Iron Lace (17 page)

Étienne had seen the same recognition in the eyes of the
Creoles of color who dwelled in the Vieux Carré. The
gens de couleur
were a class to themselves. Free a century before the Emancipation Proclamation, some of them had owned slaves and large properties themselves, but the war had not improved their position. Where once they had been a respected part of society, now, in the twentieth century, their rights and privileges had been eroded. Still, they kept to themselves, mixing as infrequently as possible with black or white.

These handsome, cultured hybrids from another century knew Étienne’s heritage at a glance, as sensitive to the width of a lip, the arc of a nose, as they were to the slights that befell them every day. They understood why a man of color would choose to be white if he could pass. Many of their brothers or sisters had made that choice. They made no comments in their dealings with him, but he saw their thoughts. If they knew his lineage, then it was only a matter of time before others suspected. Étienne was playing a dangerous game.

But no one had any idea how dangerous. Étienne stared out the window until Lucien’s carriage was no longer in sight. Years ago, hatred had become the sole purpose of Étienne’s existence. Now, the actual sight of Lucien Le Danois made his heart beat faster, his breath come quicker. Sometimes his hands trembled and he couldn’t trust his voice or expression.

He remembered their reunion a year ago. He had been afraid that Lucien would know him, afraid and yet hopeful. If Lucien had recognized him, then Étienne could have sought immediate, if imperfect, retribution. But there hadn’t been so much as a flutter of recognition. Lucien had so thoroughly dismissed the child he had sent into the hurricane to die that he hadn’t seen Raphael’s face written on a stranger’s. Lucien wasn’t haunted by uncertainty. He wasn’t haunted by
guilt. And he didn’t suspect he was haunted by a ghost who would one day steal everything he held dear.

A noise sounded behind him. Étienne composed himself before he turned. Aurore crossed the room and held out her hand. “He’s gone, isn’t he? I saw the carriage and hid in a doorway. I thought he’d be gone long before this.”

“Others may not be gone.” Étienne took her hand.

“I’ll tell them I’m just here to see my father, and so sad to have missed him.”

“If you insist on meeting me, we’ll have to find a better place to do it.”

“I insist?” She tossed her head. Her eyes were as blue as the patch of sky outside Lucien’s window. “Aren’t you the man who suggested I might like to go for a ride in the country tonight?”

“How do you get away, Aurore? Aren’t you missed when you meet me like this?”

She moved closer. “Am I missed when I can’t make our meetings?”

In the months he had been secretly meeting Aurore, Étienne had searched to find something of Lucien in his daughter. But the woman gazing at him with longing seemed unscathed by her parentage, as genuinely warm as her father was cold. “Yes,” he said. He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“I lie.” Her eyelids fluttered shut. “I lie, and I give Cleo gifts so she won’t be inclined to see if I’m telling the truth. And I have friends who lie for me. They think our trysts are wonderfully romantic.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think they could be even more so.”

His awareness of her was heightened. The late-afternoon sunlight turned her complexion to pearl. She was as young as a child and as old as a woman. He bent and brushed his lips over hers. He felt her shudder, and he pulled her closer. This time, he searched her mouth to discover which she was. She sank against him like a woman, her soft breasts pressing over her corset and against his chest. The heat of their bodies infused the space between them until there was only a sudden pulsing of blood and breath mingled with breath.

“Étienne.” She was the first to pull away, flustered and clearly unsure of herself. She opened her eyes. “Somebody might come in.”

“So they might.”

“You look pleased with the thought.”

“I’m pleased we’re going to be together this evening.”

“Can we leave now?”

“I’ll go first and wait for you behind the coffee shed. I’ve ordered a carriage to meet us around the corner.”

Her eyes sparkled. “And you really think we can get away without being seen?”

“Depend on it.” He lifted her hand and kissed it without taking his eyes from hers. “Don’t leave right away.”

“I won’t.”

Outside, he started for the coffee shed, secure that she would follow. Unknowingly, Aurore had led him to New Orleans and her father. Now she led him down a new path, a route to ruining Lucien of which the child Raphael had never dreamed.

He had thought to destroy Lucien Le Danois by taking everything he had built. But destroying a man’s business was
small punishment for murder. Now the man the world called Étienne was presented with an even greater opportunity.

He could destroy Lucien’s daughter and, with her, Lucien’s claim on the future.

T
he SS
Danish Dowager
was to be the flagship of a new fleet. She was a luxury craft designed to carry passengers, as well as cargo. Lucien thought of the
Dowager
and the other ships that would follow as living memorials. Le Danois translated as The Danish. The next ship was to be the
Danish Diva,
the next the
Danish Dancer.

Aurore had learned that the company’s board of directors was less than enthusiastic about the
Dowager.
The expenses were huge. Nothing was too good for Lucien. The
Dowager
was to be the finest ship operating out of the port. Though she had been built and launched in New York, Lucien had insisted that she be finished in New Orleans so that he could oversee all the interior work. He had made periodic inspections at the outfitting pier. Once, distressed by the pale gold chosen for the grand saloon, he had insisted that all the paint be thrown overboard so it wouldn’t be used elsewhere on the ship.

The
Dowager
’s route had been carefully planned. In the winter tourist season she would travel between Havana and New
Orleans; for the remainder of the year her destination would be New York. She was four hundred and twelve feet long and fifty feet abeam. She was to carry a crew of over one hundred and just as many passengers, and she was to travel at a speed of sixteen knots.

Compared to the monumental Atlantic ocean liners of the Cunard and Hamburg-America lines, she was not a large ship, but she was just as luxurious. Aurore had asked repeatedly to see the work in progress, but her father had brushed aside her requests. Like a small child with a toy he didn’t want to share, he had even begrudged the board of directors their right to a tour and made excuses not to be present for it. If Lucien had gotten his way, Aurore wouldn’t have seen the ship until it was completed.

But Lucien could no longer control Aurore.

In December, just before Christmastime, Aurore waited in the shadows fifty yards from the ship. The day had been pleasantly warm, but the evening was growing chilly. She held her cape shut, but the wind danced beneath it. Fantome had driven her here; tight-lipped and eagle-eyed, he waited not far away, in her father’s carriage. He had promised not to tell Lucien, but she felt his disapproval even at a distance. It would be even greater when he saw whom she was meeting.

She heard footsteps and withdrew farther into the shadows. The riverfront was dangerous at night. Nearby Decatur Street was lined with bars and sailors’ dens. In an effort to clean up the city, the city fathers had established boundaries for a red-light district, but crime couldn’t be contained so easily. The riverfront was removed from the district, but the river drew its own brand of sinners. Wharf rats were said to live under the wharves, thieves who slit sacks through the gaps between the widespread planks and neatly drained their contents.

A man came into view, cutting a striking figure against the winter sky. “Étienne.” Relieved, she started forward. “I’m glad it’s you.”

“Why didn’t you wait in the carriage?”

“I was afraid I might miss you.”

“You might have missed me entirely, if someone else had found you here.” He stepped into the shadows, and she went into his arms, as naturally as she had for months.

His lips were warm against hers, and familiar. But familiarity was as exciting as curiosity once had been. Now she could anticipate each kiss and know exactly how his lips would feel.

She lived for these stolen moments, moments that were growing increasingly dangerous. Lucien had questioned her twice about her whereabouts on afternoons when she had been with Étienne. He was at home more often now, as if his suspicions were aroused. When he was with her, he encouraged her to tell him about her days, and he listened carefully to her responses.

Once, Lucien’s attention would have meant everything to her. Every minute he spent with her had been the axis around which her world revolved. Now his attention added weight to her guilt. It was harder to go against him when he seemed so genuinely concerned for her welfare. It was harder, perhaps, but more necessary, because for the first time in her life, she had found a man whose attention mattered more.

Étienne moved just far enough away to see her face. “Are you ready to board?”

“You’re certain no one will come after us?”

“I’ve made arrangements. No one will bother us.”

She slipped her arm through his.

The ship’s watchman appeared on the deck when they approached; without a word, he let down a temporary gangway. They boarded, and with a tip of his hat he departed. Étienne pulled up the plank again, and they were alone.

“It’s ours until ten,” Étienne said. “Then he’ll be back.”

“Ours.” She liked the sound of that.

“What shall we do first? Shall we dine? Dance? Have a tour?”

She had come for the last. Since they were the only people on board, the others were impossible. “A tour.” She whirled, and her cape flew around her. “Definitely a tour.”

He held out his arm. She took it, snuggling against the wind. “Where shall we start?” she asked.

“We’ll start with a lantern. There’s no electricity while she’s at dock.” They walked along the deck. She could envision it crowded with chairs and the colorful clothing of passengers. It had recently been varnished, and the smell added a pleasant tang to the air.

Étienne found and lit a lantern. “Let’s start on the boat deck, while the sun is setting.” He led her up a stairway with brass railings that squealed as her hand dragged across them. At the top, he watched as she ran to the side to look out on the river.

“Look, there’s a tug passing.”

He came to stand beside her. “Your father’s spared nothing. This deck will be equipped with a dozen lifeboats.”

“Why? The
Dowager
won’t go down. I know ships wreck, but not ships like this. It’s a new era.”

“You forget about acts of God.”

Aurore chose to ignore the act of God she and Étienne had both endured as children. “The newspapers have talked of nothing but Mount Vesuvius and the San Francisco earthquake
since spring, but that was land and this is water. How could a ship as perfect as this one go down? I refuse to believe it.”

“Your father says the same thing, but even he sees the need for lifeboats.”

“My father has faith in his ships because he can build to his own specifications. He thinks if he spends a fortune he can bend anything to his will. But he doesn’t have faith in the river or the Gulf, because nothing he can do will tame them.”

“Eads tamed the river when he built the South Pass jetties.”

Until 1874, large ships hadn’t been able to pass through the shallow mouth of the Mississippi. James Eads, a remarkably capable engineer, had been so certain that he could use the river’s own current to carve a deeper pass that he agreed to absorb the expense if his plan wasn’t successful.

“Eads didn’t tame the river,” Aurore said. “He catered to her whims. In return, she allows us to pass through her mouth into the Gulf. It’s a favor she grants us.”

“She?”

She tossed her head, and soft curls bounced engagingly against her cheeks. “Of course. The river is a woman.”

“On the riverfront they call the Mississippi Old Man River.”

She turned her back to the water and leaned against the railing so that she could see his face better. “A woman gives life.”

He raised a brow. “A man has something to do with it.”

“Most men don’t seem to remember that. But even so, it’s the woman who nurtures her child and nourishes it, the way this river nurtures and nourishes us. She responds to the seasons, the phases of the moon, rising and falling, and always carrying with her the gift of life. How could she be anything but female?”

“The river also floods and destroys everything in its path.”

“Woman is capable of that, as well.”

“Man is the destroyer.”

“Woman is every bit as mighty, as commanding, as this river, when she’s forced to be.”

His expression was inscrutable. “How do you know? What have you ever been forced to destroy?”

“It’s a mistake to think that a woman’s feelings are less powerful than a man’s, Étienne.”

“All her feelings?” He touched her cheek.

She could feel each separate fingertip against her skin. When Étienne touched her, she felt as if something had been completed, as if something that had always been missing had now been returned to her. She closed her eyes and kissed his palm. “All,” she said.

Hand in hand with her, he showed her the bridge, equipped with the most modern technology, and the crew’s quarters. They stared down through stained-glass skylights to the smoking and drawing rooms below. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, they went down to the promenade deck and patiently strolled the circumference of the ship.

The smoking room was luxurious, with ornately carved walnut paneling, burgundy carpeting and comfortable leather chairs. Tables were set up for dominoes or a rowdier game of cards, and a bar extended along one side to cater to a gentleman’s whim. Beside the drawing room, in the center of the deck, was a small writing room for ladies, with gilded mirrors on the walls and delicately carved plaster ornaments adorning the ceilings.

“If I was traveling on this ship, I would adjourn here every day and write you a sad, sad letter,” she said, dragging a gloved fingertip along the surface of a Queen Anne secretary.

“What makes you think I’d let you come on board alone?”

Her voice grew softer. “Wouldn’t you?”

He moved closer. “And have you so far away? A letter wouldn’t be good enough, Aurore. Not even a sad, sad letter.”

She was afraid to believe what she saw in his eyes. She had yearned for love all her life, even as she had grown accustomed to living without it. Now she couldn’t think of anything else. Her waking moments were filled with thoughts of Étienne; her dreams were the same. She lived for the hours they spent together.

“I wouldn’t want to leave you behind,” she said. “But what a scandal we’d cause if we took a room together.”

“Not if we married.”

She looked down at the secretary. “What a scandal we’d cause if we married.”

He lifted her chin. “Would the pleasures be worth it?”

“My father has plans for my life. He’d be furious if I married you.”

“I’m good enough to work closely with him, but not good enough to marry his daughter?”

“No,” she said honestly. “But those are his thoughts. Not mine.”

“And what are yours?”

She looked away. “Do you understand that if we married, my father would do everything in his power to leave me penniless? Even the law couldn’t protect me. He would give away everything, just to be sure I received nothing after his death.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I’ve never claimed to understand my father, but I do know he expects total obedience from me. He’d crush us both if I strayed too far from his plans.”

He dropped his hand. “Then why are you here? To pass a little time? To stray just a little?”

“Why are you here?” she countered. “Did you think you might better your prospects by seducing the daughter of your employer and making an advantageous marriage?”

She expected him to turn away; most men would have. But Étienne didn’t. “I’m here because I want you.”

“Even without my money or my name? Even without a single share of Gulf Coast Steamship stock?”

“I’ve never wanted your name! And I have money of my own.”

She had held herself erect throughout their exchange. Now she sagged a little. “Then why do you want me?”

“The first time I saw you, I knew you were going to be mine.”

“There are more beautiful women, cleverer women.”

“None of them is Aurore Le Danois.” He took her hands and clasped them in his own. “But tell me if I’m wasting my time. If you’re bound by what your father thinks or says, then you have to tell me now.”

“He’s your employer.”

“There are other shipping companies on the river. Other companies in other places.”

“You would give up what you’ve worked so hard to achieve?”

“My goals aren’t as narrow as you seem to think.” He pulled her closer. Their faces were only inches apart. “I’ve never expected to stay at Gulf Coast forever.”

She gave herself up to a kiss that said more than words ever could. With his arms around her, she felt surrounded by his warmth and strength. She had never thought of love as a refuge, but now she escaped into the world he was creating. For the first time, she really allowed herself to
imagine a life with Étienne, a life far from the demands of her father.

His lips moved over hers, insisting with passionate grace that she had nothing to fear and everything to anticipate. She swayed against him and wished that her clothes weren’t a barrier to the hard pleasures of his body.

“I have more to show you,” he said at last.

Her breath was coming quickly. She had learned the joys of intimate kisses, of tongue dancing with tongue and hearts beating together. “You’ve already shown me so much.”

He took her hand. Hers was trembling, and his was not much steadier.

He led her to the stairs and down to the saloon deck. She had forgotten about the tour, but he pulled her into the grand saloon and left her by the door. “Wait here.”

She didn’t know what to expect; she hadn’t known what to expect since the day Étienne had walked into her father’s office. A small flame flickered in the corner, then another. As she watched, the darkness turned gradually lighter, until she could see dozens of candles set against huge mirrors. She clapped her hands as Étienne circled the room. When he had finished, he joined her and held out his hand. She let him lead her to a table in the center.

“Mademoiselle Le Danois.” He gestured to the table. “Your host requests the pleasure of your company at his table tonight.”

The room was an enormous octagon, a fairy-tale ballroom with a vaulted ceiling that rose two decks. Between the many mirrors were beautifully rendered figures from Greek mythology. She recognized Apollo and his twin sister, Artemis.