by Nan Ryan
He was warmly welcomed into the opulent drawing rooms of the city’s monied elite. Indeed, the privileged doyennes fought over him, knowing that his presence at a party ensured its success. Armand was, to Madeleine’s despair, well-liked by the city’s Old Guard. The gentlemen enjoyed his company, the ladies were drawn to him like moths to a flame.
Madeleine had learned, early on, that if she was going to live in New Orleans, avoiding Armand de Chevalier would be next to impossible. After all, they were part of the very same social circle. So while she should have been enjoying the Christmas season, she was, instead, counting the days until it was over.
By New Year’s Eve she was a bundle of nerves. She and Desmond had attended at least two dozen holiday events in the past three weeks and Armand had been at the majority of them. At each and every party or ball, she had tenaciously stayed close to Desmond, hardly letting him out of her sight.
But the tension had taken its toll. While she had said little more than hello to Armand since the holiday bazaar, she had been achingly aware of his presence at all the glittering events. She’d had difficulty keeping her eyes off him. It seemed he grew a little handsomer each night and a great deal harder to ignore.
Lord, she hated the Christmas holidays!
But now, as she dressed for the final celebration of the season, she was at last beginning to breathe a little easier. With the holidays behind her, she would not be attending nightly parties. Which meant she wouldn’t be seeing the devilish Creole. It was entirely possible that she might be able to go for weeks without running into him.
Which was exactly what she needed. Out of sight, out of mind. If she no longer saw him, she would no longer think about him. She would turn her attention to the things that were important. Like her upcoming marriage to Desmond. She could focus fully on planning their spring wedding.
Convinced everything would soon return to normal, Madeleine was, in fact, rather looking forward to this New Year’s evening. While she and Desmond had received numerous invitations to private parties, the earl had graciously deferred to her, suggesting she choose where they would spend their last evening of the old year.
She had quickly decided upon the New Year’s Eve ball at the St. Charles Hotel. The St. Charles was in the American section of the city. What could be safer? As a general rule, the snobbish Creoles hated and snubbed the Americans. And vice versa. The St. Charles would surely be the last place on earth where a haughty Creole would be caught dead.
Nonetheless, when Lord Enfield’s carriage rolled to a stop on St. Charles Avenue and the couple joined other revelers who were hurrying into the hotel, she automatically searched the crowd for Armand.
As she danced the evening away in the impressive ballroom, which rivaled the palace of the czar in St. Petersburg, Madeleine continued to nervously look for Armand. But when the hours passed with no sight of him, the last traces of her tenseness finally fled and she congratulated herself. She had been right in choosing the St. Charles.
Armand would not appear.
The hour of midnight struck.
The brand-new year had arrived.
Bells chimed in the tower of the St. Louis Cathedral and the crowded dance floor of the St. Charles hotel immediately erupted into pandemonium. Couples were hugging and kissing and there were deafening chants of “Happy New Year!” echoing throughout the massive ballroom. Smiling, Desmond bent and gave Madeleine a brief buss, then turned abruptly when a drunken gentleman clasped his shoulder and wished him a Happy New Year. A good sport, Desmond politely brushed a kiss to the plump cheek of the man’s tipsy wife.
The orchestra struck up “Auld Lang Syne.” People sang and swayed and applauded and whistled and stomped their feet. Pushed and jostled by the swarm of happy revelers, in seconds Madeleine was separated from Desmond. Shuffled about by the crush of exuberant humanity, she grew mildly alarmed. Standing on tiptoe, she anxiously looked around, straining to see over heads and between bodies, searching for Desmond.
She couldn’t find him.
Then she felt a firm hand on her arm and was relieved that Desmond had rescued her. Smiling, she quickly turned to him. Only it wasn’t her fiancé.
Armand de Chevalier loomed before her, tall and handsome and intimidating.
“Happy New Year, Maddie,” he mouthed the words above the deafening den, bent his dark head and kissed Madeleine with such swift, fiery passion she felt her knees buckle.
Then he was gone.
Disappearing back into the crowd, leaving Madeleine to wonder if he had only been an illusion. She touched her tingling lips.
That was no illusion.
That was the Creole.
“My dear,” she heard Lord Enfield say, “we got separated somehow. I’m so sorry. I looked around and couldn’t find you anywhere. I was quite worried.”
“I know, I looked for you, too,” she said, wondering exactly when he had managed to spot her. Wondering if he had seen Armand kissing her. Wondering what he would say if he had. She braced herself for the worst.
“Dear, this crowd has become unruly,” he said, shaking his head. “I think we should go.” He possessively took her arm.
“Yes, I agree,” she said, certain by his calm demeanor that he hadn’t seen her with the Creole. She breathed a sigh of relief once they were safely in their carriage and then began to look forward to their next stop at the Hamiltons’. When she realized they were heading home to the Royal Street town house, she said, “Desmond, aren’t we going to the breakfast party at the Hamiltons’?”
“I think not, dear,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll make our apologies when next I see them.”
“But, I thought that we…”
“Haven’t you had enough celebrating? I, myself, can hardly wait to get into bed. I’m so sleepy I can’t keep my eyes open.” He yawned dramatically.
At the front door of the town house, Madeleine said good night, turned her cheek up for Desmond’s kiss and then went inside. Silently she climbed the stairs and was relieved to see that Avalina was not there waiting for her.
She had told Avalina that she and Desmond would not be home until the wee small hours. After the ball at the St. Charles, they were to go to an early-morning breakfast celebration at the Lawford Hamilton’s. Afterward, the two had planned to retire to Desmond’s house where they would see in the dawn of the new year sipping brandy before a blazing fire.
Madeleine sighed heavily.
She should, she knew, be very disappointed that Desmond had wanted to cut their evening short. But she wasn’t. She had wanted to come home from the minute Armand had kissed her and left her flustered and frightened.
She was, however, beginning to seriously wonder about Lord Enfield. Either he was, as she constantly assured herself, the most self-disciplined man in all the world or else she aroused no more passion in him than he did in her.
Perhaps there was no passion in him.
“Oh, darling, yes,” Lord Enfield was groaning with desire not fifteen minutes after leaving Madeleine. “Please, now, please.”
Too aroused to take the time to fully undress, Desmond Chilton, his long dark cloak pushed back over his shoulders, sat on an easy chair in the parlor of Dominique’s Rampart Street cottage. He still wore his fine black evening jacket, shirt and black satin cravat with its pearl stickpin.
But from the waist down, he was naked.
Dominique, dressed in an azure taffeta evening gown that was adorned with a sapphire-and-diamond necklace he had given her, knelt between the lord’s spread knees and cunningly tortured him. She knew exactly what he wanted. So she withheld it.
Because there was something she wanted.
When she got what she wanted, he would get what he wanted.
“God have mercy!” Desmond groaned, his pulsing erection dictating to him. “I’m begging you, Dom. Do it.”
“Oh—I will, my love,” she said, sinking back onto her heels and folding her hands demurely in her lap. “Just as soon as yo
u agree.”
“Agree? Agree to what?” His face was blood-red, eyes wild. He was in agony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I want you to promise you’ll go with me to visit Mama Cecile.”
“Oh, God, don’t start that now…”
Dominique smiled wickedly and then abruptly rose to her feet.
“No! Come back here. Don’t leave me, darling, I…”
Looking down at him, Dominique asked, “You will agree to go to Mama Cecile’s?”
“Yes, yes, I will. I’ll go anywhere you say. I’ll do anything you want, but, please…”
“We will go to see the voodoo priestess one night next week,” she announced decisively.
At that moment, he would have agreed to anything. “Yes, yes, next week. We’ll go, I promise.” He gave her a pleading look. “Dom, please.”
Dominique smiled triumphantly and slowly sank back to her knees between his spread legs. Lord Enfield was trembling now, his throbbing erection jerking rhythmically against the long tails of his white shirt, his breath coming in loud, shallow spurts.
Ah yes, thought Dominique, her lord was quite the eager lover. She had never known such a passionate man. She had only to touch him and he was instantly rock-hard with need. She was glad he was this way. And not just because she, too, was highly passionate.
Dominique knew, and had known, from the day she first climbed into his carriage and kissed him senseless, that she could make him hers and that she could get anything out of him she wanted by sexually exciting him. So she made it a point to keep him excited and aroused.
And hers.
When he was a good boy, when he did exactly what she wanted him to do, she was more than happy to reward him.
Like now.
Dominique felt certain that the answer to their problem could be found at Mama Cecile’s. And now Lord Enfield had agreed to go there with her. He wouldn’t regret that decision.
“My lusty lord,” she murmured lovingly as she leaned closer and, bowing her dark head, opened her mouth.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered and put him out of his misery.
Twenty-Three
The first few days of the new year were cold, damp and dismal. The skies were heavy with the constant threat of rain and the weak winter sun was unable to penetrate the low, dense cloud cover.
The weather matched Madeleine’s melancholy mood. She was troubled about her own personal problems, but more importantly she was worried about her beloved uncle.
Colfax Sumner had always been such a vigorous, outgoing man. Old friends had often commented on his zest for life, his wide-ranging interests, his childlike curiosity and his incredible physical stamina.
A gregarious man who loved parties and galas almost as much as the pleasure-seeking Creoles, he never missed a social event. Or, at least, there had been a time that he hadn’t.
That had changed.
In the past few weeks, Uncle Colfax had turned down more invitations than he had accepted. When darkness fell each evening, he seemed more than a little reluctant to leave the comfortable confines of his home.
Madeleine had discussed her concerns with both Big Montro and Avalina. She knew that they, too, were worried about Uncle Colfax and it showed. Avalina went out of her way to coddle and care for Colfax, while Big Montro doggedly watched over him, alert for the least little sign of trouble.
Deciding she would simply confront her uncle, Madeleine caught him in his study late one dreary afternoon and announced that the two of them needed to talk.
At her words, a worried expression crossed his face, and he said, “Child, is something wrong? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”
Madeleine smiled at hearing the familiar statement. That was so like him. He had said those words to her dozens of times in her life. She knew that he loved her dearly and that her happiness was his main concern. He did everything in his power to make her life a lovely fairy tale. Dear lord, what would she ever do without him?
“Nothing for you to fix, Uncle,” she said cheerfully, “but there’s something for me to fix.” She sat down on the camel-backed sofa beside him.
“Something for you to fix?” He looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Madeleine drew a deep breath. “Uncle Colfax, you’re not yourself lately and…”
“Who am I?” he teasingly interrupted.
“This is nothing to joke about. You know what I’m talking about. You tire too easily. You rarely go out in the evenings. You seem preoccupied much of the time and you’re often quiet and withdrawn.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Are you sick, Uncle Colfax? Are you seriously ill and not telling me?”
“My dear child, you’ve always had an overactive imagination,” he gently scolded. “No. No, I am not ill,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been blessed with excellent health and you know it.”
Madeleine tilted her head to one side. “Then what is it?”
“Old age?” he offered, with a cherubic smile.
“You aren’t that old,” she said. “I think you’re not feeling well and you’re just not telling me.”
Colfax Sumner turned the tables on his worried niece. “What about you, dear? Is everything okay? Lately you look a bit pensive when I come upon you unexpectedly. As if something is troubling you.”
Madeleine reached out and affectionately patted his age-spotted hand. “The only thing worrying me is you.”
“Then you have no worries,” he said, assuring her that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.
But Madeleine was not fully convinced, so she took matters into her own hands. She contacted Dr. Ledette, told him of her concerns, asked if he would come around to the town house one evening after dinner and examine her uncle. Dr. Ledette graciously agreed. He said she could expect him at eight sharp on the evening of January 5.
After conferring with the physician, Madeleine had decided that she wanted to be at home during the doctor’s visit. Furthermore, she wanted to stay until after he had thoroughly examined her uncle. Lord Enfield had understood. He’d smiled then and added, “Surely we can live without seeing each other for one evening.”
“Then you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, my dear. It’s so cold and raw, I’ll just stay in Thursday evening. It’ll give me a chance to catch up on some long-neglected paperwork.”
“Thank you, Desmond.”
“You’re very welcome, my love.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”
“Kindly stop complaining. Remember you promised.”
“God, what was a mistake that was,” muttered a highly agitated Lord Enfield.
He frowned and pulled his woolen greatcoat tighter as the pirogue slid silently through the murky, muddy waters of the bayou.
Desmond Chilton was fuming and cursing himself for agreeing to this absurd adventure. It was foolish and dangerous to go into the swamp at night in a flimsy boat that could overturn at any minute. He should have put his foot down. They were placing themselves in serious jeopardy so that the superstitious Dominique could visit an old black woman who claimed to have mystical powers. Desmond snorted at the thought.
Behind him, standing with his feet braced apart and poling the pirogue through the vine-tangled swamp, was the muscular Barton Smallwood. Barton’s older brother, Burton, absently rubbing the long scar down his sunken cheek, sat in the bow of the pirogue, on the lookout for tree stumps and alligators.
The Smallwood brothers were Lord Enfield’s hired minions. They were, in a sense, on call to the nobleman. Years ago he had bought their way out of Parish Prison with a generous bribe to the night jailor and ever since he had used them for odd jobs. From the beginning he had warned that if either of them ever so much as mentioned his name to anyone, justice would be sure and swift.
The Smallwood brothers had never betrayed this confidence. It was not that they were so loyal. They were simply afraid of Lord Enfield. They had se
en a side to him no one else had ever witnessed. They knew better than to cross him. They would do anything he asked without argument.
Dominique, snuggling close to Desmond in the pirogue, was unconcerned with Lord Enfield’s black mood. She could hardly wait to reach the remote place where the famed voodoo priestess held secret rituals and performed incredible feats of wizardry. Dominique felt sure that all their troubles would be over once she had enlisted the help of Mama Cecile. She would ask Mama Cecile to use her great powers of sorcery to cast an evil spell on Colfax Sumner.
Dominique wanted Sumner dead. She was tired of waiting for the huge fortune that Desmond promised would be theirs once Sumner was gone. She had attempted, by using her own less potent gifts, to sicken Sumner so severely he would die, but her plan had not worked. She needed a much stronger magic. She needed the omnipotent black magic of the undisputed queen of voodoo, the much-loved, much-feared, Mama Cecile. Dominique had the utmost faith in the awe-inspiring powers of New Orleans’ most celebrated voodoo priestess.
The pirogue continued to glide deeper into the gloom and ghostlike atmosphere of the miasmic swamp. A thick, cloaking mist hung in the heavy air, perilously limiting vision. Each jab of the guiding pole into the muddy bayou bottom threatened to slam the little boat into a tree stump, causing the boat to capsize. Spanish moss, dripping down from the cypresses, further impeded vision.
Snakes were also a very real danger. The murky waters were infested with deadly cottonmouths. And not all the snakes stayed in or under the water. Overhead, long, black slithering vipers wound themselves around the low limbs of trees and hung suspended, poised to drop down onto the unsuspecting interloper.
“Damnation!” muttered Barton Smallwood as his pole struck the back of an alligator, angering it.
Dominique screamed in terror when, a few short feet from her, the alligator’s great head pierced the water’s surface and it snapped its huge jaws menacingly, the sound echoing through the stillness.
