. Pete went after you, but Remy stopped him. Then Penny told Remy she was leaving, and if he tried to stop her, she might kill him.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  Lafitte shrugged. “I kissed her.”

  “You what!”

  Lafitte patted the air in a calm-down gesture. “It’s not a stoning offense, Mr. O’Grady. I’ve found, at times, it’s the only way to shut her up. She overreacts, and you can’t get her attention without doing something drastic to shock her. If it were you out of control, I’d punch you in the jaw, and I came close to doing it last night. Since I can’t hit Wilhelmina, I kiss her. She gets so mad—”

  “I bet she does.”

  “—I have to guard my manhood, or I’d be singing soprano.”

  “So, what happened then?” Rick was anxious to know how everyone reacted and whose feathers were the most ruffled. He’d have to get down on his knees and beg them all for their forgiveness. Remy would be the hardest.

  “She got herself under control and listened to my advice. I told her you needed time alone, and there was nothing to be gained by going after you.”

  “Does that mean I can expect a confrontation with her today?”

  Lafitte shrugged.

  “What about Remy?”

  Lafitte laughed. “He tossed the note into the fireplace and said he asked for it in case you got like you did before you left your time. He didn’t elaborate. But he did say he didn’t intend to take your job. He just wanted to get your attention.”

  “Like you and Penny.” Rick huffed. “Well, at least Remy didn’t try to kiss me.”

  “Unless I’ve turned into a bad judge of character, that’s not something either one of you would do.” Lafitte drank the last of his coffee. “According to Penny, the British will attack tomorrow morning at seven o’clock, and I assume you’ll leave for your home after the battle.”

  “The Fontenots want to attend the victory ball. I don’t know when that will be, but we’ll stay until then.”

  Lafitte nodded. “There’s something you need to know, Mr. O’Grady. If you can’t love and understand Wilhelmina’s dark side, then you don’t deserve her. And if she can’t see through your drunken anger, then she doesn’t deserve you.”

  Rick didn’t flinch from Lafitte’s sharpened scrutiny, but he did wonder how accurate it was.

  “You want to know how I know you want her?”

  Rick leaned his head back and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what else the pirate had to say. He dropped his hands. “Okay, tell me.”

  “You couldn’t take your eyes off Wilhelmina’s breasts, and your piss-proud made it obvious.”

  “What the hell is a piss-proud?”

  “What’s it called in your time? When you’re ready for a woman.”

  Rick snorted what passed for a laugh. “A boner, hard-on. And I had a hell of a one last night. Whose idea was the corset?”

  Lafitte coughed into his fist. “Mine. I worked it out with Marguerite. I wanted to find out how you feel about Penny.”

  “Hell, man! You played me.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I found out what I wanted to know.”

  “You didn’t mention anything to her, did you?”

  “I didn’t have to. You were rather obvious, especially when you sang a love ballad to her. She blushed.”

  “I wasn’t singing to her. I was just singing.”

  Lafitte stood and looked at Rick with one eye. “I need to know that when Penny returns home, you’ll be there to protect her. After what she’s experienced here, she’ll go after that bastard who hurt her, and he’s too dangerous for her to handle alone. If he wasn’t, she would have tried before now. I need to know you’ll be there for her.”

  “I can’t promise she’ll want me there, but I won’t let her go alone.”

  Lafitte threw several coins on the table. “She will. Now that’s settled, let’s go win a war.”

  46

  New Orleans (1815)—Penny

  Penny and Soph accompanied Marguerite and Rhona to the Ursuline convent to join the sisters in a vigil at the Chapel of Our Lady of Consolation. The women of New Orleans had gathered there to pray for their fathers and husbands, sons and brothers. Even though Rhona didn’t feel up to it, she wanted to be there to offer hope and encouragement to the frightened women, including Marguerite, and to squash rumors spreading like wildfires that if the city fell the British would harm them.

  Father DuBourg, Apostolic Vicar, celebrated Mass, and Soph wanted to attend with Marguerite and Rhona, so Penny went to headquarters to wait with Tommy. As soon as the service was over, Penny, Soph, and Tommy raced out to the Macarté Plantation.

  Rick and Pete were already there. Penny hadn’t had time for a private conversation with Rick since the dinner party at the Fontenots, but Jean told her they talked, and Rick admitted he had too much to drink that night and was out of control.

  Penny sensed there was a lot more to the conversation, but that was all Jean would say. She’d learned when he didn’t want to talk, she better shut up, or he’d do something drastic, like kiss her. And while he had soft, pliable lips, it was like kissing a best friend. There was nothing romantic about it.

  There had been a fraction of a second while she was listening to Rick sing that she imagined kissing him. He’d be one of the ninety-ten guys. He’d lean in for a kiss but hold and wait for her to come the final ten percent. When guys did that to her, she took advantage of the pause and said good night. Would she go the final ten with Rick? Probably not. Except for his inebriated, lustful glaring at her corset-enhanced breasts, he’d shown no interest in her.

  He was cute, though. Cute? No, Rick O’Grady wasn’t c
ute. He was sexy as hell, and a real charmer. And besides his jazz piano, he was a crooner in the vein of Johnny Mathis, Bobby Darin, Tony Bennett, and other artists her grandmothers used to swoon over. If Rick ever sang “Misty” to her the way he sang to his nieces while he was setting up the sound system before the Montgomery Winery reopening, she might throw her undies at him.

  Why was she fantasizing about throwing her undies while riding to Jackson’s headquarters? That just showed how screwed up her past few weeks had been. Man, she needed to go home and reclaim her life—if it was even possible.

  Pete and Rick were standing by the hitching rail when Penny, Soph, and Tommy rode up.

  “Hi, what’s up?” Penny swung her leather-clad leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.

  Rick held her horse’s bridle to keep it from sidestepping. “We were debating whether to ride into the city to see what was keeping you all.”

  “We stayed for mass.” Soph kissed Pete. “We would have called, but…” She glanced around the front of the plantation. “Where’s the general? I don’t see his horse.”

  “He’s at Rodriguez House. The governor sent over his telescope, and they’re spying on the British. The general wants us all there,” Pete said.

  “Have you seen Jean?” Penny asked Rick.

  “He’s at the canal with Dominique.”

  “I want to ride out to see him after I check in with the general. Will you go with me?” she asked Rick.

  “Sure, unless the general sends me somewhere else.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Tommy said. “The maps will need organizing, and the general’s office straightened before he returns.”

  “Where’re Remy and Philippe?” Soph asked.

  “Remy’s with the doctors,” Pete said, swinging into the saddle. “They’re preparing for the wounded. And Philippe is with Jackson.”

  Rick mounted up, and the four of them rode the short distance to the adjoining Rodriguez Plantation, where they found the general and his other aides on the second floor of the main house. Jackson was looking through a telescope mounted on a tripod.

  “Nice telescope,” Penny said.