He forced his attention back to the conversation. “You were saying, about Ree's background?” Sebastien grinned, making sure it was just a bit wolfish. “You have me very intrigued.”
Jack settled into his chair, and into his story. “Not many know this, and I suppose she'd be unhappy with me for sharing it with you. I have no idea why I am, actually.”
Sebastien kept his gaze—and his smile—squarely on Jack. Perhaps his charms with women would stand him in good stead here as well. No harm in trying, anyway.
Jack's cheeks warmed a bit, then he went on. “Her mother was an … exotic dancer. On Bourbon, back in its heyday in the fifties. La Bamba was her stage name.”
It took all of Sebastien's acting abilities to maintain an innocently interested demeanor. La Bamba? Mademoiselle Broussard's maman? He fondly remembered his nights spent carousing Bourbon Street with Edgar those many years ago. Some of their best nights had been spent observing and enjoying La Bamba's considerable … talents. He silently thanked God he'd never pursued the woman, though he'd certainly considered it. Edgar had also done his level best to catch the dancer's eye. However, once Se-bastien had paraded the virginal Lucy in front of Edgar's once-roving eye, La Bamba had ceased to exist for him.
Another thought struck him. Despite the advanced difference in their ages, Ree Ann and Edgar had become an item of sorts, or so it appeared. Could Edgar have known? Had he purposely sought her out? Or was it coincidence?
“In the fifties?” Sebastien noted. “And yet, Mademoiselle Broussard is so young.”
“Her mama made not only a name but a modest fortune back in those days. It was rumored that a friend of hers—a … client, perhaps—invested her income wisely, and she retired when she was in her thirties. She became quite a character—something the Quarter has a particular fondness for—and was well known for her Friday night salons.”
“Salon?”
“Literary salons. Believe it or not. Somewhat more bawdy than highbrow, but all of society drooled over being on the invite list.”
“So this is where Ree got her love of the written word?”
“Absolutely. Her mother had been hostessing most of New Orleans society for almost a decade when Miss Ree made her grand appearance. La Bamba was well into her forties by then. No one ever knew—including Ree, as far as I know—who her father was. Her mother had quite a reputation from the sixties through the early eighties for taking young lovers then casting them aside when she grew tired or bored.” Jack lowered his voice. “And she had a very short attention span.”
Sebastien nodded and considered everything he'd learned. It went a long way toward explaining Ree's personality. Flamboyant and willfully sexual, yet he'd bet a good portion of his gold cache that in reality she'd never let a man close enough to discover the real woman.
“So her daughter will never know true love for all her prejudices.”
Jack laughed. “Exactly what I've told her for years. But I always thought that when the right man came along, she'd fall and fall hard.” He looked at Sebastien speculatively.
Sebastien ignored the knowing assessment. “So, tell me about Edgar Santini. There was an interesting pair.”
“You know about Edgar?” Wariness edged back into Jack's voice.
Not certain what Ree might have said after their first little stroll, Sebastien had to play it aboveboard. “Actually, I knew Edgar quite some time ago, but we … lost contact. Ree mistakenly assumed I knew the younger Santini—a son or grandson, I presume— and spoke of Edgar as well.”
Jack snorted in disgust. “Angelo. Or Angel, as he's called. Though he's anything but. Grandson and major prick, if you'll pardon me for saying.”
Intrigued, Sebastien pressed for more. “She seemed to have quite a different opinion of him than she did of his grandfather.”
“Angel is miffed that Granddaddy didn't leave him every last penny. He was none too happy to discover Edgar had left some prime real estate to our Miss Ree.”
“I take it Edgar died a wealthy man?”
“It was a rocky ride over the years, but, yes, he was quite well off when he passed on. Just how young were you when you knew him?”
“Very,” Sebastien fibbed. He had no other choice. “He was in banking then.”
Jack was too entertained by his own storytelling to stop now. “Yes, well, he did very well, which was an obvious progression after he married Lucy, since her family were all bankers. But he ditched it all after she died, went rather bohemian, or so his family thought. He shocked everyone when he opened up a restaurant. Something that apparently had been a dream of his before he married Lucy.”
Sebastien had been aware of this but knew Edgar was too young and wild to make a serious go of such an enterprise. Lucy had been devoted to Edgar and was a stabilizing force in his life. And he had brought his touch of wildness into hers. One of Sebastien's finest matches.
“How did he do in business?”
“Not so well. He was a great lover of food and people, but despite the banking background, he was a lousy businessman. Too kindhearted, apparently. Forever giving jobs to unreliable help; anyone with a sob story could talk him out of almost anything.”
“He must not have been in the loan department before.”
Jack laughed. “No. In fact, I don't think he ever actually worked in the bank. More an instant board member or some such. Lucy had her father wrapped around her finger, you know.”
Sebastien did know. Another reason he'd introduced to her to the strong-willed young Edgar. He'd be a match for her father and for her own headstrong determination.
“Well, it took him years to go through all of his assets,” Jack went on, “but he was determined and refused to abandon a sinking ship. When he met Ree, she was barely out of graduate school and, thanks to a business degree and her mother, had a keen way with money.” He smiled. “I think Edgar was a safe place for her. A powerful yet nonthreatening man, whom she could shower with affection while knowing withds out a doubt she would be admired for who she really was. And not what she appeared to be—a bombshell like her notorious mother. It was a love match of the purest form. One of respect and dual admiration. Totally nonsexual.”
“And her mother? What did she think of all this?”
“She passed away just after Ree turned nineteen. Ree was in college then, and her mother's long illness had used up most of their personal assets as well. But I think she would have approved of Edgar. Their relationship was totally misunderstood by almost everyone.”
“By everyone except you. And Marta and Jamie?”
“Exactly. And Ree refused to enlighten the narrow-minded idiots of the world. Like her mother, she let them believe what they would.”
“So you're saying that Ree turned Edgar's fortunes around? She could have known him for only a short time.”
“No one knew how badly off Edgar was. Certainly not his only son or his only grandchild. Which is partly why he was so deep in debt. Keeping up appearances at all costs.”
“He couldn't have been too concerned with that if he took up with someone as young as Ree.”
“His son died several years before he met Ree. Angel's mother had passed on when he was a boy. So Angel was all that was left by then. Besides, where Ree was concerned, Edgar never had a chance. She doted on him and gave him a new sense of purpose. She aggressively invested his money in high-risk funds and restored a good part of his fortune in a short period of time. In return, he fed her interest—pardon the pun—in the restaurant business.”
Sebastien lifted a surprised brow.
Jack shrugged. “The woman loves to cook, and let me tell you, she's an angel of God in the kitchen. But her mother refused to let her dwell on something so domestic, even as a business. She had far more lofty goals in mind for her only daughter. When Edgar died, Ree hit a point where she had to ask herself what she really wanted for herself and not for someone else.”
“And so the bookstore and café became a reality.�
� Sebastien finished the last of his coffee. “A happy ending.”
Jack smiled, but somewhat sadly. “She thinks so.”
“Tell me more about this Angel. She is very angry with him still. Surely he knows he cannot change his grandfather's will.”
“He knows, but it didn't stop him from trying. He tied Ree up in court for months, to the tune of thousands and thousands of dollars. He tried to prove she seduced Edgar into changing his will when he was no longer of sound mind or body.”
“The man must be blind, then.”
“I do like you, my friend.” Jack's smile faded. “Naturally Ree did nothing to disabuse the ass from his idiotic assumptions. He has no idea that if it weren't for Ree, he'd have ended up with nothing. Including his precious little four-star restaurant. She made sure she kept her inheritance without letting him find out that she was responsible for keeping his safe. The man could use a major reality check.” He waved his hand dramatically. “But logic flees when those two get anywhere near each other. It's like combustible fuel. I swear you can see the sparks fly.”
Sebastien sat forward. “Sparks?”
Jack misunderstood his sudden attention. He waved his hand. “Oh, please. You have nothing to worry about from that direction. Ree would rather have the man shot than let him within ten feet of her.And I don't think after the court's last ruling that Angel will give her that opportunity. The two have retreated to opposing corners, and I doubt you could pay either one to have anything to do with the other.” He fanned his face. “Thank God.”
Sebastien smiled with satisfaction. And allowed Jack to believe what he would. In fact, he was so deep into his plans, he missed the waitress's pout when he left the restaurant without so much as a glance in her direction.
Chapter 8
This sheet isn't attached to the clew like that. We used a hook and thimble. And we used iron parrels on the halyard.”
Jamie let out a small shriek and almost fell off her stool. Stumbling to an upright position, she turned to find Sebastien bending over her workbench, studying the sketches for her newest project; a nineteenth-century pirate ship.
She tried to tell herself that her heart was beating wildly only because he'd startled her. But the fact that her mouth was watering over the way his linen shirt pulled snugly across his broad back told the real story. “Nice of you to drop in.” She hadn't seen him in a few weeks. Only now did she realize how much she'd missed him.
He grunted in response, his attention fixed on the plans, photos, and stacks of other resource material cluttering her work space. She folded her arms across her chest. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of another heart attack?”
He finally looked up, and she felt her heart squeeze just the teeniest bit at the boyish way his hair had fallen across his forehead and the somewhat lost look on his face. “What did you say?”
“What is it with boys and boats, huh?” she asked, then laughed when he looked confused.
He straightened then. “What are these drawings for, mademoiselle?”
“It's a hobby of mine. Building model ships.” She shrugged. “Boats aren't just for boys, I guess.”
“I see.” That teasing light came back into his eyes, making her throat suddenly dry. “And your new project just happens to be a privateer schooner. Interest-ing.
She should have left well enough alone. The man was a walking Y chromosome. And her X's were all clamoring to get closer.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well.” She turned her attention to the plans. “You're wrong about the halyard. I do very careful research, and every source I checked specifies that it looks exactly like that.”
“Then you have faulty resources. I sailed a ship just like her.” He grinned wickedly. “And I've boarded one or two others in my time.” He pushed several papers around and slid the plan showing the rigging profile on top. “Yours is the original design, but privateers have, shall we say, specific needs. We were quite innovative in rebuilding our ships to suit our own purposes.” He pointed to a scale drawing at the bottom of the plan. “This actually goes here. Connects there. That way the captain can hoist the sails far more swiftly when he has to get underway in haste.” He winked. “Something that came in particularly handy in my former occupation.”
Right. As a pirate. With Laffite. She hadn't forgotten that part, really. She'd just … tucked it away for a while. Now it was untucked again, and she still didn't know exactly what to think. He sounded absolutely convincing. “I … I'll take it under advisement and do a bit more research.” She took the plan from his hands, stifling a small shiver when her fingertips brushed his warm skin. “Thanks.”
He turned back to the scatter of plans on her workbench and flipped through them. “There are some other design flaws here.”
Bristling, she looked past his shoulder at the plans she'd so painstakingly labored over. “These are commercial plans, but after fairly exhaustive research, I fine-tune and alter them to make as exact a replica as I can. I take a great deal of pride in my level of accuracy. I know my ships.”
He turned and pinned her with his dark, penetrating gaze. “So, mon amie, do I.”
Jamie suddenly decided that maybe this was one argument she didn't really want to have. She might have daydreamed on occasion about Sebastien's piratical claims. Okay, so there had been one or two hot and sweaty night dreams in there as well. But maybe it was best to walk away from all that. Right now.
He took a step closer. She stepped back. He didn't move closer, but the oxygen was rapidly evaporating anyway. The man consumed space. This was no time to speculate about who he might really be. When he looked at her like that, she had no trouble whatsoever seeing him climbing the rigging of a pirate ship, muscles bulging, cutlass clenched firmly between two sets of white teeth.
He leaned back against the workbench and folded his arms. “You can hardly be held accountable for faulty historic documentation.”
She narrowed her eyes but managed to refrain from a retort.
“Do you have any finished models?”
“They're still packed. I haven't decided where to display them downstairs. I haven't had much time to get my apartment in order yet.”
“Yet you have time to work on a hobby.” He bent over the ship again. “Interesting.”
She made a face at his back, then quickly masked it when he whirled around to face her.
“I'd like to see them sometime.” He wasn't playing with her now. His interest seemed very sincere.
She didn't know how she felt about that. Part of her felt suddenly shy at the idea, even though she was very proud of her level of craftsmanship. Another part of her wanted to sit down and go over every model, questioning him endlessly on what he knew. Whether it was from personal experience or not, she didn't dare to consider.
“You must spend a great deal of time planning a project as detailed as this,” he said. “How long does it take, start to finish?”
“Depends on the model, my access to source material, and how much time I have to devote to it. Usually a year or two. I moved around a lot, so it was kind of tricky. I might be able to get this one done a bit more quickly now that I've settled in one place.”
“And how do you decide which ship to build next?”
She tried not to flush, honestly. The knowing twinkle in his eyes proved too much. “I'm in New Orleans, so I decided to take advantage of the information available to me.” When he continued to study her, she hurried on. “It just so happens that this is one place where I can gather a great deal of authentic detailing on this particular kind of ship.” She shrugged again, suddenly self-conscious.
“An unusual diversion for a woman.” He stepped closer. “Could it be you have private dreams of sailing the high seas? Romantic visions of life as a pirate queen?”
Jamie swallowed hard, remembering how they'd first met each other. “I doubt it was all that romantic,” she managed.
Jamie swallowed hard, remembering how they'd first met each ot
her. “I doubt it was all that romantic,” she managed.
“You would be correct.” He ran his fingertip along the rigging lines of one of her plans. His expression took on a faraway look, his eyes reflecting a fond sadness. “It was adventure and danger and every dream a boy could have of treasures plundered.” He turned suddenly and looked at her, his dark eyes now reflecting far more than an adolescent high-seas holiday. “But romantic? Non.” He dropped his hand. “There are days when I miss the taste of salt in the air and the feeling of being rocked to sleep by the sea. I miss the camaraderie of having crewmates.” The barest hint of the twinkle resurfaced in his eyes. “And coming into port had its own special pleasures.” The light dimmed as he turned away from her. “But the rest? …” He shook his head. “I do not miss the rest.”
“How long did you sail?” The question just popped out. So what if he was a phony? At that moment, for just that moment, maybe she was a believer.
“As I told you, I was pressed into service for my country as a young boy. Our ship was raided, and I was given to the crew who boarded her. Several times over the next year I moved from crew to crew. Never at my own request.”
Jamie could not swallow. Even if she could have formed the words, she could not have asked him to speak of what she saw in his eyes.
“Then Dominique took the ship I was on and I became part of his crew. We sailed to the Caribbean, and it was there I found my home. I found the closest thing I ever had to a family. I stayed with them until—” He shrugged and once again his smile returned, but this time it didn't ignite that twinkle in his eye. “Until fate guided me in this new direction.”
Jamie knew this was insanity, but it was almost impossible to look in his face, hear the experience of life color his voice, and not fully trust that this man spoke of things he'd truly known. “What happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “How did you end up … you know.”
“I fell prey to the machinations of a young island woman.”
Your Wish Is My Command Page 8
