Evil's Niece (5 page)

I blinked, struggling to regain rational thought. ‘Why, of course not! Chapin —’

‘You can’t fool Monique,’ she said in a voice that brooked no argument. Then she lowered herself to straddle my lap, wrapping her arms about my waist. ‘Men are too caught up in their own frenzy to make us come that way, and Chapin’s no different. But now you know how it’s supposed to feel. How did you like that fine climax?’

For a moment I could only rest with my arms around this minx, wondering whether I should be more upset by her impertinence, or by the sad fact that she was right.

I was thirty years old and had just felt my first orgasm.

And I’d had it with a woman.

And the wetness around her pert nose and lush, parted lips made it clear I’d gushed all over her because I’d…lost control of myself.

I swallowed hard, pondering this. There was no comparison to Chapin’s fumblings in the dark, which at first had ended with his stickiness all over my thighs. Then, as the years went by, our encounters became fewer and further between.

But then, I’d assigned Monique the small bedroom between my husband’s suite and mine. She already knew about my love life.

What she couldn’t understand was the aching in my heart, as I recalled the lust that had driven those lovers in the courtyard yesterday…the surging, yearning, all-consuming need that overtook them, with an intensity my handsome husband had never shown for me.

‘Yes, it was my first climax,’ I finally sighed. Not knowing what else to do, I stroked her hair back from her face. ‘It’s been an enlightening day, Monique. I never anticipated —’

‘Ah, but that’s the best part.’ Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘We get too serious about the loving and forget that fucking should just be fun! Get dressed,
ma tante
, and we’ll see what your seamstress has put together for us. We’ll take it home, so Monique can design a new wardrobe — your secret weapon, to ambush Monsieur Proffit and his cock,
oui
?’

I smiled, hoping she was right.

‘Then I’ll get you those servants, like he insisted.’ My maid stood up to rub the wrinkles from her short black skirt and pinafore. When she saw the wild disarray of her hair in the mirror, she laughed, gathered it on to an untidy topknot and wrapped the frilly white maid’s cap around it again.

‘It’s best to give a man what he demands — what he thinks he wants,’ she continued as she helped me up from the chair. ‘But together, you and I — Evie and Monique — we’ll take Chapin for a ride that’ll leave his head spinning! He’ll have much more to answer to than he bargained for, when we’re through with him.’

Even in her zany Cajun sing-song, her words sounded more like a threat than a promise. Once again, I sensed things might spin out of control. ‘Perhaps I should interview candidates Madame LaRue recommends —’

‘You’ve heard of the School of Domestic Endeavor,
oui
? Run by Honore Delacroix?’

I looked up from folding the length of black lace, to gauge her expression. ‘Of course! They have an impeccable reputation for training well-disciplined domestics, suited to the choosiest of families. Or so I hear.’

Monique bowed, and then retrieved my corset from the floor. ‘Training and discipline,’ she echoed emphatically. ‘Only the best for my Aunt Evil and the man she loves. Leave it all to me,
cherie
.’

I bit back a protest and then turned, so she could lace my corset. I was fooling myself if I thought I had any control over this game, or would ever know all the rules.

Then I smiled, for nothing had changed, really. Hadn’t women been living this precariously all along, with every man they ever met?

‘The nerve of that woman! Can you believe she charges a fee for her maids?’

I raised up on my elbows, still groggy from sleep, to watch Monique bustling about my room in the dimness of early morning. ‘Miss Delacroix? Why, of course she does,’ I remarked with a long yawn. ‘How do you think she makes her money?’

‘But without a trial period, we won’t know they’re suitable —
non
? I wasn’t even allowed to assess the trainees,’ she said, wildly waving her cheroot. ‘Something about Miss Delacroix having to be there for the interview,
after
I pay the fee!’

Had I not been tired from lack of sleep — from fiddling with my slit whenever my thoughts drifted to Dewel, or this young woman’s wonderful tongue — I would’ve laughed. My maid was flapping about the room like a bird searching for an open window, frantically parting the drapes to yank up the sashes.

‘So we’ll go today, and I’ll pay the fee, Monique,’ I said pointedly. ‘It’s standard procedure. Just as it’s customary to inform your employer if you won’t be reporting for work. Where have you been these past two days?’

The young woman caught herself before flinging a flippant remark my way. With a fist at her waist, holding her little cigar, she resembled a teapot with steam coming out its spout. ‘Dewel needed me. Mama needed me. And Tommy Jon, he needed me most of all.’

‘Tommy Jon?’

‘My beau. He’s got a cock so big it won’t all fit inside —’

Mrs Frike’s shocked expression as she stopped in the doorway halted our conversation. ‘You’ll be wanting breakfast downstairs this morning, missus?’ she asked, her forehead puckered with disapproval. ‘Shall I set for the two of you?’

‘Yes, please, Fanny. Is Mr Proffit not in then?’

‘Left for the Exchange an hour ago, ma’am.’

I had my ideas about what sort of exchange would take place at dawn. ‘Thank you, Fanny. That will be all until we come down for our meal.’

Her stiff little bow bespoke rheumatic knees and a distinct dislike for my new maid. After years of service in this household, Fanny Frike knew her place, and knew how to keep others in theirs, so it would be interesting to see how Monique fared over the next several days.

I set these thoughts aside to raise an eyebrow at the raven-haired beauty beside my bed. Her hair stuck out in two long, bobbing pigtails, which, with her lacy white pinafore, made her look like an overgrown child. ‘You were saying?’

Monique’s grin lit up with a giddy sense of conspiracy. ‘Ah,
oui
, Tommy Jon Beaumont. Now
there’s
a man you must meet, Auntie Evil. And he wants to meet you, after I told him about licking you in the dressing room at —’

‘You told him
what
?’ I threw aside my covers to confront her. ‘I have my limits, Miss Picabou, and you have just pushed beyond them!’

‘Ah,
oui
, I pushed, madame!’ she gushed. ‘T-Jon, he stood behind me to pump me with his dick — and he held on to my hair like…’ She grabbed her pigtails and threw her head back, as her hips arched backwards to imitate her recent activities.

It was all I could do to keep a straight face, but this little wanton had to understand what sort of behaviour — not to mention discretion! — I expected of her. ‘Stop it! You owe me an apology, Miss Picabou, and I cannot tolerate such lewd carryings-on. What if Chapin were in your room, with his ear to this wall?’

Monique’s face fell like a bumped soufflé, but then she belligerently sucked on her cigar. ‘Maybe he’d learn something,’ she retorted. ‘I’m sorry my Auntie Evil doesn’t appreciate me this morning. But she must understand that I —’

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate you, Monique, but —’

‘Then you’ll come tonight? To meet T-Jon at the Picabou party?’ Her dusky face brightened. ‘We’ll have music — a Cajun band! — and food like you have never eaten before.’

Such an invitation was the last thing I’d expected, after her initial tirade about Miss Delacroix. ‘I don’t think —’

‘
Oui, cherie
. No thinking — and no telling Chapin! Just let Monique show you a good time.’

‘I’m not sure I’d fit in with —’

‘It’s the next lesson,’ Monique insisted, grasping the low, ruffled neckline of my peignoir. ‘Tommy Jon, he wants to show you his special talent. He’ll make sure everything…
fits in
!’

I paused, speechless, as those cow-brown eyes riveted mine and then gazed pointedly at the dual peaks beneath my nightgown. ‘And what does Tommy Jon do?’

‘Makes the finest boots — and toys — Auntie Eve has ever seen.’

‘Ah. Yes.’ What else could I say? This maid refused to be refused, and would somehow always have the last word, wouldn’t she? After all, she’d just coaxed my breasts to attention and could probably guess, by the scent, what I’d been playing with during the night.

‘Ah,
oui
, indeed,’ she whispered, and with a giggle she kissed my cheek. ‘Now get that pretty ass out of this bed. I’m ravenous!’

Disappointment tingled between my legs as she flitted towards the door. I had hoped she might be hungry for —

And then she turned, flashing me a brilliant grin. ‘Was the house too quiet while I was gone, Auntie? Did you miss your sweet Monique?’

A week ago I would’ve fainted dead away — or ordered her out of my house — for such a presumptuous remark. But I couldn’t lie, for it was much more than that licking I’d thought about during my long hours in this huge house, with just Fanny for company. I sensed my life was about to have the rug yanked out from under it. A dusty, faded rug that
needed
a good shaking.

So I gave her the smile that had been in hiding ever since her abrupt arrival. ‘I did miss you, my dear. More than I can say.’

*  *  *

That night, as Monique led me by the hand towards the bayou, I felt more joy than I’d known in years. The stars came out to play, while the cicadas sang their lazy songs as the twilight fell around us like a veil, lush with promise. We had parked at the back of the plantation house and, as lights came on in Dewel’s downstairs windows, I wondered who lit his lamps…whether he was even at home on this fine night. Surely such a lusty man wouldn’t spend an evening alone — and wouldn’t have to, for any woman would gladly have him.

Pick me
! ran through my mind, and I shoved that wayward thought aside. I was a married woman, merely out to meet my new maid’s family — checking her background, I could call it, if Chapin asked. As luck would have it, he’d gone to a dinner meeting of political backers and wouldn’t be home until late.

Or so he said.

Monique’s laughter lifted me out of my suspicions. The heavy scents of water and thick vegetation told me we were nearing the bayou: swamp, some would call it. For the Cajuns who’d made it their home for generations, however, it was a world unto itself. A world with its own wildlife, its own rules — and its own secrets. As my maid helped me into a pirogue and then began to paddle, I entered another time and place; a setting normally unexplored by society types.

Monique rowed the slender boat expertly between cyprus stumps; beneath live oaks, where Spanish moss hung from the branches like mysterious moonlit shawls. Night birds called around us, their cries echoing in the canopy of trees. Otherwise, there was only the lapping of the water against our boat, and the fluid movements of Monique’s tight body beneath her flowing peasant-style skirt and blouse.

‘You feel happy,
non
? It’s perfect for you, that pretty dress. Like a gypsy’s.’

I grinned, hugging my knees. ‘I feel loose and — well, lewd.’

‘Ah,
oui
. The freedom of leaving the corset in the drawer.’ Monique’s eyes followed the slope of my bared shoulders along the opening of my loosely gathered blouse. ‘Tommy Jon, he’s going to eat you up,
cherie
. I may have to sneak him into the trees to get my share tonight.’

My face flushed with pleasure. From a distance came the twanging of a guitar and the sawing sing-song of a fiddle being tuned, and the spicy aromas of a Cajun buffet. Something inside me stirred, for tonight I wouldn’t be concerned about appearances, or saying the proper things to the proper people on my husband’s behalf. Tonight was just for me. To enjoy. To explore. To discover!

We pulled up to the shoreline near a cabin on stilts, a simple structure with a sloped roof and a gallery porch. Monique had no more than set foot on land when a swarm of children rushed out to greet her.

‘
Etienne! Marie-Claire! Et toi, ma jolie Ginette!
’ Her voice rang out over their French chatter. ‘Miss Eve has come to dance and sing with us tonight. Make her welcome,
mes petits
.’

Those three grinned at me — with that same openly curious gaze I’d first seen on Monique’s face — while more children rushed around the corner of the cabin. ‘Your nieces and nephews?’ I asked, squeezing the hands that reached for mine.

‘
Oui
, quite a flock of them. My brothers, they love their wives!’ She grabbed my hand, and we proceeded towards flatter ground, where long tables were covered with fragrant pots of food.

‘
Maman!
Everyone!’ she called out, ‘Miss Eve has joined us tonight. Make her welcome. Make her happy!’

And how could I not be happy, among such smiling faces? Groups had already gathered around a bonfire and a barrel of beer, while others poured from pitchers of wine with slices of lemon and orange afloat in them. They looked up from their heaped plates, their joy contagious as they motioned me to the tables.

I followed Monique to the serving line, listening intently as she spooned food on to her plate. ‘Crawfish étouffe…jambalaya…
Maman’s
special recipe for red beans with rice…mashed yams…’gator pie —’

‘What?’ I dropped the serving spoon as though a long set of toothy jaws had emerged from the bowl.

Monique laughed, plopping a generous spoonful of the pie beside my dirty rice. ‘The ’gators that come ashore to check our chickens don’t make it back for seconds, if my nephews catch them at it. Eat or be eaten,
ma tante
. Or both, if you’re lucky.’

Her eyes caught mine in a playful gaze, and I glanced around to see if anyone was watching us. The last thing I needed was to be involved in such word play — or the sex play it might lead to — among total strangers. I doubted it would get back to my husband, but still…

My maid let her plate land on the table, to throw her arms around a man who’d apparently been waiting for her. He caught her up in an exuberant hug and then kissed her firmly, moving his mouth over hers with low moans that made my insides tighten. Standing there behind Monique, I could see every flutter of his closed eyes, every possessive shift of his lips as his hands splayed across her bottom. I didn’t know whether to turn away or to take notes on the most intimate, full-body kiss I’d ever beheld.

When he finally let her slide down to the ground again, I was met with a gaze that made me wonder if I were next. ‘I didn’t mean to stare at —’

‘Yes, you did.’ His voice was as sultry as a Louisiana midnight. ‘You loved every minute of it. You were wishing Tommy Jon Beaumont would do
you
that way!’

‘All in good time,
non
?’ Monique laughed. ‘At least give Miss Eve a chance to eat before you stalk her like the wolf you are.’

‘Wolf’ did not half describe the lean, male face and the feral intent in dark eyes that penetrated my defences. I didn’t think wolves roamed this far south, but Tommy Jon’s gaze was changing all my previous, naive beliefs. It was a predatory hunger heating up his features, from the set of his square, shadowed jaw to the subtle shifting of lean hips in black pants a size too tight. That cock Monique had mentioned formed a blatant ridge along his fly, and I swore it throbbed as I tried not to watch it.

‘All right, I’ll give you ladies time to prepare yourselves,’ he said with a quirk of his thin lips. Dimples danced alongside his mouth, making him appear even more audacious as he ran his fingertip along the side of my face.

I sucked air, mesmerised — although his bravado was for show, for Monique was clearly his lady of choice. And after another sensual kiss for her, he joined a group of men gathering on the cabin’s gallery with their instruments.

We sat beside Monique’s mama, a sturdy woman with features her daughter would inherit over time, and sisters-in-law who chattered amiably in their rolling Cajun dialect. I took one bite of the fragrant food and attacked my meal as though I hadn’t eaten in weeks. So many spices and textures. Such a contrast to the formal fare Mrs Frike served up. I was soon doing the unspeakable by dragging a crust of bread through the last spicy drops of that alligator concoction, eating with the wild abandon of my companions.

The band began to play then, with an older, nearly toothless fellow strumming a battered guitar while his friend chimed in on a fiddle. It moaned at first, and then got caught up in some catchy syncopated rhythms, duelling with the guitar. Then Tommy Jon picked up a concertina.

‘A squeezebox is the perfect instrument for my beau,
non
?’ Monique quipped. ‘In and out, in and out! He’ll make that thing wheeze like a bitch in heat.’

Another man stepped up then, and when he began to sing, I sat in awe. He wailed in a high, clear tenor like a human siren, in a catchy cadence only a Cajun could master. The crowd clapped in time, nodding and singing along, letting his voice soar above theirs.

I took a long draw on my wine punch and felt it tingle all the way down, felt the happy music swelling inside me until I laughed out loud and joined in the back-beat clapping. It was contagious, this harmony — this happiness borne of simple times and simpler means. I envied the love these Picabous shared, and decided to enjoy it while this magic moment lasted.

As the moonlight spilled through the treetops, some of them jumped up to dance. The song now was a driven, spinning thing, where the men whirled their women so quickly it made me dizzy to watch them. Monique grabbed my hand.

‘But I don’t know how to —’

‘What’s to know?’ she called out above the music. ‘Let your body go,
cherie
. Here on the bayou, there is only the laughter and the song — the wine and the food.’