Josette (27 page)

He cocked a brow. “So you call her Odalie now?”

Josette gave him a faint smile. “I forgot, you were barely among the living when she informed me that although we siblings share the same father, he merely deposited me on Odalie's doorstep one day and ordered her to raise me. Why she agreed to his demand, I can't imagine. Obviously, she didn't like it much.”

A short silence told him she wasn't going to elaborate further, so he tried to draw her out. “How do you feel about the news?”

She shrugged. “Actually, I find it rather freeing. At least I now know why I never felt like I fit in or belonged anywhere. Although I have to say, I was touched by the way my brothers stepped forward and halted Odalie's tirade against me. Half brothers or whole seems to make no difference to them—they denounced her for the way she's treated me all my life.”

“And now you have a house so full you're forced to share a bed with Alexia.”

Something came and went in her expression. A small smile touched her lips. “Truth be told, I rather enjoy having so many around. Régine is in her glory doing all the cooking. She said to tell you when you awoke that she's looking forward to preparing all your favorite dishes. My brothers seem to have settled in rather nicely. Vivienne bustles about making certain everything is in order, and Alexia . . . well, as I said, she is doing as well as can be expected.”

“And tell me about you, Josette. How are you in other ways?” The desire licking through him like flames wouldn't hold off much longer, but he wasn't ready to halt this conversation.

He suddenly knew why—he cared about her.

And he wanted her properly situated before he left. “With the way Odalie treated you, I can understand why you felt you never belonged, but you now have a large family under your roof. You're free to leave your past behind—cast it off like an old overcoat. That's what I intend to do.”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “But I imagine you intend to board another ship as soon as you are able, and Alexia will be leaving with you.”

Lord, it was going to hurt her when he took his daughter with him. He didn't know quite what to say. “In the meantime, there's nothing holding you back from enjoying every moment of her while she's here, is there?”

Josette placed her hands in her lap and dropped her gaze to them. “I know.”

His chest tightened. Damn it, no one deserved to be treated the way she'd been all her life. The impulse to reach out to her, to hold her tight, grabbed hold of him. But that wasn't all of it. He wanted more. Much more. He wanted to make love to her. He should want to do so in a slow, sweet way, but a raw edge of desire cut right through that thought. And he was no fool. She wanted him as well. He'd seen it in her all the while she'd been sitting there. This time, however, it would have to be her taking the lead. Her on top. He was too weak for anything else.

“I'm hungry.”

She lifted her head and fastened her gaze on his. “That's a good sign.”

He gave her a slight nod. “But not for that damnable broth.”

The pulse at her throat quickened. “Then what, pray tell, might you be hungry for?”

He grinned, slow and easy. “You, my dear.”

Josette fairly sailed out the door and down the stairs, filled with an energy that hadn't expressed itself since before Cameron's injury. Making love could do that to a person, he'd said as he laughed and watched her dress. But while their lovemaking had had her practically floating on air as she'd left him, he'd lounged beneath the covers, lassitude his bed partner.

Pausing just outside the front gate, she snapped open her ruffled black and white umbrella, one that complemented the pattern in her hat and dress, and marched down the tree-lined street toward St. Charles Avenue. He'd asked her to return to his bed tonight. Oh, indeed she would. Tonight, and as many other nights as possible before he left to sail the seas.

Her heart squeezed at the thought. He'd be leaving soon. Far too soon. And taking Alexia with him. She was his daughter. He had the right to do so. But oh, how Josette would miss them. For now, though, she'd live every precious moment she had left with them to the fullest.

She intended to store enough memories of her private times with Cameron to last far into her winter years. She smiled to herself. Her young-girl infatuation had blossomed into something she'd once only dared to dream of. Other women should be so fortunate.

“He is my paramour.”

She grinned at the magical sound of her words floating in the air around her. Imagine that, Cameron Andrews, her lover. And a magnificent one, at that. Even today, incapacitated as he was, he'd still managed to loosen all the tight knots in her muscles, melt her bones with every exquisite stroke of his fingers and tongue. Had she cried out his name? Oh, she had, but he'd muffled the cry with his mouth over hers and then proceeded to take her over the edge and into oblivion.

She sighed.

Once she returned this evening, she ought to show her gratitude.

Indeed, she'd do just that and she knew exactly how.

She laughed softly.

There were other things to thank him for as well. She was a stronger, more confidant woman because of him. On her own, she'd been tough. Had to be to survive. But she'd always lived in fear that something or someone would come along and take what was hers, then toss her back into a dismal life in the bayou. Now, because of Cameron, her business and home were secure.

And he'd been right about having a family under her own roof to dispel her sense of not belonging. That sorrowful feeling had vanished—along with that awful recurring nightmare. Odalie was gone from Josette's life. The truth of her parentage—the fact that she was not tied by blood to the woman who'd always hated her—was incredibly freeing and left her with a deep sense of relief.

She wiped the back of her gloved hand across her damp brow and hurried along. It was much too hot to be out in the blazing sun. The empty streets told her that much. Well, she had her place of business to oversee so there was no way around it—she had to be out and about.

Belle Femme.

Trying to focus on the mounting backlog in the shop had been nearly impossible with all that had gone on at home. But once she arrived, she'd be able to set her mind on what needed tending to. She was good at doing that, remaining focused.

Thank goodness for Elise, who kept the shop girls in line and everything running smooth as silk. However, the girl's note yesterday practically begged Josette to make an appearance. They were nearly out of Madame Olympée's special creams and Madame Vennard's . . .

Madame Vennard.

How Josette would like to tell the rude woman to take her business elsewhere. Wasn't that a laugh? There was no other place like Josette's to recommend. No one came close to what she offered. But why couldn't she refuse to do business with rude people? Madame Charmontès did. Whatever had changed in Josette, the truth of the matter was now glaring. She had allowed women such as Madame Vennard to treat her like a peon
,
all because she had been afraid to lose business. From now on, if anyone treated her girls or herself with rudeness, she would inform the person politely, but firmly, that such behavior was unacceptable and not allowed on her premises. Madame Charmontès would be proud of her.

Her decision felt quite good, actually.
She
felt quite good. Removing herself from Odalie's life had had a startling effect on Josette—and her brothers. She doubted she'd ever forget the look on Odalie's face when both her sons stepped forward and denounced her for her lifelong treatment of Josette. But something Odalie had said, or was about to say, after she'd ordered everyone off her premises, nagged at the back of Josette's mind. She gave a mental shrug and walked on. Whatever it was would surface when she least expected it. Wasn't that the way it always went?

She reached the Vieux Carré and, deciding to take a different route, turned up Rue Iberville. Halfway down the block, the hair on her nape prickled. A feeling that she was being watched gripped her.

She glanced about. No one dallied on the street in this heat. She paused, only to meet silence. Nonetheless, her heart beat like a rabbit's. Refusing to turn around, she hurried on. It was broad daylight, for heaven's sake—she was perfectly safe.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Her breathing faltered. She glanced over her shoulder just enough so her peripheral vision caught the silhouette of a tall man. She swallowed the dry knot in her throat and quickened her pace. Blast it, she was nearly upon a
ruelle
, a narrow alleyway that could prove dangerous.

The footsteps behind her beat a faster cadence.

Oh, Lord! She pivoted to cross the street to avoid a trap. Too late!

Strong hands grabbed her, shoved her into the narrow passage, and pushed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. Her hat tumbled to the ground. Her cheek chafed against the rough brick.

Catching her breath, she cried out.

A gloved hand covered her mouth. “Hush!”

Frightened out of her wits, she nodded and obeyed while she tried to get her brain to function.

One hand held her pinned against the wall, the other slid from her mouth.

Think.
She had to think. Stay calm. “What do you want? My reticule? Take it.”

The familiar scrape of steel against metal grated against her ears.

A sword being drawn.

Émile Vennard!

Her heart jumped to her throat, and for a moment, words failed her. Then anger set in so raw, it left her cold. “You, Monsieur Vennard, are required to keep a distance of at least fifty feet from my shop, my home, and my person. Release me at once.”

He swung her around and shoved her back against the wall so hard her head cracked against the bricks. Stars danced before her. She blinked to try to bring him into focus.

Pure hatred sizzled in his eyes. “You little witch. You think you outsmarted me? You think your lover has outdone me? You and your brothers are in for one very big surprise.”

She'd spent a lifetime as an outcast, tormented by a woman she thought to be her mother. She'd had years of Vennard bullying her. By all the saints, he would plague her no more.

Steeling herself, she glared at him. “I will see you punished for this.”

His face lowered to hers, so close she caught the scent of liquor on his breath. “I don't recommend it.”

Something shifted in her. A sudden thrust of courage suspended all fear. “Don't think to threaten me any longer with regard to my brothers. I will say this only once, Monsieur Vennard. Should any harm befall either one of them, your daughter will never again find herself safe on the streets.”

He laughed, his eyes cold and ruthless. “You wouldn't live to see the next sunrise.”

“Are you actually saying you would do me in?”

“My daughter does not concern you. See that it remains that way.”

“Then see to it my brothers do not concern
you
.” She tried to move, but he held her fast against the wall. Her head was beginning to pound and her mouth could have been filled with cotton as dry as it was. “What could you possibly want from me? I no longer own my home, or the building where my shop is located. None of it is for me to hand over to you. There cannot possibly be anything you can take or want from me. So why did you drag me in here when you should know by now I am not only under my brothers' protection, but I have a powerful family backing me?”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, so deep she winced. He grew so livid even his beard quivered. “You still run the shop. Close it down and leave. Go back to the bayou where you belong.”

Despite the pain he inflicted, she refused to back down. She returned his bold gaze in equal measure. “I am beginning to see how things are with you. I managed to crawl out of the swamps and marry well. And because of my husband's standing in the community, you were forced to swallow your prejudices and act with civility toward me. No wonder you wanted Louis's holdings after he passed. You thought to be rid of me, but then I opened the shop, which has women clamoring for appointments, including your wife and daughter. But you are quite aware of their patronage, aren't you?”

She stared at him, into those steel blue eyes and . . .

She froze.

The gray hair. The gray beard. Had they been black, had the blue in his eyes not faded somewhat with age . . . oh, dear Lord in Heaven, why had she not seen the resemblance before?

As the terrible realization set in, Vennard loosened his grip and stepped back.

“It cannot be,” she whispered and closed her eyes. To her horror, what she saw against her closed eyelids was a reverse image of him. The hair and beard framing his face appeared black. Had Bastièn not recently grown a beard as well, she never would have made the connection. Both brothers had Vennard's height, the breadth of his shoulders.

Sick to her stomach, she turned from him, her knees weak. Planting her palms against the brick wall, she steadied herself, her breath quaking in her lungs, perspiration clammy on her brow.

She waited until the air in her lungs found a rhythm that allowed her to speak. Slowly, she turned back to him. “Bastièn has your eyes.”

A heartless smile curled one corner of his mouth, but he said nothing.

The past registered in flashes across her mind. “I don't understand. Why would you want to harm your own sons?”

He took another step back. Shadows swallowed his features. “Because their damnable mother was supposed to have kept them in the bayou where they belonged. I should have drowned them like the litter of stray cats they were.”

A shudder ran through Josette. “But you stayed with her long enough to give her three children. Why?”

He gave his head a small shake. “I tired of her shortly after Bastièn was born. I did not know Solange existed until I brought you to Odalie, but there was no mistaking the brat came from me.”

A sudden realization struck Josette as to what Odalie had been about to say when she'd ordered everyone from her home. Just as he'd threatened to harm Josette's brothers if she didn't sell to him, he'd threatened to harm Odalie's precious sons if she didn't raise Josette as her own.

A shudder ran through her. “Who was my mother? Odalie said she died giving birth to me and that she also lived in the bayou.”

“Who the woman was does not matter. She's dead.”

A fireball of fury rolled from the marrow of Josette's bones and burst into flame. “She doesn't matter? Another one of your illicit affairs gone bad doesn't matter? Well, she was my mother, and she matters to me!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I shall not!” she yelled.

“Hush your mouth. Your mother was Lisette Laurent, a friend of Odalie's. When she found out Lisette had given birth to my child, Odalie gave her a cup of tea laced with the roots of the maudit tree out of Africa.”

“My God! She poisoned her?”

Vennard shrugged. “Who am I to judge? Imagine Odalie's surprise when I dumped Lisette's little orphan on her and told her she either took good care of you or her boys would suffer.”

“I think you match Odalie in pure evil.”

“Not quite. Unlike you, Solange was Odalie's flesh and blood, yet she thought nothing of gifting her with the same kind of tea.”

Josette staggered and braced her hands against the wall for support. “Even Odalie wouldn't have done such a cruel thing.”

He tsk-tsked. “Solange was such a disappointment to her mother, wasn't she?”

The horror of Vennard's words hit Josette so hard, a cry of pain tore from her lips.

“Ma'am, are you all right?” A stranger stood at the entrance to the alleyway, his umbrella raised as if intending to defend her.

Vennard stepped farther into the shadows, grabbed his sword from where he'd leaned it against the wall, and held it behind his back.

Josette had no doubt he'd use the blade on the stranger if need be. “I am not all right, but I shall be in a moment, so please wait there if you will.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She stared hard at Vennard. This beast of a man, one of the wealthiest merchants in all of Louisiana, was her father. How very ironic. Not only had she been raised in near poverty, but what she had managed to obtain, he wanted to destroy. “You truly underestimate me. I cannot tell you how much stronger this little revelation has made me.”

She bent and snatched up her crushed hat, brushed it off, and plopped it atop her head. With as much dignity as she could muster, she marched to where the stranger stood. Pausing a few feet short of him, she picked up her umbrella, shook off the dirt, and moved to stand beside the man.