Lilac Temptress (3 page)

According to Daniel, only a few
hundred people occupied the township of Jadesville. It was a
property that had been given over to settlers to colonize, so it
was not eligible for a grant. So far, the railroad company had not
had any luck in purchasing the necessary land in Jadesville. Drake
and Girard’s vast experience in land procurement, lent them to the
task, and they were hired to convince William Hunter to sell and
broker the deal.

They might have been able to reach
Jadesville faster if they had adhered to their original route,
instead of diverting through the harsher terrain. But Girard
wouldn’t hear of traveling through a warpath; there were talks of
Indian uprisings occurring in that part of Louisiana and he wanted
to play it safe. It was not the best time to travel through
territory “given” to the Indians if one valued their life. After
completing the deal, they would take care of their final business
with the railroad company in New Iberia, and then catch the first
train home to New Orleans. At least that was the plan—to cut the
deal that Girard no longer wanted to pursue.

So much for well-laid plans, Drake
thought, grumbling. He’d retired early after having enough of
Girard’s scolding for the evening. He hadn’t decided what he’d do
tomorrow, but Girard made it clear that he wanted to be back on the
road by the crack of dawn. Another day spent in Jadesville was an
unnecessary waste of time and effort, Girard had argued, citing
that they had done all they could. Besides, it wouldn’t be long
before Jadesville was swallowed up in war between the Indians and
Colonists, and the town would be forsaken. Morgan would get what he
wanted—it was only a matter of time.

To hell with what Girard wanted, Drake
thought. He wasn’t about to abandon his dealings with William so
easily and allow people to suffer needlessly when it could be
avoided. His gut told him that William was interested in the
deal.

He removed his shirt before
taking a seat at the edge of the bed. This wasn’t over. He would
convince William to sell even if it meant staying longer to get the
deal done, he decided. Then he let his mind settle on more pleasant
thoughts as he recalled the scarlet haired woman dancing about the
tavern.
I didn’t even catch her
name,
he scolded himself as he called to
mind her every detail.

She was nothing like the glorified
materialistic Society snobs he encountered back home. He could see
through the trickery and juvenile games of these shallow
debutantes. But if they wanted to play, he would happily join them
in their folly, he thought with a smile across his face. He so
loved the little crafty shows the ladies performed when they tried
to lure him into bed, promising to give him something to remember
them by.

And tall and masculine for his age,
his erotic experiences with women started early in his life at the
age of only fifteen. Indeed, Vinvella Lemaitre, was the first of
his many liaisons with pretty voluptuous French women. The eighteen
year-old Vinvella had lured him into lovemaking with her one
afternoon. She had come to his parent’s estate looking for her
brother, Laurent, a stable hand, and instead stumbled upon Drake
caring for his stallion. Vinvella was glad to find him very much
alone, and her brother nowhere to be found.

He would never forget the buxom
ash-blond beauty—how she touched his face, fondled him to arousal,
and lavished him with flattery. When he tried to discourage her by
revealing his true age, she did not believe him, and so he had
followed her lead.

And after his first time making love,
he was addicted, exploring his tastes and insatiable curiosity of
all things feminine with a singular ambition—to please a woman, and
whatever a woman wanted in bed, he gladly obliged. Eventually roles
reversed, and then reversed again.

By the time he was twenty years of
age, he had learned to make love in vastly different ways,
improving with each session and in his thirty-two years, he had
never received a complaint.

Regardless of what Girard may have
thought about his womanizing ways, he had outgrown his thirst to
love and leave a string of women behind him long ago. For the time
being, he bedded only one woman, Isadora Marcos. And thinking of
her always tended to weigh his mind heavily.

Isadora had been randomly entering his
thoughts on numerous occasions since he’d left New Orleans, and he
couldn’t figure out why. It was just a gut feeling he had that
something was amiss.

An only child, Isadora was a cultured
lady of the French aristocracy. Her father Alexandre Gravier Marcos
came from a long line of politicians who were a part of the ruling
class under the old French regime. Using family money, Alexandre
launched a successful sea trading company, the biggest rival to
Randal McCalister’s trade business for over twenty
years.

Isadora, a lady of intelligence and
persistence, was as ruthless as she was beautiful. She had many
suitors, but Isadora had her sights set on ensnaring Drake. And he
had made the colossal mistake of bedding her, even though at the
time of their affair she had been far from innocent.

He learned early on that Isadora was a
very promiscuous woman. They were caught in a game of cat and
mouse, and he was the mouse. No matter how much he enjoyed her, he
didn’t love her beyond the bedroom. Though, this wasn’t the first
time he had encountered the predicament of loving women only in
this way. However, he found comfort in the fact that Isadora
enjoyed his position in life more than she enjoyed him. She did not
love him, and had her own selfish reasons for pursing
him.

At Isadora’s insistence they kept
their affair discrete. She told him that his libertine reputation
with women had preceded him, and that she would have no one think
she was chasing him. Only when she was good and ready would she
announce their courtship to Society, and soon after they would
announce their engagement to the New Orleans elite.

Isadora was not a compromising woman,
and rumor had it that she could be quite volatile when provoked.
Even her father said she was unmanageable, but if she had a temper,
Drake had never witnessed it. So, he enjoyed their time together
and the freedom that their secret affair afforded him to pursue
other women. And if Isadora followed his wanton ways before they
were married... well that just meant he didn’t feel guilt for his
own dalliances.

He might have loathed the idea if he
loved her, but he only loved the thought of her being his, and soon
enough she would be. For now they should both enjoy their freedom,
she had told him. Putting thoughts of Isadora aside, he rose from
the bed and donned his shirt and boots, deciding to go for a
walk—noting the lateness of the hour on the pocket watch that he
always carried, a gift from his father.

His ties to his father, Randal Escoth
McCalister, went far beyond their fashion sense. Their greatest
connection, beyond their familial bond was the family business,
which he was expected to lead one day. But rather than immediately
follow his father’s footsteps into the trading and auctioneer
business, he had opened a law practice with his friends, focusing
primarily on real estate, development, land use, zoning and
construction law. He often took cases pro bono or devoted to
bettering the human condition, and enjoyed a great sense of
satisfaction from helping the less fortunate.

* * *

The cool night air was a
welcome contrast to the blistering hell Drake had survived earlier
while journeying through the swampland. He kicked pebbles beneath
his boots as he walked along the dimly lit dirt road. He missed the
paved cobblestone streets of New Orleans, and his home,
Newhaven
, about an hour’s
ride outside the city. And he missed his early morning rides on his
trusty steed,
Knight
, along the Mississippi River and the everyday busy life of
the city he loved.

Consumed by his thoughts, he didn’t
realize how far he’d wandered, and now he was just feet away from
the tavern he’d earlier patroned, and the alluring woman who worked
there. He stared ahead and peeked down at his waist to see if he
had remembered to strap on his revolver, and found to his relief
that it rested securely on his hip. If there would be any trouble,
he was prepared. Though, he never drew his weapon unless his life
depended on it. His training ensured that he could defend himself
well if the need arose.

Two drunken men wobbling outside the
tavern, slurring familiar tunes, soon caught Drake’s eye, and he
was once again furious that he and Girard, had been swayed to leave
before being thrown out. Still, a confrontation with William wasn’t
worth losing a probable, lucrative sale. He didn’t need his ego to
get the best of him, and knew he would damn himself if he went any
closer to the tavern. William was the owner of most the property in
this town and making him an enemy wasn’t in Drake’s best interest
if he wanted to convince him to sell.

Just as Drake turned back toward the
Casa Bayou Inn, he saw a red-haired woman step outside the swinging
doors of the bar, pushing at one of the slovenly men in her path.
To his surprise and delight, it was the same woman that straddled
him, though she no longer wore her flirtatious costume, only a
plain, modest white blouse that covered her to her chin, and a
brown skirt that left nothing exposed, but her leather brown
boots.

Drake stood still following her with
his eyes while she kicked up her heals, heading in his direction.
He had no intentions of frightening her, but everything that
happened in the bar came rushing back—her song and dance, her
scent, and the way her body fit tightly against his. He grinned
with anticipation, deciding instantly that he would speak to
her.

“
Good night,” Drake said,
greeting her with his most charming smile.

Sierra’s heart skipped a beat at the
sound of his deliciously deep and earthy voice. Never had she heard
such a sensuous voice on a man. And if he commanded it—heaven and
earth would move to his will, because his voice matched his
likeness of a beautiful Greek god, with a body so solid it could
have been etched in stone, she thought. She dared not look directly
into his intense eyes, lest she alert him of how extraordinary she
found his appearance.

“
You shouldn’t be walking
along the empty road alone at this ungodly hour,” Drake warned. “It
could be dangerous for a pretty damsel like you.”

“
Are you a dangerous man?”
she asked. She wasn’t performing. Anything she might say or do
would be real. And though she might have feared him—this stranger
approaching her at this late hour of the night, there was something
about the way he had touched her in the bar—the gentle way he had
drifted his strong hands across her thighs, which made her feel
unafraid.

“
No, I’m not dangerous—at
least not to you. In fact I am rather harmless,” Drake said,
offering her his most sincere smile.

She paused, appearing to contemplate
his words, before continuing. “Then, I assure you,
Mr.—?”

“
McCalister, Drake
McCalister.” He hoped she would lift her hand to his so that he
might kiss the back of it, but she did not. So, he held out his
hand and waited for her to return in kind, but she didn’t
comply.

“
Then let me assure you,
Mr. McCalister. I am never in any real danger.” She glanced at him
briefly and turned away again, strolling with a more deliberate
pace this time. She was certain that her performance at the bar had
stirred his interest in her, and now that she was outside of her
element, she didn’t know how she should respond.

Drake followed beside her, his
leisurely long strides effortlessly matching her pace. He
understood why she might not want to speak with him for too long.
He was a stranger after all, but he wanted to change that. “Can I
walk you to wherever it is that you are going? I hope I am not too
presumptuous in assuming that home is where you are
headed.”

“
You may walk me home if
you like,” she said, trying not to let his presence become too much
of a distraction.

“
Would you be so kind as to
tell me your name?” Drake asked hoping that she wouldn’t consider
his simple request too forward.

“
Sierra.”

“
It’s a beautiful name,
which suits you, but is it just Sierra?” Drake lifted his eyebrows
at her.

“
Maudet,” she added
quickly.

French name... French
blood,
Drake thought, glancing her over as
they walked. He had always had a weakness for French women. “Are
you from around here?” he asked. She certainly didn’t seem like the
type of woman who should live out her life in a small, remote place
like Jadesville, he thought.

“
Are you really all that
interested in knowing, Mr. McCalister?” Sierra asked skeptically,
her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“
I am interested in you,”
he returned, noting the sincerity in his voice that even he hadn’t
expected.

Sierra felt a brief tremor run down
her spine. His voice was deeper and huskier. His graceful stride
revealed his confidence and egotism as he paced along side her.
Still, he made her knees weak, and she willed herself not to
crumble at his feet. She would not let this complete stranger see
the effect he was having on her—something many women must have
thought before, judging by his handsome face.