Page 6 of Frankly, My Dear

“Protector? Did you say something about protectors?”

“Oui. Why do you think these wealthy men come to the Quadroon Balls? For the glacés—those ridiculous fruit ices? Or the excellent music? Hah! And did you think all these doting mamas were going to allow their precious daughters to give their favors away?”

“Quad…Quadroon Balls?” she choked out, and goose bumps erupted all over her body. To her chagrin, she saw the dark stranger staring boldly at a few of them. His darkening eyes and flared nostrils belied his earlier lack of interest.

A thought occurred to her then, which she immediately dismissed.

But it wouldn’t go away.

“What year is this?” she asked hesitantly, holding her breath.

At first the man’s eyes widened with surprise. Then he cocked his head and curved his lips into a mirthless smile. “Eighteen forty-five.”

Chapter Two

Selene reeled dizzily for a moment and reached for a nearby column to steady her composure. The fine hairs all over her body raised an alarm of acknowledgment to what she’d already unconsciously surmised. “No, that’s impossible! It’s nineteen ninety-six. It has to be. This must be a dream, or a nightmare.”

“Nineteen ninety-six! Oh, really!” He looked at her as if she’d just escaped from an asylum. Then understanding seemed to dawn. “Ah, let me guess your game. You don’t really have any Negro blood, and you’re here at the Quadroon Ball by mistake. You’re actually a white woman who’s lost and needs someone to help her find her way home. Perhaps you had a blow to the head, or you suffer some illness that makes you forget your name or where you live.”

“No, you’re wrong. I am white, and I know exactly who I am. I’m Sandra Selente, but people call me Selene.”

“Selene! Hah! You even have a colored name.”

“What? You’re crazy. There’s no such thing as a ‘colored name.’ Anyhow, I live in New York City. I was visiting New Orleans for a photo shoot and—”

“Stop this nonsense right now, darlin’. Whether you try to pass matters not to me, but don’t ask for my help. And take my advice, my friend, no one will believe your pretty drama. Especially with this hair,” he said, leaning forward and rubbing the edges of her frizzed hair between his fingers with slow suggestiveness.

For one tantalizing, dizzying second, the man held her eyes, magnetically, and Selene felt a wonderful aura of heightened sensuality surround them, like a celestial cloud. He was so close, Selene felt his breath against her cheek. She had to fight the inclination to lean into his hand. “It’s a permanent wave my hairdresser insisted would go well with this gown,” Selene tried to explain in a wavering voice, disconcerted by her attraction to him.

“And those lips! Mon Dieu!” he added, grazing the pad of his thumb across their fullness with shocking familiarity.

She unthinkingly put her fingertips to her lips to savor the delicious tingling that lingered even after he removed his hand. “Collagen injections,” she muttered in explanation.

“And those dark eyes,” he whispered huskily, his eyes locking with hers in an intimate embrace.

“Contact lenses,” she said weakly.

He didn’t even bother to ask what she meant, his attention already moving to another part of her body. “Not to mention your dark skin,” he continued in a low, silky voice as he outrageously skimmed the tops of her breasts with the knuckles of one hand.

Her nipples peaked from his slight caress, and Selene was too stunned even to tell him that her suntan would eventually fade. Panic rippled through her at her uncharacteristic response to this man. Even in the beginning, Devon had never seared her with his touch, or a mere glance, as this handsome gentleman did.

Who was he? What was happening to her?

It was probably one of those erotic dreams some people had, which she’d never experienced herself. Rather wicked, she had to admit. And delightful.

Meanwhile, the man just continued talking. “So, with all those things, chérie, there’s no way you are going to pass,” he concluded huskily. “Not even if you’ve had some schooling, as your speech indicates.”

“Schooling? Well, I’ve only had one year of college, but—”

“Really? You attended college?” He looked at her with new interest, asking hesitantly, “Hmmm. Are you perchance qualified to teach young children?” Then he waved his hand in the air as if it didn’t matter and he regretted asking the question.

“No, I have no teaching credentials. I’m a fashion model.”

He looked slightly disappointed, then concluded, “Well, then, bonne chance! I wish you much success tonight. May you find a man willing to overlook your age…and height…and thin body.”

Selene stiffened.

“But, in truth, I think you may succeed,” he admitted with a grudging nod. “Your breasts are…impressive.”