His Dark Desires (23 page)

He marched toward me and clasped my arms, pulling me toward him. "Damnation, don't you understand the danger? If something terrible happened to you, I would never forgive myself."

I splayed my hands against his damp chest and met his gaze. "Jean Claude is dead," I said softly. "Murdered two days after he came here to see Andre and me, before his mission."

I still felt numbed by the enormity of what I had read in the papers Mr. Hall had left.

"How do you know?" The words seemed almost torn from him.

"A written confession from a man in prison who was part of the plot to kill Jean Claude and take the gold. No gold was ever found. And now another man has died, and this time it is all my fault"

Stephen's grip on my shoulders tightened. "Juliet, calm down. Start at the beginning and tell me what is going on."

"Monsieur Goodson, the investigator I hired to find Jean Claude, was the man murdered in town. His attorney brought me a packet of information Monsieur Goodson had kept for me in his safe. He'd uncovered the truth about Jean Claude, and he died because of it."

"Uncovered what truth? Did he mention anyone else being involved?" Stephen's voice sounded odd. I pulled slightly back to see him better, shrugging my shoulders against the intensity of his grip.

He sighed heavily, loosening his hands, and dipping his forehead to touch mine. "Dear God, I cannot protect you if I do not know every detail of what you have learned. I am sorry for what happened to Jean Claude. I am sorry Goodson is dead, but you have no idea what this has become for me, being here with you yet powerless to stop what is happening."

Releasing me, he turned away and faced the French doors with his hands fisted. A man so painfully alone that I wanted to reach for him, but he spoke before I could move. I stayed still. I wanted to hear what he had to say, needed to hear it, to put to rest any doubts I harbored.

"I suppose you are wondering how I can even claim that I love you, given what I told you about my brother's wife. But to save your life, I would pay any price. Do you doubt that a man can fall in love with a woman in so short a time? Do you think I am a fool bent on nothing but seduction?" He stared out at the rain and spoke softly, almost to himself. "It is ironic, given the way I have lived most of my life. You might be right in thinking those things. It was a sorry way to be a man and I paid the price for that folly. Even my affection for Cesca was more to save her from the tragedy of her life than a passionate love. What happened was inevitable. She lived seven years in our family's home, and my brother spent much of that time gone, building the family's fortune. I find I am incapable of living with others and ignoring their troubles, needs, or happiness. Then I came here, saw you, and learned from your sisters how you have fought every day with a valiant courage that shames the frivolity with which I have lived.

"So how can a man love a woman so quickly?" he asked, still facing the rain. I moved closer to him; he watched my ghostly reflection in the glass. "He can love her because her heart is so big; she would give the last of her strength to help her family. He can love her because she stands so strong and beautiful against overwhelming odds. He can love her because her wit hones his, her smile softens his, and her laughter restores his."

I could not hold back any longer; I set my hands on his shoulders and pressed my cheek to his wet back. He stood within my embrace a moment, then turned to face me, cupping my cheeks in the palms of his hands. "Juliet, how can any man look upon you and not love you? It is impossible for me not to. Did Jean Claude see what I see?"

Tears filled my eyes, and I shook my head. No one had ever loved me so.

He slid his thumbs along my cheeks, threaded his fingers through my hair, and leaned down, pressing his lips softly to mine. His kiss was an entreaty I could not refuse.

"I believe you, Stephen, for who am I to question the ways of a heart? Mine was yours long before I had the right to give it. I love you."

He encircled me in his arms and I pressed myself to him.

A bolt of lightning startled us both, and we looked out the window into the courtyard. Something on the ground caught my attention. It glistened for a moment and then was gone, mingling with the rain.

Stephen looked at me intently. His blue eyes, so dark with passion, glowed like the midnight sky under a full moon.

"I do not deserve your love or your trust, but I am too weak a man to deny myself anything when it comes to you." He kissed me firmly. I could feel the power of the passion he held in check, the heat of it, the strength of it, and I trembled in response. Then he backed away from me and breathed deeply, as if he had expended every ounce of his strength.

"Everyone should be returning momentarily," he said at last. "May I see the information Mr. Hall brought?"

"Of course." I went to my father's desk and gathered the papers, handing them to Stephen. "Monsieur Goodson made a thorough investigation. The confession is from a man named Roth Hubbard. I do not know him."

He lifted a brow. "Your father-in-law said the name of Roth when he spoke of Jean Claude's plan. What other names are mentioned?" He quickly scanned the letter, answering his own question. "Just two others. John Rache and the Shepherd Boy. Who is that?"

"It doesn't say, but I think he must be who we are looking for. Roth Hubbard is still in prison, and you will find a death certificate among the papers for John Rache."

Stephen shuffled through the rest of the papers. "Killing your husband and framing him for stealing the gold had been their plan all along. The only thing that went wrong is that your husband did something with the gold before they got to him. That indicates to me more than ever that the gold is here at
La Belle
.

"I have no idea where it could be, for I swear to you, over the past ten years there has not been a corner, nook, or cranny at
La Belle
that hasn't been cleaned."

"No secret rooms or passages? Gold bullion is not easy to hide. It would require a considerable amount of space."

"How do we even know it is here? He could have left it anywhere. In fact, he could have buried it at the army camp near the Hayes Plantation. That would explain how they have prospered so abundantly during these times," I replied.

"It's possible," Stephen said. "In my investigations the other night, I got a fairly ugly picture of how Hayes has been prospering."

"How?"

"He and his army of followers are being paid a lot of money by important people to keep the political and social situation in an uproar. The White League is doing everything possible to intimidate anyone they do not want in public office. They consider themselves above the law."

I could readily believe it. I moved back to the French doors, noting that the rain had slowed. "Until the war tore my world apart, I did not realize how much hate and evil flourished around me." Again, I saw something glint on the cobblestones across the courtyard. "Stephen, twice now in the past few minutes I've seen something silver-like in the courtyard."

He was at my side in an instant. "Where?"

"Over by the camellia bush."

"I do not see anything."

"Neither do I now, but, I swear I saw it."

"You sure you're not just imagining that the gold is floating up from the ground after all this rain?"

I smiled and shook my head. "The only things that come floating up out of the ground around here are coffins. I am going to go see."

"You really think there is something there?"

"Yes."

"Then I will go. You stay here." Opening the door, he stepped outside. I followed him a foot or so, standing beneath the cover of the second floor gallery. When he reached the camellia bush, he bent down and picked up something. As he stood, I realized what it was and ran out into the rain, dismayed.

"That is my silver shawl!" I took it from him, clenching its sodden threads close to my heart, heedless of the dirty water staining my gown. I doubted that the fragile silver threads would ever be as beautiful as they had been.

Looking up, I was surprised to find Stephen on his hands and knees peering under the foliage of the old camellia bush. I bent down to see what he could possibly be doing but he quickly rose and grabbed my hand, pulling me.

"Come with me," he said harshly, urging me back toward the house.

"What is it? What is wrong?" I looked back over my shoulder at the camellia.

"I assure you, Juliet, you do not want to see."

I dug in my heels. "Stephen, at least tell me what is wrong." I pulled my hand from his and saw blood on my fingers. "You are bleeding."

He held his palm up, surprised. There was a cut on his palm. "It feels as if I have a piece of glass in my hand, but that is the least of our worries. Miss Vengle is dead."

Everyone sat gathered in the parlor.

"Mrs. Boucheron, you said that the last time you saw Miss Vengle was yesterday morning in town with Mr. Trevelyan, correct?" the criminal sheriff of Orleans Parish asked me for the third time.

"
Oui
. I saw Mademoiselle Vengle speaking with Monsieur Trevelyan. They stood on the corner of Canal and Chartres." A nightmarish two hours had passed since Stephen discovered Miss Vengle's body stuffed beneath the shrouding foliage.

"Did it seem to you, Mrs. Boucheron, that they were well acquainted, out for a stroll, enjoying the morning together?"

This was a new question, and I frowned at the implied intimacy he tried to establish between Stephen and Miss Vengle. I wanted to tell Sheriff Carr of the improper relationship between Miss Vengle and Mr. Gallier and Mr. Fitz's apparent feelings for Miss Vengle, but to mention that in front of everyone, including Mrs. Gallier, would have been too indelicate. I would have to seek out Sheriff Carr privately to address the matter.

In the meantime, I was not going to allow him to impugn Stephen's character. "I would not say they were together at all, Sheriff Carr. Mademoiselle Vengle was well turned out, whereas Monsieur Trevelyan was quite rumpled. I learned later that he had been in a minor altercation that morning with a man who had harmed my son, and that he'd happened to meet up with Mademoiselle Vengle on his way back to
La Belle
."

"So you say Mr. Trevelyan is a man given to violent tendencies?"

"
Non
! Not at all." Frustration tightened inside me and grew. Every word I said was being twisted to paint Stephen in a bad light. Other than his grim expression, Stephen appeared undisturbed by Sheriff Carr's remarks. But everyone else except Mr. Phelps eyed Stephen as if he'd grown a horn in the middle of his forehead.

Sheriff Carr paced across the parlor, then whipped around to face Stephen. "Mr. Trevelyan, you
claim
that the last time you saw Miss Vengle was in town yesterday morning as well. That was about eleven o'clock, correct?"

"Yes." Stephen's reply was curt.

"And when you saw her, she said she was in town to do what? I need you to refresh my memory."

"Shop for a particular dress that would, in her words, capture the passion and innocence of Juliet— her part in the upcoming play."

"Have you met with Miss Vengle on any other occasion away from this boarding establishment? Either a planned meeting or an accidental one?"

"No."

"Mr. Latour, you were acquainted with Miss Vengle?" Sheriff Carr asked.

Mr. Latour puffed out his jowls importantly and cleared his throat. Without his spectacles, he looked heavier. "Yes, I met the young woman last Saturday night at dinner here."

"And that was the only occasion you saw Miss Vengle?"

"That is what I just said."

Sheriff Carr raised his brows. "It is very neighborly of you to spend your entire working day searching for a woman whom you had just briefly met."

Mr. Latour straightened his back as if offended. He fumbled in his pocket, put on his spectacles, and scowled with outrage. "See here. I resent what you are trying to imply. I am a respectable attorney from a noteworthy family. I consider it my civic duty to help."

A knock sounded at the front door and after a minute Papa John came to the parlor door and motioned to me. He informed me that Mr. Davis had returned to see Mignon.

"Have him wait in the sitting room, and she will see him as soon as we are through—"

"Mrs. Boucheron," Sheriff Carr said. "My apologies for being so rude, but if whoever is here had any occasion to know Miss Vengle, I would like for him to join us."

"Oh, of course," I said.

Papa John brought Mr. Davis to the parlor. Mr. Davis came to an abrupt stop when he saw so many gathered.

I made the introductions. "Monsieur Davis, this is Sheriff Carr. Sheriff Carr, Monsieur Davis; he is Monsieur Maison's assistant"

They shook hands and Sheriff Carr nodded. "We've had the opportunity to meet, though not under these circumstances."

Mr. Davis looked about the room again, puzzled. "Is there something wrong?"

"Mrs. Boucheron says that you were acquainted with Miss Vengle."

"I had the pleasure of her company here several times when I called on Miss Mignon DePerri. Is Miss Vengle still missing?"

"Then you know of the search for her?"

"Yes, I stopped by earlier. This is very disturbing, Sheriff Carr. A young woman disappearing."

"It is even more disturbing than you intimate, Mr. Davis. Miss Vengle is dead. She was strangled with a cord."

Mr. Davis frowned. Without his glasses, his face was leaner, more rugged. "Murdered? Good Lord. The authorities must do something about the crime in this city."

"When did you see her last?" Sheriff Carr asked abruptly.

Mr. Davis blinked. "The last I saw her was at dinner Saturday evening. Surely you cannot think that I had any connection to Miss Vengle."

"I question everyone, Mr. Davis. Why don't you have a seat, and if you think of anything else, you can let me know." The sheriff turned quickly and addressed Mr. Gallier, and I realized he was deliberately keeping everyone off balance to trick the guilty party into making a mistake.