by Meg Hennessy
How long would she be in exile? How long before Donato would stop looking for her? Is that why he was here?
Returning to pack another pair of stockings, she watched the crystal ornament rock back and forth atop her armoire when she closed the drawer. Jordan had hidden the crystal inside a crate of flour in hopes it would reach her, bringing a message of hope that her brother searched for her. She sat on the bed holding the crystal in her hand, trying to remember the events that had led to that rescue. For some reason the crystal spoke, not of her family and her past, but of Donato and his kindness for having given it to her. She set it back on her armoire, refusing to reminisce about a life that had never really existed. A life she should never have had, for she had made a promise to carry on charity work and leave passionate love affairs to women like her brother’s wife, Aurélie, who sparkled with life and draped her body in silks and satins.
Having locked her trunk as well, Colette returned to the parlor to wait, and still no Loul. She checked the clock. He should have been here by now, and if not soon, they’d have to wade through a night of Carnival merrymakers to leave the city. Giving up, she finally put Enio to bed and collapsed on the settee to wait for Loul to return.
The sounds of Carnival started early. Fireworks and jesters of all colors bounded about the street. Colette changed into a muslin negligee, over which she had wrapped a shawl. After sipping a warmed drink, she fell into a restless sleep, her mind rolling between ocean waves, sun rays, and rum that heated her insides and made her feel safe. It was Donato’s concoction that he’d heat by the fire, sometimes igniting the liquor. But it was good, and it had felt wonderful on nights like tonight when her body felt tight as if braided into pigtails.
She stood up and poked the fire, not wanting to think about the past. After a stir of burning logs, she heard a frantic knock on the door. Finally, Loul had arrived.
“Loul?” Colette rushed to the door and unlocked it. But before she could see who stood to the outside, it was pushed open with the power of many. Suddenly, she was surrounded by costumed men. Weird masks closed in around her.
“Who are you? Go away, go away!”
But no one listened. A musician who accompanied them serenaded with loud, strumming music on a guitar, as if to intentionally drown out her voice, her screams.
“What is this? Who are you? Get out of my house.”
One grabbed her, twisting her arms behind her back. Pain radiated through her shoulders.
“¡A por el niño!”
“For the child? No, no!” Colette screamed, as two of the men raced up the stairs toward her son’s nursery. She heard doors slamming and Enio cry out for her. She kicked at her captors and wrestled to break free, but the strength of their hold was akin to the chains she had worn as a slave. Her efforts were of no use; she fluttered within their arms like a dying swan with a broken wing. “Non, non, ne le prenez pas!”
Her head started to spin; memories poured through her mind like an open sieve, the ship, men, the auction block. She screamed, fighting to free herself until a hand came up over her mouth, squeezing so tight she could hardly breathe.
“Do not come looking for the boy,” he rasped in her ear with a thick Spanish accent. “He is ours.”
With that she was tossed to the floor with such force, she hit her head on the settee. Blood rushed her eyes, and she fought a faint as the men raced from the house carrying her frightened son. The moment Enio saw her, he screamed for her, arms outstretched. She fought to get to her feet, but her head felt dizzy and her ankle gave out.
The door slammed behind them, sucking the life out of the room.
Colette fought tears and gasping breaths as she pulled herself from the floor. She knew then, Loul was not coming. Donato knew who Loul was; he had seen him on Jordan’s ship. It would make sense to eliminate Loul, the only protector she had. She should have known this would happen the moment Loul told her Donato was in New Orleans.
Standing now, her body shook and her legs felt like wilting weeds in the heat of the day. She held on to the back of the chair for her balance, waiting for the pain in her leg to ease enough to walk. She looked around, not believing what had happened.
Her stomach clenched into a painful roil. The men who took Enio were dressed in costume. How would she ever find him?
But she’d never forget that musician, the wicked mask he wore, and the screeching music on his guitar.
She climbed the stairs to Jordan’s room and opened his wardrobe. After changing into his clothes, she pulled out a flintlock pistol and a knife. Loading her own muff pistol to wear concealed, she tied the knife to her side and loaded Jordan’s flintlock, as well.
It was then she heard something.
She opened the door to Jordan’s room and listened, hearing soft footfalls of someone in the downstairs parlor. It wasn’t Loul.
She palmed the flintlock and slipped onto the landing. A shadowy form stepped lightly through the lower parlor and glanced up toward the stairs. She pulled back and slid into her room.
There she waited.
The stairs creaked as the intruder took them step by step, hesitating as if wanting to ensure he didn’t awaken someone. Colette moved to the back of the room, pistol in hand. The intruder stepped onto the upper stair landing, paused, then took the hallway entrance to Enio’s room. Finger on the trigger, she waited, inching closer to the door, listening.
He returned to the hallway.
She could hardly breathe. The pistol growing heavier with every second she waited.
He was outside her room. The light carried his distorted shadow beneath the door. She sucked in air, praying for strength as the doorknob slowly turned.
She held her breath.
The door swung open.
A man stepped inside.
In the dark she couldn’t make out his face, but knew that profile, knew the breadth of his shoulders, the swagger to his walk, regardless of the silent steps he thought to take. Her blood boiled; her heart peppered her ribs with an out-of-sync staccato.
He turned to face her. His expression void of anything but determination. The moment he saw her, he raised a flintlock and aimed directly at her.
She raised her pistol and they faced each other.
“Where is he?” he said at the exact same moment as she.
Donato lowered his flintlock but only slightly. It was still at the ready. “Where is he, Colette?”
Her fingers nervously traced over the trigger of her firearm.
“As if you don’t know. You had him taken from me tonight. Did you come back to finish what one of your men didn’t? Me?”
“If I had wanted to do that, I would not hesitate now.”
“I will shoot.” Her voice shook more than her hand.
“As will I.”
“Then I’m never to see him again?”
“Was I?” He started to pace in the other direction, taking a wide berth around her. She turned with him, keeping her pistol in her hand, wary of his next move.
In all the time she had lived with Donato on his island, she had never been at odds with him. She always knew who he was and what he did, but she had never challenged him. Now, here, it was different, and being in opposition to Donato made her damned uncomfortable.
She ran a tongue over her dry lips. “I didn’t want him raised in your world.”
“Perhaps I don’t want him raised in yours. Where is he?” Without his glorious ostentatious style of fashion, she expected that he’d seem diminished. But that wasn’t the case. Dressed in plain clothes, he still had a regal presence about him. His hair, longish and black, had broken free of a queue, barely gracing his shoulders. Dark eyes, deep and probing, were nestled well within the strong framework of his face.
“You wish to torture me with this game of yours. If that was your goal, you have succeeded. Where is he, Donato? He was taken tonight. Only you would know where.”
“You heard I was here and chose to hide him.” Donato motione
d to the open trunk.
“No, I mean…” She could hardly lie when standing next to the child’s trunk packed for travel. “I was planning to travel to the bayous because of Carnival. My brother, Loul, he was to bring Jordan’s landau but he never came back. I waited for him, then these men broke into the house and took Enio. They were Spanish, Donato. Your men.”
Donato hardened his gaze on her; she felt the brush of fire along her shoulders, but held herself steady in spite of the pain eating at her leg from standing so long.
“Believe what you like, Colette, but until I find my son, you will not leave my sight.”
She allowed her lips to pull tight, returning his deadly gaze with fire of her own. “We agree, Donato. Until I find Enio, you will not leave mine.”
Chapter Three
“They are gone only an hour at the most. We leave, d’accord?” Colette stuffed the long pistol into her oversize breeches.
“In New Orleans, on festival night, that is a lifetime.” Donato was not so convinced of her innocence, suspicious that she knew where Enio was and was playing her part well. If Loul were standing here, testifying to the truth of her statements, Donato might believe her, but he was not. How convenient to have her brother suddenly disappear at the same time as did Enio. If he were a gambling man, the money was on Loul. Find Loul, and he’d find Enio. Donato watched her tighten up her rope belt. “Why are you dressed like a man?”
“To hide my pistol better.”
“Wear something that will blend with Carnival. Do you have anything fancier?”
“No…”
Of course she didn’t. Having checked on her several times over the past few months, he had noticed Colette dressed more the nun than the beautiful woman that she was. She seemed to catch the judgment in his eyes.
“But I’m sure I could find something in Aurélie’s things. Are we not going after them? There was a musician—”
“Change your clothes. Where is your brother, the infamous captain of Le Vengeur? I’m in need of a costume as well. I’m sure he has a pirate one about.”
The color bled from her face as if shocked that he’d dared to say that aloud, looking around as if someone would hear the truth that would endanger Jordan’s precious war hero reputation.
“The house is empty,” he reminded her.
He hadn’t forgotten about the secrecy of Jordan’s outlaw past, but it was still a thorn stuck in his foot. It mattered little if Jordan’s true identity were known; the man would have been pardoned along with the rest of those river rat pirates just because he was French. Donato had sunk more British ships to Lafitte’s battlefield, but Spain was a worry for the young country, and its fear of Spain had escalated after the war. In spite of the pardon for all sea rogues, only the French had benefited. Donato, being Spanish, was still a wanted man, while the French corsairs, like Jordan, walked the streets of New Orleans as free men. But Jordan had pulled it off, lived off the seas for three years, while searching for Colette, to safely return to his previous life as if nothing had ever happened.
“He left for Boston today.”
“Of course he did. Without Enio?”
“Without.”
A likely story, but he had nothing more to go on. “Where are his things? I need to create a disguise. They are looking for me.”
“To the end of the hall.”
He lit a lamp, then headed toward the door when she stopped him.
“Donato? How did you know which room was mine? When you came into the house you came directly to this room, then turned into the baby’s room.”
He wanted to tell her how many times he had stood outside at night and watched her tuck in his son and herself. Standing through wind, rain, and moonless nights, he had waited, hoping for just a glimpse of his little boy. Endless days, he’d sneaked a peek while the child played in the courtyard. But Colette hadn’t earned the right to know that, any more than she had earned the right to take his son away. He dismissed her question with the turn of his shoulders and walked down the hall to her brother’s room.
Jordan’s room held no surprises. Donato casually walked around the tester bed and ran his hand along the armoire that held Jordan’s clothes. Wouldn’t Colette’s brother be surprised to find the one man he considered his adversary, if not rival, standing in his private bedroom? A hollow victory, but a victory all the same.
He opened the first wardrobe. Women’s gowns. He motioned toward them as Colette followed in behind him. “I assume Aurélie’s?”
Donato continued to the next wardrobe opposite of Aurélie’s and opened it. Shirts, breeches, and overcoats. He pulled out a pair of black breeches, white shirt, ruffled cuffs, and a gray overcoat.
Rushing to change, Colette had stepped out of her brother’s attire.
Donato looked away, not wanting to see anything before him except the woman who had betrayed him. He ignored the milky sheen to her soft skin in the fluttering light of the lamp, and the shapely mature curves that spoke of a woman who needed a man for satisfaction. But she had had one and tossed him away.
He dressed quickly, hiding the wound in his arm garnered from his flight from the law, then leaned against the doorjamb watching her body move within the silhouette of the night. Her fingers, long, slender, moved to lace her corset. She had turned her back on him, but he could see every curve reflecting off the mirror. Her honey-gold hair brushed across her lower back and hugged her hips.
He turned away from her, feeling the rejection all over again, feelings he had managed to tame, not conquer, but keep to a bearable level, until he was standing here with her.
“I’ll be downstairs.” He picked up another black cotton shirt and turned to leave.
“Oh no you don’t.” She advanced toward him, but halted. “Until we find Enio, I’m closer to you than your own shadow.”
He smiled wickedly, meant to send a shiver through her spine. “If you insist on standing in such a state of undress, it is your shadow that will have to get out of my way.”
She whirled around and picked up her pistol, raising it level with her chest. “I don’t think so.”
Donato resisted taking the weapon away from her, knowing he could with the sweep of his hand. He had no fear she’d pull the trigger, at least on purpose, but had caught one lead ball too many tonight. She was on edge, but he’d show no mercy. Instead of compassion, he’d push her until she was over the ledge and admit to where Enio was, and this charade would be over.
“Be careful, Colette, I might decide to take that plaything away.”
But she didn’t wilt as he had hoped. “Be careful, my pirate, there is a bounty on your head. I might decide to pull the trigger and live a wealthy life.”
“Warning noted. Now might I wait for you in the parlor?”
She nodded. “Leave the door open.”
…
Colette waited until Donato had left the room before putting her pistol down. Yes, he could have taken it from her if he had wanted, but not without a damned fight, because right about now she could easily scratch his eyes out, knowing he had Enio but persisted in this tortuous game of cat-and-mouse.
Her shadow move out of his way? Why must he say anything that referred to their past? The mere mention of their nights together brought a rebellious skip to her heart. Damn him.
Was his point to punish her? If so, he had succeeded in his little mission, because that’s who Donato was, a man of vengeance. How long would this persist? Dress in costume, for what? Were they really going after someone, or was she a pawn in a rendezvous with the very men who had taken her son? Either way, she released a deep, tired breath. She’d play along; she’d do what he asked. She had no other option.
Aurélie had a lot of gowns, and her style of dress was very different from Colette’s. Aurélie loved colors, silks, and had jewelry of bedazzling sparkles to match, including masquerade masks and fluffy plumes.
Colette pulled a red silk dress over her head.
The bells that h
ung from the shoulders tinkled with her movement. But the silk felt wonderful against her skin, reminding her of a time when she had worn dresses of silk all the time. Donato’s choice, not hers, but the material hugged her body with a feathery touch, reminding her of the warm evenings when she’d dress for dinner and fall into his dark eyes over the fluttering light of a candle.
She drew a deep breath, erasing the titillating sensations that flooded through her body, and pulled herself back to the present. She packed her muff pistol inside her boot and picked up a shawl. If Donato had Enio, then where was Loul? It was that disturbing thought that made her pick up Jordan’s pistol and carry it with her as she went down the stairs.
Donato was there, as she expected, knowing that the form of torture he had chosen was far from over.
He turned as she took the stairs, watching her every step. Feeling his gaze from head to toe, she drew in one deep breath after another, exhaling her reaction to him, not holding on to any sensory feeling that might start her thinking, wondering, God…yearning. Her heart burned with each breath. She swallowed hard, unable to stifle her response to his mere presence. Not again, never again would she allow her heart to fall into his pirate hands.
When she was standing on the parlor floor, he approached her, handing her a mask he had cut out of Jordan’s shirt.
“Not the best, but it’ll do for tonight.” He leaned back, taking her in, then flashed a satisfied smile. “I’ll be the pirate and you…you’re my captive.”
“Again.” The moment the word slipped out, she regretted making such a comparison, for she had never felt the captive while living with him, though her brothers had thought she was.
“Si.” His response was harsh and curt.
His unveiled anger brought her blood to a boil. Barely keeping herself in check, she said, “You have won, Donato, I am at your mercy. Now give my son back to me.”
