Josette (15 page)

“Those happen to be licorice roots, not weeds. I use them for healing purposes. Now, did you or did you not come here to inform me of your plans for Alexia?”

Blast it, she was still irritated. “You've met my cousin Michel, who runs the shipping office.”

She nodded.

“His sister Felicité is home from England, only long enough to try to convince her father to sell the plantation upriver and relocate to his place of birth. Which is also where most of the family has settled, including my father and stepmother.”

“What does this have to do with Alexia?”

“The two met today and hit it off like the long lost cousins they are. Felicité invited Alexia up to the plantation for a week. That's when it dawned on me that since the two connected so famously, perhaps Alexia could be convinced to travel back to England with Felicité. Alexia could settle in with my family, which is now hers, receive a fine education, and with the family backing, fit nicely into society there. Eventually marry—”

“Oh,
merde
.” Josette's breath hitched, and she stumbled.

Cameron grabbed her by the arm, steadying her. “I thought you were eager to have her gone from New Orleans?”

Her fingers shook as she tucked a curl behind her ear. “I was.... I am. It's just that England is so very far away—”

“But isn't that what you wanted? Having Alexia a good distance from Odalie and the bayou? Given enough time, and exposure to another world, she'll likely acquire a different mind-set.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Josette took in a deep breath. Her exhale seemed filled with pain. “It's . . . it's just that Alexia has been like my own child, and I shall miss her terribly.”

Her voice hitched, and Cameron struggled to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “If it's any consolation, René was in on the discussion today. He's all for Alexia being sent to England.”

“He actually said so?”

Cameron nodded. “While she was with Felicité, we men had quite a discussion. As much as your brother and I would like to tear each other's throats out, he's clearly intent on making something of himself in the shipping industry. He's eager to learn everything about the business, including the possibility of training voyages. This means he'll have occasion to sail back and forth to England, where he can meet up with Alexia every so often.”

“Oh, my.” She blew out a breath. “I see. That makes perfect sense.”

“She has a grandfather there—my father. His wife is a kind person, as is Trevor's wife. He and Celine have three children, by the way, and with Felicité's youngest brother attending university there, Alexia will be surrounded by more family than I had growing up.”

He offered her a small grin. “You'd be welcome to sail on one of our ships anytime you choose. It's not as if you'd never see her again.”

Josette halted and studied him for a long moment. “And what of you, her father? Where do you fit into all this?”

“I'll set up a trust for her, ensure she wants for nothing.”

She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. “You said just a bit ago that you wouldn't lie to me. What are your plans?”

Christ. He forced himself to continue facing her. “I don't know the long of it, but if Alexia is agreeable to traveling with Felicité to England, I'll be taking a ship out of here in ten days on my own.”

Something he couldn't decipher ran through her eyes. “Obviously not to England. So you intend to deposit her amongst strangers in a foreign country, and that's where your responsibility ends? How very noble of you.”

Fresh guilt added more weight to the anvil on his chest. “Damn it, Josette, I need to disappear for a while. I'll head back to England once I'm ready. I've been through a bit of hell and—”

“And Alexia hasn't?” Fire flashed in Josette's eyes once again. “Can't you see she's all caught up in you, her in-the-flesh father? She calls Odalie
maman
, but don't think for one minute Alexia has not pined for her mother, hasn't felt like an orphan.”

His throat thickened and every nerve went on edge. “I have all the guilt I can contend with, knowing my wife and Alexia's mother died as a result of my impregnating them. Have a care.”

“You're asking me to have a care? I never had a father, Cameron. To this day, I don't know who he is or even if he's dead or alive. I have a mother who dislikes me and had little to do with me all my growing years. The only time she touched me was to punish.”

Stunned by her words, he swallowed hard and found his voice. “The devil, you say.”

She rubbed at her arms as if suddenly chilled. “I know the pain and emptiness of feeling like an orphan while living in the midst of an otherwise close-knit family. I don't want that for Alexia.”

Without thinking, he reached out to comfort her.

She stepped back and returned to tapping her foot. “You may have been an only child, Cameron, and you may have lost your mother when you were barely fifteen, but at least you had a good and decent upbringing. You also had all those Andrews cousins living a life of luxury on an upriver plantation where you made your second home. Admit it, life for you was good, whereas it hasn't been so good for Alexia.”

And obviously not so good for you either
. “So what am I to do? Move back to England with her and have her end up hating a father who is miserable because he doesn't know what to do with himself? Think about it, Josette. If she's welcomed into a large, warm family, not to mention having another country to explore, wouldn't she be better off? At least until I can figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

Josette rubbed at the back of her neck and let out a sigh. “I need some time to think, Cameron. Give me a few days to let this all settle in. I also need to speak with René.”

“Which reminds me. Felicité insisted on getting together for a family dinner this evening at Antoine's. She invited Alexia.”

“Really?”

Cameron nodded. “In Alexia's eagerness to become a part of the Andrews clan, the little vixen managed to finagle an invitation for René, as well.”

Josette's hand went to her breast. “Lord love a duck.”

“I expect this could turn into an eventful affair, seeing as how sparks started flying between Felicité and René the minute they laid eyes on each other. As a result, his newly minted superior is shooting daggers at your brother. But Michel is keeping his mouth shut at the moment since Felicité will be here only a few days, and your brother managed to save the company several thousand dollars by catching a shipping error.”

“Mercy.” Josette's fingers covered her mouth.

“We all decided that to gather in a respectable public place over excellent food mixed with a bit of conviviality might go far in bonding Alexia to her new family. We need you there to lend your full support.”

“Impossible.”

Cameron lifted a brow. “Why is it impossible?”

She shook her head. “You do not want to be seen in my company. And you should think twice about being seen in René's. Though society ladies frequent my shop, I am scorned by them. And I've no need to remind you of my brothers' reputations.”

“Do you think I give a damn what people think? Besides, the Andrews name has been known to carry a bit of clout around these parts. If anyone so much as ventures a glance across the room at you with anything less than mild curiosity, they'll hear from me. As for René traveling in our company, doing so is bound to give the arrogant ass some respectability.”

To Cameron's surprise, she laughed. “You actually intend to assist my brother in garnering a measure of esteem in this town, and yet you still call him an ass?”

He grinned. “Worse if a lady weren't present.”

She was back to studying him again. This time through narrowed eyes. “You trust him to work for you?”

“Hell, no. That's Michel's problem. I'll soon be gone.”

Amusement flashed in those lovely eyes of hers. “Tell me if I understand you correctly. You were the one who insisted on hiring my brother, yet you intend to walk away and leave your cousin with the problem?”

Cameron shrugged. “When we were kids and I stayed at their plantation, Michel used to slip frogs and worms, or whatever else he could find, into my bed to antagonize me. René happens to be Michel's long overdue recompense.”

Josette's mouth dropped open. And then she giggled. Hard. “You, Monsieur Andrews, are very, very wicked.”

He couldn't help staring at that luscious pink mouth. God, he wanted to cover it with his own. Do things to her that would make her beg for more. His body buzzed with want. No longer wholly in charge of all his faculties, he stepped closer. “You should laugh like that more often.” His words settled deep in his throat and he had to force them out. “It makes you even lovelier.”

She tried to step back, but he slipped a hand around her waist and dipped his head until their lips were a breath apart. He held still, absorbing her clean, sweet scent until he was left with nothing but a tangle of emotions. His other hand came up of its own volition, and the backs of his fingers swept across her petal-soft cheek. “Why can't I stay away from you?”

“Don't do this,” she whispered, but she leaned in nearer and, closing her eyes, touched her lips to his.

A low groan left him. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. God, she felt good, so warm and willing.

He touched his tongue to hers, and her fingers clutched his hair, gripping and twisting, inflicting delicious pain. Sliding his hand low to her back, he urged her against him until his erection strained against her belly.

She gasped and pushed him away. “No. I . . . I cannot. I will not.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, one that still flashed heat and longing. But there it was again, that familiar look he couldn't quite decipher. “You're right, and I beg your pardon. I should take my leave before Alexia arrives.”

“Then do so at once.”

He put distance between them. Only a fool would fail to notice Josette was both aroused and upset. Her fingers splayed across her stomach, her breath releasing in short little gasps.

“For Alexia's sake, will you agree to dinner at Antoine's?”

She nodded. “But I don't have to like it.”

He turned and headed toward the rear of the house.

“Stop,” she called out.

He halted and pivoted. She looked like an angel in the fading light, her hair a halo in disarray, her bare feet peeking beneath the too-short dress. “What?”

Her gaze met his, held steady. “A part of me hates you. You should know that, Monsieur Andrews.”

A muddle of knots tightened his gut. He resisted the urge to rush back to her. “And well you should, Madame LeBlanc. I can be a right bastard at times.”

They stood staring at one another for a long moment. “Alexia will be spending the night with me at my town house, so pack a few things for her. Since she is quite taken with Felicité, my cousin has agreed to join us, which should please Alexia no end. I'll send a carriage at nine for the two of you.”

He turned and walked away, wondering what the devil had just happened.

Of all times for Josette to venture out to Antoine's in the evening, it had to be the one night Émile Vennard claimed as his. With fourteen themed rooms of various sizes that held up to eight hundred people, every room but the one Cameron had reserved was filled to overflowing with a large wedding party—the Vennard-Laroque wedding party to be exact.

Cameron's entourage had to pass through the room where Vennard and his wife held court at a grandiose flower-and-candle-festooned table. It had been all Josette could do not to make a hasty retreat at the sight of the arrogant bastard.

By the time they neared dessert, however, Josette had relaxed and was actually enjoying herself. Still, just thinking about the man's viperous gaze burning into her made her flesh crawl. Whatever the pompous cur wanted, she could rest easy knowing he'd not bother her this night. Or for the next few days, with the largest wedding celebration the parish had seen in recent history going on. If ever.

René sat across the table, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed on her as if reading her thoughts. Was she that transparent? She ignored his quizzical lift of an eyebrow and sipped her sherry. The scamp had one arm slung casually along the back of Felicité's chair, where, every so often, his fingers lightly brushed her shoulder.

Michel had his eye on that hand.

And when Felicité wasn't casting furtive glances toward René, her attention appeared to be squarely on Alexia, who lapped up the kindness like a kitten with a bowl of cream.

Josette's heart pinched. However much it would hurt to lose her niece, Cameron was probably right: sending Alexia off to England had to be for the best. She'd have a future beyond anything Josette had imagined when the girl went looking for her father.

While Alexia chattered away to everyone at the table, Cameron leaned over until his mouth nearly touched Josette's ear. “Have you forgiven me for this afternoon?”

The deep rasp of his voice, coupled with his warm breath against her neck, sent her pulse racing once again. What a dilemma. If she ignored him, he'd only keep at it. If she turned his way to respond, their lips would meet. But if she spoke to him otherwise, René would likely overhear every word.

Once again, René's sharp, assessing gaze swept over the other guests in the room, then returned to her. She narrowed her eyes, shooting him a message to leave her be, one he should be thoroughly familiar with since he was the recipient of that glare nearly every time their paths crossed.

He smirked and leaned to whisper something in Felicité's ear, mimicking Cameron's actions. Whatever the mischief-maker said, Felicité laughed softly.

Was that a little growl coming from Michel just now? He downed another glass of sherry and continued with the light banter interspersed with verbal jabs that had floated around the table all evening.

Josette leaned away from Cameron, just enough to miss touching his lips when turning his way, but not enough to end up with her head against Michel's shoulder. “I'm still working on forgiving you for your little game last night.”

He chuckled. “Nice memory, that.”

“René is watching us, you tease.”

“And Michel has a bead on René. Clearly a round robin going on here, wouldn't you say? Oh, to be a mind-reader.”

She couldn't help but laugh. “You're intent on stirring things up, aren't you? No wonder Michel put worms and frogs in your bed.”

Michel sat back in his chair. “He told you that?”

Heat ran up Josette's neck to her cheeks. “You overheard?”

Cameron gave a little laugh. “Of course he did, or he wouldn't have asked. Have you imbibed too much or have you been in Felicité's company too long? She's a known ninny.”

Felicité raised her glass of sherry to Cameron. “Careful, cousin. I have sordid tales to tell.”

Oh, wonderful. René clearly had his antennae up and wasted no time asking Felicité to elucidate.

Cameron's quiet laugh may have seemed innocuous to the others, but Josette felt the power in him shift to something slightly feral. Certainly Felicité wasn't fool enough to respond to René's inquiry?

Josette turned to Michel in an attempt to shift the focus. “Remind me to tell you why Cameron spilled those secrets.”

Cameron's hand covered hers in her lap and he squeezed. “Now who's the scamp?”

She caught a glimpse of his warm, strong hand over hers. Her mind flashed back to the afternoon, and how his long fingers had caressed her, nearly causing her to invite him into her bed.

Nearly.

She didn't think it would take much to get him there. Not the way he acted toward her every time he was in her presence. So why didn't she? For heaven's sake, she was a widow, and he'd be gone in a fortnight. And unlike with the others in town, whose invitations to become their mistress sickened her, the very closeness of Cameron, the scent of him, heated her blood.

Antoine Alciatore, owner of the restaurant, approached their table, jarring her thoughts. To her surprise, he greeted each of them in the same gentlemanly manner, including René. While business was certainly business, Monsieur Alciatore made it known he catered only to the upper echelons of New Orleans. Why did she have a feeling Cameron had pulled a few strings?

“Monsieur Andrews,” Antoine said. “May I have the privilege of serving you and your guests our special flambé dessert using the fine Gosling Brothers rum you sent over?”

“You may,” Cameron said.

Antoine gave a slight bow and departed.

“Now I know why we Thibodeaux have been treated so well this evening,” Josette whispered to Cameron. “You bribed the owner.”

He splayed a hand over his chest. “
Moi?
” Then he leaned closer to her, his expression suddenly sober. “I would never barter your standing in this community with a lowly barrel of liquor. Your worth is well above that, and don't you forget it.”

A breath of silence followed, and then, “You look lovely this evening, by the way. I like the way you've wound that string of pearls through your hair.”

He'd done it again—sent hot little shivers racing up and down her spine only to have them land in her belly, where they curled into a tight, heated ball. Well, enough was enough. She had to put a stop to his flirting, however he meant it. “You are not looking at my hair. You are staring down my gown.”

He chuckled, and lifting a flute of champagne to his lips, muttered, “That, too.”

“You're impossible, and René is at the boiling point over there.”

“Bully on him.”

Thank goodness Madame Charmontès had talked Josette into updating a couple of her gowns some months ago. She had not ventured out to formal gatherings since Louis's passing, so she'd thought there'd be no need for evening wear, but madame, owning the shop next door to hers, had pestered Josette until she'd handed over several. What madame had managed to do with the silver beaded gown Josette wore tonight was sheer genius. Although in her opinion, it was cut too low in front.

Two white-gloved waiters entered the room, one carrying a China platter holding the special dessert Monsieur Alciatore had offered, while the other held a tray of
café brûlot
, coffee mixed with orange liquor, lemon peels, and a bit of sugar, cinnamon, and cloves—Josette's favorite. While one server poured rum over the white, fluffy confection and lit it afire, the other set the coffee to flame as well.

A collective murmur of appreciation rose up in the room. Josette kept her focus on the coffee and dessert, relieved that most of the crowd sat behind her.

Alexia clapped her hands. “May I have a coffee, as well?”

“
Oui
,” René replied, but then glanced at Cameron, deferring to him for approval.

Cameron nodded.

A third waiter led a couple to the recently vacated table in front of Josette. Oh, dear, it was the flamboyant widow Robicheau, one of Josette's wealthy clients. She breathed a sigh of relief when one of the waiters blocked the widow's view, and was equally relieved when she saw the woman was about to be seated with her back to Josette.

She peered around the waiter, just enough to spy the broad back of a finely dressed gentleman as he held the widow's chair for her. His movements were smooth and languid, his long fingers brushing the back of the woman's shoulders as he moved to his own chair. Who the devil was he?

As women were wont to do while Josette consulted with them in her shop, they talked. But Madame Robicheau didn't just talk; she bragged that she was exceedingly content living the widow's life. Much to Josette's discomfort, Madame often spared no detail regarding her private encounters, saying she much preferred younger, virile men to pleasure her.

It was also a well-known fact that the woman dined nightly at Antoine's, ordered the most expensive wines from the restaurant's vast vault, and generously gifted the wait staff at Christmas. No wonder Antoine allowed her companions of questionable rank inside his establishment.

The waiter serving the
café brûlot
stepped around Michel to serve Josette, blocking her view of Madame's companion entirely. Blast it! Surreptitiously, Josette peeked around the server, her curiosity growing as to who the escort might be.

At last, the waiter moved, leaving Josette with a full view of a darkly handsome man, his black hair swept cleanly back from his face and brushing over his collar, his bearing powerful, yet polished. It took a moment before recognition slammed into her. Bastièn! Her heart jumped to her throat. “Oh, dear God.”

Everyone at the table turned to see what had caused her outburst.

“Bastièn,” Alexia called out.

He glanced up. A faint look of surprise washed over him, then quickly faded.

“Hush,” Felicité said, but when Alexia informed her the man was her uncle, Felicité's eyes flashed appreciation. “Oh my, isn't he a devilishly handsome one, though?”

“Bloody hell,” Cameron muttered.

Bastièn rose, and in a graceful movement, bent to the widow's ear. She gave him a slight nod, but to Josette's relief, did not turn around.

He approached the table nearest Alexia. “
Pouchette
.” He spoke to her, but his eyes, glittering like polished sapphires in the candlelight, settled on Felicité.

“Who is your
belle amie
, Alexia? Or is this
your
beautiful friend, René?”

Alexia stood and slipped her hand into Bastièn's. “This is Mademoiselle Felicité Andrews. She is here from England.”

His sharp gaze slid over Felicité. His lids lowered, and a smoky smile played over his lips. “A pity we have not met before,
oui
?”

Felicité's lips parted, but she said nothing. She didn't have to—her countenance told Josette that Bastièn had the same effect on Felicité as he had on most women. As upset as Josette was, she couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked in his impeccable clothing, his manner so very refined.

René shifted in his seat. “What are you doing here, Bastièn?”

“Working.”

Puzzlement filled Josette. “I don't quite follow you.”

René snorted and shifted in his seat again, his arm still over the back of Felicité's chair.

“Bastièn works for Madame Olympée,” Alexia piped in. “Doing what my real
maman
used to do.”

Felicité gasped, but Josette didn't think it was from embarrassment, not by her awed expression.

Josette glanced from Cameron, whose jaw was set, to Michel, whose grip on the stem of his glass had grown dangerously tight, and back to Bastièn. A queer feeling wended its way through her, giving her brain a buzz. “Hush, Alexia. We don't speak of that place in public. Besides, he'd merely be positioned at the front door of the establishment were he to be employed there. Which, I doubt.”

René's and Bastièn's carefully controlled expressions, along with their silence, told her otherwise. Her breath froze in her lungs. It couldn't be. Madame Olympée didn't employ men in that kind of position. Did she?

As her stomach sickened, and her throat grew parched, denial receded. Dear Lord, not another Thibodeaux working in a whorehouse. One more reason to be shunned. “Tell me this isn't true, Bastièn.”

She sat there, light-headed, staring into those startling blue eyes that set him apart from his siblings. He held himself in a manner that spoke of self-assuredness laced with élan. Then he leaned over and very quietly said to Alexia, “
Pouchette
, this is a very respectable place. If you lifted anything off anyone on your way to your seat, kindly slip it into my pocket, tell me which person I should seek out, and I will return whatever you stole as having been dropped on the floor.”

“Christ,” Cameron muttered. “At least the din in the room covers this deplorable conversation. Alexia, if you have anything not belonging to you, give it over immediately.”

She slipped her closed fist into Bastièn's pocket, whispered something in his ear, then went back to her dessert as though nothing had occurred.

Bastièn gave a nod to everyone. “
Pardon
, but I must make my
sortie
into another room where I shall note in passing that a certain lady's bracelet has fallen off her wrist onto the floor.” He strolled over to his partner for the evening and spoke quietly to her before exiting the room.

Josette feared she was about to lose her entire meal. She braced her hands on her stomach.

Cameron touched her arm. “You didn't know?”