mingled in the most beautiful symphony she had ever heard. This was not some sweaty
lustful coupling. She could not help but admit that to herself, though she would never
utter such a thing out loud. The love between the three of them was palpable with every
touch, every kiss. Never had anyone wanted her the way they wanted one another. No
one had ever looked at her the way Luc and Claude looked at the woman between
them.
Agathe wished it was evil and sordid as any decent woman would have thought
seeing the three lovers; just hearing of such a thing was beyond the pale. But she knew
what she was witnessing was the one thing all of her money could never buy her and
that was love. As she backed away slowly unsure where she would go or what she would
do, she caught a sound she had heard in many homes but never her own. It was coming
from the adjoining room. The same damnable room she had vacated at Claude’s
suggestion that she take a larger suite on the other side of the house. At the time, it
seemed perfectly reasonable – she could not conceive so there was no reason for her to
“do her duty” as there would be no fruits from her labor. But now she knew the real reason. He had installed his mistress, his Negro mistress, in her home! In a room no
slave had the right to sleep!
The noises emitting from the bed began to rise from soft, sensual moans and sighs to
become frantic gasps, grunts and whimpers. Agathe was transfixed as Luc and Claude
slammed their hips up into the curvaceous woman between them in perfect tandem
with urgency, as if seeking something. Agathe’s hand was drawn to her own woman’s
place of its own accord as she rubbed at the agitating ache that only seemed to grow
worse as the passion between the three lovers intensified. Her own breath was coming in
pants in concert with the sounds emanating from the room.
The rubbing through the clothes was not enough! Without a thought, she lifted her
skirts to stuff her hands down her drawers. At any other time, had she encountered the
sticky wetness at her core she would have been horrified but now the dampness was a
blessing as she massaged herself in time with the men’s stokes. Agathe could not
remember ever feeling so very hot, so deliciously wicked. Her skin felt taut, entirely too
tight for her body. Leaning against the door she bit her bottom lip as she twisted her
painfully rigid nipple the way she had witnessed Claude do to his lover. Her finger
slipped into the place Claude had once placed his manhood as her thumb grazed the
tiny nub on top causing her to moan softly. What were these feelings? Her heart beat furiously against her chest as she watched
the increased tempo from the bedroom with half closed lids. Why had Claude never
managed to inspire anything other than pain and embarrassment in her while he
obviously inspired this woman to participate in the most degrading of acts? Another
finger slid to join the first inside her as Agathe thrust them in earnest, twisting a little to
increase the friction. Her other hand squeezed one breast, then the other reveling in the
tiny shockwaves it sent down her back. Oh, but it felt so good! Claude suddenly
slammed upward with a harsh groan, grapping the woman’s hips as the same time Luc
rammed her backside, his buttocks squeezing tight against her. The woman howled, but
it was anything but pain. Agathe felt a wave of the most intense pleasure she had ever
felt crash over her body as she bore down mercilessly on her fingers. The added
sensation of her thumb rubbing in circles over her little nubbin had her seeing stars.
Sagging against the door Agathe’s gaze slid back to the bed. The woman was now
reclining on thick white pillows while her lovers caressed her fevered body. Oh what
Agathe would not give to have hands gently soothing her naked flesh!
She had to get Claude back! Gathering herself Agathe quietly slipped from the room
and down the hall toward her wing of the house with new purpose. Claude was her
husband! She would see to it the little slut in his bed was sold off immediately and that
Luc would understand any carousing would be done outside of the big house. She would obviously have to spend far more time here at Bellemere and of course, Claude
would have to be kept on a tighter leash. Perhaps she had yet to conceive due to lack of
passion, but now that she had a general idea of how it was done that would be rectified.
Agathe refused to contemplate a single night she would be without at least some of what
their marriage bed to be as …vigorous as he had been tonight – well, she would just
have to endure it. She refused to admit that the delightful tingle racing down her spine
stemmed from sweet anticipation. Once again she felt her skin grow tight and hot. Yes,
just as soon as she composed herself she would straighten this little situation out.
Of course there would be no water for her to freshen up, but that was neither here
nor there. There was just enough light to straighten her graying hair back into a severe
bun at the base of her neck. Smoothing her dress as best she could Agathe took deep
breaths to clam her pounding heart. Now she understood what she was missing. Most
women of her class would have never witnessed the erotic scene she had been privy to.
Most would never be so bold as to demand such things from their men. But Agathe
could, and she most definitely would. She was not some weak-kneed twit who did not
know how to provide order to her own life. She would take every pleasure her husband
had to give, even if that meant she had to welcome his cousin also. With her back upright erect with determination, Agathe marched with purpose down the hallway
straight into her husband’s room.
“Claude! You will dismiss this…”
Agathe stood frozen in horror. The woman she had written off as some nameless
half-breed slave was anything but. Standing in a vibrant green silk robe that she knew
cost a fortune, cuddling a baby in her arms while Claude’s limbs surrounded both
mother and child. Luc was nowhere to be seen. Both heads turned toward her as soon as
she stomped in the room. The one thing Agathe had always held as a physical vanity
was her eyes. Pure blue-green in shade, her eyes were the only genetic gift from the
heartbreakingly beautiful people of her father’s side of the family. Staring back at her as
if she were the intruder was a pair of eyes that mirrored her own
One did not grow up in Creole society without knowing of the Plaçage system.
Although proper women did not discuss it, nor did they even acknowledge its existence,
it was a simple fact of life. This woman was the very image of her father, though
whereas he was masculinity personified, this woman was all that was feminine. Where
Agathe was sturdy, solid yet hopelessly flat the woman before her was softly rounded in
all the places a woman should be. Agathe had not noticed how petite the woman was
until now, standing in the sheltering arms of her six foot plus husband as if she belonged
there. Her dark honeyed skin was flushed, but from embarrassment or her very recent exercises, Agathe could not say. The woman’s eyes, every bit as clear and pure as her
own were framed with impossibly thick, long, black lashes, matching the
wild masses of
soft curls that fell from her head to her hips. She was a dark golden bronze version of
the portrait that hung over the main sitting room mantle at the family mansion in
Natchez – her very own grandmother.
“I will have her out of my house,” Agathe growled at the disgusting specimen that
was her husband. The fire that now rushed through her body had nothing to do with
desire or need this time. How could he? How could he bring that daughter of a whore
into her house?!
“Ma amore, give me a moment,” Claude murmured to his lover dropping a kiss on
the top of her head, then leaning down to kiss the baby in her arms.
Agathe fumed. The man actually had the audacity to caress the creature’s cheek as he
placed a soft lingering kiss on her pouty lips. Even as she turned to disappear through
the connecting bedroom door his hands loitered as if loath to let her go. Her vision
went red as she witnessed the look of tenderness as he watched his whore. With a snarl
Agathe raised her hand to slap the look off her face, only to have it seized in an iron grip
before connecting.
“What are you doing here Agathe?” All the blind rage boiling just under her skin a mere second before was quickly
turning to ice as Claude turned frosty blue eyes towards her. All traces of affection and
love wiped away as if they had never been. A muscle jerked in his square jaw filling
Agathe with the ridiculous urge to caress its hard strength. Taking a deep breath she
girded her loins for the fight she saw coming. Strange, Claude had never so much as
argued with her before.
“This is my home!” Agathe hissed through her teeth trying in vain to yank her wrist
out of his grasp. “After all I have done for you! After all I have given you, you dare bring
some half-breed here?!”
Claude dropped the offending woman’s wrist as if it burned. He should have
foreseen the possibility of something like this happening, but Agathe never came to
Bellemere anymore. He had foolishly believed they would quietly lead their own lives as
long as he kept Bellemere and the investments thriving. He seriously doubted she had
any idea how wealthy he had made her. Monsieur Durand had been grooming him far
longer than she realized. He had wanted to marry Amélie, he would have taken her to
France where they could live as husband and wife freely, but the old man had convinced
him otherwise. He could live in relative peace and prosperity here, being able to give
Amélie an easy life. It had worked beautifully thus far. Scrubbing his hands over his face Claude willed himself to calm down. It wasn’t
Agathe’s fault she had stumbled across the very intimate scene between Luc, Amélie and
himself. Although Luc had not been part of the equation originally, the three had
grown extremely close over the years in blessed isolation. That closeness had simply
grown to something else. Agathe would never understand it; he really didn’t expect her
to. He should have taken more precautions. He could have had someone on some kind
of night shift. But because the only visitor Bellemere ever had was Monsieur Durand,
there had been no point. Half the workers at the plantation were freed slaves at this
point who worked for an honest wage. They simply didn’t run things here the way
other plantations did. The household staff all had cottages close to the house that
Agathe probably hadn’t noticed yet. She would probably pop a blood vessel when she
found out. But the simple truth was Bellemere did not belong to Agathe. She had a
substantial amount of wealth, yet she owned no property. Almost all of the assets he had
acquired over the years were either in his name, Amélie’s, or one of their children’s.
Agathe would never want for anything, but other than the town homes in Baton Rouge
and New Orleans, nothing was hers. With a sigh, he considered the now pacing,
fuming woman in front of him. She had been caught in the crossfire, he must
remember that. “And as it is a decent home, or was until you brought your whore here! I cannot
imagine what you could have been thinking!” Agathe raged. “If you must lay with dogs,
install her and her whelp in a discreet house in New Orleans or Baton Rouge like
everyone else! This will…”
A sharp slap across the cheek stopped her tirade cold. Clasping her hand to her
flaming cheek, Agathe could do no more than gape wide-eyed at the man she had
always considered acquiescent, weak.
“You will never speak of Amélie, or my children in such a manner!” Claude
thundered.
Children? Agathe felt her knees give way as she sank to the ground. Of course, he
went to find the one thing she could not give him. Pain sliced through Agathe making
it difficult to breathe. Tears burned her eyes as she struggled to take it all in,
rationalizing in her somewhat warped brain. He had gone to her father’s bastard. Surely
that meant something? Surely this entire episode was some kind quest for progeny.
“I understand your anger, Agathe, but this house happens to be Amélie’s home, and
I will not have you maligning her in her own home. You have your life, let me live
mine!”
Agathe heard none of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. This was not a man to be
placed on the shelf hidden away on the plantation. They would be the rage of society. He would have to accompany her to New Orleans of course, leaving the management of
the place to Luc. They would have to take an “extended trip” someplace far, France
perhaps, in order to come here collect the child, then come back in a year or so,
claiming the child legitimately. She would even consider allowing the woman to come
back in a year or two for the express purpose of bearing them another child. Yes, yes, it
could work.
“I will claim the child,” Agathe announced regally. “I will arrange it with Papa to
send us off somewhere for a year or so, we will come back blessed with a child.”
Agathe rose excitedly clapping her hands together. Claude took a cautious step back,
alarmed by the unnatural light in her eyes. She began practically skipping around the
room in her excitement.
“It will be perfect! Perfect!” She turned to Claude, ignoring the way he flinched away
from her touch. “Oh, I forgive you. You wanted a child, and naturally, you would want
your child to a part of me in any way you could. Poor, poor Claude. I have not been a
good wife to you at all, have I? Well, that will all change now, I daresay! I have left you
out here all alone to rot. How neglectful of me. You must pack! You will, of course,
accompany me to New Orleans. We will leave from there. Luc can arrange for the child
and its nurse to bring her to town in a couple of days, after we have made our
appearances…” “Agathe!”
Agathe looked up from her fantasy dream to her beautiful husband, who had
captured both of her hands and was holding them close to his chest.
“Yes, Claude?”
She smiled up at him with such hope, such insanity. Strange how she almost looked
beautiful in her psychotic break. He bitterly regretted what he was about to tell her.
Would it push her over the edge?
“I will not be going with you to New Orleans,” he told her gently. “And you will
not
be coming back here.”
He simply didn’t understand, she thought.
“Claude, I told you-”
“No, Agathe,” Claude said firmly, “it is you who does not understand. I love Amélie,
she is my life. Bellemere is not your home, it never was. Your father gave Bellemere to
me. Actually, to Amélie and me. I am sorry we did not explain the full details of
this…marriage of ours sooner, but we thought to spare you.”
Agathe felt icy fingers of dread dance down her spine. What did he mean his and
that woman’s? Explain the details of their marriage? What was he saying? “I don’t understand,” she whispered, terrified that he would explain further. She did
not want to hear this; she would not accept this. “Whatever are you talking about? You
belong to me…”
“I belong to Amélie. She is the reason I agreed to marry you. I had been –
negotiating with your father for her for some time before you…before it was decided
this situation would be for the best.”
“Surely you can’t mean that!” She stepped back, shaking her head. No! No! No! He
was bought and paid for to be her husband! She was her father’s heir, his legitimate
child not some by-blow from a slave! “It is the child,” she babbled desperately. “I told
you we would deal with that. It appears almost white, surely no one would ever know. I
will arrange everything. I told you that!”
“Children, Agathe! Amélie and I have children. And the baby is a girl, her
name is Cherie.”
“Children?” A loud ringing sounded in Agathe’s ears, her head was throbbing. This
is not happening! She was entitled to this man. He was hers! She was a member of the
elite of Creole society! How could prefer some half-breed whore to her, no matter how
fertile she was? And her father was involved with this gross injustice? Sinking into a
chair Agathe stared blindly into space. What was she supposed to do?
She must have said it out loud because Claude answered her thought. “You go one with your life as usual. What are you doing here now, anyway?”
In daze she explained about the disabled steamboat and her trip to New Orleans. In
her head she searched for solutions to this horrible mess the betraying men in her life had
made. She could not go to her father. Any mention of his other life with his placée would