“A colonel?”
“Bleedin’ redcoats! Man was a wretched bore, always talking about rules and regulations, giving the citizens a hard time. No wonder they’re so unruly with sods like him snapping orders all the time. I stuck with him for almost a year, though. He was so prim and official and stern in public, so bloody high-falutin’ in his uniform, but when it was off, when he was alone in the bedroom with me, you’d of thought the bed was a bloomin’ battlefield and me the enemy!”
“What happened eventually?”
“I got bored. Bastard was tight as hell, didn’t like to spend money on me. Began to think I was some kinda servant. Actually expected me to polish his bloody boots! He got more and more difficult to live with, and after the Tea Party he was downright impossible. We got in a fierce argument about the tea that was dumped—”
“The famous Boston Tea Party? We heard about that even down here.”
“Happened last December. These three big ships sailed into the harbor filled with tea—they were British East India Company vessels, and all that low-priced tea was gonna wreck havoc, establish a monopoly for the company and deprive the colonists of a lucrative source of revenue. They were riled up, I can tell you! Felt it was another example of British interference in colonial trade.”
Angie paused as the waiter brought our coffee, a pitcher of cream, and a plate of doughy fried cakes sprinkled with sugar. She took a sip of the potent brew, grimaced, and then poured a generous amount of cream into her cup.
“Anyway, the rebels—that’s what my colonel called ’em, ‘damned bloody rebels’—they smeared themselves with dye and dressed up like Indians, rowed out to the ships, and dumped all the tea into the harbor, hootin’ and hollerin’ all the while. It caused quite a furor. The port of Boston was closed and’ll stay closed till the tea’s all paid for. I sided with the rebels, said they were only protectin’ their interests. Colonel Bates went into a rage, roarin’ at me like I was some lowly private he intended to clap into irons after administerin’ twenty lashes. I let him rage on, and that night while he was happily snoring away I picked the lock on his safe, filled my bag with lots of money, and slipped off into the night. Like a thief,” she added, saucy grin flashing. “That was four months ago, and now here I am in New Orleans.”
She reached back to pat the long silvery-blond ringlets dangling down to her shoulders. “I was fed up with the Colonies, to tell you the truth. Everyone’s always so bloody worked up over things—the citizens rebellin’ against the government, the soldiers damnin’ the rebels. It’s all going to explode one day soon. I decided to get out before the real fighting commences.”
“Is it really that bad? We hear rumors, of course, but we’re so far removed.”
“It’s bloody tiresome,” Angie replied. “The soldiers are gettin’ much stricter. The farmers are hidin’ guns in the hayloft. But who wants to talk about that! I’ve told you all about me, and I’m dying to know how you ended up in New Orleans, lookin’ like a bloody duchess. Come on, Marietta, tell me.”
I stirred more cream into my coffee and gazed down at the cup, wondering how it would be possible to tell her all that had happened during these past four years. Pensive now, I told her about Derek and the plantation, Cassie and Adam and my helping them escape, Derek’s rage and his selling me to Jeff Rawlins. Angie listened quietly as I continued, giving her a brief account of our journey down the Trace, telling her about the gambling house and that first difficult year before the place caught on.
“And?” she said when I had finished.
“And now it’s very successful and … and Jeff and I are still together.”
“And you still love this bloke Derek?”
“I’m afraid I do. I shouldn’t. I have every reason to hate him. I’ve tried to hate him. I can’t. I … I don’t actively think about him as much as I used to. Sometimes a full week will go by without my thinking of him at all, and then … then I’ll find myself alone and suddenly he’ll be in my mind and the pain will be as … as fresh as it was that day he sold me to Jeff.”
“I guess I’ve been lucky,” Angie reflected. “I’ve never been in love, not really. I was fond of George Andrews, and I was wildly taken with Peter Jamison, the bastard who ran off with my money. When he snuck off like that I missed him terribly, missed his handsome face, his gorgeous body and teasin’ ways, but I missed the money a hell of a lot more, I can tell you for sure! What about this Jeff fellow?”
“He’s good-looking in a rugged sort of way, and he’s the most charming man you’ll ever meet. He’s a superb lover, and he worships the ground I walk on.”
“But you don’t love him?”
I hesitated a moment before answering, gazing across at the colorful marketplace. Black men wearing only ragged blue breeches were bringing in more baskets of shrimp. An old woman in black was examining bright-yellow lemons and golden oranges. An organ grinder with a monkey perched on his left shoulder strolled along eating bits of fried fish from a curled paper, sharing the tidbits with the monkey. How could I explain the way I felt about Jeff? It was so very complicated.
“I love him, yes,” I said quietly. “But not in the way he’d like me to love him. It’s a very special kind of love, more than just fondness. I enjoy sleeping with him, and the rest of the time I feel … almost maternal, protective. He needs me. He loves me quite desperately, and without me he’d be lost.”
“You’ve been faithful?”
I nodded. “That’s the least I can do. I wouldn’t hurt him for the world.”
“But still you won’t marry him.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to him, Angie. Jeff deserves so much more.”
“Is he faithful?”
“There’ve been several women. He has one right now. None of them mean anything to him. He’ll ask me to marry him again and I’ll refuse again and then he’ll feel angry and frustrated, feel he has to prove something. He’ll go out and find another woman. But he invariably tires of them and comes back to me with that damned sheepish grin on his face.”
“You’ve never considered leaving him?”
“I couldn’t. I owe him a great deal, Angie. He—after Derek, he was my salvation. He gave me my freedom, gave me a whole new life. He needs me. One day he’ll meet someone else and transfer all that love to her, and then I’ll leave. Until that day comes I … I’ll stick by him.”
Angie sighed, and I could see that it was all too much for her to fully comprehend. Angie was one of the lucky ones, able to squeeze through life with jaunty aplomb, taking the good with the bad and considering it all a delicious joke. She had gone through just as many hardships as I since arriving in America, had had tragic and harrowing experiences left and right, yet she had changed very little. Her speech was a bit more refined, she wore beautiful clothes and had elegantly styled hair, yet she remained the feisty, audacious little cockney prostitute at heart. I had become a completely different person.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I’d better get back. Jeff will be worried sick if I don’t show up soon.”
Angie made a face. “Guess I’d better get back to my bloody Spaniard, too. He’s not much, but he’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
“You met him on the boat?”
“It was a dreary trip, I don’t mind tellin’ you. Don Rodriego livened it up a bit. The captain was shocked when I moved into Rodriego’s cabin. He’s a diplomat, rich as the devil, has a grand house here in the city and more servants that I can count.”
“What’s he like?”
“Tiresome,” she admitted. “He’s got this Latin temperament, you see. Seethin’ with passion and rage. One minute he’s threatin’ to kill me, and the next he’s smotherin’ me with kisses. He’s got some mighty funny ideas about what should take place in bed, too, but I won’t go into that. He’s generous, bought me all these gorgeous gowns soon as we landed, keeps me in grand style, but … it’s not much fun! I’d leave him in a minute if I had any place else to go.”<
br />
I suddenly had an idea. “Angie, do you really mean that?”
“Course I do. Who needs all that aggravation?”
“Tell me, do you know anything about cards?”
“Playing cards? There’s nothing I don’t know! The colonel had a passion for them. He and his cronies would sit up half the night, playing for high stakes. I sat in, learnin’ all the tricks. Couple of months later I was cleanin’ up. They finally refused to let me play, said I was a bloomin’ sharp.”
“How would you like to be a dealer?”
“At Rawlins Palace?” Angie’s eyes flashed with excitement. “That’d be fantastic!”
“You know you’d have to be honest.”
“I guess I could try,” she said.
“You’d receive a regular salary, of course, and there’s a guest room upstairs, right down the hall from mine. You could move in. We’d see each other every day.”
“Done!” Angie exclaimed. “When do I start?”
“Tonight. We desperately need a dealer. We lost one two nights ago. I’ll have one of the other dealers show you the ropes late this afternoon before the customers start arriving.”
“What will your man Jeff think?”
“He’ll be delighted,” I assured her.
Ten minutes later we entered the still dim main entrance hall and walked up the marble staircase to the private living quarters. Angie was a bit nervous. She wasn’t about to part with all those lovely gowns Rodriego had bought her, and she feared he would fly into one of his wild Latin rages when she went back for them. I told her I would send Kyle along with her, explaining that he was six feet five and had the kind of grim, formidable expression that made the strongest men grow pale.
“Your Don Rodriego won’t say a word,” I promised, “not with Kyle at your side. Come on, I’ll take you upstairs and introduce you to Jeff. He’s probably still in the office.”
He was indeed, sitting at his mahogany desk and frowning over a stack of papers. His dark-gold hair was unruly, a deep line dug a furrow above his nose, and his brown eyes were perplexed. Jeff handled all the business transactions, and of late he had been investing profits in various shipping ventures, none of which had yielded anything yet. I sometimes worried about that, but I assumed he knew what he was doing. He looked up irritably as we entered and then, spying Angie, got to his feet, reaching for the jacket he had discarded earlier.
I introduced them. Jeff was charming and gallant. Angie was enchanted. He was slightly taken aback when I told him she was to be our new dealer, was going to move into the guest room, but he quickly recovered, agreeing that it was a dandy idea and graciously adding that having such a pretty dealer at the table was bound to stimulate business. Angie expressed her delight in ribald terms, her choice of words causing Jeff to grin. We left him with his paperwork and went downstairs to find Kyle.
He was just coming up from the cellar as we reached the bottom of the stairs. Kyle had been one of Jeff’s cronies during the old days, had fallen upon hard times and, when Jeff finally located him, had been living in a sordid room on the waterfront, sick, hungry, resigned to his fate with the deep melancholy that was part of his nature. He was the first employee hired, the highest paid. He opened the door for guests with impeccable servility, never spoke except to answer a question, and barred the way to anyone who didn’t meet the standards of Rawlins Palace. When he had to remove one of the guests, he did so firmly, silently, rarely finding it necessary to employ his awesome strength.
Kyle was intensely loyal to Jeff, would have killed for him without a moment’s hesitation. Cheerless, intimidating, he doubled as coachman during the day and frequently helped out by doing things like taking inventory of the wine cellar, which had occupied him for most of the day. Kyle had nothing to do with any of the other employees; he kept to himself. His job and his devotion to Jeff left room for little else.
When Angie saw him approaching us down the shadowy hallway, she gasped and gripped my hand.
“Christ!” she exclaimed. “He’s a bloody giant! That face would make small children shriek in terror.”
Kyle gave no indication that he had heard. Incredibly tall, with wide shoulders and a lean, muscular frame, he wore black boots, black breeches, a white cambric shirt with full sleeves, and a brown-and-white-striped satin vest. He had pale, sober features, extremely dark eyes, and sleek black hair brushed severely to one side. Although his manner toward me was invariably polite and formal, I was still a bit uncomfortable around him. Most people were. He gave the impression of a man with great violence pent up inside, and he had never been known to smile. I had the feeling that Kyle disapproved of me, that he disapproved of everyone but Jeff.
“Hello, Kyle,” I said pleasantly. “This is Angie. She’s a friend of mine, and she’s going to be our new dealer.”
Kyle didn’t speak. Neither did Angie. They sized each other up, his expression bleak and morose, hers saucily defiant, as though she were about to thrust her tongue out at him. Kyle frightened the maids. Pierre broke into a fit of nervous tremors whenever the giant stepped into the kitchen. Angie wasn’t at all intimidated. Kyle clearly presented a challenge. I had visions of a small, scrappy terrier nipping and snarling at a gigantic, bored mastiff.
“Angie needs to go fetch her things,” I continued. “She’s going to move into the extra room upstairs. I’d like for you to take her in the carriage and go inside with her. It might be a bit uncomfortable.”
“Not bloody likely!” Angie cried. “Don Rodriego will take one look at ’im and crawl under the bed. Are you sure it’s safe for me to go traipsin’ off with him? I’ve been raped before, but never by anything this size! I’m not sure I wouldn’t take my chances with Rodriego’s wrath.”
Kyle’s dark eyes hardened with disdain, and his wide mouth curled contemptuously at one corner, but he still made no comment. Instead he fetched his jacket, put it on, and held the front door open for her. Angie winked at me, emitted a delighted titter, and sashayed out with high heels tapping and ruffled skirt swishing noisily. Kyle followed her out like a sober martyr. I rather fancied that he had met his match.
Three hours later I was in my room getting ready to dress for the evening when Jeff came sauntering in. I was in my petticoat, but he was already elegantly attired in a dark-brown frock coat, matching trousers, and a rather dashing vest of dark-orange satin embroidered with leaves in brown silk. His boots were polished to a glossy sheen, his hair neatly brushed. Curiously enough, the dandified attire emphasized his masculinity instead of detracting from it. I stepped over to adjust his brown silk cravat.
“You look quite handsome tonight,” I remarked.
“Don’t I always?”
“Always,” I agreed.
“You’re a lucky wench,” he teased. “You look pretty damned fetchin’ in that petticoat, too. If it hadn’t taken me so long to get into these fancy duds, I’d get right out of ’em and give you a treat.”
“Oh? That would be a change.”
“Hey, do I detect a note of resentment? An important chap like me can’t spend all his time pleasin’ the ladies. I know I haven’t come visitin’ your bedroom for the past few nights, but … uh … I’ve been busy.”
“Indeed,” I said dryly, moving over to the dressing table.
I sat down in front of the mirror. Jeff stepped over to stand behind me, resting his hands on my bare shoulders, peering at me in the glass. I picked up a sable brush, dipped it into a pot of rouge, and began to brush a faint suggestion of pink on my cheekbones. He watched, his fingers gently squeezing my flesh. I put down the brush, picked up the powder puff, and began to powder my face. Jeff continued to watch, and I tried to ignore him. It wasn’t easy.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
“I’ll be gone for a while tonight. Won’t be missed. That’s the nice thing about the place. It almost runs itself, no need for me to hang around all the time.”
; I put down the powder puff. “No need at all.”
“Fellow can take a night off every now and then, take care of business, see his old friends once in a while.”
I brushed my lids with light mauve shadow and applied a touch of cinnamon-brown paste to lashes and brows with a tiny brush. Jeff’s fingers dug into my shoulders, not gentle, not quite hurting.
“You know, I wish I could believe you really were jealous. I don’t know why I even bother looking at another woman when I have someone like you right here at my fingertips. It’s just—”
“You don’t owe me any explanations, Jeff.”
“You could stop it. You could put an end to it once and for all. With two words—‘I will.’”
I did not reply. He was frowning now, his brown eyes dark. He let go of me and stepped over to the table to pour himself a brandy from the crystal decanter. I touched up my lips with coral, patted my hair back in place and got up, moving over to the wardrobe to take down my dress, pale-yellow silk, the skirt aglitter with flowers embroidered in silver and gold. Jeff gazed into his glass of brandy, still frowning.
“I’m sorry, Jeff,” I said quietly. “I told you in the beginning I wouldn’t marry you. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You know that. You’re very dear to me. You know that, too. Any time you want me to leave I’ll—”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” he said harshly. “You know I don’t want you to leave.”
I slipped into the dress, sure his bad humor would pass, as it always did. These moods came over him rarely, but when they did they usually resulted in some noisy brawl on the waterfront with the rowdy companions he still saw regularly. He would drink himself silly, come staggering home in the middle of the night, and feel wretched and apologetic the next day. And I would feel terribly guilty, knowing I was to blame, yet unable to do the one thing that would prevent these periodic outbursts. I would sit by the bed and bathe his temples with a cloth dipped in cologne, and I would smile and gently scold and reassure him of my affection in a thousand little ways, giving him affection when he wanted undying love.
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