His Dark Desires (14 page)

Tears filled my eyes and spilled to my cheeks.

"Shh," he said softly, pulling me into the crook of his shoulder. "Juliet, I am not a scoundrel. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you that way, touched you that way. I don't know what came over me."

His reassurances only made me cry harder. It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I'd knowingly reached for the forbidden fruit and now I had to tell him the truth. Somewhere in the midst of my tears I heard him tell the driver to make a tour of the city, and somehow a handkerchief ended up in my hands. He held me close until my tears were spent. It wasn't until I sat up and began tugging my drawers and skirts back into place, and he straightened his clothing, that he spoke again.

"I know what you are feeling," he said.

"You cannot possibly know," I whispered.

"Maybe I do a little. Because you are the ever-strong and kind Juliet Boucheron, who carries the burdens of so many, you will forgive me for kissing you and touching you—but you won't forgive yourself for responding. You shouldn't punish yourself for being human."

"You make it sound as if I am a saint. I assure you I am not. This time it is you who will need to forgive me, Stephen."

"What could you have possibly done to need my forgiveness? I am at fault. If you're worried about pregnancy, I am an honorable—"

I pressed my finger to his lips. He was only making what I had to tell him harder. "The women of New Orleans have long known how to avoid pregnancies. Don't worry. What happened is my fault, and my sin is greater. The truth of the matter is that I am married. I learned this morning that my husband has returned from the dead."

His blue eyes turned so stark, they burned right through me. Whatever response I had expected to follow his glare, it wasn't the harsh bark of laughter so bitter that it scraped my soul

"You are not a widow? Dear God. The irony. So much for making a new start."

"What do you mean?"

His fists were clenched and his words cut like jagged glass. "I'm damned. I was a weak enough fool to love my brother's wife, but too cowardly to claim her, and she died as a result. It would seem that we are both sinners beyond redemption, Juliet. Why don't you tell me about this husband of yours?"

There was a hard edge to his gaze. Beneath the sophisticated polish and laughing eyes lay a man to be reckoned with, and I stared at him a moment, completely shocked. "Your brother's wife? So she is the one you speak of? The person you did not save when you could have?"

"You can add her sister to that, as well."

"Why?" I asked, still unable to believe that he deliberately allowed another to die. The idea went against everything that I wanted to believe about him.

"It is a long story that I don't want to tell."

"Yet you expect me to confide in you?"

He exhaled, then looked out the window. "Let's just say my brother's first wife was a lost kitten in a huge storm. In trying to help her I grew to love her, and when she came to me wanting to physically consummate those feelings, I rejected her. That sent her on a path that resulted in her death several months later."

I puzzled over his words. "I do not see how that makes you responsible for her death."

"If I had left before my affection had grown past that of a brother for a sister, or if I had gone to my brother and forced him to understand what was happening, so many things would be different now. But I wasn't man enough for any of those things. I was caught up in my own anger, and then after Cesca's death, my own shame. That is all I can say about the matter. Tell me about your husband."

Surely there had to be more to his story, for him to feel so burdened. I stared at him searchingly, torn between wanting and needing to trust this man who could make me forget everything, and the tiny needle prick of doubt that still questioned why he'd come into my life. I pulled out the army papers from my reticule and handed them to Stephen.

"The last time I saw Jean Claude was in April 1863. He came to see Andre and me in the middle of the night, dressed in a suit rather than his Confederate uniform. He said he was on an important mission for the army. As New Orleans was under Federal control, I feared he'd be captured as a spy. I'd no idea he'd be branded a traitor and a deserter three days after his visit. Then the official letter came, citing my husband's crimes in deserting the army and stealing gold. After the war was over, there were several newspaper reports recounting that Jean Claude had been seen abroad, but no one has ever been able to find him. I chose to believe he died in the war, rather than believe he abandoned us."

He read the papers, folded them, and handed them back to me.

"Then why do you think he is alive now?"

"This arrived, special delivery, this morning." I handed him the note from my sister-in-law. "I haven't any idea why he would return after so long."

"I do."

He spoke with such assuredness that I gaped at him. "You do?"

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand in gold would be reason enough for any man."

C
HAPTER
N
INE

I didn't think the day could hold any more shocks. "If Jean Claude stole the gold, then surely he has it with him. The intruder—
Dieu
, Jean Claude smoked cigars!"

"Think about it. He visited you unexpectedly in the middle of the night. Then he and the gold disappeared. My guess is that at least part of the gold is at
La Belle
."

"Impossible. The army thoroughly searched the house afterward. Besides, there isn't a corner or a crevice that hasn't been cleaned over the years."

"I think there are a number of questions we both need to start asking. Exactly what errand has you rushing to town?"

I slid the curtain aside and glanced out the window. "I wanted to know what legal options I can take to protect myself from my husband's return. I also thought to confront Monsieur Latour. A cigar had been left amongst papers, causing a small fire that burned itself out despite all the dry paper around it. Fire would be one way to get my family out of
La Belle
?

"Or kill you." He leaned forward and took my hand. "What made you decide to handle this situation alone? Have you no conception of the meaning of danger?"

I opened my mouth to explain that there was no danger in a simple visit to town. But then I remember a man had been murdered on Rue Royale, and Mignon had been attacked in Jackson Square. If gold was indeed involved, then the danger was greater than I had imagined.

"I went through the whole of the war and Federal troops occupying my home without cowering in my room. I am not about to start now."

"So it's damn the consequences, full speed ahead?"

"Have you a better idea?"

He leaned back. "Tell me, am I right in assuming the Mississippi River touches your property?"

I nodded.

"Have you ever played the game of chess?"

Now I was even more perplexed. "I have played once or twice, but I don't see the relevance."

"It is a game of subtlety and power. I think our first move should be to let everyone in the game know the queen isn't alone."

A sense of wonder lit a warm glow inside of me. The man knew the worst of me, had seen the worst of me, and still wanted me. I had expected he'd leave the minute he heard about Jean Claude. But then a regretful pain scraped across my conscience—I could not have an affair with him. "Though most of New Orleans turns a blind eye to
affaires de coeur
, I could not do so, Stephen. I shouldn't have let it happen, but—"

"This offer has nothing to do with whether or not we share a bed, Juliet. We'll settle that later." I winced at the determined sensual glint in his eye, but given my response to his touch, I could hardly be scandalized by his bluntness. Learning of my husband seemed to have unleashed something inside of Stephen. I had the distinct feeling that whatever path of redemption he'd been seeking, he'd now abandoned it. Much like a man saying, "If I'm going to hell I might as well enjoy the journey."

"I have a vast number of resources at my fingertips. Using them will not only help protect your family, but might open legal doors to you that would at least put you on even ground when facing your husband."

I could not help but wonder what his motives were. I started to shake my head automatically, but he interrupted me.

"Before you answer, consider this. Mignon was attacked. A man threatened you with a knife. He has broken into your house more than once that we know of, maybe more. I smelled tobacco smoke last night, and you found a cigar in the attic that could have set your home ablaze as you and your family slept. You are dealing with a man desperate enough to chance lives and possibly even kill. What if Andre, or Mignon, or Ginette had interrupted him last night before I'd scared him away?"

When it came to the safety of my family, I had no choice. Whether I trusted Stephen completely or not, only a fool would turn down an ally in the dark. "I am not even sure what game is being played, so what do you suggest the first move to be, Stephen?" I asked, feeling like a pawn rather than the queen.

He smiled, easing my apprehension until he spoke. "It's time to lure your husband out of hiding. And I think I know exactly how to do it"

The carriage came to a stop in front of Mr. Maison's office and I stepped to the ground, feeling as if I had been on a thousand-mile journey. Stephen had redefined my world. Again. First by awakening my desires, and now, just as a landslide of disaster appeared as if it would bury me, he offered a plan that gave me some modicum of control. But I wondered what price I would pay.

Rather than rushing into my attorney's office desperate for advice, Stephen and I were about to use Mr. Davis's gossiping tendencies to flush out my husband.

I halted at the bottom of the steps. "It is hard to believe that a man was attacked here and died. Stabbing a man in the back is so depraved, you would think you could spot the culprit in a glance."

"I have learned that there is no safe place, and that murderers wear many faces, some of them not as evil as you would suppose. And sometimes other people are just as guilty as those who commit the crime."

I knew he spoke of his past. I touched his arm lightly. "You shouldn't pay your whole life for one mistake."

"Are you willing to apply that leniency to yourself, as well? Why should you pay for what your husband did for the rest of your life?"

Startled, I dropped my gaze. He went up the steps, opening the door to Mr. Maison's office and leaving me to follow.

"Monsieur Davis," I called when I found the room empty. Mr. Davis appeared in the doorway of Mr. Maison's private office with an open humidor in his hands, his round spectacles magnifying the surprise in his blinking eyes.

"Mrs. Boucheron. Mr. Trevelyan. Is everything all right? Your sister—"

"Is fine. We're here to see you about a business matter."

His brows lifted. He snapped the humidor closed and tucked it under his arm.

I looked over his shoulder into Mr. Maison's inner office. "Has Monsieur Maison returned?"

"No. He will not be returning until the end of the month, remember?"

"Ah. I thought—" I glanced at the office behind him and shook my head. "Never mind. I have some very interesting news, and thought I would be the first to let Monsieur Maison know, since he will be representing my interests in Monsieur Trevelyan's business offer."

"A business proposal?" Mr. Davis moved to his desk, setting the humidor down.

"Yes. What brand?" Stephen asked.

"What?" Mr. Davis asked

Stephen gestured toward the humidor. "The cigars. What brand do you smoke?"

"Oh, no, never been able to afford the luxury. These Futas belong to Mr. Maison. I was just cleaning his office. What sort of business are you involving Mrs. Boucheron in?" His face creased in a scowl.

Mr. Davis's protective air surprised me.

"You are familiar with the reputation of Trevelyan Trading Company?"

Mr. Davis's brows arched. "Yes. It is a company of note. Am I to assume you are the owner of it?"

Stephen's smile fell short of genial, adding to the tension. "In a manner of speaking. My brother takes care of the everyday details. Recently, he has turned an eye toward steamboats and the railroad for intercontinental trade as opposed to international."

"I see," Mr. Davis said, then looked at me. "Are you investing in trade, Mrs. Boucheron?" He sounded astounded, as if a woman were incapable of such a feat. I wished I could disabuse him of that notion by saying yes.

"
Non
. I have been renting a room to Monsieur Trevelyan and now it appears I will be leasing some land to him as well. Or to be exact, to his family's company. They wish to build a wharf and warehouse on
La Belle's
riverfront acreage."

"My... this is rather sudden," Mr. Davis replied.

"The Trevelyan Trading Company's lawyers will need to contact Mr. Maison. Can you tell me where he is staying in Washington?" Stephen asked.

"Not yet. I can put you in contact with him just as soon as I receive his post. When he left, he wasn't sure where he would be staying."

"
Merci
, we will anticipate your note, then." I nodded politely, thinking our business concluded, but Stephen spoke from where he stood by the door.

"Mrs. Boucheron told me of the attack out front. Did you happen to know the man?"

Mr. Davis cleared his throat. "No, not at all. Didn't know anything was amiss until I heard shouting on the street. It was a terrible thing."

"So you didn't see what happened?"

"No. It was a completely ordinary day, except for Mr. Maison's being gone, and I was here alone. I'd been to a lunch appointment and returned not long before the crime, but I had not noticed anything untoward on the street. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. As one of Mrs. Boucheron's boarders stated, it is a rather unusual crime to occur in the middle of the day on a business street."

"Criminals are becoming more and more outrageous. Just this spring, a man was hanged in his own yard by a political league merely for his republican fervor. I've told Mr. Maison a number of times to temper his views in public."