Diane T. Ashley

by Jasmine

  He must have understood the message because Vance withdrew his arm. “Our destination is less than five miles away.”

  Relief coursed through her. He was too much a gentleman to make her uncomfortable. “How did you come to be in New Orleans?”

  “I suppose you could say it is Tabitha Barlow’s fault.” He rubbed his hand on his pants leg. “She and I were performing in Dickens’s play No Thoroughfare. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Yes. I’ve read it, anyway. But I’ve never seen it performed.”

  “We were receiving wonderful reviews, but then the theater owner closed us down three months ago.” Vance sent a winning smile in her direction. “So we came here. Tabitha has performed in the city in the past, so she had plenty of contacts.”

  A pang of jealousy drowned Jasmine’s butterflies. Did Vance love Miss Barlow? He had been waiting in the hallway outside her door when she first met him. “Are you m—married to her?”

  His laughter rang out, turning heads of some of the other passengers. “No, dearest Jasmine. We are friends, of course, and business associates. Once you begin working in the arts, you will understand how it works.”

  She opened her fan with a snap and used it to cool her cheeks. Jasmine felt like an adolescent schoolgirl. Vance must think her ignorant. She was afraid to say anything else and reveal to him her lack of knowledge.

  Vance leaned forward to get her attention. “I believe I should be offended. Do you really think me such a scoundrel that I would pursue a lady while my wife pined for me at home?”

  Jasmine’s hand redoubled the speed of her fan. “No, that’s not … I mean I just thought … I—”

  “Don’t.” His dark eyes sparkled in the fading light. “I was only teasing you a little. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Jasmine.”

  She let her fan drift to her lap as she stared into Vance’s eyes, noticing for the first time the dark band of black that outlined his pupils. His smile disappeared. Why would his serious face cause her heart to stutter? Jasmine swallowed hard as she lost all sense of her surroundings. Vance Hargrove was the most exciting, most mature man she’d ever known. He made her feel both desirable and gauche at the same time.

  The train lurched to a stop, breaking the spell between them. Vance stood and offered her his hand. “For the rest of the evening I’ll do better, Jasmine. I promise not to tease or scare you anymore.”

  She managed a smile and put her hand in his. But she was beginning to wonder if she was completely out of her depth. They disembarked from the train, and she looked around. The town of Milneburg was not what she’d expected. In a way it reminded her of river towns. The waterfront was crowded with boats and rickety buildings. Even the water seemed filled with houses, suspended on long lines of piers. One two-story house had a wide porch on all four sides and a smaller guesthouse behind it.

  Even though the sun had set, dozens of people walked on the lantern-strewn paths, some showing the effects of alcohol. Somewhere in the distance, a horn played a lively tune she didn’t recognize.

  The spirit of adventure which had begun their evening together returned to Jasmine. She intercepted an appreciative glance from one of the women walking past, and a secret sparkle coursed through her. She knew jealousy when she saw it.

  “Do you like seafood?”

  Jasmine wrinkled her nose. “We eat a lot of fish on my sister’s boat.”

  “Ah.” He changed direction, guiding her away from a huge white gazebo with exotic-looking parapets on top. “Then I believe we’ll need to avoid the music pavilion.”

  As they left the crowds behind, the sound of frogs and crickets filled the air. Jasmine’s footsteps slowed. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t you trust me, little Jasmine?” He stopped and looked down at her. “I would tell you that I’m taking you to a pirate’s hidden treasure, but I promised not to tease you. I know of an intimate little café I think you’ll like.”

  Jasmine studied his face and tried to decide if he was being serious. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “ ‘Lay on, Macduff.’ ”

  His chuckle was so attractive. Unpretentious and open. Exactly like Vance’s personality. “ ‘Hold! Enough!’ ”

  She was pleased that he recognized her quote from Macbeth. It was something no one in her family would have done. No matter how many times she read to them from the classic plays of Shakespeare, they didn’t understand. She was finally in the company of someone who did. And it felt like coming home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Andrew Jackson held his seat on the rearing bronze horse, one of his hands loose on the reins, while the military hero held a “fore and aft” hat aloft in the other. When he had looked at the statue earlier in the day, David had thought Andrew looked calm and in control. The way David wanted to feel. But he knew many things could go wrong with his plan to discover who controlled the ring of successful bank robbers. Like the Union general who had added an inscription during the occupation of New Orleans, he believed he had a responsibility to uphold the law of the land. The words General Benjamin Butler had ordered were simple but profound—THE UNION MUST AND SHALL BE PRESERVED.

  A hissing sound made him look at the constable crouched a few feet away behind a palm tree. “What time is it?”

  “Five minutes later than the last time you asked.” David kept his voice low. If the informant heard them, he would realize what was happening and disappear. They would not get the information they needed or an additional arrest. “He’ll be here soon.”

  Gas lamps cast a sickly glow on Petrie’s face as he leaned against the cast-iron fence surrounding the statue. David hoped he would remember their instructions. He would tell the man he was meeting that the police were about to close in on the ringleader because their group harbored a traitor. He would claim to know the informant’s name but refuse to give it to his cohort in case the man was working with the snitch. Once he had the leader’s name, Petrie would raise his right hand and place it on his head as a signal for David and the constable to rush in and make their arrest.

  David shifted his position and let his mind wander to earlier, more pleasant visits to Jackson Square. He and Jasmine had explored the area many times during visits to the city. They had chased each other around the palm trees and bushes on the outside borders of the square. Tonight that same greenery was providing cover for himself and Constable Longineaux as they waited for Charlie Petrie’s contact to arrive.

  A shadow separated from the alley between St. Louis Cathedral and the Cabildo. David’s heart rate increased. This might be it. He put a finger over his lips to warn Longineaux and bent his head in the direction of the cathedral.

  Petrie must have heard footsteps even though the statue blocked his view of the man approaching. He glanced over his shoulder once toward the position where David and the constable waited, pushed away from the fence, and stood with his feet planted wide.

  Filtering out the sounds of gaiety coming from the Café du Monde on the river side of the square, David stretched his hearing as far as he could manage. They were too far away. He couldn’t hear a single word.

  He raised his hand to tell Longineaux to stay here and slowly rose to avoid making any noise. The lawn between him and the two men didn’t offer any hiding places, but it was dark enough that he should be able to avoid detection. David took a step onto the grass, moving with deliberate, quiet precision. He listened intently, but the men were whispering. Was Petrie betraying them?

  It was a risk he’d convinced Lieutenant Moreau to take. Petrie could run, but he had to know he would be caught. Too many people knew what he looked like. During the trial, someone had taken a photograph of him that had appeared in the Picayune. He wouldn’t get far.

  He hoped Petrie would remember what he’d been told. The only way for him to avoid the noose was to give them the leader of his gang—not just the other members.

  A carriage drove down the street, and David dropped to the ground. He didn’t want t
he coachman’s lamp to expose his position. Dirt clogged his mouth and nose, making him want to sneeze. He rolled over on his back and clamped a hand across his face until the need passed.

  “You’d better be telling me the truth—” The phrase caught his attention. It sounded like their plan was working.

  Petrie was talking now, his mumbled words defying translation. David turned over again and crawled forward. Just a few more feet and he should be able to hear everything.

  A sound made him look back over his shoulder. What he saw brought his heart up into his throat. Longineaux had left his hiding place. Wanting to blister the man’s ears for not following orders, David waited as he crept forward in a crouch.

  Disaster struck with the suddenness of a lightning bolt. Longineaux tripped over some unseen obstacle and fell forward. With a loud thud.

  “Who is that?” The shadowy figure shouted the question as he lunged toward Petrie. “What have you done? You’re the filthy traitor.”

  Petrie staggered backward two steps as David got to his feet and made a dash toward them, his focus on the unknown crook. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petrie grab his stomach and fall to his knees, but he kept his attention on the other man.

  David pulled his Smith and Wesson revolver and aimed it. The chance of hitting the man at this distance was slim, but he had to try. He planted his feet and held the weapon in both hands, drawing the hammer back and squeezing the trigger in one fluid motion. The loud report was followed by a grunt. His target staggered but kept moving forward. Before David could fire again, he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows of Orleans Alley.

  “Foster, come back.” The constable’s voice sounded frightened. “You can’t go into that alley alone.”

  He took a couple of strides forward before stopping. Longineaux was right. He trotted back to the center of the square, his jaw clenched. Petrie was on his back, groaning. A dark shadow spread over his shirt and onto the ground. Blood. A lot of blood.

  David breathed a prayer for the man’s soul as he dropped to his knees and pulled Petrie’s hand away from his stomach. It was bad. He stripped off his coat and used it to try and staunch the blood.

  “I’m sorry.” Longineaux stood over them, wringing his hands. “It’s my fault.”

  “We’ll deal with that later.” David bit out the words as he applied pressure on the wound. “For now you need to get help before he dies.”

  He didn’t look up as Longineaux ran toward Levee Street. Even as he prayed for God to spare Petrie’s life, he had the feeling the stab wounds were fatal. Even if a surgeon of Kenneth Cartier’s caliber were kneeling next to him, it might be too late to save Charlie Petrie’s life.

  “How bad?” Petrie choked out the question between painful gasps.

  David ignored his intuition and summoned a smile. “You’re doing fine. Save your strength for when the doctor arrives.”

  Seconds ticked by and still no one came. Blood oozed around the fabric of his coat, filling the air with the scent of copper. David pushed harder, trying to stem the flow.

  Petrie groaned and put a hand over David’s. “O–O … fee—” A dry cough cut off his groan.

  David’s sympathy rose. He wished he could ease the dying man’s pain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring a canteen.”

  Petrie shook his head, coughed again. His eyes opened wide, and he reached up with one blood-smeared hand, his fingers catching David’s shirt collar and dragging him closer. “Ophelia.”

  “What?” David could make no sense of the word. Why would Petrie mention a woman’s name? He leaned an inch closer, hoping for more details … a last name … anything.

  The hand on his collar went slack, and David sat back. Looking down he realized his question was futile. Petrie’s eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. He was dead.

  Jasmine wondered if Vance would try to kiss her before returning her to the Cartiers’ home. And would she allow him such liberties or risk being considered too provincial? But she couldn’t allow him to kiss her. Yet the thought of his lips pressing against hers made her stomach attempt a somersault.

  Pirate’s Cove, the cozy restaurant he had chosen for their dinner, was conducive to a romantic rendezvous. Most of the couples sat next to each other instead of on opposite sides of their tables. This arrangement led them to all sorts of risqué behavior, from eating off of their partner’s forks to nuzzling each other’s necks. She was glad Vance sat across from her, even though his dark gaze had more than once made her breath catch.

  Vance picked up the wine bottle he’d ordered and poured an additional amount in his goblet. “Would you care for some more?”

  Jasmine shook her head. She had tried a sip but could not imagine why someone would choose to drink such a nasty-tasting beverage. “No thank you.”

  He leaned back and raised a hand to summon a waiter. “We are finished with our meal.”

  “I hate for the evening to end.” Jasmine watched as their plates were whisked away.

  A burning gaze from Vance threatened to consume her. “Perhaps we can return on Friday. I could rent a camp and let you experience the coolness of a bath in the lake.”

  Jasmine tried to hide her shock. Sharing a meal with him was risky enough for her reputation. What he was proposing now sounded scandalous. If any members of her family heard him, they would definitely forbid any further contact.

  “I—my sister is planning to return to Natchez soon.”

  His facial muscles drooped. “So soon? I thought you would remain in New Orleans for a while.”

  The disappointment in his voice resettled her composure. She must have misunderstood Vance’s intent. He cared for her. Was he falling in love with her? The idea took root in her mind. They would share the limelight and fame, acting together as they traveled all over the United States and perhaps to Europe. They could even form their own troupe.

  “I wish I could stay here, but I doubt Lily will allow it.” She grimaced at the memory of the angry words she had tossed at her sister earlier in the day. Jasmine raised her chin. It was really Lily’s fault. Lily was not her mother. She needed to realize that Jasmine was a grown woman and could make her own decisions.

  Vance dropped several bills on the table and stood. “When will you leave?”

  “Far too soon.” She pushed back her chair and headed for the entrance.

  Instead of offering his arm, Vance placed his hand at the small of her back. “Even if you could remain several weeks, it wouldn’t be enough time to suit me.”

  Gooseflesh erupted on Jasmine’s arms. She was simultaneously freezing and burning. If this was what love felt like, she understood why her sisters had married. She wanted to spend all of her time with Vance. The thought of being separated from him was like a dagger to the heart.

  They walked back to the train station and waited. “Thank you for bringing me here, Vance. It’s been a wonderful evening.”

  “It is my pleasure.” His gaze spoke volumes to her, promising constancy and passion, a love to last for all of eternity. “I’ve been the envy of every man within the resort.”

  Perhaps she would let him kiss her after all.

  They boarded the train, sitting even closer than they had on the trip to the lake. His knee pressed against hers. His arm, warm and muscular, slipped across the back of the seat. This time she didn’t lean forward.

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Jasmine, I have a confession to make.”

  Her breath caught. Was he about to declare his love?

  “I cannot bear the thought of separation.”

  Jasmine shivered when he pulled his arm from the back of the seat.

  But then he took possession of her hands, capturing them with his long fingers. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I, too, am leaving New Orleans, although not as quickly as you.”

  Her heart fell, and she began to breathe again.

  “Then why did you suggest we spend more time together?” Jasmine tried to pull her
hands free, but Vance tightened his grasp.

  “Please let me explain. I am not hiding anything from you, Jasmine. I didn’t tell you my plans earlier because I thought we would have more time together. I know how young and innocent you are, and I don’t want to frighten you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not a child.”

  He smiled at her words. “And I am most grateful for that fact. What I feel toward you would not be appropriate if you were.”

  Jasmine stopped trying to pull away. “Oh!” A fleeting memory of Sarah’s round mouth occurred to her. She hoped she looked as graceful.

  “Tabitha … Miss Barlow … and I have received contracts to join a troupe on one of the showboats. I have not decided for sure, but I think it would be fun to cruise up and down the river for a while. The crowds every night would be different, and we would get to see so much more of the countryside than the view from the windows of a stagecoach.”

  “So you are going to join this troupe?” Her mind whirled. A showboat. What she would give to accompany him. It would be such a wonderful experience.

  He nodded. “I think there might be room for one more.”

  The meaning of his words burst upon her like an explosion of fireworks on the Fourth of July. He wanted her to come with him. He didn’t want to be separated from her any more than she did from him. No meddling family to chastise her. No rules to follow. Just her and Vance and crowds of adoring theatergoers. “Do you really mean it?”

  He squeezed her hands and lifted them to shower kisses on her knuckles. “Of course I mean it. You would be perfect. Your fresh face and knowledge of the classics would be perfect.”

  Jasmine’s toes curled in her shoes. She would do it. She would talk to Lily and Blake, tell them about this wonderful opportunity and—A door slammed in her mind. When had Lily ever understood her dreams? “I can’t.”

  Vance raised his head and stared into her eyes. “What do you mean?” He dropped her hands and shifted away from her. “Have I misread your feelings? Are you toying with me?”