He decided to take a gamble. "Have Tim thoroughly check out Jacelle and Sons. Then we'll discuss it again."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you enjoying your work here, etienne?"

"Very much."

"Are you finding time for a personal life, too? I don't want you to exhaust yourself. There must be hundreds of young women who would be happy to show you the pleasures of the city."

"I'll remember that, sir."

etienne smiled, and Lucien read all the easy confidence of youth on his face. The smile made Lucien feel older and closer to death. He envied etienne the years ahead of him. "Do you miss your home? I know you said your family is gone, but don't you sometimes wish you could go back?"

"Yes." etienne was no longer smiling. "But as a boy I used to long for this day. Now I'm determined to make the most of it."

"So you were always ambitious." Lucien pulled on his gloves. "Generally I've found Acadians to be an easily satisfied lot. Why are you so different?"

"Different? Or unfortunate? Who's to say that devotion to achieving my goals won't ruin me?"

"I was different, too." Lucien didn't know why he suddenly felt so inclined to share his story with etienne, but there was something compelling about the young man's barely leashed vitality, his dark-eyed intensity.

"How so?"

"How many Creole families held on to their fortunes?" He didn't wait for an answer. Both men knew that the Creoles of New Orleans were a dying breed. Many of the old names existed still, but they had been grafted onto st.u.r.dier, more resilient stock.

"And do you know why not?" he continued. "Because they didn't believe in work. Even my father-in-law, Antoine Friloux, found it distasteful, if necessary. The war destroyed most of our Creole families. They didn't know how to take the little that was left and make something out of it. But I did. And now I control an empire, because hard work didn't repel me."

"An example for any man to follow," etienne said.

"You're young." Lucien allowed himself a sigh. "You still have so much to learn. I always hoped to have a son of my own to teach someday."

etienne didn't reply. Obviously he respected a dream unrealized. "Don't stay here all night," Lucien said. "Go home and have a good meal. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, sir."

Lucien nodded his goodbye. In the carriage, he closed his eyes and let the peaceful clack of the wheels on the granite-block roadway soothe him to sleep.

etienne watched Lucien's carriage weave through the riverfront traffic. His driver was an elderly Negro who had been with the family since before Aurore's birth. She had told etienne that she was very fond of the old man, Fantome, who had often lied gallantly for her when she had disobeyed her father. etienne didn't know where the name had come from, or if it had any relation to the one he had been born with, but Fantome was indeed a phantom. He existed in the shadows of Lucien's and Aurore's lives, a tall, stiffly formal specter who gazed at etienne with knowing eyes.

etienne had seen the same recognition in the eyes of the Creoles of color who dwelled in the Vieux Carre. The gens de couleur gens de couleur were a cla.s.s to themselves. Free a century before the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation, some of them had owned slaves and large properties themselves, but the war had not improved their position. Where once they had been a respected part of society, now, in the twentieth century, their rights and privileges had been eroded. Still, they kept to themselves, mixing as infrequently as possible with black or white. were a cla.s.s to themselves. Free a century before the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation, some of them had owned slaves and large properties themselves, but the war had not improved their position. Where once they had been a respected part of society, now, in the twentieth century, their rights and privileges had been eroded. Still, they kept to themselves, mixing as infrequently as possible with black or white.

These handsome, cultured hybrids from another century knew etienne's heritage at a glance, as sensitive to the width of a lip, the arc of a nose, as they were to the slights that befell them every day. They understood why a man of color would choose to be white if he could pa.s.s. Many of their brothers or sisters had made that choice. They made no comments in their dealings with him, but he saw their thoughts. If they knew his lineage, then it was only a matter of time before others suspected. etienne was playing a dangerous game.

But no one had any idea how dangerous. etienne stared out the window until Lucien's carriage was no longer in sight. Years ago, hatred had become the sole purpose of etienne's existence. Now, the actual sight of Lucien Le Danois made his heart beat faster, his breath come quicker. Sometimes his hands trembled and he couldn't trust his voice or expression.

He remembered their reunion a year ago. He had been afraid that Lucien would know him, afraid and yet hopeful. If Lucien had recognized him, then etienne could have sought immediate, if imperfect, retribution. But there hadn't been so much as a flutter of recognition. Lucien had so thoroughly dismissed the child he had sent into the hurricane to die that he hadn't seen Raphael's face written on a stranger's. Lucien wasn't haunted by uncertainty. He wasn't haunted by guilt. And he didn't suspect he was haunted by a ghost who would one day steal everything he held dear.

A noise sounded behind him. etienne composed himself before he turned. Aurore crossed the room and held out her hand. "He's gone, isn't he? I saw the carriage and hid in a doorway. I thought he'd be gone long before this."

"Others may not be gone." etienne took her hand.

"I'll tell them I'm just here to see my father, and so sad to have missed him."

"If you insist on meeting me, we'll have to find a better place to do it."

"I insist?" She tossed her head. Her eyes were as blue as the patch of sky outside Lucien's window. "Aren't you the man who suggested I might like to go for a ride in the country tonight?"

"How do you get away, Aurore? Aren't you missed when you meet me like this?"

She moved closer. "Am I missed when I can't make our meetings?"

In the months he had been secretly meeting Aurore, etienne had searched to find something of Lucien in his daughter. But the woman gazing at him with longing seemed unscathed by her parentage, as genuinely warm as her father was cold. "Yes," he said. He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

"I lie." Her eyelids fluttered shut. "I lie, and I give Cleo gifts so she won't be inclined to see if I'm telling the truth. And I have friends who lie for me. They think our trysts are wonderfully romantic."

"And what do you think?"

"I think they could be even more so."

His awareness of her was heightened. The late-afternoon sunlight turned her complexion to pearl. She was as young as a child and as old as a woman. He bent and brushed his lips over hers. He felt her shudder, and he pulled her closer. This time, he searched her mouth to discover which she was. She sank against him like a woman, her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing over her corset and against his chest. The heat of their bodies infused the s.p.a.ce between them until there was only a sudden pulsing of blood and breath mingled with breath.

"etienne." She was the first to pull away, fl.u.s.tered and clearly unsure of herself. She opened her eyes. "Somebody might come in."

"So they might."

"You look pleased with the thought."

"I'm pleased we're going to be together this evening."

"Can we leave now?"

"I'll go first and wait for you behind the coffee shed. I've ordered a carriage to meet us around the corner."

Her eyes sparkled. "And you really think we can get away without being seen?"

"Depend on it." He lifted her hand and kissed it without taking his eyes from hers. "Don't leave right away."

"I won't."

Outside, he started for the coffee shed, secure that she would follow. Unknowingly, Aurore had led him to New Orleans and her father. Now she led him down a new path, a route to ruining Lucien of which the child Raphael had never dreamed.

He had thought to destroy Lucien Le Danois by taking everything he had built. But destroying a man's business was small punishment for murder. Now the man the world called etienne was presented with an even greater opportunity.

He could destroy Lucien's daughter and, with her, Lucien's claim on the future.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The SS Danish Dowager Danish Dowager was to be the flagship of a new fleet. She was a luxury craft designed to carry pa.s.sengers, as well as cargo. Lucien thought of the was to be the flagship of a new fleet. She was a luxury craft designed to carry pa.s.sengers, as well as cargo. Lucien thought of the Dowager Dowager and the other ships that would follow as living memorials. Le Danois translated as The Danish. The next ship was to be the and the other ships that would follow as living memorials. Le Danois translated as The Danish. The next ship was to be the Danish Diva, Danish Diva, the next the the next the Danish Dancer. Danish Dancer.

Aurore had learned that the company's board of directors was less than enthusiastic about the Dowager. Dowager. The expenses were huge. Nothing was too good for Lucien. The The expenses were huge. Nothing was too good for Lucien. The Dowager Dowager was to be the finest ship operating out of the port. Though she had been built and launched in New York, Lucien had insisted that she be finished in New Orleans so that he could oversee all the interior work. He had made periodic inspections at the outfitting pier. Once, distressed by the pale gold chosen for the grand saloon, he had insisted that all the paint be thrown overboard so it wouldn't be used elsewhere on the ship. was to be the finest ship operating out of the port. Though she had been built and launched in New York, Lucien had insisted that she be finished in New Orleans so that he could oversee all the interior work. He had made periodic inspections at the outfitting pier. Once, distressed by the pale gold chosen for the grand saloon, he had insisted that all the paint be thrown overboard so it wouldn't be used elsewhere on the ship.

The Dowager Dowager's route had been carefully planned. In the winter tourist season she would travel between Havana and New Orleans; for the remainder of the year her destination would be New York. She was four hundred and twelve feet long and fifty feet abeam. She was to carry a crew of over one hundred and just as many pa.s.sengers, and she was to travel at a speed of sixteen knots.

Compared to the monumental Atlantic ocean liners of the Cunard and Hamburg-America lines, she was not a large ship, but she was just as luxurious. Aurore had asked repeatedly to see the work in progress, but her father had brushed aside her requests. Like a small child with a toy he didn't want to share, he had even begrudged the board of directors their right to a tour and made excuses not to be present for it. If Lucien had gotten his way, Aurore wouldn't have seen the ship until it was completed.

But Lucien could no longer control Aurore.

In December, just before Christmastime, Aurore waited in the shadows fifty yards from the ship. The day had been pleasantly warm, but the evening was growing chilly. She held her cape shut, but the wind danced beneath it. Fantome had driven her here; tight-lipped and eagle-eyed, he waited not far away, in her father's carriage. He had promised not to tell Lucien, but she felt his disapproval even at a distance. It would be even greater when he saw whom she was meeting.

She heard footsteps and withdrew farther into the shadows. The riverfront was dangerous at night. Nearby Decatur Street was lined with bars and sailors' dens. In an effort to clean up the city, the city fathers had established boundaries for a red-light district, but crime couldn't be contained so easily. The riverfront was removed from the district, but the river drew its own brand of sinners. Wharf rats were said to live under the wharves, thieves who slit sacks through the gaps between the widespread planks and neatly drained their contents.

A man came into view, cutting a striking figure against the winter sky. "etienne." Relieved, she started forward. "I'm glad it's you."

"Why didn't you wait in the carriage?"

"I was afraid I might miss you."

"You might have missed me entirely, if someone else had found you here." He stepped into the shadows, and she went into his arms, as naturally as she had for months.

His lips were warm against hers, and familiar. But familiarity was as exciting as curiosity once had been. Now she could antic.i.p.ate each kiss and know exactly how his lips would feel.

She lived for these stolen moments, moments that were growing increasingly dangerous. Lucien had questioned her twice about her whereabouts on afternoons when she had been with etienne. He was at home more often now, as if his suspicions were aroused. When he was with her, he encouraged her to tell him about her days, and he listened carefully to her responses.

Once, Lucien's attention would have meant everything to her. Every minute he spent with her had been the axis around which her world revolved. Now his attention added weight to her guilt. It was harder to go against him when he seemed so genuinely concerned for her welfare. It was harder, perhaps, but more necessary, because for the first time in her life, she had found a man whose attention mattered more.

etienne moved just far enough away to see her face. "Are you ready to board?"

"You're certain no one will come after us?"

"I've made arrangements. No one will bother us."

She slipped her arm through his.

The ship's watchman appeared on the deck when they approached; without a word, he let down a temporary gangway. They boarded, and with a tip of his hat he departed. etienne pulled up the plank again, and they were alone.

"It's ours until ten," etienne said. "Then he'll be back."

"Ours." She liked the sound of that.

"What shall we do first? Shall we dine? Dance? Have a tour?"

She had come for the last. Since they were the only people on board, the others were impossible. "A tour." She whirled, and her cape flew around her. "Definitely a tour."

He held out his arm. She took it, snuggling against the wind. "Where shall we start?" she asked.

"We'll start with a lantern. There's no electricity while she's at dock." They walked along the deck. She could envision it crowded with chairs and the colorful clothing of pa.s.sengers. It had recently been varnished, and the smell added a pleasant tang to the air.

etienne found and lit a lantern. "Let's start on the boat deck, while the sun is setting." He led her up a stairway with bra.s.s railings that squealed as her hand dragged across them. At the top, he watched as she ran to the side to look out on the river.

"Look, there's a tug pa.s.sing."

He came to stand beside her. "Your father's spared nothing. This deck will be equipped with a dozen lifeboats."

"Why? The Dowager Dowager won't go down. I know ships wreck, but not ships like this. It's a new era." won't go down. I know ships wreck, but not ships like this. It's a new era."

"You forget about acts of G.o.d."

Aurore chose to ignore the act of G.o.d she and etienne had both endured as children. "The newspapers have talked of nothing but Mount Vesuvius and the San Francisco earthquake since spring, but that was land and this is water. How could a ship as perfect as this one go down? I refuse to believe it."

"Your father says the same thing, but even he sees the need for lifeboats."

"My father has faith in his ships because he can build to his own specifications. He thinks if he spends a fortune he can bend anything to his will. But he doesn't have faith in the river or the Gulf, because nothing he can do will tame them."

"Eads tamed the river when he built the South Pa.s.s jetties."

Until 1874, large ships hadn't been able to pa.s.s through the shallow mouth of the Mississippi. James Eads, a remarkably capable engineer, had been so certain that he could use the river's own current to carve a deeper pa.s.s that he agreed to absorb the expense if his plan wasn't successful.

"Eads didn't tame the river," Aurore said. "He catered to her whims. In return, she allows us to pa.s.s through her mouth into the Gulf. It's a favor she grants us."

"She?"

She tossed her head, and soft curls bounced engagingly against her cheeks. "Of course. The river is a woman."

"On the riverfront they call the Mississippi Old Man River."

She turned her back to the water and leaned against the railing so that she could see his face better. "A woman gives life."

He raised a brow. "A man has something to do with it."

"Most men don't seem to remember that. But even so, it's the woman who nurtures her child and nourishes it, the way this river nurtures and nourishes us. She responds to the seasons, the phases of the moon, rising and falling, and always carrying with her the gift of life. How could she be anything but female?"

"The river also floods and destroys everything in its path."

"Woman is capable of that, as well."

"Man is the destroyer."

"Woman is every bit as mighty, as commanding, as this river, when she's forced to be."