Amon waited for the echo to subside before sucking what composure he could from the air and joining what remained of his family.
Josephine stood by the window on the far side of the room, clutching the heavy drapes and staring into the distance through the glass. A fawn-colored tail beat a slow tattoo against her stiff back.
He ached to take her in his arms, make her tell him the truth, and then make her forget.
But he went to Pa and Jenny instead. Wrapped in an embrace, they propped one another up on the bed. A trickle of blood flowed from Jenny’s lip, and one elegant eye had swollen shut.
Amon cupped her café au lait cheek, wiping a smear of crimson from her chin with his thumb. “Are you all right?”
She mustered a wan smile and a nod.
He knelt before his father. “You?”
The vitality had left the old man’s eyes, leaving the blue muddy and dim. “Bennett’s gone, isn’t he?”
Amon gripped Pa’s gnarled hand and swallowed what he feared was the truth. “He’ll be back.”
The old man bowed his head on a nod. “Yes. He will be.” No certainty resided in his tone.
As he rose, Amon sucked another lungful of fortitude. Before he could change his mind, he strode across the room.
Though he stopped close enough for her back to burn his chest through all the layers of clothing between them, Josephine did not acknowledge his presence. He laid a gentle grip around her upper arm. She flinched.
“Mademoiselle, tell me Bouchard didn’t lie.”
The words turned her in a slow pirouette. When her tear-stained face rose to his, hope wrapped a pain behind his heart.
“Why would you wish that?”
Napoleon whined. Josephine gathered the tiny dog against her bosom.
Afraid to let any part of him near the expanse of fresh-cream skin the low bodice of her gown exposed, Amon touched a fingertip to Napoleon’s nose. “You are not injured, mon ami?”
A miniature tongue bathed his hand.
“He is well.”
Her tentative whisper drew his gaze. “You did not answer my question, mademoiselle.” She tried to turn away. He stopped her. “Josephine, look at me.”
She spoke to his shirt instead. “Pla?age is an old and honorable tradition among the Creole. Most of the gentlemen are honorable, as well. Some are not.”
Pla?age. Wealthy planters took free women of color as mistresses, paying their families a sort of bride price. Not quite what Pa had done with Jenny, but close. “You were a placée?”
“My mother and sister. They never wanted that life for me.”
The effort required to raise her chin nearly undid him. “So you…decided to pass.”
The Gulf spilled from gray-green eyes and flowed down her cheeks. “I had to leave New Orleans quickly. After Lucien killed my sister, Céline, he demanded I take her place.”
Amon’s control disintegrated. He set Napoleon on the window seat and gathered Josephine into his arms. Honeysuckle. No other flower would ever smell as sweet.
She sobbed against his chest. Each tear burned his skin. “I am so sorry. My deception has cost your brother.”
“He’ll survive. Even Ben has secrets. Everyone does.” He drew one more gulp of courage and raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, Maman?”
“Amon…” Jenny’s strangled moan clenched his eyes shut and knotted his jaw.
His father’s whisper sent a hard swallow down his throat. “Hush, my love. He’s a grown man.”
When Amon could find his voice, the words emerged ragged around the edges. “I’ll do whatever I must to protect Ben.” When he opened his eyes, the clear, cool, gray-green water of a cloudless summer day begged him to dive beneath the waves.
He lowered his head and kissed the last of the stains from her fresh-cream cheeks. The berry-tinted lips sought his.
Weeks ago, he’d been wrong. She tasted much, much sweeter than she looked. He could feast at her banquet forever. God willing, he would.
“I’m tired of living a lie in my own home. I want you, mon coeur. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you on the dock.”
****
Jo’s pulse raced with such energy, she feared her veins might burst. What had she done to deserve such a man? “Bennett will never forgive us.”
A bittersweet smile tipped Amon’s lips. “Yes, he will. Eventually.” He brushed her lips with his. “And if he doesn’t, that will be his skeleton to claim, not ours.”
He drew back and set her at arm’s length. Right away, she missed the nearness of his body, his heart, his spirit. The blue gaze draped her with a caress. A wink put a smile on her face.
His lips turned up at the corners, reaching for the sparkle in his eyes. “You make a lovely bride. The minister’s still downstairs. It would be a shame—”
He never finished the sentence. Jo flew into his arms and swallowed the words. Keeping their secret to protect the Collier legacy might present challenges.
But loving this man for the rest of her life would be easy.
PART TWO
MAKING PEACE
Chapter One