Winds of the Storm

by Beverly Jenkins

  “I’m looking forward to it. Is there something you wish for Aristide to prepare for this special occasion?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  With that, Zahra left him and moved gracefully to the door. Even though she was tempted to look back at him, she didn’t.

  That afternoon, Alfred came up to the office. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Fine. No problems. Did you know that Lieutenant Governor Dunn may have been poisoned?”

  “I read the rumors in the newspapers, but I assumed they were just that—rumors.”

  Zahra then told him what Le Veq had told her.

  Alfred said, “Very interesting.”

  “I thought so as well. And I think we should send a note to all the Loyal Leagues letting them know. This is the kind of information I’m sure Araminta would want us to share.”

  “I agree.”

  “Now as to Le Veq and myself. I appreciate your concern, Alfred, but I will be fine. I need you to stop growling at him whenever he comes around.”

  “Man like him is accustomed to women eating out of his hand.”

  “I’m aware of that, but I can take care of myself.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  She decided to change the subject. “Tell me about you. You were a boxer during slavery?”

  “Yes, I fought other slaves, and I was owned by the family that once owned Tom Molineaux back in the 1780’s.”

  “And he was?”

  “Probably the most famous slave to be a boxer.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He earned his freedom boxing.”

  “So were you freed, too?”

  “Nope. Ran soon as the troops came through. Since I’d traveled all over Alabama boxing and knew the area, the army made me a scout.”

  “Are you married?”

  “Not anymore. Had a wife during slavery, but when I went back for her after the war, found out she’d taken off with a man headed to Ohio.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. She was a fine cook.”

  Zahra smiled. She now knew a bit more about her giant right-hand man. “Well, no boxing Le Veq, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but if you need me, I can make his nose look just like mine.”

  Zahra chuckled, “Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.”

  “I’ll go over to Wilma’s and have her send the messages on to the Leagues and to Mrs. Tubman.”

  “Thank you, Alfred.”

  Zahra watched him go, glad he was on her side. She definitely wouldn’t want him rearranging her nose.

  When Alfred returned, he brought Zahra a message sent to Wilma by Araminta. Zahra read the short note, then asked, “Who is Henry Adams?”

  “No idea.”

  “She wants me to meet him tomorrow evening.” Zahra handed him the note. “Do you know where that address is?”

  “No, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”

  “Tell your cousin I’ll be needing the coach tomorrow then.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m having dinner with Le Veq tonight at his hotel. If there’s anything to report, I’ll let you know when I return.”

  He didn’t look happy but he nodded, then departed.

  Zahra spent a few more moments wondering about the man named Henry Adams. How was he connected to Araminta, and what role might he play in what she and Alfred had been sent here to do? In the end she decided to let the matter rest. She’d know more when they met tomorrow. In the meantime she decided to go downstairs and join the girls for their afternoon game of dominos. The time had come to enlist their aid in her search for information.

  While watching Naomi and Salome, who always played as a team, go up against Lovey, Zahra said casually, “Ladies, I need a favor.”

  “What is it?” Stella asked while looking over Lovey’s shoulder.

  “I need to know who is who in this town, and I want you all to help. If you can, find out what our customers do for a living and what their politics are. With the election coming up, I don’t want us to be caught in a cross fire.”

  “That doesn’t sound too hard,” Chloe responded.

  “But be sly about it,” Zahra warned. “We don’t want them to know we’re nosing around.”

  “Of course,” said Adair. “As much as men like to brag in bed, it should be easy.”

  “Good, because I need you to tell me everything. Even if it doesn’t sound important, tell me anyway.”

  “Will do,” Matilda replied.

  Pleased that enlisting their assistance hadn’t been difficult, Zahra spent a while more watching the game, then told them, “Le Veq and I are having dinner tonight.”

  “You could do worse,” Stella said with a knowing grin.

  “Yes, like that Etienne Barber,” Lovey declared. “He wanted me to do the Dance of the Seven Veils last night before I took him to bed. I made him pay me an extra twenty greenbacks.”

  “Good for you,” Zahra replied.

  “Afterwards, he tried to ask me a lot of questions about you. I told him he wasn’t paying me to be your biographer, too.”

  Zahra smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Man’s a pest,” Lovey pointed out, “but a wealthy one, it seems. Maybe I’ll send him to the twins next time.”

  “Please do,” they offered while studying their bones. “Once we’re done with him he won’t have the energy to ask anyone anything.”

  “Amen to that,” Matilda testified, and everyone laughed.

  “Do you plan to make New Orleans your home?” Archer asked.

  Zahra looked up from the bowl of flavorful crab bisque she’d been enjoying and met his eyes through the wavering flames of the candles centering the beautifully set table. “I haven’t lived here long enough to decide either way. My original plan was a two-year stay.”

  “Why only two years?”

  “My feet begin to itch if I stay in one place too long.”

  He showed the soft, engaging smile that undoubtedly had been snaring females since his nursery days. “Personally, I can’t imagine residing anywhere but New Orleans.”

  “Really?”

  “I was born here and hopefully will be put to rest here.”

  Zahra was reminded of thinking the same thing about the Carolinas. “It is a very vibrant city. One of the most lively I’ve ever visited. I’ve never heard so much interesting music, either.”

  “We are most proud of that.”

  Zahra was wearing a low-cut gown of black satin and her matching rhinestone mask. She had hoped he would be too busy staring at the tops of her bosom to notice that she wasn’t offering much information about herself but was having trouble concentrating; not that he’d said or done anything overtly forward, but she kept remembering his kisses. “Do you have family here?” she asked. Although she already knew the answer, she wanted to keep him talking about himself.

  He told her about his brothers, mother, nieces, and nephew, Cullen. He then asked, “And you? Any siblings?”

  “No,” she replied truthfully. “I am my parents’ only child.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ve been out of touch for some time.”

  “I see.” By nature Archer was a curious man, but he decided not to dwell any further on her parents. Having no idea what had caused a family schism, the last thing he wanted was to offend her again or make her angry.

  While they savored their bisque, Zahra discreetly watched him from behind her mask. As Lovey had waxed so eloquently this morning, Lord, the man was easy on the eyes. From the well-cut lines of his black coat to the shine on his expensive boots, Archer Le Veq was the epitome of the gens de coleur; wealth, breeding, privilege. Zahra knew that were it not for her fancy clothes and mysterious persona, a man of his class wouldn’t spend two minutes with a woman of her class, let alone invite her to his private suite for an intimate candlelit dinner. H
aving posed as a house slave in Southern mansions on numerous occasions during the war, she knew all about fine furnishings, crystal, and the like, but she’d never imagined she’d see such equally fine things in the house of a man of color. There were Brussels carpets on the floors, elegant lamps, and beautiful brocaded upholstery. Framed artwork decorated the walls. An upright piano stood across the room, and the table they were eating on was topped with marble. She tried not to gawk but felt like the proverbial rube at the fair. “How long have you owned the hotel?”

  “Almost eight years.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “I do. I get to meet a variety of people from a variety of places, and I like that.”

  Mindful of her mission, she smoothly led him in another direction by saying casually, “Some think the elections this year will be as violent as ’68. What do you think?”

  “I hope not. Many freedmen were killed in the days leading up to the one in ’68.”

  “And many more were so terrorized they didn’t vote at all,” she added.

  “Every city in the South is experiencing it, but how about we discuss something lighter.”

  “Such as?”

  “Who you really are. Why you wear the mask and when you’ll let me make love to you.”

  That last part jolted her. “You are direct if nothing else, Archer.” Steepling her fingers, she assessed him through the flickering flames of the candles on the table. “You want to make love to me.”

  “Very much so.”

  “Of course I’m flattered. But if I say yes, all of the mystery you find so intriguing will vanish and in the end you will return to your young mistress and I will be forced to take my morning drives with Etienne Barber.”

  Archer laughed. “Your wit is equal to your beauty.”

  “Thank you.”

  The banter pleased Archer because she seemed to be softening a bit. When Arisitide O’Neil entered the room pushing a wheeled cart topped with silver-covered dishes, Archer was not pleased with the interruption.

  “Did you enjoy the bisque, madame?” Aristide asked Zahra.

  “I did indeed.”

  “Good. The rest of the feast is just as wonderful. And why are you scowling?” he asked his employer while removing the soup bowls from the table and replacing them with the dishes for the main course. “Your face reminds me of your brother, Raimond, when I created the lovely Sable’s dessert.”

  “Thank you, Aristide,” Archer said coolly.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone equally cool. He then bowed towards Zahra. “If you wish anything else, madame, let me know.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Upon shooting Archer a superior look, he left them alone.

  “How long has he worked for you?”

  “Too long.” Archer knew that what he was feeling was jealousy. He’d never been prone to it in his life, yet for some reason Aristide’s entrance and conversation with Domino had rubbed him wrong. What in the world am I doing feeling possessive over a known whore? She was beautiful and intriguing, but she was a soiled dove. No man in his right mind would attempt to capture the heart of such a woman. But watching her fill her plate with Aristide’s delights, Archer did want to make love to her, if only to melt the barrier she seemed to visibly wear between herself and mere male mortals like himself.

  Zahra could feel his intent, could see it in his eyes. He wanted her and was not ashamed. She wondered how many women succumbed after the first charming volley of shots and guessed most did. Zahra was not most women, however.

  Archer had come to that same conclusion. He was not accustomed to a woman who did not jump into his arms when invited. His name, good looks, and wealth had always been more than enough, but not with Domino. In a way, the challenge she presented was exhilarating. He’d been with Lynette for so long he’d all but forgotten the thrill of the chase. “Do you think men are easily led?”

  She looked up from her plate. “Under what circumstances?”

  “The circumstances of a beautiful woman.”

  Zahra met his eyes and searched them for his intent. “I don’t believe she has to be beautiful, but she does have to be interesting. If she is, she can lead a man wherever she wishes him to go. Was your Lynette interesting?”

  “Only if new gowns or hats or jewelry are involved.”

  Her smile formed beneath her mask. “Why did you ask the question?”

  “Just curious about how you would respond.”

  “And how do you respond?”

  “That men are easily led. Take me, for instance. No offense intended, but a man like me shouldn’t be interested in a woman like you.”

  “Most men like you are always interested in women like myself, but what they fail to see is this is my job, it isn’t necessarily who I am. People tend to meld the two and fail to realize that distinction.”

  Archer was fascinated.

  Zahra continued, “Just because women whore doesn’t mean they don’t have hopes or dreams or desires of their own. There is little glamour in taking strange men into your bed. Most women in this life barely make enough to live on.”

  “And that’s why I wish to know who you are. I’ve already made that distinction. Who is the real Domino? What are her dreams, her personal desires?”

  “The answers to those questions will be for the man who earns the right to hear them. Until then…”

  Archer observed her over his stemmed crystal and raised it to her in admiration.

  Zahra met the silent tribute with an almost imperceptible inclination of her head, after which they returned to their meals.

  But Zahra found herself watching him; his hands, his mouth, the sure way his fingers curled around the stem of his wine goblet. How many women had those hands caressed? He was as golden as an idol, and over his lifetime had probably had more worshippers than Baal. She had no intentions of becoming a devotee, but she could not deny his overwhelming male aura. It began with the way he looked at you; so sensual, so male, and ended…Unbidden, the statue of Adam and Eve suddenly filled her mind; that’s how it would end, she reminded herself, then steered her thoughts to safer waters.

  Archer asked her, “What pleases you in a man?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Intelligence, honesty.”

  “Not fortune? Not looks?”

  “Intelligence and honesty.” She turned the tables then by asking him, “What pleases you in a woman?”

  “Challenge.”

  His tone and powerful gaze through the flames opened her in a way she’d never experienced before donning the role of Domino. In the lengthening silence, a pulse beat at her throat and her breathing seemed to be both fast and slow.

  “I want to make love to you in a hundred ways, fill you, kiss you…”

  Her breath stopped and her nipples hardened.

  “Ride you and let you ride me,” he whispered boldly. “One night, Domino. This night.”

  Eyes closed, Zahra fought to bring her shaken body under control, but he was slowly rising to his feet, and her heart began to pound.

  Standing by her chair, he extended a hand, and there in the shadows, she looked up and saw unbridled desire in his eyes. Entranced, she took the hand and slowly stood to meet him.

  For a long moment, they stood a breath apart and Zahra could feel the air thickening and crackling like the prelude to a lightning storm. Then, ever so slowly, his fingers moved to her lips, mapping the outline, lingering over the shape, the curves, the way they felt as they parted with passion. Her eyes slid closed and the touch wandered lower, over her jaw, then down her trembling throat. He lightly grazed the tip of his finger horizontally across the base of her collarbone, then leaned in and gently placed his first kiss there.

  Zahra’s knees dissolved, and she sucked in a shaky breath. He pressed another kiss there, teasing the nock with just the tip of his tongue before moving his kisses up to her ear. “Now is the time to say no if you don’t wish for me to continue…I’ve never
forced a woman…”

  But all the while his hands were roaming over her soft curves, and it took all Zahra had to remain standing and not melt into a puddle on his beautiful blue rug. Her nipples hardened under his masterful teasing, and all she could do was implore herself to breathe.

  She knew she shouldn’t want this; it was not what she’d come here to do. But his hands were so sure, his fleeting kisses on her neck and the edge of her jaw were so filled with fire that she, who had never been pierced by passion before, gave in and let herself feel.

  When she trailed her fingers down the solid set of his jaw, and then sensually explored the shape of his mouth, Archer sensed her acquiescence, and his manhood flared. He took one of her fingers into his mouth and boldly sucked the tapered tip. Her eyes closed, and he placed his finger in her mouth, and she sucked him in heated response. His blood fired. Withdrawing his finger, he circled the dampness down her throat, over the silken flesh above her low-cut gown, then plied her berried breasts with touches that made her croon softly.

  He continued his fondling. He watched her masked face in the flickering candlelight fall back, and he enjoyed knowing that he was the man bringing her pleasure. The front of her dress was tied closed with a ribbon that opened easily. The halves melted away and the black French corset beneath filled his eyes. She was cinched so tightly the tops of her lush breasts were presented with a lusciousness he could not resist. Trailing kisses across the enticing mounds, he worked one breast free and sucked until she gasped and moaned. Wanting more, he worked his tongue around the straining bud, while his hand slid up her thighs, squeezing and savoring her tempting behind. The rustle of silk and their breathing were the only sounds in the low-lit room. Still pleasuring her breasts, he slid her gown this way and that over her limbs, her hips and then in between her thighs with a brazenness that made her part her legs so she could feel more.

  By now, Zahra was on fire everywhere, and he fed that heat with his mouth and his knowing hands. When he raised her gown, she didn’t protest but stood there in her black clockwork stockings and garters and let him tease her through the opening in her white silk drawers.

  The moment he touched her damp, swollen flesh, she climaxed with a raw scream. Twisting, she rode out la petite mort while he whispered in French the many ways he planned to pleasure her next.