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Basse-Terre, Guadeloupe
“I TOLD YOU WE’D MAKE it, didn’t I Marcus?”
Talon squinted in the midday sun as they disembarked at the wharf in Basse-Terre. Fortunately, his transformation from Gypsy to Spaniard was a blessing in disguise. DuPont would never recognize him without his long hair and straggly beard. Dressed in Lord Taylor’s clothes and a big white chapeau, Talon could easily pass as a gentleman planter rather than a nomadic adventurer.
“Yes, sah.” Marcus carried his heavy bag, much to Talon’s chagrin. Due to their current situation, the boy had insisted on keeping up appearances.
“I don’t see why I have to dress like a gamin. DuPont has never seen me.”
Talia walked beside them with her lips drawn up into a sullen pout. As she adjusted the wide-brimmed hat over her face, Talon chuckled. At Rousseau’s insistence, she had donned one of Patrice’s ill-fitting gowns and secured it around her body with a smelly piece of jute. The once lithe and graceful woman was now humbly disguised as an unkempt vagabond.
Talon pressed a kiss to her nose. “Aye, but he knows Lafitte. It’s just until we get situated at the inn. Chances are nobody will see us. This seems like a fairly busy place.”
Indeed, immense crowds mingled in the streets. He could hardly walk through the masses without someone bumping into him.
Talon knitted his brows together as a sense of déjà vu overtook him. For every white man there must have been three coloreds, most of them displaying the bands of Edouard’s revolutionaries. “What in the world is going on? This looks like the streets of Paris.”
“The French recently reacquired Guadeloupe from the British.” Lafitte sighed. “I wish they’d make up their mind. From day to day, nobody really knows who’s governing.”
Talia shook her head. “Let’s find out. Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle.” She stopped a Black woman with a white tignon wound about her head.
After a few minutes of conversing in French, the woman threw her fist in the air with a very distinct, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!”
Talia pressed a few coins in her hand and sidled up next to Talon. “Apparently, the slaves have rebelled against their owners and burned their master’s plantations to the ground.”
Tingles sifted across Talon’s neck. He lifted a brow. “Just as DuPont predicted.”
“Oui.” They followed the woman as she ran from shop to shop along the wharf waving a French flag and shouting in triumph. Talia shook her head. “Dieu, what have we run into?”
“Just try not to attract attention,” Talon said. Lengthening his stride, he pushed through the crowd.
“Lafitte! Tu est ici?”
Alex whipped his head up. With a charming smile, he answered the man quickly in French and waved jovially.
Talon pulled his hat from atop his head and smacked Alex with it. “What the hell was that? Didn’t I just say—”
Alex harrumphed. “If I ignore the man, he’s likely to get suspicious, oui?”
Talon glanced around. “What if he knows DuPont? Think before you act, you git. You’re putting us all in jeopardy.”
Linking her arm in Talon’s, Talia budged him forward. “Don’t worry, mon cher. We’ll make it.”
“Don’t go too far, lad. I’m not losing you again.” Placing a protective hand on Marcus’ head, Talon kept the boy close.
Forcing their way through the congested thoroughfare, they turned down a side street with fewer people littering the gravelly path. There were few shops. The buildings were decrepit, paint chipping off the bricks and wood. Open plantation style shutters dangled from most of them.
The muscles at the back of Talon’s neck twitched as his gaze went from door to door. It was like strolling through the London Underground.
I hope to God Lafitte knows what he’s doing.
Alex stopped at a two-story building crowded between a bakery and a little café and held the door open. “Voilà, the Brownstone Inn.” Talon’s eyebrow shot up, and Alex sighed. “This is the safest option we have. It’s off the main thoroughfare, and nobody frequents it like the Beaumont on La Rue Premiere.”
Giving the dingy establishment a once over, Talon muttered, “It’s clean, I hope?”
“Oui. The owner has a fantastic maid—very tidy. I’ve stayed here numerous times and never had bedbugs.”
“Splendid,” Talon said dryly. The large picture window at the front of the inn was open, and the warm September breeze ruffled his hair. The wooden floors sparkled in the sun.
Indeed, the inside looked spotless. He ran his finger over one of the many round wooden tables that were placed about the room, nodding in approval. “Perhaps you aren’t as stupid as I thought, Lafitte. We can stay here.”
Alex uttered a curse under his breath and led them toward the long, stone counter running the length of the far wall. An ornate wooden mirror sparkled above it with bottles of different liquors lining the shelves.
Nobody stood at the counter. Lifting a small hand bell, Alex rang it twice. A matronly lady with a round bottom emerged from the kitchen.
Wiping her hands upon her white apron, she greeted Alex congenially. “Master Lafitte! So happy to see you back in Guadeloupe. You need your usual?” The woman’s thick Cockney accent boomed off the tin ceiling as she beckoned to a young mulatto woman that had just come down the stairs
Alex’s eyes widened as he slid a glance at Talia and coughed. “Merci, Madame Arnold, not today. We need three rooms for the night.”
“Will you be dining with us?”
“It depends.” Removing his hat, the rogue leaned on the bar with a rakish smile. “Do you still have the same cook?”
The old woman laughed. “Aye, Mrs. Corning is still here. I can prolly fix you up with desert if you’d like, deary.” She winked.
A gasp left Talia’s lips, and Talon smirked as Alex refused hastily. “We’re leaving quite early tomorrow. Perhaps the next time.”
Nodding, the woman guided them up the wooden staircase to the rooms above the bar. “Clean sheets and chamber pots in each. We have a bath house if the Miss would like to freshen up.”
Talia clapped in delight. “Oui! I would like that very much.”
“I’ll have one of our girls fill the tub.”
As the woman hurried off, Talon wrapped his arms around Talia’s shoulders and kissed her neck. “Clean yourself up, Mademoiselle. I’d like to share a romantic evening with you.” Her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as he pecked her hand. Tonight, he had every intention of showing her a wondrous evening. “Marcus, shall we find our room?”
“Yes, sah.”
Before he unlocked his door, Alex took him aside. “Rousseau will be loaded and ready to leave by morning. Stay out of sight and we’ll make it through Guadeloupe quickly.”
Talon arched an eyebrow. “What of DuPont?”
Placing his hat on his head, Alex pulled at the corners with a smirk. “Not to worry, Monsieur. I’ll handle it.”
*****
“THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS. I demand to see Colonel DuPont now.”
Clenching his fists, Alex paced the governor-general’s office on the main thoroughfare, ready to strike the foppish man in front of him. Dressed in silk pantaloons and a double-breasted silver coat, the Anglais couldn’t have weighed more than ten stone.
Pressing his lips together, the man sighed. “I will see if he’s taking visitors, sir.”
As the man scurried off, Alex clenched his jaw, anxiously awaiting the elusive Colonel DuPont. After spending the greater part of the last two days developing a scheme to collect information about L’Archambeau’s plans, he was more than ready to finish this mission.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why the man needed Talia for this mission. Perez had said she was the bait. But Talia had no interest in her family homestead. Let DuPont deal with Montrose. Alex cared more about Talia’s safety than her father’s.
Alex raked his fingers through his hair. Non, he more than cared for her. He loved her. And he’d be damned if anyone hurt her or her kin.
As the arrogant waitstaff descended the staircase at the end of the hall, he beckoned Alex to join him. “Monsieur Lafitte? Colonel DuPont will see you.”
Alex released a breath and hardened his resolve. He had to make this look convincing. He’d donned his bedraggled clothing for that reason. Brushing the dirt from his overcoat, he swept a hand over his bruised face and gave the man a curt nod.
The gentleman escorted Alex through a pair of double doors. DuPont sat at a long, mahogany library table, buried in papers. His formal wig and overcoat were thrown haphazardly over a chair. Hunched over his desk, the man appeared frazzled.
“You’ve returned to Guadeloupe safely, it seems. Pray tell, did you find Mademoiselle Montrose?” DuPont spoke without looking up from his work.
Taking a deep breath, Alex traversed the length of the room with long strides. Halting at DuPont’s armchair, he towered over the man with a menacing glare. “Is that all you have to say for yourself, Monsieur?”
Removing his spectacles from his nose, DuPont gazed up at him with wide eyes. Pushing his chair out, he stood. “Sacre bleu, what has happened to you? And where is Pierre?”
Folding his arms, Alex stood toe to toe with DuPont. “I threw your scheming son off my ship in Martinique because he was a pain in the hindquarters. As to the state of my appearance, I was captured by pirates and barely escaped with my life!” Slamming his fist on the table, Alex snarled in dramatic fashion. “Where is L’Archambeau? I’m tired of dealing with his lackey. I should be talking to him about this nonsense.”
DuPont peered down his nose at Lafitte and sniffed. “L’Archambeau left three days past for Nouvelle Orleans. We are supposed to meet him there with Mademoiselle Montrose, although it looks like he will be sorely disappointed. Where is our prize and her faithful sidekick?”
Alex plopped in one of the chairs and kicked his dirty boots upon the colonel’s workspace. He sat back with his hands behind his head, eyeing DuPont suspiciously. “That, mon ami, is what I would like to know. I don’t know what game it is you play, but I assure you my cousins will hear of your deception.”
The man pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We told you when and where Jonathan Taylor’s ships were due to sail.”
The man jumped back as Alex lurched forward. “Oui, but you didn’t inform me that those Spanish imbéciles had their own motives—and a new plan to boot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Perez and Vargas. Their Spanish amigos were waiting for us in a cove outside of St. Pierre. We had Mademoiselle Montrose and her bodyguard in our hands until the filthy pirates climbed aboard. Perez shot Barberry and tossed him into the sea. Then he and Vargas sailed away with my crew and Mademoiselle Montrose, throwing me off halfway to Guadeloupe.”
DuPont sat back, his mouth gaping as he stared at Alex incredulously. “How in God’s name did you make it here?”
Alex growled, “I swam, damn you. Fortunately, neither Perez nor Vargas have a brain in their heads. I wasn’t far from one of the inlets. A fisherman found me.” Alex stood slowly, clenching his fists as his knuckles cracked. “Now, are you going to give me the whole story or am I going to have to beat you within an inch of your life for deceiving me?”
Shaking his head, DuPont rubbed his temples. “I never anticipated those two idiots would double-cross L’Archambeau. This certainly wasn’t part of our plan. Perez and Vargas must be acting of their own accord.”
“What exactly is the plan? If I’m going to get paid for kidnapping Mademoiselle Montrose, I want the whole story.”
DuPont sighed and sank into his chair. “L’Archambeau has been stoking our Jacobin movement in the colonies. Not long ago, he instigated the slave riots in Guadeloupe. Our goal is to help General Napoleon win back the colonies in the new world with an army of rebel slaves, and New Orleans is our new target.”
Alex frowned. “L’Archambeau said he wanted to use Talia as a bargaining chip for her family’s plantation. From what I hear, New Orleans is full of French dissidents that would love to help his cause. Why does he want Temptation Hall?”
“Its position on the river is perfect. Apparently, General Bonaparte intends to invade the mainland and take back what is rightfully ours. According to his contact, Temptation Hall has easy access to the Mississippi River. The land is the largest in the Territories. And apparently, Montrose has the most slaves on the banks.”
Alex threw his hands up in mock exasperation. “So L’Archambeau plans on stirring up a revolt at the Montrose home? Who is this man that thinks he has enough power to take New Orleans? Do you know him personally?”
“Only through business dealings. He’s an advocate who settles the affairs of noblemen throughout France and her colonies. He claims he has General Bonaparte’s ear and that his orders come directly from him.”
“Do you believe that?”
A look of defeat crossed DuPont’s face. “Who’s to say? Our momentum in Paris is lost. We were elated someone had interest in our cause.”
Alex shook his head. “Perez and Vargas are probably halfway to Saint-Domingue with Talia, and her bodyguard is dead. What do you suggest I do?”
DuPont thick brows shot up in surprise. “You still wish to continue?”
“Bien sûr. That money will set me for life! As you know, the Lafittes are trying to acquire new business ventures.”
DuPont stared at Alex for a moment. Pressing his lips together, he nodded. “D’accord. I will write L’Archambeau a hasty post explaining our situation. I suggest you sail to New Orleans and meet him there. Do you have a ship?”
Stroking his chin, Alex hummed. “Non, but I can find one. However, I am not cleared to sail these waters. It would be infinitely easier if I had permission, especially after this recent escapade.”
DuPont sighed. “Bon. I will give you your marque so you may travel without issue. Where are you staying? My courier will deliver it to you on the morrow.”
Alex stood to leave. “The Brownstone Inn. Don’t be late, Monsieur. Most ships sail with the morning light.” He faced the man. “And just so you know... when I find Perez and Vargas, I will kill them.”
Colonel DuPont saluted him with a smile. “You have my blessing, Monsieur.”