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

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  She swung down, looped the reins over a branch, and then paced.

  He played with the cigar, sniffing and rolling it between his fingers. “Are you just going to pace, or do you intend to share what’s on your mind?”

  She stopped pacing and glared at him. “My mind? You look like you have something on yours.” She had several things on her mind, and most of them involved Rick. But the thought of saying goodbye to Jean made her grumpy and caused an ache behind her sternum, which in all honesty was probably a result of her fall and not actual heartache.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she confessed.

  “C’est ça?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Plain and simple. I’m going to miss you. There, I’ve said it.”

  “That’s what’s on your mind? I don’t believe you.” He continued rolling the cigar between his fingers.

  “Are you going to light that thing or just play with it?”

  “There’s no fire around here.”

  She dug through her saddlebag and tossed him a BiC Maxi Lighter, courtesy of Remy. “Use that.”

  He turned it sideways and upside down. “What is it?”

  “A lighter. There’s a flammable fluid inside and a means of ignition to produce a flame. Strike it, and poof. Instant fire.”

  He smelled it, shook it, tapped it with his fingernail, and ran his long finger over the sparkwheel. “How does it work?”

  “Here… You hold it like this.” She positioned it in his hand correctly. “Now roll the metal sparkwheel down into the ignition button with your thumb. Yep, that’s right.”

  When the flame flared, he dropped the lighter.

  Penny picked it up and took his cigar. She ignited the lighter again, and held the foot of the cigar above the flame, rotating it until the foot ignited, slowly puffing on it. She looked at the foot to assure herself it was burning evenly, then gave the cigar and lighter back to him.

  He puffed while studying the lighter. “How long do we have to wait for these?”

  “Oh, about a hundred and fifty years.”

  He held up the lighter, cocking his head and giving her just a hint of a grin. “Will this one last that long?”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “Thanks for the comic relief, Boss.”

  He gave her an elegant leg. “I’ll do whatever I can to make you smile.”

  She chuckled again and curtsied. “Aren’t we cute.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “As for the lighter, the manufacturer says you should get three thousand lights out of it.”

  He slipped the lighter in his pocket and looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to her. There was sadness in his voice when he said, “I’ll miss looking through your window into the future, not because of the magic like”—he patted his pocket—“this, but because you’ve given me a glimpse into your world and how different it is from mine.”

  “Come home with me. You can see all the wonders for yourself. Then I won’t have to worry about you.” She plopped on the ground, sitting Indian style.

  He leaned against a tree and took a deep pull on the cigar, and the smoke hazed the air between them. “Why would you worry?”

  She gave him a wicked grin. “Because I care about you, and I don’t want you to be killed in a sea battle or drowned in a hurricane or hanged by the Spanish or die from a disease in Mexico. And I don’t want the Spaniards to hang you. That would be just awful.”

  He lifted his brows in a nonverbal—oh, really?—then let out a breath before asking, “What if I grow old in St. Louis happily married? Would you still worry?”

  “Heavens, no. I’d love to hear you married a warm-hearted, cuddly lady whose beauty and spunk make you smile every day.”

  He tugged on the broad brim of his Cavalier-style hat with its upturned left side, bringing it farther down his forehead and shadowing the tightness that had appeared around his eyes. “Would you now?”

  “Why do you keep doubting what I say? Of course, I want you to be safe and happy. I’d rather you come home with me so I can keep an eye on you, but if you tell me that’s what you’re going to do—”

  “Marguerite agreed to marry me.”

  “What?” Penny jumped to her feet and hugged him then bounced around like she had to pee, but damn, she was so excited. “That’s the best news! I’m just thrilled, even though I asked you weeks ago.”

  “No, mon Capitaine, you accused me of carrying on with a woman of questionable character.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You implied it.” He pulled a twig off the tree and used it to trim the ash of the cigar evenly. Then his glance lifted. “She’s agreed to go to St. Louis.”

  Penny’s last, best nerve ratcheted in a twist of oh-hell-no. “Not St. Louis! That’s in the middle of nowhere right now. Where the hell will she sell her gorgeous gowns?”

  “I own ships, and she can sell them anywhere in the world. St. Louis is the territorial capital of the Louisiana Territory, and you said it’s going to be the jumping-off point for pioneers heading west.”

  “I know, but still…” Something about his news didn’t feel right. “Are you making this up so I won’t worry?” The thought sent a spear of anxiety down her spine that she tried to tamp down. “Wouldn’t New York City be a better place for her business and yours?”

  “I thought you said I died in St. Louis happily married.”

  “I also said your crew killed you. You don’t have to go to St. Louis unless that’s where you want to go. But for what you do, for what Marguerite does, New York City would be a better fit, or just stay here in New Orleans. If you go to New York, Marguerite could easily travel to Paris to keep up with the latest fashions.”

  Then Penny remembered what didn’t feel right about Jean’s plan. “Wait a minute. I thought Soph and Pete were going to ask Marguerite to go home with them.”

  A hint of annoyance, or something else, colored his tone when he said, “Sophia asked her last week. Were you encouraging her to do that?”

  “I didn’t know whether the two of you were involved. If I’d known your secret, I wouldn’t have said anything. I thought it was a good idea for Marguerite to go home with us. You should have told me.”

  “Marguerite said no.”

  “Said no to what?”

  “Said no to Sophia.”

  Penny scratched her head. “This feels like ‘Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third…’”

  “What?”

  “Exactly.” Penny plopped on the ground again. “Marguerite doesn’t know where Sophia’s really from.”

  “I told her.”

  “You did? Damn. What’d she say?”

  “She wasn’t surprised. She’s the one who told me about women warriors from another time.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Because Sophia does Tai Chi. Then when I saw you fighting one of my men, I believed you were a warrior and a danger to Barataria.”

  “Well, that makes sense. So, you two are going to get married and move away, and you’ll give up being a privateer?”

  “She said she won’t marry me unless I have a legitimate business. And if we stay in New Orleans, people will always think of me as a pirate.”

  “Good. I’m feeling better already.”

  “But what about you, mon Capitaine? You deserve a good man.”

  “Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean it will ever happen. And besides, I don’t know if I’ll ever trust a man in bed after what’s happened to me.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for allowing that to happen.” He dropped his gaze then and made an odd shrugging motion she’d seen him do when he was confused or unsure of himself. That didn’t happen very often, which was why she noticed it now.

  “You’ve worn sackcloth and ashes long enough, Jean. My problems didn’t start with that goon in Barataria. A different asshole raped me years ago, and then I was assaulted during my deployment in Afghanistan. I’m pretty screwed up, bu
t it’s not your fault.”

  A noise that sounded like agreement rose from the back of his throat, and he followed it with a long silence before saying, “O’Grady has a different opinion.”

  “His opinion doesn’t matter.”

  “But he wants you.”

  “Are you talking about wanting me in the Biblical sense? If you are, I can’t be what he wants.”

  “Can you be what you want?”

  She did a double-take as a spasm of shock landed with a thud in the pit of her stomach. “What self-help book have you been reading?”

  When he used the twig to trim the cigar ash again, she knew it wasn’t a book, like Shakespeare or something, but a person, and he didn’t want to admit he’d been talking about her.

  “Who’ve you been talking to? Pete?”

  No response.

  “Sophia?”

  No response.

  “Remy?”

  No response.

  “Hmm. That leaves Philippe or Rhona because I know you haven’t been gossiping with Rick.”

  No response.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say the culprit is Rhona. She’d want to treat you like a son. You’ve been talking to her, haven’t you? Come on, fess up.”

  His eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t cage his surprise. “Yes, mon Capitaine. She’s concerned that you can’t go back to being Billie, and blue-haired Penny won’t fit in with your lifestyle in California. She also said O’Grady would be there to help you, but he won’t be there forever.”

  She knew he wouldn’t stick around forever, but she couldn’t make any promises to him. Not now. “When did you talk to her?”

  “While I was sitting for my portrait.”

  “I can’t believe you were gossiping about me.”

  He drew back, surprised again—and aw, hell—she couldn’t help but let one corner of her mouth drift up into a half-smile.

  “Sophia and Rhona caught me in a trap.”

  “You? Impossible.” He was caught in her trap, too, and she enjoyed watching him squirm.

  “They aren’t like you. They’re sweet.”

  “What? I can do sweet, too. Just not with you.” She didn’t like them talking about her, but it was only natural to pepper Jean with questions and observations. She was curious about what was said, though. “So, what’d you tell them?”

  “Not much. Mostly it was Sophia who suggested that you and O’Grady are soul mates, and you’ll figure that out either while you’re here or when you go home, and the rest of us should stay out of your way.”

  “That’s crap. Rick and I are neighbors. We’re not some kind of cosmic soul mates.” Her heart twisted with emotion and—surprisingly—something like need. Something as necessary as air, water, and food. Did she need Rick that way?

  The crunch of boots on crisp leaves had them both turning to see a soldier running toward them. “Commander Lafitte. Captain Lafitte. Come look at this.”

  “What is it?” Jean asked.

  The soldier held up a spyglass. “A British picket. I don’t believe he’s real.”

  She and Jean followed the soldier to the canal. “Why don’t you think he’s real?” Penny asked.

  He gave her the spyglass and pointed with a gnarled finger to where she should look. “He has a crow on his shoulder. Do you see him?”

  “Crows don’t sit on folks’ shoulders,” Jean said.

  “Then it has to be a scarecrow,” the soldier said. “But why use a scarecrow and not a real soldier?”

  Penny focused the spyglass. “Because there aren’t any soldiers. It looks like the British sneaked out last night.”

  The soldier’s head jerked around. “Where’d they go?”

  “I guess the way they came in, along the Bayou Bienvenue to Fisherman’s Village.” She returned the spyglass. “Thanks for telling us. We’ll pass the word to the general and the rest of his staff.”

  She and Jean returned to their horses. “The general can return to his headquarters in the city now, and we won’t have to ride out here every day.” She mounted up and sank into the saddle. “This place is depressing, and it still smells like a battlefield.” She flicked her reins, and her horse headed toward the mansion, churning up clots of flying mud in the spongy ground.

  “Slow down,” Jean said. “Does this mean you’ll be leaving soon?”

  “Sophia wants to finish the portraits of you and the general before she leaves.”

  “How much longer will that take?”

  “I haven’t asked. There are some things I just don’t want to know.”

  52

  New Orleans (1815)—Penny

  Estelle put the finishing touches on Penny’s red silk empire waist gown, a masterpiece embellished with hundreds of tiny diamonds and gold embroidery—a one-of-a-kind dress guaranteed to outshine the rest at the most lavish galas anywhere in the world.

  Marguerite had created a ball gown for Cinderella.

  “Here. Put this on, and I’ll tighten the seams around your breasts,” Estelle said. “Marguerite cut this very low, and if ya bend over, ya might fall out.”

  “Great,” Penny grumbled. “I’m sure Boss had something to do with it.”

  Estelle giggled. “If he had, he would have dropped the neckline another inch.”

  Penny snorted, her shoulders shaking at the absurdity of wearing a dress designed by a pirate. Okay, he wasn’t a pirate, but come on. This dress wasn’t meant to impress him. Who then?

  Rick?

  He might like it…if he showed up. She hadn’t seen him in a week, and from what she heard today at headquarters, he was still on assignment at Fort St. Philip. She would have asked Philippe if he knew Rick’s schedule, but she hadn’t seen him either.

  Philippe and Rhona had decided to leave their house and furnishings to Marguerite, including the pianoforte. Rick would be disappointed, but taking the furniture created a logistics nightmare. What would they do with an eighteenth-century pianoforte in a New Orleans rental house? And returning to the farm or plantation in the future created an even bigger headache, since David, Kenzie, Braham, and Elliott were waiting for them in New Orleans.

  Penny gingerly stepped into the luxurious gown. It was like wearing a twenty-pound weighted blanket. Without all the diamonds, the fabric would have glided over her. Instead, the hem hit the floor with a thunk.

  Tonight she was a million-dollar badass babe.

  “You look beautiful. Every time you move, the light catches the diamonds and you shimmer. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Estelle made a few adjustments that forced Penny to suck in her breath. “It might be a beautiful gown, but it’s a death trap. I can’t get a complete breath. A sane person would never wear this.”

  “Want me to let out the seams?” Estelle asked.

  Unable to speak, Penny held up a hand to wave off the suggestion. Her lungs were trying to reroute her windpipe, and once that happened, she’d be able to breathe and speak. It reminded her of the recent fall and how a spasm froze her diaphragm, and she couldn’t breathe at all. “I’ll get used to it, or I’ll die…and then it won’t matter.”

  Estelle’s brows creased into a deep V, and Penny tapped the spot. “If you keep scrunching your face like that, you’ll get wrinkles. And besides, I’ll be fine.”

  But Estelle’s expression didn’t change until Penny’s breathing returned to normal. “The gown is tight, but it was made just for you, and it matches your red shoes.”

  Penny held her four-inch Christian Louboutin ruby-red pumps against her dress and smiled. They were a perfect match. “Marguerite said you did all the embroidery on the dress and matching court train. It’s exquisite work.”

  Estelle blushed. “The mademoiselle let me do the needlework design. She had more faith in me than I had in myself.”

  “Never doubt your abilities again, young lady. You’re very talented, and I’m so glad you accepted Marguerite’s apprenticeship. You’ll learn so much, and when you’re ready
to open your dress shop, she won’t hold you back.”

  “Mistress Sophia has been giving me sketching lessons too. Now I can draw the ideas I have in my mind.”

  “See…?” Penny smiled. “The world is already opening up for you. But what about your mother?”

  “Boss sent word to her. After the Americans attacked Barataria, everyone escaped to the swamp. There’s nothing there now. Boss wants her to come to N’Orlanz to work for him.”

  A firm knock echoed through the bedroom. “Come in,” Penny said.

  Jean opened the door, and his ridiculously broad shoulders filled the entire doorframe. Dressed in black satin knee breeches with white stockings, white waistcoat, and dark blue tailcoat, he was so ruggedly handsome and droolworthy that he could stride right off the cover of GQ in his polished Hessian boots.

  “Leave us, Estelle,” he said.

  Estelle hurried out of the room, taking her sewing basket with her.

  “Turn around.”

  “You’re rather bossy tonight,” she said. “You know I don’t like that.”

  He extended his arm and made a circular motion with his finger. “I don’t care. Turn. I want to see if I approve.”

  “Approve? Didn’t you design it?”

  “Most of it.”

  She turned and glanced over her shoulder. “And if you don’t approve? What do you expect me to wear? My leather pants?”

  “Mon Capitaine, I always have a backup plan. But this dress is just what I wanted for you. Although it needs something else. Don’t turn around yet.” His hands tickled the back of her neck as he clasped a necklace around her throat.

  She reached up to feel it. “This isn’t the same necklace I wore before. The other one was longer.”

  “This one has a ruby surrounded by diamonds. The other one had a sapphire. Now turn to face me.” When she did, he grinned and tweaked the single blue curl by her temple. “The Queen of Barataria can’t go to the ball without her crown.” He placed a tiara on her head. “I’m told this must be properly seated within an inch and a half of your hairline, or people will talk.”

  She reached for the tiara to take it off, but Jean stayed her hand.