Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie (8 page)

Her smile was infectious, bringing Serafine a rush of warmth. “Yes, well, my role is to tell you what to do at the moment.”

Amelia exchanged an amused look with Lisette. “How ever do you tolerate her high-handedness, my dear?”

“It’s a burden I must bear,” Lisette replied with exaggerated graveness.

Serafine lifted her nose and paid neither of them any mind. She wasn’t high-handed in the least, not from her perspective.

Amelia studied the contents clinging to the sides of the cup. “I think I can make out an acorn.”

A good symbol. Serafine had already decided she wouldn’t share any bad omens with Amelia if they should arise.

“And a basket.” Amelia turned the cup and tipped her head to the side to peer at it from a different angle. “Mmm, and cake.”

Serafine chuckled. Amelia missed her sweets very much, as she had discovered in their short time together. The lady’s appetite, however, could be attributed to the child she carried.

“I see a necklace, too,” Amelia said.

“Oh?” Serafine’s brows rose. “A broken circle or complete?”

Amelia looked up warily. “Complete. Is that good or bad?”

“You have no cause for concern.”

Returning her attention to the leaves, Amelia twisted the cup again. “This last one looks like a lowercase
B
.”

“Does the letter bring anything to mind?”

“Bibi, my dearest friend. She waits in London.” She smiled sadly and passed the cup to Serafine. “I miss her terribly.”

Serafine peeked at the tea leaves clinging to the sides of the cup. “The acorn represents happiness and contentment.” She smiled over the gilded rim. “I hardly needed to do a reading to ascertain as much. Then there is the basket, which means being with child.”

Amelia wrinkled her nose. “I thought you would tell me something I don’t know.”

A
doubter. Very well.
“Are you aware your friend, Bibi, is also with child?”

“Dear heavens, no!”

Her stricken expression sent Serafine’s heart into palpitations. “This is bad?”

Amelia struggled to her feet to pace the cabin. “This is devastating news. Are you certain? Oh, this is horrible.”

Serafine’s shook her head, confused by Amelia’s panicked reaction. “But your friend and her husband are delighted.”

Amelia slid to a halt. “Her
husband
? Bibi is married?”

If Amelia knew nothing of her friend’s happy marriage, her distress made perfect sense.

“The cake and necklace point in that direction.”

Amelia blew out a puff of air and chuckled. “Look at me, fit to be tied over a silly drawing room game.”

A
silly
game?
Serafine’s spine stiffened.

“My cousin’s readings are accurate,” Lisette said softly. “I’m certain your friend has been as blessed as you have been, Mrs. Hillary.”

Lisette’s defense of her warmed Serafine’s heart. She turned to study her. Her cousin gazed back with wide eyes so innocent and pure. Perhaps Serafine’s worries were for naught. No doubt Captain Hillary harbored improper thoughts about Lisette, but her cousin would never succumb to his charms. She was too intelligent to fall prey to his seduction.

Still, she would feel more comfortable if she could learn the identity of Lisette’s future husband, even his initials. Then she might feel less anxious about the voyage.

“Shall I perform a reading for you also?” Serafine asked Lisette.

Lisette drained her cup. “Empty. Perhaps another time.”

Amelia laughed, the hand on her belly shaking. “Oh, dear. Forgive my skepticism, mademoiselle. You
must
have a true gift, and dear Lisette doesn’t wish to benefit from it. I wonder if she’s hiding something.”

Lisette’s gaze dropped to the plank floor and her cheeks flushed with color.

Indeed.
Serafine and Amelia were of like mind. Only Serafine didn’t wonder. She now knew with certainty Lisette was keeping a secret.

Eight

Louis Reynaud’s man dropped onto a chair and kicked his foot up to rest across his knee. “Searched the whole house. Ain’t nothin’. No letters nowhere.”

A loud buzzing sounded in Louis’s ears, and his gaze bore into the ne’er-do-well lounging across the desk from him as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Rising from his leather chair, Louis jammed his fists against the gleaming oak surface of his desk. A pounding started behind his eyes.

“Not only have you lost my fiancée,” he said, sensing his control slipping, “you have the gall to tell me you cannot unearth a simple packet of letters?”

Wilson answered with a negligent shrug. “What yer lookin’ for ain’t there. Can’t unearth something that ain’t there.”

The man was too stupid to recognize the danger of his situation, or realize nothing could save him if Louis chose to attack. Like the aggressive black mamba, the fastest of all land snakes, Louis could spring up to strike. His bite would be quick, deadly, and excruciating.

He stared at the man, debating his value. At the moment, he could think of only one reason not to kill him. Wilson’s portly form highlighted Louis’s suaveness and superiority when they appeared in the same vicinity. Still, the man’s failures made Louis want to snap his neck.

Louis rounded the desk. “Are you aware the black mamba isn’t black at all?”

Wilson’s shaggy brows pulled together. “A black mamba? Never heard of it.”

“It’s an African snake, a deadly creature.” Louis propped himself against his desk. “My grandfather was something of a scholar. He studied animals, reptiles, amphibians, and the like. He recorded volumes upon volumes of facts in his logbooks. The bulk of his study was devoted to predators in the animal kingdom. Fascinating reading.”

Louis had devoured each volume as a boy, engrossed in his grandfather’s crude drawings and his own vivid imagination.

Wilson’s blank expression riled Louis’s temper even more.

“No one survives an encounter with a black mamba, Wilson. He is feared, revered.” Louis’s voice rose in volume with each sentence. “No one dares to come into his den to vex him.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a snake problem, Mr. Reynaud. You want me to take care of it? ’Cause I can take care of it like that.” Wilson snapped his stubby fingers. “Nothin’ to it.”

A low growl rumbled in Louis’s chest and he jerked the man from his seat by his neck. His fingers tightened, digging into Wilson’s sweaty flesh, closing off his life supply. A raspy breath hissed through the man’s lips. His dirty fingernails clawed at Louis’s hands as his plump face turned purple.

Louis’s gaze narrowed in on a dark droplet sliding over Wilson’s jawline, forging a slow path toward Louis’s hand. He leaned closer. “What is that…?”

His eyes flew open and he shoved the man. Wilson smashed into the arm of the chair and crumpled to the expensive Oriental carpet.

Louis turned away and supported his weight against the desk. “You’re bleeding,” he accused. His head floated somewhere near the ceiling. He gulped in a deep breath to keep from going down. It wouldn’t do to collapse in front of his men.

“Cut myself shaving.” Wilson’s raspy voice grated on the ears.

“Revolting swine.” Louis’s fingers tunneled through his hair. He needed to take possession of those letters. The damning words in the wrong hands would mean his death.

A fresh wave of rage flooded him and he turned back to Wilson. Drawing his boot back, Louis slammed it into the man’s thigh, earning an unsatisfying howl that didn’t get Louis any closer to what he desired. He wanted those letters and the sly bitch who had been evading him for days.

He wanted control of his life back.

He shot a murderous look at his other hired man cowering near the doorway. “What of the plantation? Did you find Miss Lavigne?”

Durand shrank against the wall. “No one has seen her or the boy for days.”

“And what word of her cousin? Did you find Miss Vistoire for questioning?”

“She appears to be missing too, Mr. Reynaud.”

Louis closed his eyes. Red flashed behind his eyelids as his blood chased through his veins. “Has no one come forward to claim the damned reward?”

Wilson hauled himself from the floor with a grunt. “That’s what we come to say.” His voice grated on Louis’s nerves, but he resisted the urge to strike him again. Instead, he spun on his heel and stalked to the sideboard to slosh whisky into a cut crystal tumbler.

He downed the drink in one swig then refilled his glass. He shouldn’t turn to spirits, not when he needed to keep his wits about him, but the soothing burn in his chest softened the sharp edge of his fury.

“Go on,” he said.

Wilson backed toward the door. “Someone came forward. Says he knows Miss Lavigne’s whereabouts. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

“Bring him in.”
Imbecile.

Durand pulled the iron ring handle and the heavy door swung inward. He motioned to someone outside Louis’s office. “Mr. Reynaud will see you now.”

A vile excuse of a man in threadbare attire sauntered through the doorway holding his battered hat. Louis’s butler had been smart not to take the hat from him, or he would be delousing the entire house. Perhaps Louis would demand it of his servants anyway. He didn’t like the looks of the mongrel.

Dusky bruises marred the man’s face, adding to his ugliness, and a wild eye swung off in any direction it saw fit.

“Mr. Reynaud.” He moved toward the chair Wilson had vacated.

“Halt.” Louis held up his hand. “Stay where you are.”

The man came up short.

Louis leaned an elbow on the sideboard. “Say your piece and leave.”

He shifted his hat from hand to hand. “There was mention of a reward.”

Robert Lavigne had almost drained his coffers before Louis had discovered the identity of his blackmailer. The possibility of losing one more coin because of the damned Lavigne family inflamed his temper.

“Tell me the nature of your information, and then I will determine if it deserves a reward.”

“Yer lady, Miss Lavigne, saw her at The Abyss a few nights ago. She took up with an Englishman captain.”

What did the jackass mean by “took up with”?

“Heard it said,” the man droned on, “her, a boy, and another wench left the next day on his ship headed to London.”

Louis pictured Lisette rutting with some bloody scoundrel, and the roaring in his ears returned. He gripped the sideboard until the edge cut into his palms.

“Heard her sayin’ she had to deliver somethin’ important to her cousin.”

“Tell me the name of the ship,” Louis demanded.

“I’m thinkin’ that’s worthy of the reward.”

Louis’s fingers curled into fists. “Pay him.”

Wilson scurried behind Louis’s massive desk and extracted a purse from a drawer before tossing it to the man.

The nasty mongrel’s errant eye landed on Louis while his other examined the contents of the purse. Apparently satisfied, he offered a crack-toothed grin and pulled the strings to close the pouch.

“Ship’s called the
Cecily
, and the cap’an’s name’s Hillary.”

Lisette was going to pay once Louis got his hands on her. He had thought to treat her with some semblance of compassion, for he had believed her innocent of the scheme to blackmail him, and he had fancied her. But once she carried his incriminating letters to her cousin, the demands for money would begin to trickle in again. Worse, Xavier Vistoire might turn the letters over to the government, and Louis’s risks would have been for naught.

Damn
Lisette.
His fiancée was proving to be just like her father, conniving and greedy. And soon she would be just as dead.

“Send word to Pascal to ready the
Mihos
. We sail on the morrow.” But first, he had a small matter to attend to at home.

Nine

Daniel pretended to peruse the logbook on his desk, but it was bloody hard to focus on anything aside from the warmth of Lisette’s body beside him as she lounged against his desk. He had summoned her to his quarters under the guise of reviewing their dinner arrangements that evening, but in truth, he wished for time alone with her. That she chose to remain in his office after the conversation pleased him.

Her nails clicked against the desk, keeping time with a tune she hummed beneath her breath. Another manifestation of her nerves. So far, he had counted two such quirks inherent to Lisette: twisting her fingers together until it seemed she might wrench them free of her hands and humming to fill silence.

She had a beautiful voice.

The incessant tapping against his desk, however, was annoying. He covered her hand to stop its movement. Her humming stopped, too.