warned both him and Cherie not to come until he said so. A sweeter torture had never
been invented. Diego’s hands had been everywhere, his teeth marking Étienne’s neck and
shoulder. They had all moved in tandem, their tempo set by the domineering Diego who
played them all as if their bodies were instruments played by a maestro. The onslaught had
felt so good, so right. Even now the memory of what they had shared made Ètienne shiver.
“Am I being unreasonable?” Cherie asked, her voiced muffled against his chest.
“Yes.” Cherie smiled at his simple answer. ‘Tienne was nothing if not honest even as he was
indulgent as always of her bratty ways. When she had first talked with him after he had
found her in Florida, she had explained she could not marry him feeling as she did about
Diego. She had begged him to go on with his life and try to forget her, but in typical
‘Tienne fashion he had told her he would never give her up. He had even said of that
meant sharing her then he would because he loved her. When he begun to have feelings for
Diego himself, he had told her without delay. He had acted as if she would be horrified at
the revelation. As if she hadn’t seen this for herself. But that was her ‘Tienne, the one
person in the world who never tried to shield her from things he felt was too much for her
to handle.
“Will he leave me you think?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. While she
never once doubted Diego’s feelings for her, she knew he had a strong sense of duty. He
hadn’t brought her back to New Orleans when she thought she should have after they first
met, but he had believed her old life was over. It was a fair assumption given the way of the
world. But as soon as Étienne had appeared, he had made arrangements to come here
without delay.
Étienne gentle moved her back a little so he could look down into her eyes.
“No, Cherie, he will not leave us.” His sky blue eyes told her more than she had asked. Whatever happened to her she
would never be alone. He really did have complete faith in Diego. Cherie buried her hands
into his silky auburn curls, tugging his head down to meet her lips. He always kissed her so
softly, as if she was precious and should be cherished. Whereas Diego made her burn,
Étienne soothed her like balm to her soul. There could be no going back now; like her
mother before her, Cherie was now the center of a committed ménage.
*******
Though he would have rather died before admitting it, Diego was in need of advice.
Before he knew it, he wound up at the front door of the Bonnet townhouse in the French
Quarter. Sighing in defeat, he knocked lackadaisically, jumping back at the speed to which
the door was opened. The imposing figure that stood as regal as any king made him take a
step back. Diego himself was at least six feet four inches tall. This man was a full head
taller than he was. His skin was a deep bronze like some kind of Arab sheik who spent all
his time in the sun. That in itself would be normal – for New Orleans anyway. What threw
one off was the fact that the man's eyes so light blue they were almost colorless and the
cascade of straight startling white hair fell past his shoulders to the middle of his back.
“My Lord Duque,” the man intoned in the deepest voice Diego had ever heard, and
in clipped British accent. “Please come in and follow me.”
The man executed a perfect military pivot and led him into the house. “May I presume you are here to see Monsieur Bonnet?”
“Well, no, actually,” Diego began only to be brought up short when the man
stopped in his tracks to fix him with a glare that actually had him shivering. The infamous
Capitán Diego Esteban de Aguilar, Duque de Suárez, weary of a…what the hell was this
man anyway? “I am here to see Monsieur.. . Err, Luc.” He had not realized until that
moment he had no idea what Luc’s surname was. Everyone simply called the man Luc.
The bronze man seemed satisfied with that answer. At least, Diego thought he must
be because he simply repeated his military pivot and moved on to a door near the rear of
the house. The door opened to a typical masculine study complete with overstuffed leather
armchairs, large fireplace, and several bookshelves strategically placed around the room.
Instead of one desk however, there were two. The bronze man waved towards one of the
“Please be seated. I will return with Monsieur shortly.”
And with that he was gone. Diego didn’t have time to question the wisdom of
making this trip. Not more than a few minutes after bronze man disappeared, Luc
appeared.
“Diego,” Luc swept into the room shaking his hand wearing a decidedly irritating
smirk. “While I did expect you, I must say I did not expect you so soon.”
Diego decided to ignore that one. “Was that your butler?” Luc glanced toward the door. “You mean Farnsworth? He is whatever he chooses to
be.”
Farnsworth the mixed race British butler? No, that was just too comically
stereotypical. “Is he a slave?” Couldn’t be. The man was a sultan masquerading as a
servant to spy
on the European colonies, or a Native chief/king whose tribe was tragically massacred and
by the British but spared him, which explained the accent. Yes, Diego liked his imaginary
scenario much better than anything Luc could tell him. Dear God, the ever fanciful Cherie
had taken residence in his brain and taken over the way he normally thought.
“We actually don’t own slaves,” Luc informed him pouring two glasses brandy. “All
the servants here are paid. Most of the people on the plantation are sharecroppers or paid
servants. Farnsworth has been with me since I came here from France. He worked for my
grandfather. Amélie was amused by him, so Farnsworth stayed. So,” Luc handed him a
brandy, “is it Cher, or is it ‘Tienne?”
Of course the cheeky bastard knew about his attraction to the younger man. He had
known from the first day at Gaspar’s. He had probably suggested Étienne stay with them to
move things along quickly.
“Agathe was in our home this morning.”
Luc’s hand stilled in the act of raising his glass. “And you didn’t detain her why?” “She was gone before I knew who she was.”
Taking a deep breath, Diego filled him in on everything that had happened in the
last forty-eight hours, edited of course. By the time he was done Luc was sprawled in the
chair opposite him, a deep frown marring his face.
“Somehow Agathe had gotten to the governor, or more likely the governor’s wife.
She is a criollo, non? And from what I hear quite prudish. She would be scandalized enough
to insert herself in your personal affairs.”
“Possibly, but now I have a former wife and two lovers to contend with. A man can
only take so much.”
Luc studied Diego intently. He was taking his attraction to Étienne fairly well, far
better than Claude had taken it. Claude had fought him and their mutual attraction for
months, fearing that to admit it he would lose some part of his masculinity. Diego had no
such qualms. But then, he had Cherie. She had grown up witnessing a loving permanent
ménage relationship and she was far more used such things than her mother had been. By
h
er complete acceptance she probably made it seem normal and natural for Diego making
it an easier transition for him. Still, there had to be lingering doubts.
“And this thing between you and ‘Tienne? How are you feeling about that?”
“I haven’t really given it much thought. It just is.” In truth Diego hadn’t wanted to dwell on it. How did he feel? He knew he should
feel disgust or confusion, but he didn’t. Last night he had made love to another man as if it
was the most natural thing in the world. All three of them had touched, kissed, caressed
and made love to one another and nothing had ever felt so right. He had never felt so
complete. If he had believed Cherie completed him, the addition of Étienne had made him
more of a man then he was before. Cherie had held him afterwards, even as ‘Tienne held
her. She had whispered she was so happy, that the three of them would be happy together.
He had believed it because he believed in her.
“I could be content with the situation. But there is Maria-Teresa to deal with. She
has become fanatical in her devotion to the church. She has somehow gotten in her head
we should remarry, or we are still married – I’m not sure which. Whatever Agathe is telling
her, it is making it worse. She actually believed herself to be saving me from some a
demonic seductress.”
“Well, at least we know where Agathe is likely hiding,” Luc mused. “And who is
giving her shelter.”
“But what can we do about it? If she is with the governor’s household, she is well
protected. With the addition of the king’s daughter, I am somewhat neutralized, and I am
the only one who outranks the governor.”
“Are you?” Luc mused. Diego glanced up sharply but the older man was in his own little world. He was
loath to interrupt his private deliberating.
“Let me deal with the governor,” Luc said standing. “You go home and deal with
Cher. After this morning I imagine she will be in quite the snit, non?”
*******
Agathe watched and waited hidden in the bushes where she had been for a while.
The little putain was just like her mother. She had to be stopped from corrupting decent
men with her voodoo and her foreign wiles. She now had the help of the governor and his
wife. She couldn’t save Claude, but she could save the duque. Smiling with satisfaction she
eased out of her hiding place and made her way back to the governor’s home. She would
visit Princesa Maria-Teresa without delay. The woman needed to take her former husband
in hand and soon. Étienne was a hopeless case. She had not realized he came from tainted
stock. Soon the putain breed would be gone; Étienne could find his own way. She was
concentrating so deeply on her plans she never noticed the man following her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Diego gritted his teeth as he reread the fifth missive this week from Maria
demanding he attend her. He had written her back after the first one, explaining he would
not be able to get away for the foreseeable future. Apparently Maria-Teresa had lost the
ability to read. There was no way he could leave New Orleans now even if he wanted to.
Étienne had to travel to see his father on the family plantation after some kind accident.
Cherie could not be left alone; especially since the governor’s wife had taken up Agathe’s
crusade to save the men of the New Spain from femmes libres de couleur. All kinds of
ridiculous laws had been passed with the aim of restricting interactions between the races.
The famed octoroon balls where wealthy planters often went select quadroon and octoroon
mistresses were deemed illegal. The governor had soldiers patrolling popular venues were
the balls had been held. The Creole elite had simply moved them to plantations owned by
gens de couleur for a healthy price, of course.
What irritated Diego the most were the laws that directly affected those free people
of color who were not in any way involved with the balls or anything else dealing with the
French and Spanish Creoles affairs de coure. Businessmen and women were often affected
financially by decrees barring them from interacting in public with whites in any way. And
for what? Things would go on the way they always had. After over hundred years, there still was a serious lack of white women in all the colonies except the English ones. Perhaps
English women were far more adventurous. Though many had tried throughout history
there was just no way one could force abstinence on an unwilling population.
“Just go and see what she wants.”
Diego shook of his ruminations at Cherie’s entrance. Holding out his hand for her
he marveled at the way she seemed to glide towards him despite her now obvious state of
pregnancy. She wore her growing belly with innate grace, glowing with some mysterious
inner beauty more and more with each passing day. He had to admit he found her even
more desirable with her rounding belly and spreading hips. He was seriously contemplating
keeping her pregnant for the foreseeable future. If he wasn’t positive she would probably
cause serious injury to his person he would actually put his thoughts into action.
“How do you feel, querida?” He murmured as she snuggled in his lap.
“Don’t change the subject,” Cherie pouted, loving the way he lavished affection on
her. He and Étienne were ever solicitous, sometimes too much so. “Papa Claude and
Maman will be here soon and if you go now you can be back by tonight. Go, see what she
wants. She was once your wife, Diego. It is your duty, non?”
He wanted to say he had done his duty when he married her, tried to do his duty by
getting an heir before it drove him not only to have the marriage dissolved but to put
oceans between them. He had tried. It was not Maria-Teresa’s fault she was not cut out to be a wife, but it was not his either. They had married according to the dictates of their
stations. Such marriages rarely resulted in great love or passion but he had hoped for a least
mutual respect and friendship. When it became apparent that was not going to happen he
had to get out. He could not be the man Maria-Teresa wanted him to be.
“I cannot leave you, Cher. I don’t want to.”
“You can and will. Whatever it is the princess wants you will do your best to oblige.
She was your wife, Diego. I am just your…”
“You are the love of my life,” he replied fiercely, tilting her head up by her chin.
“Nothing less, querida. Never less.”
*******
Agathe cackled in absolute glee as she witnessed Diego riding out. Finally! She had
told Maria-Teresa to keep up the pressure and sooner or later her wayward duque would
come running. Fairly skipping down the street to the waiting hired carriage she went over
her brilliant plan in her head done last time. By now, the men she had hired would have
shot Gaspar as he was leaving his home to run to his daughter’s assistance. Of course, the
whore Amélie was not in need of any assistance. She had one the governor’s houseboys
deliver the old man an “urgent” message from his bâtard, saying that something had
happened to Claude. She also arranged to have several “witnesses” swear that a deranged
Cherie Bonnet had shot her own grandfather because he would not sanction a marriage between herself and Étienne due to her recent scandalous behavior. Bec
ause no one outside
their little family cult of sin knew of the relationship between Cherie, Diego and Étienne; it
would be easy to plant the seed of a wicked breed who seduced one man, got with child
and try to pawn her it off on another. After all, how many of her mother’s bastards carried
the name Bonnet but where sired by Luc, who as far as Agathe knew, had no surname?
There was a messenger who should be at this moment informing Claude and his whore
what happened to Gaspar. They would of course hurry to his side without delay. That left
Cherie all alone.
Having the hired hack park a few houses down from Gaspar’s, Agathe waited until
she saw a frantic Amélie running into the house, Claude and Luc trailing behind her before
she instructed the driver to take her to the governor’s house with all haste. Trembling with
anticipation she couldn’t hold the crows of glee that escaped her lips. This time there
would be no knight in shining armor for the breed’s bastard. With governor’s blessing,
Cherie Bonnet, the breed bitch would be dead in a week.
It took less than an hour before the soldiers arrived at the door. Agathe watched with
the governor’s wife safely ensconced in a carriage across the street while they dragged a
visibly shaken and very pregnant Cherie out of the house into a prisoner’s carriage. Carlos
Hernandez was yelling behind them trying desperately to get the soldiers to let the girl go.
Oh, it was just too delightful. The girl was perceptibly frightened with tears running unchecked down her face. Later, Agathe would allow herself a good laugh. For now she sat
stoically beside the uptight bitch who was the instrument of her revenge.
“Hernandez will have to be dealt with,” Agathe hoped she sounded regretful. It was
so hard when she was so very happy. “He will attempt to run to his master.”
“Madame Bonnet, we are not thugs. This is about justice. There is nothing the
duque can do with so many witnesses against her.” Señora de Gálvez sniffed disdainfully.
“The girl must have been quite mad to shoot her own grandfather.”
Agathe gritted her teeth at that one. If Gaspar Durand had been more of a father to
her maybe none of this would be necessary. Placées were meant to be kept a secret, away