Page 13 of Frankly, My Dear

Selene felt her face grow warm and stammered, “I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“You can sleep in the dressing room off my suite. I doubt there is a vacant room in all the Vieux Carre tonight. All the planters come to the city in late spring to make arrangements with their agents for the upcoming crops. And they bring their families with them.”

“Well, I guess I don’t have any other choice.”

“How gracious of you to accept my hospitality!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“In truth, I don’t think you know what you mean, or say, or do. But I give you fair warning, one more body-part trick and your bony backside lands on the street.”

Selene made a face at the back of his head as he started to walk on ahead of her, a habit which really annoyed her. But she didn’t complain, knowing full well he would be just as happy leaving her behind.

They soon arrived at his hotel, a magnificent structure in the heart of the French Quarter. At this point, exhaustion overwhelmed Selene, and she wanted nothing more than a soft bed for sleeping. More important, she hoped that when she awakened tomorrow she would find the nightmare ended, and she would be back in the twentieth century.

James started to unlock the door to his second-floor room, but the door flew open before he turned the knob.

“Darling, where have you been? I’ve been waiting forever.” A gorgeous, petite blonde woman, wearing a low-cut red dress that would embarrass a Bourbon Street hooker, stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around James’s neck, giving him a welcoming kiss.

James seemed momentarily surprised. “My apologies, Maureen. I was delayed, but—”

“A ménage àtrois, James?” she asked, noticing Selene for the first time. “I don’t recall your tastes being so exotic before.”

James grumbled disgustedly. “No, Maureen, I’ve not become quite that depraved yet. This is Selene. She…she seems to have lost her way and must catch the first steamboat to New York in the morning.” Looking between Selene and the woman, he said, “This is Maureen…what is your last name, sweetheart?”

“Rivieux.”

“Ah, yes, now I remember…Rivieux.”

Selene could barely restrain herself from growling with derision. He didn’t even know the woman’s full name.

“And she’s going to stay here tonight?” Maureen asked James with amusement, her hands on her softly curving hips. “That should be interesting.”

“She’s going to sleep on the pallet in the dressing room.” He motioned Selene toward an open doorway and walked over to a sideboard, pouring himself a healthy glass of bourbon. The man drank entirely too much.

James discarded his jacket and turned back to Maureen, dismissing Selene without a second thought. Selene stood frozen, watching Maureen’s busy hands sweep his suspenders over his shoulders. Then she started to unbutton his shirt to the tune of soft, cooing suggestions that caused Selene’s face to flame.

Revolted, Selene walked into the dressing room, smaller than her walk-in closet at home, and stomped right back out. She tried to avert her eyes from James’s bare chest and Maureen’s hands, which were already working on his trouser buttons.

“There’s no window in there, and it’s stifling hot.”

James’s lips tilted in a mirthless smile. “You know the alternatives.” He motioned his head toward the open French doors leading to a balcony overlooking the streets below.

So these were her options, she decided: suffocation, the streets, or sharing a bed, and more, with two other people—not that the offer had been made for the latter, or that she would have accepted. She turned on her heel and slammed the dressing-room door loudly behind her.

Unable to unsnap the back of her tightly fitted gown, Selene had no choice but to remove her hoops and full petticoats, then lie down on the narrow pallet fully clothed. With no light, she couldn’t wash or relieve herself, assuming there was a chamber pot available. And, holy cow, this had to be the first time since her tenth birthday that she’d gone to bed without removing her makeup. Her fastidious mother must be rolling in her grave. But no way would she go back into that other room, knowing what she might interrupt.

Within minutes, perspiration pooled in every crevice of her overheated body—her armpits, between her breasts, the vee of her legs. Exhaling loudly, she stood and removed her pantyhose, leaving her body nude up to the waist under the ballgown. Still, the linen sheets soon became soaked, and she began to itch everywhere a seam of the gown touched her skin.

Even worse, she could clearly hear the soft murmurs of a man and a woman through the thin walls, followed by a feminine giggle, then the creak of the rope bed supports as they presumably lay down. To be fair, James probably didn’t realize that she could hear them.

Despite her best intentions, Selene couldn’t stop herself from picturing a nude James with the beautiful blonde woman.

Was he a good lover? Or selfish as Devon had been?

Did he whisper the soft love words most women yearned to hear? Or was he a silent lover?

Did the prostitute…she assumed that’s what Maureen was…climax for James, or was she so desensitized by her profession that she just faked orgasm? As Selene had learned to do?