Felice, p.6
Felice, page 6
Felice removed herself from her chair and proceeded to pin her hat back on her head. Chin lifted in defiance, she snatched up her reticule and parasol and, gliding past her brother, sailed out the door.
A litany of curses fell from Michel’s mouth. “Felice, get back here!”
Stunned, René stared at the open door and at the blue cloud disappearing around the corner. Despite the predicament she’d left them in, a humorless chuckle erupted from his throat. “Ain’t she just full of sass this morning.”
“Humph. My sister is always full of sass.”
“You need to pay her. We’re in a tight spot.”
Michel glared at René. “Unlike her brothers and cousin, who’ve had to work for every dollar earned, she has a trust fund greater than the worth of a few small countries, which she has managed to increase on her own, thanks to her penchant for numbers and some clever investing. The last thing my sister needs is to further enrich her overflowing coffers. She’s traveled to nearly every one of our offices and checked the company books without asking for so much as a dime. Now, thanks to whatever wild bee she’s got buzzing around that oversize bonnet of hers, she’s decided to be stubborn.”
“And you are not?”
Michel turned to stare out the window at the Cerise while he rubbed the back of his neck. A long moment of silence ensued while René’s brain worked overtime trying to decide if he could pay the crew and have Felice balance the books after the fact.
Of a sudden, Michel laughed. “Damn if I didn’t need a break from the grind of all this paperwork. I knew she was up to no good when she waltzed in here late and in a fanciful mood. Once again, that rebellious streak of hers is at play.”
“Mon Dieu. She picked a mighty bad time to be up to no good.” And a hell of a time this is for you to quibble over money when whatever she’d get wouldn’t put a dent in the company coffers, you damn fool.
“Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing,” Michel said. “Don’t think for a moment she didn’t time this little escapade in order to get her way.”
Despite the anger boiling under the surface, René managed to keep his tone even. “Seems to me you should go after her. Give her whatever she be wantin’ and sack her later, but let’s get the job finished or we’ll be in a mess of trouble. I could use some sleep.”
“You go after her.”
A jolt ran through René. “Me?”
Michel nodded. “Offer her the same wages we give Henri.”
“You’re tellin’ me to chase her down after you refused to compensate her for her work? And now you’re wantin’ me to offer her an errand boy’s wages? Non, mon ami. Leave me out of your family squabble. You need to be the one collecting her; you’re the one who started this chaos.”
Michel stood and, with a wide yawn, stretched his arms overhead. “I started it? She’s the one who waltzed in here two hours late. Do you think if I went after her that she wouldn’t hesitate to argue with me in public? I do not need that kind of negative attention drawn to me or to this business. Drag her back here if you have to.”
René rose from his chair and set to pacing. “Why offer her an errand boy’s wage?”
Michel stepped to Abbott’s desk and flipped through the pages of the ledger. “She’s temporary. And she’s never demanded compensation before, so now is hardly the time to start.”
I can’t go after her, not with what’s gone on between us. “Won’t offering what Henri earns offend her?”
“Start by offering his income, then work your way up. She thrives on negotiation. Be forewarned—she can be shrewd. And she’s unflappable. Don’t let her play her trump card.”
“What trump card?”
“That she’s a woman and therefore not given the same privileges in the family business as the men. Remind her she has a more than ample trust fund.”
“Mon Dieu. Why would I have that kind of personal information?” Anger and fatigue coalesced and punched him in the gut. He grabbed up a glass paperweight and thought about throwing it across the room. Instead, he took a deep breath and set the thing back down on his desk.
Michel, his eye on René’s action, smirked. “Your sister married into the family, which practically makes you family as well, so you could easily be privy to Felice’s wealth.”
René pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where the hell is Bastien? He should go in my stead. I’ve work to do.”
“He went to the bank.” Michel checked his pocket watch once more.
René cursed again. “He’s been gone a lot longer than it takes to get there and back. He’s somewhere else lettin’ off steam, if you get my meanin’.”
Michel shrugged. “He’ll return with the bankroll before noon. Always does.”
“What if I manage to get her back here and she’s too slow with the numbers to be meetin’ the payroll on time?”
“Rest assured, she will make the time limit. Far be it from me to admit this to her, but she’s even better at figures than Abbott. Even though he trained her for his own amusement, she can add a page of sums in her head and recite the total before he’s halfway down the column.”
He scowled at René. “By the way, what’s going on between you and my sister?”
“What do you mean?” The hair on the back of René’s neck stood on end. He knew exactly what Michel meant.
“Up until this morning, when she breezed in here and made it a point to greet you by your Christian name, I would’ve sworn the frigid air between you two could’ve frozen a bayou in midsummer. Anything I need to know?”
Merde, the last thing he needed was for Michel to demand an explanation. The fatigue that had plagued René before she’d waltzed in hit him again, as if he’d run head-on into a brick wall. He shrugged and swiped a hand across his aching brow. “Non. Nothing wrong between us.”
Michel returned to his desk and picked up another stack of papers. “Then work your mother’s voodoo magic if you have to, but get Felice back here within the hour.”
René grabbed his jacket and headed for the open door, shoving his arms into the sleeves as he went. “What if she doesn’t let me through the gate to the town house?”
“She won’t be there. Try Les Deux Bonbons.”
He paused, one foot over the threshold. “You cannot be serious. It’s barely half past nine.”
“Iced cream is my sister’s opium. It’s never too early in the morning to feed her addiction. You’re sure to find her there. Bring me back a chicory coffee and a couple of beignets while you’re at it, if you will.”
Sacrebleu. How had he gotten himself into this one? He was so fatigued he could drop on the street, and now he had to chase after the one person he had every intention of avoiding. In a sweet shop no less. This whole mess was more Michel’s doing than hers.
Stubborn Andrews clan.
The whole damn bunch of them.
* * *
He’d have been blind not to have spotted Felice the moment the sweet shop came into view. She made a fine advertisement for Les Deux Bonbons as she sat at a round, marble-topped, wrought-iron table in the bay window directly beneath the establishment’s name etched in gold on the glass. Her skirts billowed around her like some heavenly blue cloud. She’d somehow managed to attach a fresh magnolia blossom the size of a dinner plate to her bonnet. Where she’d got that along the way, he could only guess.
Mon Dieu, but she was a vision.
He stood like a statue in the middle of Rue Dauphine, staring at her. Time stopped. The breeze, the street sounds around him—his anger—all ceased to exist in the thud of his heart beating against his ribs. After all this time, how had he failed to leach her out of his blood?
She held a long-handled spoon over a tulip-shaped glass filled with what had to be the iced cream she favored. Her opium, as her brother had called it. In a graceful move, she dipped into the confection, then lifted a heaping spoonful to her lips. He could’ve sworn her eyelids fluttered shut in ecstasy as she slid the sweetness into her mouth. How did such a willowy woman manage such a healthy appetite and still maintain her slender figure? He’d bet she wasn’t even wearing a corset.
A rush of guilt washed over him. He knew damn well she wore nothing of the sort. Had no need to. He knew this because he’d once come dangerously close to divesting her of her gown and unmentionables.
He’d nearly ruined her.
Had nearly ruined his own life.
A shouted curse sent René jumping backward as a horse and rider bore down on him, barely missing him.
“Are you daft?” the man roared and sped off, hurling profanities over his shoulder.
“Pardon,” René muttered and let loose a few obscenities of his own. The bothersome fool had no business using the street for a racetrack. Shoving his runaway emotions into a dark place inside himself, René strode to the shop’s front door.
Her back was to him when he entered. In a quiet voice, he ordered a chicory coffee, a couple of beignets to take to Michel, and a molasses and creamed chicory coffee for himself to consume in the shop. Then he strolled to where Felice sat and slid into the chair across from her.
She paused with the spoon hovering over her glass. Her pupils flared for a brief moment. Then, with a little smirk, she collected herself and dug into the confection again. “Did my coward of a brother send you in his stead?”
René couldn’t help but grin. “I do not know about the cowardly part, but oui, he sent me. He thought you’d be less likely to raise a fuss with me, don’cha know.”
He tilted his head and studied her. “Are you enjoying your day so far, chère?”
“Immensely.” With her gaze fixed on his, she dipped up another helping of the ice cream. This time she turned the silver spoon’s full bowl over and pressed the frozen confection to her tongue. Slowly, she slid the spoon away, swallowed, and gave the inside of it a purposeful lick.
René’s groin tightened.
Christ!
He drew a hitching breath and, tearing his gaze away, stared out the window while he collected his thoughts. “Your brother says he’ll pay you Henri’s wage because you’ve made no demands for compensation in the past.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are we about to negotiate upward?”
He swallowed a laugh just as a waiter set René’s chicory coffee in front of him. He took a long drink and reveled in the sweet concoction. “You’ve not requested payment of any kind in other ports, so why now?”
“Because, silly goose, I had specific plans when I arrived here that have been upended. Because I have not seen my dear Papa in three years. Because I’ve a wedding to attend . . . my own.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the stately clock standing in the corner. Noting the time, he fixed his gaze on her again. “Because we only have until noon to pay the crew, let us not be playin’ games, s’il vous plaît. I’ll offer you half of Abbott’s wages, which is more than fair, and that’s final.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I return without you, figure out on my own what is owed, and worry about balancing the books later because I have not been to bed this past night, and I don’t give much of a damn if the books are balanced today or next week. Either we return together or I leave on my own, so make up your mind, tout de suite.”
She shrugged and dug into the last of her ice cream. “All right. You should finish your coffee. The drink’s stimulation might put you in a better mood. If I have to work in the same office with you, I’d rather you not be out of sorts.”
Having settled the problem, he sat back in his chair, stretched out a leg, and took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze fixed on her over the rim of his cup.
Her cheeks flushed.
He nearly laughed. He set down the cup. “Do I bother you?”
“No.” The disquiet left her eyes, replaced by a hint of amusement. She lifted a brow. “Do I bother you?”
He took his time as his gaze scraped her lovely figure from the top of her head to her slender fingers and waist. For a brief moment, he allowed the sight to heat his blood. “Oui. A little.”
She tilted her head in query. “Interesting. How so?”
Because it is all I can do to keep from reaching out and touching you. From leaning over this table and planting my mouth on yours. From wanting to bury myself deep inside you.
He shrugged and drank the last of his café noir. “Because in about two hours we’ll have seventy-five sailors lined up at the company door, each with his hand out. Meanwhile, the person meant to inform me as to what each man is to receive sits in a sweet shop stuffing herself on ice cream—a large serving of the sweet stuff—while everyone else in here is busy taking their morning coffee and beignet.”
She laughed—a light, breezy sound that settled in parts of his restless body that refused to obey his commands.
He studied her as she slowly, purposefully, took in another mouthful of the ice cream, this one chocolate. “How many layers of mischief do I see in your eyes, chère?”
“Whatever do you mean?” In went another dollop of sweetness, followed by a bright smile.
The minx. “You’ve decided to stop being so formal with me, and now you play the coquette. Why is that?”
Her gaze dropped to his fingers, which were slowly running over the rim of his cup. Again, her cheeks flushed.
So, the little tease, she is not as bold as she pretends.
Chapter Seven
Felice watched René cradle his cup with both hands while his fingers leisurely circled the rim. A keen awareness of his actions set her skin to tingling. Her cheeks heated. Lord, he might as well be caressing her directly, the way his movements affected her.
So graceful, those hands. Yet a smattering of tiny scars betrayed the life of a man who’d survived a childhood very different from her own. She knew how capable those hands were. How they could tuck a wayward curl behind an ear with the barest of touches. How they’d once lightly traced the outer edges of her lips before he’d leaned in and kissed her senseless.
Lord in Heaven, she didn’t dare look up lest she catch sight of that luscious mouth—and those heavy-lidded, mesmerizing eyes. Most likely, the man could seduce a woman with a mere glance. For pity’s sake, she had to get hold of herself. She was an affianced woman, while he was nothing but a scandalous rogue. And lest she ever forget, a scoundrel whose rejection had once pierced her heart like a lance.
Mayhew.
Think of Mayhew.
He would not be pleased to find her sitting here with René. What the devil had she been doing that had caused René to refer to her as a coquette? He’d been mistaken. She had not been flirting. When she’d stepped into the office this morning and spied a scowl on her brother’s face, her rebellious nature had taken hold. Michel knew very well what a defiant nature she possessed.
She hadn’t been flirting with René.
Not at all.
Collecting herself, she scraped the last bit of the melted confection from the bottom of the fluted glass and offered him a perfunctory smile. “Finished.”
He stood and offered his hand. “Come along, chère. We’ve work to do.”
Henri, the errand boy, hustled past the window. Catching sight of them, he paused. René signaled him with a nod and the boy rushed inside.
“Take Monsieur Andrews the coffee and beignets the waiter will bring you,” René said.
“Yes, sir.”
There was no mistaking the hunger in the lad’s eyes. “And take several for yourself,” Felice added.
“Merci, mam’selle.” Henri grinned and hurried to where the waiter stood.
Felice donned her gloves and, slipping a hand into René’s, allowed him to help her to her feet. She let go of his grasp with a flick of her wrist. Was it her imagination or had he smirked?
When they reached the door, he guided her over the threshold with a light touch to the small of her back. The electric heat of his body gave her pause. She moved away from his hand but misjudged the distance. She collided with the door frame, then lurched smack into him.
“Easy, chère,” he murmured.
“Pardon.” She caught his enticing scent as she brushed past him and stepped onto the wooden boardwalk lining the street. He’d been up all night, yet his shirt appeared fresh and crisply starched, as though he’d just stepped from a bath. However did he manage to appear so well put together?
She clipped along at a fast pace, eager to distance herself from him. His long stride leisurely ate up the sidewalk, using half the effort she’d been putting forth. No sense exerting herself when she’d be forced to spend the day in the same workplace as he—or half the day, because he intended to leave soon after noon. Slowing down, she peered into the storefront windows as an excuse to turn her head away from him and maintain her silence. She was relieved when they finally reached the docks.
Marching into the office, she ignored Michel’s smug grin. The bugger thinks he’s won, does he? Removing her hat and gloves, she dug into her reticule and removed an envelope. “Henri, please rush this over to the next steamboat heading upriver. See it gets delivered to my father. I must alert him that I am being held prisoner here and I’ll be up to see him as soon as Michel sets me free.”
Michel snorted. “Won’t he get a chuckle out of knowing his cheeky daughter has not changed one bit.”
“I’ve invited him to come stay with me in the town house. Mayhew can ask him for my hand right here.”
Michel leaned his head back, crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke to the ceiling. “Papa won’t come.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s elderly and set in his ways, Felice. He’s aged tremendously these past three years, and his memory fails him from time to time. Just so you know.”
Her brother’s words struck dread into her heart. “Which is why I must talk him into returning with me to England.”
“If he won’t leave Carlton Oaks for a jaunt to New Orleans, what makes you think he’ll agree to pack up and move an ocean away? Give it up, Felice. We’ve all tried and failed.”
