My Cherie Amour Read online

  Wouldn’t a child of two orishas already know her name?

  “Cherie, Cherie Bonnet.”

  “Oui, that’s right. You were supposed to be Cherie Barbin, non? Well, you will be

  Madame La Duchese, eh? You will be out of this place by the morning. The Marassa

  Jumeaux have taken an interest in you for some reason. They want to make sure you see

  justice, you and your men. You will of course have to be separated from the fierce one, but

  only for a time. Sad he won’t see the birth of his garçon de bebé, but he will be back soon.

  All loose ends must be tied up, non? I have decided to stay here until le Capet sees to your

  release and puts the harpy, the governor’s wife in her place. Until then, we will sit and get

  to

  know one another, oui?”

  Cherie had no idea what the girl was talking about. However, while she was not

  altogether sure what Marie had said, but she decided to relax and let the girl’s chatter wash

  over her, keeping her mind off the terrible reality of where she was and how she was

  possibly going to get out.

  ******* Étienne returned to an eerily empty house. Not even a servant was about. Thinking

  Cherie was probably at her parent’s house, he decided to meet her there. He had just

  started out before he was stopped by an old friend.

  "You must be thanking God you didn’t marry her,” the man gushed with barely

  suppressed glee at the juicy gossip making its rounds across New Orleans. “That Bonnet

  girl, I mean. Imagine shooting her own grandpére for refusing to trap you into marrying her

  and raising the Duc de Mortel’s by-blow.”

  Étienne’s fist connected with the unsuspecting man’s face before he even realized he

  threw it. Cherie shot Gaspar? He doubted she had ever held a gun. If she wanted the old

  man dead she would simply worry him to death. And as far as him marrying her, he had

  every intention of doing exactly what the idiot now sprawled on the sidewalk had implied.

  He would marry Cherie and give Diego’s child his name, but Diego would be every bit as

  involved with the child’s upbringing as he was. Of that he had no doubt. And when the

  hell had people began to call Diego the Deadly Duke?

  “Name your seconds,” Étienne growled. “I suggest you think before wagging your

  viperous tongue like a woman next time. Should you survive.”

  He turned on his heel to jog to the Durand household. What the hell was going on?

  It took less than five minutes to make his way there to bang on the door. Making his way

  into the house, Étienne’s heart felt as though it stopped at the unnatural silence in the house. The servants scurried about heads down making not a sound. He was led to

  Gaspar’s study, where Luc sat alone staring off into space.

  “What are you doing here?!” Étienne demanded. “Why haven’t anyone gone to get

  Cher out? And where is Diego?”

  Luc’s head snapped to stare uncomprehending at the fuming younger man. “Get

  Cher out of where? Isn’t Diego with her?”

  Étienne was brought up short. “How is it you don’t know when the entire city is

  buzzing of her arrest for shooting Gaspar?”

  “That is preposterous! A deranged cross dressing psychopath shot Gaspar. He is here,

  being detained in the basement in the watchful company of several guards. Cher is at home

  with Diego.”

  “Diego is not at home, neither is Cher,” Étienne informed him as he walked towards

  the exit. “I have no idea where Diego is, but I am going to see what I can find out about

  Cherie.”

  “Hold!” Luc rose to his full height. “You need to go and find Diego. Take

  Farnsworth with you, I believe you will find him in the kitchens. Try Diego’s plantation

  first. I will take care of Cherie.”

  *******

  “You, there! Come with me!” Cherie swallowed hard, trying not to show how much her knees were knocking

  together. It had not been an hour yet, so the guard that said he would inform her family

  was still on duty. She saw him out of the corner of her eyes, red faced and furious. What

  was going on? The guard who had summoned her grabbed her arm as she neared the door

  of the cell. The girl, Marie, walked right along with her. Curious, but the soldiers paid the

  girl no mind as she slipped her small hand into Cherie’s and smiled up at her. The sight of

  the little imp with a cheroot forever dangling from her mouth gave Cherie some small

  comfort. Surely it couldn’t be that bad if they let the girl tag along, right? This whole

  situation would be farcical if it wasn’t so damn scary.

  Cherie was pushed and prodded up narrow dank stair towards the same bolted

  doorway she had entered the prison from. For a few precious minutes her heart swelled at

  the possibility they might be letting her go. Instead of leading her to one of the carriage by

  the side of the plain gray stone prison building, she was led to a tiny building directly

  adjacent to the one that held prisoners. A chill rushed through her body to her very soul

  causing tremors she couldn’t control. She had heard whispers of the hanging court, a small

  mockery of a real courthouse set up for the sole purpose of hanging the undesirable with

  little to no evidence. The judge would be real enough giving the faux trails a veneer of

  actual justice, but that was about the only thing this charade of justice could lay claim. This was a place for revenge against those who would not be missed or could do nothing against

  their accusers. They were going to hang her.

  “Courage, ,” Marie whispered.

  Cherie wanted to laugh at the insanity of one so young calling her little, but she

  couldn’t get past the lump in her throat. Being shoved before the bench she cast a futile

  look around to see if there was anyone she could call out to. Anyone who knew Papa

  Claude or Papa Luc that would help save her. Instead she saw the haughty governor and his

  wife, with a smug Agathe at their side. The other occupants of the room were people she’d

  never seen before. The judge sat hunched over as if his spine had a permanent bend. His

  eyes looked beady behind thick spectacles that appeared too large for his face. His thinning

  black hair had been pomaded against a shiny bald spot he could not hope to hide. His thin

  mustache was uneven and unkempt. His eyes were cold as he glanced down at her, his eyes

  lingering on her breasts. It had been cold in the cells her nipples were hard little pebbles

  against the fabric of her shift. They could have at least given her a blanket to cover herself.

  She tried crossing her arms in front of her, but Marie would not let go of her right hand.

  “Don’t tell me you have an attack of modesty now, petite fillette.” The judge’s voice

  was every bit as oily as his person. The man was actually leering at her causing Señora de

  Gálvez to huff in disgust. “You and your kind are used to flaunting yourself in front of

  decent Christian men, non?” “Say nothing,” Marie whispered harshly. “He is trying to goad you. Help will be

  here soon.”

  When Cherie obeyed the girl at her side, the judge frowned but went on determined

  to get a rise out of her.

  “It says here,” the weasel of a little man continued. “You have been seen in public

  indecently flaunting your dubious wares trying to entice gentleman into indiscreet

  liaisons�
�” Cherie wanted to laugh, but she started straight ahead saying nothing. “Also,

  you tried to seduce a young man of decent family to into an unholy marriage using voodoo

  charms and spells. You stole the seed of an upstanding member of society to impregnate

  yourself…” How did one do that? Cherie wondered. The mechanics simply boggled the

  mind. “And most heinously shot and killed one Gaspar Durand, Comte de Toulon when

  he tried to stop you from working you demonic wiles of the unsuspecting public.”

  Cherie stared uncomprehending at the awful man sitting on the raised platform in

  front of her. Someone had shot grandpére? He was dead? She knew she should be crying,

  but she was numb. She couldn’t move a muscle. She did not hear the judge asking the false

  witnesses who had stepped up to testify against her, she didn’t hear the demands for her

  death from the rowdy crowd behind her, she did not feel the rotten fruit and vegetables

  being thrown at her. It seemed as if she was watching all these events from somewhere far

  off, trying desperately to get to the ashen-faced young woman with one arm held protectively over her growing belly. She watched the so-called judge bang his gavel,

  pronounce her guilt and sentence her to hang without delay. It was all happening to

  someone else. She had done nothing wrong.

  “You will hang my child over my dead body!”

  The room collectively swung their heads to the door thrown open by a regiment of-

  Carabiniers du Roi? But they were bodyguards of the king, the French King. Luc stood in

  the middle of the elite fighting force as if he were born to it.

  “And who are you to interfere with justice?” The outraged Señora de Gálvez

  demanded surging to her seat.

  Luc arched a brow towards her husband. “Control your woman, or I will.”

  The woman gasped, turning an interesting shade of purple. Cherie watched in

  absolute fascination as she literally puffed herself up to twice her size.

  “I am…”

  That was all she could get out before her husband slapped his hand against her

  mouth.

  “Please forgive her mon Liège,” the governor babbled. “We had heard rumors, but we

  did not dare to believe.”

  “I am not your liege, Espagnol,” Luc drawled. “I am the bastard of the French king.

  It will be my half-brother, Louis-Charles who will reign after my father. I sincerely hope you don’t mean you suspected who I was but imprisoned my daughter anyway and was

  about to…What exactly were you about to do to my child, Bernardo?”

  The governor sputtered, trying to come up with any acceptable answer. Looking

  into a face devoid of any emotions was like looking at your death. Why had he listened to

  the incessant ranting of his wife and the harpy hanger on?

  “It was this woman!” Bernardo de Gálvez y Madrid, Vizconde de Gálveztown and

  royal governor of Louisiana and Cuba thrust Agathe toward Luc in a panic. “She convinced

  us that that girl…I mean you daughter was, was…”

  “Evil? A seductress? A voodoo priestess?”

  “They are called mambos,” Cherie wasn’t really sure why she had spoken. It was all

  so unreal. Maybe the sound of her voice would wake her up from this horrid dream.

  Luc simply smiled at her before ordering one of his soldiers to wrap her in his own

  coat.

  “We certainly did not know she was your by-blow!” Señora de Gálvez exclaimed,

  eliciting a grown from her husband.

  “My patience is wearing quite thin with your irritatingly bourgeois woman,

  Bernardo. You will, of course, leave New Orleans. I find I cannot stomach the idea of you

  alive and breathing in the same city,” Luc strode towards Cherie, throwing his arm around

  her shoulders and holding her close. Cherie melted into the embrace of one of her cherished fathers. It felt good to be claimed here in front of the worst bigots in all of the

  territory. “I will of course support you in your endeavor to succeed your father, as long as I

  am never burdened with your presence or the presence of your rather plain wife.”

  “Of course, of course,” the governor tripped over himself stumbling towards the

  door, pushing Agathe towards the waiting arms of any soldier on his way out. She tried to

  follow, but was immediately stopped.

  “Make sure she is chained and locked in one of the prisoner transports outside,” Luc

  told one of his men.

  “Cherie, my God we thought we were going to be too late!”

  Cherie peeked over the shoulder the man holding her to see Diego and Étienne

  rushing into the building with Diego’s men. Smiling in relieve she ran towards the two.

  “Of course I am fine. Papa Luc saved me and the girl…”

  She looked back to where the girl had been standing, but she was gone. Cherie,

  feeling the sudden weight of all she had been through, promptly fainted.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Luc regarded Agathe seated so forlornly in front him. He leaned back in his chair,

  drumming his fingers on his desk as he contemplated the guard standing behind her. With

  Gaspar still recovering, Luc had taken it upon himself to head the family, which meant he

  would have to deal with “the Agathe problem.”

  No matter how mad he might be at the woman sitting stiffly, her back painfully

  erect, Amélie’s admonishments before he had come down echoed in his head.

  “She was wrong, oui,” she had said. “Dead wrong. What she did was evil. But what

  we did to her was just as evil.”

  “We never tried to kill anyone!” Luc had thundered.

  But Amélie had continued unperturbed, being used to his bluster.

  “No, we just took away her entire world. Not only did she walk in on what was then

  her husband and her half-breed sister, she was forced into an unwanted annulment. And

  for what? Her world crashed in on her and she had no comfort, no relief. She bore the

  snickers and the whispers with no one to cry to.”

  “She almost had our child killed!” Claude had interjected.

  Amélie had sighed, grabbing both men’s hands pulling them all close together. “But she didn’t succeed. Cherie is fine. Had she succeeded, I might not be so

  forgiving, but she did not succeed. She deserves a chance to live. Maybe not here in

  Louisiana, but she does deserve a chance to find happiness. None of us here are innocent of

  her pain.”

  Luc hated to admit it, but Amélie was correct. The only person that been innocent

  in any of this was the one who had suffered the most. While he could not tolerate any

  further threats on Cherie’s life, he could not deny Agathe a chance to find peace.

  “Where would you like to go Agathe?”

  Agathe stared incredulously at the man before her. Surely she had not heard him

  right.

  “You are letting me go?”

  Luc sighed heavily, disliking what he was about to do, but knowing it was right.

  “You sister thinks we have done you a great disservice. I would not want her upset

  anymore,” he answered simply.

  Agathe was astounded. She had been so wrong, she had always known that. Her

  fight was ultimately with Claude, who had used her. But to be honest, she had used him

  for respectability and position in an unforgiving society. She had lashed back by trying to

  take away his only daughter, which would also hurt her half-sister and the man before her

 
now. That hadn’t been fair to the child; she had no hand in her birth or the actions of her parents. The very idea of mixing races still rubbed her raw, but what she had done had

  been unforgivable.

  She would never see Amélie as a sister, but she was grateful for the other woman’s

  mercy. Agathe knew she would have never been so lenient. But the fervor for which she

  wished an innocents death had been shocking to her, now that she had been left alone with

  her own thoughts. She had driven herself mad with longings for revenge. What had she

  become?

  “Perhaps Canada,” she said quietly. “There are still a goodly amount of proper

  French society there.”

  Plus it was far enough away so people would not know her past. She could live as the

  aging spinster she was. Perhaps she should have left long ago. There was no joy for here;

  there never had been. New Orleans was an albatross around her neck.

  “We will give you the money to buy a suitable house, hire the appropriate staff. You

  will become known as the widow to Claude’s dearly deceased brother. We will wire funds

  to you at regular intervals. This will be done legally, the papers have been drawn up.

  However, should you ever be seen in Louisiane again, I will show no mercy. I will kill you,

  Agathe. Make no mistake of that.”

  It was far more than she had ever expected, and truth be told, she was grateful.

  “I will escort Madame of course.” Luc raised a brow at Farnsworth’s proclamation, but he said nothing. Farnsworth

  was his own man, he could do what he pleased.

  “And should we expect you back?” Luc asked his long time companion.

  Farnsworth started at Agathe for a moment, before a smile that held many secrets

  behind it spread across his face. “I think not.”

  Agathe stiffened but did not gainsay the strange butler. She did not look at him

  either. Interesting, Luc thought. Rising from his seat he regarded Agathe once more.

  “I have to have you guarded until you are safely to your destination. I am sure you

  understand.”

  He was sure she did. What she didn’t know was she would be watched carefully for a

  few years, just until he was sure.

  Standing in front of her, he bowed. If he touched her, he might hit her and that

  wouldn’t so at all.