Doc was as smitten as a man could be. He had been wooed by white tablecloths covering two-tops, waiters that learned his name and preferences, and intellectual discussions until the late hours. Doc had learned that Henri Broussard was a man of many undertakings – sugar, cotton, and tobacco. The man had recently become a shareholder in the Edison Electric Illuminating Company along with being a silent partner in the Algiers Ice Manufacturing Company. There didn't seem to be an aspect of New Orleans in which Monsieur Broussard hadn't had an interest.
After a glimpse into the good life, the physician had to fight urge to retire and remain in New Orleans. He couldn't put into words how pleased he was for Kitty. She had all she'd desired after a life that would've crushed a lesser woman. He swirled the high-quality cognac in his tulip glass, letting his eyes drift to Henri as he returned to the parlor.
"Everything okay?" Kitty asked her husband as he dropped onto the settee and lifted her legs into his lap.
"Yes, Chérie. Business can wait until tomorrow," he assured, slipping off her shoes to massage her stocking covered feet. "Galen, I won't be able to see you off tomorrow afternoon. I have to take care of a matter in Algiers. A shipment is coming into the railyard I need to oversee," he explained.
Doc dipped his head in understanding, taking a swig of the cognac. "You get there by ferry, don't you?" he asked, noticing the subtle nod of Henri's head.
"You'll have to return to New Orleans soon. Perhaps when the baby comes," Henri proposed, smiling at his wife.
Kitty returned the smile. "I keep tellin' him he should stay. We'd take care of him."
"We would. You always have a place here," Henri stated. He realized how dear the physician was to his wife.
"Don't tempt me," Doc mumbled, sinking into the comfort of the armchair along with the buzz of cognac. "I've wondered. How did the two of you meet?"
Henri smiled warmly. "A long time ago. I returned from France after the war ended. I met Kathleen in the Vieux Carré," he recalled the night in the French Quarter, sparing the particulars for her sake. "We spent time together. I realized too late she was mon premier amour," he finished, adoringly gazing at her.
"Henri," Kitty murmured, sitting up to look him in the eye. "Mon premier amour…really?" she whispered the question as warmth blossomed in her chest, for she, too, remembered their first encounter. In fact, she'd never forgotten it. It had faded into her past like so many other things when her life in Dodge began to bloom and her love affair with Matt Dillon had consumed her.
He resolutely nodded.
Kitty leaned in close, touching his cheek and brushing her lips against his, subtly and tenderly. She hummed against him as he lightly swept his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss. She could feel his body responding to her and broke the connection, placing her forehead against his to catch her breath. She pressed her lips to his for a second time as his hands drifted up her sides, shifting her onto his lap.
Doc uncomfortably and noisily cleared his throat. "I am still in the room, ya know."
She stretched her naked body out on the cotton while enjoying the feel of the breeze coming through the open windows. She listened to the ships rolling along the Mississippi River, paying close attention to his footsteps approaching the bed. She propped on her elbows, penetratingly gazing at the dark-haired man. Her face didn't show the disappointment in how he'd bathed their tryst from his body. She licked her lips as she stared at his bare chest. Her voice was husky and thick like the humid evening air. "Stay, Henri," she crooned. She hadn't seen her lover in months, having been out of the country taking care of her sick grandmother in France. He'd given her the funds for the trip since her husband had refused.
"No," he answered and dropped onto the mattress, buttoning his shirt. He regretted sharing a bed with her one last time.
Her arms wrapped around his neck. "Stay the night," she whispered against his ear, undoing one button at a time.
The Frenchman clamped his hand over hers and looked into her meadow-green eyes, firmly stating, "No."
She placed her hand on the back of his neck and ran her fingers through his thick hair, scratching his scalp. "She'll swell bigger and bigger with child and won't be able to pleasure you…not like I can," she murmured. "No one can do what I can."
"Manon," he growled.
Her peach-colored lips curved into an arrogant smirk. She'd hit a nerve as she'd expected. All she'd heard from the grapevine was how the auburn-haired beauty had beguiled the hard to pin down, millionaire bachelor. Manon had always believed that if she hadn't been married that she would have been Madame Henri Broussard. "Stay with me," she paused to brush her lips against his earlobe.
Henri turned, shoving her off him. "I'm going home to my wife. I shouldn't have come here."
Her nostrils flared, but she rapidly controlled her irritation, coiling her arms around his neck, pressing her chest into his back. "Amoureux, let me show you what you've missed," she murmured, dragging her teeth over his tense muscles, nipping at his skin, "over and over."
Henri gripped her wrists, tightening his fingers to dig hard into her flesh until she released him. He finally stood to his feet. Rage boiled from the pit of him, burning his throat. "Je te hais. I hate you with everything I have."
"You don't hate me. Less than a day ago, I sent for you. Here you are in my hotel room. You can't resist me, Henri."
She narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips together as he finished dressing. His silence infuriated her. She tossed her chocolate hair over her shoulder, hissing, "I've heard things. She was a whore! You married a whore, Henri."
"Do not speak of things you know nothing about, Manon," he thundered, gathering his suit jacket. His eyes darkened as he stood, his jaw set, rippling with anger.
Her lover's anger thrilled her. It electrified her just like it had seducing him now that he was a married man. She rose to her knees, locking her eyes on his. "Tell me, Henri, what's so special about Kathleen?"
"Don't speak her name," he rumbled.
"Her chatte is no better than mine."
He raised his hand, striking her across her cheek. Henri shook his head in disgust, hating the man he could be with Manon Durand.
She fell back onto the bed, cradling her throbbing cheek, feeling intoxicated by his wrath. "You'll come back to me, Henri! You can't stay away!" she screamed at him, glaring at his back as he slammed the door.
Manon smoothed her hand over her cheek, staring at the ceiling, reveling in the sharp sting of pain. A smile crept onto her face. "Oh, you'll come back, Amoureux," she murmured, sliding her hand down her stomach.
He quietly stepped into the master bedroom, expecting his wife to be asleep. Instead, Henri spotted her reclining in the chaise lounge by the windows. "Chérie, why are you awake? Did you have a cauchemar?"
She shook her head. "No cauchemar. I can't sleep without you…now that I'm used to you being in your bed."
He approached the lounger, offering, "I'll carry you to bed. You need your rest."
"Sit down. We need to talk first."
His mind raced. She couldn't possibly know. He sat down and heard his heart pounding in his ears. He braced his hands on his thighs as guilt sat squarely on his chest like an elephant. He parted his lips to confess his sins to her.
"Before he left, Doc examined me."
He looked at her, stricken with worry.
"He heard two heartbeats," she revealed, smiling radiantly, settling her hand over the swell of her belly.
"Deux bébés," he murmured in astonishment, placing his hand over hers. He kissed her softly and nuzzled his nose against hers. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't ruin the joyful occasion.
She pulled back from him, her nose twitching. She could swear that she smelled perfume. Kitty inhaled deeply, a mix of sandalwood and amber assaulting her nostrils. She fought against jumping to conclusions about where he'd been and what he'd done.
Henri slid off the lounger and pressed his lips to her belly, whispering, "Deux bébés. Such a blessing." He rested his head against her middle.
She looked down at him, stroking her fingers through the tiny flecks of gray adorning his sideburns. Her eyes caught a reddened patch of skin on his neck. A love bite? She pushed at the collar of his tailored shirt, exposing more of the mark. "You've been with another woman," she boldly proclaimed, hoping she was wrong.
"Chérie," Henri stammered, lifting his head. "Yes, but—"
Tears sprang to her eyes, shocked that he hadn't denied the accusation. "Don't! Don't, Henri," she cautioned, putting her hand up as she slipped off the chaise lounge. She paced on the hardwood floor. "You lied to me! You lied to me and Doc! She was your business in Algiers!" she fumed as she wildly wandered around the bedroom. "Who the hell is she? And why?! We were just married for God's sake!"
"Please, Chérie," he pleaded, following her. "Kathleen, stop!" he shouted, seizing her hand to pull her to him. Henri had no time to elude her swift, blistering assault to his face. He hissed as his cheek throbbed. "Kathleen," he growled, dodging her next strike, enclosing his arms around her, beseeching, "Calm down." He groaned as she struggled against him, her elbow purposefully knocking into his ribs.
"Let go of me!"
"No, not until you calm down," he countered, grumbling as her foot slammed into his shin. He finally loosened his grip on her.
Kitty pushed her hair out of her face, fiercely glaring at him while she pushed him away. "Calm down?! You were with another woman!" Her nostrils flared as her chest heaved. "You lied to me! How could you?!"
He rubbed his leg, straightening and drawing in a shaky breath. "Kathleen, I can—" he broke off. Nothing seemed right to say as he stared at the woman he'd married, the only woman he'd ever wanted to wed. He didn't know why he'd broken the promise to himself that he wouldn't fall into bed with Manon again. She was a bad habit he hadn't been able to break. Henri took his wife's hand, tugging her to him. "Je suis désolé."
Her small fists pounded against his chest.
"Please, stop," he begged, wrapping his arms around her. "We can't discuss the matter until you calm down. Kathleen, please," he demanded as she bucked against him. "Listen to me, Chérie, she doesn't mean anything to me! Not like you do," he whispered.
"Mon premier amour," she scoffed through gritted teeth, thrashing violently. She then whispered, "Henri…menteur."
He noticed the change in her voice while she called him a liar. He looked down at her as her eyelids fluttered and her hand drifted to her forehead. He effortlessly lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the cherry oak sleigh bed. "Femme têtue," he mumbled as she weakly pushed at his chest, her head rolling to the side.
"I'm fine."
"You are not," he fired back, placing her on top of the blankets. "You are lightheaded."
"I am not," she argued, sitting up hurriedly, feeling woozy all over again.
He smirked as his wife fell back onto the pillows and closed her eyes. He sat down next to her, comfortingly rubbing her thigh. "I told you to calm down."
"Hush," she hissed, blindly shoving at his hand. She felt the mattress shift and heard him rustling about the room. His footfalls sounded more and more distant. "Henri?"
"Maybe now you can listen to me," he said, returning from the water closet, wringing out a cloth. "Chérie, je suis vraiment désolé," he earnestly whispered and put the cloth on her forehead.
"Menteur."
"Je t'aime, Kathleen."
"Don't say you love me, liar," Kitty countered, opening her eyes and pushing herself up slowly. She tossed the rag onto the nightstand. Her dizzy spell had calmed her, allowing her rage to dwindle. All that remained was all-consuming hurt. "Menteur," she repeated. "How could you do that to me? To us, Henri?" she asked in a fragmented whisper. "Why, Henri? Why?"
"I wish I could take it back. It was a mistake. She sent for me, and I went to her to end the affair."
"And you slept with her? I don't understand why."
"You know women and men, Kathleen. Men have mistresses. Men go to brothels. Women charm and lure."
"I thought I knew you," she sniffled and let her hand fall to her belly. "Henri, I can't be in the same room with you, and I surely can't share a bed with you. Not tonight. I don't know what to do about you," she admitted with a sigh. "I vowed when I left Dodge City that I would never come second in any man's life ever again. I won't do it, Henri."
He stared at her beautiful face, grasping that she was sinking down to the rock bottom of heartbreak. He repentantly bowed his head and accepted there was nothing more he could do for the night. He had caused enough damage. He cupped her face, brushing a tear with the pad of his thumb, pressing his lips to the middle of her forehead. "Je suis vraiment désolé, Kathleen."
"It's me or her," she calmly issued the ultimatum, sinking down into the bedding and turning over. "Let me be, Henri," Kitty requested, fearful of his answer. Men didn't have the habit of choosing her.
"I'll be across the hall if you need me," he gently said, resting his hand on her hip, sighing as she shoved his hand off her. He stood up, whispering, "You. I choose you, Kathleen."
After washing her face, Kitty snatched her pillow and tugged the duvet from her bed. She stoically lumbered in the direction of the large stone fireplace, the tall dancing flames providing the only light in the room. She slowly lowered herself to the floor, using one of the ornate French Provincial chairs as a back rest. She wrapped the duvet around herself, pulling her knees in as close as her rounded belly would allow. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying, while her throat ached from the violent sobs that she'd not been able to control. But now, Kitty was cried out.
She stared at the large ribbons of yellow and orange, murmuring, "You really screwed up this time, Russell. You just couldn't do it on your own. And now..." she shook her head, willing the tears not to fall, "you married someone who couldn't be faithful to you for a couple of months." She laid on her side, tucking her pillow under her head as she snuggled into the thick, shaggy European rug. She rubbed one hand over her belly, "I'm sorry babies. Mama may need another plan. Please don't lose faith in me. Your daddy, he just couldn't..." she sighed, closing her eyes, "And the man who wanted to be your daddy, well, I just think he doesn't know that being a good father means loving the mother."
The Henri Broussard that Kitty had met so many years ago in a bordello in the French Quarter had been so sweet and tender. It had been Henri's seventeenth birthday, and she'd just turned sixteen herself.
Kitty inspected herself for what seemed like the fiftieth time in the full-length looking glass. She turned her shoulders this way and that, marveling at how grown up she looked in the powder blue negligee that Panacea had purchased especially for this evening. Her flowing, deep red tresses reached half way down her back, smelling of lilacs and honey. Some of the older working gals had helped her bathe and dress for this most special occasion.
For some reason, millionaire plantation owner Alexandre Broussard had come to well-known Madame Panacea Sykes with a special request. His only son, Henri, was turning seventeen, and he had wanted to gift the boy a whole night with a lady of the evening. Now, that request, in and of itself, hadn't been unique in a place like New Orleans. But what had made it uncommon was the specificity of it. Alexandre had requested that his son's first sexual encounter be with a virgin. Yes, he wanted his son to learn right along with a willing ingénue. Alexandre had been positive the late Spring night would be an experience his Henri would never forget. And luckily for both men, Panacea happened to have been entrusted with the well-being of Kitty Russell, an orphan for all intents and purposes.
The knock on the door seemed almost timid. Kitty stood next to the midnight blue, velvet chaise, thrusting out her perfectly rounded breasts and quietly answering, "Come in."
In walked the most handsome young man she'd ever seen. He was tall, already over six feet and built like someone who'd worked on the docks. His skin was an olive tone and his hair brown with slight waves.
"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he quietly greeted as he stepped into the room. He stared at the young, beautiful redhead, his mouth agape.
"Hello." Kitty took a step toward the young man, holding out her hand. "I'm Kitty." She bit her bottom lip as she studied his handsome face. She'd never seen such brown eyes, reminding her of the earth after a rain.
"I'm Henri," he gently kissed the back of her proffered hand, "You said your name is KIT-TY?" he carefully pronounced, staring into her eyes. Her eyes reminded him of the waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
"Yes." She naturally batted her eyelashes, her big, blue eyes sparkling, "but my real name is Kathleen."
"Do you mind if I call you Kathleen? C'est un beau nom," he complimented, smiling and revealing his perfectly white teeth.
"I don't mind at all," she answered, surprising herself. The girl usually detested being called by her full name, but there was something about the way he said it. She closed the space between them. "And I thank you for the compliment."
"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." He gently tucked some hair behind her ear, noticing how soft the ringlet felt in his fingers.
Kitty blushed, offering, "Happy birthday, Henri." She stood on her tip-toes, closing her eyes and gently placing her lightly pink painted lips upon his. The kiss was short, but sweet, almost like two teenagers after a cotillion.
Henri stepped back and stared at the young redheaded beauty in front of him. "You don't have to do this with me. You are young, and I know my father requested a vierge. I think he thought I wouldn't know what to do with a grown woman."
Kitty indignantly thrust her hands upon her hips, unknowingly revealing her breasts through the diaphanous material. "I am a grown woman, ya know. Why, some women my age are married." Her eyes narrowed as she waited for him to challenge her.
Henri smiled as he walked toward the bar cart in the corner. He poured himself a brandy, "Would you like one, Kathleen?"
She eyed him carefully, "Yes, please," she whispered as she joined him.
They simultaneously lifted up their snifters. "What shall we toast?" Kitty asked, a grin adorning her lightly painted face.
"How about to premières fois – rencontres and amour?" he suggested, his kind eyes dancing.
Kitty's heart began to race as she sipped the brandy. She'd been terrified up until this moment.
Henri glanced at her, observing the swift rise and fall of her bosom. He was nervous too but able to hide it better. He brushed his fingers against hers and slanted his head towards the chaise lounge, strolling over and sitting down. He stared at the bottle of brandy while he felt her sit close next to him. "The brandy is better in France."
"Oh?" she murmured, shivering from the chill in the room. "Thank you," she said and accepted his jacket, pressing her nose into the collar, smelling smoky tobacco and warm vanilla. Her eyes drifted to him as he rose from the lounger to begin building a fire.
"It comes from Armagnac," he explained, telling her how his grandparents made the best brandy along with wines in Southern France. Before he knew it, he was longwinded, describing the region to his companion.
"Kathleen, I'm sorry."
"No, no," she soothed. Her imagination was flourishing with the country he'd described. She could see the rows of luscious grapes underneath pillowy, white clouds and feel the warm sun on her face. "It's as if I'm there. I want to travel the world."
"Where do you want to go?"
She shrugged and bit her lip. "I don't know. A lot of places. San Francisco, Paris, New York City," her voice became softer as she stared into the empty glass, "but I'll be stuck here in New Orleans for the rest of my life."
"Why?"
He listened intently to her reasons that evolved into the sufferings of her sixteen years. Henri felt a connection with her. He'd lost his mother at a young age too. He clasped her hand in his, raising it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. "Don't let the hardships define you. You won't be stuck. I'm sure you'll go far, Kathleen."
She refilled the glasses and thoughtfully tilted her auburn head. "You think so?"
"I know so, Chérie," he whispered, blushing at the term of endearment he used.
Her heart quickened in her chest. She looked up at his handsome face, focusing on his lips. "Henri, call me that again."
"You liked that?"
"Mmhmm," she hummed, taking a slow sip of the distilled spirit and watching his lips move as he uttered the sobriquet.
Henri took the snifter out of her slender hands and caught her eyes. "I'd like to feel your lips on mine. May I kiss you, Chérie?"
She gulped and dipped her head. Kitty wondered if she was ready for what would happen. She shut her eyes in a delicate flutter as his face came closer to hers, so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. Goosebumps sprouted onto her skin as his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. His tongue shyly swept between her painted lips. He kissed her fully, tongue deliberate and slow against hers, silencing her rambling thoughts.
Her head fell back against the velvet. She gripped his waist as the kiss intensified, taking her to a special place she never thought she'd go – not after hearing all the girls talk about their nights. She panted as his lips broke from hers. Her breath caught as his soft, wet lips traveled the column of her neck and to her décolletage. Her head spun. She wasn't certain if it was more from the brandy or the way his mouth felt against her tender skin. "Oh," she gasped as his tongue swirled around her nipple. She writhed and arched underneath him, delighting in the sensations.
Kitty felt him pressing into her, a reminder that she was supposed to be pleasuring him. She gripped his shoulders and pulled him up to her, capturing his lips. He groaned deeply as she fumbled with the buttons of his pants. She looked at him through her lashes as his hand came over hers.
"Chérie, you don't have to."
"But…"
"If your cœur won't be in it," he said, recalling what his grand-père had imparted to him about lovemaking.
His words struck her. He was concerned about her heart. No man had ever been worried about her heart. She locked her eyes onto his and touched his bronzed cheek. "Henri, my cœur is yours."
He searched her eyes, finding truth and certainty in the depths of blue. He bowed his head, kissing her forehead and allowing her to finish undoing the buttons.
A million thoughts rushed through her mind. She held her breath in anticipation, shutting her eyes and softly crying out as he gently thrust into her. She breathed out slowly, adjusting to the feel of him inside her.
He faltered at the tears glistening on her flushed cheeks. He didn't want to hurt her – ever. His brow furrowed with doubt until her mouth reassuringly found his.
"I'm alright."
He was gentle and slow. Her soft moans enthralled him. He braced himself and pushed deeper into her. He felt her nails digging into his skin as he moved his hips. He wondered if she felt the same tension coiling inside as he did. Henri wanted the coupling to last, but he couldn't last much longer. He shifted, felt her tighten around him, and tumbled over the edge with her.
A gasp escaped from her as he withdrew and left her empty. Kitty wondered if she was now a woman as his arms curled around her. She lost track of time as he held her, stroking her hair, kissing her neck and shoulder, and whispering in French. Her eyes felt heavy.
Henri smiled tenderly and kissed her head, slipping out from behind her. He rummaged through the chest of drawers, selecting a modest nightdress. He drew her a hot bath and poured a glass of brandy before kneeling in front of the chaise lounge. "Chérie," he whispered, smiling as her eyes opened. "I thought you might like a bath and a clean gown." He stood and held up a silky robe.
She was stunned as he led her to the water closet. She smelled the lavender bath oils and looked at him with wide eyes. "Henri, you didn't have to."
He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder. "A man takes care of a lady."
"Merci," she murmured, rising up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
"De rien," he replied with a smile and turned to the doorway.
As her bare feet hit the floor, a possible consequence of the night struck her. She reached out, clutching his hand, pulling him to her. "Henri, what if I…what if we made a," she stopped, unable to say the word.
"Un bébé," he finished for her. "Kathleen, if we have, the baby would be beautiful. I would marry you," he promised. "Take your bath. I'll be waiting for you."
Henri waited for her. He held her in his arms until the morning light spilled through the lace curtains.
Her perfume wasn't lingering on the cotton pillow. Her soft body wasn't pressed into him. Her sobbing shattered his heart. He swore at his senselessness and stared at the ceiling.
He sat next to the three-tiered fountain, watching a frog spring into the cold water as he waited for her. He let out a sigh and glanced around him. She was late for their meeting. He heard the click of her heeled boots and smiled as she came near. "Chérie, I was beginning to worry."
"I'm sorry, Henri," she said and kissed him softly, sitting down on the bench. "I had a fight with Pan. She wants me to –"
His face fell as he sat beside her. He knew what Panacea Sykes wanted her to do. "No, Kathleen."
"I don't have a choice."
"You need to be free of her."
"How, Henri? She took the money I had saved. All of it. I don't have anything."
He chewed the inside of his cheek and thought about proposing to her. He knew she'd say no. She wasn't ready to be a wife, and he wasn't ready to be a husband. He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "Kathleen, where do you want to go?"
"Away from here."
"San Francisco?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
He stuck his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, removing his wallet.
"Henri, no. I won't accept it."
"Yes, you will, Chérie." He counted out several bills and put them into her hand. "Go to San Francisco. Start over. Do whatever you want to do with your life."
"Come with me."
Henri shook his head. "I can't, Chérie. My father's dying. I have to stay."
Tears filled her eyes as she looked at his handsome face. "Henri, I don't want to leave you," she confessed. She threw herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. "I won't," she cried into him. "I won't do it. I'll stay in New Orleans with you."
He smoothed his hand up and down her back as she wept. "Kathleen, you have to do what's best for you," he whispered into her auburn hair.
"No, Henri. It's not what's best." She wanted to tell him she loved him, but she was afraid to say the words. She seemed to lose everyone she loved.
He held her until she stopped crying. Henri dabbed her tear-stained cheeks with his handkerchief. "Chérie, if we're meant to be together, we'll find each other. Go to San Francisco," he told her and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her painfully slow and tenderly, memorizing the feeling of her lips against his.
She rested her forehead against his and sniffled. "Henri, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'll never forget you," she truthfully murmured, cupping his face, pressing her forehead against his. He'd shown her that not every member of the opposite sex was vile.
"I won't ever forget you, Kathleen Russell."
As she disappeared down the cobblestone path, he realized she was his premier amour, and he loved her enough to let her go.
Henri rolled off the bed and marched across the hall. He wouldn't let her go this time – not after twenty years of not having her in his life. "Oh, Chérie," he uttered softly at the sight of her on the rug. He eased himself down next to her, draping his arm over her, pulling her close to him.