Rouge (#1 in the Cheveux Roux series) Read online

  “I’ll call on you Thursday after the show. Until then, I have your picture. Do you mind if I keep it?”

  “Not at all.” I smiled, glancing at the scroll the street artist had given us. “I hope it reminds you of me.”

  Freddie studied my lips for a moment and then smiled. “May I stay and watch you rehearse?” he asked, taking a step closer.

  “Better not,” I said, stepping back. “Roland is very protective of the show, and he might be angry.”

  Freddie sighed. “Very well. Thursday.”

  “Thursday,” I repeated and smiled.

  Once inside the dark lobby, I leaned against the wall and breathed deeply for the first time all day. It had become easier to act as the afternoon wore on, but still I was left with so many questions. Most of them focused on my concern for Teeny, but also I had to know what Gavin had said about my parents.

  In the dim light, I rubbed my forehead, trying to relax my shoulders. For now I just wanted to make sure Teeny was back and then crawl into our small bed and sleep. I’d made good progress today. A hint of relief washed over me, and I felt as if I could possibly loosen my grip for a few moments.

  No lights were on as I walked toward the backstage passage, so I didn’t notice the dark figure moving in my direction until he was standing in front of me. Beau.

  “Oh,” I stammered. “You’re back… I’m back.”

  My stomach tightened. I didn’t know what to say as we stood facing each other. My gaze traveled quickly from his violet eyes to the light brown curls swept off his forehead and peeking out around his collar. His arms hung loosely by his sides, and I saw charcoal residue blackened the side of one bandaged hand. I wanted to touch it. I wanted it to touch me.

  “We found shoes.” he said. “She has a bit left over to give you.”

  I nodded as I remembered how once again he’d hurried to my rescue in the square this afternoon.

  “I seem to be forever in your debt,” I said. “Thank you. I know it wasn’t how you planned to spend your day.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He smiled that friendly smile, and I couldn’t help myself.

  I stepped forward and hugged him, clutching his waist in my arms and pressing my cheek against his chest. His arms quickly embraced me, surrounding me in his warmth, in the most delicious sense of safety. I didn’t have to hide my true self from him, and I didn’t have to act. I imagined him holding my hand, telling me to breathe.

  I closed my eyes and as I did, I stopped fighting. His lips were near my ear, and I heard him whisper my name. My chest grew tight, and I was very aware of every place our bodies were touching. I tilted my chin upward, his hand smoothed my hair back. Dark eyes met mine before he lowered his face. Soft breath grazed my cheek as my lips parted. My eyelids fluttered shut, everything in me strained to meet him. Like you’re tasting something sweet…

  A loud crash made me jump back. I heard Beau’s frustrated groan as Roland banged through the metal front doors and paused. He straightened his coat and glanced in our direction, then he chuckled and gave Beau a little salute.

  “Don’t mind me,” he waved, continuing into the dark theater. “As you were.”

  He disappeared into the black, and I turned to go. But Beau caught my hand, quickly closing the space between us.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “No,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t. Freddie—”

  He nodded. “Your plan.”

  His arms slid back around my waist and pulled me to him again. I needed to fight, but I was tired. Yes, I needed rest, to get my head straight, to focus on Freddie. Not on kissing Beau. But all I could see were his lips, closer in the dim light, and my body ached to finish what we’d started.

  My hands slid to his shoulders as his lips sealed over mine, warm and firm. My mouth opened, and with the touch of his tongue, what had once been curiosity blazed into desire burning through me.

  His arms tightened around me, my back was pressed to the wall, and I turned my face to gasp for air as he kissed my temple, the side of my hair, my neck. I was on fire, and all the stories I’d read to Rosa about urges and what came next filled my brain. I wanted more, and I could feel that he wanted more, too.

  His lips covered mine again, moved them apart, and our tongues curled together. My hands found his waist, slipped beneath his coat to his soft, cotton shirt. A noise rolled from his throat as my fingers explored the warm skin of his back.

  Our lips parted, and he kissed my chin, my neck, the small hills peeking up from the top of my dress. A soft moan escaped my own throat as I held him. My body was melting from the heat, but somehow I managed to step back.

  “Oh, god,” I gasped, my legs trembling, my chest quickly rising and falling as I breathed. “We have to stop.”

  He stood before me panting, his hair tousled, his shirt loose. I recalled pulling the thin fabric up and sliding my fingers across his skin and my stomach tightened. This was crazy and potentially ruining. Quickly, I smoothed back my hair and tugged my coat back over my shoulders. I turned to leave, but he caught my arm.

  “Wait.”

  I glanced back, and his expression, his beautiful, caring face, almost drove me to finish what we’d started.

  “I just wanted to… I mean, I hope your lunch went well.”

  I nodded, turning away so he couldn’t see the mist filling my eyes. Things went very well with Freddie, and I didn’t want to discuss it with him. Ever.

  “I wish…” he started, but I didn’t stay to hear the end of his sentence.

  I pulled my hand away and ran into the blackness toward my little room before the passage door had closed behind me. Once there, I paused in the hallway before opening the narrow door. I pressed my fist into my chest and exhaled, ordering myself to get control. Freddie was the only one who could help us out of here, and I had a promise to keep. I had to focus on Freddie.

  Still, images of Beau stubbornly invaded my thoughts. His friendly smile, his burning kisses, his touch. Us holding hands high above the audience, him promising to keep me safe.

  I shook my head. Beau couldn’t help us. Not in the way we needed. My future, our future, was with Freddie.

  Chapter 7

  Autumn lazily made its way into New Orleans, driving temperatures slightly cooler and bringing fresher breezes. But inside the theater it was dark, musty, and damp.

  The show was an overwhelming success, but tension hung around us like the heavy velvet curtains lining the stage. And every day, Gavin lurked in the house silently watching our rehearsals and making Roland impatient and cross. Fiona was anxious and screamed at the chorus for every missed step, and more than once a dancer stormed off the stage in tears.

  It made me think of Evie and how much I missed her. We’d been through this before, but normally it was when the show was losing money or when the performers kept making mistakes. It was inexplicable now that tickets were selling out weeks in advance.

  Teeny was oblivious as always. For the last week she had talked exclusively of her Sunday drawing lesson with Beau.

  “He has the most beautiful hands,” she sighed, lying back on our bed in her camisole as I reattached a button to her hand-me-down blouse. I resisted thinking of Beau’s hands, or of the hum they set off beneath my skin when he touched me.

  “I wonder what he did before he came here,” she continued. “In Ascension, I mean.”

  I wondered the same thing. “Why don’t you ask him,” I said, cutting the thread with my teeth.

  She flipped onto her stomach to look at me. “Would that be too forward? I don’t want to scare him off.”

  “I thought you’d moved on to bigger fish.”

  “Who? Guy?” She rolled onto her back again, and her copper locks spilled over the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if he’ll even be back. And you said he was too old.”

  “I said he sounded old.” I made a mental note to ask Roland about this mysterious character when I asked him about Gavin and my parents. “But you’re
too young to be worrying about such things.”

  “How old were you when you started worrying about them?” She rolled over and studied my expression.

  “I don’t remember. Here. Your shirt’s ready.”

  I tossed it to her and left the room to find Roland. He was out front making notes on a stack of sheet music on top of the piano. He glanced up at me and smiled before looking back down again.

  “You know, last week I was worried you were angry with me,” he said as he wrote. “When in reality, you’ve simply found someone new.”

  He put the pencil down and looked at me.

  “It’s not like that,” I said.

  “Certainly looked like that.” He walked forward and caught me by the waist, pulling me to him. “In love?”

  I pushed back. “No.”

  “Come on, Hale.” He lifted my chin with his finger. “It’s me. Your old pal Roland.”

  Mary’s loud laugh pierced the air, and I remembered that night on the roof. Evie’s birthday, her last night of freedom. I looked directly at my old pal and considered challenging him, demanding to know how he could become a party to what had happened to her. Instead I stuck to my original mission.

  “I need to ask you something,” I said, stepping away from him. “About Gavin.”

  He turned back to the piano. “What about Gavin.”

  “What do you know about his promise to my mother?”

  I watched as he rolled the pencil in his fingers, his back to me. “Not much. I wasn’t much older than Teeny when she passed.”

  My mind went back to that night, to little me, scared and alone in my room while Rosa held my mother’s hand through her final night. It was a painful memory I was accustomed to pushing away.

  “Why would he lie to Freddie for me?”

  “Lie to Freddie?”

  “He said something to Freddie about me being separated from my parents. That they were killed trying to get back to France or something. Honestly, I don’t know what he told him.”

  Roland paused, then turned away again. “It’s probably because you look so much like her.”

  “Who?”

  “Opal.”

  I didn’t have pictures of my mother. Sometimes I tried to remember her face, but the image was blurry.

  “I look like her?” I repeated, trying to force a better memory. I shook my head. “But why would that matter?”

  Roland shrugged. “Because he was in love with her.”

  My eyes widened. “Gavin was in love with my mother?”

  “But she never got over your dad. Then she died.”

  I couldn’t speak as I tried to come to terms with this new information, to understand what it meant or what it could mean. Then I thought of Teeny.

  “Who’s Guy?” I asked.

  Roland suddenly stiffened. He turned, eyes narrowed. “What?” he snapped.

  The sudden change in his demeanor threw me off even more. “Teeny said she met someone named Guy after the show Friday.”

  “Keep her away from him.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “Gavin’s brother.”

  I shook my head. “But… why have I never seen him? How could I not know Gavin had a brother?”

  “He went away years ago. I don’t know why he’s back, but you stay away from him. And keep Teeny away from him, too.”

  “But if he’s Gavin’s brother…” I was trying to place all this new information, but Roland stepped forward quickly and gripped my arm so hard I winced.

  “Do what I say!” he ordered.

  I bent my elbow and pushed his hand away. “Don’t treat me like that. Tell me why.”

  He exhaled and released me, but the anger was still there. I watched the muscle in his jaw flex as he turned back to the piano. “I’m not going to repeat stories about Gavin’s brother.” He spoke as if the words tasted foul. “Just do what I said.”

  A shuffling noise caused me to look right. “Everything okay over here?”

  My eyes met Beau’s, and he smiled. I tried to look away, but instead my eyes went to his hands, and our moment in the dark filled my mind. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I shook my head. My brain was already spinning, and it was impossible to think clearly. I turned and quickly left the stage, but I heard Roland behind me.

  “Say what you want,” he called. “But you’re not fooling anyone.”

  * * *

  The theater was more crowded than I could ever remember on a Thursday night. As the finale drew nearer, my anxiety level rose, but this time for a different reason. I’d been carefully avoiding Beau since Sunday—primarily because my pulse did unexpected things whenever he appeared—and now I’d have to be alone with him in the dark at the top of the ladder.

  He didn’t make eye contact when I stepped out onto the catwalk in my peacock-blue corset with the shiny black feathers. Instead, he held the narrow bench and looked out over the dark house. The spotlight caught the gold in his light-brown hair, and I resisted the urge to slip my finger into one of the soft waves near his cheek. We waited in silence, my heart thumping in my chest, but the music didn’t start. Tonight of all nights there was a delay.

  “Roland made some adjustments to the score,” Beau said as if talking to himself. “Looks like a few of the musicians didn’t get the pages.”

  I took a step closer to him and looked over the edge. A shot of panic still hit my stomach at the sight of the floor, but I was learning to manage it. Beau glanced at me then, and I stepped back away from him.

  “I can help you when you’re ready,” he said. “Just let me know.”

  I nodded and wondered if he meant more than with taking my seat.

  I stepped toward the bench, and he held out his hand. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said.

  I gazed at his palm for a moment before slipping my smaller one over it. Warmth filled me as we held hands in the dim light, waiting for the music to start. And while the delay was irritating to the crowd below, my heart could’ve stayed there with him forever.

  He still avoided my eyes, but his thumb caressed the top of my fingers. It was so gentle it made my chest hurt. He handled me like no one ever had before—as if I were a delicate piece of glass. Then, without a word, he turned my hand over and I watched as he raised my palm to his lips. The moment he touched me, need surged through my entire body, and I started to stand, to rush into his arms when the music swelled and the bench moved away.

  As I swung out over the crowd, his eyes looked directly into mine. I couldn’t break our gaze until the spotlight hit me and my mouth opened to sing the final song.

  * * *

  Freddie’s visit was more affectionate than ever. He recalled our Sunday luncheon and subsequent stroll, our portrait, and proposed we do it all again. I agreed, knowing I had to stay focused on my plans with him, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop watching the passage all the while. I was desperate to get rid of him before Beau disappeared into the night, back to wherever he lived.

  Teeny was absent again, but I wasn’t thinking of her as I played the role of the demure, displaced daughter of lost heritage. Finally Freddie said goodnight, and the moment he was gone, I raced back to the stage to find Beau picking up his coat and preparing to leave. When he saw me, he stopped and stood up straight. I stopped as well a few steps in front of him, joy filling me.

  “I… I wanted to say thank you. Again,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For Sunday? I mean with Teeny. When Freddie—”

  He shook his head. “I told you. I just…”

  His voice trailed off as he took a step toward me.

  “What?” I asked, taking a step toward him. We were so close, I could touch him now if I wanted. And I did want to, so badly. Our eyes met, and his gaze held me frozen, breathless.

  “I just want you to be happy,” he finished.

  “Is that what you meant when you said you wished…?”

  I waited but he didn’t speak. Instead he l
ifted his finger and slid a lock of my hair from my face, tracing a line from my forehead, past my temple, to my cheek. I reached up to take his hand before he moved it away.

  “No,” he said.

  “It wasn’t?”

  He looked down at my hand holding his and with his thumb, he stroked the third finger on my left hand. “You’re looking for a rich man. I know you have your reasons, I just wish things could be different.”

  I didn’t even feel the tears coming until one dropped onto my cheek. Beau frowned and caught my face in his hands. With his thumb, he wiped my tear away. Then without a word, he leaned forward and kissed me. This time his kiss was gentle, comforting. I reached forward to catch the front of his shirt, the fabric rough against my fingertips. He lifted his head and looked into my eyes.

  “I hate to see you sad,” he whispered.

  “There’s not much to do about it.” I tried to laugh, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “I never expected to meet someone like you. And then when I did, I never dreamed you’d consider me worth your time.”

  “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t consider you,” I said, longing pulsing through me with every heartbeat. “But I guess I can’t help it.”

  He paused and looked at the stage floor. “When I left Ascension, I thought I’d have adventures. I’d do whatever came my way—art, women, anything. The old gentleman who raised me after my father died gave me some money to get started. But I’m here now because I spent it all. Wasted it all.”

  His last words were barely audible, but I was stunned. I didn’t even know where to begin asking questions.

  “The old gentleman?” That’s why his manners…

  “Georges Brouillette. He didn’t have much money after the war, but he managed to hold onto some of it, and all his land. Eventually, he made good. My dad was his foreman, and when he was killed, Mr. Brouillette sort of adopted me.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “She was gone before I was old enough to remember her. No one ever said anything—”

  “Didn’t you ask?” I couldn’t imagine not knowing the story of my parents.