You shouldn't mess with me. I'll ruin everything you are.
China Doll by David Bowie, Iggy Pop
"You shouldn't mess with me. I'll ruin everything you are."
The words had been spoken over an hour ago and yet she couldn't stop herself repeating them over and over in her thoughts. Jean's mother had called her every bitter and spiteful name under the sun and somehow she had finally managed to shrug them off and begin her life over. The spectre of the past had never quite disappeared, but she had managed to put a leash on it and keep it under control.
Well … somewhat under control.
But this night something was very different. Ben Cartwright was not Jean de Marigny. He was an honourable man who did not belong in New Orleans with its seedy underside and veneer of respectability that so callously glossed over a thousand sins. He did not deserve to be sullied by her past or dragged down by her reputation.
And yet she could not resist. His voice sent chills up her spine and she found herself searching the crowded room for his presence. She should have been running from it and he should have been shunning her. She had fled outside for some air as the room had begun to close in on her. She had lived all her life in the heat of the city and it had never bothered her before.
"There you are."
Marie heard the words and knew without turning that it was him. She should send him away. She knew how to use her most cutting words to shred a man to pieces, having done it many times before.
"I was worried I had upset you."
The voice did nothing to settle her stomach and she grasped at the porch railing as if it were some kind of lifeline.
"I'm sorry for my insensitivity. Where I come from, speech is more … forthright."
Marie slowly turned to see him watching her. "You mean more honest."
Ben had the grace to look down at his boots as he considered her words. He hated the games that the elite and powerful of New Orleans played. He struggled to remind himself that he was an outsider who needed to sell his furs and return to his boys. He needed to play the game.
Marie studied his hands as Ben twisted the rim of his hat through his fingers. He seemed ill at ease in the finery and yet it suited him so well. They were working hands, calloused from many years of hard physical labour. The same kind of labour that Jean would have done. She tried to envisage him in a cowboy's clothing rather than his clothes he had once worn. The image caught her by surprise and she gasped.
Ben looked up and reached towards her.
"Are you all right?"
"I am fine, monsieur. Tell me something."
"Anything."
"Was Jean … did he find what he was looking for in the West?"
"I believe so."
Marie looked out over the garden below. Could it be possible?