“Oui. I don’t know who my father is. Some Spaniard, so I’ve been told. My mother raised me alone, unmarried until her dying breath. Jean and Pierre took care of me and my sister.”
“Alex, I had no idea. It must have been difficult growing up so.”
He nodded curtly. “Now that you know, do you see me any differently?”
Stuffing her fists on her hips, Talia squinted at him. “Do you think me so callous? It isn’t your fault.”
“Then why should it be any different for your husband? The man loves you. He married you. You have his child growing inside of you. Was he honest about his family?”
“Bien sûr. He’s proud of being Romani.”
“Why are you so willing to listen to a man whom you’ve called Papa for nearly a quarter of a century—despite recently discovering that he deceived you?”
For the first time, Talia saw Alex in a different light. Holding her head high, she linked her arm through his. “You’re right, mon ami. I love my husband very much, no matter what people call him.” Kissing him on the cheek, she smiled. “I do believe you’re becoming a man, Monsieur Lafitte.”
Alex scoffed. “Don’t let your husband hear you say that.”
“GOOD MORNING, mi querida. Are you ready?”
Stowing her parasol near the door, Talia stepped into Maude’s office and glowered at Ricardo. Apparently, he’d spent the night with Maude as this morning he looked refreshed. She sighed. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Ricardo pecked her on the cheek. “Not to worry. Soon, we’ll be free from Fernando’s hold.”
His verdant gaze captured hers, and she sighed. How could she not see the resemblance? She had Ricardo’s eyes. Fernando’s were dark as coal while her mother’s azure orbs eluded her. Maman. Hopefully, she’d had a good visit with her Aunt Hélène.
Sinking onto the settee, she stared at him warily. “You look more than prepared.”
A tight smile curved at Ricardo’s lips. “I’ve wanted to stand up to Fernando Montrose for many years. Now that I have you—and the Lafittes—by my side, we can bury the man once and for all.” He took a piece of paper from his desk drawer and set it aside.
She squirmed uncomfortably. She’d seen many men taken down by Ricardo’s spies, but Fernando Montrose was different.
Despite his deception, she still felt some sense of loyalty to the man. He’d taken her under his wing and treated her like his own. “What are you planning on doing with him? I will no longer be a party to murder, Monsieur.”
Clasping her hand, he sat next to her with a somber gaze. “I promise no harm will come to him by my hand. But he will have to serve a just punishment.”
Maude entered through the side door. “Fernando is here, darling. Shall I let him in?”
As Alex stepped behind the heavy curtains, Talia straightened her shoulders. Ricardo squeezed her hand. “Sí, let my dear amigo in.”
Talia’s heart thrummed with the strength of a stampede as they sat side by side. He gripped her hand, reassuring her. A unified force.
“What is the meaning of this, Ric—” As Fernando stormed through the door, he quickly cleared his throat. His eyes shifted to Talia. “Querida, what are you doing here?”
“Sit down, Montrose,” Ricardo ordered. His booming voice echoed off the ceiling.
Fernando’s eyes bugged out. Holding up his palms, he issued Ricardo a sickening grin. “Come, mi amigo. I don’t know why you are so angry but surely, we can settle our differences.”
Crossing his arms, Ricardo stood. “You’ve been conspiring with the wrong people.” He cocked his head. “L’Archambeau, or Señor Chambers, is it?”
Fernando’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Perhaps this might change your mind.” He passed the parchment to Fernando—a letter from their Frenchman stating very plainly their plans to take New Orleans.
Fernando’s jaw clenched. “Where did you find this?”
Ricardo ignored his question. “In the case of Monique—and Talia’s—deaths, Temptation Hall will be yours, sí?”
Throwing the paper on the table, Fernando cursed. “Idiota. I never should have trusted that man.”
Ricardo’s eyes blazed. “As of this moment, our contract is null and void.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Señor.”
Fernando put his nose in the air defiantly. Turning toward Talia, he smoothed the lapel of his overcoat. “I see. Then perhaps it’s time to reveal some important facts.”
Talia bolted up next to Ricardo. “Don’t waste your breath, Fernando. My real father has told me how you used Maman and me to take our home. Are those the particulars you are referring to?”
Fernando’s face turned crimson, his voice a low growl. “Aringosa, you are a dead man. Do you know what I can have done to you? I have dangerous men at my beck and call.”
Ricardo steepled his fingers together. “Por favor, Señor. I want to hear all about how Lafitte’s pirates will kill me in my sleep. You can come out, mi amigo.”
Stepping out from his hiding spot, Alex tipped his hat at Fernando with a grin. “Bonjour, Monsieur. My cousins will be glad to know you regard them as nothing more than lackeys.”
Talia linked her arm in Alex’s and hummed. “The Lafitte name is indeed infamous.”
Fernando’s eyes went wild as he clutched the lapels of Ricardo’s overcoat. “We can work this out. I will give you half of the profits from Temptation Hall. The Frenchman is willing to pay a pretty penny for it, even after the fire.” His hands shook as he turned to Alex. “Tell your cousins they will get paid with my profits—I swear it!”
Fury boiled over as Talia shot past Ricardo and slapped Fernando across the face. “Temptation Hall is mine. Mine and Maman’s.”
Ricardo touched Talia’s hand. “Please, querida, Papa will take care of this. Maudy?”
“Oui, mon cher?”
As the woman’s tinkling voice rang from beyond the door, Ricardo cleared his throat. “Send in my other guests.”
The door slammed open, and three men, followed by the constable, entered the room. Ricardo turned to Alex and Talia. “For the record, please tell Constable Ciello what you just heard from Señor Montrose. I believe it is time for him to pay for his sins.”
Placing a hand on her belly, Talia settled under the covers. She was emotionally exhausted. It was painful to see the man she’d thought was her father taken away in chains. After she and Alex had given the constable their statements, Ricardo had whisked her away to one of Maude’s suites so she could rest.
She glanced at Ricardo. “Fernando didn’t mention Maman. Is she still in France?”
Ricardo fluffed her pillow. “I don’t think he knows.”
“Is Alex still here?”
“Señor Lafitte had some business partners to meet.” Smoothing the blanket, Ricardo hugged her. “You need to rest. Carina and Jonathan will be here for dinner. You would like to see her, sí?” His eyes misted over. “I’m sure she would love to visit with her sister.”
Placing a hand on Ricardo’s cheek, Talia sniffled. “Merci, Papa.”
Tears streamed from Ricardo’s eyes as he embraced her. After a moment, he broke away from her and stood. “No more dawdling. Have a nice nap.”
He paused at the door. “Do not worry, Talia. If anyone can find the Frenchman and end this, it will be your husband.” He smiled. “He’s a good man.”
Talia snuggled against her pillow with a heavy heart. Unfortunately, she couldn’t help but worry how this might end.
Chapter 33
“Dieu, darkness is falling faster than the stormy seas. How much longer, Barberry?”
Squatting amongst the reeds at the docks of Temptation Hall, Talon rolled his eyes skyward before shushing Rousseau. They’d been hunkered down for hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous L’Archambeau. Unfortunately, Rousseau hadn’t quite enough patience with watching and waiting.
<
br /> Talon eyed the small skiff they’d borrowed from a neighboring plantation. The larger keelboat Aringosa had lent them would have attracted undue attention, and right now, they couldn’t afford any mishaps. Fortunately, the manor house was situated high on a hill, and they easily remained out of sight.
As hues of orange and pink dotted the horizon in the west, Talon stood. “We’ll do this slowly.”
Rousseau stood, and they silently moved toward the main house. To the right, a gravel path led toward several slave shacks, one room shanties with rusted roofs and rotted boards.
Apparently, work time was over. Two bondsmen tended to a centrally located pyre as their women placed a dead rabbit on a spit. Soon, more slaves had gathered, talking and singing while the women prepared the food. Young children ran around their legs, chasing chickens through the muck.
Talon’s throat clenched. The scene was all too familiar. It looked like a Romani camp. Except these people are owned by another human. He flinched at that thought.
“There’s a carriage shed near the house,” Rousseau whispered. “We could hide until Aringosa shows.” Talon nodded, and they traversed the shadows, minding where they stepped.
They approached the livery, the lanterns blazing brightly at the doors. Talon pulled on Rousseau’s shirt. “Nay. They’ll see us here. Let’s find someplace else to hide.”
“Bon soir, Monsieur Barberry.”
Cold steel pressed against their backs forcing them to their feet as the unmistakable cocking of a pistol reverberated through the air.
“Bloody hell...” Talon sneered as Pierre DuPont stepped into the light. “Where did you come from? I thought you were dead.”
Pierre scoffed. “Hardly. Monsieur Lafitte and his pirates can’t stop righteousness.” He aimed the gun at him. “Get up. Both of you.”
As Pierre forced them through the grass, the muzzle of the gun brushed against Talon’s skin like an irritating rash. He glanced at Rousseau who merely shrugged.
Damnit, I’m going to kill Lafitte.
As they advanced toward the manor, Talon sucked in a sharp breath. Temptation Hall had looked imposing upon the river but standing next to it was humbling indeed. The whitewashed monstrosity towered three stories above them. Flames of the oil lamps danced off the brick façade, illuminating the wrought iron balcony looming above them. There wasn’t enough light to see its entirety, but indeed, it dwarfed Taylor’s manor.
As Pierre pushed them along, Talon tripped over the cobblestone path to the double doors at the entrance. The hinges creaked. Suddenly, the doors swung wide. He halted with a start as the man standing in front of him smiled smugly.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Barberry. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Talon’s flesh prickled. “Jesus. Phillipe LaBarre?” He shook his head incredulously. Edouard Blanchefort’s friend and lawyer was here? “I can’t say it’s a pleasure, Monsieur. What the hell are you doing here?”
LaBarre removed his straw. “Taking my just due. Welcome to Temptation Hall. Please join us. We have other guests that you will recognize.” DuPont stuck the gun further into Talon’s back, forcing them into the massive, two-story foyer.
Talon considered his escape routes as Pierre shoved them past a wrought iron staircase and into a formal salon to the left of the main entryway. Shelves spanned an immense library, books lining the shelves from floor to ceiling. A well-stocked bar sat in the corner. Five windows dotted the right side of the wall, louvered shutters flanking them. At the other end of the room, a pair of French doors led to the veranda.
DuPont pricked Talon with the end of the gun. “I have no qualms using this, you gamin. Move!”
Growling low in his throat, Talon clenched his fists. “I can’t wait to bloody your face, you git.”
LaBarre wrinkled his nose and tsked. “Such a barbarian. I never understood Edouard’s fascination with your people.”
Talon scoffed. “It can’t be because his daughter is half-Romani.”
La Barre’s eyes narrowed as he gripped his cane. “Perhaps we should ask someone who knew him better.” He waved them into the adjacent room. “We were just having an after-dinner drink.”
Talon followed the man to the parlor where four plantation chairs were centered around a scrolled table in the middle of the room. At the far end, two settees faced one another, separated by a tea table.
Two women huddled together upon one, and Talon froze. “Mademoiselle Beaupraît?”
LaBarre hummed. “Oui, our Hélène is quite the conspirator, n’est-ce pas?”
Talon scowled at the woman. “Are you working with this lout?”
Tears poured down the woman’s face. “Talon, I’m sorry I brought you into this. I didn’t know Phillipe was L’Archambeau when I sent you on this mission.”
Talon eyed LaBarre, and the man shrugged. “It’s true. She knew nothing.” He tapped her shoulder. “You are not nearly as clever as you think, Mademoiselle. Barberry, would you care to hear my tale?” He gestured for Talon to sit across from Hélène.
Anger clawed its way through him as he sighed. What choice had he? As he and Rousseau did as they were bid, Talon draped his arm over the back of the chair and released a dramatic sigh. “Is it too much to ask for a drink? I’d like to imbibe before my death.”
LaBarre smirked, apparently amused. “DuPont?” Pierre stood quickly at attention. A scowl covered LaBarre’s face. “Not you, ignorant brat. Colonel, fix these men a drink.”
The colonel bowed. “Gentlemen?”
Talon scratched his beard. “Captain Rousseau will have some of Lord Taylor’s rum, if you have it. I can’t stand the horrid swill, so I’ll have a whiskey.”
Another chortle from LaBarre. “Taylor’s punch is an acquired taste.”
Annoyance flooded Talon as he bantered with the man. LaBarre was in a jovial mood, but soon, the act would get old.
Gazing at the frightened woman sitting next to Mademoiselle Beaupraît, Talon sat up. She had to be Talia’s mother. She exuded the same regal French beauty as his wife.
Staring daggers at LaBarre, Talon hardened his resolve. He refused to let such a foppish man win. No matter the cost, he would protect Talia’s family.
LaBarre leaned over his cane. “Where is Mademoiselle Montrose?”
With a flippant shrug, Talon feigned ignorance. “I assume she’s sitting right there, next to Mademoiselle Beaupraît. Although, we haven’t been properly introduced.” Both ladies snickered at his insolence, and he gave them a cheeky grin.
LaBarre’s cheeks went crimson as he sucked in a deep breath. “You know who I mean. Talia Montrose. My bait. DuPont... give me your gun.” Pierre slapped his rifle in LaBarre’s hands, and LaBarre whipped the steel barrel toward Talon’s chest. Rousseau and Hélène gasped as Madame Montrose quietly wept.
Flames of anger seared through Talon as he slowly stood. Ignoring the muzzle aimed at his heart, he glared at LaBarre. “Talia is no longer a Montrose, Monsieur. She is my wife, Mrs. Talia Barberry. And she carries my child.” LaBarre’s eyes widened. Standing toe to toe with the Frenchman, Talon nudged his shoulder. “You didn’t just threaten my family, did you, sir? Because nobody hurts the people I love.”
“You soiled my fiancée, you dirty Spaniard!”
In a trice, Pierre DuPont jumped in between LaBarre and Talon with fists flying. Amid the melee, Talon ducked and dodged the inexperienced lad’s punches. Tired of this charade, he smacked Pierre right in the nose. The lad fell to the ground, writhing.
A shot rang out, grounding the guests. As the plaster ceiling fell all around them, Madame Montrose cried out, “Zut! You barbarous idiote, you’re destroying my home.”
LaBarre lowered the gun. “Get up.”
Colonel DuPont harumphed. “Where is Montrose? He swore he’d have his daughter here before the rebels marched.”
“Enough,” LaBarre shouted. “Montrose should be leaving New Orleans this afternoon. Hopefully, he’ll bring his daughter with him. Afte
r our rally, we’ll settle this once and for all.”
Smoothing his hair, Talon returned to the sofa. He crossed his legs and sighed. “What is the point of all this, LaBarre? You wanted this glorious mansion, yet you’re going to burn her to the ground?”
“Houses can be rebuilt, Monsieur. I need Temptation Hall for her amply situated land. Monsieur Montrose assures me the trade between the islands and this plantation will make me rich, especially with the Lafittes waiting to make a deal.” He wrinkled his nose with a snort. “Not that it’s any of your concern. Zut, this is all your fault.” He turned to Hélène. “And yours. If you hadn’t hired this scoundrel, this mission would be finished!”
Rousseau sat forward and caught Talon’s eye, nodding toward the window. Lafitte signaled discreetly from just behind the bushes, and adrenaline coursed through Talon’s veins. Rousseau’s eyebrows bobbed, and Talon nodded. LaBarre was become more animated.
Keep him talking.
Releasing a sigh of exasperation, Talon scratched his chin. “So, let me get this straight. This entire mission was your idea? You hired me, only to be recruited by DuPont again. At least, that’s what I thought. DuPont, did your crazy ideas not fit in with LaBarre’s schemes?”
The colonel held his head high. “L’Archambeau and I have a new agreement.”
Eyeing the men, Talon picked an invisible piece of lint from his clothes and tsked. “After all my troubles, I still haven’t received my five hundred pounds.” Hélène and Rousseau stifled a laugh.
“Neither have I,” Pierre whimpered.
LaBarre threw his cane to the floor with a growl. “Sacre bleu, you’re all imbeciles. Nobody is getting paid anything because none of you finished your jobs.” He glared at Pierre scathingly. “You aren’t worth a grain of salt. We expected your Spanish friends aboard the Nueva Linda to capture Montrose’s daughter and Barberry, but they were incompetent. Now, I’m organizing the very rebellion Montrose was supposed to take care of weeks ago.”
The colonel cleared his throat. “Now, see here, Monsieur. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for us.”
Pure Temptation Page 35
