My Cherie Amour

by Azod, Shara

  Because of her unusual background, Étienne battled not only young swans who would

  steak her affection if they could, but unscrupulous men who sought her for their own

  pleasure with no thought of honorable marriage. Thank God she had a powerful family to

  protect her. There was six long months left to go before their wedding. Though he could

  hardly claim to have lived as a monk, it seemed as if had waited an eternity to have her. As the final cords of the song drifted through the air, Étienne strode forward to

  collect his woman. “You looked at bit flushed, sweet,” he whispered in her ear. “Allow me

  to escort you to the veranda.”

  Cherie felt her pulse quicken at the words purred in her ear. The teenaged Étienne

  had always been able to set her heart racing, but this mature manly Étienne made her

  positively week in the knees. Since the night he had proposed she lived for stolen moments

  where she could experience the wonderfully wicked kissed and playful caresses he was so

  stingy with. Still, it would never do to appear too eager.

  “Without a chaperone?” she asked with all the innocence she could muster. Peeking

  at him beneath her lashes, she licked her lips slowly, knowing he was watching. The hungry

  looks he gave her thrilled her to no end. Why must they wait to be married? She wanted to

  steal away with him now, the rest of the world be damned. “What must you think of me?”

  Étienne had to smile at his little ingénue. “But we are engaged, non? Surely we are

  allowed some … allowances.”

  “But weren’t you the one determined to wait until we’re married?” She couldn’t help

  but tease. He liked it when she did that. His hands tightened on her flesh, his strong and

  demanding. What would it feel like to have his hands on her bare skin?

  “I had been praying for a quick wedding. This wait is killing me.” Cherie felt as if she would swoon. During his time away, his formerly gangly frame

  had filled quite nicely to the hard plains and muscles that were all man. His voice had

  deepened in a most delicious way, making shivers dance up and down her spine at every

  suggestive word. She had always loved Étienne, but now coupled with the deep affection

  she had always felt, came a desire she could not name. A yearning to be closer to him in

  ways she could not begin to explain even if she dared to voice her feeling aloud. She

  followed obediently as he led her through the French doors to the winding terrace at the

  back of the ballroom. He did not stop until they were ensconced in a secluded corner

  behind a rather large potted palm, away from the other couples who had taken refuge from

  the crowds inside. Without missing a beat, Étienne swung her in his arms to devour her in

  a kiss that left her panting and breathless. Just as her body melted into his, ready and

  willing to give him anything he wanted, he tore his deliciously torturous lips away with a

  groan.

  “Ahh, sweet, if you only knew what you do to me,” he moaned.

  Of course, she could not even begin to guess at the state of perpetual arousal she

  inspired in him. Even if he wanted to, he could not relieve himself with anything but his

  own hand. For some time now he hadn’t been able to stand to accept a substitute to the

  woman standing in front of him now. His anatomy seemed to only work in her presence. Cherie could scream in frustration. Étienne inspired strange feelings that had her

  aching for something more, something she could not begin to identify. With a kiss, a

  touch, or just a burning look he made yearn in way she had never longed for anything. If

  only she knew what this indescribable need he awakened in her was, maybe she would feel

  comfortable asking him for what she knew on some subconscious level she needed.

  “Étienne, please,” she murmured against his broad chest. She needed something just

  out of reach so badly she thought she would die.

  “Shhh, . I know,” he whispered kissing her forehead, her cheek, but avoiding

  the lips that throbbed for his to cover them once more. His hands caressing her lower back

  itched to dip lower to pull her center against his throbbing hardness. Now was not the time

  or the place. Leaning back he took one look at the banked passion in her eyes, the way her

  lips were slightly apart in invitation and knew coming out here had been a mistake. With

  each stolen moment, it was getting harder and harder not to take her, to make her his once

  and for all.

  “Cher, I will escort you to the retiring room and wait for you at the entrance of the

  ballroom,” he offered, knowing she wouldn’t question him. He knew the desire she felt

  racing through her young body, and he knew she had no idea how to describe, much less

  name all she was feeling. It was better this way; that she desired him but didn’t have the

  faintest idea how to express it or what it took to satisfy her longings. It took every ounce of self control to temper his longings as it was; a sexually aware Cherie would surely kill any

  notions of chivalry he had managed to hang on to thus far.

  Cherie followed her fiancé’s lead as he led her through the edges of the crowd, up

  the wide curving staircase to the ladies’ retiring room. Thankfully, he blocked curious eyes

  from viewing her state of dishevelment successfully. It was not easy for a quadroon in polite

  society. The only reason she was tolerated was because Papa Claude had legally adopted

  her, then he, Papa Luc and Grandpére Gaspar had settled a small fortune on her. Being

  seen in her current state would ruin her.

  “Here, child, you look like you could use some refreshment.”

  Cherie looked up from her seat in front of the mirror to see Papa Claude’s former

  wife, her aunt Agathe handing her a glass of lemonade. Although she had been warned

  repeatedly to steer clear of her mother’s half sister, the older woman had never been

  anything but congenial to her since she entered society, often bring her refreshment when

  she was rushed into retirement rooms by her ardent fiancé, as she had tonight. Often she

  would wait to reenter the ballroom with her, effectively ceasing gossip before it had a

  chance to take root and spread.

  “Merci, Madame,” Cherie took the drink gratefully, frowning at slightly bitter taste.

  She didn’t notice Agathe’s chilling smile as she drained the glass. Almost immediately,

  Cherie felt light headed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lie down, “You poor thing,” Agathe was saying while practically yanking her out of her seat.

  “You look like you need to lie down.”

  Her voice seemed to be coming from far away, fading before she finished her

  sentence. Cherie was aware that she was standing, moving down a darkened hall, then

  down the stairs, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open enough to see where she was

  going. Without Agathe’s support, she would have surely fallen on her face. The last thing

  she saw was a huge man hovering over her, than blessed oblivion.

  *******

  Christine L’Amour stood in the alley behind the lit mansion glancing anxiously

  around her. If she had not seen the girl with her own eyes, there was no way in hell she

  would even contemplate what she was about to do.

  “The captain has assured me we will be underway as soon as we bring our ‘package’

  onboard,” Didier, her best friend and lover assured her for what had to be th
e hundredth

  time. “It will be well chere, calm down.”

  “I know Didi,” Christine replied automatically with confidence she did not feel. “I

  just wish she would hurry up.”

  Agathe was supposed to have been here with the girl in tow twenty minutes ago. The

  plan was to slip a tiny amount of laudanum in her refreshment and then in guise of assisting her, to spirit her out to the waiting carriage. It was fast and simple, so where the

  hell was Agathe?

  As soon as the thought entered Christine’s head, Agathe appeared half dragging a

  heavily cloaked bundle. Didier hurried to lift the drugged girl effortlessly in his arms to

  place her in the carriage. Christine scurried up after them with a quick glance to the other

  woman.

  “I believe this concludes our dealings?” Christine asked.

  Agathe’s smile sent shivers down Christine’s spine. Not for the first time she

  wondered who was this young woman Agathe wanted gone so very badly?

  “Oh, yes,” came the gleeful reply. “Just make sure you are away from Louisiane

  tonight.”

  “Madame Bonnet, I must ask, who is this girl?” Christine asked. If this was indeed a

  member of some powerful Creole family, her life was forfeit. What the hell had she gotten

  herself into?

  “A half-breed born of a whore who thought she could move into my world.”

  With that Agathe was gone.

  ********

  Cherie slowly became aware of the gentle sway beneath her. Refusing to open her

  eyes, she tried to recall what had happened to her. She felt like she was home in her bed, yet the constant rocking did not stop. Groaning she gingerly opened one eye trying to

  focus. With a gasp, she bolted upright in the bed. Her head pounded at the sudden

  movement, her stomach threatened to heave. Where the hell was she? Looking around the

  bare tiny room, all she could see was a chest at the end of what appeared to be a bunk.

  There was no window and only one thick oak door. The constant roll of the room

  answered her question – she was on a ship.

  The last thing she remembered was taking a sip of the warm punch as she listened to the

  inane prattle of some foolish little debutante trying to impress her with her family’s

  genealogy. Agathe, Papa’s former wife had been there. Although Maman, Papa, and Père

  Gaspar had all warned her to stay clear of the woman, Cherie had thought she was kind to

  bring her the refreshment, and kinder still to offer to guide her to find a quiet place to sit

  when she began to feel ill. What a simple fool she had been. Apparently the woman had

  managed to kidnap her somehow. The question was, who had helped her and why? There

  were not many willing to cross her father or grandfather. Surely as soon as her kidnappers

  found out who she was, they would immediately take her back. That - or they would kill

  her.

  Ruthlessly pushing away the panic and tears that threatened to rise, Cherie

  considered her options. Was Agathe somewhere on this ship, or had she returned to the

  party to appear innocent? From what Cher had heard of Papa’s wife, she was ever cautious of appearances, so surely she would have stayed and claimed all innocence as to Cherie’s

  whereabouts. There was a chance she could negotiate with whomever was holding her, but

  she had to be sure they would not simply cast her overboard in fear of discovery.

  She was still trying to work on some kind of plan when the door opened to admit a

  beautiful Amazon woman with skin of café-au-lait in a prim grey gown that was covered

  her from her throat to her feet. Her hair appeared to a mixture of black and grey combed

  back in a severe bun, which was completely at odds with her youthful appearance. Her face

  was unlined, her carriage upright, the woman didn’t look a day over thirty-five... She was

  carrying a tray with food and hot chocolate that she placed on Cher’s lap. Behind her stood

  the biggest man Cherie had ever seen. He had to be pushing seven feet, with bulging

  muscles that strained his shirt, deep ebony skin and shiny bald head.

  “You must eat something, chere,” the woman said cheerfully. “And then we will

  talk.”

  “You know who I am,” Cherie muttered deflated. If the woman and the man behind

  her knew who she was, they would not be easy to persuade to take her back.

  “What?” Christine asked bewildered.

  “You said my name. Well, nickname,” Cherie replied, “so you know who I am.”

  Christine looked down at the girl in confusion. “Petite, I said no name.” A tiny sliver of hope blossomed in Cher’s chest. Had she heard her wrong? “Did you

  not call me Cher?” she asked hopefully.

  “I said it as an endearment, petite,” Christine smiled down at her. “I did not know

  your name was Cher. I am Christine and that,” she pointed towards the huge man standing

  at the door, “is Didier. If you do not mind, we can get acquainted while you eat, non?”

  Christine’s smile was gentle and sincere as she sat on the bed and began to pour two

  cups of chocolate and uncovering a dish full of delicate pastries. Cher waited until the older

  woman had settled next to her before she dropped her bombshell.

  “So you do not know that I am Cherie Bonnet, known as Cher to my family. My

  father is Claude Bonnet, my grandpére is Gaspar Durand. The woman I suspect who paid

  you to take me away was Agathe Bonnet, papa’s former wife, n’est pas?” Cher asked softly

  while nibbling daintily on a pastry.

  A soft “Shit!” was heard from the vicinity of the door. Christine’s hand stilled in the

  act of bringing a pastry to her mouth. Cherie dared a glance through her lashes to witness

  the woman’s face turn ghostly pale.

  “Oh God, what have I done?” Christine whispered placing the pastry down on the

  plate with a shaky hand.

  Damn the traitorous bitch! She should have known never to trust Agathe Bonnet.

  The woman had found her dearest wish and dangled it before her like some succulent fruit. Just like Eve, Christine had bitten. It had been a moment of weakness that she shared her

  dream of opening a house in the goldmine that was the Spanish Florida territory with the

  wicked witch. Christine had felt secure because she knew Agathe’s dirty little secrets – how

  she often needed multiple partners to fulfill her sexual needs. The woman had gone

  through seven of her most well hung slaves in one night! Christine had foolishly felt secure

  that Agathe would never want whispers of her late night escapades to get out. She was a

  pillar of society after all. It looks like Agathe had gotten rid of the only person other than

  her own personal slaves who knew her secret.

  “What do we do?” Christine whispered to Didier. It was senseless not to include the

  girl in the conversation. If Gaspar or Claude found them, Christine and Didier were as

  good as dead anyway.

  “We cannot take her back, love,” came the deep reply.

  “But why?” Cherie demanded. “I will explain everything to Papa. If you really didn’t

  know…”

  “We would be killed outright, no matter our ignorance,” Didier’s reply was not said

  with heat. It was mere an acknowledgment of the enviable. “It is what I would do if it were

  my daughter.”

  “Cheer,” Christine grasped the young woman’s hand looking directly in her eyes.

  Cher
ie could see her regret, but she could also see her resolve. “I am sorry Agathe did this to you. I am more sorry than you know that it was I that was her instrument. But we

  cannot take you back, and we cannot let you go.”

  “I would never tell,” Cher insisted, unable to hold the tears that began to roll down

  her face back any longer. “I swear. You are both being kind to me. When we get to

  wherever your destination is, you can put me on a ship back to New Orleans. I will tell

  them it was someone else, anyone else. Please, I am to be married! I must go home!”

  Christine’s heart broke for the girl. Many free people of color dreamed of marrying

  into elite Creole society. This girl had achieved simply by her birth what many would kill

  for. Christine had eschewed the entire plaçage system in which she had grown up in for the

  love of Didier. Her mother was furious when Christine had informed her she would not

  attend the balls to find a wealthy protector. Instead, she and Didier had slowly built a nice

  little house in Storyville, building a certain status for having the most beautiful colored girls

  of every shade, the most skilled workers with class and style. But in New Orleans, they were

  merely a drop in the bucket. Christine loved what she did. It was not so different from her

  mother’s life, just more honest. Placées considered themselves respectable women, but to

  Christine, a whore was a whore.

  “I am sorry, petite,” Christine whispered taking the now openly weeping girl in her

  arms. “We will take care of you, I promise, but we cannot let you go. You will not become

  one of the girls. You will be as my own beloved daughter. But petite, you must know Agathe will be the first suspected and regardless of what she may believe, and your father

  and grandfather will have no mercy. She will tell them everything. You can never go

  home.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  New Orleans

  Agathe had never in her life felt a fear as she felt it at this moment. The only sound

  in the study was the soft weeping in the corner of her Claude’s whore while her father’s

  whore comforted her as best she could. Agathe stood not only before Claude and Gaspar,

  but three of what appeared to be her father’s bastard sons as well as Étienne and Rémi

  Barbin. Try as she might to call up the righteous anger that she believed justified her