CHAPTER NINETEEN
HUGO DUPRÈ’S MURKY brown eyes flashed with recognition. He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up. “Thought so. Heard you came back. There’ll be no more hiding at the nunnery for you, Eva Trudeau.”
“Let me go.” She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. Fear made it nearly impossible to gasp out the words.
He barked a harsh laugh. “Not this time. You got away from me once, but it won’t happen again.” He scrutinized her from toes to nose. “I can still find a use for you, especially now with the British at our doorstep.”
Blood pounded in her ears. After her mother died, Hugo was all she had. She had no one and no place else to go. He took her in, fed her, taught her how to survive.
She was eight.
“I no longer work for you.” She jerked her shoulder away, then stumbled back.
He shook his head and followed forward, stalking her. “Eva, Eva. You were my best courier. And picker. Small, quick with your fingers, and...” He pointed to his balding head. “Quick with your mind. No lock or pocket was safe from you. Come back to me. I need your skills.”
She barked a bewildered laugh. He was insane if he thought she’d ever come back to thieve for him again. “Why would I ever do that? I live a different life now.”
“Do you?” He crossed his arms and smirked.
Guilt pricked her conscience for a fleeting moment and she fingered the silk bag of bones hidden beneath her tunic. This was not the same. She was helping the church, not picking a fat purse from a French trader, or running messages to Lafitte’s pirates.
“You’ll have everything you wish, Eva.” His eyes gleamed. “I own a house in town now. Never want for food or shelter ever again. I’ll buy you gowns and send you to parties with the city’s elite.”
Expecting her to steal jewelry? She bit back a cold snicker. “You’ll send me to parties for what purpose, Hugo?” She pulled the veil down, revealing her disfigurement. “A gruesome, freakish curiosity?”
Hugo’s eyes widened slightly before he shrugged. “That was a regrettable accident. You should have told me what you did with the map.” He moved closer, reeking of onions and ale.
Accident? She glared her hatred, rewrapping her veil and securing her cloak into place. “I told you I lost it.”
“That’s a lie.” He grasped her wrist and wrung it, making her gasp in pain. “You figured out its value, didn’t you? You hid it.” He pulled her to him, his voice viciously soft. “I want it back.”
“Here now, what is this?”
Eva stared in alarm over Hugo’s shoulder at a small group of men armed with muskets and pistols. One of the local militia.
Before she could speak, he whirled and shook his fist. “Caught her lifting my purse, I did.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s not true!” It took three tugs, but she finally pulled her wrist free.
“You caught her doing what?” One of the men said in an incredulous voice.
“She’s not who you think,” Hugo growled. “This is a disguise.” She cried out as he yanked the hood back and clasped the hair at the nape of her neck, revealing her maimed face. “Look at her. Does she look like a pious and kind sister to you?” He shook her again. “I recognize her, this is Eva Trudeau. She’s a pickpocket. Throw her in a jail cell and rid the city of her trickery.”
The militia shifted their weapons, clearly uncomfortable.
She finally found her voice. “I’m from the Ursuline abbey. Take me to the convent, and Mother Superior will confirm it.” She would always provide Eva sanctuary.
Hugo sneered. “You are not a real sister of the church.”
Little fingers of deceit scraped up her spine. She couldn’t actually dispute his claim. At least not absolutely. He pounced on her lack of rebuttal.
“They always travel together, and are never this late.” With a dark glare, pierced the man who’d spoken first. “I want her charged with thieving.”
“You have no proof!” Eva hissed. Almost immediately she regretted her words. A light sparked in Hugo’s eyes as he shook her arm hard enough to make her teeth chatter. She wrenched it away and something jingled in her sleeve then plopped to the ground. They all looked down.
There in the mud between her feet, was a leather pouch. The militia leader’s face hardened.
“Good evening!” The unmistakable voice of Drago Gamponetti intervened.
Eva groaned, not sure which was worse, Hugo’s mischief or the steely undertone in Drago’s overly cheerful voice.
The captain stood a head above the others. The aura of confidence and authority he carried with him had them all taking a step back. Everyone except Hugo, whom he approached with a straight back and a cold smile. “I believe you dropped something. I saw it fall from your jacket.” He stooped down, picked up the small muddy sack, then shook it. “Light as it is, you’d probably loathe losing what little remains, eh?” He tossed it to Hugo, who scowled and snatched it from the air.
Hugo glanced at the other men, who now eyed him with various expressions of disgust and annoyance, then returned the captain’s icy smile, although it looked more like a grimace.
“Thank you, sir, but as I was explaining to these here militiamen, this imposter—”
But Drago’s attention was no longer on the short, bald man. “Sister Eva? Mother Marie Francis sent me to find you,” he said. “She was worried when you didn’t return from your errand.”
The militia leader glared at Hugo. “This city is about to go to war and you’re wasting our time with this foolishness.”
Drago quirked a brow and leveled a chilly glare at the men. “Is everything at rights? Did any of these men affront you, Sister Eva?” He swept his coat back to reveal a gleaming saber strapped to his hip and a brace of pistols tucked behind his belt.
Flinty eyes narrowed at Hugo, who had the good sense to back away a few steps.
The leader of the group, cast another annoyed glance at Dupré before facing Drago “No sir; seems we’ve had a simple misunderstanding.”
“Ah, then. We’ll take our leave.” He grasped her elbow. “Shall we be off? It’s near dusk and it’s not safe to be out after curfew.” Drago tipped his hat. “I’m certain these brave soldiers need to be on their way to the town center, where General Jackson is preparing to address his troops.”
Eyes turned to the leader, who threw his shoulders back and jerked his jaw toward the square. “Let’s go.” They turned and trotted down the street.
Hugo narrowed his eyes at her before he whispered in her ear. “Consider my offer, mon cher.”
She managed a short, sardonic laugh. Resume her activities as a novitiate, or as a thief...or worse? She already started the slide back to her old ways today by picking a lady’s reticule. She wasn’t far from making the transition complete in either direction, depending on her true nature.
“To lie to yourself is to lie to God.”
Had she been lying to herself these past few years? Perhaps it was as Hugo said. She was nothing but a street rat and a pickpocket. The years with the Ursuline order had done nothing much to change that.
Drago lifted her hood back over her head. “The chill creeps in with the setting of the sun. Best to stay covered to keep out the wind.”
That single act of tenderness would normally have warmed her heart, but she wouldn’t be fooled in by his charm and charismatic flair this time. The sting of his betrayal slashed her soul as sharply as the sword at his side. That brief flare of courage, from exposing her face, dissipated like a drop of ink in the ocean. He just made it perfectly clear it was time again to cover up.
She was such a fool.
She allowed the captain to lead her away from Hugo Dupré and indisputable trouble. Staying hidden from him had been easy with the nuns. Would he harass the convent, now he knew for sure she was there?
As soon as they rounded the next corner, she spun and attempted to flee but Drago would have none of it.
Her outrage roiled, churning with the torment in her chest. “Let go of me, you Judas!”
He only pressed her closer to his side. “Stop this. You don’t want to attract any more attention.”
She glanced back in time to see Hugo duck into an alley. “Then take me home,” she snapped.
He gripped her elbow tighter. “I’ll do no such thing until you listen to what I have to say.”
Listening to his explanation and believing it were two different things. “You could say nothing I would be foolish enough to consider. Not this time.” Never again would she believe his words. Now, however, the more important thing was to secure the relics. Even if she managed to escape his grasp, he’d only chase her down. Raising an alarm to her predicament would only draw the wrong type of attention. Hugo was watching. Waiting for another opportunity.
It was convenient when Drago escorted her into the foyer at Hotel Le Rue.
Bernard Savage greeted them. “Captain Gamponetti, the blue salon is at your disposal, as you requested.” His smile faltered when his attention turned to her. “Hello again, Sister Eva. Is—”
Drago gave him a clipped nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sauvage. We shan’t be too long.”
Thankfully, the twins were nowhere to be seen. The captain’s duplicity was hard enough on her. The children would be crushed. She had no choice but to listen to his tale, but she didn’t have to believe him. There was nothing he could say that would sway him back in her favor. The Guirauds stole the relics with his help; she had the proof belted to her robes.
He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. Two steps past the threshold, she paused.
The couple sat at the captain’s table.
Liars.
Thieves. The lot of them.
It was almost laughable, the company she now kept.
Drago pulled out a chair for her. “Sit, Eva. There are things we need to discuss.”
Mrs. Giraud slumped in her seat, her reticule discarded next to her. “The relics are missing from my bag, capitaine.” Her voice trembled with each word. “I don’t know what happened. I had my them under my cloak. I had to put them in blind. Perhaps I dropped them by mistake.”
Mr. Guiraud rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “We are all dead,” he whispered.
Eva’s stomach plummeted. “Dead?” How could losing a few bones be deadly? “I don’t understand.”
Captain Gamponetti let out a long breath and scrubbed his face with his hand before dropping into his seat. “The penalty for failing a mission of King Louie’s is death by guillotine—or his assassins, whichever is most convenient.”
Lady Guiraud stared at the tablecloth in shock. “It is likely the butcher is already here. When we don’t rendezvous with the courier, they will find us and kill us.”
“It will be Fontaine,” her husband said. “He left a message for us. He is the courier.”
Drago tensed and muttered a low curse. “And, no doubt, the assassin.”
Cold fingers of fear gripped Eva’s throat and a rolling roar tumbled in her head. It had seemed an easy enough task, to disrupt the theft. It hadn’t occurred to her there might be such dire consequences.
Was it worth three lives?
Was it worth God’s wrath to let go precious relics? Eva fingered the pouch at her waist as she studied the hard angles of Drago Viteri Gamponetti’s face. He regarded her with a cool set to his jaw, silver eyes sharp and steely. Although he reclined in his chair, beneath his skin, muscles coiled.
It really wasn’t much of a dilemma.
Even though he betrayed her.
She was wrong about one thing when she described him to Mother Marie Francis. Trusting him was a mistake. Hot fury and chilling heartbreak warred violently in her chest as she made her decision. Still, indignation bubbled to the surface, and the words were out before she could think. “Those relics belong to Saint Louis Cathedral.”
Mr. Guiraud slapped his palm on the table, eyes sparking with righteous fervor. “They are the bones of Saint Louis of France, therefore they belong to France. We were entrusted to deliver them to their rightful home, our grand cathedral.”
Guiraud’s words made her pause. “Your cathedral?” This changed things considerably.
Mr. Guiraud was slow to respond, his mind most likely on Fontaine. He nodded absently. “Oui, in Paris.”
Why would God care which church housed the saint’s relics? As long as they were treated with the reverence they deserved, it couldn’t possibly be a sin to prevent their transport from one to another. Father Dubourg would not be happy, but certainly, he could acquire others for the sanctuary. She wouldn’t be responsible for the deaths of the Guirauds and Drago, no matter how badly she wanted to hate him right now.
Eva withdrew the silk bag.
Lady Guiraud’s eyes widened before cupping it in her hands and pressing the bones to her chest.
Guiraud stood dumbstruck, his mouth open. He found his voice first, although he still could only manage to sputter like an overheated teapot. “What...h-how...did you...”
But there was a bright gleam in Drago’s eyes.
Guiraud sat with a thump, his arms dangled at his sides as he stared at her. “You picked it from her bag.” His tone was laced with a note of wonder. “On the street, when you collided with us.”
Eva nodded but no longer able to make eye contact with them. It certainly wasn’t something of which she was proud. Stealing was a pretty big sin. In fact, it was one of those major, ten-commandment-breaking sins, regardless of the reason.
Still, the jagged throb in her chest from Drago’s duplicity and deceptions made her want to find a dark corner and curl into a ball. Her eyes welled with unshed tears while anger set her ribs on fire. She was naive when she should have known better.
She spent years with the nuns, trying to follow a righteous path, learning how to be meek and pious. Humble and forgiving. Worthy of God’s love. Where had it taken her?
Nowhere.
It just circled her back to the same place.
A world of deceit and greed and darkness.
Kalia’s premonition... Him dark is strong. It pull you into de doomed shadow wit’ him.
It would not. She straightened her shoulders and leveled a flat stare at the Guiraud’s. “I wanted to prevent the theft and sale of the relics for personal gain at the expense of the church.” She pointed to pouch in Lady Guiraud’s hands. “As long as they remain in God’s house, where they can be cherished, does it matter in which room it resides?”
“Merci, Sister Eva, merci.” Lady Guiraud smiled and gently replaced the relics in her bag.
Drago’s voice rolled like an approaching storm. “We need to talk.”
“No.” She slashed through his words with her hand. Tears pooled in her eyes. She let anger’s hot, red hammer drop. “You’re a traitorous wretch, capitaine. Your soul apparently is damned to hell, and I’ll be damned, too, before I pray for your redemption.” She ignored the Guiraud’s shocked expressions, and whirled toward the door.
A nun would never say such a thing, but, dammit, she wasn’t a nun. Not yet, and probably not ever. Mother Superior said as much.
She didn’t really belong.
Like a flash of light, Drago bolted from his chair to block her path. The movement triggered an instinctive response. One palm contacted with his cheek followed quickly by the other on the opposite, taking them all, including herself, by surprise.
For a beat of silence, everyone stilled.
Air, she needed air.
Eva surged toward the door, but Drago wrapped an iron arm around her waist, and pulled her against him, grasping both her hands in his other before she could strike again. She shrieked her wrath into his hard, muscular chest. Tears streamed down her face and she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to restrain the flow.
Damn this man!
She placed her faith in the wrong person; looking back at recent events, it was foolish of her to have done so in the first place.
She should have known.
The moment she was introduced to the Guirauds, she should have known. The only person upon whom she could truly place blame for her naiveté and stupidity was herself.
Mr. Guiraud coughed. “We shall gather our things and meet Fontaine,” he muttered. A chair scraped the floor, the rustle of his wife’s skirts followed.
Captain Gampo spoke over her head, his chest vibrating against hers. “You’ll have to follow the contingency plan. The British amassed their armada on the far side of the Chancery Islands and are preparing to cross from Lake Borgne into Lake Pontchartrain to take the city.”
Lady Guiraud gasped and her husband muttered a curse.
Eva froze at the news, her tears forgotten. She had to get back! War was upon them and the nuns would need her. Maybe she could yet persuade them to take her back into the fold.
As a true novitiate this time.
The door closed behind the couple with a soft click as if the gentle treatment of the door latch would diffuse the tension between the captain and herself.
He finally released her; she jerked away from him and headed for the door.
He stepped in her path.
“Allow me to pass, Capitaine Gampo,” she snapped, intentionally using his pirate name. It suited him best, anyway. “I must get to the convent.” She shoved with all her might but it was like pushing a house.
He lowered his brows, stormy eyes glared. “Not until you permit me to explain my position.”
His gloomy countenance would not intimidate her this time.
“I already know your position, pirate!” She tried to dart past him, but he captured her around the waist again.
“Eva...” His voice held a barely restrained hint of warning.
She ground her teeth hard enough to make them ache. “Let. Me. Go.”
In answer, Drago picked her up like she was a sack of sugar. He exited a small door in the back of the room and ascended a short staircase. Too stunned to utter a word, let alone draw a breath with his solid muscular shoulder wedged into her belly, she thumped his back ribs with her fists. Her rage intensified along with the bruising ache in her knuckles from vainly beating against rigid rows of bone. They stepped into the room and before she could scream, he dropped her on a bed, blanketed her body with his then yanked her wrists above her head.
She squirmed and spat like a wet cat. Whatever this blackguard had in mind to do to her, it wouldn’t be easy for him; she’d fight with every ounce of strength she processed. Another benefit of fighting dogs for scraps when she was eight.
He released her, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Wary, she tried to move but found her gown twisted around her legs, and her hands immobile.
He didn’t.
She tugged against the restraints.
Dear Lord, he had.
A growing flow of panic seeped into her chest to churn with her rage.
Drago just smiled, the small dimple in his pinkened cheek offset by the dangerous silver glint in his eyes. “There’s a saying referring to turnabouts as being fair play, but I rather like the concept of simple irony.” He laughed softly. “Now then, shall we agree I am the one in control here?”
Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of attaining her reticence, she merely pressed her lips into a hard, thin line. Uttering the words “go to hell” came to mind. It took a great deal of self-control to keep them in her mouth.
To say the irony vexed her was like saying the Mississippi River was a tender little stream. Drago eased back and crossed his arms, muscles shifting under his shirt. A hungry fire in his eyes flared as he raked his gaze down the length of her form, pausing at the sight of an exposed calf.
Anger and trepidation mixed with an uneasy sensation that resembled anticipation, and she couldn’t draw a breath. If only he wasn’t so wicked. If only she could trust him. He reached toward her and she closed her eyes, both fearing and hoping he would touch her. The fabric of her gown brushed against her leg as he drew it down. She turned her face to the wall, swallowing her disappointment. Perhaps Mother Marie Francis misunderstood the captain’s feelings toward her.
He didn’t act like a man who desired her. In fact, since the encounter with Hugo, all he’d done was make an effort to cover her.
Hide her distorted face and undesirable body from the world.
Drago’s low anguished whisper echoed through the room. “Eva, please let me explain.”
His words were a beautiful poison. Although she took in a deep breath to put more force into hers, they still came out hot and raspy like a dry wind over a sun-baked desert. “There’s nothing you could possibly say with that sugar-coated, forked tongue of yours that will change my opinion of you, you black-hearted scoundrel.” Ugh. That was weak. She drilled her attention to the wall, determined to avoid looking at him.
He sighed. He only had to stroke her skin with a finger and her entire spine tingled. There was a smoky resignation in his tone. “There are things you don’t know. This was to be my last mission. I’m eternally grateful it ended on my terms, instead of the hand of an assassin. Rather than risk your life or anyone else’s.”
Her life? She clenched her fists. “I’ve been so gullible, I want to scream.” She transferred her focus from the wall back to him. She looked into those beautiful, silver eyes of Satan’s son, the betrayer, the manipulator.
“You have what you wanted. Now let me go and leave me alone.”
The humiliation of being so easily deceived crept up her neck in a slow, spreading burn. Unable to move, unable to divert her eyes away from the mesmerizing quicksilver stare, she could only suffer helplessly on the bed.
“I hate you,” she whispered. And she did. She hated everything about him.
She hated the way he made her stomach flip when he entered the room.
She hated that the intoxicating, sultry timbre of his voice made her want to close her eyes and just listen like she would a song.
She hated his mouth for betraying her and leaving her with the memories of fiery kisses to torment her the rest of her days...and nights.
She hated—
He leaned forward and grazed his finger over the edge of the scar at her temple, and the world stilled. She was too stunned to even flinch.
No one had ever attempted to touch it.
He traced the terrible thing, a searing trail of shame and revulsion. Heat spread over her cheeks and chest until her skin caught fire. When his finger reached her mouth, he brushed his thumb over her lips before cupping her chin in his palm.
“Please,” he rasped in a pained whisper. “Don’t hate me, Eva.” He touched her lip once more causing a shiver to shoot down the back of her neck. “You must know by now that I care for you very much.”
She shuddered as a powerful jolt rippled through her body. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. It was if a spell had stopped time, freezing the entire world, stilling her breath, her thoughts, and the wild throb of her pulse.
“What...did you just say?” How could he treat her so ruthlessly then say something so...cruel? Did he really think those words would lessen raw scrape of his betrayal? Repair her tattered heart? Even in its mangled state, it skipped, her mind continued to scream “Liar! Liar!”
He was saying that to weaken her defenses. The sad thing is she was desperate to believe it. She longed to dismiss what he’d done to her in exchange for something richer, deeper.
How pathetic.
How weak.
How utterly and completely stupid of her.
His eyes locked with hers. Twin orbs of steel and black. Quicksilver and storm clouds.
He had to be lying. He had to be.
She stared into his eyes. Are they not the windows to the soul? The lie couldn’t hide there; it would flake away and float to the surface. But there was nothing but an open contemplation. No shifting sands of a falsehood. No amusement, no jest, no murky swirl of deception.
Or was that what she hoped to see?
He did not say he loved her, only that he cared for her.
Don’t do it. Don’t fall.
Be strong. Be brave.
Protect yourself.
A moment passed before she found her tongue. “I don’t...believe that for a single second.” Great. She sounded like a little girl. Even she heard the hope in her voice. He caressed her cheek, and she felt it all the way to the arches of her feet.
“Eva.”
He braced his arms on either side of her shoulders and captured her gaze with his. She couldn’t look away now if the world’s survival depended on it. She thought back to his kisses, and part of her wanted the satin pressure of his lips again. He was trying to seduce her with his worthless words and amber, honey-coated voice. She knew this. She knew this. She...
He lowered his head and kissed her and she lost her next thought. His lips feathered against hers so lightly it sent every nerve sparking. She opened under the tender pressure of his tongue, allowing it to enter and penetrate the wet heat of her mouth. His hands cupped her cheeks, thumb caressing the trail of her scar and for once she didn’t want to shy away. He was gentle, almost reverent.
A deep sadness settled in her chest. It would never be enough. She loved him. Yes. And she despised herself for it almost as much as her horribly maimed face and his malicious, pirate’s heart.
A stony pessimistic voice in the back of her mind still raised the question. What if there was something else he wanted, and he was simply manipulating her to assist him? He fooled her thoroughly the first time.
Her heart yearned to believe him.
The voice prodded to her to be wary.
Pride awoke and demanded she not let him fool her again.
He lifted his head and searched her face. For what? Confirmation she cared for him? That he managed to bend her will again? He had her under his spell, there was no denying that.
But she couldn’t stand the pain. Just being this close...
“Please,” she struggled to whisper. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
The sharp flicker of hurt sliced across his eyes, wrenching her heart still more.
An urgent pounding on the door shattered the still air of the room.
“Captain! Come quick! There’s trouble.”