His Dark Desires (4 page)

His chamber mirrored mine in furnishings but differed in the colors threaded through the cream wallpaper and upholstery. Dark greens dominated his decor, whereas burgundy gave mine its feminine touch. The mahogany writing desk, armoire, and mosquito-netted bed stood in sharp contrast to the light summer drapes. Moving to the desk, I lit the oil lamp, turning up the wick to let soft light flood the room. When I glanced in his direction, I found that Mr. Trevelyan still stood by the door, satchels in hand. He'd made no attempt to make himself at home.

"Do you find the accommodations unacceptable, Monsieur Trevelyan?" I asked.

"Not at all, Mrs. Boucheron. They exceed my expectations, as a matter of fact." He kept his gaze centered on me, making me wonder if he spoke of the room at all.

An odd sense of expectancy and heat settled in my stomach as I stared back at him. The sensations were as disturbing as Mr. Goodson's warning to trust no one, which included my darkly handsome new boarder. He barely stepped aside as I reached the doorway, making me even more aware him. "I will see you at dinner, monsieur."

"Mrs. Boucheron?" he called softly.

I couldn't have ignored his voice even if I had tried. The timbre of it grabbed at me, urging me to pause next to him. "
Oui?
"

"I offer my condolences. From what your son said, I gather you and your family paid a heavy price in the war—both a husband and a father."

"It cost us more than you could imagine, but
merci
for your kind words." I could tell by his manner that he knew grief, yet I didn't ask how. His appeal was too temptingly strong for me to linger. Better to save my questions for another time.

His intense gaze followed me down the corridor, making me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time, things that no stranger should make me feel.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

"Ginette?" I called, knocking lightly. She opened the door with an apron in her hand.

"
Pardon
, Juliet. I will be down in a minute to help with dinner." She was as pale as the white lace trimming the soft pink satin of her bed hangings and drapes.

"What is wrong? Nonnie said you had a fainting spell."

"I am not sure. After you left, I worked with Mama Louisa in the kitchens. By the time we had the meal on the stove, I had a mild headache. So I went to the sitting room and worked on my tapestry for a little, then a sharp pain lashed through my head and I must have fainted. Nonnie found me on the floor and fetched the smelling salts."

I pressed my palm to her forehead. Summer in New Orleans always came with the fear that a fever would sweep through the city and steal loved ones away. "Your skin feels cool, but you should have a cup of sassafras tea anyway. And we'll call for Dr. Lanau to come see you in the morning."

"Tea would ease my nausea. But there is no need to call the doctor. I'm sure it was just the heat."

Taking the apron from her hand, I shooed her back into her bed. "Then you rest. Dinner is almost ready, and Nonnie and I can handle the cleaning up. I'll have Mama Louisa bring you some soup and put a pinch of lemon verbena in your tea to help you rest until morning. How does that sound?"

She sighed. "
Bon
. But first you must tell me what Monsieur Maison had to say about Jean Claude and
La Belle
."

I delayed my response by helping her slip off her worn boots and settle her in the bed. Sometimes it seemed as if just yesterday we were buying party dresses, with nothing more on our minds than how pretty we could make ourselves. Then there were times like now, when I felt as if parties and dresses and dreams had never been a part of our lives.

"You have stalled long enough," she said, staying my hand from fussing with the covers. "You know you avoid sharing burdens as strongly as Andre objects to housework."

"Surely not."

She arched an eyebrow. "The increase in taxes, for example.  How long have you known and didn't tell us?"

"Since January," I admitted.

"Even if it is bad news, Juliet, you must tell me. How else can I help?" She gently squeezed my hand.

"Monsieur Maison was unexpectedly called to Washington until the end of the month. So we will have to wait a bit for our answers."

"I can't help but feel there is more you aren't telling us. You were tense and distracted even before Mr. Latour's visit today."

Guilt flushed my cheeks. I had not told anyone about the telegram. I started to, then bit my lip. Until I knew more about Mr. Goodson's warning, it would only be a needless burden for Ginette. Instead, I voiced another concern that weighed heavy on my heart. "Why does Andre keep getting into trouble? It's as if he has lost all sense of responsibility."

"Andre is just being
un jeune petit
." She smiled. "Surely you haven't forgotten how we used to send Mother to her swooning couch with the vapors? Mama Louisa was forever fishing our shoes out of the fountain, or darning the stockings we tore climbing trees. Ladies were never to do those things, and Mother was convinced we were destined for ruin."

My lips twitched. "We were more than a handful."

She squeezed my hand. "He's going to make a fine gentleman. Just give him time." She then drew a troubled breath. "Do you believe Jean Claude is alive?"

"In my heart, no, and hopefully Mr. Goodson's investigation will prove the rumors false." Rising, I paced across the room to the window and peered out at the darkened shadows. "But in my mind, sometimes I question. What if Jean Claude really did steal the gold and is alive? I've led Andre to believe his father died a noble death, and I'm not sure he will forgive me if I'm wrong."

"What could you have done differently?"

"I don't know." I stiffened my shoulders, pushing away the doubt. "I do know that I'll do whatever is necessary to stop Mr. Latour from taking advantage of us."

"If he'd said another word today, I fear you would have tossed him on his ear."

"I think Papa John would have booted him out before I could have."

A blush tinged Ginette's cheeks as a half smile curved her lips. "
Oui
. Just like he did when Captain Jennison stumbled into the house, smelling like a brewery. Papa John tossed him out before the captain could explain that he'd just had a bullet taken from his shoulder, with only whiskey to kill the pain."

Memories of the war always hurt, for I wondered what joys our lives might have held had it not been for the bloodshed. I didn't understand how Ginette could look back at Captain Jennison and the Federal occupation of our home fondly. That time was dark and painful for me.

Shaking off the past, I leaned down and hugged Ginette. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll bake your favorite nut bread."

"We had better save that treat for your birthday. What are we going to do about the increased taxes this year?"

"We've a new border, which will help. You'll meet him in the morning. Otherwise, we'll do exactly what we have done every year since the war ended. The very best that we can, even if we have to sell nut bread at the market."

"But what if—"

I pressed my finger to her lips. "We will be fine." We
had
to be; I wouldn't consider anything else.

Ginette caught my hand as I stood to leave. "Have you noticed anything strange recently?"

"What do you mean?"

"I am not sure. It is just something I feel. Something isn't right."

A chill hit me, not unlike the one that had swept over me on Blindman's Curve. I glanced around the room, looking for the shadow I'd seen before, then shook my head at my imagination.

"It is most likely the heat. June has never been this sweltering," I said, even though I was chilled. A bump in the hall caused us both to turn toward the door.

Andre stood in the doorway, looking puzzled. "Was that man outside Ginette's door a new doctor?"

"Who, Andre?" I asked.

"I don't know. I waved to him and he hurried down the stairs."

"Stay here with Ginette." Forcing a deep breath, I ordered myself to ignore the anxious feeling inside me as I ran to peer over the railing. The curving staircase was empty, and no footsteps sounded above the echo of voices from below. I dashed down the stairs and met Mignon on the second-floor landing, coming up. Mama Louisa rang the dinner bell.

"Juliet, you're as white as a ghost. What is it?"

"Did someone just come by?" I asked, leaning over the rail, finding the entry hall empty.

"No one passed by me." Mignon shook her head, her brow creasing with concern. "Why? What is—"

A door behind us opened, and I whirled around to see Mr. Trevelyan, dressed in a different black suit, exit his room at the far end of the corridor. Although I didn't think it possible for him to have been outside Ginette's room and make it back to his own room without me seeing him and with time to change his suit, I still stared as he approached. Perhaps it was his eerie timing that unnerved me.

"Was that the dinner bell?" he asked.

"
Oui
," I said, gathering my wits. "You are right on time. Mignon will escort you to the dining room and introduce you to the other boarders."

He made a point of meeting my eyes as he passed. "Will you be joining us as well?"

"I'll be down in a few moments," I said, my cheeks warming from the heat of his gaze.

"It is wonderful to have you here, Monsieur Trevelyan." Mignon's winning smile broadened.

"The pleasure is all mine," he said, offering his arm to her.

They left, and I forced my mind back on the man Andre had seen. Either he had disappeared into thin air or no one had been there. Just to be sure, I quickly looked into each of the rooms on the second floor. It wasn't until I opened Mr. Trevelyan's door that I felt as if I'd intruded on the boarder's privacy. His traveling suit lay on the bed in such disarray that I went inside and straightened it before questioning my action. When I pulled the folds of the material even, three cigars fell from the pocket of his coat. I put them back and drew a deep breath of the sandalwood and spice aroma in the room, letting my fingers linger on the rich material longer than necessary.

His suitcases stood open, and the urge to peek at what he carried with him was so strong, I had to stuff my hands into my pockets and hurry from the room. I shut the door as if the devil himself been there. Andre and Ginette waited for me at the top of the stairs, their expressions wary.

I forced a smile at my son. "Can you describe who you saw? Perhaps it was one of the boarders?"

He frowned. "The shadows in the corridor were too dark for me to tell. I know he had dark hair and wore a gray suit. And that he was tall and thin."

"Well, I'm sure there is a simple explanation that we'll learn of soon enough. Perhaps one of the boarders came to the family's floor by mistake. Meanwhile, Andre, you get a bath, and Ginette, you go back to bed."

Ginette waited for Andre to leave before speaking. "You don't think it was one of the boarders, do you?"

"It has to have been," I reassured her, even though the chill I'd felt earlier told me differently. Outside the dining room, I paused to collect myself. Low-toned voices and the smells from Mama Louisa's cooking eased a sense of normalcy over me until I heard Mr. Trevelyan's deep voice. Then, as if I were finger-testing water for a hot bath, I peeked cautiously into the room before I entered.

Mignon and the two women from the Shakespearean troupe, Mrs. Edmund Gallier and Miss Charlotte Vengle, were more interested in Mr. Trevelyan than their conversation about the weather. Mr. Edmund Gallier and Mr. Horatio Fitz, lead actors in the troupe, each had one eye on the women watching Mr. Trevelyan and one eye on Mr. Trevelyan himself. Their expressions mirrored my own disquiet. None of the men wore a gray suit, though Mr. Gallier did have on blue that could be mistaken for gray. But Mr. Gallier's hair was decidedly silver, not dark.

Mr. Trevelyan emanated subtle power and sophistication despite his relaxed stance against the mantel. His waist and hips were slimmer and his shoulders broader, more imposing than the other men, as if the expensive, tailored cloth of his suit could barely contain what lay beneath. He immediately turned my way, sensing my arrival before the others.

Smiling, I entered the room. "My apologies for keeping you all waiting. Mignon, has everyone been introduced?"

"Yes. In fact, Monsieur Trevelyan is trying to recall if he has seen Monsieur Gallier's troupe perform before."

"And have you, Monsieur Trevelyan?" I asked, curious. His card had cited San Francisco as his home; Mr. Gallier and Mr. Fitz were from the East.

"Not that we have ascertained as of yet, though we've frequented the same establishments. I spent time studying theater and attending a number of performances from Boston to New York the year before last. Shakespeare's plays are a particular favorite of mine," Mr. Trevelyan replied.

"Well, then we all have a great deal in common, it seems." Though I had generalized my remark, the look Mr. Trevelyan brushed over me made it seem as if I'd spoken only to him. He had a way of smoothly walking through barriers with a simple word or look. "Mignon, would you say the blessing after everyone is seated?"

Unless we were having special guests, I kept the dining arrangements informal, allowing the boarders to choose each night where they wished to sit I was always at the head of the table, and Ginette and Mignon sat in the middle on opposite sides to mingle with the guests. Mr. Trevelyan chose the seat to my right, making me wish I'd assigned seats.

Soon bowls of savory red beans, plates of rice with slices of spicy andouille, and buttered bread filled the table. As I ate, I remembered when invitations to
La Belle du Temps
had been sought after by the most celebrated members of the beau monde. In the gilded mirror above the mantel, I could almost see an elegant dinner party in progress and taste the old times on the tip of my tongue. The flavorful meals had passed from one course to the next with delicacies that only New Orleans could offer the genteel palate. China, sparkling crystal, silver, and delicate white lace had graced the tabletop, while the chandelier above had glowed warmly, casting a rich sheen on the expensive silks and satins below.