had to enter through the back door and she could only darken milord’s doorstep once a
week – and that was only because Cherie had insisted. Had Diego had his way there would
have been no visits from the town’s most exclusive Madame. Christine did not feel slighted
in the least. She could not have felt prouder or more relieved. Cherie might have been a
little lady long before she and Didier had unfortunately kidnapped her, but the fact Cherie
had come from Christine’s exclusive house of pleasure gave her a certain cachet with her
more distinguished clients. Now some of the more prominent men came to see if they too
might be as fortunate as the Duque de Suárez. They could never hope to find a lady like
Cherie in any brothel in the New World, but they didn’t need to know that. As long as
they spent lavishly in the search, and they did indeed, Christine was satisfied.
“You are Christine L’Amour, yes?”
Ah, well, Christine thought to herself. I have had a good run.
There was really no point in pretending she didn’t know who he was or why he was
here. She was just glad Didier was not here tonight. Her lover would no doubt try to fight
to save her from her fate, whatever it may be. It would not matter that they hadn’t known who Cherie was when they had taken her; they had helped a bitter woman kidnap a child
of the cream of New Orleans society.
“Yes, I am. And you are Étienne Barbin, no doubt here to collect your fiancé,
Cherie.”
If Étienne was shocked by her surprising candor he did not show it. An imperial
raised brow was the only outward sign he even acknowledged Christine was trying to be as
up front as possible.
“I am here to collect Mademoiselle Cherie Durand-Bonnet,” he stressed. “And yes,
she is my fiancé.”
Christine studied the young man standing proudly before her. Tall and broad
shouldered, he was definitely one of the most handsome young men she had seen and she
had seen more than her fair share. His curly dark auburn hair was perfectly shaped, not a
strand out of place. His mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed; strong dark brows and
insanely long lashes framed bright blue eyes. Yes, he was definitely a catch and apparently
very much in love with his fiancé. Well, that would be ex-fiancé now, wouldn’t it? By all
accounts, Capitán de Aguilar was enthralled with his new mistress. He often conducted
business at home with Cherie never far from his side. Christine was well aware of all the
talk around town on how the good captain could not keep his hands off his lovely
companion; sometimes he even went so far as to conduct meetings with Cherie on his lap. Given the time they had been together and Cherie’s general naiveté, by now she was
probably carrying de Aguilar’s child. Christine had absolutely no intention of pointing that
out the young man standing before her now. He would find out soon enough.
“Please, monsieur, have a seat.”
Étienne sat stiffly in the chair the madame indicated with studied patience he didn’t
feel. It had been one long, painful year since Cherie had disappeared. He had been on a
fool’s errand to Canada to catch up with Christine L’Amour. Thankfully, he had not
traveled too far before several of Monsieur Luc’s men had caught up with him. They had
found Cherie’s trail far from where they had been led to believe her final destination was.
Madame L’Amour and her companion Didier had set up shop in Spanish territory, not in
Canada. He had turned south that very night and ridden as if Satan himself was after him.
Now that he was here he wanted nothing more than to find his future wife and to go
home.
“Madame, you must please excuse my rudeness, but it is imperative I collect Cherie
without delay. As you might expect her parents are beside themselves and I must admit I,
too, am anxious to collect by future bride.”
There were not many times when Christine could honestly say she had ever been
quite so floored, but this was definitely one of them. Although “society” in the New World
was quite a bit looser and more democratic than on the continent, the fact this man was tacitly stating Cherie would still be his wife was astounding. While young Creole men
extreme. A young man of wealth and position marrying anything less than a vestal virgin
was virtually unheard of. Not to mention the fact there had been no threats or
recriminations against Christine herself.
“Monsieur…” Christine began, trying to find a way to break it to him gently, only to
be cut off.
“I do not care to hear what she may or may not have done, or been forced to do. I
will have Cherie returned to me, Madame, in whatever condition I can have her.”
Christine rose from the comfortable settee to drift toward the picture window
revealing the view of her private garden.
“Cherie is not here, monsieur.” She told him while gazing out at the flowers she had
planted with her own to hands. “She is a…guest of Capitán Diego Esteban de Aguilar,
Duque de Suárez. You will find her there, if he will allow it.”
Étienne felt the breath leave his body. He had expected that Cherie would have lost
her virginity by now; he had even accepted she might have been used as a whore. As much
as the very idea infuriated him to the point of physical pain, none of this was her fault. He
would do whatever he could to help her heal from the experience. The one thing he had
not expected, that he never allowed himself to even think, was that she might have found a permanent “protector.” The possibility had always been there of course. Cherie was beyond
beautiful and it was not unheard of to auction a gently bred virgin to become a mistress
instead of one of a brothels regular girls. With her breeding and looks, there was little
doubt she would have attracted men of wealth and power.
Diego de Aquilar was a man of both; his reputation proceeding him throughout the
New World. Moreover, he happened to the former son-in-law of Charles II, King of Spain,
who was the cousin of France’s own King Louis XVI. If de Aguilar did not want to let her
go, not even Cherie’s grandfather could make him. Louisiane had technically been under
Spanish control for the last 19 years or so, though the Spanish that had settled there had
adopted the culture and traditions of the French and had become true Creoles-the crème de
la crème of the territory’s society. By proxy, the Duque was a part of that society, his name
carrying status Étienne could not hope to overcome.
“Do you have his direction?” he asked absently. He had to at least see if de Aguilar
could be reasoned with. If not, well it would not be his first duel despite his age. The
Duque’s reputation was fearsome, but for Cherie, Étienne would battle Satan himself.
Christine turned in surprise. Surely he knew who de Aguilar was. Who didn’t?
“I do not mean to pry or to give unwanted advice but…”
“Then don’t,” he replied softly. “I would, were I you, give me the information I
need and swallow my tongue. Once I am gone, you would do well to fall to your knees in thankful prayer neither I, nor my fiancé’s family feel it necessary to…reprimand you
regarding your tragic mistake. I think my pres
ence alone is enough to make you think
again before offering assistance to an unbalanced, jealous woman, non?”
He had not raised his voice. In fact his voice had become deceptively gentle while
being more frightening than any threat she had ever heard in her life. He had not even
looked at her with the slightest bit of malice, yet Christine felt shivers from the implied
menace spoken as if he were her lover. The icy fear that ran up her spine was immediately
replaced by red hot heat making her moist and needy. Mon Dieu! She had never met a
society swan that could excite her the way this young man just had. And she had thought
to warn him of the dangers of the Duque! Had she been a betting woman, there was no
way she would place money on either side of what was sure to be a magnificent battle for
one very lucky girl.
**************
Diego clasped and unclasped his fist reflexively as he read a report from one of his
most trusted retainers. His Majesty Charles II had finally sent an emissary he felt Diego
could not possibly avoid; his former wife. He had thought the woman safely away in a
convent somewhere. Now, apparently she was making her way here to convince him to
marry her sister. Over his rotted, putrid corpse! To top it off, apparently Cherie’s former
fiancé had finally made his way to Florida to retrieve his intended bride. His eyes wandered across the expanse of his office to linger at the woman silently
embroidering in the corner by the window. There was everything a man could ever possibly
need in a woman. Her head was bent at a slight angle, the teeth worrying her bottom lip as
she concentrated on the task at hand. Due to the muggy heat she was dressed simply
tasteful pastel linen day dress accented with flowing lace, her hair swept up in a pile of
riotous curls on the top of her head. Though he had gifted her with jewelry fit for a queen,
she wore a simple thin gold chain around her neck and delicate earbobs swung from her
ears. She looked so young and innocent; the perfect lady.
Cherie had become the lady of this household in every sense of the word. The
servants loved her, following her direction without whimper. Oh, they had balked at first,
but surprisingly she had handled the situation skillfully, commanding respect with softly
spoken commands laced with steel that brooked no argument. Diego hadn’t noticed that
perhaps his home was not the cleanest it could have been, or that the food prepared in his
kitchen had been a bit bland until she had assembled the entire staff, directing them with
the assurance of a little general. Within her first week there the house sparkled, the food
was always piping hot and spiced perfectly with the appropriate wines for the appropriate
courses. Suddenly his business associates angled for invitations to dine, the men in
positions of authority had at first brought their long time mistresses with them, but had
quickly learned Cherie Durand-Bonnet was no low born whore. Now those few with wives and daughters in the colony were not only brought for dinner parties or the obligatory
dance or ball, but encouraged pay afternoon calls.
Diego grinned ruefully at the last thought. All too often he had come home to spend
“quality time” with Cherie only to find his lover immersed in a titillating conversation
about clothing or some such nonsense with society ladies. Instead of slinking off as any
rational man would do, he sat down much to the thrill of the ladies present and pretended
to listen until Cherie’s guests got the hint and finally decided to take themselves off.
“Capitán?”
With a sigh, Diego turned to the matter at hand.
“Ready one of my ships, Carlos. The fastest of the lot,” he told his agitated assistant
with more calm than he actually felt. “I have a sudden need to inspect my newly acquired
land in Louisiana.”
Cherie’s head snapped up.
“You have lands in Louisiane?”
He could not help put smile at the hopeful expression on her face. Mixed in with a
healthy dose of anger of course. Cherie may love her place in his bed, but she had never
stopped demanding to be taken home. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She was
quickly learning the power she wielded over him. One small slip of a woman had managed what men all over the world could not. She had completely conquered the Duque de
Suárez.
“Come here, mi cielo.”
Cherie felt a shiver at the simple command. He had such a deep, commanding voice
that went hand in hand with his fierce looks. Those clear gray eyes could burn intensely,
searing her with a glance or turn bitterly cold towards those who displeased him. They were
hot now as they watched her rise slowly from her comfortable chair in a quiet corner to
slowly glide towards him. She held his stare, a slight smile on her lips. She watched with
amusement as his nostrils flared at her subtle teasing. Oh, but the man could make her so
very hot by a single look. Though a part of her would always love Étienne, the man now
lost to her forever, nothing could ever compare to the feelings Diego Aguilar inspired in
her.
Étienne might have roused her sexuality into awakening, but Diego sent her into a
raging inferno. He had taught her the power of passion, ht art of sensual pleasure. She lost
herself in his arms never caring if she was found again. She knew Diego would eventually
return her to her family, though not alone. He looked at her the same way both of her
fathers looked at her mother. She would never be rid of him. She would never want to.
When she was within arm’s length he reached out to pull her to him. She barely had
time to lift her head before he was ravished her mouth. With a sigh, Cherie melted into his solid frame. He was not gentle-that was not Diego’s way. His tongue pressured her mouth
to open while his hands snaked up to entwine in her hair and firmly pulling to tilt her head
just the way he wanted it. She whimpered as she pressed herself closer, her skin suddenly
unbearable hot and tight. Mon Dieu, but the man could make her forget any and
everything with a simple touch. Diego tugged firmly on her hair, forcing her neck to arch
as his lips traveled from her own, all over her face to her throat. Placing his other hand on
the small of her back, he gently guided her with him as he lowered himself into the large
comfortable chair behind his desk, arranging her so that she was straddling him, her rapidly
heating core pressing against his painfully throbbing cock. Cherie whimpered as she
ground her core against him, revealing in the sweet torturous friction against her molten
center. All thoughts of Carlos Hernandez standing by Diego’s desk fled from her head as
the man slipped out the room went completely unnoticed.
Diego was aware of the departure of his assistant and with it the entrance of
someone else who stood silently just inside the door. He knew instinctively who had dared
breached his domain without permission. The young man was well dressed, impeccably
groomed unlike so many fortune hunters that came to the New World. It had only been a
matter of time before Étienne Barbin would find his missing fiancé. Not that Diego
blamed him for searching high and wide for her. Cherie was worth far more than her
weight in gold. Sweet, sexy, intelligent and exciting were just a few of her f
iner points. The woman currently in his arms was the type of woman who inspired a man to be far more
than he ever thought he could be. She inspired him to want to be a better man. In all
honestly, that would mean letting her go back to her family. That was something Diego
was afraid he could never do. The little French puppy would just have to be made to
understand his former fiancé was permanently lost to him.
Normally he would never allow another man even a glimpse of the treasure he held
in his arms, but he had an overwhelming need to show the younger man in a way words
never could that this woman was his completely and irrevocably. Moving his hands to her
bodice he ripped the material from the neckline to the waist, causing Cherie to gasp in a
mixture of surprise and excitement. She did not wear a torturous corset at his insistence.
Diego would not allow anything to impede his constant need for access to her lush body.
After removing her arms from the now ruined sleeves, he pulled up the skirts of her day
gown while snaking one hand to cup her sumptuous ass closer to his aching cock, he bent
forward to capture a diamond hard nipple into his mouth. She threw her head back with a
heavy groan trying desperately to get closer.
“S'il vous plait, Diego.” Cherie moaned. “J'ai besoin de lui.”
“Tell me what you need, meija.” He pressed her now dripping pussy against his
painful erection while holding tight, not allowing her to grind against him. Removing his
head from her heaving breasts he lifted the skirt of the wrecked gown even higher, he rubbed a single thick finger against her pussy lips. What delight his little Cherie had turned
out to be. She was an eager and willing student in the art of sensual delights. She never
balked or refused to try anything, but it was still a challenge to actually get her say words
like “cock” or “pussy”. Diego feared she carved a permanent home in his jaded heart with
her intoxicating mixture of innocence and wantonness. What man could want more?
“Say it, Cherie,” he demanded against the soft skin of her throat.
“Please,” she moaned wiggling her hips against him. “I need you.”
He stood placing her on the edge of his desk as he kneeled before her. The French
puppy hovering by the door would not be able to see him feast on Cher’s delectable little