Page 102 of Frankly, My Dear

Rising politely as James walked onto the galley, Andrew and Pierce towered over him at six-foot-five at the least. Lord, what do women see in gangly giants like these two?

About thirty years old, both men had sandy brown hair and muddy brown eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. Andrew was thicker in the waist and more bull-like in stature, his muscles honed by hard labor in his sugar fields. Pierce, on the other hand, was lean and wiry with excessively long hair for a man, a rakish mustache, and an equally rakish smile. He probably practices that damned smile in front of a mirror every day. And that wink! Did he just wink at Selene? I’ll kill him.

Pierce clapped a hand on his shoulder. “James, how are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you since I was back here three years ago. So sorry to hear about Giselle.”

James accepted his condolences and nodded toward Andrew in greeting. Then he bent down and took Ellen Collins’s limp hand in his, kissing it in the Creole manner. Dressed in various shades of pink and white, she looked like a sweet confection. “Ellen, chérie, you look lovely, as usual.”

Selene stiffened.

Hah, he thought, seeing her eyes fixed on Ellen’s pale blonde hair, which was parted in the middle and hung in ringlets at the side of her face. With an oozing drawl, he complimented Ellen: “Is that a new hairstyle, dahlin’? I swear you have the most beautiful hair in all the South. Everyone always says it looks like spun gold.”

Ellen simpered coyly, peeking at him over a pink fan.

Selene made a small gagging sound behind him.

He grinned.

“Mère,” he said, leaning down to kiss his mother’s cheek, “how good of you to honor us with your presence…finally.” His mother had refused to leave her room for days in protest over his sending Selene away, and her eyes flashed defiantly at his mild rebuke now.

“James, sit and join us, s’il te plaît,” his mother said, motioning toward the empty seat next to Selene. “You are making an unpleasant shadow in front of me.”

He frowned at his mother’s testy tone. Sensing that it was going to be a long day, he dropped down to a low porch chair, crossing his ankles casually.

Indifferently he took his first good look at Selene. Then immediately looked again. His eyes almost bugged out.

Selene had taken infinite care with her appearance, employing all the makeup at her disposal. Her skin glowed flawless as warm peaches on a summer day, right down to the expert blush on her cheeks and the hint of color on her full lips. The green in her hazelnut eyes was accentuated by a subtle blending of kohl on the lids and, of course, those blasted spider lashes.

The smooth column of her neck and the pearly shells of her ears appeared almost naked under the graceful arrangement of her hair. She had swept the glossy, dark brown swath up and off her face into a loose knot at the back of her head, with teasing strands dangling about her face.

But the worst part was the dress—no doubt one of his mother’s, altered to fit her like a second skin. The jade silk bodice, edged with cream lace, was cut low in a vee, almost to the exposed cleavage between her magnificent breasts. Its shimmery fabric hugged her from shoulders to waist, then swirled out into a full skirt, which only called attention to her long legs every time she moved in her chair. Unlike Ellen, who wore at least five crinolines, Selene wore only one…if that.

“James, you’re staring,” she admonished him under her breath.

“Damn right I’m staring. What are you wearing under that gown?”

Her eyes held his in challenge. Then she fluttered those ridiculous spiders at him and whispered, “Nothing.”

Nothing? She wouldn’t. Yes, she would. The witch!

He grinned and shook his head incredulously.

“Do I get one point?” she asked sweetly and didn’t need to explain that they were engaged in a contest of wills.

“For that, you get two,” he conceded with a laugh. Looking over at Ellen Collins, he winced at her giggling voice, which grated on his already frazzled nerves as she relayed to his mother the latest exploits of her five-and six-year-old daughters, Celestine and Eglantine. Etienne had taken the little darlings to the schoolroom to show off his E.T. drawings. James half expected to hear the girls shriek anytime now as Etienne also showed them a snake, or an alligator eyeball, or one of his own forbidden body parts.

Misinterpreting his continued stare at Ellen, Selene inclined her head toward him, asking in an undertone, “How do you put a gleam in a blonde’s eye?”

“Selene, this is not the time,” he hissed in warning.

“You shine a candle in her ear.”

The others were still engaged in conversation, so she continued, “Why do blondes wear underwear?”

“Do they? Wear undergarments?” he asked.

She made a tsk-ing sound of disgust at his interruption. To keep their ankles warm.”

Unfortunately, she took his grim smile as encouragement. “What does a blonde have when she has two green balls in her hand?”