Day Dreamer (31 page)

Cord, Celine and the three Perots sat like penitents on hard-bottomed chairs, waiting for the judge to speak. Cord removed his coat and slipped it over Celine’s shoulders. She smiled up at him as she pulled the edges of the wide lapels close.

“Mrs. Moreau, it is obvious you did not murder Jean Perot, for here he stands. Sort of.” Bennett wrinkled his nose as he looked Jean up and down. “It still remains to be seen just who you did kill.”

“No one, sir,” she said softly.

“Ask
him
,” Cord said, leaping to his feet. He was barely able to refrain from strangling Perot.

“I was just getting to that,” the judge said. “Sit down, Moreau.”

Cord sat beside Celine again. When she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, he covered it with his own.

Judge Bennett turned to Jean, who sat beside his parents, hunched over on his left side as if he were ninety, not nineteen years old.

“Young man, it would behoove you to tell me the truth, and all of it. Now. If we have to drag it out of you with a long, lengthy trial, things will not go as well for you.”

Before Jean could utter a word, the elder Perot jumped to his feet. “I have money. I want the best lawyer available for my son. I want—”

“I want you to sit down, sir,” Bennett barked.

Cord smiled until Jean began in a weak, singsong tone that demanded everyone strain to hear him. He raised a filthy hand and pointed it at Celine.

“She tried to kill me. I had to disappear. I knew she would not give up until I was dead. She cursed me, just as the old woman did. I am ill,” he said, imploring the judge with outstretched arms. His coat gaped open to reveal the bloody stain at his midriff.

“I have been ill since that night when she stabbed me,” he went on, his gaze darting from one person to the next. “I was … delirious, wandering the … the city. I … don’t know what happened. I … lost all track of time, of days … weeks … until today, when I saw the crowd. That’s all I know …” His voice trailed off.

Without taking his eyes off Jean, Judge Bennett leaned across his desk.

“There is a little matter of the body found in your courtyard, Perot, the one everyone assumed to be you. Someone of the same height, the same build, wearing your clothing. How do you explain that?”

“She did it,” Jean said quickly, pointing at Celine. “She killed the old woman, too.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Bennett told him.

“
I
can do better than
that
.” Cord started to get to his feet again.

“Your Honor?” Celine said, pulling Cord down beside her. She closed her eyes for a second to collect her thoughts. The judge seemed willing to listen and waited for her to go on.

There was not a sound in the small chamber when she began.

“My husband has recently learned that Jean’s cousin has been missing since the night of Persa’s murder. I had met this cousin on only one occasion, when he came with Jean to my guardian’s shop. Dressed in Jean’s clothing, this young man might have easily been mistaken for Jean. With his face—”

When she pictured the laughing, dark-eyed, devil-may-care youth who had encouraged Jean to have his fortune read, she could not continue.

“What you’re trying to say is that with his face bashed in, the fellow might have been mistaken for Jean here?” Bennett finished for her.

“Yes, sir. I believe Jean killed Persa, then went looking for me, certain I would sense the truth. When he tried to kill me to keep me quiet, I stabbed him and ran, thinking he was dead. I don’t know when or how he killed his cousin, but he must have.”

“That’s a lie!” Jean cried.

Madam Perot appealed to Bennett. “My son needs medical attention. His wound, the wound that woman inflicted upon him months ago, is seeping. It is infected. Surely you can see that he is burning up with fever and crippled with pain—”

Cord jumped up again before Celine could stop him.

“Your Honor, I know how we could get to the truth once and for all. It’s a bit unconventional—”

“Everything about this place is unconventional,” Bennett cut in. “Had I known what was in store for me before I came to New Orleans, I would have stayed in Boston.” He sighed. “What is your idea, Mr. Moreau?”

“As you know, my wife was raised by a fortuneteller. Perhaps as a result, she herself has a somewhat unique talent.”

He looked down at Celine. She shook her head, trying to get him to stop, but Cord went on.

“Let her lay her hand on Perot and you’ll have your answers,” he urged Bennett.

“No!” Jean Perot screamed like a stuck pig and began thrashing in his seat, his wild eyes locked on Celine. “Don’t let her touch me. Don’t let her even come near me. I’ve been in hell since that night she touched my hand!”

Madam Perot started wailing and crossing herself to ward off evil. Cord held out his hand to Celine, urging her to stand and walk with him over to Jean.

Bennett frowned. “Is this some of that voodoo you people down here are so fond of?”

“You’re thinking of gumbo,” Cord said as he led Celine across the room. They stopped before Jean Perot and his mother.

“With Your Honor’s permission?” Cord asked Bennett.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” the judge said. He stood and spread his palms on the desktop, leaning forward to get a better view.

“Touch him, Celine.” Over the protests of both elder Perots, Cord pinned Jean in his chair.

“No! Don’t!” Jean cried out, writhing, as Celine reached for him.

She nearly balked, then closed her eyes and touched his hand. Almost immediately she whispered, “I see it. I see it all,” and then let quickly go. Cord was watching her closely, with a curious stare.

As Celine stared down at Jean Perot, the man who’d killed Persa, the man who’d sent her running headlong into the night, she could only feel sorry for the pitiful creature he had become.

She turned to Judge Bennett.

“Well, young woman?”

“It happened just as we suspected.” But Celine knew it was only her word against Perot’s, that her visions would probably count for naught. She was about to warn Cord not to be disappointed when Jean started babbling.

“She sees true. I killed him! I killed my cousin Renard and hid his body in the stable. Then I went to the old woman, because I needed to know what would become of me. She knew right away, said there was evil upon me, said I would die very shortly for what I had done.”

His fingers kept scratching at the fabric of his trousers as he stared off into space reciting his crimes, while his mother wept copious tears into her palms.

“I had to kill Persa, too, you see? She knew too much. And then, as I was leaving the shop, I remembered Celine. She could see everything, just like the other one. She would surely know I’d killed Renard and old Persa. So she had to die, too.” He looked over at the judge. “It’s a pity that others had to die just because I owed so much money to Renard. He was going to tell Papa, you see.”

“I’m afraid I do see,” Judge Bennett said slowly. “I’m afraid I see all too well. Officers”—he turned to the policemen, who had managed to blend into the far corners of the chambers—“see that young Mr. Perot here is treated to our fine accommodations.”

After Jean was led sobbing from the room and his parents filed out in shock, Judge Bennett came around the desk. He stood before Cord and Celine, took her hand and shook it.

“Mrs. Moreau, I have never known anyone who stood beneath a hangman’s noose and lived to tell about it. I’m certainly glad your husband saw fit to arrive in time.”

Celine looked up at Cord. She could see that he was more than a little distressed at the reminder that he’d almost let her down. She slipped her hand around his waist and leaned against him.

“So am I, Your Honor, but anyone who knows Cordero as well as I do knows that in the end, he always does the honorable thing.”

Twenty-three

DUNSTAIN PLACE
ST. STEPHEN ISLAND

“M
ost men think one wedding a lifetime is more than enough,” Auguste said with a laugh as he handed Cordero a double-breasted black jacket. “If I didn’t know Celine I would think you were a glutton for punishment, but if she were my wife I would also want to contrive as many honeymoons as I possibly could.”

Closeted in one of the spare rooms at Dunstain Place, the two talked as Cord slipped on the jacket and buttoned it up.

“Let’s just say our first wedding was not the stuff a girl’s dreams are made of.” Cord grinned at his father, unable to keep the embarrassment out of his tone. “I wasn’t even sober.”

“Do you think you should have kept this a surprise? What if she doesn’t want to marry you again?”

“After last night, I think that’s highly unlikely,” Cord said, bending down to concentrate on his image in the mirror above a dressing table.

“So things are going well? Might I be expecting a grandson soon?”

“Things are going well. I hope before long you’ll get your wish—and we ours. I’m certainly doing my part.” Cord paused with his hand on his high shirt collar, after having made certain it was adjusted just so. He wanted everything to be perfect for the ceremony he had planned for sunset.

“Can you believe I’m actually nervous?” he asked his father after he realized his hand was shaking.

“As nervous as we were when we escorted Celine to the gallows?”

Cord’s smile instantly faded. “I’d rather not ever be reminded of that day again.”

“I’m sorry. Since all went well, I felt it safe to jest. Now,” Auguste said, brushing off the cuff of his coat sleeve and standing at attention, “what would you have me do to help? Should I give the bride away?”

“I’ve already asked Howard Wells to do that. Since he seems to be a fixture around here, he should at least earn his keep.” When Auguste’s face mirrored his disappointment, Cord quickly added, “I had thought to ask you to stand as best man for me.”

The man was speechless for nearly a minute and then, grinning broadly, he took Cord’s hand in his and said, “There is nothing I’d rather do.”

“I’ll see you in a quarter of an hour then,” Cord said, grabbing his hat from the bed. “I’m off to collect the bride.”

“At least you don’t have far to go.”

“No, she’s just down the hall.”

Celine had just stepped out of her bath when a knock sounded on the bedroom door. She smiled as she tossed aside her towel, slipped on her dressing gown and tied the sash. After more than one very embarrassing episode, Cord had finally convinced Foster and Edward that at the very least, they should knock before entering the master suite.

“Come in,” she called as she shook her damp hair out and began to comb her fingers through the wet mass. When she saw her husband walk in instead of one of his servants, she couldn’t contain her joy. She ran across the room and into his waiting arms, unmindful of the flowered silk fabric draped over his arm.

“Cordero! What are you doing home from the fields so early?”

“Would you like me to go back?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a long, slow kiss on his lips. It didn’t take much encouragement for him to kiss her back with gusto. Finally, out of breath, her heart racing, she pulled away.

“You’re all dressed up. I’ve never even seen this jacket before.” She frowned. Life had been one long blissful reunion since they had left the nightmare of New Orleans behind and sailed home. “You’re not going away, are you?”

“My father had the jacket made for me in Jamaica last time he was there and no, I’m not going away. I brought you this.” He managed to extract himself from her embrace to present her with the flowered silk gown, which was not, thankfully, very wrinkled from having been smashed between them.

“What’s this?”

“A gown. I must request that you put it on right now, because if you don’t, we’re going to be late.”

Puzzled, she frowned, unable to recall any pressing engagement they might have made with anyone. She reached up to push a stray lock of hair off his forehead, thrilled with the simple act of touching him. “Late for what?”

“For the surprise,” he said.

“What surprise?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. Get dressed and you’ll see.” He walked over to the bed, shoved back the mosquito net and stretched out, propped against the headboard, his ankles crossed and his boots dangling off the edge.

“Will you help me?” She held up the silk gown and smiled over her shoulder.

In the mood to tease, Celine lay the silk gown across the footboard and stood at the end of the bed, staring at Cord through lowered lashes. Slowly, provocatively, she untied the sash at her waist and opened the dressing gown. Inch by inch, by slow, seductive degrees, she opened the robe, exposing her nakedness to Cordero.

She let the robe slip down her shoulders, to her waist and then onto the ground, where it pooled around her feet. Running her hands over her waist and down to her hips, she kept her eyes locked on Cord’s smoldering stare.

“You’re playing with fire, Celine.” His voice was thick with passion.

“I know it. That’s what makes this so exciting.” She walked naked around the foot of the bed until she stood before him.

Celine reached out and nudged his boot up so that his ankles uncrossed. She ran her hands up his pant legs to his thighs. With her fingertips, she teased the telltale bulge beneath the fine serge of his trousers. Moving up to the side of the bed, she cupped his arousal with one hand as she reached out and slipped the fingers of her other hand through his hair and brought his mouth down to her breasts.

When his mouth closed over a tightly budded nipple, she pressed him close until he suckled. She arched back, savoring the heat that spiraled through her, melting her, starting a deep throb in the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. He teased her nipple, toyed with her as he nipped her with his teeth. She nearly came undone when she felt his hand slide between her thighs and slip inside her.

“You’re melting for me,” he whispered at her breast.

“Yes,” she whispered back, and pressed against his hand, silently urging him to delve deeper. “Only for you.”

“We have to hurry,” he said, increasing the friction as he stroked her faster.

“Yes,” she sighed, bringing her lips to his mouth and her hands to the buttons of his coat. “Hurry.”

His coat hit the floor a second later. As he pushed her to the brink of climax, she whimpered and fumbled with his shirttails, trying to extricate them from his trousers.

“Help,” she urged. “Get them … off!”

“You want me, Celine?”

“Yes, and I want you naked.”

Without letting her go, he lifted and shrugged, rolled, kicked and adjusted until she had divested him of his shirt, his pants, his boots and even his stockings, and he was as naked as she.

As her fingers explored him, as she ran them over his suntanned upper body, over the corded muscles in his arms, over his ribs and the tight ripples of his abdomen, he pulled her close and kissed her deeply, teasing her mouth with his teeth and tongue until she was begging him to take her.

In one swift move he rolled her beneath him and they lay crosswise on the bed, entangled in clothes, mosquito netting and her still damp hair. He did not tease her any longer, because he could not wait. Cord thrust himself inside her ready, willing body, gathered her close and began to slowly slide along her soft inner core until she was writhing beneath him, clutching the bedclothes, her head thrown back in passion. He was burning to take her, longing for the sweet agony to end and wondering how he could make it go on forever when she grasped his hips and raised up to meet him.

“Oh, sweet heaven,
now
, Cordero,” she cried as she felt herself about to splinter into a thousand throbbing pulse points. “Come with me
now
.”

“Celine.” Her name was a prayer on his lips as he shattered and drove into her for a final thrust. He spilled his seed into her womb and thanked God that she was alive and in his arms.

“You should have told me you were serious about this surprise. I would have never distracted you,” Celine said as she pulled her new, very wrinkled gown down over her breasts and began tying the forest green ribbon beneath the bodice.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you I was serious.” Cord shoved his shirttails back into his trousers and then bent to pull the stirrups over his boots before tugging his pants all the way up.

“Where are my shoes?” She was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed. “The dark green ones.”

“The closet?”

“I think I kicked them off just before I got into the tub.”

He got down on his hands and knees beside her, searching the floor for her missing shoes.

“Don’t you have another pair?”

“They match the dress.”

“Does it matter?”

“That depends on the surprise. Is this important, or is this one of those evenings Ada has decided to try out a new recipe and we all have to dress for dinner?”

He pulled her to him.

“It’s more important than that,” Cord said softly, holding her upper arms, massaging them with his thumbs as he stared down into her eyes.

“What is it, Cord?”

“Will you marry me, Celine?”

She laughed, and the sound filled his heart with joy.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Were you out in the sun without a hat a little too long today?”

“I’m serious.” He let go of her arms and took both her hands in his. “Would you marry me again if you had a choice?”

“Oh, Cord,” she whispered, clinging to his hands. “I would marry you again and again and again. I wouldn’t change a minute of it …” She stopped and tipped her head, as if thinking it over. “Well, maybe I would want to forget the trial and the day of the hanging but … nothing else.”

He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “We’re getting married at sunset. Actually, thanks to that pleasant little interlude, we’re almost too late for sunset.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The surprise. We’re getting married all over again. This time with flowers and guests and a grand reception, just the way it should have been before. Only this time we will marry for love.”

“Where? When?” She was too astounded to phrase a coherent thought.

“Out in the garden, as soon as we find your damn shoes.”

The house was silent and empty, a far cry from the usual afternoon activity in and around the place. Celine felt a flutter of anticipation, wondering when Cord had had the time to plan this second “wedding” and how he’d been enable to enlist everyone’s help without her knowledge. He quite formally escorted her down the stairs, insisting she tuck her hand into his elbow and hold her head high. When they reached the first floor, he stopped long enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile down at her, then walked to a side table near the front door and collected a bouquet of hibiscus and crepe myrtle.

“You look radiant, Celine. You’re the most beautiful bride I ever saw.” He handed her the bouquet and kissed her—briefly this time, afraid as he was to get carried away again.

She clutched the flowers in one hand and fingered the thick strand of pearls at her neck. “I wish Auguste could be here.”

Cord only smiled. When he walked her out onto the veranda overlooking the terrace, Celine gasped in shocked surprise as a cheer went up. Gathered there on the terrace were not only their immediate household—Ada, Howard Wells, Foster and Edward—but Auguste, looking every bit as handsome as Cordero: Auguste’s solicitor, Timothy Tinsdale, recently returned from England; all of the newly freed Dunstain Place slaves, from the oldest down to the squirming, wriggling youngest in their mothers’ arms; and the entire crew of Auguste’s ship, the
Lady Fair
.

“Nothing too large,” Cord smiled. “Just family.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and nodded to Howard Wells, who hurried up onto the veranda to take his place at her side.

“Howard will give you away, Celine,” Cord told her, slipping her hand into the crook of the bookseller’s arm.

Auguste walked up to the veranda next and stood beside Cordero. Celine waited to see who would officiate, wondering what manner of minister would conduct a marriage ceremony for the already married. She glanced down at the assembly and realized there was no one there she did not recognize. Edward and Ada stood side by side, each of them smiling through the copious tears they were shedding, their noses pressed into lace-edged handkerchiefs.

Foster looked as proud as a peacock and gazed up at the two of them as if the success of their marriage had been entirely his doing. Bobo also had a place of honor in front of the crowd. He stood beside his wife, his son riding high on his shoulders.

Beyond them all, the sea shimmered silver-blue beneath the tropical sun riding just above the horizon. The trade winds scattered the scent of frangipani through the garden. Torches flickered against the sunset sky.

At some silent cue, Howard Wells turned Celine so that they stood facing Cord and Auguste. The kindly, soft-spoken bookseller cleared his throat and announced, “I am here to give the bride to the bridegroom and to stand witness for her. Before I do, I would like to say that if I ever had a daughter, I would be proud to have one exactly like you, Celine.” He smiled down at her and then turned to give a slight bow to the assembly.

“So beautiful,” Ada murmured as she sobbed on Edward’s shoulder. Celine wondered if the two of them might have to be led away before the ceremony ended. She turned back to Cord to see what was next in store.

“I stand witness for this man, my son, Cordero Moreau,” Auguste said, his voice well able to carry to the back row of the crowd. “He would now like to recite his vows.”

The crowd hushed. The children, sensing the solemnity of the occasion, all quieted. When Cord reached for her hand, Celine forgot that there were over two hundred people crowded together on the veranda and terrace overlooking the sea. She had eyes only for her husband as she handed Howard Wells her bouquet.