hear his purring as she stroked him gently. Like Lafitte, Yvette
seemed to have drawn into herself, for she neither looked at him nor
said a word in answer.
Gabe sat on the berth’s edge, as he had before. Remembering their
kiss, he felt a strong ripple of desire, but once again he reminded
himself that Seth was right. Nothing good could come of a relationship
with a Southern woman.
If he had any sense, he’d leave now. He’d done the gentlemanly
thing by offering to listen. That freed him of his obligation, didn’t it?
Just as he’d decided to get up, Yvette took a deep breath. “All right,
Monsieur Davis. I accept the offer of your ears.”
Without further prelude, she began. “Captain Russell is an
evil man.”
He stared at her, studying the way her gaze kept flicking from one
door to the other, as if her words might conjure up the appearance of
her enemy. Though she had paused, he said nothing, sensing that if he,
too, quickly filled the silence, she would not continue.
Yvette’s gaze lost its wariness, and her brows beetled with
anger. “He has used this war for his own profit— and, worse yet,
we let him.”
“Who do you mean, we?” Gabe ventured.
“The Creole families of New Orleans, at least the ones who took the
oath. You may not know this, but when the Yankees captured our city,
men like my father were given a choice: swear loyalty to the Union or
lose their businesses, their homes . . . everything.”
He tried to imagine his own father faced with such a difficult
decision. With his wife and daughters to support, even Flint
Maxwell Davis might be forced to swallow back his pride.
Yvette continued. “My father was one who chose the oath, but it
made him unpopular, even in our home, I’m afraid. So when Captain
Russell came along, casting himself as a better sort than the other
Union officers, Papa took him up on his offer of friendship. Russell
beguiled Papa with his talk of operas and French literature. And I
believe, after a time, that he began offering my father advice of a
financial sort.”
She shook her head, and her hazel eyes flashed anger. “Papa barely
seemed to notice how one Creole family after another was falling into
ruin—every one of whom had some association with this man or his
friend Major Stolz.”
“Sometimes we see only what we wish to,” Gabe offered, but he
was wondering how many on both sides had used this war to steal.
“Captain Russell even convinced Papa he had honorable
intentions toward my sister, Marie,” Yvette continued. “And
Papa encouraged the relationship, though he well knew no
decent Creole man would ever offer for Marie if it was learned
she’d entertained a Yankee caller.”
Bitterness edged Yvette’s words. Perhaps it made her head ache,
too, for she raised her hand from Lafitte to press her thumb and
forefinger just above each eyebrow. The kitten rose, arched his back,
and yawned, his pink mouth contrasting with his tiny ivory fangs.
Gabe looked away in hopes the kitten would keep to its own place.
“We have a saying in the Quarter,” Yvette continued. “Chacun sait ce
qui bout dans son chaudron. ‘Everyone knows what boils in his own pot’
is the translation, but we use it to mean there are no secrets within
society. Marie’s secret didn’t last long, so of course the only proper
thing to do was see the couple wed. Even Maman, who hates Yankees
more than a dog hates fleas, could see the necessity of that. Everyone
could . . . except for me.”
Gabe almost felt sorry for the captain. Little as he knew of Yvette,
he suspected she could be a formidable adversary. The kitten leapt
from her lap and rubbed across Gabe’s lower legs.
“I mentioned how many families Captain Russell had befriended
who had so suddenly fallen on hard times, but Papa was quite taken
with him all the same. Still, I wondered more and more about the
man. I suspected he was meeting Marie in secret, spending time
alone with her, yet he did not offer for her hand. I . . . I
seemed to have drawn into herself, for she neither looked at him nor
said a word in answer.
Gabe sat on the berth’s edge, as he had before. Remembering their
kiss, he felt a strong ripple of desire, but once again he reminded
himself that Seth was right. Nothing good could come of a relationship
with a Southern woman.
If he had any sense, he’d leave now. He’d done the gentlemanly
thing by offering to listen. That freed him of his obligation, didn’t it?
Just as he’d decided to get up, Yvette took a deep breath. “All right,
Monsieur Davis. I accept the offer of your ears.”
Without further prelude, she began. “Captain Russell is an
evil man.”
He stared at her, studying the way her gaze kept flicking from one
door to the other, as if her words might conjure up the appearance of
her enemy. Though she had paused, he said nothing, sensing that if he,
too, quickly filled the silence, she would not continue.
Yvette’s gaze lost its wariness, and her brows beetled with
anger. “He has used this war for his own profit— and, worse yet,
we let him.”
“Who do you mean, we?” Gabe ventured.
“The Creole families of New Orleans, at least the ones who took the
oath. You may not know this, but when the Yankees captured our city,
men like my father were given a choice: swear loyalty to the Union or
lose their businesses, their homes . . . everything.”
He tried to imagine his own father faced with such a difficult
decision. With his wife and daughters to support, even Flint
Maxwell Davis might be forced to swallow back his pride.
Yvette continued. “My father was one who chose the oath, but it
made him unpopular, even in our home, I’m afraid. So when Captain
Russell came along, casting himself as a better sort than the other
Union officers, Papa took him up on his offer of friendship. Russell
beguiled Papa with his talk of operas and French literature. And I
believe, after a time, that he began offering my father advice of a
financial sort.”
She shook her head, and her hazel eyes flashed anger. “Papa barely
seemed to notice how one Creole family after another was falling into
ruin—every one of whom had some association with this man or his
friend Major Stolz.”
“Sometimes we see only what we wish to,” Gabe offered, but he
was wondering how many on both sides had used this war to steal.
“Captain Russell even convinced Papa he had honorable
intentions toward my sister, Marie,” Yvette continued. “And
Papa encouraged the relationship, though he well knew no
decent Creole man would ever offer for Marie if it was learned
she’d entertained a Yankee caller.”
Bitterness edged Yvette’s words. Perhaps it made her head ache,
too, for she raised her hand from Lafitte to press her thumb and
forefinger just above each eyebrow. The kitten rose, arched his back,
and yawned, his pink mouth contrasting with his tiny ivory fangs.
Gabe looked away in hopes the kitten would keep to its own place.
“We have a saying in the Quarter,” Yvette continued. “Chacun sait ce
qui bout dans son chaudron. ‘Everyone knows what boils in his own pot’
is the translation, but we use it to mean there are no secrets within
society. Marie’s secret didn’t last long, so of course the only proper
thing to do was see the couple wed. Even Maman, who hates Yankees
more than a dog hates fleas, could see the necessity of that. Everyone
could . . . except for me.”
Gabe almost felt sorry for the captain. Little as he knew of Yvette,
he suspected she could be a formidable adversary. The kitten leapt
from her lap and rubbed across Gabe’s lower legs.
“I mentioned how many families Captain Russell had befriended
who had so suddenly fallen on hard times, but Papa was quite taken
with him all the same. Still, I wondered more and more about the
man. I suspected he was meeting Marie in secret, spending time
alone with her, yet he did not offer for her hand. I . . . I
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