Josette (28 page)

“Thank you for coming to my aid, sir.” She turned to face Vennard. A peculiar humor suddenly ran crazy patterns through her and she called out, “I picked your pockets a time or two in my youth, don'cha know, Papa?”

He remained in the shadows, his face invisible from where she and the stranger stood.

“Can I be of further assistance, ma'am?”

“Yes, thank you.” She used quick strokes to brush off the front of her skirt. “If you'll offer me your arm and walk me to Rue Dauphine, I can make my way from there on my own.”

The young man presented his bent elbow, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a white handkerchief. “Your cheek, ma'am. It's bleeding.”

“Oh.” She took the folded fabric and touched it to her face. It came away dotted with blood. How utterly calm she managed to appear, but the cracks in her façade were beginning to take shape. “It's not bad, merely a scrape, but I fear I've ruined your good handkerchief. I'll see you get a new one.”

“That won't be necessary, ma'am. I have others. Can I escort you somewhere? I hope I'm not being rude, but I overheard you call the man Papa, and after what I just witnessed, I doubt you should go to wherever he lives, beggin' your pardon.”

“I have other family. They'll take care of me.”

The words struck a chord deep in the recesses of her heart. She blinked hard at the tears trying to gather and withdrew her hand from the man's arm. “Well, here we are, Rue Dauphine. I can manage from now on. Thank you so very much, Mister . . . ?”

“McCabe, ma'am. Ethan McCabe, from Dallas. I'm in town on business and staying at the Saint Anthony. If you change your mind about needing anything, just send a message. It ain't right to treat a woman so harsh, daughter or not.”

What an insane conversation they were having when she'd just been mauled and threatened by a father she'd never known existed but had plagued her since Louis's death. Dear God, her legs were about to buckle. “Thank you, I'll keep that in mind. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have appointments to keep.”

Head held high, she hastened to her shop before her knees gave way. Closing her umbrella, she placed her gloved hand over her marked cheek and peered through the window. Thank heavens there were no customers, and except for Elise, the staff must be on their lunch break.

Elise had her back to the door, straightening bottles in a cupboard. Josette let herself in. At the jingle of the door's overhead bell, Elise turned. Her professional smile faltered. “Madame?”

Josette hurried past Elise. “I'll be in my office. I want no interruptions.”

She barely made it to her desk before her knees gave out. Her hands shook so terribly, she could hardly remove her gloves and hat.

Émile Vennard was her father. The revelation was both stunning and laughable. She and her brothers were the progeny of one of the pillars of society. Yet he was a philanderer who took up with women from the bayou and thought never to see his bastard offspring in town. No wonder he wanted her shop closed. His wife and legitimate daughter were Josette's best customers!

She wept then, leaned her head against the chair's back and let the tears slide down her cheeks, the salt from them burning the bloody side of her face. All this time she'd pampered Miss Louisa Suzette Vennard, applied facials, mixed special blends of perfume until they were just right for each season, she'd been catering to her own sister!

All at once the fog in her brain dissipated, and the satire of her life prevailed. How little she'd thought of herself all these years. Well, no more. How dare Vennard try to force her to give up her beloved home so he could present it to that spoiled girl? The man must be mad. He probably despised Josette more than Odalie did.

A light tapping on the door told her it was Elise. “Are you all right, Madame?”

“Please put Madame Olympée's order ahead of the others and leave them in my laboratory. I'll be along in a moment.”

First she had to take care of herself. Closing her eyes, she covered her face with her hands. What to do? Bastièn and René had to be told. Usually, she could gauge their reactions, intervene when necessary, and leave them to their own devices when the situation called for it. But this time . . . this time, she didn't have a clue what the right thing to do might be.

Cameron would know. Hadn't he helped her with her home and business? Oh, if only he'd had the information that Vennard was her father, things would likely have gone another way entirely. Yes, she would go to Cameron before she told her brothers about their father. First, she'd have to give Cameron time to regain his strength. A few days, perhaps a week, and he'd be up and around. She'd better check with Michel to see when their next ship was set to sail.

Her tears finally dry and her breathing back to normal, she stood and made her way to the rococo armoire where she kept her personal items. Opening the top doors, she peered into the mirror attached to the inside of the left panel.

“Oh, dear,” she muttered. “Won't this take some explaining?”

Her hair was a mess. Not only was her cheek scraped raw with blood already drying, but it was also swollen and bruised. What she needed was the scant supply of ice that remained in storage at home. And a clean spider web from her garden. The spider's healing silk laid across her wound would be just the thing. She hoped there'd be one about; they'd been using them on Cameron's wounds.

Rifling through a small drawer, she found nothing to treat the bloody scrape. The only thing left to do was to go to the laboratory and hope she didn't run into Elise along the way. The last thing she needed was to have her asking questions.

She headed for the door.

It opened and René stepped in. His piercing gaze scanned her face. His jaw clenched and a muscle rippled alongside it. “What's happened, Josette?”

“Elise sent for you, didn't she? I'm going to fire that busybody.”

“No, you are not.” He came forward and, curling his finger beneath her chin, he lifted it and turned her head so her damaged cheek faced him. He scowled as he studied her. “What you are going to do is tell me exactly what happened.”

Her heart tripped in her chest.
And have you murder your own father? I think not.

She jerked her head away. “For heaven's sake, René, must you watch every move I make? I was hurrying to get out of the heat and not watching where I was going. I tripped stepping onto the boardwalk and fell.”

Before he could see the lie in her eyes, she turned and stepped past him to stand in front of the painting behind her desk. She bent to where she'd dropped her hat on the floor, picked it up, and wiped it off, studying the artwork as if she could actually see it through the tears threatening to spill over once again. “A clumsy move on my part, that is all. What I can't take care of here, I'll see to at home. Now please excuse me. I have let things slide so long here that any further delay and I will lose customers.”

Her teeth clenched at his silence. She needed time to figure this out so he and Bastièn didn't go off half-cocked. She had to speak to Cameron. But he first needed time to heal.

“You lie through your teeth,
ma soeur
. Who are you protecting?”

You and our hot-tempered brother!
There went the sick feeling churning in her stomach once again.

“Speak up, Josette. You know I cannot abide harm coming to my family.”

That word again. She bit back a sob and drew in a shaking breath while she scrambled to get her throat to work. “Thank God you are in my life, dear brother. I cannot begin to tell you how much you mean to me, but please, give me a few days and I will tell you everything.”

She turned to face him. At the sight of his worried frown and his set jaw, she nearly gave in. Not yet. She had to do this the right way and keep him and Bastièn safe. “I am asking you to trust me in something that is exceedingly important. Something that is about to change all our lives. One week, René, give me one week.”

He studied her for a long moment. And then, despite the sharp look in his eye that told Josette he wasn't necessarily compliant, he gave her a brief but stern nod. “
Oui, chère
. One week. Now come, let me take you home.”

Three glasses of wine failed to ease the tight band around Cameron's chest. Maybe a fourth would do the trick. He poured another and leaned back in the dining room chair, observing everyone present. Five days had passed since he'd awakened from his two-week nightmare. Five days since Josette had made sweet, uninhibited love to him. Five days since she'd then traipsed off to work with a promise of bedding him again, only to return withdrawn, her face bloodied, refusing to say what happened until he was further healed. Thereafter, she claimed the long hours spent at her shop were necessary to meet her clients' demands. During what little he had seen of her, she'd remained pleasant but aloof. And always with René or Bastièn in the room, pacing the floor like caged animals.

Then there was Alexia. She sat directly across the table from Cameron. Not once had she addressed him or looked him in the eye. Instead, she clung to René, as she'd done since that terrible night in the bayou. She'd even taken to spending her days at the shipping office, following her uncles around, or so Michel said. Which left Cameron to while away the hours with only Josette's two cousins in residence.

What the devil was he doing living amongst the infamous Thibodeaux family anyway? How had his life managed to become even more twisted than the months following Dianah's death? Hell, being stranded on a remote island wouldn't leave him feeling any more alone than sitting here surrounded by this anomalous clan. In fact, lolling under a palm tree somewhere in the South Seas was beginning to sound a damn sight better than putting up with this agony.

He downed his wine and poured yet another glassful. Josette shot a quick glance his way, then continued conversing with Bastièn and Vivienne regarding some new healing technique.

Alexia said something he didn't catch. Josette apparently had. She smiled and turned her attention to Alexia and René. As he watched them interact, a muscle in Cameron's jaw twitched. Without doubt, he knew what he had to do. As soon as Alexia went to bed, he'd say his piece.

Alexia yawned. René murmured something in her ear. With a nod, she bid everyone good night—again without eye contact. Damn it, there went that pinch in his chest again.

Vivienne rose and escorted Alexia from the room. Régine collected the last of the dishes and disappeared in a cloud of silence.

Cameron took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. “Bastièn, you indicated the discoloration in my leg might take a few months to dissipate, and the pain could come and go for a lifetime. Otherwise, I am now perfectly able to return to my town house, which I shall do in the morning. Also, Michel brought me the current shipping schedule, which piqued my interest.”

Josette frowned at Cameron's last remark. Instead of looking at him, she fiddled with the serviette next to her plate. Bastièn, in the middle of a swallow of wine, paused. René unbuttoned his jacket, pulled over an empty chair and slung one arm across the back. His lids lowered lazily as he focused on Cameron.

“The
Colette
brings another shipment of rum tomorrow from Bermuda,” Cameron said. “In a little less than a week, she'll return to the island. Since the ship is named after my mother, I thought it rather fitting I climb aboard when she sails.”

Josette's face blanched.

Bastian and René shot speaking glances at one another.

Despite the discomfort shooting through Cameron at voicing his intent, he practically laughed out loud. “Gentlemen, and I use that word loosely, I realize you were expecting Michel to assist you on your first training voyage, but since the
Colette
sails back to the Gosling Brothers distilleries, I thought perhaps I should be the one to escort you.” Cameron grinned. “In case you have it in mind to steal the poor men blind.”

Bastièn swore softly.

René chuckled.

Josette dropped her gaze to her lap. “Which means Alexia will sail with the three of you to Bermuda. I suppose I should consider that a good thing, but where will you and she go from there?”

Cameron drew in a long breath and took a deep swallow of his wine. God, what he'd decided pained him more than the ache in his leg. He took his time making eye contact with the brothers, but Josette kept her head bowed.

“Look at me, Josette.”

She lifted her chin.

Was that pain in her eyes?

His chest tightened all over again. Lord, a week ago she would have let him draw her into his arms to comfort her. Now, he didn't dare try. Of late, she seemed a stranger to him. “My daughter belongs here. With all of you. Since she no longer desires a life in the bayou, and to all our relief, wants nothing further to do with Odalie or Lucien, we are free of that worry.”

René studied Cameron intently while Bastièn drained his wineglass and refilled it.

A pale Josette took to staring at the floral centerpiece and twisting the serviette in her hands, her knuckles white. “What changed your mind?”

Cameron swiped a hand across his brow. Blast it, why was this so hard to put to words? “I may be her father, and I may care about her, but she has a stable home here. As different as your lives are from mine, you are her family and what she has always known. A stronger, more cohesive clan I have not encountered since growing up with my own relatives.”

He paused a moment to make his point. “My decision has been harder for me than you might imagine. Alexia belongs here, Josette.”

At the sound of her name, Josette ceased staring at the flowers and locked gazes with Cameron. Were those tears shimmering in her eyes? His fingers tightened around the wineglass stem. “My own daughter, and she hardly speaks to me any longer.”

“Give her time, Cameron. I told you she's filled with guilt and blames herself for what happened.”

He shook his head. “If I were to force her to leave with me, she'd likely detest me for the rest of her days. Perhaps this way, when I return to call on her now and then, or if she agrees to visit me once I've found my place in the world, time will have matured her and hopefully healed her heart.”

That said, he settled his gaze on Josette's cheek. “Speaking of healing, you seem to have done so quite nicely. I think you can attribute it to your own expertise. You have quite the talent.”

Josette set her serviette on the table and rose from her chair, a portrait of unyielding restraint. “If you'll excuse me, I had a rather long day and have the same due tomorrow. I wish to retire.”

“Not quite yet,” Cameron said. “When you returned here five days ago with your face cut and swollen, you gave me your word you'd tell me what happened once I was up and about. Well, here I am, Josette, up and about. And since tonight will be my last evening in your home, and in a little less than a week I'll be leaving New Orleans, it's time you did a little talking.”

“
Oui
,” René muttered.

Josette glanced from one brother to the other. A look of panic crossed her face. “Oh, dear. I . . . I meant that I wished to speak to you in private. Before . . . before I mentioned anything to them.”

René positioned his chair toward Josette, a cold, hard glint in his eyes. “No need to repeat your words when we are all here. Speak to us, Josette.”

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I did not trip and fall on the banquette.”

René snorted. “Tell me something I do not already know.”

Her shaky fingers shoved a stray curl behind her ear. “I was on my way to Belle Femme when I decided on a different route from my usual one, so I turned onto Rue Iberville. Halfway to Dauphine, I realized the street was deserted. Soon after, I became aware I was being followed.”

“Did you see who it was?” Bastièn asked.

She raised a hand. “Please, allow me to tell this my way.”

Cameron nodded. “Fair enough.”

“At first, I thought whoever it was merely meant to pass me by, but my instincts said otherwise.” She began to pace. “That was when I spotted a
ruelle
up ahead and made to cross the street to avoid any danger of being drawn into it. But I was too late. Someone grabbed me, shoved me into the alleyway and forced me against the wall.”

Cameron uttered an oath under his breath.

She touched her fingers to her cheek, as if oblivious to her action. “That's when my face scraped against the brick.”

René focused on her wound. “Were you able to see who it was? Could you identify him?”

She nodded, and continued to pace from one end of the room to the other.

It took all Cameron had in him not to go to her side. “Who was it, for God's sake?”

She stared past the three men, her white-knuckled fingers clasped together. “Émile Vennard.”

The sensation of a fist punched Cameron's gut. “That bastard! He's got legal orders to stay well away from you.”

René and Bastièn glanced at each other. Both stood.

“What did he want?” Bastièn demanded.

She ceased her pacing and looked at Cameron. “Not only is he a man filled with scorn, he is also someone used to having his way. He has not taken kindly to your intervention on my behalf. Even though I no longer own my home or the building where my shop is located, he demanded I shut down Belle Femme and leave New Orleans at once.”

Bastièn headed for the door. “René, are you coming along? I feel a need for fresh air.”

“
Oui
.”

“No.” Josette rushed over and splayed a hand across Bastièn's chest.

He halted, his face red with rage. “Do not stand in my way,
ma soeur
.”

“Whatever you think to do to that man, you cannot.” She looked at Cameron, pleading in her eyes. “Prevent them from doing Vennard harm.”

Ignoring the pain in his leg, Cameron rose and moved to Josette. “Why, when I want to tear him limb from limb myself? Perhaps it's not such a bad idea if Monsieur Vennard gets a taste of his own medicine.”

Cameron glanced at René and Bastièn. “Just don't do anything that requires a coffin.”

“Stop it, all of you,” Josette cried and started pacing again. “You must not harm him.”

René took Josette by the shoulders and held her steady. “Give me one good reason why I should show leniency to a man who not only threatens a woman, but harms her? Especially if that woman is my sister?”

She stared at him for a long moment, as if she saw something in his face that frightened her. Then she shrugged his hands off her shoulders and backed away.

René followed, his brows scrunching together. “What is it,
chère
?”

What the hell?
Cameron stepped toward her as well.

She held up a hand, stopping Cameron and her brothers from coming any closer. “I learned something in the
ruelle
that has changed my life.” She looked from one brother to the other. “And what I have to say is about to change yours.”

She paused for a beat, then lifted her chin. “It seems Monsieur Émile Vennard is our father.”

The tomb-like silence that followed seemed to suck the very air from the room. If Cameron's head grew dizzy at the news, the brothers stood like pillars of salt.

Bloody hell. Once pointed out, the resemblance was plain as day. Both men had Vennard's physique and, in one way or another, carried his features. When Cameron had met the man in the attorney's office, he'd noted those striking blue eyes. Why had he not connected the unusual color to Bastièn? No wonder Josette, who'd once thought Bastièn's beard dashing, complained of late and hounded him to shave it off.

Bastièn was a younger version of his father.

Damn.

Despite the trauma of having to tell her brothers the truth, in the silence that followed, a kind of peace settled over Josette. She decided against telling them what Vennard had said about Odalie poisoning Solange—at least for the moment. Learning about their father was enough for now. “I would imagine Vennard has grown quite uncomfortable with his legitimate family doing business with his secret family. Enough so as to threaten me, but if you were to bring harm to our father, you would prove yourselves no better than he. Perhaps you should sleep on this revelation before you run off to do damage.”

She turned to Cameron, her heart stopping when she saw that he was ready to come to her defense yet again. “René and Bastièn need time to let the news sink in, just as I have required time these past few days. I do hope you can help them to see things my way.”

She drew in a deep breath and on the exhale said, “Now if you will excuse me, I really should like to be alone. I, too, have much thinking to do.”