His Dark Desires (27 page)

"He's related to the investigator I hired?"

"You hired his brother, John Goodson, to find Jean Claude." The shadows underlying his blue eyes had never been so stark.

"And you knew him. What Monsieur Davis said is all true. You have been in New Orleans for a while. You knew Monsieur Goodson. You lied to me."

"He was my best friend, Juliet."

"You knew
everything
before you came here. You knew about Jean Claude, the gold, everything!" I backed away as his betrayal sliced me open. Turning away, I ignored his call to me, glad that the nurse forced him to stay. I wanted to hide in my room, but realized that his scent would still be on my sheets, that the memory of his kiss and his touch would be too strong there. I ran down the stairs and went into my father's office. Sinking down into the desk chair, I gave in to my brokenhearted tears.

The door flung open. "I wasn't finished talking to you," Stephen said. "You will hear the truth at last, and then we can be done with this."

I swung around in the chair, dashing at my tears. "You are supposed to be getting sewn up." The thick bandage on his arm was already bloodstained; the fool was going to bleed to death on my carpet.

"Nothing can stitch up my heart. After everything we shared, I cannot believe you would even question that I love you." He looked at me as if he couldn't decide what manner of beast I had become.

"You cannot believe
me
!" I stood and planted my hands on my father's desk, thankful for the barrier between us. "I cannot believe, after everything we shared, that you
lied
to me. I was nothing more than a pawn in a game to you."

He raked both his hands though his hair and paced across the room. "All I knew about the situation was that John had a lunch appointment at Antoine's. He'd just arrived back in town from New York, and we were to get together that night. The next thing I knew, John was being carried into Mark's office, dying, and nothing Mark or I could do saved him. His last words were all I knew of you. He said, 'Juliet Boucheron ... danger ... gold missing ... must save ... promise me.' I promised him as he died that I would save you. And I promised myself I'd find the man who'd killed him. That this time, I wouldn't let someone's death occur without doing everything in my power to find out who did it. I made that mistake when Cesca died, and I wasn't going to make it again."

"Why all the secrets? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" New tears filled my eyes.

"Juliet, I didn't know whom to trust. In the beginning, I didn't even know if you were involved in John's death. But once I realized that you weren't, I couldn't afford to tell you. What if you had confided in the wrong person? What if you told Ginette or Mignon why I was here, and they told the wrong person? Then we all would have been in greater jeopardy."

"I could believe that to start with, but what about later, after we ... we ... Surely there was some point you could have trusted me?"

"I didn't think it best," he said. "Nothing about us, my love, or my past—none of that was a lie. You have to believe me."

"How, Stephen? How will I ever know? I thought there was only truth between us. I trusted you. I loved you as I had never loved another man before." I turned from him, tears blinding me.

"So everything between us is over because I tried to do what is right? Do you condemn me for trying to protect you, just as you tried to protect your son and family?"

"That is different," I cried, turning back to him. "I am a grown woman, not a child. You cannot have love without trust."

"And if a man makes a mistake, should it cost him everything?"

"I don't know" I said, crying. I couldn't think.

"If you don't know, then there is nothing I can say or do to convince you. I gave you my heart."

"You aren't the man I thought you were."

He stared at me, his eyes bleak. "You aren't the woman I thought you to be." He turned from me and walked away. The hurt that I thought could get no worse doubled.

I ran to the stairs, seeing his broad back disappearing around the landing.

"
Mère
!" Andre cried. "You're hurt!"

Whirling around, I found my son and Mignon standing in the center hall, their mouths agape. "
Non
, I am fine. This is Stephen's blood," I said, then burst into tears and ran up the stairs, knowing I'd never get him out of my soul. The day waned and the dinner hour passed. I grew more miserable with every chime of the grandfather clock. It wasn't until I heard the knock on my door that I realized what I was waiting for—Stephen to come to me. Pulling the cold cloth from my tear-swollen eyes, I sat up. "Come in."

Mignon opened the door and disappointment pinched my sore heart.

"
Pardon
, Juliet. Sheriff Carr needs to speak with you in the parlor." Mignon spoke as if exasperated. "You look awful."

"I feel awful."

"Then why are you hiding in your room, rather than doing something about the problem? It seems rather simple to me. Either you love Monsieur Trevelyan or you don't"

"It is considerably more complicated than that."

"
Non
. You are making it so, but it truly is not. Because if you love someone, then you forgive them."

"If you love someone, you trust them."

"You didn't," Mignon said, with needle sharp accusation. "You didn't trust me, but I know how dearly you love me." I sat a moment blinking as she hurried from the room. Was I being obtuse about my standoff with Stephen? Surely not. But I went down the stairs to meet Sheriff Carr with less pain in my heart.

"Mrs. Boucheron," Sheriff Carr said, taking the seat I had offered to him, "I know you have had a harrowing day, so I will only take a moment of your time. I've just finished speaking to Mr. Trevelyan and feel as if I have a complete account of the crimes Mr. Davis has committed against you and your family.

"I want to assure you we have already begun a thorough investigation into Mr. Davis's activities here in New Orleans. He kept meticulous records. First he tried to obtain your home by sending Mr. Latour a letter, promising a considerable sum of money should he convince you and your sisters to sell. Also amongst Mr. Davis's papers was a signed will from Mr. Maison, naming Mr. Davis as beneficiary. Mr. Maison was murdered so Mr. Davis could inherit Mr. Maison's money and his law practice. When you refused to sell your home, he decided to attack you directly."

"By murdering me and poisoning Ginette . .. and he hoped to marry Mignon."

"Exactly. He was a menace to society and never should have been let out of prison. But considering his youthfulness, the authorities felt he'd paid for his crime."

"He was in prison?"

"It seems at fourteen he was caught being a double spy during the war. We also found a number of your husband's belongings at Mr. Davis's apartment. I brought these along with me—a journal of sorts your husband kept during the war, and some of his letters. And strangely enough, a letter from you to a Mr. Goodson, who I understand was murdered by Mr. Davis several weeks ago." He pulled the items from a bag he had next to his chair.

I nodded as I stared at the letter, shivering. A murderer had prowled through my house as my family and I slept. He'd worn a mask of civility and had terrorized my family and nearly succeeded in murdering us.

Sheriff Carr continued to speak. "The rest we will send to you after our investigation is complete. For now, it seems the matter of the gold is still a mystery." He held out the journal and the letters to me. My fingers shook as I took them, focusing my attention on the faded blue book. So many years had passed since I last saw Jean Claude; it was almost numbing to be handed back a part of him. I set the letters on the floor, but held the journal.

"Are you sure you have no idea where your husband may have hidden the gold?" Sheriff Carr asked.

"
Non
. I have given the matter considerable thought, and I honestly do not know."

He cleared his throat. "Well, were it me and my family, I would keep the matter secret in order to protect them. We will do our best to keep Mr. Davis's motives quiet. Gold is as deadly as yellow fever. If other people took the notion that you had gold hidden in your home, there is no telling what danger you would have."

He excused himself and I sat there holding the journal unopened in my hands. I wasn't ready to read Jean Claude's thoughts. Not while so much of my heart was in turmoil. But I knew one thing: I needed to forge a way past my own hurt, or my future would be no different than my past.

"
Mère
," Andre said softly from the doorway.

"What is it?"

"There is word about Mr. Phelps. The doctor thinks that he will recover."

"
Bon
. I do not know if I could bear the death of another on my hands."

"Monsieur Trevelyan said the same thing when I spoke to him earlier. He's leaving. I saw him packing his things."

"He's leaving?" I didn't think the pain inside of me could twist any sharper. It did.

"I... well... is it really any different,
Mère
. What Monsieur Trevelyan did when trying to protect us, and what you did in trying to protect me?"

"No," I said, clenching the journal in my hands. "It isn't."

"Then are you going to forgive him? Please, so many things are better since he came. I... I... don't want him to leave."

It would seem that Andre's heart was just as involved with Stephen as mine. My son's observation hit me hard. Stephen
had
changed us all. And I wasn't about to let him disappear, taking our hearts with him.

"I need to speak to Monsieur Trevelyan," I said softly. I stood and held out the journal to Andre. "This was your father's. Sheriff Carr has just brought it to us. Would you like to read it first?"

Amazed wonder filled Andre's eyes. "It belonged to my father?"

"
Oui
. There are also some letters from him. I hope you will find among the pages the heart he never got the opportunity to share with you. After you read the journal, then I will. Maybe someday we will find the gold and give him his honor back"

"How,
Mère
? How can we do that?"

I hugged him tight. "To restore Jean Claude's honor, if we find the gold, we will put it into the bank and give money to people who need help surviving the aftermath of the war, just as your father intended."

Andre looked at the journal with tears in his eyes, then clutched it close to his heart.

I went up the stairs to Stephen's room and rapped sharply on the door. "Monsieur Trevelyan, might I have a word with you?"

Mr. Fitz, Mr. Gallier, and Mrs. Gallier all peeked out from their rooms.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Boucheron?" Mr. Fitz asked, his dark eyes shadowed with pain. "Mr. Trevelyan told us everything."

"Utterly horrendous. In all my life, I have never heard of such blatant, wicked, sinful goings on," Mr. Gallier said. "Why, when I was in London last, they had a—"

"Oh, for heavens sakes, Edmund, be quiet. Can you not see the dear child is wrung out? She doesn't need to hear your drivel right now. You have never been to London in your life, and it is about time you stopped calling other kettles black, when your pot is so tarnished that all the saints and their brothers wouldn't be able to put a shine to you. Now, you had best get back into bed and rest up, because tomorrow we are going to town to buy that dress I want. I am wearing it to Charlotte's funeral, and that is the end of it."

Mr. Fitz and Mr. Gallier looked at Mrs. Gallier in shock. Then Mr. Fitz gave Mrs. Gallier a genuine smile. "If Edmund finds himself overwrought with his bowel infirmity again, Lenora, I would consider it an honor to take you. Perhaps we will lunch at Antoine's in honor of Charlotte, as well?"

"Thank you, Horatio. Charlotte would love such a memorial to her."

"This ... this ... this is preposterous," Mr. Gallier bristled.

"Edmund, go take another Dover's powder and go back to bed. I will also need another new dress to attend the upcoming women's suffrage meeting." She winked at me. "Good night, Mrs. Boucheron."

Stephen had yet to answer his door. I knocked again. Nothing. My fingers trembled as I opened the door to see that his room was empty.

"Stephen," I whispered.

Pulling the door closed behind me, I entered and lit the small lamp on the dresser. He couldn't have left me. Please, God, please. Slowly, as if a mist was clearing from my eyes, I saw a stack of papers on his bed.

Hurrying over, I picked them up, my heart squeezing painfully as I read the words on the top page.
Saving Juliet
. By Stephen Trevelyan.

I could not stop myself from reading the play any more than I could have stopped myself from breathing. With each witty remark, with each endearment, my heart swelled. Then little pieces became more and more familiar to me.

Would that I could count every nuance that makes it so... How can I not love you?... I can love you because your wit hones mine, your smile softens mine, and your laughter restores mine . . . I have never been loved so deeply nor so well...

And the last line of the play.

Would that I always be a fool for you.

I'd thought I'd shed every tear possible. I hadn't. I didn't care how far I would have to travel or how long; I would find Stephen.

As I sat there, I heard the soft notes of music floating up to me. I jumped off the bed and fumbled with the French doors, my fingers so jittery that it took me twice as long to unlock them. I went to the railing and stood in the moonlight, searching for Stephen and his music of the night.

The courtyard was empty and the music had stopped. Had my heart imagined it? "Stephen," I called, anguished for him.

" 'Half light, half shade, She stood, a sight to make an old man young.' "

I turned, and Stephen stepped out from beneath the gallery's shadows to stand next to me, looking deliciously dark and dangerous in the moonlight. My pulse raced with anticipation.