Evil's Niece (3 page)

‘You’re a beautiful woman,
cherie
,’ she crooned, tilting her head to study me until I thought her disorganised black topknot might topple out of its white ruff. ‘Pretty face, and shiny hair that glows like fire in the morning light. Curves in all the right places, while most women your age look like one big lump from shoulders to hips,
non
?’

I was about to protest her remark about my age, for this careless little wanton was probably only five years younger than my thirty. But she prattled on.

‘Some men, they require more
ooh-la-la
, you know? The neckline down to here,’ she said, tugging at the top of her uniform, ‘and the bosom perched high, up here.’

My jaw dropped when she scooped out her own cleavage to illustrate her point…with two rosy brown points bobbing on soft mounds of flesh, hanging over the top of her pinafore.

‘And the skirts slit up to —’

‘I beg your pardon!’ I snapped.

Monique paused, her hem hoisted to her hip to reveal a bare thigh bisected by her black garter strap. She studied me with mischievous eyes, yet her flippant air disappeared.

‘Never beg, Auntie Eve,’ she stated seriously. ‘It’s bad form to show desperation. And if you beg Dewel,
well
…’

The maid rolled her eyes with the coquettish charm of a French floozie. ‘Dewel never lets you forget what you owe him, for granting your request.’

Another truth I ignored at my own peril. After all, I had begged him to show me the ways of seduction. I was damn lucky it was his maid at my bedside, rather than the rogue himself.

‘You understand now,
oui
? So,
ma tante
, if we visit the dressmaker —’

‘I am not your aunt, dammit!’

I tossed aside my sheet to confront her, until her crestfallen expression made me realise I’d never been in control of this conversation. What sane woman allowed a total stranger — even if she was a zany, charming, exotic stranger — to instruct her in the ways of winning back her man?

But then, hadn’t I asked my scandalous brother-in-law for the same advice? In his inimitably irritating way, Dewel had granted my request, and I must face the consequences of talking before my brain was engaged.

At that moment, I was facing the shapely posterior of his Cajun maid, who’d leaned over to grasp the sides of my padded vanity bench. She backed towards me, her rounded bottom shifting beneath the black straps stretched taut to hold her dark stockings. Her black boots flexed with each step, accented by the subtle tapping of her heels on the floor.

She stopped at my bedside, plopped down to make the white pad wheeze, and then crossed one ankle over the other knee. As she pulled something else from her bosom — a cheroot! — I noticed how firm and smooth her parted thighs looked, with skin resembling velvet.

She wore no drawers.

I averted my gaze, to watch her bite the end from her slender cigar, strike a match across the bottom of her boot, and then light up, with the air of a professor about to give her scholarly opinion of my situation. When she focused those coffee-coloured eyes on me, I was rendered speechless by this striking young woman and her array of contrasts, now wreathed by a ring of smoke.

‘Madame,’ she intoned, her cheroot resting demurely in the fork of her fingers, ‘I’ve been sent here on a mission, a rescue mission, by Monsieur Proffit himself. It’s a duty I take most seriously. No matter what you may think about Monique Picabou and her Cajun ways, she has your best interests at heart. I know things you cannot understand at this moment, but I’ll prepare your heart and your soul to change, so your body can follow.’

I nodded, for what else could I do? Dewel had been playing puppeteer ever since I’d given him permission to take me over. I dared not doubt his maid’s intent — nor his — and this thought made me quiver with a curiosity that burned in my cheeks and my chest…and in that place between my legs that hadn’t gotten nearly enough attention these past seven years.

My gaze wandered beneath Monique’s brief black skirt. ‘Where’s your underwear?’ I challenged, realising how matronly and disapproving I sounded.

‘I don’t own any.’ Her lips twitched with a smile. ‘I like the feeling of freedom, and I like to defy society. But mostly I enjoy knowing that Dewel, and my beau, Tommy Jon, think about me being naked down there. They consider the possibilities constantly — for that’s what men are all about, Auntie Eve.’

Another draw on her cigar, another puff of smoke, and Monique became a seductress extraordinaire. Her legs fell languidly apart to display a neatly trimmed black bush with a pink nub protruding from it. I could smell her sex, so intriguing, with a riper pungency than mine.

I swallowed hard. Never had I seen another woman’s private parts, much less my own.

And why not?
my thoughts suddenly demanded.

‘Time for our first lesson,
oui
?’ she asked, stroking my sleep-mussed hair from my forehead. ‘My new Auntie Eve has much to learn, and she’ll make me a fine pupil. Your wild, erotic dreams of Dewel are only the beginning,
cherie
.’

As we went downstairs to breakfast, the aromas of fried ham, Andouille sausages and sticky pecan buns sent my mind into a tailspin. Why was I allowing myself to be cajoled this way? And how would I explain Miss Picabou to Fanny, a housekeeper who was the soul of propriety? I was ravenous for the morning spread this motherly woman always prepared, yet deep down, somewhat below my growling stomach, a forbidden hunger demanded to be fed as well.

Dangerous, this illicit dare I’d taken. Monique smiled demurely, keeping pace as I rounded the outside spiral of the staircase — until, with a girlish giggle, she hefted one hip on to the mahogany balustrade and deftly slid the rest of the way down. With a neat little hop, she hit the vestibule floor and then grinned up at me.

‘Smile,
cherie
, look happy,’ she entreated, her olive complexion alight with her smile. ‘Today you become as free as Monique!’

An alluring thought; an idea that inspired my envy, for when was the last time I’d had
fun
? When had I last indulged in doing as I pleased, the devil — and high society — be damned?

I hooked my arm through hers, and together we marched down the short hallway to the dining room. I felt ready to burst into some rollicking song, for the sheer joy of it —

But there sat Chapin.

He glanced up from his breakfast, regarded my top-knotted companion with a raised eyebrow, and then rose from his chair. Always the proper gentleman, my husband. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?’ he prompted in a tight voice.

I quickly unlinked our elbows. Why did I feel like a child who’d been caught at something naughty? ‘May I present Monique, my — my new lady’s maid — since you’ve told me so many times I should hire more staff,’ I added in a rush.

Then I turned to the woman beside me, who stood with her hands clasped before her. Her prim smile camouflaged what she knew about my husband and his extramarital activities. ‘Monique, this is my husband, Mr Chapin Proffit. Although I’ve taken you on as my personal assistant, you will, of course, be responsible for any tasks he assigns you as well.’

‘Of course,’ she echoed, with only the slightest hint of derision. Her curtsy appeared extremely graceful, considering how the tops of her gartered stockings showed when she lifted her skirt. ‘It is an honour to work in your home, for your lovely wife. I will give her excellent care, monsieur.’

With a quick, efficient nod Monique then disappeared through the kitchen door — the proper move on her part, to carry out the role I’d assigned her on a moment’s notice.

But it left me alone with a man who now inspired questions that squelched my appetite. How could I sit here as though I’d seen nothing yesterday, with a man who didn’t usually eat breakfast? Was I to interpret this odd behaviour as his atonement? A way to spend more time with his neglected wife?

Chapin was not the only one going round the proverbial mulberry bush — or whatever he called it, on his ‘niece’. I, too, had to dance around his covert courtyard activities, acting as though I hadn’t seen his wild abandon as he approached her from behind…that grimace of ecstasy as they muffled their cries of delight.

He pulled out the chair beside his, going through the perfectly proper motions, as he studied me with unaccustomed candour. When I perched on the edge of the seat, however, he scooted me forward until my midsection pressed the table — an unusually aggressive move. ‘What were you doing with Dewel yesterday?’

My heart stopped and I nearly choked. ‘I’d been to Madame LaRue’s for a fitting,’ I squeaked. ‘He happened along and, as a gentleman, he escorted me to the carriage so I wouldn’t walk alone —’

‘A gentleman does not swat his brother’s wife on the butt!’ Chapin snapped, his hands still gripping my chair. ‘That bastard’s up to something. Now what is it?’

Had my husband always had a cruel streak, or was I just now seeing this side of him? After a few uncomfortable moments, and my protesting gasp from being pressed so hard against the table, he released me and reseated himself. Chapin Proffit was the picture of Southern gentility in his crisp suit of ivory linen, with a white shirt and pale yellow cravat, and his golden, collar-length hair flowing back over his ears. He was his mama’s fair-haired boy in every sense of the word — but Virgilia died before his father, so she’d had no control over how the family properties were divided.

This bone had always stuck in my husband’s craw, and he was picking at it again. His pale blue eyes pierced mine, demanding an answer. His fingers drummed the table beside his plate, making his crested signet ring glisten in the light from the crystal chandelier.

I took a few terse moments to lay my napkin across my lap. ‘You misinterpret what you saw, Chapin,’ I hedged, my voice deceptively low and calm. ‘When my shoe wobbled on the carriage carpeting, he reached up to keep me from falling backwards. You would do the same for a lady in a similar circumstance.’

I held his chilly gaze, and then turned my attention to the platters of food that no longer enticed me. After all, what did
I
have to explain, after what I’d seen
him
engaged in? As I chose a sausage and a bun that spiralled around its sweet pecan filling, he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

‘And where did you procure Monique? She’s decidedly crude and unsuitable.’

I should’ve pricked him with my fork, to deflate that puffed-up tone of his! But I caught myself: what did he know, really? What had he seen, both with Dewel and when I entered this room arm-in-arm with Monique? I couldn’t create any connections between his half-brother and my new maid, so I summoned up a province over which he had little control.

‘Madame LaRue recommended her,’ I fibbed, pointedly filling my mouth with food so I wouldn’t have to answer him further.

‘And you asked for no references?’

Damn this man, had he always been so difficult?
Years
I’d managed his household, and he’d never been so picky! I continued to chew, slowly and methodically, while looking him straight in the face. I was thinking up a logical reply, of course, and having a hard time of it.

‘I’ve had no occasion to question my dressmaker’s taste,’ I replied. ‘Why are you so testy this morning, Chapin? Did you not sleep well? Or is there something you need to tell me? Some crisis in the family finances, perhaps?’

He wouldn’t reveal what he’d been spending, nor with whom, but my question had the desired effect: he became so interested in his meal, all I heard for the next several moments were the delicate clatterings of our fork tines on the bone china plates — a civilised sound that echoed in this cavernous chamber with its long, polished table and gilt-framed mirrors.

Guilt-framed, to be sure
, I mused as I forced down food I wasn’t hungry for. But I refused to cave in. I’d had my share of illicit fantasies and unexpected adventures in the past twenty-four hours, but they were
nothing
compared to what I’d caught Chapin at.

I’d have to be careful, though. Being too smug about my new-found knowledge would cost me if I forgot these little lies I’d been weaving. Like a spider’s delicate web, they’d collapse if I made a wrong move or gave conflicting details.

Finally he rose from the table and, as an afterthought, he clasped my hand. ‘Our finances are fine, Evie — never stronger, as demand for cotton increases on the market. Not that you ever need worry your pretty head about such matters,’ he added with a protective smile. ‘And I’m pleased you’ve taken my advice about increasing the household staff, for it seems I’ve been placed in the running to become the next mayor of New Orleans.’

What wife wouldn’t feel excited about such a surprise? ‘Well, congratulations, Chapin!’ I said, as pleased about this new topic of conversation as I was not to be the centre of it.

‘Thank you, Evie. I’m rather tickled myself.’ His smile lit up his entire face, making him one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen. ‘It behoves us to engage the rest of our new staff from a reputable clearing house. We’ll be hosting parties for the city’s most prominent political forces, and I can’t abide any social blunders, or suspicions about stealing the family silver — or, God forbid, any jewellery belonging to our guests. I’m sure you’ll do your best, Miss Eve.’

‘Yes, of course I will,’ I murmured, accepting his peck on the cheek with a tight smile.

He strode to the dining room doorway, and then fixed me with a gaze that camouflaged his former animosity. ‘Please accept my apologies for that unpleasantness about Dewel. I suppose being placed in such a public fishbowl has made me very aware of whom you and I are seen swimming with, my dear. He may be my half-brother, but I’ll tolerate no more of playing second fiddle in this family. Nor will I allow him to wreak havoc on my campaign, just for the fiendish joy he’d get from it.’

‘I can certainly understand that,’ I said with an emphatic nod.

‘I knew you’d see it my way. Have a fine day, dear wife.’

‘And you as well.’

The quiet clatter of his custom-made boots bade me a genteel farewell as he crossed the vestibule. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding, with a touch of mockery.

‘Crude and unsuitable, am I?’ came a lilting whisper behind me. ‘Well then, we’ll procure the master a household staff from only the
finest
school for domestics, Auntie Eve! Or shall we call you…Auntie Evil?’

I turned to protest and correct her, yet I began giggling. Monique stood with her fists planted in her hips and her bared breasts shoved above her pinafore’s placket again, making them jiggle lewdly. With a cheroot between her teeth and that riot of raven hair tumbling loose on one side, my new maid was the image of impropriety — and other things I didn’t even know how to think about.

She responded to my shaking head with an unladylike snort. ‘What’s sauce for the goose is good on the gander,
oui
?’

I couldn’t argue with that. Monique obviously had some unique form of retribution in mind, and it would be a tasty change to watch Chapin simmer in this pot he’d set to boiling.