house. “Soon.”
CHAPTER THREE
Étienne leaned against the wall watching Cherie laugh and dance without a care in
the world. Her fathers hadn’t told her yet, he was sure of it. If they had, she wouldn’t be
working so hard to make him jealous. How could he be when he finally had both Monsieur
Luc and Monsieur Claude’s permission for her hand? He was elated. Let the young bucks
preen and vie for her attention. She was all his. The contracts had been finalized just this
afternoon. All was left was for him to ask.
He was content to watch Cherie have her fun for now. As much as he wanted to
crow his good fortune, he wouldn’t do that without her consent. Besides, it was amusing to
see the young men thinking they had a chance. Rich young men of color swarmed
Bellemere in an attempt to woo and win the heiress. Although the plantation would go to
one of her older brothers, Cherie’s dowry was beyond generous. She was well past the age
where most women were married with children. Most of these men thought she would be
desperate for an honorable offer.
Fools. There had never been any chance of Cherie becoming a place; her name was
not once mentioned in the same sentence as one of the infamous quadroon or octoroon
balls. There was much speculation as to why she was unattached. Her beauty was
unquestioned; anyone who ever met her knew she had a sweet disposition, if a bit mischievous. Rumors around the countryside were rampant as to why she was still
unmarried; everything from challenged chastity to bouts of insanity. Étienne knew the
truth.
Before he’d left for his tour of Europe he had formerly stated his intentions to both
of Cherie’s fathers, after they had spoken with his father of course. Cherie had always been
his. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, mon ami? My sister is
more than a handful I assure you.”
Étienne smiled at Antoine’s frown. Of course he couldn’t see his sister’s attraction.
Antoine still saw her as a coltish little girl. Antoine didn’t see how full and lush her breasts
had become, not the swell of her hips that promised a man a delightful ride and many
children, the full lips that begged to be kissed. Looking at her made Étienne harder than
stone. He had waited a long time to claim her. She had been constantly on his mind
throughout his trip to Europe. He had been back for four years, but he had stayed away as
much as possible. Cherie needed to grow up, to enjoy her youth. Every second he had been
back was spent building his own import/export business and readying a place for his wife
both here in the country and in New Orleans. He’d built a home on the plantation that
would one day be his, far enough away from the main house for privacy but big enough for lots of children. He’d purchased a sizable townhouse in New Orleans. All that was left to
do was to get the woman to the altar.
“I have never been so sure of anything in my life.” His body throbbed and hummed
as the little imp threw a devious smile in his direction as she sailed off to dance with yet
another suitor. All this would end soon enough he had to keep reminding himself.
“You are a brave man, ‘Tienne.” Antoine slapped him on the back, his attention
already straying to the young women present tonight. Beautiful femmes du color, grasping
middle class social climbers all mixed and mingled freely, anxious to catch the eye of one of
the Bonnet brothers. “I am off in search of far tamer game.”
Cherie may have been all smiles on the outside, but inside she was fuming. Étienne
hadn’t asked her to dance or talk to her at all! She hated it when he ignored her. It might
be spoiled and selfish, but she expected Étienne to always ask her to dance or flirt
outrageously with her. It may be beyond silly or even foolish, but she had come to think of
him as hers. Had he dared to ask someone else before asking her, she might have ripped the
girl’s hair out.
The young man she was currently dancing with only left her in a worse mood. Oh,
she smiled and said all the right things, but the man was simply boorish. She had to
her brothers. She needed to get away. “May I cut in?”
Cherie wanted to cry in relief. One fierce look at the boor she had been dancing
with and the younger man scurried away, leaving her in the arms of the only one she
wanted to dance with in the first place. She was careful not to appear too happy he had
finally left his post from holding up the wall. He had made her wait after all.
“Well I suppose I have no choice but to dance with you, since you ran off my
current partner.” She threw the pout she had practiced in the mirror at him to show her
displeasure. Not that she was fooling him at all. His lips were quirked in that devilish grin
of his, making her heart speed as she struggled to look put out.
“We don’t have to dance,” Étienne whispered in her ear. “We can take a walk in the
garden. Will you walk with me, Cher?”
Cherie shivered as Étienne’s hand made a slow trek down her spine to rest at the
small of her back. He had never asked her to walk with him before. In fact, he’d never done
more than dance once with her at any gathering. He had always been careful to be
respectful and circumspect. What was so different now?
“And why would I so that?” Because she had dreamed of such a thing most of her
life. Because Étienne was strong and handsome and made her feel as if she had a colony of
butterflies in her stomach. She had expected more banter, at least some gentle teasing. Instead, he lead her
steadily toward the French door that led outside. She had never seen Étienne like this. He
didn’t stop until they were deep in her mother’s garden away from the guests.
“What is this about, Étienne? I shouldn’t be out here; my parents will be looking for
me…”
Her protests were cut off as his lips claimed hers, but not in any way Cherie was
familiar with. His lips moved over her own, coaxing her mouth open for the invasion of his
tongue. She swallowed a gasp at the unexpected invasion, her body tingling all over. She
didn’t understand the sensations roaring to life within her, or her need for more. More
what? The kiss was unlike her wildest dreams. Étienne held her unlike he ever had before.
Her breasts were smashed against his chest, his arms holding her in an embrace she
couldn’t break it had she wanted to. But then, she didn’t want to.
All too soon, he lifted his lips, resting his forehead against her own. “Ah, Cher you
try my control. I didn’t bring you out here for this.”
“Did you not?” She didn’t know where the words came from.
The way he looked at her now. She had no idea what it meant, but she felt
something in her core burn, there were feelings coursing through her she couldn’t place,
couldn’t begin to understand. “You are natural born temptress, aren’t you, Cher? And here I am trying to propose
like a proper gentleman.”
Cherie’s heart skipped a beat. She was not so ignorant as to not understand what
Étienne was offering. He wanted to marry her!
“Mon péres…”
“I have spoken to your fathers, Cher. Both of them.” Her eyes widened as Étienne
dropped to his knees. “The rest is up to you. Will you do me the great honor of being my
wife?”
It seemed like he produced the ring out of nowhere. A beautiful diamond as big as a
pecan set in gold. Tears sprang to her eyes as he placed it on her shaking finger. T he one
thing she had always dreamed. Étienne was asking to marry her!
“Étienne?”
“Say yes, Cher. Say you will be my wife.”
“Yes, yes. A thousand times yes!”
Étienne hadn’t meant to kiss her again. It stretched the bounds of his already fragile
control. But her lips were too sweet to resist. It started with just a nipple on her lower lip,
but one taste was not enough. He needed more. He devoured her, invading her mouth,
taking what she freely gave. He knew it couldn’t last, that he needed to step back before it
was too late. “”We have to stop.” He said it, but he didn’t stop kissing her. His mouth traveled
from her mouth to her cheek, all over her face. “If I don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t.”
“Why? If we are to be married, why do we need to stop now?”
“Because you will be my wife first. I just pray we won’t have to wait too long.”
*****
Agathe sprawled in a most unladylike position in the pink parlor of her family
mansion in New Orleans drinking her dear old Papa’s finest brandy. Tipping her head
back she let the liquid burn a blazing path down her throat as she considered her position.
A month, her mother had been deal for a full month before her father moved his bitch into
her mother’s home. Agathe’s own town home was currently being remodeled after a vicious
flood which rendered it simply unlivable, so for the foreseeable future she was stuck in this
humiliating position. How the dratted man that was her father expected her to show her
face in polite society she would never know. Forcing her to live under the same roof as his
placée was inexcusable; many a vicious tongue was already wagging at the scandalous
behavior behind hands, of course.
Fortunately no one dare say a word openly. Gaspar Durand was now was the Comte
de Toulon, no one dared speak ill of anything he did. Not that anyone dared when he was simply the richest man in the colony. However, society’s blind eye did not extend to his
only legitimate offspring. She had just come from a women’s luncheon where a kindly (ha!)
matron reminder her of her precarious situation. Agathe seethed as she remembered the
gleeful look on the old bat’s face.
“You must be careful of your reputation ma cheré. What you papa is doing, il est
scandalous! We must look out for you. It would not do at all to have your pristine name
ruined. If he will not move cette femme out of your maman’s home, well…you simply
cannot stay there. It is too bad your marriage did not work out, non? You poor thing, to
have a marriage annulled….”
What the vicious little harpy left unsaid was clear. No decent woman could live at a
hotel for an indeterminate amount of time, Bellemere, which should have been hers, was
lost due to a damned annulment her own father had orchestrated. It was graciously accept
room and board from a “friend”, or be ostracized. Word had gotten out, as she knew it
would, about Claude and his putain and there veritable brood of children. Six bastards at
last count, five boys and one girl. The happy little couple had even begun traveling to New
Orleans now that little bastard girl was 18. He had actually adopted the chit, making her
legitimate. Why adopt a useless girl instead of one of the five strapping boys she would
never know. Rumors had it the little Cherie was a great beauty. Agathe wanted to spit out
the healthy swig of brandy she just gulped as the thought of the only one of her former husband’s children she had ever laid eyes on. She had been cursed to be barren, giving all of
them an excuse to cast her aside while Claude’s putain was as fertile as newly tilled soil. No
doubt the daughter would be as well, while she was damned to life as some unwanted cast
off.
Claude, who had established himself as a leader in the community, and her very own
father le Comte had managed to betroth the little chienne to none other than Étienne
Barbin, the only son and heir of Vicomte de Alsace, Rémi Barbin; a prominent of Creole
family. Étienne was an only child and the Vicomte was a widower so Agathe had rarely ran
across either in her busy social schedule, but what had seen made her green with envy. The
bastard child had been gifted with an outrageous dowry and Gaspar had moved heaven and
earth to ensure she could move freely in decent white society. Of course the little bastard’s
mother or grandmère could not accompany her so Claude and Gaspar could be seen
escorting the little baggage to various debutante events.
It was far too much to bear. Now all the world knew her shame; her former husband
had been living with his placée for years, ignoring the fact he had ever had a lawful wife.
She was forced to ignore whispers and snickers everywhere she went.
Pushing herself to her feet, Agathe went over the plans she had worked so long on.
She would be moving into Madame DuPont’s mansion tomorrow so she had to act
quickly. After witnessing her husband “au milieu de la fabrication d'amours” she has felt no need to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh. As a woman of good standing she only had
two options - buy a slave to for pleasure or sneak off to the less desirable neighborhoods to
find satisfaction. Agathe had done both. During her many trips to an exclusive brothel in
Storyville she had met and befriended an up and coming quadroon Madame who had been
planning for many years to move to a more lucrative area: Spanish-held Florida. It had
taken time and a substantial amount of money to convince the woman to take an extra
working girl whose virginity she could auction off in the grand opening of the brothel
Agathe had helped finance.
It was worth every penny if she could strike a blow to Gaspar and Claude for her
abject humiliation. When Claude and his placée had started coming to New Orleans,
Agathe had gone to her father to encourage him to stop. After all, New Orleans and Barton
Rouge were her refuges. If anyone were to find out, she would be a laughing stock,
someone to be pitied not envied, and she simply could not abide by that. Gaspar had not
only brushed aside her concerns, he had taken Claude’s side! He had gone on and on about
the needs of his young granddaughter, how she would have to learn to take her place in
society. Agathe could not believe her ears! To move a breed into polite society and pass her
off as one of her betters was simply unpardonable! But they had done it, and Agathe’s social
stock had dropped steadily ever since. She would not stay in La Louisiane very long after the dirty deed was done. She
could do nothing to stop Gaspar or Claude from legally adopting their bastard sons, she
could not stop her father from marrying his long time mistress though it was technically
against the law. She could not save the family name she once loved so very much. She
could hurt those who had ruined her life, and that is exactly what she planned to do.
*******
Étienne leaned against a pillar in the
shadowed corner of the ornate ballroom as he
watched his fiancé glide across the dance floor in the arms of an elderly gentleman. Her
dance card was full of distinguished names, none of which a day over sixty. Étienne had
taken the reigns of management of his father’s plantation while managing his own business,
allowing the older man to retire with his lover, Michel, and expanded the family fortune by
investing in many business ventures with the Bonnet and Durand clan. Bertrand Bonnet
handled the business interests in France, while Étienne and Antoine ran things here in New
Orleans. Claude Bonnet spent his time between local politics and Luc and Amélie, while
Gaspar had all but retired into the position of an elder statesman of sorts. He was marrying
into a family of very serious power brokers, but far more important than the money or
influence was the main reason for it all. Cherie.
He watched her laughing aqua eyes as she twirled around with smooth poise and
grace and could not stop the blood from rushing to his groin. God, she was so beautiful. He ached to make her his in every way. He had left Louisiana when she was just twelve and
already developing into a rare little beauty. Though he had planned on being away for just
a year, he and Antoine had stayed in France with Betrand for two years instead. He had
been unprepared for the young woman he had met upon his return. Her coltishness had
given way to soft curves as he suspected they would. He had thought he had a few years left
yet before her breasts had filled out to the luscious globes that threatened to spill from the
simple cotton dress she had worn. Her hips swayed seductively with her every movement.
He had spent less than a fortnight before he left once again to establish trade outposts
around the Caribbean down the Portuguese settlements in Brazil. The temptation was too
much; he knew had he stayed there was no way he would be able to keep his hands of her.
She had still been far too young. Though the marriage contracts had been signed, he would
not disgrace her or himself by taking her before she was ready.
The years he had stood back allowing Cherie to grow physically as well as mentally
had been worse than torture. She was a natural flirt, coquettish without even trying.