PHANTOM IN TIME (19 page)

A
slow smile spread across Helene's face. “Well, that would be nice.” She looked
at Bella. “Why don't you go out with him?”

“Helene!”

Jacques
handed Helene the tin. “And make her accept my bonbons.”

Helene
snickered at Jacques. “If she doesn't eat them, I will.” She grabbed Bella's
arm. “Come on, I'll help you find something to wear.”

Bella
dug in her heels. “No!”

Helene
slanted Bella a chiding glance. “Dear, he's not Jack the Ripper, and he will
show you a good time. Go on and have fun.”

Bella
gritted her teeth. “Well, if you really don't want me around tonight . . .”

“Bella,
don't be ridiculous, of course you're welcome,” Helene declared. “I just think
you'll be bored, and will have more fun with Jacques.”

“Tell
her she's
not
welcome to stay,” Jacques pleaded brazenly. “Insist she
step out with me.”

Bella
stared murder at Jacques.

“Well,
Bella?” Helene urged.

She
waved her arms in defeat. “I give up. I can't win against both of you.”

“Splendid,”
said Helene.

“
Très
bien,”
agreed Jacques smugly.

Even
as Bella glowered at him, Helene grabbed her arm and tugged her away. “Come on,
let's get you ready.” To Jacques, she called over her shoulder, “Make yourself
at home, why don't you?”

“Oh,
I will,” he assured her, stepping inside.

As
soon as the two women were safely inside the bedroom, Bella confronted Helene.
“Why are you pushing me to go out with him? If you really want to be alone with
Tommy, you only have to say so. I can make other arrangements.”

With
an apologetic smile, Helene touched Bella's arm. “It's not that simple, dear.
This is your home now, and as I said, you're always welcome here. It's just
that I know you really want to go out with Jacques. I can see it in the way you
look at him.”

Bella
groaned. “Oh, Lord. Is it that obvious?”

“Indeed
it is.”

“Do
you think he knows?” Bella half wailed.

Helene's
eyes glittered with repressed laughter. “Probably. And if I know Jacques
LeFevre, he'll take full advantage of your newfound fascination with him.”

Emotions
churning, Bella began to pace the sun-spotted room. “Oh, I can't do this! I'm
too mortified! You're going to have to tell him I've changed my mind. Besides,
he's a hopeless lecher—”

“Perhaps,
but I have a feeling you may be the girl who can reform him.”

Wide-eyed,
Bella turned to her overly confident friend. “Why do you keep saying that? I'm
petrified I won't be able to save him—that he'll end up murdered by some
woman's jealous husband.”

Helene
headed for the cherry wardrobe. “Oh, Bella, you do run on so. I'm sure the
situation is far from being so dire.”

Bella
laughed dryly. “Not to contradict you, Helene, but I have little faith in the
idea of redeeming hopeless lechers.”

Helene
opened the armoire doors, her voice muffled as she peered inside. “Bella, it's
only dinner. Why not just go, and enjoy yourself?”

Bella
mulled this over. Perhaps if she did go out with Jacques again, she could work
on him a bit more, try to make him see the error of his ways before it was too
late . . . She might even succeed . . . in her dreams!

“I
suppose . . .” she conceded reluctantly.

Helene
clapped her hands. “Good! And I have the perfect frock for you to wear—in here
somewhere!” She sifted through an array of silks, satins, and taffetas.

Bella
eyed her askance. “Nothing too risqué, now. If what you're saying is true,
Jacques has already been amply encouraged. We don't want to inspire the rogue
any more than he's already been—uh, stirred.”

“Oh,
of course not,” Helene agreed solemnly, holding up a fold of emerald-green
satin.

But
Bella was already aware, from the twinkle she'd spotted in Helene's eyes, that
she was being set up—with a vengeance! What's more, she feared she was all too
eager to become vanquished. After all, the heady excitement she felt hardly
stemmed from her desire to redeem a rogue . . .

Chapter Eighteen

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“What
a beautiful steamboat!” Bella exclaimed.

“She
is not nearly as lovely as you are,
ma belle,”
replied Jacques.

Half
an hour later, Bella and Jacques had arrived at the levee. Holding hands, they
climbed the ramp to the majestic
Bayou Belle.
A number of formally
dressed ladies and gentlemen had already gathered on the main deck above them,
and the sounds of laughter and gay conversation spilled down. The summer heat
was relieved by a soothing evening breeze.

Glancing
around, Bella viewed a wharf lined with many vessels ranging from fishing boats
to barges to oceangoing ships, and docks cluttered with wagons, barrels, bags,
and bails of cotton; a scrawny, scarred tomcat foraged for mice among discarded
produce crates. From the levee behind them, she could hear a group of sailors
laughing over their dice and beer, amid the strains of “Camptown Races” being
droned out on a harmonica. Seagulls swooped along the docks and swarmed over
shrimp boats out in the Mississippi; the air smelled heavily of fish and the
river. Ahead of them to the west, the sun was setting, emblazoning the watery
horizon with a golden glow.

Bella
was enthralled by the huge three-decked stern wheeler, with its yards and yards
of lacy white railings and quaint steam stacks. She was aware that Jacques,
however, had eyes only for her. Helene had outfitted her in a slinky
emerald-green dress with a low-cut neck, white puffed sleeves, and a lace
overskirt; she wore elbow-length white gloves, a pearl choker, and matching
earrings. Her hair was piled in curls on top of her head, the coiffure
embellished by a snowy white ostrich plume.

Her
effect on Jacques was powerful, she knew. Back at Helene's, when she had
stepped out of the bedroom, the intense look in his eyes had taken her breath
away. His gaze had been riveted on her ever since, and his hand gripped hers
with possessive strength as they climbed the ramp. Much as she hadn't wanted to
encourage him, she couldn't deny that she was deeply thrilled that he found her
so exciting.

On
the main deck, Jacques handed their tickets to a smiling black porter.
“Evenin’, Mr. LeFevre,” the man called.

“Evening,
Abner,” replied Jacques.

They
continued down a companionway, past couples sipping champagne at the railing.
Jacques ushered Bella through open double doors into the grand saloon of the
steamer, and she gasped at the opulence stretching before her. Lavishly dressed
ladies and gentlemen sat at elegant tables set with the finest linens, china,
and crystal. Black stewards in white uniforms moved about bearing trays laden
with succulent delights. A striking pink-and-blue floral carpet covered the
floor, and gas chandeliers glittered overhead. At one end of the saloon, a
number of gentlemen were smoking cigars and playing cards at small tables
fronting a platform stage; nearby, a black pianist played the sentimental
strains of “Kentucky Babe.”

“Oh,
Jacques, it's lovely!” she cried.

Removing
his hat, he touched the tip of her nose. “I aim to please you,
ma belle.
And to see your lovely eyes shining with joy, your face glowing with happiness,
delights me beyond description.”

Bella
could not believe his brazen flirting. “You're just buttering me up for the
kill, aren't you?” she bantered back.

“But
of course,” he admitted unabashedly, eyeing her with pulse-quickening fervor.

A
steward stepped up, took Jacques's hat, and escorted them to their table near
the center of the saloon. Bella heard the steamboat's whistle blow and felt the
subtle motion of the stern-wheeler as it paddled away from the dock.

In
his typically extravagant manner, Jacques ordered champagne, crabmeat crepes,
oysters on the half shell, crawfish bisque
,
broiled redfish, cherries
jubilee, and cafe brûlot
.
He watched with particular fascination as
Bella removed her long gloves. Over hors d'oeuvres, he kept refilling Bella's
champagne glass as he plied her with scintillating conversation.

“You
look so beautiful tonight
, ma belle,”
he murmured, offering her an
oyster in its shell. “How am I going to keep my hands off you?”

“Don't
worry. If your hands can't resist temptation, I'll slap them,” she rejoined
sweetly, raising the shell and downing an oyster.

Jacques
laughed heartily and poured her more champagne. “Tell me, Bella, what made you
decide to come out with me tonight?”

She
emitted a sound of outrage. “What made
me
decide? Why, you and Helene
practically forced me.”

“Forced
you?” he repeated in disbelief. “But you are hardly a helpless wilting violet,
Bella. Indeed, you are very strong-willed, I must say. We could not have
twisted your arm if you were not a little willing.”

“Perhaps,”
she conceded demurely, sipping her champagne.

“Then
you like me a little,” he teased.

“A
little,” she agreed, fighting a smile. “Though I still fear we have nothing in
common.”

He
glanced at her sharply. “Nothing? Did we not both thoroughly enjoy our kisses
last night?”

She
harrumphed. “You would reduce things to such a level.”

“What
other level is there?” he inquired innocently.

Bella
could only shake her head. “What I mean is, you are very outgoing, Jacques,
very charming, the life of the party. I am much more reserved.”

He
reached out to touch her hand. “But why would I want a woman to steal the show
from me?”

Bella
was quiet for a moment, remembering how her grandfather had pursued her
grandmother for these same reasons. “But you want a woman to
share
the
show with you, don’t you?” she countered in all seriousness.

“To share,
yes, but not to dominate or eclipse me.”

She
studied his face closely. “Do you want a woman
you
can dominate, then?”

“Not
exactly,” he replied with a thoughtful frown. “I want a woman I can mold.”

She
smiled.

“What
is so amusing?”

Recklessly,
Bella replied, “I have a feeling when you say 'mold,' Mr. LeFevre, you mean
mold against you.”

He
chuckled. “You're a very perceptive girl.” He sat back in his chair and
regarded her with admiration. “You know, Bella, as I told you last night, a man
likes to do the pursuing. As for a demure creature such as yourself—I like your
reticence. It's enticing. There's a certain air of mystery about you that is
very seductive.”

Bella
felt intrigued. “Mystery? What do you mean?”

Devilment
gleamed in his eyes. “Such as where you came from, your secret past.”

“What
secret past?” she asked, indignant. “I thought I explained all that last
night.”

“Not
very well,” he replied, fighting laughter. “Any lady who makes the bizarre
appearance you did at the opera house must be running from something.”

As
he waited for her response with an eyebrow cynically raised, Bella mused that
he was certainly no one's fool. But how could she hope to make him understand
that she'd unwittingly been running from a life she'd established a century away?

She
felt relieved by the reappearance of the steward, who stopped by to deposit
their main courses. She glanced down at the broiled redfish and took a whiff of
the succulent spices. “Oh, this looks divine.”

“And
you're avoiding my questions, darling.”

At
the word “darling,” spoken so seductively, Bella glanced quickly at Jacques,
and when he winked at her, she all but dissolved. Oh, he was far too sexy a
scoundrel, far too skilled at penetrating her defenses—and she was doubtless
getting in over her head.

“Perhaps,
in time, I can tell you more,” she replied breathlessly, raising her fork.

“Fair
enough,” he agreed. “And remember something, Bella. We're more alike than you
may think.”

“How
so?”

His intense
expression seemed to bore right through her, making clear his intent. “Both of
us are very determined, very strong willed. I want you, and you are determined
to resist. But whose will do you think will triumph in the end, eh,
ma
petite?”

Bella
was feeling far too titillated by his wooing, and not at all sure she would
triumph over his determination—or even wanted to. Nonetheless, she replied with
bravado, “I think you haven't a chance, M'sieur LeFevre.”

He
laughed heartily. “Oh, Bella. I knew you were a spirited creature . . . but I
never knew you were self-deceived.”

“Self-deceived?
Oh!” Incensed, she almost threw a spoon at him, but relented at the look of
tender amusement on his face.

 During
the rest of the meal, Jacques continued to ply Bella with champagne and
suggestive repartee. By the time several girls in risqué red satin costumes and
plumed headdresses appeared on the stage, Bella was feeling quite lighthearted.
The chorus girls formed a line and danced the cancan to “Streets of Cairo,” brazenly
flaunting their white petticoats and long legs encased in black fishnet
stockings.

After
watching the dance for a few moment, Jacques grinned at Bella. “You are
enjoying yourself,
ma belle?”

“Oh,
yes. The food is divine, and so is the music.”

“What
about the company?”

She
wrinkled her nose at him. “There I'll reserve judgment.”

He
flashed her a rueful look. “So you still haven't forgiven me for today?”

Bella
turned serious. “Jacques, have you ever considered the consequences of toying
with so many feminine hearts?”

“But
I do not toy!” he protested.