Page 29 of Frankly, My Dear

“What now?”

Selene clenched her fists at her side, forcing herself to calm down and not smack James, as she’d like to do. Where was that fan she’d just bought in the mercantile?

“You’re creating a spectacle of yourself—the very thing you promised not to do,” James pointed out matter-of-factly.

She looked around. Sure enough, men and women strolling through the wide central rotunda watched them with open interest.

Selene probably would have exercised more caution if she hadn’t seen amusement flickering at the edges of James’s lips, that maddening dimple struggling to emerge. He was laughing silently at her. The lunkhead! She raised both hands into claws and advanced on him.

Recognizing her intent, James grabbed her wrists and pulled her into a corridor off the main lobby, and then into a private courtyard for hotel guests. Lush tropical plants created a cool oasis around the softly bubbling fountain with its dolphin centerpiece.

He shoved her down into an ornate wrought-iron settee, then slouched into a matching high-backed chair. He sat so close his knees almost touched hers. Selene whisked her skirts aside in exaggerated distaste and edged away.

He moved his chair even closer, just to annoy her.

She shifted herself over to the other side of the settee.

He and his chair followed.

James raised a brow as if daring her to move again.

She looked to the right, into the fountain. She had no place else to go.

Stretching his long legs out straight, he crossed them at the ankles and arrogantly rested his shoes on the settee next to her.

“You are so childish.”

“And you are so mature? Now tell me, what’s all this fury of yours about this time?”

“Slaves…that’s what. You’re buying slaves,” she accused, glaring at him.

Exhaling wearily, he folded his long fingers tent-like in front of his mouth, but she could see his lips tighten into an angry line and his blue eyes glitter icily.

“Oui, I am.”

There was no one else in the courtyard, and silence sounded like a death knell between them. It seemed to go on forever.

“That’s all? No explanation? Good heavens,” she cried on a sob. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Why would you think so? I own fifteen thousand arpents of land, most of it in sugarcane. One hundred slaves…yes, slaves…work my fields. Were you thinking I planted and harvested the cane alone? Or used voodoo magic instead of a plow?”

“No, but—”

“Let me guess, there are no slaves in your land.”

“That’s right,” she snapped, “but never doubt that it’s the same land—the United States of America. It’s just another time.”

“Hah! Pop another eyeball and maybe I’ll believe that.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter where or when you’ve come from. Just know this, sweetheart, if you dare to preach abolitionist words in public, you will not only find yourself in prison, but hanging from a lynchman’s rope, as well.”

“That might very well be, but in my time—”

“And no more prattling this time-travel nonsense. I’ve had your fantasies up to here,” he said, slashing his neck.

A huge lump formed in Selene’s throat at his coldness. “I thought you were different, James,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I sensed somehow that you and I were—”

“What?” he snapped. When her face heated with embarrassment, he hooted with derision, “Sacrebleu! Just like a woman! One bloody kiss and she’s baking the wedding cake.”

“Oh, you egomaniac! I never said I wanted to marry you.”