Authors: Jennifer St Giles
Turning, I shoved the door to my father's office open. "Why don't you tell me, monsieur? You were the only person I saw about last night. Why should I take your word that there was an intruder? You're the only boarder who smokes a cigar. In fact, how do I even know that you are who you say you are? Why would a man from the famed Trevelyan Trading Company stay at my boarding house when there are luxurious new accommodations in the heart of the Vieux Carré?"
Mr. Trevelyan leveled his intense blue gaze. Frustration, hurt, and anger showed on his face. Then he surprised me by brushing his thumb along my cheek and over my lower lip. His gaze softened, and between that look and the fire of his touch, I melted.
"There is nothing that I can say that will induce you to trust me. And short of handing you my pistol and telling you to shoot, there is nothing I can do, either. Trust comes by choice. I can tell you this: if I had been the one to search through a room, you would have never known I'd been there. And the only thing I want in this house is you. I want to start off where we ended last night. It was a good thing you knocked me senseless—because if I had had my wits about me, I wouldn't have let you roll away from me." He turned around and left, but the need quivering inside me stayed.
I locked my father's office and went upstairs, where I rammed a bonnet on my head and collected my reticule and parasol. Then I gathered the official papers from the Confederate Army, citing my husband's crimes of deserting the army and absconding with seven hundred and fifty thousand in gold bullion.
I would have to show the papers to Andre. I closed my eyes, already feeling my son's pain.
Suddenly the papers flew from my hands as if ripped away by an arctic hand. My eyes flew open. A dark shadow hovered in the room. It seemed to have the form of a man, but I couldn't make out any features. I was so cold, my blood seemed to freeze. I knew that I'd come face to face with something from the spirit world, and I didn't want it here in my life, in my house.
"Go away," I shouted. The shadow moved against me, pressing me back from the door. Just as I opened my mouth to scream for help, it disappeared. I felt as if I had plunged into icy water and couldn't swim. My room, my bed, my things were just as they had been a moment ago, but I knew I would never be the same. The papers about Jean Claude lay on the floor. I quickly picked them up, stuffing them into my reticule, and left.
Downstairs, I instructed Papa John to send a request for Dr. Lanau to see Ginette today. I knew Mignon, Ginette, and Mama Louisa would give me the very devil for not telling them immediately about the note from Jean Claude's sister and the intruder last night, but I didn't want to be delayed. Exiting the house, I encountered Mr. Trevelyan, waiting for me. It didn't appear that he would be eating breakfast with the other boarders.
"Lurking again, monsieur?" I asked as I open my parasol.
"Seeking fresh air, actually. If you don't mind the company, I would enjoy a walk to town."
I was secretly relieved to have him with me. "If you are going to accompany me, I want you to tell me exactly why you are here in New Orleans and what that has to do with me. I also want to know what you think I am hiding."
Surprise flickered in his blue gaze before he smiled. "Words are a small price to pay for the pleasure of your company. But I have one condition. After last night, you must call me Stephen and I will call you Juliet when we are alone together, agreed?"
I searched his gaze a moment. "Agreed, Stephen," I said softly, relishing the feel of his name upon my lips. I descended the steps and he joined me upon the path. When we reached the edge of Rue Jardin's park and he still hadn't said anything, I took it upon myself to remind him. "You've yet to answer my questions. Are you having any untoward symptoms from your injury?"
"No." He sighed. The sound reminded me of when he'd spoken so revealingly about himself to Andre.
"I haven't lied to you," he said at last. "I came here to write and I am writing. But the truth of the matter is I needed a place to make a new start. I'd heard about New Orleans from a friend and decided to come here."
His tone, the sincerity in his blue eyes, left little room for doubt. So why did I feel as if there was something he wasn't saying?
"You have answered part of my question, Stephen, but have yet to explain why you are behind me every time I turn around. I do not believe it is mere coincidence."
"You are a fascinating woman surrounded by questions I can't dismiss from my mind." He shrugged. "It seems to me as if fate has joined us together."
Clenching my hands, I forced the truth from my lips. "It would seem we have a similar affliction, monsieur."
He caught hold of my elbow and brought me around to face him. His gaze focused on my mouth, a gesture that threw all of my senses askew as reminders of last night's kiss lay evident in the curve of his parted lips, the intensity in his eyes, and the sensual timbre of his voice. "After last night I—"
He jerked his gaze toward the park. Before I could ask what was wrong, he slid his hand to my back and spun around, effectively burying my nose against his spine as he pushed me protectively behind him. All I could see was the black of his suit coat. "What—"
"Who's there?" I heard him demand sharply.
Was I being followed? I peeked around Mr. Trevelyan's broad shoulders, surprised to see a man step from behind the trunk of a large oak on the edge of Rue Jardin's park. It took a second for my eyes to distinguish the man from the clumps of hanging moss, but as soon as he fussed with his cravat, I knew it to be Mr. Gallier, wearing a gray suit.
"A tip-top morning, wouldn't you say, Mr. Trevelyan and Mrs. Boucheron? Seems you two are
well
acquainted."
I opened my mouth, searching for a response that would nip the gossip I saw ready to leap from his tongue.
"Have you noticed what a good morning it is, Mr. Gallier?" Stephen's tone, though cordial, held an underlying menace. "To keep it that way, you may want to scrub the rouge from your shirt and straighten the twist in your trousers before returning to Mrs. Gallier."
Panic wiped the accusing gleam from Mr. Gallier's face. He looked down at his shirt, his eyes bulging to see a stain there as he simultaneously pulled at his pants.
"Tell Mrs. Gallier good morning for us," Stephen said, then cupped my elbow and escorted me away.
As soon as we were out of sight, I started laughing. I came to a stop, bringing Mr. Trevelyan to a halt beside me. "There wasn't any rouge on his shirt and his pants weren't twisted."
"Very observant of you, Juliet"
"But he really thought there was, so that means he must have been ..."
"Illicitly occupied. Right again. You should laugh more often. It becomes you as well as the moonlight."
His words, his tone, evoked images of him lying upon me, his body pressed to mine, his lips claiming mine last night in the parlor, and anticipation wrapped around me. I wanted more.
I heard the sounds of an approaching carriage and waved down the hack. A brisk walk in the heat of the day and Stephen's stimulating company suddenly seemed too much to take.
Moments later, in the cushioned comfort of the carriage, I realized I had made a huge mistake. Stephen sat beside me and his long legs, stretched across the small confines of the cab, brushed mine. He slid his arm across the seat behind me, burning against my shoulders.
"I doubt Mr. Gallier will be mentioning to anyone what he overheard. There are only a few reasons for a man to skulk behind trees, and all of them are cowardly."
I shook my head. "Poor Madame Gallier. I wonder if she knows."
"I don't see how she can miss it. I would think having a wife and a mistress difficult enough, but having them both under the same roof would be murderous."
I blinked. "Monsieur Gallier is carrying on with Mademoiselle Vengle? But I thought that Monsieur Fitz was ..."
"Enamored with Miss Vengle? I thought so myself."
"How can people betray each other like that?"
"Betrayal is not always so easy to avoid. Sometimes it can happen even when one doesn't mean for it to." The shadows of pain were back in his eyes, but then he shook his head. "Enough of that. You asked for answers. So what questions do you have?"
"The gold ring you wear, where is it from?"
He furrowed his brow. "I wear it to remind me every minute of a promise I made to a dear friend who died."
He sounded so sincere that I felt silly for my doubts. But the ring still nagged me, as did my questions. "You rounded the corner last night with a pistol ready, as if you're very familiar with one."
"A man born in the West knows his way around a gun, or he doesn't live to see the sunrise. And it seems to me that a woman who has been warned of danger and whose home has been repeatedly invaded would take her safety more seriously. She wouldn't search the house alone, and she wouldn't take off to town alone. Not unless she had something she was hiding."
"But—"
"Do you?"
Just a husband back from the dead, I thought. "No," I replied, irritated. "Why do you think I am hiding something?"
"It’s a logical deduction. An intruder wouldn't invade your home and ransack rooms unless he wanted something you have."
"My home and my family are all I have. And more questions. How do you hear things that others don't? You'd shoved me behind your back before I could even blink. How did you know Mr. Gallier was there?"
"If you hadn't had me so distracted, I would have sensed his presence before I heard a twig snap."
"Sensed his presence? Explain yourself, monsieur." My heart beat a little faster. Though I didn't believe in such things, I had heard that there were men who practiced black magic. "Do you claim to have special powers?"
"Powers? Good Lord, no." He laughed so thoroughly that he immediately set me at ease, even brought a smile to my lips and had me feeling utterly ridiculous for my suspicions. "My sister Katherine is deaf, and when we were young, my brother Benedict and I would take turns being her ears, listening to the smallest of sounds and trying to describe them to her. By doing that, I think Benedict and I developed a keener sense of hearing than most people do."
"How did you do that for her? I mean, if someone cannot hear, how can you describe a sound to them?"
"By feel, mostly. Let me show you. Cover your ears and then close your eyes."
"Why must I close my eyes?"
"That will let you concentrate more on feeling."
Intrigued, I closed my eyes and covered my ears, and the moment I did, I had the strange sense of being vulnerable. "I am ready," I said, anxious to rid myself of the feeling. I was about to give up when I felt a bare brush of air against my cheek. It came in two warm mint-scented puffs. Then at the nape of my neck, I felt his fingers lightly brush across my hair, and I nearly sighed at the warm tingle that worked its way down my spine. I had relaxed into the gentleness of his touch so much that when he tapped me on the top of my head as if he was testing a ripe melon, I yelped.
"What was that for?" I opened my eyes and glared at him.
"You tell me," he said, with laughter twinkling in his gaze. "I gave you three sounds. You tell me what they were."
I had to shut my eyes again and imagine the sensations before I could answer him. "I would describe the first as a whisper, for it was soft and barely there. The second felt like a very light breeze, and the last one was a thump. You made me feel like a melon."
"You got them all right."
"I did?"
"Yes. Whisper, rustle, and thump. I have one more. This will be a new one for me. You don't need to cover your ears. Just shut your eyes, and give me your hand."
His warm hand clasped mine, immediately conveying both a sense of security and an anticipation of the unknown. But when he turned my hand palm up, my heart fluttered wildly. I knew what he was about to do, yet I didn't stop him, nor did I open my eyes. The kiss he pressed to the inside of my wrist sent a flood of desire right to the center of my body.
"Kiss," I said softly, opening my eyes to find him but an inch away.
"Yes, I believe I will," he murmured. He pulled the carriage curtains shut, then his mouth covered mine, urgent and demanding. I responded with equal passion, as hungry to feed his need as I was to satisfy my own. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. I wanted the feel of his body against mine and I groaned deeply, trying to get even closer. I wanted to touch him places that I hadn't last night. I was on fire, burning hot and more alive than I had ever felt in my life.
"Good Lord, woman. Come here," he whispered against my lips. He hauled me on top of him, slipping his hands beneath my dress to loosen my drawers and slid them down my legs. He cupped my naked derriere, pulling me firmly against his hardness, kissing me senseless. His rigid desire pressed insistently close to my femininity. The more he kissed, the tighter the exquisite tension became inside of me. I unbuttoned his shirt, sliding my hands over the supple warmth of his chest and through the silky hair matted there. I tasted his lips, kissed him deeply, and touched my tongue to the skin of his jaw and neck, relishing the salty taste of him. I drank in his scent, addicted to him.
He caressed me everywhere, pushing my dress and my chemise from my shoulders, exposing my breasts to his hands and lips. He nipped at my sensitive tips, driving my passion hotter, fueling my wrenching need. I reached for the buckle of his belt, desperate for him, to know him completely, to know everything that he could make me feel, wondering why his dark desire drew me so.
He hesitated a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Make love to me," I whispered, shutting my eyes so he couldn't see my turmoil.
"God help me. I cannot stop." He slid his pants down his hips and pulled me to him, his fingers easing into me, readying me. Then he arched up and heaven filled me in a hard, hot rush of pleasure.
I gasped, caught up in a storm that spun me out of control.
"I need... have never felt this..." I raked my hands up the muscled contours of his back, meeting each of his thrusts. The thundering of his heart beneath my cheek matched mine. Then his lips claimed mine again, his tongue sweeping my mouth as he drove deeper and deeper inside of me. He cupped my breast, tantalizing its peak with the brush of his thumb, and stroked me until intense pleasure tore through the very heart of me. I shuddered in his arms. He groaned, his pleasure peaking in one last thrust