Winds of the Storm by Beverly Jenkins

their thinking, a mistress was the meal while women like Domino were froth, and therein lay the dilemma. Domino was not froth. No man in his right mind would think that after meeting her. Granted Archer knew next to nothing about her, but what he had experienced in her company he liked. He’d seen the aloof side, the witty side, and had tasted the passion in her kiss. Lord knew he wanted to know and see more but he had a mistress. Archer was not the type of man willing to share a woman. Yes, he’d vowed to somehow make her his, yet the idea of maybe sharing Domino’s charms with half the men in New Orleans did not sit well.
    Looking at his choices logically, Lynette won hands down, but sometimes desire defied logic, he knew. He also knew that Domino’s occupation promoted faithlessness and any man who did not take that into consideration was a fool.
    With that in mind he set aside thoughts of the mysterious madam and turned his attention to the type of Christmas gift he wanted to give to Lynette. He was uncertain, but she’d hinted at a gown she’d seen at an expensive shop that had recently opened, so he decided to meet her there.For all her loveliness, his Lynette was not shy when it came to desiring the best in everything. The more expensive the better seemed to be her motto, but he didn’t mind. One mistress was infinitely cheaper to please than three. Leaving the hotel, he headed up the street. It was a cold December day, but the sun was shining, and the air was fresh off the Mississippi.
    Archer loved New Orleans. He loved the crowds, the sounds, the smells. He stopped and purchased a bouquet of flowers for Lynette from a young flower girl selling blooms out of a cart, then he continued his walk. A funeral procession was moving down the street; behind them was a crowd of people known as the second wave, folks who might or might not have had a connection with the deceased but had joined the family, along with musicians playing a lively tune, to send the soul on its way. Such happenings were common in a city known for loving both music and having a good time. In the rougher parts of town music could be heard spilling from the doorways of gambling halls, brothels, and saloons from dawn to dawn. It had its own distinct sound, one heavily influenced by the varied ancestry of Africa, Haiti, Spain, and France. In New Orleans every celebration had a musical backdrop, whether the event was a birth or a death. As the funeral wound its way out of sight, Archer smiled and headed towards the dress shop where he was to meet Lynette.
    She was already inside when he arrived. There were quite a few other women there aswell, making the shop a bit cramped. Lynette and an older woman he assumed to be either a clerk or the owner were leafing through a book of drawings. The other customers were doing the same. Lynette raised a graceful gloved hand in greeting. He approached, handed her the bouquet, and enjoyed the smile the small token put on her lovely face. “Now, let’s see this gown.”
    Indicating the woman at her side, Lynette said, “First I would like you to meet the owner. Her name is Mrs. Wilma Gray, and she has the most divine designs.”
    Archer nodded. “Mrs. Gray. I’m Archer Le Veq.”
    â€œIt is a pleasure meeting you.”
    â€œLikewise.”
    Wilma then said, “I will leave you to look at patterns. My clerk Ann over there will assist you. I had no idea so many customers would come in at the same time.”
    Archer said, “All businesses should have such problems. You go ahead. We’ll be fine.”
    Just then Zahra, followed by Alfred, swept into Wilma’s dress shop. She noticed that the place suddenly went silent and that every eye was directed her way. She ignored them all, except for the pair of speculative dark eyes belonging to Archer Le Veq. She offered him a short nod, then waited for Wilma to finish helping a customer.
    Lynette frowned.