Josette (16 page)

She shook her head, fighting the panic threatening to overcome her. “I had no idea.”

What fools they were. A Thibodeaux family from the bayou in the finest restaurant New Orleans had to offer, and one of them was a whore, the other a thief. She needed to leave before Bastièn returned and she did or said something she might regret for the rest of her days.

“René, take me home.”

Cameron set his serviette to the side of his plate and rose. “I'll see you there.”

She gave her head a shake. “I insist René accompany me.”

René rose and rounded the table to stand behind Josette. Tenderly gripping her shoulders, he helped her from the chair. “Come then,
ma chère.
”

 

 

An angry storm rolled around inside Cameron. He cursed to himself, lest Alexia hear and imitate him.

“Well,” Felicité said in a whoosh of an exhale. “Whatever all that was about, they certainly had my attention. How incredibly interesting.”

Cameron cursed under his breath again. “At least someone thinks so.”

Michel shoved his chair back and rose. “I think I can safely say our evening has come to a close.” He shot a meaningful glance at Alexia, who was busy watching the door for Bastièn's return. “Perhaps not as we had intended, but nonetheless, to an end it has come. And since Felicité and Alexia are spending the night with you, Cameron, I'll be on my way. Lord knows I could use some fresh air and a quiet walk home after this calamity.”

“We'll see you out, at least,” Cameron said.

They were exiting the room just as Bastièn returned. He stepped aside to allow them passage, and in their leaving, said to Alexia, “You look lovely tonight,
pouchette
.”

She grinned up at him in adoration. “
Merci,
Uncle.”

Cameron swallowed another litany of curses. Obviously, she adored her blasted uncles, no matter what fool things they did.

Bastièn made no effort to disguise his blatant interest in Felicité. “Although I have not met you before this evening, I suspect you, Mademoiselle Felicité, always manage to look lovely.” A sultry invitation touched Bastièn's countenance.

Cameron leaned a shoulder into him as he swept by, just enough to warn the
salaud
that Felicité was off limits.

Bastièn chuckled softly in response, then moved the short distance to his table, and seated himself across from the widow.

As Cameron's small party attempted to make their exit, they got caught up in the wedding crowd flowing out of the restaurant and into the street like a tidal wave.

Antoine approached Cameron. “I am so very sorry to cause you any delay, but we've six hundred people exiting, not to mention those waiting outside to enter for their late reservations. The wedding party will follow music makers along Rue Royale to a ball that will go on all night.”

Alexia tugged on Cameron's sleeve. “That's your street, Papa. Can we watch?”

“You may. From an above stairs window overlooking the event.”

“But Papa, we won't feel the excitement if we're not in the thick of it.”

He bent down and grasped Alexia by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I am going to be quite frank with you, Alexia. I do not trust you in this crowd. If you were to get caught divesting any of the ladies of their jewels, you would cause more trouble than you can imagine. For all of us.”

Enthusiasm left her eyes and a blank look crossed her face.

His gut clenched. “I speak the truth for your own sake, Alexia, but I'll have you know, I detest having to speak such words. I can no longer tolerate your thieving. In fact, I am so sick of not being able to trust you that I've a mind to . . . to . . .”

“Do what, Papa?” Her eyes had grown suddenly cold. “Get on the next ship out of here? Leave, and never set eyes on me again?”

He detested feeling guilty again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alexia, I—”

Felicité stepped forward and laid a hand on Alexia's shoulder. “If your father didn't care about you, he'd already be gone.”

Alexia blinked hard and fast.

Were those tears?
Merde.
For the life of him, Cameron didn't know what the blazes to do next.

While the crowd funneled out of the restaurant, Alexia stood staring up at him for a long while. Finally, her slender hand slid into his, feeling no larger than a babe's.

“You can hold my hand, Papa, and Felicité can hold the other. I promise to be good. Just for a while, Papa?”

He pushed away his unwanted emotions and nodded. Once out the door, he maneuvered them through the crowd and to the street behind Royal, where merrymakers rushed ahead and beat the parade to his town house.

A dozen violinists walked in front of an elaborately decorated carriage holding the bride and groom. Behind them, several other carriages held the wedding couple's parents while the remaining crowd followed on foot.

“Isn't this something?” Felicité said. “How beautiful everything is.”

As promised, Alexia, her face shining with pleasure, held tightly to both Felicité and Cameron's hands. “I would be happy with the flowery hats the horses wear,” she said.

Cameron chuckled. Leave it to Alexia to notice the little details. Good thing he was holding her hand or come the morrow, she'd be wearing one to breakfast.

The procession was nearing an end when René slid in beside Cameron and sent Felicité a speaking glance.

Cameron turned to her. “The parade is coming to an end. Please take Alexia inside. I'll join you in a moment.”

Felicité's cheeks flushed, but she did as she was bade. As she brushed by Cameron, she muttered, “You are so transparent, cousin.”

“We'll talk,” he said and abruptly turned to René. “I take it Josette got home all right?”

“
Oui
. She has had a very bad day.”

“Vivienne said your sister had uninvited visitors that put her in a foul mood. Do you know who?”

“Vennard was one of them, I'm afraid.”

“Émile Vennard? The father of the bride?”

“
Oui
.”

“What the devil did he want?”

“She wouldn't tell me, but I spoke to him this afternoon. It seems he would like to purchase her house for his daughter as a wedding present.”

“Why?”

“He says it is because his daughter would like to live in this new area people are calling the Garden District and my sister's home is the finest of them all. When I assured him the idea was out of the question, he dropped the subject.”

“Does Josette know of this?”

“
Non
. Tonight was not the night to tell her. But she is aware he wants to purchase her shop, and refuses him at every turn. Unfortunately, Vennard has a reputation for getting whatever he wants.”

“Why the hell would a man like him want to own a shop for women?”

René shrugged. “I do not know, but I intend to find out. She hasn't a clue I am aware of his proposal so I cannot bring the subject up with her just yet.”

“How did you come to know all this?”

A smile worked one corner of René's lips. “I am, shall we say, close friends with Josette's lead shop girl. Mademoiselle Elise has been known to press her ear to my sister's office door whenever that snake Vennard visits.”

“Let me get this straight. You are sleeping with the shop girl with the intention of looking after your sister's best interests?”

“
Oui
.”

“How bloody chivalrous of you.”

“Ah, but there are benefits to looking after my sister. I find long legs wrapped around me most satisfying.”

Anger welled up in Cameron. He whipped around and shoved René against the brick wall. “You do what you will with that shop girl, but leave Felicité alone. You touch her, and I'll have my foot in your balls so fast you won't know what hit you.”

A slow smile curled René's mouth, and his eyes filled with humor. “We make a deal,
oui
? I leave Michel's sister alone if you leave my sister alone.”

Cameron muttered an oath and shoved harder. Why wasn't the bastard fighting back?

People on the street were stopping to gawk. Someone stepped forward and called out, “What goes there?”

He dropped his hold on René's jacket. “If that's your game, you're playing a dangerous one.”

René merely brushed at his lapels and walked off. “Go to the devil.”

“You first, Thibodeaux.”

Cameron watched René stroll down the street and disappear around a corner. What kind of family had he gotten mixed up with? Seeing those two brothers together tonight, he realized they both had practiced their smirks with the intention of rattling their opponents, and Cameron had fallen for their game. He'd be damned if that would happen again.

He let himself in through the wrought-iron gate, locked it behind him, and made his way into the town house. Hearing laughter coming from above, he climbed the stairs and strode to the room across the hall from his. He knocked.

“
Entrez s'il vous plaît
,” Alexia called out with a giggle.

He opened the door and there she and Felicité were, curled up in bed, an open book on their laps. For some strange reason, the sight of them, their backs propped against a pile of shared pillows, reading together, touched him. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, and crossed one foot over the other ankle. “Now there's a sight.”

“We've decided to share a bed,” Felicité said. “I've never had a sister or female cousin to do such a thing, so I'm looking forward to it as much as Alexia is.”

Alexia yawned and rubbed an eye.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and watched his daughter. “I should warn you that when Alexia falls asleep, it can be on her feet or in her soup, so you had better be ready.”

Alexia giggled. “G'night, Papa. I've had the best day of my life.”

“You don't say?” He moved to the bed, bent and kissed her on the forehead. He glanced at Felicité. “As for you, I'll merely say good night.”

“Papa?” How very innocent Alexia looked in her snowy-white nightgown, her hair in a braid.

“What is it?”

She slid her hand beneath a pillow and withdrew her fist closed around something on a golden chain. She dropped his pocket watch into his hand. “I don't want to keep it any longer. I don't want to steal things anymore because I don't want you to be ashamed of me.”

He stared at the watch, his heart dropping to his feet. How the hell had she managed to find the safe under the floor? He ought to wallop her a good one. But not tonight. Not when she'd had the best day of her life. He'd confront her tomorrow and find out how the devil she'd tripped the safe's tumblers.

Making his way downstairs, he moved the table in front of the sofa, pulled the rug back, and exposed the safe. Opening it, he spied his pocket watch, right where he'd left it. “What the hell?”

He lifted it out and compared it to the one Alexia had handed him. The one from the safe had a deep scratch on the back, something that had happened right after his father gifted him the watch. But how . . .

A chill ran through him.

He remembered now.

Josette.

Those eyes.

That certain look in them.

Damn it!

He stuffed both watches into his pocket, and after putting everything back in place, he headed for Josette's.

She'd had a bad day, had she?

Well, what was left of it was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

God's saints, which brother was beating on her door at this hour?

Josette rushed along the gas-lit corridor and down the stairs, her mind jumping ahead to the cabinet holding bandages, tinctures, needles, and thread. Why was it always the dead of night when one or the other needed stitching?

The rapping turned into furious pounding.

“Blast it, I'm coming!”

Her pulse rate ticked up. With this racket, something had to be terribly wrong. What if both were injured? What in the world had possessed her to send Vivienne and Régine off for the night?

Yanking open the door, she stumbled to a halt. “Oh!”

“Invite me in, Josette.” Despite Cameron's deceptively calm words, fire blazed in his eyes. It could have been Lucifer himself come to call.

She clutched at the opening of her robe and stepped back. “Where's Alexia? What's happened?”

“Alexia is safe with Felicité. Invite me in.”

“Did one of my brothers get to you?” He didn't appear to have been pummeled—at least not externally.

He muttered a foul curse.

Good Lord, she'd sooner let a growling bear inside. She hiked up her chin and willed her heart to settle back in her chest. “I am not their keeper.”

“Damn it, Josette, we need to talk. Invite me in, or I shall forget my proper upbringing and barge in without your consent. Should I be forced to do so, you'll find my mood even worse.”

The fine hairs on her nape tingled, sending a shiver down her spine. She backed up a few more steps. “Then come inside before I have to fight off a swarm of mosquitoes. I don't need them biting at me since you seem to be doing a fair job of it on your own.”

He strode in, anger pouring out of him like black rain. “How did you break into my town house?”

His town house? This was the last thing she'd expected to hear. Her mind reeled as she bought time. “I beg your pardon?”

His gaze cruised her length, from her tousled hair, down her red silk robe to bare toes, and back to her face. Something dark and hungry flashed through his eyes, nearly stealing her breath. The emotion waned, and wrath eclipsed whatever had sped through him.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew . . . dear heavens, the watch.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You recognize this, don't you?”

“Is it the pocket watch Alexia stole from you?” She knew better. He'd just asked her how she'd gotten into his home.

“Nice try.” He flipped the watch to its backside. His finger traced a deep scratch. “Do you see this gash across the top, here? I managed to scrape it against something within the first week my father gave it to me. That would have been on my fifteenth birthday. Two years later, it disappeared by the hand of a certain pickpocket.”

A derisive smile raised a corner of his mouth. “A very clever thief since I never felt a thing. I wonder if that little bandit also lifted a rather expensive diamond stickpin off my cravat?”

Oh, her heart was in her throat again. Even though he knew, she couldn't bring herself to confess. Not with all the years and emotion banked behind the two deeds. How could she tell him she'd stolen both items because she'd been an infatuated girl? That she'd been furious with him for choosing Solange over her when Josette was clearly too young for what he and her sister had engaged in? How could she tell him she'd pilfered his things not to sell or bring back to Maman, but to have something of him to hold dear?

“This watch was removed from my person about a year before Alexia was born,” he said. “I had a substitute made soon after. Which happens to be the one Alexia pinched.”

He reached into another pocket and, retrieving the duplicate, let it swing hypnotically from its golden chain. “She returned this one tonight after telling me she had no desire to steal again. I wonder if I can believe her words.”

Josette backed up.

She needed space.

Needed to catch her breath.

Needed to think.

Blast it, she couldn't manage to get her swirling thoughts to travel in a straight line. Not with him standing before her, both watches dangling from his hand. With deliberate and slow movements, he set the timepieces side by side on a small table next to him, careful to straighten the chains in equal measure. Finished with his little task, he folded his arms across his chest and met her eyes, that amber gaze of his seeming to strip her bare.

She had to get rid of him.

Gathering all the chilly composure she could muster, she turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. “This is ridiculous. It's after midnight, and you're here to shove a couple of watches in my face? Close the door on your way out. The night latch is on and will catch on its own. Good night, Monsieur Andrews.”

She lifted the hems of her dressing gown and night rail, and hastened to the stairs.

The heels of his shoes pounded the floor behind her. “Not so fast.”

She swallowed a squeal, and dashed up the steps. “Get out!”

“By jove, if you aren't the little bully.”

She managed to clear the stairs and scamper halfway down the hall before he caught up with her. Grabbing her by the arm, he swung her around, his eyes burning into hers.

Shock sent a high buzz into her ears. “You are no gentleman. Unhand me and leave.”

“Like hell, I will. We need to talk, and if I let you go, you'll disappear behind one of these doors.”

His grip sent a rush of conflicting emotions running rampant—part of her grew so angry she saw red while another insane part wanted to kiss him. Her senses blurred, she fisted her free hand and struck out.

He blocked the blow with ease, curling his fingers around hers and holding them with a firm grip.

She tried to jerk free.

His fist tightened for a beat, then loosened. But only enough to let her know he was the one in control. Slowly, he backed her against the wall, and caged her in, his hands flat on either side of her head.

A wild sensation of wanting to pull him closer cleaved a drunken path through her anger, leaving her feeling even more perplexed. Good God, what was wrong with her?

Once again, she wrapped herself in a cloak of false self-assurance. “And you call me a bully?”

A beat of silence, then a short burst of laughter left him. “Christ Almighty, Josette. You're like a kaleidoscope the way you shift your moods to match whatever fits the occasion. You're guilty as hell, yet you're trying to make me look the fool. Do you think you can weasel out of this so easily? Didn't you tell me you picked pockets at Alexia's age?”

The rush of his breath against her skin sent wicked signals racing along her nerve endings. “Do you honestly think I'm going to have this discussion with you?”

He bent his head until he was so close, his clean, musky scent enveloped her. “Then I shall be forced to conduct a one-sided conversation with you, my dear.”

Something shifted in his gaze as it roved her face. “When I found myself in possession of two watches, I suddenly recalled why you've seemed so familiar to me of late.”

Her heart stuttered, but this time for an entirely different reason—his lips had parted and his warm, measured breaths were falling on her mouth. “Is that so?”

A tilt of his head, and he studied her with unnerving intensity. “By any chance do you favor those sugary
calas
the vendors in the Vieux Carré sell?”

His words stunned and left her speechless. Her gaze left his mouth and found his eyes. The day she'd knocked over those grocer's barrels while spying on him had been a pivotal moment in her life, but it had to have been an insignificant one in his.

She had to clear her throat to speak. “How could you remember such an event as that?”

He leaned closer, his lips nearly touching hers. “Even back then you were beautiful,
ma chère
.”

“Impossible. I was thirteen. Little more than a child.”

“And I was seventeen, not much more than one, as well.” His husky words left his lips and landed on hers like a warm caress. “You popped up from behind those tumbling merchant's barrels looking like a frightened angel, your dark eyes big as saucers, your hair a wild mass of curls. I bought you a
cala
, do you remember?”

His one hand lifted from the wall and trailed along her cheek, then into her hair, sending a shower of pins pricking her skin. She sucked in a breath.

“I came back later, looking for you.” His lids lowered, along with the timbre of his voice. “Did you know that?”

He had? Speechless, she shook her head. What had just happened? He'd been a bellowing lunatic mere moments ago. When had the powerful force emanating from him shifted into something far more dangerous than unleashed anger?

She could barely find her voice. “You need to . . .”

One muscled leg slid in between hers, forcing her thighs apart.

Her dressing gown fell open.

She gasped.

“Need to do what?” His bare, raspy murmur shot pure lust through her, dissolving her bones.

He pressed snugly against her. His thick manhood at her belly grew rigid with pulsating urgency. With only the thin silk of her nightgown and the fabric of his trousers separating them, they may as well have been naked.

His mouth took hers, his tongue sweeping inside, tangling with hers.

A little moan, and coherent thought fell to the wayside. Of their own accord, her hands slid under his jacket and found his muscled chest beneath the soft fabric of his shirt and vest. Smoky heat emanated from him, reached inside her like vaporous tentacles, and stroked. All the familiar places where every memory of him had ever lurked ignited.

God help her, she had to find strength enough to send him away before she lost herself completely. But all she could manage to mumble along with her pathetic little shove was, “Stop.”

He took a step back, stared at her for a brief moment, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why the devil can't I leave you be?”

He pivoted and left her standing there, his long, rapid strides taking him down the hall toward the staircase. “We cannot engage in this kind of conduct when we have a young girl to consider. Any further exchange between the two of us will be on her behalf, and done with others present.”

Shock swept away the fog in her brain. She pressed a fist to her mouth as a jumble of disparate thoughts fell into place like scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The man she'd held in her heart and in her dreams for years had just made a pledge never to return unattended. And in ten days, he'd be gone from her world forever. Unbidden, the idea of suffering through yet another long, lonely night gripped her, breathed down her neck, and made her call out in a small voice. “Don't leave.”

 

 

Her soft-spoken words could have been a blast of cannon shot. Cameron stumbled to a halt at the top of the stairs. Stomach churning, he raked his fingers through his hair. “You don't want me to stay, Josette. You know what would happen, and we'd only be sorry.”

The air shifted around him. Silk rustled as she moved slowly toward him. “
We
would be sorry? How could you possibly know that of me?”

The vise around his chest squeezed tighter, forcing a groan from his lips. Something inside him broke. He suddenly grew weary. He gave up and plopped onto the top step with a soft thud, burying his head in his hands. “Each of us would have regrets, Josette, but for different reasons.”

Old guilt closed in on him, merged with the new. If not for him, his wife and Josette's sister would still live. He had no right to seek out pleasure for pleasure's sake alone. Especially with this woman. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to complete his walk down the steps and out her door. Not just yet, anyway.

She'd moved closer. Electricity sizzled between them, the energy like a prelude to a summer storm. Her light, elegant scent came next, followed by another rustle of silk. She sat beside him, saying nothing.

In the long silence that ensued, an odd sort of comfort settled in his bones, despite the lust still ravaging his soul. Her allure became an enigmatic force holding him in place. He was unable to gather enough fortitude to make a graceful exit, but, as time ticked by, he no longer wished to. Heaving a heavy sigh, he swiped his hands over his face. “You're too good for what happened back there. I beg your pardon.”

“Forgiven.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and focused on her toes peeking out from under her nightclothes, wiggling them about a bit.

A punch of hunger—a perilous kind—slammed into his gut. Why the devil did he find her bare feet so sensual? He clasped his hands together to keep from reaching for her, and draped them between his legs, his elbows resting on his knees. “I'm surprised Vivienne or Régine hasn't come to your aid and knocked me over the head with a lamp or two.”

“They're not here.”

Merde.
“You're rattling around alone in this monster of a house?”

She nodded.

“When do they return?”

“Tomorrow. Late afternoon, I would guess. They went off to visit Régine's father. He has a small farm outside of town.”

“Do you always leave the upstairs lit up at night like Christmas? Or is it because you're alone?”

Her cheeks flushed. “The latter, I would suppose.”

What the hell did he do now? He couldn't very well leave when she admitted being uncomfortable by herself. But to remain would only serve to complicate things.

Wouldn't it?