Page 33 of Frankly, My Dear

“I don’t know, my little putain,” he said coldly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “But I have ways to find out, don’t I?”

Whimpering, Fleur backed away and cowered in the corner like a frightened kitten. His lip curled with disgust. The spiritless wench who had been his placée these past two years, since her fourteenth birthday, held little appeal for him these days. Thank the Lord she’d borne him no children; it would be that much easier to rid himself of her.

What he wanted was a woman who would fight back when he twisted her arm, who would shriek with outrage at his verbal abuse, who would be a joy to tame.

Like James’s new slut, he thought suddenly. Or his old one.

And that made him even more angry. That bitch Selene had mocked his small stature the first time he’d met her, threatening him with bodily harm, and today she’d mimicked his accent. No woman did that to Victor Baptiste.

She would pay. Oh, oui, she would pay, along with his bastard brother. And soon.

But for now, the timid Fleur would have to suffice. Charging toward his mistress, Victor raised an arm and backhanded her across the cheek. Fleur put the back of her hand up to her bleeding mouth to stifle her cries. She knew better than to scream. Only one time had she screeched out in protest at his touch, and she had been unable to walk for a week.

“Go into the bedchamber and make yourself ready for me,” he ordered.

Fleur merely nodded, backing away from him warily.

“And prepare the ropes,” he added.

“Oh, non, s’il vous plaît, Victor. I will please you today, I promise.”

Victor liked it when she begged for his mercy. Ignoring her pleas, he pointed toward the back of the house. “How is she today?”

“Agitated. She has had no…medicine since yesterday.”

“Good. It is time to wean her from the laudanum. The document is still unfound, and now this new woman has entered James’s life. It is unacceptable that he marry again and beget more heirs. I can wait no longer.” He jerked his head once more toward the back of the house. “She has work to do for me, work that requires a clear head.”

“Against James?”

His eyes shot up with outrage that his placée would dare to ask about his plans.

She immediately realized her mistake. “Pardonnez-moi, I did not mean—”

His nostrils flared angrily. “And the whip, chérie…don’t forget the whip.”

She almost swooned against the door frame, so fierce was her fright, and Victor felt an immediate surge of arousal. It would be a long night of pleasure, he promised himself, and headed toward the back of the cottage to a small hidden room.

At first Victor recoiled at the condition of the body on the pallet. Then he untied the restraints and removed the gag from the wretched woman, softly murmuring, “’Twas for your own good, darling.”

“Oh, thank le bon Dieu, you have finally come. Where is my medicine?” she gasped out.

“Ah, the medicine,” he teased, taking a small vial out of his pocket and holding it out of reach. “I don’t think you deserve it anymore, chérie. I have given you a year and still you have not accomplished our goal.”

“But I tried, Victor. Truly I did, mon couer. Even with my talent for voodoo, James is just too sly for me.”

He threw the brown bottle to the floor and crushed it under his shoe. The eyes of the once beautiful woman rolled madly in her head, and she screamed, coming at him with long-clawed fingers. “I loved you. Damn you, I loved you. Is this my reward?”

With one deft movement of his foot, he tripped her, flipping her back onto the bed, then straddled her weakened body. Over and over, he struck her face and neck and breasts until she was covered with blood and darkening bruises. When her shrieks had died down to mewling sobs, he sat back on his haunches, across her stomach.

“I give you warning, bitch. Ready yourself to return to Bayou Noir and finish the job you started. I give you six weeks—till St. John’s Eve—to get your body restored to its former beauty.”

“I would be beautiful for you again, Victor,” she said softly, gazing up at him with adoration through her swollen eyelids.

His anger flowed out of him then. Truly, this woman was the only one to love him unconditionally, despite his…flaws. His touch turned suddenly tender as he traced a forefinger along her jawline. “Ah, chérie, you know how much I love you. Why do you force me to treat you so?”

She smiled then, a macabre, bloody smile and opened her arms to him. She was ready for him when he slammed his body into her sheath. It was always so with them.

Four days later, Selene and Reba stood on the riverbank in Baton Rouge, watching three huge flatboats, each about fifty feet long, being loaded with all of their supplies.