I nodded. I knew. We were both uncomfortable.
“Behave yourself,” he said.
“I’ll try.”
“And—and study that math.”
Jasper clicked the reins and I moved back and the carriage pulled away, Elijah waving merrily from his perch. I stood in front of the steps with sunlight splashing brilliantly all around and watched the carriage move slowly around the drive and disappear through the front portals, and I gently gnawed my lower lip, far more disturbed than I cared to admit. Julian Etienne was a wonderful, wonderfully attractive man, and I owed everything to him. I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with his brother, and Julian was very definitely in love with me. He had fought it, had tried to deny it, I knew, but he had finally acknowledged the truth to himself, and when he got back he planned to declare his love … What was I going to do then?
I gazed at the flowers and plants in the front garden and felt the sunlight on my cheeks and arms. How complicated it all was. I knew that I couldn’t hurt Julian, nor could I disappoint him, not after all he had done for me, and I knew as well that I couldn’t quell my feelings for his brother. I had been attracted to Julian in the beginning, but it was nothing like what I felt for Charles. It was as though … as though part of me had been completely dormant before and had sprung vibrantly to life all at once, changing my whole being. In the romances I read, love was frequently called a “great awakening,” and I understood now what that meant. I felt newly alive to sight and sound and sensation, and I was filled with heady exhilaration that, at any moment, could turn to bleak despair. I didn’t want to feel this way, but I had no choice in the matter. Remembering the dream, I could almost believe I was destined to love Charles Etienne even before I laid eyes on him.
I went inside. The house seemed strangely quiet and empty. I missed Delia already, and I would indeed miss Julian, too. I wandered around the rooms, hoping to find some task to be done, but everything sparkled, everything was in order. How different it had been when I first arrived. Delia was a darling, but she wasn’t a housekeeper. Restless, I went into the library and browsed through half a dozen books, but I could find nothing that interested me. The novels of George Sand and Jules Sandeau and Alexandre Dumas that I had read with such relish seemed strangely unappealing now, the fictional emotions eclipsed by those I felt inside. I browsed through a volume on porcelain and finally, more restless than before, went upstairs and began to sort out the linens. It was there Kayla found me forty-five minutes later.
“There you are, Kayla,” I said. “The linens in this pile need to be mended, and these need to be laundered. Such fine linen, as soft as silk. The pillowcases over there need to be laundered, too, and do you think we can match the lace that is torn?”
“I’se sure we can, Miz Dana. I’ll get right on it, but you’d better go see Jezebel. Mister Charles went off and forgot his lunch, and she’s madder’n a wet hen.”
“Oh dear,” I said, but actually I welcomed the distraction.
Leaving the linens to Kayla, I went down to the kitchen. Jezebel was pouting among her pots and pans, angrily poking a wooden spoon into the pan of gumbo simmering over the fire. Cut okra and plump shrimp bubbled up temptingly, and I could smell a wonderful array of spices. Jezebel put down her spoon and pointed to the basket sitting on the edge of the butcher block table.
“Mister Charles, he’s gonna poison hisself. Dem places down there where he goes to eat lunch, dey don’t know nothin’ ’bout proper cookin’. I told him so. You jest stay out of dem places, Mister Charles, I told him, you let Jezebel fix you up a lunch basket to take with you, and dat’s what he’s been doin’. I worry ’bout dat chile, an’ now he’s gone off an’ forgot his basket an’ he’ll be eatin’ dat poison dey serve in dem eatin’ places.”
Jezebel began to chop up parsley, her round black face a study in exasperation. “I packed dat basket special for him,” she continued, “put in all th’ things he likes, includin’ a huge chunk-a angel cake with sugar frostin’. He’ll eat in one of dem places down dere where dey fry everything in hog fat an’ he’ll come home with a bellyache an’ won’t want his dinner either—an’ me fixin’ my special chicken breasts stuffed with spices and butter tonight. You ain’t never had ’em yet. You stuff ’em an’ bread ’em an’ bake ’em till deys real tender an’ juicy and you serves ’em with white wine sauce.”
“They sound delicious,” I said.
“He ain’t gonna be in no shape to ’predate ’em iffen he fills his belly up with dat poison dey serve. I reckon I might jest as well feed you all corn pone an’ greens tonight.”
“Why—why don’t I carry the basket down to him,” I suggested. “I’m sure Jasper is back from taking Mister Julian to the boat. He could take me and we’d get there before Mister Charles has time to go to one of those places you disapprove of.”
Jezebel beamed. “Dat’s what I was hopin’ you’d suggest, only dere ain’t no need you goin’ yourself. Elijah can deliver de basket.”
“I—I don’t mind going,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly, I thought. “I—I’m kind of restless with—with Miss Delia being “gone.”
“Her bein’ away don’t seem natural,” Jezebel said. “Seems like de heartbeat’s gone outta de house. You be sure you’se back in time for your own lunch, missy,” she added.
“I will be,” I told her. “I can hardly wait to taste that gumbo.”
Jezebel looked horrified. “Dis stuff! It’s for de servants. You I’se makin’ a real lunch.”
Ten minutes later I was on my way to Etienne’s with the lunch basket on the seat beside me. Jasper was certainly earning his keep this morning, I reflected as the carriage rumbled over the cobbles. Jezebel was right. There really was no need for me to be taking the basket to him myself, it would have been far more appropriate to send it by a servant, yet I had jumped at the opportunity to see him, if only for a few minutes. I had taken time to brush my hair and apply just a suggestion of blush to my cheeks, and I was glad I was wearing this flattering turquoise dress with its low-cut bodice and very full skirt.
My heart seemed to sing with joyous anticipation as the carriage moved down the street. Was it wicked to feel this way? Ever since he had held me so tightly in his arms, I had scarcely been able to think of anything but Charles, and I ardently yearned to feel those arms around me again, to feel those muscles tightening, drawing me closer, to feel his strength and his warmth and smell his hair, his skin, his sweat. That yearning was like an obsession in my blood, tormenting me constantly. It was tender torment, a not unpleasant ache that craved to grow and swell until it possessed me completely. I had never felt anything like it. Charles and Charles alone could assuage that ache, with his arms, with his mouth, with his body.
All this was inside, yet I knew I must control it, must let no one suspect, not even Charles. I wanted him, I wanted him urgently, but deep inside I knew I must not let it happen. I must fight. I must resist. I was a good girl, and I knew it would be disastrous to give in to this urgent desire. It would complicate things even more. I could exercise control, yes, but in the meantime I saw no reason why … why I shouldn’t warm myself in his glow of glory. Just to be near him was joy enough. I had seen precious little of him since he held me in the carriage. He had been cool and remote, avoiding me as much as possible. I knew the reason why. I knew it was because he felt the same way about me. He wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him, and he, too, knew it would be disastrous.
I was playing with fire, I realized that, yet I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see him and give him the basket and perhaps chat for a few minutes, savoring the rich, husky sound of his voice. I would warm myself by the fire, yes, but I wouldn’t get burned. I would be dignified. I would be demure. I would smile pleasantly and ask him about things at the store and I wouldn’t stroke his lean cheek or rub my thumb along the full pink curve of his lower lip or beg him to hold me, hold me close. I caught my breath as the carriage
came to a halt in front of the store. A faint, rational voice inside warned me to beware, told me to let Jasper take the basket in and then drive straight back home, but I didn’t listen. I stepped out of the carriage, that joyous anticipation swelling inside until I could scarcely contain it.
“I will only be a few minutes, Jasper,” I said, and my voice was perfectly normal, betraying none of what I felt.
I reached into the carriage and took out the basket and went into the store. Sunlight streaming through the two front windows stroked richly varnished woods, gleamed on gilt and glittered on crystal and porcelain. Beautiful furniture and objects of art exuded a rich, opulent atmosphere. There was no one in the front of the store. Charles must be in the back or in his office, I thought, and then the heavy gold drapes over the archway parted and Raoul Etienne came in, arching one brow in surprise when he saw me.
“Cousin Dana,” he crooned, “what an unexpected pleasure.”
I was startled. I had forgotten all about Raoul. Of course he would be at the store. He worked here—not very satisfactorily, from all reports. He smiled a smooth, professional smile that wasn’t quite a leer but wasn’t at all friendly either. His dark eyes gleamed as they took in every detail of my dress and person. How sleek and handsome he was in his deep wine-colored breeches and frock coat, his white and wine striped satin waistcoat and white silk neckcloth. His thick, luxuriant hair had a healthy gloss, and his skin was lightly tanned, like pale, creamy coffee. He was a splendid creature, all right, the answer to every maiden’s prayer, but the maiden would be despoiled, greedily used and ruthlessly abandoned when he had had his fill. Perhaps he wasn’t actually evil, but he was spoiled, selfish, superior, a pampered young lord who believed the world was his to plunder.
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
I hadn’t seen him since I drove my knee into his groin. “Not long enough,” I retorted.
I stood where I was, clutching the handle of the basket. Raoul slowly approached me, and I remembered the story of the spider and the fly. I stiffened. He smiled again, stopping a few feet away. His eyes seemed to undress me. The smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.
“Surely you’re not nervous,” he said.
“Not at all. I believe I proved I could take care of myself.”
“You surely did,” he agreed. “I haven’t forgotten that, Cousin dear. You might have done some serious damage. Women all over New Orleans would have been dressed in mourning, bewailing their loss.”
“I don’t doubt it,”. I said dryly.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he told me. “I could provide excellent references.”
“I—I don’t intend to stand here sparring with you, Raoul. I came here to see Charles. Where is he?”
“Out, I’m afraid. The lovely Amelia Jameson came in earlier and wanted him to come look at a pair of chairs she’s thinking of selling. I volunteered to go myself, but neither of them would hear of it.”
“I’m not at all surprised.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired smoothly.
I shook my head, discomfited and disappointed. “I—I brought his lunch,” I said. “I’ll just leave the basket in his office.”
“How very thoughtful,” he observed. “So one brother isn’t enough? You’ve got them vying for you now. Most interesting, though I must say I’m surprised. I shouldn’t have thought noble Charles would encroach on the property of his beloved Julian.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said crisply.
“Haven’t you?” He moved closer. “A word of advice, Cousin dear. Those two are very, very close and inordinately loyal to one another. Don’t come between them. If you do, they’ll both turn against you.”
I didn’t deign to answer. Ignoring him completely, I moved purposefully to the archway and parted the heavy gold drapes and, stepping into Charles’ office, placed the basket on top of his desk. It was piled high with papers and account books, I noticed, and Charles’ frock coat and neckcloth were hanging on the back of his chair. Apparently he hadn’t deemed it necessary to don them when he went to examine Amelia Jameson’s chairs. He would be wearing his striped satin waistcoat and fine lawn shirt, and his hair would probably already be unruly, with an errant wave slanting over his brow.
“You needn’t worry about the lovely Amelia,” Raoul said.
I whirled around, startled to find him behind me.
“She’s a delectable creature,” he continued, “but his trip to her apartment was strictly business. He’s purchased, several things from her of late. It seems the lady is down on her luck.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I’ll go now. Please inform Charles that his lunch is on his desk.”
Raoul made no effort to move. He was standing between me and the door, effectively blocking my way. I would have to move around him to get to the door, and I wasn’t about to get that close. The office seemed suddenly much smaller. The four walls seemed to close in on me like a trap. I stood my ground, my chin held high. Raoul sensed my apprehension and he smiled, his dark eyes aglow with amusement.
“You needn’t worry,” he said. “I shan’t attempt to rape you here and now. I’ll get my own back, Cousin dear—no woman treats me the way you did and gets away with it—but I’ll do it in my own sweet time.”
“Don’t fool with me, Raoul,” I warned. “You’re likely to get hurt again.”
His smile broadened. He chuckled softly.
“You caused quite a sensation at the ball last month,” he observed. “All of my friends were thoroughly captivated—they’ve been bombarding me with questions about you. They all want to get to know you much, much better.”
“Please step out of my way, Raoul.”
He ignored my request. “Speaking of friends,” he continued, “a couple of the lads saw you on Conti Street the other day. You rode past the fencing academy and then turned on Conti and stopped in front of number four.”
I didn’t deny it. I looked at him with a cool, level gaze.
“I wonder why,” he mused. “A clandestine rendezvous with a secret lover? We all assumed so at first, then we found that number four belongs to the DuJardin family. Now what could you possibly be going to see them for?”
“That’s none of your bloody business,” I said.
“I’ll find out,” he promised. “You intrigue me, Cousin. I intend to find out everything I can about you.”
I didn’t say a word. I continued to stare at him with that level gaze, and the mocking half-smile continued to play on his lips. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he gave me a cocky nod and stepped aside. I longed to slap that smirk off his lips, but I didn’t. I moved past him with icy composure and left the office, stepping outside a moment later.
“Is you all right, Miz Dana?” Jasper asked.
“I’m fine,” I retorted.
“You looks upset ’bout somethin’.”
“Take me home,” I ordered.
The afternoon seemed interminable. I even welcomed Mister Howard with his dour expression and his dreary lessons. At least they helped pass the time. He stood over me as I attempted to do my long division, shaking his head in dismay. No one, he seemed to be saying to himself, could be that dense. He corrected my paper and informed me that math was definitely not my forte. I readily agreed. We did our geography lesson next, and I colored a map of Spain and learned about the Alhambra and he suggested I read Washington Irving’s recently published book on the subject. I promised to order it and showed him out with considerable relief.
Charles came home shortly before six. I was in the front parlor. I heard him in the foyer, heard him speaking to Pompey, and my first impulse was to rush out and welcome him back and bask in his presence, but common sense prevented so impulsive an action. I would see him at dinner. I went upstairs and took a hot bath, lingering in the tub, luxuriating in the warmth and the rich scented suds. I washed my hair as well, brushing it after
ward until it fell in a thick, glossy tumble. The sun had already gone down, and the courtyard was a nest of misty violet-gray shadows as Kayla came in to help me dress. Candlelight created soft golden patterns on the walls and floor.
“I declare,” Kayla sighed, “it’s sultry tonight.”
I nodded, going through my wardrobe, trying to select a gown. The windows were open, and I could hear leaves rustling and a bird warbling and smell a dozen fragrant perfumes. The air was warm and slightly moist. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains and seemed to caress my skin. Kayla stepped to the gallery and took a deep breath, gazing up at the sky.
“There’s gonna be a quarter moon,” she said. “Know what kinda night it’s gonna be? It’s gonna be a night for love.”
I looked at her sharply. Was there a double meaning to her words? Did she suspect something? Was my feeling for Charles so obvious? The girl sighed once more and stretched and smiled a contented smile.
“Reckon I might just let Jasper have his way tonight,” she confided lazily. “He’s done everything but, an’ I must say, he’s a master with his mouth an’ his hands. Makes me plumb crazy—kissin’ me all over, feelin’ me up. Reckon it’s time to let him explore th’ rest of me.”
I said nothing. Kayla looked concerned.
“Is you shocked, Miz Dana?”
“Not—not at all,” I replied.
“Lovin’ ain’t bad. Lovin’s good. It makes you feel—I cain’t rightly explain how it makes you feel, but you’ll know what I mean when it happens to you. You get an achin’ in your bones and your blood seems to boil and then your bones seems to melt an’ you gets all frantic an’—”
“That will be quite enough, Kayla.”
“You’se tense, Miz Dana. I been noticin’ it for a while now. I reckon you need a little lovin’, too. It’s a splendid tonic for what ails you. It ain’t natural to keep everything all pent up an’ pressin’ your insides.”
“Damn you, Kayla!”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Miz Dana.”
They Call Her Dana Page 29
