Page 72 of Frankly, My Dear

“Perhaps you should stay here tonight,” he offered tentatively.

She tilted her head questioningly. “Have you changed your mind? Have you decided not to send me away?”

He tried not to think. He tried to follow his impulse, which was to gather her in his arms and throw all caution to the wind. Tomorrow. He could worry about the consequences then—how he would feel when she returned to her time, what his life would be like without her, how thoughts of her kept distracting him from his responsibilities.

But, no, he had almost lost the plantation during the bad times with Giselle, before and after her death. He would not risk it again. Too many lives depended on his total commitment. Besides, Selene might not be safe here now. More guards would have to be posted immediately.

Bleakly he shook his head. “You must go.”

“I love you, James. Surely you know that.”

His heart lurched against his chest walls. No. Don’t say the words. If you don’t say them, they don’t exist.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because her shoulders slumped with resignation. He knew she’d wanted him to tell her he loved her in return, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. Oh, blessed Lord, he couldn’t.

Selene lifted her chin with wounded pride and was about to turn toward the gallery doors. “I feel sorry for you, James. Everyone…everyone…needs to love and be loved. Love is like breathing to the soul. Without love, you are dead inside.”

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. If he uttered a word, he feared what thoughts would spill out, what secrets of the heart he might reveal. He turned his back on her, biting his bottom lip.

“You don’t even care, do you?” she said on a soft sob.

“I care,” he whispered in a low, raw voice. “God forgive me, but I care too much.” He turned.

But Selene was already gone.

Chapter Twelve

The first thing Selene saw the next morning when she entered the kitchen was Blossom grabbing Etienne by the ear. “Look, look at what that dog done to my clean kitchen. Purple dog biz’ness everywhere.”

The grapes, Selene thought with a giggle.

Etienne’s blue eyes widened with sudden understanding. Amazed and somewhat impressed, he looked down at Dreadful sprawled in the corner like a rug, huge head resting mournfully on its front paws. Dreadful whimpered a dog hello to Etienne, sort of under his breath. Both of them were treading a thin line with Blossom, whose cane stood propped against the wall, within arm’s reach.

“You’re gonna clean up this mess yo’self, boy. No, no, no. Don’tcha flutter them big lashes at me. I toldja not to bring that beast into the house. What you been feedin’ him anyway?”

“It wasn’t me, Blossom. I swear.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Din’t you come into the house yesterday with a mouthful of purple grapes?”

Etienne began to argue with Blossom, his hands braced on his thin hips. With a chuckle, Selene decided to bypass the kitchen and went to the outside privy—not one of the more pleasant aspects of living in the nineteenth century.

On the way back, she had to dodge Bob, the wildly clucking, three-legged voodoo chicken, which still managed to escape the meat cleaver. Bob had a tendency to peck the ankles of anyone—human or animal—who came within ten feet of his self-proclaimed territory, usually the periphery of the out-house.

When she returned to the kitchen, Etienne and Dreadful were both gone, along with the dog’s mess. Blossom was still muttering under her breath, something about dogs and little boys being the death of her.

“So you saw the ghost last night,” Blossom commented idly, handing Selene a cup of strong chicory coffee.

“James told you?” she asked with surprise.

Blossom nodded, looking pointedly at the scratch on Selene’s arm. “Don’tcha be worryin’ none ’bout the master, though. He kin take care of hisself.” She smiled at Selene and patted her shoulder. “Especially with you here to save his stubborn hide,” she added. “He tol’ me how you rushed in and attacked the ghost.”

“Impressed was he, huh?” Selene asked, suddenly hopeful.

Blossom cast her a knowing glance. “More like amazed.”

Selene’s shoulders slumped.

“But ‘amazed’ is good, too,” she comforted her. “Don’tcha be frettin’ over the master sendin’ you away. I’m gonna get you a love potion from one of the swamp women. Like a dead duck he’ll be, jist right for the pluckin’. The master won’t be able to resist you then.”