Zoe Read online

  Sheridan gripped La Roque by the shoulders and gave him a good once over. “You look good, old man. You haven’t changed since we last crossed paths.”

  Gérard entered with a silver tray and coffee service. La Roque stepped over to the immense fireplace and leaned against its stone mantle. “You didn’t answer, how long will you be visiting this time? Or dare I venture to guess, you’re just passing through?”

  “I am thinking of staying for a sort. A competent fellow is overseeing my plantation and, as I said earlier, I’m in need of, shall we say, French company? Someone unlike those virtuous Southern belles, who long to lead me to the altar and rob me of bachelorhood, would serve me well.”

  La Roque laughed. Like him, Sheridan was a notorious playboy. Their exploits in England years ago would have caused both their mothers to faint.

  “Please, stay as long as you like. Tell me, whatever became of that land purchase you last wrote of? ”

  “Andrew Jackson, that’s what!” Sheridan’s contemptuous tone was unmistakable. His jaw muscles clenched and his eyes were hooded under a scowling golden brow. La Roque detected the flame of his friend’s unmistakable temper simmering within that gaze.

  “We put him in office to release Carolina from the burden of those unjust tariffs after the war. Jackson and his administration refuse to hear our concerns. Now we have Adams, who thinks the South can easily be ignored.”

  La Roque raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, we both know you won’t be ignored.”

  Sheridan smirked. “Things are changing friend; we will nullify and reclaim the glory of the Carolinas. John Adams, and his Congress, will have to deal with South Carolina on her own terms!”

  Sheridan made himself comfortable in one of the richly brocaded armchairs that furnished the room and accepted a cup of coffee from Gérard.

  “Therefore, I do have some business dealings I’d like to talk to you about,” Sheridan said.

  “I’ll wager you do,” La Roque said. “But first we’ll have breakfast. I have guests.”

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “No intrusion,” La Roque said with a wave of his hand. “No intrusion. You’ve always been welcome to treat this as your home. You know that.”

  Sheridan gave him a nod of gratitude.

  “And these guests, do I know them? ”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s interesting. Exactly what type of guests are they?”

  “The kind you are most fond of,” replied La Roque, amused.

  Sheridan laughed. “I just love France!”

  “I know you do.” La Roque laughed, an oddly primitive warning sounding in his brain. Yes, he was glad to see Sheridan, but he also knew he’d have to keep an eye on him with the two lovelies in the house.

  EF Zoé walked into Marianne’s room, caught between love and resentment. Each morning, she had to tend to herself and deal with her corset on her own, but Marianne had to be dressed.

  If I didn’t love her so much, Zoé thought, I wouldn’t be so accommodating.

  Marianne sat before her vanity. Seeing her sister’s reflection, she turned around.

  “Oh, how I like your hair, Zoé!”

  Zoé had pinned her locks up on the right side of her head, leaving some curls to cascade around her face. She wore another glossy calamanco, emerald-green gown that hugged her waist and pushed her breasts upward. The center back of the corset showcased the braided stitched-down pleats that connected with puffed fabric at her lower waistline. The gown swelled slightly from her hips before flowing to the floor. Emerald jeweled teardrops dangled from her ears. A matching pendant adorned her throat, with the green jewel resting at the crease of her breasts. She was a striking woman, and she knew it. She wanted La Roque to see it, too. To see what he had rejected.

  “Can you help me, please? ” Marianne asked.

  She turned around, showing her back. Zoé grabbed up of the strings of Marianne’s corset. The girl took hold of the bedpost and blew out a deep breath. As Zoé pulled the lacing tighter, her sister whimpered at the pressure. She tried to be gentle and alleviate some of the pain. Zoé helped Marianne into her gown and fastened it. Marianne glanced at herself in the mirror and was reminded of her sleep-tousled hair. She turned to Zoé.

  “Please arrange my hair like yours! I want it exactly like yours!”

  “Bien,” Zoé smiled. “I’ll make it even better than mine.”

  At the vanity, she picked up one of their iron rods and ran it over the flame of a candle. Working quickly, she tightened Marianne’s curls and then neatly tamed her sister’s hair into a roll, tucked it and pinned it to her head, allowing her locks to fall down one side of her face.

  Marianne was delighted. “It’s exquisite!”

  “Just like you!” Zoé said.

  Marianne giggled. She took her rouge from her vanity case and applied it with helpful tips from Zoé. Once done, Marianne puckered her lips at the sight of her own perfection before slipping on her shoes. Her dress, similar to Zoé’s, was a pale yellow, which complimented her ivory skin and golden locks. They were the exact image of each other in breeding and poise. Marianne grabbed Zoé’s hand and pulled her through the door, proceeding to the morning room.

  Marianne was anxious to see her future husband. But Zoé felt a knot forming in her stomach at the very thought. How could she have been so foolish? And now, how could she manage to keep it a secret?

  She let Marianne lead her to the dining room with a deepening sense of dread. The sound of a stranger’s voice reached them as they came down the stairs. His French was fluent but accented. From what she could gather, he was engaging in a robust accounting of his exploits and travels. Specifically, he was complaining about slave rebellions, saying that they had been “springing up more and more since the uprising of the abolitionists.” Northern abolitionists were infiltrating respectable Southern homes and helping Negroes escape. Andrew Jackson’s second election to the Presidency promised to bring about prosperity for Southern gentlemen, but the stranger held out little hope that Adams’ Presidency would do what Jackson’s had failed to do.

  With a chill, Zoé realized that the man lived in the States – and that he was a slave trader.

  Gérard stood at the threshold of the dining room. The sisters paused for him to announce them formally.

  Zoé’s sense of unease sharpened. Without having seen him, she already knew that the stranger, whoever he was, was no friend to people like her, people of a darker hue. Was this the kind of person that La Roque welcomed into his home? Again, she scolded herself for ever having dared hope, even for a split second that—

  “Zoé? ” Marianne gazed at her sister with concern. “Viens. We must enter.”

  Zoé took a deep breath, forced a smile and stepped inside behind Marianne.

  She felt the stranger’s gaze. She saw his eyes rake over her, shift calculatingly to Marianne, and then shift back to her. His interest was obvious in the way he lowered his cup, the way his eyes momentarily widened and the way his mouth went slack. He reminded her of a hungry dog.

  She glanced at La Roque and saw that he was staring at her, too, but with a slight smile. She felt a flash of anger. How dare he smile at her, after he’d seduced her the night before?

  Madame was smiling at them nervously, waiting for them to be seated. Gérard led the two girls to empty places next to each other at the dining table.

  “Mesdemoiselles, I trust that your night was a pleasant one,” said La Roque, looking at Marianne first, then Zoé.

  “I have had better nights,” Zoé said with a direct look.

  Madame’s gaze shifted between Zoé and La Roque, and her eyes narrowed. Zoé wished she had not spoken.

  “I slept very well, merci,” Marianne said with a bright smile.

  La Roque gave her a polite nod. By then, his attention was on Sheridan, whose gaze had never left Zoé. La Roque cleared his throat rather loudly and Sheridan blinked, as though he’d b
een released from a spell.

  “Mademoiselle Marianne Bouchard and Mademoiselle Zoé Bouchard , may I present my old schoolmate, Flynn Sheridan,” La Roque said, gesturing across the table toward his guest. “He’s visiting from America.”

  Zoé’s anger intensified. So it was true. This guest was a man who made his money from human suffering. And La Roque had close ties to him. She despised slave traders.

  She felt Sheridan’s hot gaze sweep her again. No doubt it wasn’t just lust on his mind–but lust and money. She met his look with a glare.

  Marianne gave him a dimpled smile. “It is a pleasure, monsieur.”

  Madame looked at Zoé, who forced a smile but gave only a nod.

  “I must say, mesdemoiselles, that the pleasure is all mine,” he said with a confident charm.

  La Roque nodded to Gérard and the staff brought in breakfast. As Zoé ate, listening to the conversation at the table, she was ever aware of Sheridan’s unwanted stares. He kept flashing her that perfect smile, but his eyes reflected less than honorable intentions. She could not wait for the meal to end.

  Meanwhile, she watched Marianne flirt with La Roque. Marianne’s interest was evident as she seemed amused at even the slightest conversation. For her part, Madame reminded them of all of Marianne’s exceptional qualities. La Roque was amused as well, and for a while, even Sheridan’s attention shifted to the younger girl. Zoé was grateful.

  When breakfast was over, La Roque invited everyone to the conservatory to see the exotic plants he had imported from all over the world. To Zoé, it sounded like the plants bloomed only for his amusement. Marianne giggled with excitement, but Zoé asked to be excused. La Roque’s face reflected his disappointment. He tried to object, but Madame intervened.

  “Zoé hasn’t been feeling well today, mon seigneur. I think it best that she lies down.”

  Zoé rose, offering a polite curtsey to her host, and turned to leave. Before she could take two steps, Sheridan also stood and excused himself as well. He expressed a need to unpack and rest after the exhausting voyage, but Zoé was aware of the look he gave her. Mon Dieu, he wouldn’t follow her or try anything with everyone in the château, or would he? Should she stay back and wait with the others? But she’d already excused herself and the fact was she couldn’t afford to stay. She had to get back to her room and dispose of those soiled linens. If the maids found them, they would tell her stepmother.

  She caught La Roque looking at her and, for a hope-filled moment, thought she read not lust, but concern. He glanced at Sheridan, then back at her, and opened his mouth to say something, but Marianne reached for his arm.

  “Please show me the flowers,” she said. “I’m dying to see them.”

  He smiled at her and Zoé saw Madame’s small look of triumph. Without another word, Zoé left the room, her head held high and her heart aching. Her fate was sealed. La Roque now had eyes only for her sister. Obviously, what she herself had given him the night before meant nothing. How could she have made such a terrible mistake in judgment?

  In the cold light of that moment, she saw that she had not only betrayed herself, but Marianne, and risked what little security she had in the Bouchard household. The only chance she had left was to protect her secret.

  She sensed footsteps behind her. It was Sheridan. Unease gripped her. She looked straight ahead, refusing to slow down or acknowledge him. The sound of the footsteps disappeared as she passed through the grand entryway and turned toward for the stairs. She didn’t dare glance back. If Sheridan was still following her, then he might take it as an opportunity to speak. She had just reached the bottom of the stairs when she heard him call out to her. She pretended not to have heard him and put her foot on the first step.

  “Mademoiselle!”

  It was no use. The voice came from just behind her. She turned around and said, “Oui, monsieur?” Her voice was cold and polite and her tone crisp. But he was so certain of his charm that her hostility had little or no effect on him.

  “I was hoping for a moment,” he said.

  “I am sorry, monsieur, but I feel faint this morning. I would like to retire.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she started up the stairs. He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her back down.

  “I said I want a moment,” he said, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Zoé wrenched herself away and bared her teeth. “I am not some Negress on your plantation. Your wants are of no interest to me!”

  He laughed at her. “You are feisty, aren’t you? ” He brushed his fingertips against her long dark curls. “And oh, so beautiful.”

  Zoé grabbed the front of her dress and fled up the stairs. All she wanted to do was put as much distance as possible between them. Three-quarters of the way up, she paused to catch her breath, aware that she heard no footsteps behind her. She chanced a glance and saw that he had not even attempted to follow her. He was still standing at the foot of the stairs, smirking at her, looking amused and confident. She felt a surge of both relief and anger. She hated his expression and she hated what she thought it meant. Yes, she’d gotten away, but only for now. She was glad he wasn’t going to chase her. Why should he bother? Men like him always believed they could have whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it.

  But he was wrong, she told herself. When it came to her, he was very wrong.

  Her thoughts returned to the linens in her room, of both the hurt they stood for and the danger they posed. She ran up the remaining stairs and rushed down the hall to her room. She hurried in and knelt at the side of the bed, the ends of her corset stays pressing uncomfortably against her upper thighs. She reached under the heavy bed skirt but didn’t feel the sheets. So she lifted the skirt, bent down and peered under the bed.

  There was nothing there.

  Fighting a rising panic, she got to her feet and brushed off her skirt. What was the maid’s name? Sweet, merciful God, what was it? She couldn’t remember.

  She sat on the bed, buried her face in her hands and wept. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She had made a horrible mistake. The pain of being used and then rejected was bad enough, but now she faced the prospect of losing everything. If Father found out what she’d done, he would be more than upset. He might well ship her away.

  “She weeps? ”

  Sheridan stood in her doorway. Fear chilled her. She got to her feet and wiped away her tears.

  “What are you doing here? What do you want? ”

  He entered and closed the door behind him. “You owe me an apology,” he said.

  “I owe you nothing. Leave this room!”

  That patronizing smirk reappeared. “Now is that any way to speak to a gentleman? I just want to be your friend.”

  “I don’t need friends, monsieur. Now, please go, or I shall scream.”

  He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That’s what’s wrong with this country. It has spoiled you niggers into thinking that you matter. The truth is that you’re nothing but a dressed-up darkie playing at being a lady. So let’s not forget your place.”

  Zoé’s hurt and fear dissolved in a rush of fury. She’d met men like him before. Men who were determined to intimidate her–break her–and she’d decided never to let them get away with it. She regarded him with contempt.

  “You’re wrong, monsieur. I know my place. It’s you who don’t know yours. You aren’t in America–far from it–and you have no power over me. Indeed, my father will have you charged if you dare lay one hand on me.”

  A dark flush rose from his collar to suffuse his face. Probably, no woman, black or white, had ever spoken to him that way. His hands tightened into fists, but he looked unsure. She could see he wanted her, wanted her badly, but he didn’t know where to start: to take her first and then beat her, or beat her and then take her. Either way, he meant to crush her. Men like him, weak men, were drawn to her strength of spirit, but not because they appreciated it. They were fascinated but fearful of it. They needed to dominate
and destroy it. His next words were no surprise.

  “My, my,” he licked his lips. “You’re a confused girl. But I like it. Yes, I like such fire and wit.”

  “I have no interest in your likes or dislikes! Get out!”

  Instead of leaving, he approached her. She stood firm. Their faces were only inches apart.

  “You smell of honey,” he said. “And your skin… it’s so smooth.”

  He gazed down at the gently swelling curves of her breasts, watching as they rose and fell, and then raised his gaze to meet hers. He searched her face and seemed to realize something.

  “It isn’t just dramatics, is it? You would rather die than let me have you? ”

  She stared at him.

  “Where are you from? ” he asked. “Where were you born? ”

  Furious, she said nothing.

  He chuckled and touched one of the rich, dark curls that fell across her shoulder. For a moment, they stood there, she holding her breath, he enjoying the silky feel of the tendril as it curled around his finger.

  “Your hair,” he said, “it’s very soft. Then again, I bet you’re soft all over, aren’t you? ”

  He reached to cup one breast. She folded her arms across her chest, blocking him. The smirk on his face revealed his amusement at her resolve. Leaning closer, he nuzzled her cheek. She pulled away with a shudder.

  “Are you cold? ” he whispered. “Of course you are, because you don’t know heat. I shall show you.”

  She glared at him, lowered arms and clenched her small hands into fists. He smiled at her as though she were merely a stubborn child and let go of her hair.

  “I shall speak to your mistress,” he said. “I’m certain that she and I could come to terms—”

  “You shall be disappointed, monsieur. You will find no price on me.”

  “I—”

  The door swung open and Sheridan turned around, apparently ready to scold some unfortunate servant for having interrupted him at his fun. He was shocked to see La Roque.