Josette (29 page)

Her heart now in shreds, she walked away. She knew Cameron wanted her. She had seen it in his eyes all evening—had seen the way he'd looked at her the few times she'd visited him these past five days. She'd used working late as a feeble excuse to stay away from him. Strange how circumstances could so easily alter a person's life.

Before her encounter with Vennard—she couldn't bring herself to think of him as her father—she'd had every intention of spending as much time with Cameron as possible until he departed. What dangerous foolishness, playing games with her heart. When had she started depending on him? Better that she pulled away when she had. Going to him for advice meant going to him for solace as well. She knew darn well seeking his comfort mattered more.

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Wait, Josette.”

She stopped in her tracks, her heart caught in her throat. “Please, Cameron, I need to be alone.”

“I've decided to leave your home now, not in the morning, so I'd like a moment, if you will.”

The reality of his words, deep and husky in his throat, stunned her. “It's nearing midnight. It's too late for you to be leaving. The morning will have to do.”

“I'm not a boy, Josette. I've walked the streets of New Orleans at all hours. You must know why I'm leaving tonight and not in the morning.”

She turned to face him. This beautiful, strong, kind man who'd strolled through her dreams for years would soon be gone. Her knees weakened and her insides trembled. She doubted memories of him would be enough to fill her life after all. She wanted to ask him why he had to leave New Orleans at all, but she had no right. “I don't know why you cannot wait until tomorrow, but I suppose whatever choice you make shouldn't much matter.”

He frowned. “You can say that after what we've shared? Look at me and tell me the truth. Try telling me that what we've had together doesn't matter. The reason I am leaving tonight is because I can no longer lie in your bed night after night waiting for you to vacate the bed you share with Alexia. Waiting for the door to open. Waiting for you to slide in beside me and—”

“Cameron, don't.” She laid a hand against his chest. She shouldn't have. His heat, the beat of his heart, coursed right through her. She dropped her hand. Now wasn't the time to pretend. She had to speak the truth. “I . . . please understand that it was foolish of me to feel I could make love with you every day and think nothing of it. Truth be told, I've ached for you day and night knowing you were just down the corridor. What we shared grew more wonderful with each rendezvous. So much so, I feared if we continued, it would be unbearable to watch you climb aboard a ship and sail away. While you'll be gone, off to a new life, to who knows where or what, I'll be left here with nothing but an empty bed and a few memories to keep me warm.”

Emotions flashed through his eyes like a kaleidoscope, shifting and throwing off indecipherable patterns. Oh, she could barely breathe now.

He reached out and drew the backs of his fingers down her cheek, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his amber eyes filling with sadness. “You're right. It is wrong of me to want as much of you as I can get before I leave. I've been selfish. Forgive me.”

“Why can't you make a life for yourself here in New Orleans?” Good Lord, had she actually asked him to stay? Requesting a future with him when she'd known all along it could never be? Not because of who they each were, not because of how very different their lives had been, but because, in the end, she was Solange's sister.

Cameron shoved his fingers through his hair. “I don't know who I am anymore. I'm even more confused now than before I left San Francisco. One thing I do know is that New Orleans is no longer my home. I may have been born here, but I sure as hell don't belong here anymore. At least I don't think so. Maybe sailing around the world will change my mind, I don't know. In any case, I'll be back now and then to see Alexia. I will look forward to seeing you, as well.”

“Will you be so anxious to see me again if you have a wife by your side?” At that precise moment, at the thought of him with another woman, she knew a simple truth—she was in love with him. But he did not share her feelings.

She had to get rid of him before she blurted it out or before a flood of tears left her a hopeless mess. “In all honesty, I could not tolerate seeing you with a wife, Cameron. Please, let's say our good-byes now and leave whatever we had to our memories. It will be easier on me.”

He stared deeply into her eyes for a long moment. “Of course. How very sensible you are.” He took a step away from her. “I should never have acted upon my desire for you, but for the love of God, Josette, I couldn't help myself.”

She managed a small nod. “I wanted what we had as well, so please, never be sorry. If I felt you left regretting our time together, it would break my heart. I hope we can at least give ourselves that much.”

His gaze flitted back and forth from her eyes to her mouth. “Will you kiss me good-bye, then?”

Oh, please, yes!
He read her thoughts and moved closer, until their bodies touched. He stroked her cheek again, then lifted her chin and settled his mouth on hers. This wasn't the harsh, demanding kiss she'd expected. Instead, the kiss was tender, whisper-soft and gentle—and far more painful than if he'd ravished her.

He turned and was gone.

 

 

Cameron rolled out of bed around noon, wishing he'd not awakened at all. He'd drunk more rum when he'd returned to the town house, but it had done nothing to obliterate the emptiness inside him. His bedding lay in a heap on the floor, proof he'd tossed and turned the night through. Six days and he'd be gone. Sooner if another ship was on the schedule to leave port. The
Arabesque
would set sail tomorrow. He could be on it. Get the hell out of here so he wouldn't be tempted to tear down walls to get to Josette.

Anger settled in his bones at the way life had turned on him. Disjointed thoughts rattled around in his head. What of Vennard? Josette was under her brothers' protection, and whatever cunning measures they took to see that their father caused her no harm before they left for their training voyage was of little concern to Cameron.

Tell that to his heart.

Today, he intended to let her know that she would remain here. She'd no doubt be glad of it. The thought curdled his stomach. At least his sour gut told him he wasn't completely numb to life.

He bathed, dressed and made his way to the docks, where he watched the
Colette
pull sleekly into port. By nightfall the rum would be unloaded. Then she'd be inspected and readied for her next trip—with him and the Thibodeaux brothers aboard. Was that such a good idea after all? Would he look at them and constantly think of his daughter? Of Josette?

Fresh pain shot through him at the idea of not seeing either one of them for God knew how long.

He turned, and there stood Alexia beside a loaded dray, holding Abbott's cat in her arms and acting as though Cameron didn't exist. He knew better. She was wily as they came.

He walked over to her. “Good afternoon, Alexia. You've Midnight in hand, I see.”

“
Oui
.” She stroked a little harder at the cat's fur. The little beast wiggled. She paused. “Gotta go. Abbott will be wanting his cat back.”

“Wait.” Cameron crossed his arms over his chest and nodded toward the
Colette
. “Do you see that ship there?”

“A body would have to be blind not to.”

“Your uncles are going on a training mission aboard her next week.”

“
Oui
. I read the ship's manifest.”

He had to grin. “Did you now?”

“
Oui
.” She went back to petting the cat.

“Then you know someone will go along to train them.”

“
Oui
, Michel.”

“No, Alexia, plans have changed. I will be the one to show them the ropes. I'll be going as far as Bermuda and then changing ships. They'll return without me.”

She stopped petting the cat.

“Your uncles will return and once again, your family will be intact. I won't be asking you to go with me because I have finally realized you belong here.”

Her head shot up and he swore he saw a glimpse of panic in her eyes. But as usual, it was gone before he could pinpoint anything

“You won't be back?”

“From time to time,” he said. “I know you haven't wanted to be around me of late, but I'm hoping things will change so that when I do return, we can enjoy a visit with each other. In time, perhaps you might want to come to me.”

“Humph. Wherever that might be.” She dropped the cat and marched back into the shipping office. “Abbott, your damn cat scratched me.”

Wasn't she something, though? Despite the pain her rebuff had caused him, he loved her. God, the realization hit him like a punch to the heart.
Huh.
He adored the little scamp. Too bad he hadn't succeeded in getting her to love him back, but if it wasn't in her, he couldn't force things.

At the thought, it was as if a cloud of sadness descended upon him. He watched the door she'd disappeared through for a long while, then he set out on foot to walk the Vieux Carré one last time.

Near dusk, he climbed aboard the ship, looked back at the city and imagined how it would feel to leave it all behind on the morrow instead of waiting until next week.

“Are you all right?” René came up behind him.

Cameron nodded. “I'm fine.”

“Josette, she is not so fine today.”

“She's got a lot to be concerned about.”

“
Oui
.” René looked Cameron over for a long moment, then settled in alongside him. In the silence that stretched between them, they watched the city lights blink and come to life, one by one.

Cameron squinted at a woman running toward them. “Isn't that Josette's shop girl?”

“
Oui
, Elise.” René frowned and stepped to the ship's railing.

“Hurry, René! Oh, please hurry!”

He was already running down the gangplank. “Did something happen to Josette?”

Elise nodded frantically. “The shop. It's on fire!”

“Let go!” Josette cried, wrestling with René's iron-fisted grip.

“Don't be a fool,” he shouted.

Something exploded inside the shop, shattering the storefront window. Orange flames shot out, licking the night sky like a dragon's tongue. A roar went up from the crowd of bystanders.

“Get her out of here!” the fire warden bellowed above the clamor.

René dragged her away from the hot blaze. She fell into his arms, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket. “Oh, God, my very life was in there.”

The fire brigade frantically hosed water into Josette's shop and along the sides and upper floor of the building, trying to keep the fire from spreading to adjacent structures. Trained volunteers scurried on and off ladders, shouting orders to one another. Others seesawed the long handles on water pumps, keeping the hoses gushing.

Bastièn squeezed through the crowd and rushed to her. “
Merde
, Josette. Your hand. You've been burned. We need to get you home.”

Her flesh registered not a lick of pain. All she felt was the shock and horror of what was happening before her eyes.

René tugged at her arm. “Come along. You're only in the way.”

Dazed, she turned and looked into his eyes, the sinuous flames reflecting in their grave depths. Suddenly, the thick fog in her head cleared. Tears trickled down her cheeks and her knees went weak. What had she been thinking, trying to get back inside a burning building when all was lost? Had she been insane?

She scanned the crowd, knowing full well she sought Cameron. Instead, Vennard came into sharp focus. Their gazes locked. A wicked grin broke across his face before he turned and melted into the throng.

“Are you satisfied, Vennard!” she screamed. “No more Belle Femme for your darling daughter and wife to frequent. No more bayou Cajun trash to cater to them like royalty!”

Onlookers stared at her through eyes gone wide. Narrowed lips began moving in a telltale manner that meant gossip now flowed as rapidly as water from the firemen's hoses.

Bastièn grabbed her chin and forced her face to him. “Did Vennard start the fire?”

Her nostrils stung from the acrid tang of charred wood coalescing with the sweet scent of what had once been her exclusive fragrances. Oh God, the insanity of it all. Hysterical laughter threatened to overwhelm her. She choked it back with a strangled sob, and shook her head. “My sleeve caught on a candle. It tipped over onto a beaker of alcohol that spilled across the table and floor. It only took seconds before the fire went out of control.”

Anguish quickly replaced the edge of hysteria. “I did this to myself. Dear Lord, I destroyed my own life.”

René slipped an arm around her and squeezed. “You are not ruined,
ma soeur
. You can rebuild. We will help you.”

In that instant, she knew she would do no such thing. She was finished. Finished fighting for acceptance in a community that shunned her. Finished wanting something out of life that was never hers to have.

Alexia wiggled through the crowd and clung to Josette, her face streaked with dirt and tears. “
Ma tante
, I thought you were inside. I thought you were dead.”

Josette's brain fogged once again, blurring the horrid scene before her. She hugged Alexia to her breast. “You're right, René. I don't need that shop. I don't need anything as long as I have my family. Please, take me home.”

Her brothers and Alexia surrounded her as they attempted to guide her through the horde of spectators. Cameron and Michel appeared and pushed ahead of them, clearing a path.

Once they reached the outside perimeter of the crowd, Cameron and Michel stepped aside to give her room to pass. At the sight of Cameron's severe and aloof expression, a strange chill ran through her. Despite the commotion, she heard him say to Michel, “I'll lend a hand with the hoses and ladders, then I'll head home. I've decided to leave in the morning, so make room for me on the
Arabesque
.”

Another shock jolted her.
He's leaving so soon?

In less than an hour, she'd lost most everything dear to her.

 

 

Covered with soot, his emotions about as hollow as Josette's burned-out shop, Cameron headed for the town house, his wounded leg cramping and feeling as though it had been set aflame.

Smoke curled in the night sky, making a mockery of the stars and the moon. What the devil had happened to him back there? A vision of the Thibodeaux clan huddled together and protecting their own, to the exclusion of all others, sliced through him like a piece of broken glass, leaving bloody shards in its wake. He'd have reached Josette first had he been able to move faster, curse his throbbing leg. Even Alexia had beaten him to her—only to leave the scene clinging to one of her uncles with nary a glance Cameron's way.

Damn it, Josette might not want anything further to do with him, but Alexia was as much his kin as she was theirs.

Who was he fooling? He was irrelevant now. He didn't belong amongst them. Never had. Never would. He knew that as clearly as he knew his own name. So why should their dismissive actions wound him?

What the hell was wrong with him? Had he lost his common sense when it came to them? He should never have gotten involved with Josette in the first place. And what good was he to Alexia when she had a tight-knit family to depend on? What moral right did he have to whisk her off to God knows where just because she was his offspring? Of late, she might as well have been a stranger for the way she ignored him.

Could he blame her?

Leaving her behind shouldn't be so difficult. Besides, she'd be nothing but trouble—hadn't a lick of sense most days. He pushed down a knot of guilt and confusion before it wound too tight.

He'd have a trust set up for her. One day he'd return. Or give it a few years, and he could invite her to visit him—once he knew where the hell he'd end up and what he wanted out of life. One thing was for certain—he wouldn't settle in New Orleans. After seventeen years of living in cool climates, the sultry weather alone threatened to do him in. He swiped a hand over his face, up into his hair. His brain felt as though it were awash in mud.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace, breathing hard against the crushing pressure in his lungs and the fire in his leg. Christ, how had he ended up in this mess? Come morning, he'd be gone. Two days at sea and he'd be a new man, the nightmare behind him. His thoughts in a tumult, he concentrated on his feet hitting the ground, driving him toward the town house. With every step he took, he shut down a little, just as he'd done after Dianah died. Soon, he'd feel nothing. He ought to be damn glad about that part, at least. He always coped better that way.

Head down, he stepped inside the town house and nearly ran into Marie.

“Lawdy, you look like you been rolling in dirt,
mischie
. What's happened? And where be the rest of your clothing?”

He glanced at his stained shirt and vest. “I have no idea what happened to my jacket and cravat. I think I might have handed them to Felicité. She'll be along in a bit if she has them. Those fire bells you likely heard had to do with Madame LeBlanc's shop. It went up in flames tonight.”

Marie's hand shot to her mouth. “That nice lady you had here at the house?”

Cameron nodded. “I tried to help. We all did. At least we saved the shops on either side, but her place is in ruins.” He glanced down at his stained shirt. “Would you mind running a bath for me? Then pack my things. I'll be leaving on the first ship out in the morning.”

“What?” Her brows dipped together. “But I thought you weren't leaving 'til next week.”

“There's been a change in plans.” Blast it, the last thing he wanted was Marie's questions. Nothing much got past the old bird.

Slowly, she eyed him up one side and down the other. “What be the matter,
mischie
? I don't see you smile anymore. Only once, and that be when Madame LeBlanc was here. You sweet on her?”

A noise left the back of his throat. “I doubt I've thought of things quite that way, Marie. The bath?”

“Yessir. Coming right up, sir.” She headed for the bathing chamber at the rear of the house. “But if'n you ask me, which you ain't, of course, you ought to be doin' some hard thinking while you be doing some hard scrubbing.”

Cameron climbed the stairs to collect his robe, but decided on fresh clothing. What he needed was a few drinks and some food—and no conversation from nosey Marie. He'd go to Antoine's. He stripped himself bare and rinsed off most of the soot before sinking into the tub.

Josette
.

Nothing he did seemed to cast her out of his mind for long. At the mere thought of her, remembered sensations of their lovemaking flooded his every nerve ending. Desire washed over him like a sudden rain. He grew hard but ignored his rebellious body. The absurdity of what he'd been through since landing in New Orleans hit him like a slap to the face. He'd let himself become tangled up in an affair where everything turned out to be an illusion.

While he'd introduced her to pure physical gratification, she had somehow managed to instill in him a vulnerability he'd not known he possessed. What in God's name had happened to him? He couldn't possibly be attached to her.

Could he?

He knew the answer before the thought had fully formed. He'd let his guard down. Just a few short weeks ago, he'd had no idea he'd be taking a lover when he landed in New Orleans. Now look at him, pining away like some schoolboy. He'd been a damn fool for getting involved with anyone, let alone his daughter's aunt. A few days at sea and this would all be behind him. His head would clear and he could think straight once again. He'd had enough pain in his life.

God, he missed the sea.

He scrubbed himself clean with a fury, as if doing so might wash away his painful thoughts. Little good that did. The image of Josette walking away tonight with barely a glance his way had been burned like a cattle brand on his mind. He climbed from the tub, dressed, and wandered into the parlor lit by a lone gaslight. He poured himself a brandy and sat on the divan, where he leaned his head against the back and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

The outside door opened.

He stilled, his hearing suddenly acute.

Marie rustled around in the back of the house, so it couldn't be she.

“Papa?” Alexia peeked around the corner, her face drawn, her movements hesitant.

“Alexia?” His heart pounded a few extra beats. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, Papa.”

What the devil? He drew in a slow breath, unsure how to react. “Then come in and
see
me, don't just peer around the corner like a timid mouse. How's your aunt's hand?”

Slowly, Alexia sidled around the corner, her face obscured in shadows. “It be fine. Bastièn said it's only raw and not burned after all. She must've scraped it on something.”

“I see.”

“You still plan on leaving in the morning?”

He lifted his head off the back of the sofa and studied her. “How'd you know that?”

“We heard you. Or
ma tante
did, anyway. Why can't you wait until next week, like you had planned?”

What did he have to lose by being honest? “Because I can't think straight any longer, Alexia, so I need to get away. I've been here far longer than I expected. And I've disrupted your life. You need to carry on without having to be afraid of a father who might drag you off at any moment.”

“Nawlins is a mighty fine town. Why can't you live here?”

She stepped farther into the room, her fingers nervously working the fabric on her dress.
Her dress?
Bloody hell if she wasn't wearing a clean and proper gown. With matching blue ribbons in her hair. He glanced at her feet peeking out from under the gown. She wore the shoes he'd bought her and only seen her in one other time. Why now? The idea that she'd dressed specially for him tore a hole in his heart.

“The weather is too hot and stifling for me, Alexia. Cousin Michel is in charge of the shipping company, so there's nothing here for me . . .” He paused at the way his last words sounded. “Except for you, of course.”

He swallowed against the odd sensation thickening his throat. “But you and I both know I'm only in your way. I don't want to be that kind of burden on you.”

“Take me with you, Papa.”

He stilled as the shock of her words rippled through him. He lifted his head from the back of the sofa. “What?”

She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I . . . I just found you. I can't be losing you now.”

An ache unfurled in his chest. He slammed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he saw she'd ventured a little closer, looking as though he might be some kind of puzzle she needed to solve.

He stared at her, his jaw slack.

Her chin quivered. “Say something, Papa.”

A sensation of warmth tinged with a bit of pain flooded his chest and fought with the myriad of emotions churning up from his gut. “Come here, Alexia.”

She stepped close enough for him to catch the scent of Josette's special soap.

“I'm too damn big to crawl on your lap, ain't I? But I sure do want to.”

A bubble of laughter smoothed out the lump in his throat. “I suppose if you're old enough to curse like a sailor, then you're too old to be climbing onto my lap.” He patted the cushion next to him. “But come, sit with me.”