Rouge (#1 in the Cheveux Roux series) Page 6

  I smiled and pretended to be shy. “Oh, Freddie. You’re too kind to me.”

  He stepped in close and lifted my hand to his lips where he held it. “It’s simply the truth,” he murmured, his breath tickling my fingers.

  I rose on my tiptoes, drawing closer to where his lips lingered on my hand. His grey eyes blinked to mine, and the air between us grew still. I parted my lips, and I could see him struggling against grabbing me and exploring what lay between them. My curiosity was equally strong, and I almost hoped he would drop his iron-clad restraint. Instead he lowered my hand slowly.

  “Good night, my love,” he sighed.

  I exhaled and nodded my assent, leaning against the doorframe and watching as he made his way to the exit. I wondered how my life would be with him, if I’d always be acting. If he’d always be so controlled. Then I thought of the other figure waiting in the shadows. I stepped out again, closing the door behind me so Rosa couldn’t overhear. I looked up and down the passage, until finally I called his name softly. Beau emerged from the shadows, and I couldn’t suppress a smile at seeing him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to lurk. I wanted to congratulate you.”

  “For what?”

  “You did it. And you were so brave after what happened.”

  His compliment caused such unexpected pride in me, I was sure my cheeks had turned pink. I watched his lips as he spoke about how when one fell off a horse, one had to get right back on, and I acknowledged the truth. Of all the lips I wanted parting mine, his were at the top of the list, not Freddie’s. I suspected restraint would not be an issue with Beau, and my need to find out if I was right was sparkling hot.

  “Don’t you think?” His voice interrupted my fantasy, making me jump.

  I blinked. “What?” I had no idea what he’d just said.

  He smiled. “It’s alright. You’re tired. We can talk about it later.”

  He started to back away, but I couldn’t let him leave. Desire was swirling in my mind, pushing me forward, and I didn’t want to stop it.

  “Wait!” I took a step and caught his arm. “I know you said not to mention it, but I have to thank you for saving my life somehow. It’s only right.”

  I moved even closer, still holding him. The warmth of our bodies so close flooded my senses. I could barely breathe.

  His expression changed. “What did you have in mind?”

  Images of our lips crashing together, tongues curling around each other, me stripping his shirt open, him pushing his way into my dressing room, bolting the door, fumbling to the bed. Would I be on top? Would he? Rosa’s books had described so many options.

  “At the very least, doesn’t the hero get a kiss?”

  I lifted his bandaged hand and lightly touched my lips to his fingers, just above the dressing. His breath caught, and quickly the hand I’d kissed went to my waist and pulled me against him. My heart squeezed as his face lowered to mine, warm lips almost touching, when a loud, female voice cut through.

  “There you are!” Minette cried.

  I jumped back, and she stepped forward, pulling Beau’s arm. She was still in her dancer’s costume, a bright blue corset similar to mine, but I saw she had removed her fishnets. Beau stepped back, my frustration mirrored in his eyes.

  Minette wrapped his arm around her waist. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to come,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he glanced at her. “What did you need again?”

  She giggled and then inhaled, lifting her torso against him. “Oh, Beau, the thing in my dressing room? It has a problem only you can fix?”

  I turned from the hall quickly, but I looked back over my shoulder into his violet-blue eyes. I thought of our near-kiss, of us holding hands high above the audience.

  Minette interrupted. “Don’t you have other business, Hale?” She tried to sound friendly, but I caught the edge in her voice.

  I nodded. “Just saying thanks.”

  Beau seemed reluctant, but Minette pulled him away. Frustration surged through me as I quickly closed the door, but I knew I should be thanking her.

  What was wrong with me? I might be overdue for a love affair, but getting involved with a stagehand was a misstep I would not make. I went to my dressing table and ran a finger down the sparkling, crystal comb.

  Chapter 6

  Sundays were our only breaks during the week. Not because any of us were particularly religious, it just happened to fall at the perfect time. With our next performance days away, we could take a breather.

  Most of us still drifted to the stage for stale breakfast and camaraderie just like every other morning, and when I opened my eyes, Teeny was already gone, no doubt in hopes of finding Beau. Just thinking his name made my stomach flutter, but I refused to indulge such foolishness. It had all gone perfectly these past few evenings with Freddie, and as I walked through the backstage corridors, I was confident a proposal or at least a promise of one would be forthcoming in the near future. Before long, we would be bidding this place adieu.

  “…it was all so magical, I couldn’t stop gasping.” I heard Teeny’s giggling voice as I walked to the tables that held our food. “I almost gave myself the hiccups!”

  As I expected, Beau was there, listening to her enthusiastic report with an amused grin. When he looked up and saw me, however, it changed to more serious interest. I fought to ignore the jump in my pulse at his response. Teeny followed his eyes, and when she saw me, she frowned.

  “Good morning,” I said, picking up my cup.

  “How was Freddie last night?” Teeny asked. “I hate that I missed his visit. You know I love to watch him adore you.”

  “He was… the same,” I said, not wanting to discuss Freddie in front of Beau.

  “Did he give you any more gifts?” She continued.

  I shook my head. I wouldn’t allow myself to be irritated with her. After all, Freddie was the focus of my affections. I had to secure our future.

  “That was the fellow at your door?” Beau asked. “The one with the letter?”

  “Freddie is not just a fellow,” Teeny jumped in with a reproving tone. “He’s going to be Hale’s rich fiancé. If all goes according to plan.”

  “Teeny.”

  “What? It’s no secret. One day Freddie’s going to propose, and then Hale will marry him and be a lady with a house in Paris.”

  “Teeny.” My voice grew stronger.

  “He’s been visiting her for months, and she’s already said he could be the one. You know what that means.”

  “Mother of God, Teeny!” The stage fell silent. I never swore, but this was too much. “Stop discussing my private affairs!”

  Teeny’s eyes were wide, and she jumped up, winced, and then limped off the stage in the direction of our small room. I could tell she was close to tears, so I got up to follow her. Beau stood with me.

  I paused, but I didn’t know what to say. Not after last night.

  He finally broke the silence. “You know, it’s not such a bad plan.”

  Our eyes met, and his understanding smile sent a pain through me. All my fantasy images of us together flooded my brain, begging to be fulfilled, but I only nodded and tried to smile back. It would not do to indulge those feelings. They would ruin everything. I turned to the passage leading to the room I shared with Teeny, and as I left, I heard the metal exit door clang behind me. I glanced back, and Beau was gone.

  * * *

  Teeny was lying on our shared bed running her finger along the seam of our quilted coverlet. If she was crying it was her own fault, but I still felt guilty. I went and sat beside her, smoothing her strawberry locks behind her ear.

  “You wouldn’t’ve even noticed him if it weren’t for me,” she sniffed. “Now you’re falling in love. And of course he loves you back.”

  “That is just not true,” I said. “No one’s falling in love.”

  She rolled her watery eyes away from me. “I’m not dumb.”

 
; “Teence, if I’m going to fall in love, it’ll be with Freddie. Freddie.” I tried my best to convince her with my tone. And me. She continued sniffling. “But I am sorry I shouted at you like that. In front of everyone.”

  “So why did you?” Her eyes were accusing. “If you’re so in love with Freddie.”

  I exhaled. “You can’t say things like that, Teence. You can’t let people know I have a plan.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because no one likes to be manipulated. And the truth is, I don’t really love Freddie yet.”

  She groaned and breathed loudly, “I knew it!”

  “But I’m trying. And if somehow he got the wrong idea, well, that could ruin everything.”

  She sat up and sniffed. I caught her arm on the way to her face and handed her a handkerchief.

  “Don’t use your sleeve.”

  After blotting her damp face, she slid off the bed and limped to the other side of the room, where she pretended to be very focused on examining the hem of one of her dresses.

  “I’m grateful to Beau for saving my life, but Teeny,” I stood and walked to where she was. “That’s all it is. I have to care about Freddie.”

  She pursed her lips and sat on the bed.

  I frowned and walked back to her. “Are you hurt?”

  “Because you stole my Beau?” Her little voice was sarcastic.

  I cleared my throat and sat beside her on our small bed. “No. Why are you limping?”

  “These shoes.” She slipped one off and started rubbing her toes.

  “Are they too small?”

  “I guess.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My old shoes had always been sufficient for her. Now I was afraid I might start crying. I reached down to her other still-shod foot and felt her toes. They were curled in the ends.

  “How is it possible for you to be smaller than me and have bigger feet?”

  “Maybe I’ve got a growth spurt coming,” she gave me a little smile.

  I was relieved she wasn’t pouting anymore, but now this? The feminine towels were expensive enough!

  I rubbed my forehead and groaned. “It seems you’re growing everywhere. You’d probably be taller than me if you hadn’t starved for so long.” The emaciated little girl Rosa and I found in the alley flashed across my memory. “We’ll have to buy you a new pair of shoes.”

  At that her tears were completely forgotten. “New shoes!” She squealed, bouncing on the bed. “I’ve never had anything new!”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  I rose and stepped over to my dressing table, then I bent under it and started digging in the basket hidden behind the drape. A small box all the way at the bottom contained the few valuables my parents left me. Rosa put them away to protect them from theft, but now they were all I had to pawn for money. I dug past a set of earbobs that wouldn’t fetch anything to a cloisonné pen that might be valuable. It had been my father’s.

  “At least he’s really handsome.” Teeny was lying on her back now, caressing a small satin pillow.

  “Who?” I asked looking at the pen. I put my fingers on it in a way I imagined my father might’ve done and held it for a moment.

  “Freddie!” she cried as if I were an idiot.

  “Oh, right. And you love reminding me.” I slipped the pen into the pocket lining the folds of my skirt and went back to sit beside her. “But actually, you’re right. I was thinking about that last night.”

  “I love his curly black hair, and his teeth are so white and straight,” she looked at me and smiled. “And that little dimple in his chin…”

  “He’s very handsome. And polite.” This was a good path, a path I needed to stay on.

  “Like Guy.”

  I stopped and looked at her. It was a name I’d never heard before. She was still playing with the small pillow.

  “Who?”

  “Guy. I met him after the show Friday. He was in the front, and he kept watching me from the audience.”

  I pulled the small pillow down so our eyes met. “Watching you?”

  “Mm hm. I caught his eye, and he smiled. Then I smiled…”

  “Who is he?”

  “Gavin’s brother?”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “No one ever said Gavin had a brother.”

  “He’s very sophisticated. He wears a pinky ring.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “Can I meet him?”

  “Not anymore,” she sighed. “He went back to Savannah or Charleston… maybe it was Atlanta. But he was very complimentary.”

  “Of you?”

  She nodded. “Said he loved the color of my hair. Cheveux roux.”

  “Gavin’s not French. He’s French?”

  “No, but he wore a hat like Freddie’s, and he carried a cane with a brass top…”

  I caught her chin. “He sounds old.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away. “We were just talking. He liked the way I laughed.” Then she lifted the pillow again and slid it under her cheek. “Anyway, I was still in love with Beau on Friday, so it didn’t matter.”

  “And now you’re not?”

  “I don’t know. Beau never looks at me the way Guy did.” She fingered the small pleats on our coverlet.

  “How’s that?” I asked, a sense of alarm rising in my voice.

  Her eyes wandered to the ceiling, searching for the answer. “Like… like I’m interesting to him. Like he wants to know more about me. You know. The way Beau looks at you.”

  I ignored her jab and silently vowed to keep a better eye on her in the future. I’d heard stories about older men who liked young girls. And if he were really Gavin’s brother, wouldn’t I have heard of him? Maybe Roland knew him.

  “What’s the big deal, anyway?” she interrupted my thoughts. “You can’t have all the men falling in love with you.”

  I studied her for a second. Maybe it was wrong to keep her in the dark about what happened here after hours. The men she might encounter and the things they might expect her to do, might force her to do. I shivered. She was playing with the pillow again, and I shook my head. She’d find out soon enough, and I wanted her to stay innocent as long as possible. I could keep her safe for now.

  “Just… haven’t I told you never to talk to strangers?”

  “He’s Gavin’s brother!”

  “But you don’t know that for sure, do you?”

  She flopped the pillow in her lap and glared at me. I rose to my feet ready for our quarreling to end.

  “Come on,” I said, pulling her hand. “If you can limp your way to the Quarter, we’ll get you those new shoes.”

  * * *

  Outside the theater, the sky was bright blue, and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. The air was crisp and cool, something that rarely happened in New Orleans, but underneath the fresh fall scent was the metallic smell of moldering beer and urine. Odors that would only grow stronger as the sun traveled higher and the temperatures rose.

  We made our way down Decatur Street to the French Quarter, passing the artists set up throughout Jackson Square. I didn’t even look at them. My sights were focused on a jewelry store in the northeast corner that I hoped would give me a good price for the item hidden in my skirt.

  “Wait here, and don’t talk to anyone,” I said when Teeny and I got to the store.

  It faced the flagstone-paved square, and she could walk among the painters while I bargained. I entered Joyeux Bijoux and was greeted by a shopgirl.

  “I’m looking for Marc,” I said.

  She nodded and went to the back. In a few moments, a short man with straight black hair and a monocle strapped to his forehead came out. When he saw me, he smiled.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Ferrer, what do you bring me today?” Marc was going bald right on the top of his head, and it made him look like a monk.

  I slipped the pen out of my skirt and laid it gently on the black velvet pad on the glass counter. “It was my father’s. Genuine cloisonné.”


  Marc picked up the pen and held it to the light frowning. “Eh,” he muttered. Then he rolled it around in his hand. “It’s a good piece. But I don’t know how I could sell it.”

  “It’s a gorgeous pen. Anyone would kill to have it.”

  “It’s too ornate for a gentleman,” he countered. “And a lady would complain it’s too heavy.”

  “Ornate is very popular now. You won’t keep it in the store a week.”

  He held it in the writing position then twirled it back down into his palm. “Eight dollars,” he said.

  I frowned. “It’s worth more than that. Twenty.”

  He looked at me a split second and twirled the pen in his hand again. “I’ll give you twelve, and I’m losing money doing it.”

  “I’m losing my last memory of my father. You can give me fifteen.”

  “I don’t pay for memories.” I watched as he rolled it around in his fingers. Then he slanted an eye at me. “Thirteen fifty. Final offer.”

  He pulled a cash box from under the counter. I sighed and nodded in agreement. I’d have to be frugal and hope the shoes lasted longer than a few months. We were running out of heirlooms.

  Marc wrapped the pen in velvet and placed it in the box, and for the last time, I watched the light glint off my father’s favorite writing utensil. I fought an unexpected tightness in my throat. I would not cry. I had no choice. Teeny had to have shoes, and we both needed personal items.

  I slipped the money into the pocket of my skirt again and adjusted the white, feathery collar and cuffs of my chartreuse jacket. I smoothed the folds after I nodded goodbye to Marc, and with a lift of my shoulder, I got on with the show.

  Teeny was nowhere to be seen in the large square. I mentally cursed not giving her more specific directions as I slowly made my way through the street artists. One was always shouting, trying to catch my eye.

  “Enchanté!” A man cried, spotting me. I kept my eyes down and tried to move past him, but he blocked my way. “You would make a lovely model. Allow me to capture your beauty to brighten my booth.”

  I shook my head. I knew that scam—he got to keep my portrait, I got to pay him for the honor of painting it. Just then I looked up and saw Teeny coming toward me, leading Beau of all people by the hand.