After The Lies

by Mandessa Selby

  Luc found himself following her. He should stay as far away from her as he could, but the lure of her innocence drew him.

  When was the last time he’d been so entranced by such a winsome face? The women he preferred knew the game of seduction and played it as well he did. Callisto, on the other hand, wouldn’t even know the first rule.

  A full moon cast a luminescent glow over the desert. Callie pointed and against the rocks he saw several shadows moving toward the camp in a slinking motion. For a second, he tensed, thinking the Comanches had found them, then he realized the shadows were coyotes. They stopped and raised their noses to sniff the air, and then continued their cautious approach to the camp pulled by the rich aroma of the cooked rabbit lingering on the air.

  Some distance from the camp, she stopped him with a hand on his arms. Her touch burned through the fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t move. Overhead, a hawk rode the wind, swirling and dipping with the currents. He heard rustling in the undergrowth. The hawk suddenly tucked its wings against it’s body and dove to the ground. Luc heard a squeak and then all was quiet for moment before the muted sounds started again. They stood so still that a jackrabbit passed within a couple of feet of them.

  He could make out her profile against the moonlight. Her Seminole heritage was strong in her face from the straight lines of her aristocratic nose to her wide-set eyes. He knew that the Seminoles had given harbor to slaves earlier in the century, and obviously had found no problem with intermarriage with the black slaves.

  He couldn’t believe she was a woman with her full, pouty lips begging to be kissed. He remembered the feel of her breasts, released from the binding. They had been small and round, fitting perfectly against his palm with dainty nipples that had poked against his palm. He wanted to touch them again, he ached to see her undressed, to separate the illusion from the reality.

  Her disguise as a young man was almost perfect. If he hadn’t known, he would never have guessed. She walked with the rolling stride of a man, and she used gestures and language that were vigorous and fluent. She showed no weakness, nothing to indicate in the smallest way that she wasn’t what she appeared to be.

  He wondered what she would look like with long hair cascading about her shoulders. Her hair was so black it had blue highlights in it, and he ached to touch it again, to feel the silken softness curling about his fingers. What a magnificent mistress she would make. He could imagine himself taking hours of delight in teaching her the mysteries of pleasure. He imagined her body writhing beneath him with abandon. In a perfect world, he would set her up in a little house in Washington and visit her when he was on leave. He saw her tiny, delicate body swathed in blood red silk and rubies sparkling at her throat and ears.

  “You’re awful quiet, Lieutenant.” Callie twisted to stare up at him. “You don’t seem like the type to enjoy nature too much.” “I’m just enjoying the scenery.” “You’re mooning over me. Stop that.”

  He knew that she didn’t believe him one bit. But her low sultry voice sent shivers down his spine all the way to his toes. “I like looking at you.” He hoped that last statement would let her know who was really in control.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Did you like looking at me when I was a boy?”

  Heat flared between them. She was enjoying his discomfort. What a tease she was turning out to be. His little innocent had a wicked streak after all. “Not that I would admit to anyone.” Luc wanted to touch her so badly, his fingers ached.

  “I don’t think you looking at me in any way is proper.” She sounded almost prim.

  “Define proper, Callisto.”

  “Call me Callie, and proper is like being one of your soldiers. I’m not anything other than your scout.”

  “Do you want a lover?”

  She turned on him. “No! I don’t have time for such fancy notions. How can I have a lover and still pretend to be a boy?”

  “I meant when you get to back to your village.”

  Her shoulders went back in a defiant stance as if she was preparing to meet her enemy head on. “I won’t have time for that kind of silliness. When my mama and I have our own land, then maybe I’ll think about marriage and babies. But right now, I can’t afford to be bush-whacked.”

  “Bush-whacked?” How could she think love was like that?

  “I can’t afford love right now.”

  Interesting. Most women lived for love, lived for the conquest. Every woman he knew couldn’t wait to find a man to call her own. What a mystery this young creature was turning out to be. “You think love can lead a woman astray?”

  “Makes ‘em crazy.”

  A laugh escaped from Luc. “Nothing is wrong with being a little crazy from time to time.” Love made men crazy, too. Even he had done some outrageous things for the sake of romance. Giselle had been one of his sister’s friends. She’d been high-class and beautiful. Luc had wanted her, but her parents had already engaged her to a German baron from Munich. Esme had painted her portrait, but Luc could have sworn Giselle had had eyes only for him. The last he’d heard she was the proud mama of a brood of fat children.

  “Besides, being out on patrol is not exactly the best place to be courting.” Her tone was firm, daring him to argue with her. “Then everyone would find out my secret and having you know is bad enough.”

  He touched her cheek with a finger. “I would be less than a gentlemen if I revealed a confidence. I know how to keep a secret, and your secret is safe with me.”

  She tilted her head up to study him. “What’s the price?”

  “A kiss.” His answer surprised him. Until he’d said the words out loud, he didn’t even know he wanted to kiss her. And now that the words were said, he bent toward her. She was so petite, so small and fragile looking, he felt like a big old lecher after a child.

  She raised her lips to his. He could smell the fragrance of bayberry on her skin. He remembered he’d given her his soap to use. She must have kept some for herself. He’d always thought bayberry was a masculine scent, but on Callie it smelled delightful and seductive.

  He kissed her. Her lips were pressed tight together, yet they were as soft as satin. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch. He groaned with a growing passion. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing her against him. She stood stiff and still, her arms tight against her sides. He ran his hands down her arms and gently pried open her fists.

  He could taste her inexperience. He probed against her lips, but she refused to open to him. A jolt of lightning flashed through him. He knew one kiss would never be enough. She was intoxicating, sensual.

  Suddenly, Callie pressed her hands flat against his chest and pushed him. He broke away, and she covered her mouth and bolted.

  Chapter Seven

  Esme sat on a bench on the veranda overlooking the courtyard,

  sipping a cup of cocoa, as she figured out what project she would tackle

  next. Natalie entertained a shriveled, decrepit old man in the parlor. Esme had disliked the man from the moment she’d answered the door. He’d leaned on his silver-headed cane, his tongue darting about his lips like a lizard, as he studied her in a way that was almost insulting.

  He’d announced that his name was Jonas Ramsaye and that he was here to see Madame Delacroix. She remembered the man from the dock and wondered what business he had with Natalie.

  His eyes had been flat and colorless, and he had looked at Esme as though she were a prize before transferring his gaze to Simone and Natalie who had come up behind Esme.

  Esme had fled to the veranda. She didn’t know the man and she didn’t want to know him. Something about him had been slimy and unclean. She had to resist the urge to scrub her hands where he had attempted to touch her.

  The sweet scent of the cocoa wafted upward and relaxed her. A cup of cocoa solved everything, especially all the unbridled unpleasantness Natalie had insisted on tossing at her these last few days. She settled back to smile at the progress she’d
made in the courtyard.

  The flower beds had been weeded and the wandering rose tamed along the stout pillars of the trellis. The fountain had been repaired and once more water cascaded over the smooth marble statue in the center. Esme had even found a couple goldfish for the pond to eat the mosquito larva and keep the water clean.

  Simone blasted through the door. Tears streaked her pretty face as she stamped down the steps and stood in the middle of the courtyard, unaware of Esme on the veranda.

  “Simone,” Esme said in a soft voice. Her young sister was skittish as

  a colt and still difficult to get close to.

  Simone whirled, panic on her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “Having some cocoa.” Esme touched the pot. “Would you like to join me?”

  “Mama said to never be alone with you.” Simone gave a haughty sniff, though her eyes seemed to yearn for something Esme couldn’t name.

  “Then go back in the kitchen and snivel.” Esme waved her hand casually at the door.

  Simone stood her ground, her head held eye, the tears still pouring from her eyes. “I won’t marry him.”

  Esme frowned. “Marry who?”

  “That old man. He smells of garlic and onions.”

  Esme brushed a leaf from the bench next to her. So her little sister was in trouble. “Come sit and tell me. If you didn’t want to marry him, why become engaged to him.”

  “Because he’s rich and we’re poor. Because he’ll take care of the whole family and he even promised modest dowries for Lauren and Josette. And because Mama said I have to marry him no matter what I feel.”

  “How generous of him.” And Natalie, Esme thought. She couldn’t keep the dryness out of her tone.

  Simone plopped next to Esme and poured herself a cup of steaming cocoa. “I have no choice. I have to marry Mr. Ramsaye. Mama says I will save the family fortunes.”

  “Silly girl.” Esme patted Simone’s slender, elegant hand. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

  Her bottom lips trembled. “But how will we live without his money?”

  “Is being poor so bad?” Not that Esme would want to find out, but she’d live in the streets before she married a man she didn’t chose for herself.

  Simone glanced at Esme’s Paris made gown and then at her own thin cotton dress. “You’re not poor.”

  “I’m not poor because I handle my own finances and don’t depend on anyone.”

  “You’re not Creole.” Simone lifted her chin. “Creole women are supposed to be taken care of and treated with respect. We don’t soil our hands with the worry about money. That’s a man’s job.”

  Esme rolled her eyes. Poor child, she had been bewitched by such silly notions of what was right, simply because society had already dictated to her what she could and couldn’t do, or even feel. “Oh, yes, by men who are old, rich, and smelly husbands. Do you think they know us better than we do ourselves?”

  Simone’s tears started anew.

  Esme felt like an ogre picking on a little child. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to her half-sister. “Be honest with me. Are you sure you don’t want to marry this man?”

  Simone shook her head. “I hate the way tries to touch me.”

  Esme put a finger under the girl’s chin and lifted it. “Then you shall not.” Carefully she handed the china cup to Simone, rose from the bench, and walked into the house.

  The kitchen sparkled with cleanliness and Esme took a moment to smile at it. She’d hired a cook and a servant to help clean the house and they had done an excellent job. She walked up the back stairs that led to the second floor and stalked into her father’s bedroom.

  Her father had grown stronger in the week since Esme’s arrival. Color had returned to his cheeks. The doctor had come and given Esme some hope that he might recover. Though her father would never been in the best of health again, the good food and the improved condition of the house had gone a long way toward making him more comfortable. At least he no longer looked like he would die at any moment.

  Her father lay against a mound of pillows, half sitting up as he slept. Esme stopped at the door to study him. In her childhood he’d been tall and strong and filled with laughter. What had happened to that man? This one in front of her was a stranger, a shell of the man she’d once known. She’d already sent a letter to Luc telling him of the dire circumstances of their father, his illness, and his family’s misfortune. She had outlined in detail what she planned to do to help them.

  “Papa.” Esme leaned over him and smoothed the blanket around his waist.

  His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her for a moment with a blank look, then the look cleared, and was replaced by a glow of love.

  Esme pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. She folded her hands almost primly in her lap because if she didn’t control them, she’d be tempted to scratch Natalie’s eyes out.

  Her father reached for her hand and held it tightly. “Something is not pleasing you. I can tell by the war-like glint in your eyes.”

  “Are you aware Natalie has struck a marriage deal for Simone with a man old enough to be my grandfather.”

  Her father frowned. “But Natalie says Simone wants to marry him.”

  “Natalie told you this?” Esme pictured the girl crying on the veranda. Hardly someone running joyously to the altar.

  “I wouldn’t have allowed the negotiations to progress otherwise. Though I have to admit, I’ve never much liked the man. Already had a couple of wives and buried them. As bad off as we are, I will not barter my daughters against their future.”

  A white-hot rage built in her. “I just spoke with Simone and she is not at all happy about marrying this man. I wouldn’t want to marry him. He’s a toad.” She repressed a shiver at the memory of his colorless eyes and thick lips.

  “I must do something. If Simone truly does not want to marry him, she shouldn’t have to.”

  He struggled to sit up, but Esme pushed him back against the pillows. “Papa, I’ll take of this. You just rest.” More than anything, Esme wanted to put Natalie in her place. Not so much for Simone’s sake, but for all the past injustices Natalie had done to Esme and Luc. Having been in Natalie’s company for the past week, Esme was beginning to think Natalie had been the reason for the trickling off of letters from her father. From what she could tell, Natalie had not mailed them, nor delivered the ones that Esme had written.

  Esme walked down the front staircase and found Jonas Ramsaye in the parlor with a hand clasped around Lauren’s arm while he studied her with appraising eyes. Natalie was nowhere in sight. Lauren squirmed and tried to wriggle away.

  “You’ll do for my cousin, Nathaniel,” Ramsaye said in a wheezy voice. “He likes his women young.”

  “Let the child go.” Esme snapped as she walked slowly into the parlor.

  Surprised, Ramsaye let go, but a smile like a snake remained on his lined shallow face. “I’m just getting to know my new family better.”

  Lauren rubbed her backside. “He pinched me on my bottom. He stinks.”

  A look of rage clouded Ramsaye’ face. He stood up and grabbed for the girl. She ran and hid behind Esme.

  Esme touched the girl’s cheek. “Leave us, Lauren, your papa is asking for you.” Lauren fled and Esme stood in the center of the parlor glaring at Ramsaye. “Touch any woman in this house again and I’ll personally break you in two. Which shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  The old man laughed showing missing teeth in his mouth. He took a few steps toward Esme. “What are you going to do to me? You’re a woman.”

  She reached into the deep pocket she had had sewn into all her gowns and grabbed the little dagger she kept hidden for emergencies. As she decided to prick him to show him she could be dangerous, then not to and let go of the dagger. If she was going to teach this man a lesson she preferred using her bare hands. “Laugh, old man, but I was taught my the finest fencing master in a
ll France. Don’t let my gender fool you.”

  He grinned. “You high-yellow ones were always feisty. I’ve missed having a mistress like you. Damn war took away too many privileges.”

  Esme raised an eyebrow. “As though I’d have a beast like you as a lover.”

  He tried to touch her and she grabbed his wrist and bent his thumb back until a wave of pain stirred in his eyes. “Don’t ever attempt to touch me, again. I’ll enjoy making you suffer.”

  “Let me go!”

  “Stop struggling or I’ll break your thumb and from the feel of it, it wouldn’t take much. Now, get out.”

  “You can’t throw me out. This isn’t your home.” He pulled his hand away and stood just out of reach, nursing his bruised thumb. “Who else is going to offer these church mice anything more than crumbs? They need me.”

  “Old man, I can buy and sell you without blinking an eye. You will not be marrying Simone. The engagement is ended.”

  “You can’t do a thing. The arrangements have already been made.”

  She pushed him away from her. “Consider them unmade as of now. My lawyer will get in touch with your lawyer immediately.”

  He rubbed his wrist. “I will not be treated with such disrespect by one of your kind.”

  “My kind?” She stepped up to him. “I’m assuming you mean women who are strong enough, and rich enough, to know their mind. If you want a battle, old man, I would relish the opportunity to squash you like the ugly bug you are.”

  He slapped his hat on his head and picked up his cane. He headed for the front door. “This isn’t ended.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He opened the front door and stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

  “What have you done?” Natalie demanded in a shrill voice.

  Esme whirled around. “I just saved your entire family from a life of dealing with that odious man.”

  “He’s wealthy. He said he would take care of me and my children.”

  “And you are willing to sell your own flesh and blood so that you can have pretty gowns.” Natalie glared at her. “What do you know?” she spat. “While we were scrounging for scraps at the market, you were eating fine Parisian cooking and dancing the night away wearing fine dresses and jewels. While we were fearing for our lives, you took carriage rides in the park.”