Page 10 of Frankly, My Dear

“James, you have not come by to visit for some time. We have missed the pleasure of your company,” his father said in a cold, grating tone that belied his warm greeting. “And how is your mère?”

Liar! You care nothing for me—your bastard son. Or my mother. You only pretend affection in public places so your friends won’t know of your betrayal. How I hate you! I could easily kill you and that weak excuse for a man you honor as your true, and only, son.

These bitter thoughts roiled inside him, but he spoke none of them aloud. Instead, in a voice so calm it surprised even himself, James nodded his head and acknowledged, “Father. Victor.”

When he pointedly didn’t invite them to sit at the table, his father shifted uncomfortably. A red-faced Victor glared at him, then seemed to notice Selene for the first time. Rather, it was her breasts he noticed, gaping at them with rude insolence.

A rush of anger swept over James at his brother’s perusal. He felt strangely protective and possessive toward the wench, whom he’d only met a few hours ago. He signaled Selene with his eyes, and, surprisingly, she immediately understood, putting a napkin coyly to her chest.

“Are manners now lacking in your back-swamp country?” his father chastised him with brittle formality. Then he added with oily condescension, turning to Selene, “You have not introduced us to your companion.”

James was not fooled. He’d seen his father’s eyes sweep the quadroon’s body and dismiss her as of no importance. As easily as he’d dismissed James’s own mother at one time. Put aside as carelessly as soiled linen, or an unwanted toy.

“Selene,” he said tersely, “this is my father, Jean-Paul Baptiste, and my half brother, Victor.” She inclined her head graciously, but her eyes glittered dangerously. He wondered why, but then decided his father and brother brought out the worst in everyone. With a mental shrug, he continued with his introductions, “And this is…” James’s words trailed off and he stiffened, seeing his father’s thin lips turn up in a smirk as he looked toward Selene.

And Victor! He should have killed him when he’d had the chance. He still suspected his brother of having been involved with Giselle before her death. If he ever found the proof…

He’d show them both, dammit. The patronizing bastards! “…and this is my fiancée, Selene—Sandra Selente,” he finished with a flourish.

Everyone gasped audibly—his father, Victor, especially Selene. He didn’t know why he’d made such a ludicrous announcement. He certainly hadn’t planned it. But he didn’t regret it one bit. The trouble he would have later, extricating himself from the lie, would be worth having seen his hypocritical father sputtering at the prospect of his son marrying a quadroon.

“Non! You cannot be serious. Even you would not marry so far beneath yourself, not even to spite me.”

“Don’t place a wager on it.”

“Did you learn nothing from your disastrous marriage to that tradesman’s daughter?”

An odd look flashed over Victor’s face at his father’s reference to James’s deceased wife, which he immediately hid with a sneer.

“Ah, what did I expect?” his father continued, throwing up his hands. “You are always a disappointment to me, James.”

Outraged, Selene rose to her full height, towering over the short Creole men. Irrelevantly, she noted James’s far greater height and figured he must not be pure Creole.

She didn’t care that these bozos were related to James. She’d seen the hurt deep in his eyes, the pain he’d tried to hide as soon as he saw his family approaching, not to mention the way his fists clenched and unclenched the entire time they’d stood near the table.

Hey, she knew all about the wounds a parent could inflict on a child. Hadn’t her father abandoned her mother and her even before she was born, never to be seen again? Hadn’t her mother spent a lifetime, until she’d died of cancer six years ago, hammering away at Selene’s inadequacies?

Well, it was past time to put an end to such parental travesties.

“Sir,” she said with forced politeness, looking directly at Jean-Paul. “I would appreciate it if you would leave our table. I find there is a stench in the air which is giving me the…the vapors.” Vapors? Criminey! Next I’ll be swooning.

“You impudent high yellow putain! How dare you speak to me so! Do you know who I am?” James’s father spat out.

“No, and I couldn’t care less. I’ll tell you something else, mister. I’m not a quadroon, but even if I were, you’re not good enough to share the same air as me, let alone a fine man like your son James.” Geez, what am I doing, defending a man I don’t even know? “So get lost before I ask the manager to kick you out. Better yet, you and Victor are such puny little specimens, maybe I’ll just pick you up and throw you out myself.” She started to advance on them, and the two men backed away a bit, probably more stunned than frightened by her threats.

“Slut!” Jean-Paul spat out before spinning on his heels. He left in a huff then, with Victor mouthing an obscenity over his shoulder and Jean-Paul warning James, “We will discuss this again, of that you can be sure.”

She sat back down in her chair, trying to ignore all the curious faces around them. She’d created quite a spectacle. Then she looked at James, whose head was tilted, studying her quizzically.

He smiled at her, the first time she’d seen him really smile since they’d met, the first time the brooding bitterness left his face, leaving him darkly handsome. Devastatingly attractive. And, holy cow, was that a dimple at the edge of his lips?

Her heart seemed to stop for a split second, then a sweet, tingling feeling rippled through her body, turning her warm and full and wonderfully alive.

She wanted to reach across the table and trace the sharp lines of his finely sculpted mouth. Were the chiseled marble planes cold, or hot as the passion they promised? If she kissed him…oh, my, if she kissed him…would his firm lips feel hard with demand, or soft with seduction?

He was studying her intently, too, the feathery lines bracketing his eyes and mouth momentarily smoothed out. Finally he said in a whisper-soft voice, “Thank you.”

“That’s okay. It’s the least I could do.” She could barely speak over her wildly beating pulse.