The pressure against her skin increased until she had no choice but to comply. She licked dry lips, and flames ignited in darkening eyes.
He swallowed twice before he spoke. “Despite the side he showed you, my brother is a good man. Remember that when you marry him tomorrow.”
“How did you know—”
“That you were worried?” A sardonic huff ruffled the wispy tendrils at her temple. “I’ve known Ben for thirty years, and I’d have been worried in your place.”
Leaning close, he brushed aside her hair and dropped a murmur into her ear. “Give him time. He needs you. You and a family of his own…in a house with empty closets.” He lingered for a moment, his breath tickling her neck. Then he pulled away, refusing to meet her gaze, and turned for the steps. “Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.”
In his ragged whisper, she heard echoes of goodbye.
Chapter Six
No doubt about it: Amon needed more coffee. Maybe there was some in the kitchen.
And maybe, after Josephine was safely married and in Galveston, he’d be able to sleep again.
Across the bedchamber, Ben stared into the mirror and retied his cravat. “So who is he?”
Amon propped a shoulder against the doorframe and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve told you all I know. Claims to be a relative of your bride.”
“And you took his word for it?”
“I did not.” Suppressing a yawn, he stepped into the room, holding out the letters. “He brought these.”
Ben snatched the notes and scanned the one on top. “‘Your adoring cousin, Josephine.’” Distaste crimped his expression. He flipped to the second sheet. “Who’s Madame Espallier?”
“She’s the woman Pa contacted in New Orleans. Introduces young ladies—”
Ben pinned him with a scowl. “I thought I made myself clear—family only.”
Amon shrugged. “He appears to be family.”
His brother inspected the letters again. “Has she mentioned any relatives?”
“Not to me. Maybe Jenny.”
“Well, that doesn’t help much.”
“Not the way you’ve acted lately.” Amon arched a brow.
Ben shot him a glare and reached for the waistcoat slung across the back of a chair. “Where is this Lucien Bouchard?”
“In the study, with Pa and Reverend Millson.”
After buttoning the vest, Ben adjusted his cufflinks. “I’d be a poor host if I didn’t introduce myself, now wouldn’t I?”
“Can’t have that. I’ll go with you.”
“I can handle this.” Ben eyed the denim trousers and cotton shirt that still held hints of honeysuckle. “You need to dress.”
“I’ve got thirty minutes.”
As Ben brushed by him in the doorway, he clasped Amon’s shoulder. When their gazes met, Ben’s lacked the usual self-confidence. “You will be there, right?”
“I’ll be there.” No matter how much he’d rather be somewhere—anywhere—else.
****
Jenny patted the duvet, beckoning Jo to the bed. “Come sit.”
Jo drifted across the carpet, the ivory silk of her skirt whispering with each step. Another whisper still warmed her neck. With numb fingertips, she traced the shadow of a tickle as she settled beside Jenny.
Napoleon bounced at her feet until the household manager lifted the tiny dog onto the mattress. Snuggling between them, he laid his head in Jo’s lap. She stroked the fawn-colored coat.
Elegant fingers took possession of Jo’s hands, and a gentle Creole voice broke the silence. “The gown is stunning.”
“Thank you. It was Maman’s favorite. The pearls were hers, too.”
“She would be proud you chose to wear them…but she would want to see you happy, as well.”
Jo forced a thin smile. “I am happy. Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”
The Creole’s caramel eyes bathed her with a warm, earnest gaze. “Bennett is a good man. He will be a good husband. Be patient with him.”
Jo had nothing but patience left to give. The pieces of her heart had been chipped away until no more remained. She’d buried chunks with her mother, her sister. Now, Jenny’s courage, her graceful navigation of two worlds that refused to accept her, had claimed another piece. The last sharp, painful shard disappeared with the blue-eyed Texan who’d left her standing hollow at the kitchen door last night. “I wish you could be at the ceremony.”
A wistful smile claimed Jenny’s café au lait features. “I will be, ma chère. In spirit. And le petit caporal will be with me.” Jenny scratched the top of Napoleon’s head.
The tiny dog stiffened. A soft rumble rolled from his throat.
“Napoleon.” Jo raised his muzzle and frowned into narrowed eyes. “That is no way to behave.”
He growled again and leapt from the bed. Jo’s gallant knight was only halfway across the bedchamber when the door flew inward and slammed against the wall.
****
Amon cocked his head and listened. Barking, fierce and not inclined to stop. Napoleon? What had wound the little critter so tight?
He set down the cold coffee and left the kitchen at a run.