Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie Read online

  Copyright © 2012 by Samantha Grace

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration by Aleta Rafton

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  An excerpt from Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Heather, my fellow Lady Scribe and dear friend. You say there’s just one thing I like about you, but that’s untrue. Why, the list has at least three items on it. Okay, two and a half. (You know I’m teasing.) Thanks for the late-night brainstorming, pep talks, and virtual head-smacks. I can’t imagine this journey without you, nor would I want to. Much love!

  One

  New Orleans

  June 20, 1818

  Grandmamma had always said nothing good happened under the cloak of darkness. The witching hour was ripe with men practicing their evil. Therefore, it was with much trepidation that Lisette Lavigne huddled together with her younger brother and cousin in the shadowy gardens of Passebon House, praying the night would conceal their escape from the wickedest of men, her betrothed.

  The coarse language of Louis Reynaud’s men carried on the sluggish air. They made no attempt to hide their presence outside the gate of her father’s Vieux Carré home, and hadn’t since their arrival two days earlier. The men had even followed her on a shopping excursion to Rue Royale earlier in the day, confirming her suspicions. Her betrothed sensed she no longer wished to marry him, and he had no intentions of releasing her from their agreement.

  Her brother shifted and whimpered softly. Hiding in the gardens rather than being tucked into bed at this hour would disturb any child, but to one with Rafe’s temperament, a fit of temper could ensue at any moment.

  Their cousin, Serafine Vistoire, placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. “There, there, sweet child,” she murmured. “Look for your stars.”

  Rafe rocked side to side as he searched the star-splattered sky, soothing himself, at least for the time being.

  The deafening trill of cicadas pierced the night, their ever-rising call tweaking Lisette’s taut nerves. She forced herself to slow her breathing.

  “Where are they?” Lisette whispered. “Monsieur Baptiste said midnight.”

  Serafine nodded. The whites of her eyes stood out in the darkness.

  What if they didn’t come? The wedding was in two days. This would be their only chance to flee. Lisette’s fingers tightened on her bombazine skirts until her knuckles ached.

  “Good evening, messieurs.” A throaty laugh floated on the heavy air, the call of a temptress. Relief flooded through Lisette. The distraction had arrived at last.

  “Sacre bleu!” one of the men yelped. “Are ya seeing what I see?”

  “Whores. Whatta they doing here?”

  “Perfect night to take exercise,” one of the women purred. “Wouldn’t you agree, gents?”

  Her companion chuckled, her voice heavy with seductive promise. “Oui. Two virile messieurs like you must take exercise often.”

  Reynaud’s man uttered a combination of unspeakable words that might have impressed Lisette under different circumstances, for he excelled at the art of vulgarity. She considered herself an expert, having developed an ear for inappropriate language while visiting Papa at the waterfront.

  Rafe wiggled, his control nearing the limits.

  Sweet Mary. This had best work, and quickly.

  “Just for a bit? S’il vous plaît.”

  “Damn,” one of the guards muttered. “I’m gonna hate myself for this, but we can’t leave our posts.”

  Really, the man’s integrity was shocking. How did one go about locating such upstanding criminals?

  “May I share a secret, mister?”

  “I s’ppose. What kind of secret?”

  “As your friend implied, a pair of whores do not happen by on a lark. Perhaps you should think of us as a reward for a job well done.”

  “Reynaud sent you?”

  Lisette held her breath as she waited for the woman’s response.

  “Shh. ’Tis a secret, remember?”

  Both men chuckled as if they couldn’t believe their good fortune. And anyone with sense would know better. Lisette was barely acquainted with her betrothed, and yet she understood he did nothing that benefitted anyone aside from himself.

  “Ain’t no harm in exercise, right?”

  “Splendid. This way, sir, where we may enjoy some privacy.”

  “What about here? In the garden.”

  Lisette froze like a rabbit that had spotted the family pet. If the women led them through the gate, she and her family would be discovered. Frantic, she searched for a place to retreat among the potted flowers and garden statues.

  “Flowers make me sneeze, monsieur. But I know a better spot for amorous sport.”

  Their voices faded as they moved away from the house.

  Lisette crept from their hiding place and slung the bag of their belongings over her shoulder. “We must go quickly.”

  Seeing no one else outside on the walk, she pushed open the gate and captured her brother’s hand. Dressed in all black to blend with the night, they headed toward the wharf.

  No one spoke as they crossed Rue de Chartres. Moss draped like gauze from the gnarled limbs of the trees as they drew closer to the river.

  Rafe dragged on her arm, forcing Lisette to stop. “I want to go home.”

  She reassuringly squeezed his hand and urged him forward. “But we have a surprise for you, remember?”

  “I want to go home.”

  Serafine tugged his other arm. “Not now, ma biche. We must hurry.”

  Rafe had maintained excellent control up to this point, donning black clothing despite his abhorrence of the color and kneeling in the garden where dirt might soil his hands. Expecting anything more from him seemed unfair, but they required his cooperation now more than ever.

&
nbsp; Lisette crouched at his level. “Shall I reveal the surprise now? We are sailing on a ship.”

  “A ship?” A twinge of interest colored his voice.

  “Yes, a majestic ship called the Cecily. We must sleep close to the port for we cannot miss our ship.”

  “Cannot miss the Cecily.” Rafe resumed his measured strides. “Baltimore flyer, clipper, frigate, Indiaman.” He recited the types of ships he knew with a note of excitement.

  She had handled her brother without much difficulty this time. Now if only they could enter The Abyss without drawing notice. Reynaud had nefarious connections all over New Orleans, and hiding among the derelict of the city was a risky endeavor. What manner of man must the captain of the Cecily be to commune with petty thieves and cutthroats?

  Lisette forced her concerns to the edges of her consciousness. Captain Hillary’s ship was the only ship departing for England and provided the sole means of protecting her brother. Nothing would deter her when it came to keeping Rafe safe.

  ***

  Captain Daniel Hillary loved two simple pleasures in life: a woman’s supple curves beneath his body and his Indiaman with sails unfurled, forging through the ocean waves. But damn it to hell, women and the sea didn’t mix, and based upon Paulina’s determined eyes staring up at him, he was in for a row.

  Why she chose to make her request before they had taken their pleasure was beyond him. They were still wearing their clothes, for the love of God.

  He rolled off his handsome mistress and flopped to his back. “I don’t allow women aboard the Cecily. End of discussion.”

  Paulina lifted to her elbow and frowned down at him. Her mussed chestnut hair made her appear as if she’d already been tumbled, increasing his discomfort. “That is untrue. What of the beautiful blond woman?”

  “She’s my brother’s intended. I can’t leave her in New Orleans.” He reached for Paulina, but she jerked back. “I’ll leave more money this time. You will never know I’m gone.”

  She leaned over to nip his earlobe then trailed kisses down his neck. This was more like it. “It—is—not—the—money—I—want.” She spoke between pecks, unwilling to abandon the topic after all.

  Daniel sighed. Paulina resided in luxury. She would not forfeit her comfort for weeks on a bloody ship, which meant she had another objective. He lifted her chin to look at him.

  “Tell me what you want, and don’t insult my intelligence by claiming you only want me.”

  He was aware of her other gentlemen benefactors, even if she believed herself discreet. His connections kept him abreast of the happenings in New Orleans, and the reports on Paulina’s indiscretions could keep him occupied for the better part of a day. If he cared to listen.

  She sat back on her haunches and pushed out her bottom lip. “Don’t you want to be with me all the time?”

  He linked his fingers behind his head. Paulina was a talented woman who knew how to please him, but he didn’t want to be with her all the time. He didn’t wish to be with any woman all the time, not after Cecily.

  “I’m content with our arrangement.” He didn’t bother to tread lightly with her sensibilities.

  As he expected, no hurt crossed Paulina’s face, only irritation. “Very well, but I would like some security. You spend more time in England than here now. I don’t enjoy your protection as I once did. Nor do you bring me beautiful trinkets as in the beginning. I am not getting any younger, Daniel. My beauty will fade and my prospects will dwindle. I need to know I won’t end up in the streets.”

  He cocked a brow. “This isn’t your attempt at proposing marriage, I hope.”

  “You mock me.” She crawled toward the edge of the bed.

  “Wait.” Grasping her around the waist, he pulled her back.

  Paulina had been an accommodating mistress these last two years. He supposed he could fulfill one of her wishes, if they could get on with other matters.

  “Tell me what you really want, my dear, and dispatch with the theatrics.”

  She turned in his embrace, victory shining in the depths of her brown eyes. “There is a house I fancy. I wish you to purchase it in my name.”

  “A house?”

  He glanced around the exquisite boudoir with the Turkish carpet, gilded mirrors, and silk curtains, all gifts he had given her. Not to mention that horrendous ruby amulet she draped around her neck, the fruits of her last sulk. It was a wonder she didn’t walk hunched over from the weight.

  When he had offered his protection, her home had required an extensive remodeling. He could ascertain no good reason to fund a different residence. “There’s nothing wrong with this one.”

  She scooted to the far edge of the bed out of his reach and crossed her arms. “It is too small. In fact, the lack of space troubles me to the point where I fear I cannot perform my duties this evening.” She tossed a sultry look over her shoulder. “A simple promise from you, however, would ease my mind.”

  Her petulant behavior was growing tiresome. Too tiresome. They had been through similar pouts when he’d last visited.

  “Very well,” he conceded, “then we shall consider our affair settled.”

  Paulina’s eyes widened. “Pardon? Settled in what way?”

  He climbed from the bed and fastened his trousers, no longer interested in satisfying his lust with her. “My man of business will complete the transaction.” He shrugged on his waistcoat before grabbing his boots and jacket. “Consider the house your severance. Your services are no longer required.”

  Paulina gaped, frozen to the spot on the bed. “But, Daniel. You cannot—oh, Daniel, don’t, please.” She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

  He stood there in awkward silence while she sobbed. Devil take it. What was he to do now? After all, she might genuinely hold a tendre for him.

  Daniel took a step forward, prepared to offer a retraction, but Paulina chose that moment to peek at him.

  Her dry eyes sent a flood of indignation rattling through his veins. Was there a bloody woman alive who didn’t use tears to advance her agenda?

  “Do give my best to Anderson and Molyneux.” Plopping his hat on his head, he spun on his heel and stalked from the premises with no intentions of ever looking back.

  Two

  Lisette, Rafe, and Serafine reached the safety of the rented room above the tavern mere moments before a sharp rap sounded at the door. Lisette’s heart jumped into her throat. Ruffians wouldn’t bother knocking, would they?

  There was another soft rap. “Mademoiselle, I have the blanket ye requested. Ye must take it now.”

  The feminine voice eased Lisette’s fears only slightly. She looked toward Serafine as her cousin tucked Rafe into bed. He turned on his side and curled into a ball.

  “One moment.” Lisette searched the sparse room for a makeshift weapon. Snatching up the fire poker propped against the hearth, she returned to the door. “A blanket, you say?”

  “Aye, madame. The one ye requested.”

  Whatever was she talking about? It was the middle of summer. No one in her right mind asked for blankets in this suffocating heat.

  “You must be mistaken.” She raised the iron bar overhead, prepared to defend her family if this was a ruse, and jerked the door open.

  “Lord have mercy!” The tavern wench dropped the blanket and clutched her chest.

  Lisette shoved her aside and looked both ways down the corridor with the poker at the ready. There were no hulking figures lurking in the shadows as she had feared. No threats of any kind.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Stepping back into the room, Lisette lowered the poker and grasped the young woman’s arm before she could gather her wits to flee. She held out the implement with a bashful lift of her shoulders. “Perhaps you know how to build a fire?”

  The young woman shrank back, refusing to take the poker. “It’s the middle of summer, ma’am.”

  Now she wanted to take issue with the season. “Of course, you’re ri
ght. What am I thinking?” Lisette pretended to knock some sense into her head. It was better to have the wench think her dotty than dangerous. “Please, come inside.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and sidestepped into the room rather than turning her back. “Ye wanted to know when Captain Hillary was back. He’s below stairs, but I can’t promise how long he’ll be there.”

  Lisette glanced down at her mourning attire. She had wished to change before their meeting. Well, there was no help for it. She couldn’t afford to miss him or their departure on the morrow. Monsieur Baptiste met with the captain earlier and negotiated their fare, but Lisette had received no details from the meeting. With Reynaud’s men guarding her and her family, Monsieur Baptiste must have determined the risk was too high to send a messenger.

  Lisette followed the young woman into the corridor. At the landing, she pressed a coin into the wench’s palm, reconsidered her rash behavior in the room, and offered her two more. “For your excellent service, mademoiselle.”

  The woman smiled. “Thank ye, ma’am.”

  It was the least Lisette could do. Employment might be in her future if they were unable to locate Serafine’s brother in England. But she would work herself into an early grave if need be. Rafe would never be at Reynaud’s mercy as long as she was still breathing.

  “You must accompany me below and point out the captain,” Lisette said.

  The wench led her down the staircase. “He ain’t easy to mistake, ma’am. He’s the most handsome of the lot.”

  At the bottom of the staircase, Lisette retreated to the dim edges of the room and scanned the crowded tavern in bemusement. She and the tavern wench apparently had different definitions of handsome, for Lisette would never categorize any of the filthy patrons as pleasing to the eye.

  A movement from the corner of the room caught her attention, and she turned just as a striking man pushed through the assembly of riffraff, parting the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea. His wild, dark hair stuck up at angles, and his sculpted jaw boasted a deep flush.

  The wench nudged Lisette. “There he is, ma’am.”

  “Oh,” she said on a wisp of breath.