Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie

by Samantha Grace

  Serafine’s shook her head, confused by Amelia’s panicked reaction. “But your friend and her husband are delighted.”

  Amelia slid to a halt. “Her husband? Bibi is married?”

  If Amelia knew nothing of her friend’s happy marriage, her distress made perfect sense.

  “The cake and necklace point in that direction.”

  Amelia blew out a puff of air and chuckled. “Look at me, fit to be tied over a silly drawing room game.”

  A silly game? Serafine’s spine stiffened.

  “My cousin’s readings are accurate,” Lisette said softly. “I’m certain your friend has been as blessed as you have been, Mrs. Hillary.”

  Lisette’s defense of her warmed Serafine’s heart. She turned to study her. Her cousin gazed back with wide eyes so innocent and pure. Perhaps Serafine’s worries were for naught. No doubt Captain Hillary harbored improper thoughts about Lisette, but her cousin would never succumb to his charms. She was too intelligent to fall prey to his seduction.

  Still, she would feel more comfortable if she could learn the identity of Lisette’s future husband, even his initials. Then she might feel less anxious about the voyage.

  “Shall I perform a reading for you also?” Serafine asked Lisette.

  Lisette drained her cup. “Empty. Perhaps another time.”

  Amelia laughed, the hand on her belly shaking. “Oh, dear. Forgive my skepticism, mademoiselle. You must have a true gift, and dear Lisette doesn’t wish to benefit from it. I wonder if she’s hiding something.”

  Lisette’s gaze dropped to the plank floor and her cheeks flushed with color.

  Indeed. Serafine and Amelia were of like mind. Only Serafine didn’t wonder. She now knew with certainty Lisette was keeping a secret.

  Eight

  Louis Reynaud’s man dropped onto a chair and kicked his foot up to rest across his knee. “Searched the whole house. Ain’t nothin’. No letters nowhere.”

  A loud buzzing sounded in Louis’s ears, and his gaze bore into the ne’er-do-well lounging across the desk from him as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Rising from his leather chair, Louis jammed his fists against the gleaming oak surface of his desk. A pounding started behind his eyes.

  “Not only have you lost my fiancée,” he said, sensing his control slipping, “you have the gall to tell me you cannot unearth a simple packet of letters?”

  Wilson answered with a negligent shrug. “What yer lookin’ for ain’t there. Can’t unearth something that ain’t there.”

  The man was too stupid to recognize the danger of his situation, or realize nothing could save him if Louis chose to attack. Like the aggressive black mamba, the fastest of all land snakes, Louis could spring up to strike. His bite would be quick, deadly, and excruciating.

  He stared at the man, debating his value. At the moment, he could think of only one reason not to kill him. Wilson’s portly form highlighted Louis’s suaveness and superiority when they appeared in the same vicinity. Still, the man’s failures made Louis want to snap his neck.

  Louis rounded the desk. “Are you aware the black mamba isn’t black at all?”

  Wilson’s shaggy brows pulled together. “A black mamba? Never heard of it.”

  “It’s an African snake, a deadly creature.” Louis propped himself against his desk. “My grandfather was something of a scholar. He studied animals, reptiles, amphibians, and the like. He recorded volumes upon volumes of facts in his logbooks. The bulk of his study was devoted to predators in the animal kingdom. Fascinating reading.”

  Louis had devoured each volume as a boy, engrossed in his grandfather’s crude drawings and his own vivid imagination.

  Wilson’s blank expression riled Louis’s temper even more.

  “No one survives an encounter with a black mamba, Wilson. He is feared, revered.” Louis’s voice rose in volume with each sentence. “No one dares to come into his den to vex him.”

  “Sounds like you got yourself a snake problem, Mr. Reynaud. You want me to take care of it? ’Cause I can take care of it like that.” Wilson snapped his stubby fingers. “Nothin’ to it.”

  A low growl rumbled in Louis’s chest and he jerked the man from his seat by his neck. His fingers tightened, digging into Wilson’s sweaty flesh, closing off his life supply. A raspy breath hissed through the man’s lips. His dirty fingernails clawed at Louis’s hands as his plump face turned purple.

  Louis’s gaze narrowed in on a dark droplet sliding over Wilson’s jawline, forging a slow path toward Louis’s hand. He leaned closer. “What is that…?”

  His eyes flew open and he shoved the man. Wilson smashed into the arm of the chair and crumpled to the expensive Oriental carpet.

  Louis turned away and supported his weight against the desk. “You’re bleeding,” he accused. His head floated somewhere near the ceiling. He gulped in a deep breath to keep from going down. It wouldn’t do to collapse in front of his men.

  “Cut myself shaving.” Wilson’s raspy voice grated on the ears.

  “Revolting swine.” Louis’s fingers tunneled through his hair. He needed to take possession of those letters. The damning words in the wrong hands would mean his death.

  A fresh wave of rage flooded him and he turned back to Wilson. Drawing his boot back, Louis slammed it into the man’s thigh, earning an unsatisfying howl that didn’t get Louis any closer to what he desired. He wanted those letters and the sly bitch who had been evading him for days.

  He wanted control of his life back.

  He shot a murderous look at his other hired man cowering near the doorway. “What of the plantation? Did you find Miss Lavigne?”

  Durand shrank against the wall. “No one has seen her or the boy for days.”

  “And what word of her cousin? Did you find Miss Vistoire for questioning?”

  “She appears to be missing too, Mr. Reynaud.”

  Louis closed his eyes. Red flashed behind his eyelids as his blood chased through his veins. “Has no one come forward to claim the damned reward?”

  Wilson hauled himself from the floor with a grunt. “That’s what we come to say.” His voice grated on Louis’s nerves, but he resisted the urge to strike him again. Instead, he spun on his heel and stalked to the sideboard to slosh whisky into a cut crystal tumbler.

  He downed the drink in one swig then refilled his glass. He shouldn’t turn to spirits, not when he needed to keep his wits about him, but the soothing burn in his chest softened the sharp edge of his fury.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Wilson backed toward the door. “Someone came forward. Says he knows Miss Lavigne’s whereabouts. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

  “Bring him in.” Imbecile.

  Durand pulled the iron ring handle and the heavy door swung inward. He motioned to someone outside Louis’s office. “Mr. Reynaud will see you now.”

  A vile excuse of a man in threadbare attire sauntered through the doorway holding his battered hat. Louis’s butler had been smart not to take the hat from him, or he would be delousing the entire house. Perhaps Louis would demand it of his servants anyway. He didn’t like the looks of the mongrel.

  Dusky bruises marred the man’s face, adding to his ugliness, and a wild eye swung off in any direction it saw fit.

  “Mr. Reynaud.” He moved toward the chair Wilson had vacated.

  “Halt.” Louis held up his hand. “Stay where you are.”

  The man came up short.

  Louis leaned an elbow on the sideboard. “Say your piece and leave.”

  He shifted his hat from hand to hand. “There was mention of a reward.”

  Robert Lavigne had almost drained his coffers before Louis had discovered the identity of his blackmailer. The possibility of losing one more coin because of the damned Lavigne family inflamed his temper.

  “Tell me the nature of your information, and then I will determine if it deserves a reward.”

  “Yer lady, Miss Lavigne, saw her at The Abyss a few nights ago. She took
up with an Englishman captain.”

  What did the jackass mean by “took up with”?

  “Heard it said,” the man droned on, “her, a boy, and another wench left the next day on his ship headed to London.”

  Louis pictured Lisette rutting with some bloody scoundrel, and the roaring in his ears returned. He gripped the sideboard until the edge cut into his palms.

  “Heard her sayin’ she had to deliver somethin’ important to her cousin.”

  “Tell me the name of the ship,” Louis demanded.

  “I’m thinkin’ that’s worthy of the reward.”

  Louis’s fingers curled into fists. “Pay him.”

  Wilson scurried behind Louis’s massive desk and extracted a purse from a drawer before tossing it to the man.

  The nasty mongrel’s errant eye landed on Louis while his other examined the contents of the purse. Apparently satisfied, he offered a crack-toothed grin and pulled the strings to close the pouch.

  “Ship’s called the Cecily, and the cap’an’s name’s Hillary.”

  Lisette was going to pay once Louis got his hands on her. He had thought to treat her with some semblance of compassion, for he had believed her innocent of the scheme to blackmail him, and he had fancied her. But once she carried his incriminating letters to her cousin, the demands for money would begin to trickle in again. Worse, Xavier Vistoire might turn the letters over to the government, and Louis’s risks would have been for naught.

  Damn Lisette. His fiancée was proving to be just like her father, conniving and greedy. And soon she would be just as dead.

  “Send word to Pascal to ready the Mihos. We sail on the morrow.” But first, he had a small matter to attend to at home.

  Nine

  Daniel pretended to peruse the logbook on his desk, but it was bloody hard to focus on anything aside from the warmth of Lisette’s body beside him as she lounged against his desk. He had summoned her to his quarters under the guise of reviewing their dinner arrangements that evening, but in truth, he wished for time alone with her. That she chose to remain in his office after the conversation pleased him.

  Her nails clicked against the desk, keeping time with a tune she hummed beneath her breath. Another manifestation of her nerves. So far, he had counted two such quirks inherent to Lisette: twisting her fingers together until it seemed she might wrench them free of her hands and humming to fill silence.

  She had a beautiful voice.

  The incessant tapping against his desk, however, was annoying. He covered her hand to stop its movement. Her humming stopped, too.

  He entwined his fingers with hers to show he wasn’t upset by the interruption and smiled when she didn’t flinch or try to pull away. Her shyness was fading by small degrees with each encounter, and he had been manufacturing many over the last week. It was the slowest seduction in the history of man, but as he’d rarely troubled himself to win the favor of a lady who wasn’t eager for a tumble, he considered it his due.

  “What was that melody, dearest?”

  She blinked. “What melody?”

  “The one you were humming.”

  “I don’t know your meaning. I’ve remained perfectly quiet this entire time. And you are not to call me dearest.”

  “Hmm.” He rose from his seat and leaned toward her until they were nose to nose. Still, she didn’t pull away. He smiled. “I’m not to call you Lisette either, am I, my sweet?”

  “You are not, Daniel.” She spoke his name with an airiness to her voice, drawing it out and sending his pulse into a sprint. This was the first time she dared to call him by his given name.

  He smoothed a finger over her cheek and across her bottom lip. Every inch of her was exquisite to the touch, like the finest Oriental silk. “And it’s very improper for me to touch you, do I have that correct?”

  “Funny how you know the rules and yet never follow them.”

  “They aren’t my rules.”

  A knock sounded at the outer door.

  “They’re here.”

  He sighed when she moved away. At the threshold of his office, she stopped to glance over her shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel. You have no idea how grateful we are for your assistance with Rafe.”

  He shrugged and reached for his jacket draped across the chair. “You may thank me later if our endeavor is successful.”

  Lisette hurried forward to play hostess to the dinner guests, which suited him since it saved him the trouble of exchanging obligatory pleasantries. Once everyone was seated, he assisted Lisette to her chair before taking the seat across from her. It was time for the performance to begin.

  Daniel scooped two dollops of mashed potatoes onto his plate then rubbed his hands together.

  “Sailor’s Delight,” he pronounced, watching Rafe’s face to see if his words elicited any response.

  The lad looked up from his plate of bread with what Daniel hoped was a spark of interest. Rafe’s unwavering eyes fixed on his face, which was an accomplishment in itself. If Daniel could entice Rafe to add another food to his repertoire, he would consider tonight’s venture successful.

  Lisette reached for the serving spoon, and Daniel swatted her hand.

  “Ouch!”

  “None for you, madame.”

  She huffed. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “This is Sailor’s Delight.” Daniel raised a brow. “Are you a sailor?”

  “I’m most certainly not. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a lady.”

  Daniel bit back a sarcastic reply. Lisette was all curves, softness, and graceful lines. Even a blind man wouldn’t mistake her for a man. “Well, the dish is not called Lady’s Delight, now, is it?”

  Rafe glanced between them, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

  “How thoughtless of your cook,” she said. “Why, hardly any of us at the table are seamen.”

  Jake reached for the bowl and plopped a serving on his plate. “I’ve been a seaman, so I shall have a serving.”

  Daniel’s first and second mates helped themselves as well, digging into the fare with exaggerated gusto.

  Rafe tilted his head to the side. “What is Sailor’s Delight?”

  Mademoiselle Vistoire patted his shoulder. “You heard the captain, dear child. It’s food for seafaring men.”

  The stubborn set to the lad’s jaw reminded Daniel of Lisette. “I’m a sailor too.”

  Daniel nodded toward Mademoiselle Vistoire. “He has worked by my side every day this week. He even took his turn at watch this afternoon. He too shall enjoy Sailor’s Delight.” Scooping a serving of potatoes, he placed the mound on Rafe’s plate, the silver spoon clicking against the china. The lad eyed the white lump and poked it with this fork several times before he hazarded a taste.

  Rafe chewed slowly, contemplated the food, and then took another bite.

  Daniel met Lisette’s gaze and winked. “Perhaps you should swab the decks tomorrow, madame. Then you too may enjoy Sailor’s Delight for dinner.”

  A brush of her foot against his calf sent his heart into a gallop. The brief touch seemed intentional, affectionate, and it stirred something inside him unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

  “Thank you, Captain Hillary. I shall take your suggestion under advisement.”

  If only she were as amenable to his more inspired suggestions.

  ***

  With Rafe below deck and under the care of Monsieur Patch, Lisette settled in for the evening reading. Her spirits were still soaring after their victory this evening. She glanced at Daniel and affection swelled within her heart. He had proven himself to be the champion she had needed. Rafe was not only safe under Daniel’s watch, he had blossomed.

  The remaining travelers shared in her excitement, and laughter resonated in the cabin. She hadn’t experienced such camaraderie since living on the plantation more than a year ago.

  As a child, Lisette had spent many days loitering in the kitchen at the family’s sugar farm. It had been one of her favorite places wi
th the bustle and jesting among the staff.

  In contrast, the family’s quarters had remained deathly quiet. Her mother had been sickly for a long time and required rest and solitude. She often stayed abed with the curtains drawn and took her meals alone in her room. Once an entire month passed without even a glimpse of Mama, and when Lisette finally saw her, her mother’s emaciated appearance had left her speechless.

  Yet, everything had changed when her mother had carried Rafe. Mama had begun to laugh again, and Lisette had her mother back for those glorious months. But whereas Rafe had given Mama new life, the good Lord had snatched it away with his birth. Lisette had buried her mother nine years ago, her father a year ago. She wouldn’t lose her brother, too.

  Amelia cleared her throat and began reading from Act IV of Romeo and Juliet.

  Lisette was familiar with the tale, but she couldn’t help wishing for a happier outcome each time. Why did men persist in the belief true love must end in tragedy? Tristan and Isolde. Orpheus and Eurydice. Cleopatra and Marc Antony. Surely love affairs had happy endings, too.

  At the conclusion of the reading, unshed tears gathered on Amelia’s lashes. “I apologize. It seems I’m prone to embarrassing emotional displays as of late.”

  “You’ve always been a tenderhearted soul,” Monsieur Hillary said and helped her stand.

  She entwined her arm with his and they moved toward the cabin door. “To say I’m a sentimental fool is more accurate.”

  Lisette, Serafine, and Monsieur Timmons followed suit while Daniel seemed oblivious to their departure. Although everyone’s mood was more subdued than earlier in the evening, Daniel’s demeanor raised the alarm inside her. Something dark churned within the depths of his eyes when he met her curious stare. He looked away, denying her access.

  “Good night, Daniel,” his brother called.

  He responded with a curt nod.

  She was the last to leave the cabin and paused at the threshold. She turned to bid him good night as well and found him hunched over, resting his head in his hands. He appeared so weary, as if he’d fought whatever battle was waging inside him a thousand times and was on the verge of surrender.