The Topaz Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “You’re calling my actions dumb? Shit, Sophia. You’ve lost your goddamn mind.” Pete refilled his glass, sloshing the amber liquid on the silver tray.

  “You don’t have to cuss at me.”

  “My vocabulary is rather limited right now.”

  “Let’s go home. We can see a therapist. If you can’t live with me anymore and want a divorce, I won’t fight you over anything except visitation.”

  “A divorce? Are you seriously asking me if I want a divorce? Jesus Christ, woman, you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

  “I thought that was what you were saying.”

  He sat on the sofa and put his head in his hands. “I don’t want a divorce. I’m just so afraid of losing you again; it makes me nuts.”

  She sat beside him and rubbed his back. “You’re tired. I’m tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow when we’re both rested.” When he didn’t say anything, she stood and started to walk away, but he reached for her hand and pulled her down beside him.

  “I know how upset you are because you haven’t gotten pregnant, and it ties me in knots too, but you don’t have to do crazy shit just because you’re disappointed.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “It kills me that I can’t give you more children and give Lukas siblings, but I didn’t go to the Macarté Plantation because I can’t get pregnant. I went because…the general needed me. I gave him medicine that made him better, and he didn’t want me out of his sight in case he got sick again.”

  She started crying.

  “I’d rather be home with Lukas and a baby on my hip and another one growing inside me. All I ever wanted was you and your children. Then my parents pulled us apart. Art became a substitute, and I immersed myself in that world because I couldn’t have the world I wanted. I found a way to be happy. But nothing has made me happier than being your wife and Lukas’s mom.” She wiped her tear-streaked face with her handkerchief.

  “When we get home,” she continued, “if you want, we can look into adoption. We have empty rooms in our house and so much love to give other children. If we can’t make our own, we’ll love someone else’s.”

  He was stunned. His mind almost refused to believe what she was saying. “You’ve never wanted to talk about adoption before.”

  She sniffed. “I know, but now we know IVF isn’t working for us, I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  He turned to face her. “You’re serious about this?”

  “I started investigating what we need to do. Since we’re American citizens living in Italy, it’s a bit complicated.”

  “W…w…hen?”

  “When I didn’t get pregnant the last time. I still had reservations, so I didn’t mention it.”

  “So why now?”

  “Because you’ve forced me to decide what’s most important to me. I can’t deny that I love the excitement of being around Andrew Jackson and sketching the action, but you and Lukas and our future children are more important. If I could have both, that would be great. But my art isn’t worth sacrificing us.”

  His heart just flew to the moon, jumped around a bit, chatted with The Man, and zipped right back inside his chest. That’s what he wanted to hear and never thought he would. He pulled her into his arms, and the kiss he gave her was no slow, gentle kiss. Their mouths opened immediately, and he threaded his fingers into her hair, tugging her head back and opening her for a deeper kiss.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered into his mouth.

  “I’ll go wherever you want to go, love.” He smiled as he nipped her lip, then kissed her again, and without breaking contact, swooped her up into his arms and carried her into their bedroom, kicking the door shut with his heel.

  If he wasn’t inside her within the next few seconds, he might go up in flames. His erection tented his sweatpants. She dug her fingernails into his ass and yanked the sweats down, freeing his hard-on. He almost ripped her silk gown when he tugged it up over her head.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  She looked up at him through thick eyelashes that shaded her glistening eyes while she skimmed her fingers over the hard ridges of his abs and pecs. “And you’re as beautifully sculpted as Michelangelo’s David,” she said breathlessly.

  “Are you trying to inflate my ego?”

  Her little nose twitched. “Nothing about you needs to be inflated.”

  He crawled them onto the bed and pinned her beneath him as he positioned over her, holding himself up with one arm. He ran his hand the length of her, from chin to breast to thigh in a sinfully slow move, then lower, parting her slick folds and sliding a finger inside her.

  “I wanna drive balls-deep and fuck you until I’ve got nothin’ left.”

  “Then do it now, and don’t stop.”

  He spread her legs and guided his dick to her wet entrance, where he nudged her with the tip. Heaven help him. She had stolen his very soul.

  She pulled him down to her, urging him on as he speared her inch by inch. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he gave her what she wanted—for him to fill her—and almost lost himself at the first full, deep thrust. She melted around him. Sweat slicked down his back and between their hot bellies.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, her entire body clinging tightly to him, and he pounded into her even harder. The slapping flesh urged him on. From her moans, he knew she craved him as much as he did her. Her hips moved with him, directing him to keep up the intense pressure. They were entirely in sync.

  Her muscles squeezed his dick, and she gasped, “I’m going to come.”

  That was all he needed to hear. He gripped her ass. He needed to explode, but not until she unraveled from their fire-sparking connection. “Come on my dick, love.”

  A low growl rasped from his throat. He pulled out almost to the tip and thrust into her again. His corded muscles flexed as she pitched up against him and wrapped her arms viselike around his neck. Her head dropped back, and she called his name from some bottomless depth he’d never heard from her before.

  The intensity of her orgasm stripped the walls of his world away, leaving him with nothing but this beloved woman captured in his arms. He came right after her in a whirlwind of tightening muscles and out-of-control passion.

  He flexed the last thrusts, then collapsed over her, their sweaty cheeks pressed together. His gasps burned his lungs. Her eyelashes grazed his forehead with butterfly kisses, and long strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks and even to his face.

  His shoulders rose and fell in breathless satisfaction as he rolled off her and spooned her to his side. “That was world-stopping, better-than-amazing sex,” he whispered against her ear.

  She sighed. “We’ve never had make-up sex before.”

  “Hmm. Maybe…”

  She elbowed him in the stomach. “As great as this was, Peter Francis, I never want to fight like that again.”

  “Do you think playacting would work?”

  “I don’t know. We could try.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “So where should we pick up the argument?”

  “How about when you picked me up and carried me to bed?”

  He nibbled on her lips as he rolled her onto her back, wanting another round of sparks and sizzle. “Consider yourself carried…”

  And from that moment on, all he could think about was her.

  Mine.

  41

  New Orleans (1814)—Rick

  The sun streaming through a window and the chill in the room woke Rick, and with full consciousness came excruciating pain in his arm and leg. “Fuuuuuck…” he groaned.

  “Great way to wake up, O’Grady.”

  He rolled his head to find Penny sprawled in a nearby chair, feet propped on a matching ottoman. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

  She yawned and stretched. “If you’re wondering where Remy is, he’s downstairs tending to the wounded. What’d you need?”

 
“Pain pills.”

  “You’re in luck, sweetheart. I happen to have some right here.” She pulled a pill bottle from her inside jacket pocket. How many do you want? One or two?”

  “Fuck. Four!”

  “The label says one or two as needed for pain. So, what’s it to be?”

  “Give me the damn bottle.”

  “Nope. You can have two. I’ll give you more later.” She poured water into a china cup. “Remy had drinking water boiled just for you.” She handed him the pills and water. “You aren’t going to get addicted to these, are you?”

  “Hell, no.” He swallowed them and prayed for relief. “Where’d everybody go?”

  Penny went over to the fireplace, tossed on a couple of logs, and poked around to wake up the dying embers. “Soph and Pete returned to town to get cleaned up and visit with Rhona and Marguerite, and Philippe went over to Colonel De la Ronde’s plantation to confer with the general.”

  Rick handed the cup back. “Thanks for sticking around. You didn’t have to.”

  “If I didn’t stay, Pete would have, and he was desperate for some alone time with his wife.”

  “Oh, lucky him,” Rick grumbled. “As soon as these pills kick in, I’m going back to the city. I need a bath and a toothbrush.”

  “Hey, do you have an extra one? My Addis ladies’ toothbrush leaves a lot to be desired. And some toothpaste would be nice.”

  “Ask Remy. He’s a packrat. Wish he’d brought extra clothes. My shirt’s shredded, my jacket’s torn, and he cut away half my trouser leg.” Rick glanced at Penny again. “And you could use a bath, too.”

  She raised her arm and sniffed. “I smell worse than the swamp, but not as bad as you, Mr. Stud Muffin.”

  “Thanks. I feel like shit, and then you very kindly announce that I smell like it too.”

  She shrugged, tsking, “What’s a girl to do?”

  The door into the parlor from the balcony opened, and a man dressed all in black sauntered into the room. Penny jumped to her feet, grinning. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” She crossed the room and gave the man a quick hug.

  Whoever he was, he was smiling and couldn’t take his eyes off her. He didn’t care that she was filthy and had blue hair.

  It wasn’t that Rick minded foul-mouthed, foul-smelling women. He’d been around a slew of them in Afghanistan. But the Billie Malone he knew was a gentle, non-cursing soul who was always immaculately dressed, even in her work kitchen. She wasn’t a woman in black leather with blue hair carrying a Glock while riding a horse around a battlefield shooting people. His simple man-brain couldn’t reconcile the opposing personalities. Until he could, they’d remain separate beings in his head.

  Maybe the woman who survived this adventure would land somewhere in the middle, or maybe she’d go back to being gentle-soul Billie. But he didn’t think so. She even called Sophia, “Soph.” And nobody was allowed to do that except Pete. This woman was ballsy. If she’d shown up at the winery, he wouldn’t have had to interfere when Meredith made unreasonable demands before the reopening.

  Their voices lowered to a whisper while the man spread out his hands behind him, catching the warmth from the fireplace that should be warming the infirm, not a healthy, impeccably groomed man in his mid-thirties.

  They both turned toward Rick, and the man gave him a droll glance.

  Rick tried for a whimsical expression, but it fell flat because his ego wanted to growl. Penny put her hand on the man’s sleeve, and he placed his hand over hers. Then Rick did growl, low and guttural.

  Even someone visually challenged could see the connection Penny had with the man who must be—now Rick’s brain was awake and functioning—none other than Jean Lafitte. And if they weren’t already lovers, they soon would be.

  It was none of Rick’s business who she slept with, even if her bed partner was a pirate.

  Rick had failed to protect her during last night’s battle. Thank God she didn’t get hurt. So now the likelihood was pretty high that he’d also fail to protect her heart. But really, protecting her from heartache wasn’t pinned to his marching orders. He’d only signed up to bring her home. He closed his eyes, but not his ears, and waited for the pain relievers to kick in.

  Whatever they’d been whispering about must have been resolved, because the next thing Penny said was spoken loud enough for Rick to hear.

  “When’d you get here?”

  “We came through the swamp after the battle ended. We tried to get here sooner, but we had to avoid the British troops.”

  “General Coffee said he heard reinforcements were coming through the swamp. I’m glad they didn’t find you,” she said.

  “The fog made it impossible to tell how many there were. If we’d had a clear night, we might have figured it out.”

  “Pierre was fighting with General Coffee. Did you see him?”

  “He was with the general and his staff at the de la Ronde plantation. I joined them for an all-night discussion of America’s defenses.”

  “I knew they’d stay up and do that. I shoulda been there.”

  Rick opened his eyes at that pronouncement.

  “Mr. Fontenot was there, and he knows as much as you do about what happens.” The pirate glanced at Rick again. “The general said you brought your cousin here to recover. Since I know you don’t have a cousin, I figured it must be one of the men who showed up looking for you.”

  She and Lafitte exchanged subtle glances before she said, “C’mere, and I’ll introduce you.”

  Rick wasn’t going to sit on his ass while being introduced to her lover. So he leaned on the side of the sofa and levered himself to his feet, grimacing. While Penny made the introductions, Rick sized up Lafitte. He was as tall as Rick, but based on the pirate’s tight shirt—open to the waist—his chest was a tad bit broader, but they were equally brawny. Lafitte had a pale cast to his skin despite spending so much time on the water, and it created an interesting contrast to his dark hair and white teeth.

  Lafitte hiked his chin toward Rick’s sling. “Looks like you got beat up out there.”

  Rick’s voice was soft, but thinking of those blades cutting his flesh, he put steel behind his words. “Bayonets. But both men got the worst of it.”

  Lafitte propped his shoulder against the wall, and his wicked eyes twinkled. “They must be dead then.”

  The man had a sense of humor, and if first impressions counted when dealing with pirates, Lafitte had rakish appeal. Rick hadn’t expected the raffish charm, and he knew right then, that he would have to write Lafitte’s story.

  “How’s the general feeling about the battle lines today?” Rick asked.

  “The lines have been drawn and the battlefield defined. He doesn’t need to worry about an attack from other directions now. By pouring reinforcements into Villére’s, the British have committed themselves to that position. They might be able to open a second front at Chef Menteur and the Gentilly Plain, but Jackson doesn’t think they’ll do that. The plain’s too narrow and pressed between marshes he can easily defend.”

  “So he’s going to concentrate on the plain between Chalmette’s and de la Ronde’s and dig in behind the canal, right?” Rick asked.

  “First, he needs to move earth from behind the line to form an embankment and extend the defensive line farther into the swamp than he planned, and his men are working on that now.”

  Rick eased back down onto the sofa. His masculine pride had forced him to stand and put weight on his bad leg, but Lafitte didn’t care, nor did he appear to be sizing Rick up. Did that mean he didn’t see Rick as his competition? Or did it mean there wasn’t a relationship between Lafitte and Penny that Lafitte needed to protect?

  Rick got the impression he could be standing on his head, and Laffitte wouldn’t care. He was the type of man who would pull his gun and shoot someone if he didn’t like what they were saying or doing. Sort of like Indiana Jones facing the bad guy wearing a black robe and brandishing a large scimitar. Bang!
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  “Do you need to stay here?” Lafitte asked Penny.

  “I want to go back to town, take a bath, and change clothes. Marguerite said she was going to make more Penny outfits.” She glanced at Rick. “If you can sit in a saddle, I’ll take you to the Fontenots. You’ll get more rest there.”

  “I have a room above Marguerite’s dress shop. I’ll go there.”

  Lafitte pushed off the wall. “I’ll get the horses and meet you outside. Estelle will be relieved to see you, mon Capitaine.”

  “She wasn’t happy when I left town the other day without her.”

  Lafitte headed for the door. “She’s like her mother. She’ll be glad to see you and will forgive you for making her worry.”

  Rick stood as soon as Lafitte disappeared. He still grimaced, but at least he could put weight on his leg without it buckling. “I’ll head downstairs now, so I’ll be on the ground when Lafitte brings the horses around.”

  Rick limped toward the door and happened to notice his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace.

  He squinted and looked more closely. A hard man looked back at him.

  What had caused such a radical change? Was it the pain? The ferocity hadn’t been there yesterday. If not the pain, then what? The unnecessary killing? And how many did he kill last night, using a gun that shouldn’t have been there?

  “Philippe told me yesterday,” Rick said, “that the Americans would lose twenty-four soldiers last night. We won’t know until we get home if more died because of us. I went through four magazines. That’s sixty-eight bullets, and I only shot when the enemy was gunning for me. The real gut-wrencher is that I could have killed a friendly.”

  Penny rubbed her stomach. “It makes me sick thinking about the men who are dead now because I was there and shouldn’t have been.”

  He held the door for her, his heart snagging on the soft, sad way she’d spoken. “We’ll go nuts if we keep thinking about it.”