Josette (14 page)

Michel sent a speaking glance to Cameron. “When you have a minute, I'd like to revisit our previous discussion regarding that certain shipment to China.”

Cameron fought a grin and glanced at René, who now leaned a hip against the center table, crossing his arms and making no attempt to hide his study of Felicité.

Michel scowled at him.

Felicité glanced from Michel to René. Her cheeks were pink. She turned to Alexia. “I've an appointment with Madame Charmontès and then I'm off to lunch. Would you care to join me, or would you rather sit around in this stuffy office listening to men discuss shipping business?”

Alexia wrinkled her nose. “Except for the cat, nothing much interests me here.”

“Good, then let's be off.” She lifted a hand to adjust her hat, and paled. “Oh, no. My bracelet. It's gone—”

“Alexia!” Cameron and René shouted at the same time. Both stepped forward. One glance at Cameron and René went back to leaning against the table.

“Get over here,” Cameron growled.

Alexia laughed and, lifting her wrist up for all to see the pearl and diamond bracelet, went instead to stand in front of Felicité. Alexia held her arm out to her.

Instead of erupting in a fit of anger, Felicité removed the bracelet and handed it to Alexia, before holding her own wrist out. “Put it on me, if you please. And do tell me how you managed that little trick. You must give me lessons.”

Cameron grunted. “I do not think that a wise idea, Felicité.”

She turned to Cameron and, with her back to Alexia, narrowed her eyes as if to send the message that she knew full well what she was about. “I'm off to mind my own business now. Come, Alexia.”

René stepped forward. “I'll escort the two of you to Madame Charmontès.”

Michel stood. “I think they can make their way safely down the street in broad daylight.”

“Ah, but I am to look after Alexia while Cameron meets with my sister. The fact that your sister happens to be along is not of my doing.” René turned and presented his arm to Felicité.

She tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. “How kind of you. See you this evening, Michel?”

As the three stepped through the doorway, René asked Felicité how long she planned to remain in New Orleans.

“I don't rightly know, Monsieur Thibodeaux. My plans seem to be changing by the minute.”

“Please, call me René.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Michel let loose a mouthful of curses.

Cameron laughed. “Was that the cat growling?”

“What the devil are we going to do with him, Cam? I thought we'd have a stevedore train him on the docks.”

Cameron shrugged. “Apparently, Thibodeaux is serious about becoming a part of our enterprise. As much as I dislike him, he's clever and intelligent. Given a chance, he may turn out to be just the man to replace Joshua Cooper. Either that or we can bring Cooper back here and send René to San Francisco, where he'll freeze his Southern balls off. That ought to take care of any worries you might have regarding your sister, twice over.”

Michel grunted. “Aren't you the genius?”

“What was it someone recently said to me? Oh, yes. ‘Didn't your day just take on a new glow? No rut for you.'”

“Go to the devil.”

“Ah, that reminds me of something else you recently said. Let's see, what was it? Oh, yes. ‘Doesn't life have a way of offering up the most interesting of surprises?'”

Michel tossed his pen down and, grabbing his jacket, headed for the door. “I'm following the bastard.”

Cameron leaned against a sun-bleached dray parked along the dock and stacked high with cotton bales, his gaze fixed on the clipper
Dianah
. The last-minute discovery that cargo had yet to arrive from upriver—made because René had been sifting through paperwork, no less—had set the ship's departure back a good two days.

“She's quite the beauty, isn't she, sir?” Croxton removed his hat long enough to take a swipe at his damp brow.

“Indeed. You must be gnawing at the bit to get her into deep waters, Captain.”

“That I am.” With watchful eyes on the ship's activities, Croxton propped himself against the cart beside Cameron. “You've got quite the daughter, sir.”

Cameron grunted. “She's only been here for a few days, yet everyone in and out of the office seems to know who she is.”

“This isn't the first time I've seen her. She's hung around the docks on several of my trips here. Clever girl. Tried to sell me a mouser for the ship this morning.”

“Not a black feline with a white-tipped tail by any chance?”

Croxton nodded. “Mmm. Abbott's cat.”

Merde
. “She'd have pocketed the coin, then stolen the blasted thing back before you had the anchor raised. She's attached to the little beast.”

“But not above making a profit off it?”

Cameron shifted his stance. “You didn't climb off that ship just to tell me I have a shrewd daughter, did you?”

“Don't reckon I did, sir.” Croxton paused long enough to signal to a sailor holding a fistful of rope. “When I reach Liverpool, do you want me to ask Trevor about changing this vessel's name?”

“No.”

Croxton gave a brief nod. “I was a widower for two years. I know what losing someone special feels like. I remarried recently. This Missus Croxton doesn't take the place of the former, wasn't meant to, but she sure as heck managed to heal the hole in my heart. I don't love her any less than my first wife, just different.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“That there's a limit to the amount of grieving a person can do. You shouldn't feel guilty about giving it up. I can remember when you laughed a lot and made others laugh along with you. I'd like to see that again.”

“I'm getting there.”

They stood in silence a while longer. Finally, Croxton heaved a breath and stepped away from the dray. “I suppose it's time I saw to my job lest I lose it.”

He headed for the ship, then halted. “One thing I learned when I lost my Beatrice is that we're all given a blank book of life. When all's said and done, sir, you're the only one who can fill those pages with memories worth looking back on in your winter years.”

Croxton's words hit Cameron like a punch to the gut. God, he wanted to be aboard a ship. He wanted nothing more than to glide across the seas to nowhere, stumble across an adventure or two. Most of all, he wanted to disappear until he managed to lift that blasted anvil off his chest once and for all. He'd grown damn sick of it weighing him down.

He wandered off the dock. Where to? One look at the shipping office with its door standing open, and he sure as hell didn't care to venture inside, not with René and Michel hammering out René's duties. Nor did he want to go home and listen to the echoes of his own footsteps. Alexia was still off somewhere with Felicité, which meant there was only one other place where things had been left undone today.

According to René, Josette was mad as a hornet, but Cameron had expected no less, and that was for the good. Her ill temper would serve to keep him at a distance.

No touching allowed.

And for God's sake, no repeating what had gone on last night. If his plans worked out, he'd be gone in less than a fortnight. Until then, he'd make certain any contact with Josette would be strictly held to the subject of Alexia, with Vivienne present.

When he reached Josette's front steps, the door opened. Vivienne and Régine, hats on their heads and parasols in hand, stepped onto the wide veranda. Both frowned at him.

“Ladies.”

“We're on our way to the fish market for the late-day catch,” Vivienne said. “Madame LeBlanc is in the gardens out back. Would you like me to announce you?” Despite Vivienne's perfunctory offer, she was obviously not inclined to do any such thing.

“No need, I'll come back another time.”

He turned to leave. Oh hell, he still had to inform Josette about that bloody dinner at Antoine's tonight. Since Alexia's fate had been decided this afternoon, and without her knowledge, Josette definitely needed to be present to help convince his daughter of what was best for her.

There went his decision not to meet with Josette alone. But Vivienne said she was out of doors. What could possibly occur so long as he kept well away from her? “I have to give Madame LeBlanc a quick message. I can see you're in a bit of a hurry, so I'll pass it along and be on my way. Out back, you say?”

While Régine remained stoic in her usual silence, a look of relief swept over Vivienne. She nodded. “As you wish, but please lock the door after entering. We've had some unannounced visitors today.”

“Do tell.”

Vivienne hesitated, then said, “Madame LeBlanc's brother, René, for one, which left madame in a prickly mood.” She gave Cameron a look that suggested she might know something about what had gone on last night.

Who else had shown up unannounced? An odd current passed through Cameron. Vivienne's thinned lips kept him from inquiring, so instead, he offered up a pleasant smile. “I fear Madame LeBlanc's foul mood might have something to do with me, so if you'll pardon me, I'll apologize while I'm at it.”

He should have regrets for instigating that lusty drinking game. He really should. At least he'd see to it that it never happened again. However, devil take it, he'd not had such a rousing good time in months. No, not in nearly three years—which felt like decades. Suddenly, revitalizing energy shot through him. “Buck up, Vivienne. Your cousin could use a little shake-up in her routines every now and then.”

While Régine looked askance, Vivienne flipped open her parasol and gave Cameron a sidelong glance. “I couldn't have said it better myself. You'll find the back door straight down the corridor after you turn off the main one. Good afternoon.”

Now there was a response he hadn't expected.

Entering the house, he turned the lock behind him. Despite the vanishing daylight through the windows, the noiseless interior gave him pause. Silent as a cemetery at midnight, it was. A feeling that he'd trespassed snaked along the back of his neck. Well, what was done was done. He was here to discuss Alexia's future, inform Josette about dinner, and depart. He strode to the rear entrance, his boot heels clicking along the wide corridor.

Once on the veranda, he halted in stunned fascination. Whatever he'd expected, this wasn't it. A radiant display of flowers, vines, and all manner of greenery dazzled him. Was all this Josette's planning? The Tuileries would have a hard time competing with this splendor.

He stepped off the stairs and onto a cobbled path edged with a swath of colorful blossoms ranging from short-stalked jewels in the front to waist-high at the rear. He hadn't a clue what they all were, but as he soaked in the intriguing scents, his mood elevated.

The stone path veered in several directions. He wandered about, searching for Josette. He'd be damned if he'd call out to her.

The place was like a painting come to life. Ironwork benches curved around stately oaks; a swing hung from the overhead branch of a graceful magnolia tree. And there she was, wearing an oversized floppy hat and gardening gloves, bent over a row of something or other, pulling what he assumed were weeds and tossing them into a basket.

He stood there as if mesmerized, watching her toil. The late-afternoon sun shone at an angle, shaping the outline of her slender body against a thin layer of fabric with not much beneath it. The sight came as a seductive jolt to his senses, and his body rebelled against any determination to remain detached. What he wouldn't do to rush over, grab her in his arms, hug the hell out of her, then find some cozy spot and lay her down. Strip them both bare.

Damn it, this kind of madcap thinking had to cease. Wasn't it enough he'd tossed and turned the night through, imagining the impossible with her?

Not trusting his runaway impulses, he remained in place, willing his flesh to listen to reason until he felt in control once again. He stepped forward, his heel sounding against stone.

She glanced up, her forearm passing over her brow as if to wipe away perspiration.

His mood soared even higher. He grinned, as if doing so might make amends for the prurient thoughts warming his blood.

Slowly, she rose. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“I don't know, a month?”

Her brows knitted, and he swore flames shot out her eyes. She charged, waving some kind of gardening tool at him, her hat flying off her head, hair spilling about her shoulders. “Why, you miserable, lying cur. You knew damn well it was René who stole your filthy rum. Leave my home this minute.”

Christ, he shouldn't laugh. The sight of her, barefooted, breathing fire, and barreling down on him as if he didn't outweigh her by a good ninety pounds had him wanting to kiss her senseless. His groin tightened. That wouldn't do. Not at all.

“In case you were too sauced to recall, I apologized last night.”

She threw the tool at him.

He sidestepped.

It whizzed past his ear and landed with a
clank
on the cobblestones behind him.

“You're angry.”

“You noticed?”

“Hard not to.”

She yanked off her gloves and threw those at him. One missed, the other landed square on his chest, then fell to his feet.

He backed off, hands held up in surrender, but he couldn't help the grin that managed to escape. “Think, Josette. I never lied to you. I merely asked you to tell me who brought you the rum. I wanted to hear it from your lips.”

The shift in her expression was as easy to read as a daily newspaper. She'd just gone from angry to hopping mad.

Sputtering, she came at him again, set her hands on his chest and pushed. “Out!”

He clasped her wrists and held her in front of him. She stared at him, unspoken thoughts churning behind her widened gaze.

Those eyes.

The expression in them held an odd familiarity. Some memory in the recesses of his mind crept forward, only to slink back and disappear.

She blinked and tried to pull away. When he continued to hold her firm, her eyes widened once more.

There it was again—that look that gave him pause. “Stop, Josette. Whatever you were thinking just then, think it again.”

Puzzlement filled her countenance. She tried to wiggle her hands free, but he held tight. “No, don't. That's the third time I've had this strange feeling I knew you from before. Last night, during our game, I asked if you'd known me previously, and you said yes. Tell me.”

She looked away. “I don't have a clue what you mean.”

“Now you're the liar.”
Merde
. He should let her go and get the hell out of here. He wanted her. Not just sexually. Oh, he wanted that part, there was no denying it anymore, but he wanted to touch her. He wanted to slide his arms around her and hold on tight. For a long, long while.

“Look at me.”

She turned her cheek to him. “Let me go. You do not have the right.”

He released her and, heaving a frustrated breath, shoved at the hank of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “You're right, and I do beg your pardon.”

This wouldn't do. He had to cool off, put his mind to what he'd come here for. He walked over to where her hat hung at an odd angle off a bush, gathered it up along with the gardening tool and gloves she'd tossed at him, and handed them to her. “I came about Alexia. I've figured out what's to be done with her.”

“Which is?”

He studied Josette for a moment. “Walk with me while we talk. Show me your gardens.”

Gone was the expression he couldn't place. Expression—of what? Fright filled with defiance? Whatever it was, not a trace remained.

She folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the ground. “No more lies?”

He glanced down. He wished she wouldn't do that . . . draw attention to her bare toes. Cute little toes. He could massage those dainty feet and make her swoon. Damn it, there went his blasted groin twitching again.

“I told you I didn't lie. I am also not a man who makes excuses, so I won't tell you that I'd already had too much to drink before I arrived. Nor will I tell you that I drank more wine than I should have during dinner. I won't even tell you that I likely did so because when I am anywhere in the vicinity of Madame LeBlanc, I have trouble keeping my hands off the lady. Deuced wicked of me, isn't it?”

Her foot stopped tapping. Her cheeks flushed. She dropped her arms to her sides and her mouth opened as if to say something. Seeming to change her mind, she clamped it shut for a beat, then said, “Put my things on that bench over there and come along. I need to hear what you are up to with my niece.”

He dropped the handful of her belongings on the nearby wrought-iron settee and matched her slow pace, clasping his hands behind his back, mostly to refrain from touching her again. They passed the wicker basket she'd been filling when he'd spied her. “Why do you toss weeds in there and not use them for mulch?”