Pure Temptation

by Auria Jourdain

  Monsieur Barberry,

  Mademoiselle Beaupraît and I received your last correspondence, and we confirm DuPont’s course of action. Our associates in Paris corroborated your story. Señor Vargas has cleared your way to board the ship. He is First Mate Ramón Perez’s assistant, and he obtained permission to allow you passage as a trapper traveling to the New World. We stand firm that you follow DuPont’s course of action and take your target unharmed. However, we need you to wait until you are a day’s breadth from New Orleans. Señor Vargas will inform you when the time is right. He has instructions to guide you to the colonies. Everything you need will be on board the ship. Do not contact DuPont from this point forward. We will meet again in New Orleans.

  Your Servant,

  Philippe LaBarre, Esq.

  Talon ran his finger over the raised mark on the bottom of the parchment. “La Ville de Blanchefort, 1798.” It seemed the man wasn’t lying after all. Staring at the Spaniard, Talon placed the letter in his pack and tipped his hat. “Aye, Vargas, I’m Talon Barberry.”

  “Bueno. Come, Señor. We will get you settled in your bunk.”

  Hoisting his rucksack over his shoulder, Talon followed the man up the gangplank. He gazed at the horizon, the crystal blue waters sparkling in the mid-day sun. It was the second most beautiful thing he’d seen all day.

  Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. Something about this mission rankled his insides. For five hundred pounds, he’d play along. Not that he had a choice. For the next two months, he was stuck on this iron beast. He might as well make the most of it.

  PEERING AT HERSELF in the crude looking glass attached to the captain’s desk, Talia removed the silver brooch from her hair. Ringlets cascaded down her back, and she sighed in relief. The day’s activities had taken every ounce of her energy. She was thankful Carina hadn’t been allowed to accompany them. It had been an emotional morning with the girl, and she would have blown Talia’s cover with her blubbering.

  Fingering her fan comfortably attached at her side, Talia took a deep breath. As much as she’d prepared for this assignment, the notion of encountering a man willing to abduct an innocent woman had set her on edge. And for five hundred pounds? She had to find out who this man was.

  Know thy enemy.

  She gazed around the cabin, her lodgings for the next few months. The room was rustic, its dark, knotted-wood panels and crude furnishings sparse. She wouldn’t want to make a home here, but she’d expected the worst.

  She should be thankful. Apparently, the captain of the Nueva Linda was a good friend of Alberto Vargas, her new partner. He’d arranged for her to stay in the master’s quarters at the stern of the ship as their honored guest.

  Her black leather travel trunk sat at the foot of the bed, transported from the Aringosa’s vacation home. With a sigh, she set about unpacking her delicate clothing in the worn wooden bureau.

  The whole affair had gone smoothly, despite the fact she’d had to display false pretenses as a spoiled Spanish heiress. Much as she loved the theatrics of her work, Talia despised putting on airs. She might play the part of a debutante well, but it went against her nature to look down on others.

  She smirked. If it had been up to her, she would have arrived wearing breeches and a shirt to blend in with the sailors on the docks. In hindsight, that probably would have been more dangerous than setting herself up for a kidnapping. Like a surrogate father, Ricardo would have ended the farce right there.

  He’d been especially nervous upon escorting her to the ship. He’d pecked her cheek gently and had given her hands an extra squeeze, quite out of character for her boss. Perhaps the man had a heart after all. Hopefully, it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come.

  Talia sighed. She’d seen Alberto in the crowd, but she had yet to identify her kidnapper—the so-called Infiltrator. Not that she’d expected the man to stand out. They’d warned her that this Monsieur Barberry was gifted at blending in with his surroundings. Alberto had assured her that her assailant was on board and that she would meet him in good time.

  She gazed out the porthole, her prayers for Carina who would be boarding a smaller ship bound for England in a few days. Swallowing the ache at the back of her throat, she brushed a tear from her eyelashes.

  Conversation had been difficult between them as of late. It had taken every effort for Talia to play her part in this affair, and it was emotionally exhausting. When she began working for Aringosa, she’d had to walk a fine line between her best friend and her employer. Between denying rumors about her reputation of ill-repute and garnering information that Carina was in danger, Talia had no choice but to continue the deception. Hopefully, this mission would put everything to rest, and she could leave Ricardo’s nasty spy business for good.

  But what would I do then?

  A knock on the cabin door interrupted her thoughts as Alberto Vargas entered with her other trunk. “I think this is the last of it, Señorita.”

  Talia smiled at her partner. “Merci, Alberto. I tried to pack light, but it didn’t work well, did it?” They’d been meeting in secret for weeks to prepare for this mission, and although Vargas wasn’t the smartest man she’d ever met, he was strong as an ox and dedicated to their cause.

  The Spaniard chuckled. Placing her chest beside the other, he wiped his thick eyebrows with his sleeve. “It’s a long voyage, mi amiga. I’m surprised this was all you had.”

  Talia strolled to the small desk and sat on the rickety chair. “So, now that we’re settled, when will I meet the elusive Monsieur Barberry? I thought I might be able to pick him out by now.”

  Alberto fingered his long, black mustache. “You haven’t seen much of the crew, Señorita. There are more than a hundred sailors on board at this very moment.”

  Talia arched her brow. “I had no idea the Nueva Linda was so large. I thought she was a private vessel.”

  “Sí, she’s owned by my cousin from Valencia. We’re transporting a large shipment of spices and slaves to the colonies. And two stowaways.” His overlarge girth shook as he laughed.

  Clenching her fingers around the arms of the chair, Talia sat forward. Bondsmen. On this ship! Balling her fists, she stood and stalked around the cabin as fire blazed within her soul. “Slaves?”

  She detested the slave trade. Unfortunately, most of the New Orleans’ economy thrived on it. Her family’s plantation, Temptation Hall, had been run by bondsmen and indentured servants for nearly fifty years. However, like her French mother, Talia abhorred the practice. Her father often mistreated their help, and in her opinion, it was Fernando Montrose’s only flaw.

  Yet, two stories beneath her feet, the Nueva Linda harbored the denigration of human life. The knowledge had already soiled her voyage. “I can’t believe this!”

  Alberto drew his brow down. “Focus on our target, Señorita. You will never solve the West Indie’s slave problem. We have more important things that must occupy our time.”

  Slumping, Talia sighed. The man was right—one endeavor at a time. “What is it we need to discuss?”

  “Señor LaBarre gave Señor Barberry scant details about our voyage. He thinks we’re going to New Orleans. However, DuPont will meet us in Guadeloupe.”

  Talia pursed her lips. Alberto was acting as a double agent, not that Monsieur Barberry knew that. “What is the man’s cover?”

  “He’s posing as a fur trader, although, the man doesn’t look like any trapper I’ve seen.” Laughing, Alberto’s hands twitched at his belly, indicating a vast midsection. “Señor LaBarre gave him strict instructions to take you upon my orders—only when we’ve reached the islands.”

  Talia pushed her long hair off her neck. “Bon. That gives us plenty of time to prepare. Do we know how he plans on capturing me?”

  Alberto shook his head. “His instructions are to come from me.” He chuckled. “Really, from you, Señorita. So, how will you arrange it?”

  Talia tapped a finger against her chin, the irony of the situation not lost upo
n her. “Fortunately, we have plenty of time to think of our strategy. When will we meet your brother’s ship in Guadeloupe?”

  “November. He’s docked in England, but he’ll be sailing to the Americas with a new shipment of slaves. He’ll make his way toward the West Indies after that.”

  “Perfect. And what of Monsieur Barberry? What happens to him after this is over?”

  Alberto shrugged indifferently. “Who cares? Barberry’s a grown man. Let him find his own way home.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Alberto. Nothing matters but Maman.” Talia grinned. Ricardo had arranged a ship from Guadeloupe to France so she could visit her mother and aunt for an extended holiday. “I’m finally going to meet my Aunt Hélène and see Paris. Maman talks of her and her homeland often. It will be wonderful to spend Christmas with her.”

  Vargas smiled. “Sí, Señorita. You are going home.” With a small bow, he excused himself.

  Talia laid upon the rickety bed and sighed. Home. Where was that, exactly? She’d been searching for it for years. While she loved New Orleans and Temptation Hall, she felt restless in the city. She flipped to her side and brushed the hair from her eyes. Ricardo was right. She had an insatiable need for adventure, and nothing would have kept her from taking this assignment.

  Then why did it feel as if the fates had other plans for her?

  Chapter 6

  AUGUST 8, 1798

  Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean

  Talon lay in his hammock in the crew’s quarters, gazing up at the wooden beams on the ceiling. They’d left port a sennight ago, but he was bored out of his mind sailing across the sea.

  The crew occasionally asked him to join a game of cards, but he refused. He needed to explore his surroundings, but Alberto had urged him to stay put else he risk exposing the real purpose of their mission.

  And he had yet to meet the elusive Miss Aringosa.

  His blood pulsed through his veins like an irritating itch he couldn’t scratch. If he was going to kidnap the Aringosa chit, he needed to know how best to accomplish it. Granted, they still had six weeks of ahead of them, and Alberto had promised to arrange dinner with her in due time.

  Be patient, Señor.

  As Alberto’s pleas infiltrated Talon’s thoughts, he smirked. When had he ever been reasonable? He’d be lucky if he didn’t start a brawl just for laughs. Turning in his hammock, he wriggled against the threadbare blanket. “I wish the bugger would hurry. I’m going bloody crazy staring at nothing night after night.”

  “Psst, Massa Talon!”

  Talon chuckled as the captain’s deckhand, a little Black boy no older than ten, peered up at him from the shadows. “I can see you, Marcus. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  The lad was an amicable child with a broad smile and an insatiable appetite for knowledge. He often visited Talon in the evenings to keep him company. They’d lapsed into a first-name basis almost immediately. It was nice to have a friend aboard the ship.

  Climbing out from under the hammocks, the boy clutched his torso. “I’s couldn’t sleep. This here wooden beas’ make mah belly churn.”

  “I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

  The boy wrinkled his nose. “No, sah. Cain’t keep suppa down mos’ nights.”

  Placing his hands on the back of his head, Talon leaned back in his hammock. “And where are you off to this evening?” Since he’d told Marcus about his exploits in France, the boy was obsessed with espionage. He usually informed Talon of his secret plans before he attempted them.

  “I’s sneakin’ to the cargo hold. They’s got the new bondsmen there.”

  Talon scowled. He knew all too well they were transporting a load of slaves to the New World. The haunting sound of whips and screams often ricocheted off the beams of the bulkhead. As the small children cried, the slavers punished their mothers to quiet them. Talon stuck pieces of hardtack in his ears to muffle the horror most nights.

  He swallowed the bile churning at the back of his throat. Of all the ideas the people of the new world came up with, slavery was the worst. What was wrong with man? Why treat human beings like animals? It was difficult to turn a blind eye to it while the brutality literally sat beneath his feet.

  Unfortunately, his little friend had suffered, too.

  Rolling over, Talon gave Marcus his full attention. The boy’s body, his skin as black as the night sky, showed obvious signs of starvation. His long, lanky legs and knobby knees knocked together bone to bone as his ribs pushed through his chest. With every visit, his soulful brown eyes tore at Talon’s heart.

  But the lad was up and energetic at midnight. That’s more than he could say for himself. “What will the captain say if he sees you out of bed?”

  The boy pulled a blanket over his shoulders and grinned. “They’s can’t see me, Massa Talon. I hides in the shadows.”

  “Aye, I suppose you do.” Feeling adventurous, Talon climbed out of his hammock and donned his hat hanging on the hook beside his bunk. “Perhaps I’ll join you this evening.”

  “Yes, sah. But quiet, Massa Talon. You’s so big, you make too much noise.” Arching an eyebrow, Talon silenced him with a finger on his lips, and they snuck toward the door so as not to disturb the rest of the sleeping sailors.

  The ship lurched to and fro as the dog watch on the top decks called out their status. Talon and Marcus approached the staircase that led to the lower decks just as the midship watch ascended from below.

  Ducking into the shadows of the overhead beams, Marcus motioned for Talon to find a place to hide. Winking, Talon quickly concealed himself behind a wooden beam on the other side of the boy. Fortunately, the seaman walked past them without any indication he’d seen them.

  Talon grinned as the lad silently whooped in triumph. He held a finger to his lips. “Don’t celebrate yet, lad.”

  Peering down the hallway, they descended the creaky wooden stairs as quietly as they could. Making their way through the galley, Talon nicked a piece of dried salt pork from the cupboards and handed a slice to Marcus.

  The young ones wailed from the bowls of the ship. The crack of the slave driver’s whip pierced the air, and one of the girls yelped in pain. They were close. With haste, Talon followed Marcus to the galley stairwell to get a better look.

  At the last rung, the pungent smell of urine and feces hit him square in the face. He gagged. Slapping his little hand over Talon’s mouth, Marcus glared at him. Talon shook off the urge to vomit. Wasn’t he the one who had volunteered to go with the boy?

  Marcus pulled on his sleeve. “Come on, Massa Talon.”

  Without a sound, he followed his sidekick to the nearest corner of the hold. The ship’s stores were stacked to the ceiling, and they crouched behind the crates quietly to observe.

  Talon gasped. “Bloody hell, look at all of them.”

  Disgust and pity warred for dominance as his stomach churned. As meager as his existence had been, it was palatial compared to this squalor.

  The poor women were chained as close together as possible, manacled to their neighbors at the ankles. A wooden bucket covered in feces and urine sat between every other slave. The floor surrounding them was caked in muck as nobody had bothered dumping the waste.

  Worse, the women had naught but a central water vessel to share. Flies landed everywhere... on the buckets, the water, and the slaves. The little ones waved the pests away in their sleep.

  Bile gurgled in Talon’s throat. Surely, nobody would drink such polluted filth. Unfortunately, these people had no choice in order to survive—if they didn’t get dysentery from the taint.

  His lip curled up “There must be fifty women here.”

  “This ain’t a big load, eitha’. They’s sometimes carry more than a hundred slaves aboard this ship. An’ there be only women and chillen’, no men.”

  Scanning the hold, Talon frowned. “Is that typical?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Depends. These gals are prol’ly goin’ to the brothels.”

&nb
sp; Pulling on Talon’s shirt, Marcus shushed him quickly. A crewman dropped off the ladder at the entrance to the hold, his boots thumping loudly upon the wooden floor as he approached the sailor with the whip.

  Speaking swiftly in Spanish, the man handed his comrade his crop and surveyed the women shackled together. Licking his lips, he motioned to a light-skinned girl no more than sixteen. He cricked his finger with an indecent leer.

  The hair on the back of Talon’s neck prickled. He couldn’t understand the man’s vernacular, but the meaning was all too clear. Apparently, the girl understood as well. The whites of her wide eyes gleamed as she shook her head vehemently. When the sailor grabbed her shackled wrists and hauled her across the floor, she struggled in protest.

  Clenching his fists, Talon hissed. “Where’s he taking her?”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “To his bunk, where yeh’s think? That happens a lot with the gals, ’specially the pretty ones.”

  Talon stared at the ten-year-old incredulously. The child was worldlier than he was, for certain.

  “Alto, Señor!”

  A loud thud at the threshold caught their attention. As a sensuous voice echoed off the crates in the hold, the lovely Miss Aringosa announced her presence with a regal flair. Talon crouched lower, his heart pounding. Wearing leather breeches and a white flowing blouse like some pirate wench, she stood in the doorway with her fists on her curvy hips. Her brown leather boots hugged her toned calves tightly to her knees.

  Playing with a ringlet of her hair, the beauty gave the sailors a sensual smile. With grace and finesse, she sauntered across the hold.

  The woman had tenacity, to be sure. Shifting on his haunches, Talon tipped up the brim of his hat and eyed her suspiciously. For the millionth time during this journey, something peculiar nagged at him like a splinter festering in his thumb.

  His first impression of Miss Aringosa had been off. She wasn’t just some rich Spanish debutante. She obviously knew how to take care of herself. In fact, he’d wager five hundred pounds the woman wasn’t what she seemed. Aye, he could live a good life on his wages doubled.