Page 90 of Frankly, My Dear

Blossom eyed her condemningly before adding, “From Marie Laveau.”

Selene’s heart skipped a beat, then thundered loudly in her ears. Oh, no! Not now! Ms. Laveau said she would send the doll, with instructions, when the time was right. Could the time be right, now?

She looked up at James, who was glaring at her with equal parts anger that she’d deliberately brought voodoo magic into his home, and pain that she’d spun a web of seduction around him this morning, knowing full well she was about to abandon him. He followed after her into the upper entryway of the house where letters had been deposited on a hall table, along with several newspapers and sugar periodicals.

Ignoring the servants who still worked on polishing the brass fireplace andirons and screens with lemon and salt, James grabbed the mail and pulled Selene roughly into the library. With a grunt of disgust, he noted the empty bookshelves and Rose Petal sitting on the floor dusting each tome, one at a time, with a damp cloth.

In a glance, the slave took in James’s livid countenance and departed as fast as her big feet could carry her.

James tossed his mail on the desk unread and shoved Selene’s packet at her. “Open it,” he demanded, a furious tic working at the side of his mouth.

Selene took the silver letter opener James handed her and proceeded slowly, with trepidation. After all, there might be dead toads or something equally repulsive inside.

“Sacrebleu!” James swore when he saw the voodoo doll that Selene pulled out—a miniature dark-haired model of herself in a replica of Phillipe’s ballgown. He reached for it angrily, but Selene held it behind her back, then proceeded to read Ms. Laveau’s letter.

St. John’s Day.

The doll and the seeds.

Stand by the bayou.

Lightning will strike.

One person only into the door.

Beware the evil ghost.

Without speaking, Selene handed the letter to James. He read it quickly, then snapped, “What seeds?”

“Ms. Laveau gave me some seeds the day I visited her. They presumably help in the travel through time.”

“And you kept this information from me?” he asked icily. “When I specifically forbade you to bring any voodoo into my home?”

Selene shifted uncomfortably. “I couldn’t tell you because then I might not ever—”

“—go home,” he finished for her with a whoosh of disgust. Then he threw the letter down on his desk. “Mon Dieu! Right from the beginning, you were plotting to leave. Dabbling in voodoo. Just like Giselle. Do you conspire with Victor, as well?”

“Victor? James, that’s not fair,” she started to say, but her attention was diverted momentarily by a flash of lavender skirts outside the library door. At first she thought someone might have been listening, but then decided it must have been a servant passing. When she looked back at James and saw the closed expression on his face, she knew any further explanations would go unheard. “When is St. John’s Day?” she asked over a lump in her throat.

“June twenty-third.”

She made a quick mental calculation, then brightened slightly. “That means I have six more weeks here.”

“Not here,” he reminded, brushing past her. “You will be long gone from Bayou Noir by then. The note didn’t say you had to stand by this bayou.” He slammed the library door loudly after himself.

The cumulative effect of the morning’s events caught up with her then, and tears streamed down Selene’s face as she clutched the macabre doll to her chest.

Almost as soon as the door had closed, it opened again.

It was James.

He stomped forward, pulled her to him roughly, then bent her over one arm and kissed her. A hard, hungry, mind-shattering kiss. His lips coaxed and commanded. His tongue plundered and seared. Rhett could have taken lessons from this guy.

Time and place swirled in Selene’s befuddled senses, and she didn’t know, or care, that this man in this misplaced time and dangerous place was wrong for her. He felt so right.

When she moaned softly and melted into the kiss with willing fervor, James pulled back slightly. His beautifully firm lips parted, wet from her kiss. His pale eyes grew misty with smoldering passion…for her.

Selene’s blood sang with the beauty of the moment.