Evil's Niece (18 page)

My maid sat up. The leather toy made a loud slurping sound as she pulled it out. Then she cocked her head towards the wall that adjoined Schuck’s room. ‘He’s snoring. Come on,
ma tante
.’

The breeze was barely there on this hot New Orleans night, but as it caressed my body, the scent of the magnolia trees and gardenias drifted around us too. I leaned over the railing — very brazen indeed, for I’d never stood naked outside my room. Had never experienced many simple pleasures that were second nature to Monique.

‘Thank you,’ I breathed.

Her dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she lit a cheroot. ‘For letting you be on top?’

‘For setting me free. For breaking the rules. For…proving men aren’t the only ones who possess power.’ I smiled when she patted my arm in her childlike way. ‘That’s a lot to learn in a very short time.’

‘Oh, there’s more, Auntie Evil,’ she replied. She drew deeply on her little cigar, letting its smoke surround her in its mystical haze. Then she playfully slapped my ass. ‘But enough for tonight,
oui
? We must set those three sissy maids to cleaning the ballroom tomorrow! Sleep well,
ma tante
.’

Through the open doors I heard her gathering her clothes, and then quietly slipping out of my room. I spent a few more moments gazing over the gardens, so cloaked in ethereal beauty at this hour; so much more symmetrical and planned-out than my life seemed to be. Chapin had
his
plans, but what about mine?

Was I ready to approach him? To seduce him, now that my sensual awakening made me aware of what we’d never shared?

Or would I only learn things I didn’t want to know?

I slipped into bed naked, but couldn’t sleep. I was too aware of my own skin, so boldly on display without benefit of even a sheet — although no one else would see me, or slip through my open French doors like the subtle sounds of the night. I felt alive and on edge — saw scenes in my mind, of bare asses across my lap, juddering beneath the smack of a hand…of a wicked little woman returning thrust for thrust, moaning in breathy French…Dewel, peeling away his silk shirt, taking control of me with that molasses drawl and the deceptive power behind his languid ways.

I stiffened. Was that a footstep on the gallery? Looking towards my doors, I wished I’d closed them like any proper wife whose suite now adjoined the valet’s.

I heard the noise again — furtive footfalls, indeed. And then a figure hurried past, towards the steps at the end of the gallery! Recalling Chapin’s remark to his valet, I rushed to the gallery to look out, but all I saw was the predawn retreat of someone in swirling skirts and a shawl that shone an unearthly white in the thickening mist.

A woman! Far too sophisticated to be Monique sneaking off to see Tommy Jon, so who
was
she? The snoring that drifted through Judd’s open window gave me an answer — a conclusion no wife wants to reach, for it rips her heart out and fills in the hole with suspicions, which coil and hiss like a nest of snakes.

The only other room with access to the gallery was Chapin’s.

He had already gone to the Cotton Exchange when I went downstairs for breakfast. Or was Mrs Frike covering for him, out of the loyalty that spanned her years of service to his philandering father as well?

As she set down my plate of stewed fruits and pecan sticky buns, I almost asked her if Chapin had entertained a guest last night, while supposedly sequestered in his study. But did I really want to know? What else did I need to see, after watching him hump that blonde in the courtyard a few weeks ago?

‘Fanny, I’ve been thinking about our Mardi Gras ball,’ I ventured, deciding another avenue of exploration might yield tastier fruit. ‘And I’m wondering if we’ll find things in the attic — decorations, and perhaps even costumes — we could use? Surely Chapin’s parents hosted such parties.’

The housekeeper’s grey eyes lit up. ‘Why, yes! Virgilia Proffit prided herself on being the hostess to be outdone. Spared no expense, that woman — and Chapin loved those balls too.’

‘So why hasn’t he entertained more often, these past seven years?’

Mrs Frike’s wrinkles tightened as she decided whether to divulge such information. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, ‘but I think once his mother died, your husband lost his enthusiasm for such pageantry and dancing. And when his daddy’s will split the Proffit properties between him and that Creole courtesan’s son, Chapin became a shell of his former self.’

Eaten away by jealousy, even more than greed
, my heart whispered.

I nodded, proceeding cautiously along a path I hadn’t planned in advance. Perhaps my husband’s absence was inspiring me, after watching that woman flee his suite: I felt compelled to explore this rambling family mansion, hoping I’d find answers without having to ask any nasty questions.

‘Well, I think we should look up there,’ I announced with my best smile. ‘I’m guessing we’ll find all sorts of finery that deserves another fling. If you want to come with me —’

‘Mr Chapin has the key.’

The finality of this pronouncement sounded a warning. Might I find things besides the usual cast-away clothing and furniture, and the costumes I was hoping for? Things a husband didn’t want his wife to see?

I smiled sweetly. ‘Now, Fanny, you’ve run this household since before I was born. If you feel I’d be trespassing on old family secrets by —’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Eve. When he did some remodelling in his suite — which was Virgilia’s, when she was alive — he put a lock on that attic door.’ She shrugged, making her pillowy breasts rise behind her starched apron. ‘I use it as my excuse not to clean up there. I would never compromise Mr Chapin’s privacy, you see.’

Not the answer I wanted. And when she asked what I’d like the three maids to do today, the subject got locked up as tight as that door in the alcove — a door I was determined to open!

Opportunity knocked within the hour. I made an appearance on the third floor — where the unaired ballroom was so stuffy, Monique allowed the maids to work naked — and then slipped away. I was the lady of this house, after all. I saw no reason to avoid my husband’s chambers.

I removed my shoes and glanced around his small sitting room; checked the drawer of his secretary, but found it locked. What was he so afraid someone else might find? This only prompted me to pass through his bedroom, past the half-tester and other furnishings of cherry wood that belonged to his mother. Such sentiment touched me, yet keeping this room as a sort of shrine to Virgilia Proffit seemed incongruous to Chapin’s current relationships with…Other Women.

I paused at the arched entryway to the alcove he’d remodelled as a closet. There I saw the frock coats, trousers, silk shirts and shoes of a gentleman with excellent taste; a man who chose the tobacco browns, creams and pale blues that complemented his golden complexion and eye colour, over the darker, more staid hues currently in fashion.

But I was drawn to the two wooden doors — the one in the alcove, which led to the attic, and the identical one in his room that gave access to the gallery. Both bore conspicuous padlocks, as though Chapin needed
safety
— from outside intruders and the household staff, I presumed, since I’d never spent enough time here to threaten his sense of security.

I smiled and pulled a pin from my hair. Apparently men assumed their women too stupid — or too obedient — to finesse a locked door! But I’d gotten some practice as a little sister who’d raided her brother’s gun cabinet, where he kept his stash of ribald magazines until he married and moved away.

In went the rounded end of the slender hairpin. As I held the lock in one hand, I gently felt for the place I could push to snap it open.

‘Allow me, Mrs Proffit.’

I gasped and dropped the padlock, my pulse pounding. Behind me, wearing only his maid’s apron, stood Antoinette. With a sly smile, he showed me a slender metal rod, and then reached around me to grasp the padlock.

‘Thieves and the police find these extremely useful,’ he said, standing so close his breath dampened the back of my neck. ‘I overheard you at breakfast. I thought I’d find you here.’

‘But I —’ The surreptitious
snick
of the lock didn’t distract me from his surprise appearance. ‘The others must think —’

‘That I had to use the toilet. So I haven’t much time.’

How odd it felt to have a man’s voice coming from lips that had been rouged, accentuating a smile that brightened his slender face. Odd, and — improper!

‘Toinette, I must remind you that the help —’

‘My name’s Russell. Let’s go on in, before Mrs Frike comes hunting us. She was in a real dither after you asked about the attic.’

I couldn’t argue with that logic, but I couldn’t assume his intentions were entirely honourable either. ‘And why are
you
here? Has Chapin told Judd Schuck what he’s hiding?’

His smile made my stomach shimmer. ‘
You’re
here, aren’t you?’

He steered me up the short flight of wooden stairs into what appeared to be another spacious closet — far roomier than where my own gowns were hung, and lit by skylights.

‘I don’t understand.’ I was trying to block out the array of female finery I saw, by concentrating on this male maid’s interest in me. ‘You’re telling me your real name — touching me like — like a —’

‘Man?’

‘Yes! Yet you wear your hair in an upsweep, and look so fetching in your uniform —’

‘We play the roles we’re assigned, until a better one comes along.’

He glanced around, but when his gaze returned to my face, Russell slipped an arm around my waist. ‘You learned during that first spanking that I’m very much a man. But unlike Cleopatra and Cinderella, I consent to wearing maid’s clothing only as a ruse. Appeasing Honore Delacroix is most important, you see.’

He had a pleasing natural voice, smooth and low, now that he wasn’t altering it to appear female. Still, I stepped away from a touch that felt far too familiar — which put me closer to those clothes. Gorgeous gowns and accessories of jewel-toned fabrics told me Chapin’s lady friend — or were there several? — commanded a pretty penny from the Proffit coffers.

‘And
I
have noticed, Miss Eve, that while you don’t protest those spankings, you don’t participate either,’ he went on, sounding urgent to express several ideas in a short amount of time. ‘Pardon my saying so, but your husband’s far more interested in watching us get our asses whacked than —’

‘Does he know? That you’re not a woman?’ My concern for the maids’ privacy suddenly overrode my discomfort. I could imagine Chapin’s reaction, if he learned the seedy little secrets of the maids Monique had secured on my behalf.

‘I don’t think so.’ Russell lifted my chin, so I had no choice but to look up into his eyes — gentle tawny-green eyes that were strikingly similar to my own. ‘And pardon my saying so, but it’s a crying shame that a splendid woman like you doesn’t get what she needs. From a man, anyway.’

The implications of these last words sent my hand flying towards his face, but Russell was faster than I. The grip around my wrist startled me, even though he was by no means abusing his superior strength. No, he’d taken me by such surprise I was easy to subdue. All I could do was return his steady gaze…wondering what other secrets it hid.

He relaxed then, grinning. ‘All right, so I’ve spied on you. I hope you’ll forgive me, but watching you and Monique last night…and when you frolicked in the fountain, is much more fun than cavorting with Cleo and Cindy. I’m entrusting you with these secrets, hoping you’ll allow me the same sort of trust. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be out from under Honore’s thumb! Thank you for allowing me — all of us — to stay when she came to claim us.’

I swallowed, unsure of what to do next. Russell, however, was lowering his face towards mine, his expression softening. ‘I want to help you, Miss Eve. I’m merely a maid on the lowest rung of the household ladder, but I crave affection, and I think you do too. May I kiss you? I was just a kid when Miss Delacroix took —’

His lips touched mine, tentatively. The attic’s dry, stifling heat enclosed us in a cocoon of forbidden sensations, and while my body went hot, the skin of our lips felt soothing and cool. He was curious rather than possessive. He dipped again, tasting more firmly, slanting his mouth for fuller contact that had to feel even more rewarding to him than to me, a woman ten years his senior.

I pulled away, my eyes still closed with pleasure. ‘Russell, what do you see here? In this little anteroom to the attic?’

He held me against his chest, and then I heard a sudden intake of breath, along with the deep beating of his heart. ‘
Dresses
. Hat boxes. A — a jewellery chest in the corner.’

I nodded, opening my eyes. ‘This is Mr Proffit’s closet. And since I’ve recently seen him in some rather…compromising situations, I must ask you
never
to tell the others about this. If I catch one hint that anyone else knows, it’s back to Miss Delacroix you go, young man.’

He cleared his throat, comprehension dawning as he stared at the beautiful gowns. ‘Can’t have such indiscretions getting out during a political campaign.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But what about you, Miss Eve? Are you going to keep this information buttoned up like the dress you’re wearing — which is much too conservative, by the way,’ he added with a grin. ‘A woman with your marvellous skin —’

‘Will handle these matters as she sees fit,’ I cut in firmly. The time was passing faster than I wanted, despite the lift Russell’s remarks had given my spirits. ‘Actually, I wanted to see about any Mardi Gras costumes or decorations I might find for the ball.’

‘You can’t take anything downstairs. Mrs Frike will know you sneaked up here.’

‘True.’ I continued up the wooden stairs, into a large, open room that served as the actual attic. ‘But since we’ve picked the lock and risked discovery with every minute you’re away, we might as well indulge ourselves. It’s better than tearing my hair out, wondering who those beautiful clothes belong to. My God, it’s been going on so long, she keeps a wardrobe here! And right under my nose.’

Curiosity compelled me to open musty trunks, and riffle through boxes of old letters and records. An armoire in the corner caught my eye then, a behemoth of a piece with angel faces and wings carved into its corners and along the front edges. When the tall doors creaked open, we sucked in the dusty sweetness of sachets made many, many years ago. My wildest dreams had come true!

‘They’re beautiful!’ I breathed, fingering the folds of gaudy gowns and exquisite veils. ‘Harem suits, and a medieval queen’s attire, and —’

‘Masks. Hanging here on the side. And wigs.’

My heart was beating so hard I nearly fainted. I could envision myself descending the main stairway on the night of the Mardi Gras ball, arrayed in this finery of a bygone time. Perhaps for a moment I’d even steal the limelight from my husband; could assume my rightful place among the other society wives, as a woman to be recognized. Respected.

Perhaps, if he saw me in a costume that brought back happier childhood times, Chapin would see me in a more desirable light too. What did I have to lose?

‘Help me carry these,’ I said in an urgent whisper. ‘We really must be going, before anyone sees that door is open — or, God forbid, shuts us in!’

Russell held out his arms as I took down a taffeta gown that shimmered from periwinkle to sky blue, with huge sleeves that puffed like iridescent white balloons. I snatched up the petticoats too, and oversized patent leather shoes that matched the dress. Instinct had me grabbing a shepherd’s crook, along with the most striking of the masks: the traditional shiny-white face of Mardi Gras had a beaded headpiece, which attached it to an outrageous blonde wig that resembled a beehive.

We stole down the steps. Russell walked ahead, so I could keep the colourful lengths of fabric from dragging on the dusty floor. I quickly replaced the padlock, while the maid hurried on to my suite.

‘I’d best get back,’ he said, heading out my door as I was entering. Then he glanced around, and gave me a thoroughly rakish kiss. ‘Can’t wait for the party, Miss Eve. Can’t wait to see you decked out in such splendour, like the queen you are.’

It was odd, watching the maid’s bare backside retreat down the hall with his apron flapping on both sides, while its bow bounced saucily above his butt with each step. My fingers went to my lips, reliving the feel of his kiss as though it had led to something more illicit.

And yet, hadn’t I already learned the most intimate secrets about Antoinette? As I quickly hid the costume in the back of my armoire, I wondered where today’s revelations might lead — and what would come of the pact I’d made, with the maid I now knew as Russell.