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Chapter One

New Orleans, 1893:

La Hibicus Rouge Bordello

(The Red Hibiscus)

"So, Amanda, you say you want to become a whore in the most expensive, the most exclusive, and probably dangereux, bordello in New Orleans," Mimi said as she shot a glance to the back of the long, narrow room.

Unseen, Savannah Knight, the bordello's madam listened to Mimi conduct the interview.

"Amanda," Mimi said, "you did not answer."

Bored, Savannah stiffed a yawn, thankful no one could see her behind the lacquered Chinese screen. She lazily fanned herself. For mid-September it was the usual heavy, sultry day, and the late afternoon air lay moist on Savannah's skin. The scent of honeysuckle floated into the room through the open window. She heard the faint call of a steamboat and wished she were on it instead of sitting in her office listening to Mimi.

She let out a quiet, despairing sigh. They had to be so careful when hiring a new woman. If the bordello's secret was ever discovered, it would be disastrous. Not only would her family be shunned from polite society, she, as well everyone else who worked here would be jailed. Then who would help all those women?

The women who worked at La Hibicus Rouge ended up being mistresses to some of the wealthiest men in New Orleans. Most of the men were from the best families. The fees she and Mimi procured were quite outrageous, but then their bordello did something unique apart from other establishments and it had the men flocking to them like dragonflies to quiet, hidden ponds. The waiting list of men was as high as a flooded Mississippi River.

"Amanda?" Mimi said.

The young woman cleared her throat. "My sister said you weren't really like that."

"Like what? And who is your soeur?"

"My sister is Lucille Watson. She worked here for a couple of years."

Jolted by Amanda's answer, Savannah stopped fanning herself. Slithering snakes! They'd had no idea Lucille had a sister.

"Oui," Mimi said. "I remember her. We were all quite fond of Lucille. It was a rare and heureux day when she married her monsieur. What exactly did she tell you about us?"

"She said no one was treated like...like a...well, you know. That everyone considered themselves more like...more like a kept woman."

"Oui. And what else did she tell you?" Mimi asked with discernible caution.

Sharp apprehension tightened Savannah's chest. If Lucille told Amanda everything, they could all be in the most terrible trouble. Holding her breath, she leaned forward in her chair to listen more attentively.

"My sister said she was paid quite well and there were several rules to be obeyed at all times. If I broke a rule I could be ousted."

"Oui, that is true. And can you tell me what the rules are?"

"We must be well informed of all current events," Amanda said with some relish. "Be well read and know several card games. All our gowns are to be of the latest style, and our undergarments are to be of the finest silks, the softest cottons. We are to keep ourselves clean and perfumed. Regarding our dresses, we can wear any color we like except for black or red. Those colors are reserved for Madame."

"Is that all your soeur told you?" Mimi asked.

"No."

Savannah heard material rustling and she peeped through a narrow slot in the screen. Mimi sat at the desk patiently waiting. Only the most discerning eye would notice Mimi was a quadroon. Mimi was as fair as Savannah. And Savannah's hair was as black as Mimi's.

Amanda searched for something in her portmanteau. When she pulled out a purple feathered mask, Savannah smiled to herself.

Amanda held it out to Mimi. "My sister says we are to wear one of these at all times during the hours the gentlemen callers may visit. That no man is to see us without one of these on. Ever."

Mimi took the exquisite purple feathered mask from Amanda, held it in her hands and looked at it. "Was there anything else your soeur told you about us?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "I've told you all she told me, oh, other than Madame is the same age as most of the women."

Savannah sincerely hoped that was all Lucille told her sister.

Mimi put the mask down on the desk. "Now, two things, Amanda. First, are you a virgin? And, second, what brought you here to our establishment?"

Blushing, Amanda paused and looked down at the ornate rose and gold colored carpeting. "My family has disowned me because they discovered I was having an affair with a married man," she whispered.

"Bon."

Amanda's head snapped up.

Savannah could just imagine Amanda's shocked expression at Mimi's answer and smiled to herself.

Mimi gazed warmly at the young woman. "We prefer women who know something of the fine art of seduction. At the very least the rudimentary basics, if nothing else."

"I'm afraid I know very little about seduction."

"Some men find a certain innocence very appealing." Mimi reached inside the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a document. "We like to keep things on a business level. I would like you to read over this contract and afterwards we will discuss it."

"You're going to hire me?"

The hope in her voice had Savannah shaking her head. Amanda would need to acquire more self-confidence. However, Mimi was correct about one thing. Innocence was very appealing.

"I'll let you know in a few minutes, Amanda. If you would wait in the front parlor, I'll be with you shortly."

Amanda got up from the chair and left the room. Savannah waited until Mimi had shut the door before she walked around the Chinese screen.

"Well, what do you think, chéri?"

Shaking out the folds to her silk taffeta dress, Savannah headed toward the desk. The thick carpeting softened the sounds of her footsteps into rich whispers. "I don't think we have any choice but to hire her. If Lucille told Amanda about our little secret, you know how much trouble we would be in." She shook her head at that terrifying thought.

"Convenu. But I watched her carefully and she didn't seem to be lying or hiding anything. I find it hard to believe Lucille would betray us."

"How true." Savannah closed her red fan with a gentle snap and placed it on the desk. "But Amanda seems a bit unsure of herself."

"Ah, perhaps she's just shy." Mimi tapped her forefinger on her bottom lip. "You know she might be just the right young lady for Monsieur Adam Langston."

"Perhaps." Savannah reached for the humidor kept on the desk, opened the top and carefully pulled out a cheroot.

"Your maman will not like it if you attend that ball tonight smelling of smoke," Mimi said pointing her finger at Savannah.

"I'll gargle with brandy and nibble on a mint leaf." She lit the cheroot, sat down with a self-indulgent sigh and leaned back against the black leather chair.

"No matter how delicately you smoke one of those, your breath will be tainted and you are ruining your new gown."

"Mimi, this is one of my few vices. Please let me enjoy it." Savannah watched the gray smoke circle and rise to the ceiling. The grandfather clock in the main foyer chimed the hour. "Maybe we could open an hour earlier today. We've no special guests at the moment. And as far as I know, no one has a birthday for the next couple of weeks. So we don't have to do any extra preparations."

Mimi shook her head. "You're begging for ennui talking that way. We're bound to get someone now."

Savannah grinned at Mimi. "You're so superstitious."

"It is far better to be prepared."

"Just as I have to be prepared for tonight." Savannah sighed and flicked some ash into the ashtray.

"Which gown are you wearing?"

"A new one I ordered from Charles Worth of Paris. You should see it." She leaned forward in enthusiasm. "Embroidered gigot sleeves, a funnel shaped skirt that flares out making my waist look so tiny."

"A beautiful dark lavender, oui?"

"A blush rose."

"Mon Dieu, Savannah! You know your maman will not like that. That color is for young ladies and you are a widow."

"I've been a widow for three years now and I'm tired of wearing the dark, boring shades of lavender and gray." She ran her fingers along her red fan. "I do wish Mama and her friend, Clarice, would stop playing matchmaker for me," she cast a glance at Mimi, "as well as the rest of my well-meaning friends."

"You need a man in your life. One you could marry." Mimi widened her dark eyes in emphasis.

"No, I don't." Savannah shook her head firmly. "A man would only complicate it. What excuses could I possibly give him for being busy a couple of nights of the week? Every week?"

Mimi rested her hands on her hips. "The same excuses you give your maman."

"Thank God, I don't live any closer to her. But no man I know is worth my time. Especially after learning what they're capable of."

"Not all men beat their wives, chéri. Think of your late husband, Charles."

"Yes. A kind and exceptional man. Sometimes I think he was too kind." Savannah studied the rug for a moment. "I don't believe I'm destined to have another man in my life." That thought saddened her tremendously.

"What you need is a man, not some maman's boy, and not some rich widower with a gaggle of children, as sweet as they may be."

The smoke from the cheroot hazed the room with its sweet smoky smell. Savannah gazed unseeing at it. "How could I possibly trust a man, especially after what I've seen?"

"You have to take a chance, rely on your coeur and if things go badly..." Mimi waved her hands, palms up.

"Yes. You're right. At least I would know what to do. I just don't know if I could stand that kind of pain and duplicity."

"Savannah! Look what you've done to your gown."

Ash had fallen onto the skirt of her dress. Savannah stood and carefully shook her skirt. "No harm. I caught it in time."

"It's probably time you went home and prepared yourself for the ball. You know your maman does not tolerate you being more than an hour late."

Savannah rolled her eyes. "Not to mention June Lee who will be pacing in my bedroom like an impatient general ready to dress me for tonight's battle."

Mimi laughed. "Mon amie. You are so fortunate to have a maid like June Lee."

"Yes, she's like a second mother, only she happens to know everything."

* * *

Savannah's mother, Georgia Louise, reached over and tucked a stray curl behind Savannah's ear. "Rose! I can't believe you wore rose, Savannah!" She peered closely at her daughter. "Oh, my word. Savannah Lullaby Knight, you've been smoking again, haven't you?"

"Mama, I haven't had a smoke in sometime now." It had been at least four hours. Leave it to her mother to have a sharply tuned nose. "Is that a new gown, Mama? It's quite lovely. Your skin takes on an alabaster glow when you wear black."

"You're trying to change the subject. That cologne you're wearing doesn't fool me either. Well, straighten your dress, dear. I see Clarice is here."

"Mama, I told you I'm not interested in meeting anyone."

"You're my only daughter, and I want grandchildren. And you've got to be married to give me grandchildren."

"What about my brother? Parker and Dottie will certainly give you grandchildren."

"It's not the same with a son."

Depressed, Savannah said, "I do declare, Mama, it seems to me we have this conversation every day."

"Not every day. Days go by and I don't even see you. Sometimes two or three days in a row. I can't imagine what you do to fill them."

"I play cards with my friends and sleep in late. I don't know why you don't have a telephone. That way we could at least talk to each other every day."

"What? And have some stranger listening to us?" Georgia Louise visibly shuddered.

Savannah would've loved to have taken her mother into her confidence about La Hibicus Rouge, but she could not keep a secret. Before twenty-four hours had passed everyone in New Orleans would know what went on behind the doors of her bordello.

Bored with this same never-ending conversation with her mother, Savannah looked around at the now crowded ballroom. When she saw a couple who she knew laughing or dancing she couldn't help but feel a touch of envy. All of her friends were married and all had children. It was a sore point with her mother that she and Charles had never had children. About a year after she and Charles had married he became quite ill and a short six months later he was dead.

Her friends had waited a decent period of time before trying to play matchmakers, but no one stirred her interest. She could just imagine what they would think of her if they discovered what she did certain nights of the week, let alone some of her other so called vices.

Her mother nudged her in the elbow. "Here comes Clarice. Be nice, darling."

Savannah fixed a smile on her face.

"Georgia Louise," Clarice said greeting her friend with a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Savannah, you look lovely, dear. I'm so thrilled that you're going to meet my son, Napoleon. Oh, and did I tell you that you and he are going on a picnic the day after tomorrow?"

"I didn't agree---"

Clarice cut Savannah off. "Who would have guessed I'd end up with a son whose name is so apropos?" She moved closer to Savannah. "Of course, there aren't that many men with the name Napoleon."

"What do you mean his name is so apropos? Does he start wars?" Savannah said with a sweet laugh.

"Nothing quite so dramatic," Clarice said with a wave of her hand. "He simply conquers every woman's heart. I know, I know, that's a terrible cliché, but it's so true with him. He's around here someplace, and as soon I can snare him, I'll bring him right over to meet you. He has the most beautiful eyes and the thickest lashes; what a waste on a man. Oh, I wish I had a daughter like yours, Georgia Louise, she would have given me as much joy as she does to you. I declare, I do suffer some small amount of jealousy over Savannah."

Clarice widened her eyes and leaned in closer to Georgia. "My goodness, Georgia, you simply must promise me that you'll put that fabulous necklace you are wearing in your will to me. I must say, Savannah, that shade of deep rose is the most wonderful color on you especially with your dark, curly hair. I'm glad you wore that color; it makes your eyes sparkle. The two of you stay right here while I search for my wayward son." Clarice rushed off in a sea of deep green satin and a king's ransom in jewelry.

Both Savannah and her mother took a deep breath.

"Mama, when you go and visit Clarice do you ever get to say a word?"

"One or two." Georgia laughed. "But, then, she is very entertaining. And so very lucky. She can eat all day and never gain any weight, while you and I must watch what we eat. She is still as slim as when we went to school together at St. Mary's."

"I think being tall helps, Mama. However, you have beautiful blue eyes and haven't I heard Clarice mention on several occasions how she would like to have eyes like yours?"

Georgia smiled warmly at Savannah. "Why, yes she has. I guess we each have our own special qualities."

"While we're breathlessly waiting for her son to make his grand appearance, I'll get something to drink. Would you like anything?"

"I'd be ever so grateful for some punch."

Stopped by friends every other step on her way to the refreshments table, it took Savannah forever to reach her destination. When a waiter walked by with a tray of brandies, she helped herself to one of the small glasses of liquor. A throng of people surrounded the table and while she waited to claim a couple of cups of punch for herself and her mother, she looked around. The same crowd of people as always, and in that moment surrounded by people who were near and dear to her, she felt lonely. It was like a terrible emptiness in her. She took a tiny sip of her strong brandy and put the glass down.

"You're either sad or bored and I can't tell which."

The man's voice drew her in. Deep, resonant, full. Like the finest of rich merlots.

She turned to face him. "A bit of both I suppose." He was a tall man with broad shoulders that any woman would like to run their hands over.

"Sad and bored at a ball?"

She heard the mischief in his spoken words and she grinned at him. There was something about him that compelled her to study him.

His hair was an average dark brown, his nose straight, a well-defined mouth that made Savannah wonder what it would be like to kiss him. She blinked at that thought. He had a strong, yet ordinary jaw, and good classic cheekbones. Nothing extraordinary, but put it all together and he was a most interesting looking man. But the one thing that had captured her attention was the black eye patch covering his left eye. He looked like a clean-cut, well-dressed, well-moneyed pirate who found life humorous.

On a whimsy just to see what his reaction would be, she moved a little closer to him and whispered, "I'd have more fun if I were allowed to have one of those cheroots the gentlemen over there are all smoking."

"Is it that you only want one, or do you want to smoke it as well?"

She waited a heartbeat to answer him and gave him steadfast look. "What's the point of having one if you can't smoke it?"

He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out two cheroots. Holding them up close to his broad chest like prizes, he said just loud enough for her to hear, "Shall we go outside to the balcony to enjoy ourselves?"

A challenge had been made and Savannah loved nothing more than a challenge. "That would be perfect," she said, with a grin and almost winked.

They reached their destination and he lit one of the cheroots. As he held it out for her, he moved a bit closer to her.

For a wild second she thought he was going to kiss her.

"What cologne are you wearing?" he asked.

"Colonia Flor de Naranja."

"It's very refreshing."

"Thank you." She took the cheroot from him.

"I may have to purchase some for my mother; I think she might like it as well." He struck a match and lit his own cheroot. "What will you do if someone comes out to join us?" He leaned against the balustrade.

"I'd have no choice but to throw mine into the garden." She put the cheroot into her mouth and inhaled.

He shook his head. "Wasteful on a fine smoke such as this."

"One does what one can to preserve their reputation."

"You mean you don't want to shock all those pretentious mamas and their sons?"

She smiled. "Why, they'd be terribly shocked by all I do. In fact, they would do their absolute best to bar me from polite society," she said as she thought about her bordello. If it were discovered she was the madame of a bordello, let alone the infamous La Hibicus Rouge, that news would probably make the front page of every newspaper in the south.

"I doubt that smoking would be sufficient cause for society to bar you from all their social functions. What else do you do that they would not approve of?"

"Oh, I play cards," she said with an easy shrug.

He frowned as he studied his cheroot. "As far as I know playing cards is not bad manners." He glanced back at her. "Unless...you cheat."

"How easily you have found me out." She tilted her head at him. "However, I haven't been caught, yet."

He choked back a laugh. "High stakes, or pennies?"

"Both." Savannah glanced back into the ballroom only to see her mother obviously looking for her. "I was supposed to be getting some refreshments for someone and now that someone is looking for me."

"A dance partner?" His eyes narrowed a bit. "Someone whose name is on your full dance card?"

She inhaled one last time on her cheroot and threw it into the bushes. "No. I'm against having a dance card to fill in with men's names."

"A southern rebel, how interesting. That gives men like me a chance then." A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

She paused and looked at him. "Like you?"

"I don't live in New Orleans."

"I see." She once again looked inside and saw her mother heading their way. "Once again, thank you."

As she moved to go back inside, he lightly touched her hand and said, "Wait, I don't know your name."

She threw him a mischievous glance. "I don't know yours either so I'd say we're even."

He fingered her hand and a quick frown crossed his features. "A wedding ring under your glove?"

She slid her hand free of his. "Yes."

"He's a lucky man."

For a split second she was sorely tempted to tell him she wasn't married, and then thought better of it. He would surely want to take up all her time for the rest of the evening and she was supposed to meet Clarice's son, Napoleon. It was not in her to be that rude to ignore Clarice's son for someone else. "Thank you for the smoke."

He acknowledged her with a short bow, and Savannah re-entered the ballroom. For the first time since Charles died a man had interested her, and she walked away. Damn the rules of etiquette. Reluctantly she made her way to her mother.

"Savannah, darling, I was beginning to think you had gotten lost."

"I decided I needed some fresh air before meeting Clarice's son." She took hold of her mother by the elbow and edged her back toward the buffet table. When they reached it, Savannah looked back at the open French doors where she and this unknown man had shared a moment of conversation. He was gone and she felt the faint stirrings of disappointment.

She mentally kicked herself. A tall man with an eye patch would be hard to miss even in a large crowd such as this. She surely could finagle a way to get rid of Napoleon and find some excuse to spend time with this unusual man. The thought improved her mood. And if he lived somewhere else, why, he would have little opportunity to discover her other life.

"Here we are, Mama." Savannah picked up a filled cup of citrus punch and handed it to her mother and got one for herself. They strolled back over to where Clarice and her son were to meet them.

Her mother took a sip. "Savannah, Clarice may approve of you wearing that color, but I can't tell you how displeased I am about it."

"I decided it was time for a change." She tasted the cold punch, relieved it wasn't as sweet as she thought it would be.

"I'm going to talk to your father about this when he returns from San Francisco. Then you'll see what he has to say about your wild behavior."

"Now, Mama, wearing rose is not what I would call wild. Besides, you know with your white hair you are the one that looks so wonderful in black. I look much better in lighter, brighter colors. And speaking of Daddy, when are he and Parker returning?"

"Your father will be home in about a month. Your brother is due home in a couple of weeks. I am so looking forward to having him and Dottie home. But..." Georgia sighed.

Immediately concerned, Savannah rested a hand on her mother's arm. "What is it, Mama?"

"In the last letter your father sent he has made it clear he wants to move to San Francisco."

"I hear the weather there is very nice."

Her mother's intense gaze snapped to hers. "Nice? As I live and breathe. Savannah, darling, we can't possibly move. You need me."

Savannah's thoughts swirled. If her mother moved west, it would certainly help not having to explain what she was doing some evenings. "Just think of the fun we would have visiting each other."

"Yes," Georgia said slowly while eyeing her.

"You-hooo, Savannah, Georgia Louise."

Although relived by Clarice's timing in not having to talk further about San Francisco, Savannah's shoulders fell and she inhaled a deep breath of air before turning to meet Clarice and her son. She would get rid of this man as quickly as she could. Then she would be free to search out the crowd for that tall, handsome man who wasn't one bit shocked at her desiring to smoke a cheroot.

She closed her eyes for a brief second, inhaled deeply and smiled. Lifting her head, she turned and stopped. A small exciting thrill zipped through her.

"Savannah, I want you to meet my son, Napoleon Falconer."

"Napoleon, this is the delightful young woman I told you about. Mrs. Savannah Lullaby Knight."

He reached for her hand and planted a light kiss on it. "It is my rare pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Knight."

"Likewise. Your mother neglected to tell me you were so tall, Mr. Falconer." Or that he had an eye patch.

"My mother did not exaggerate when she said you were une belle femme."

"She is very kind." Savannah couldn't be more pleased to meet Clarice's son.

He grinned at her. "My mother is always truthful. They are starting a new waltz. Will you be my partner, or is your dance card full? As a beautiful southern belle, I'm sure it must be."

She saw the twinkle in his eye and heard the laughter underneath his tone. How could she not help but smile up at him? "I'll have you know, Mr. Falconer, that I detest dance cards. It doesn't give a man who is new to the community much of a chance to meet women."

"I couldn't agree more."

She handed her cup of punch to a passing waiter. Napoleon led Savannah to the dance floor and spun her out to dance. Her rose skirt swirled out like a frothy wave and Savannah found herself in the arms of a master dancer who was graceful and light on his feet.

The music swelled over them and he held her closer than necessary, but for once she did not mind. A man who wasn't afraid to offer her a smoke and did not look aghast that she might cheat at cards intrigued her. But a more important question whirled in her. Would he tolerate a woman being the madame of a bordello?

"My mother didn't exactly tell the truth about you." He turned and expertly avoided them bumping into another couple.

"She lied?" Savannah said surprised. Alarm jolted her. Had Napoleon's mother discovered her other, secret life?

"Yes."

"And you just told me she always told the truth. Tell me, what did she say?" she asked her gaze focused downward to keep Napoleon from seeing the consternation she was positive showed in her eyes.

"The young widow Knight. She informed me you were lovely, which you are, lonely, which I find hard to believe and wasting away. Which you most decidedly are not."

Relieved by his statement, she looked up at him and laughed. "Those aren't lies."

"No? Other than being quite lovely, which of the other two are you? Were you fat and now you are slender? Or, is it that smoking and cheating at cards have all of your friends deserting you?"

"Lovely, lonely and wasting away are the required descriptions for all widows regardless of age, their size or the number of their well meaning friends."

He twirled them around to the beat of the music. "I'm delighted you're free to socialize again."

"What?" She missed a step and stumbled.

He tightened his grip on her, shook his head and grimaced. "Badly worded. I am, of course, terribly sorry for your loss, but since you're supposedly wasting away and lonely, I feel compelled to lessen this burden and court you."

"I sincerely hope you aren't saying that just to please your mother." She raised her brows.

"Don't you think a man should do what he can to please his mother?"

"Well, of course. But in the matters of courting a man should be able to make up his own mind about whom he wants to court, with or without his mother's approval."

When the music stopped, Napoleon bent his head close to Savannah's ear. "Nothing would give me more pleasure than to endeavor to please my mother by courting you. In fact, she will want, no demand, daily reports."

She gave him a sideways look and smiled. "Every detail?"

"Yes. Every intimate detail of your ball gowns, day dresses, tea gowns. And she would want to know what you ate, what I ate, what you said. I'm sure you have the general idea."

She tapped her closed fan in a gentle rhythm against the palm of her other hand. "Knowing her, I'm not one bit surprised. But, if you don't get all the details correct, she's not going to be pleased with you." She gave him an impish smile showing off her dimples.

He took her arm and headed back toward Clarice and Georgia. "I'll shower her with chocolates."

"If only all of our disappointments could so easily be cured." She smiled and nodded her head at some acquaintances who passed them as they made their way through the throng of dancers.

"Do you suffer from a lot of disappointments?" he asked.

"Oh, I was only talking in general. A box of chocolates to cure the world's ills. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Yes. You know watching my mother and yours gives the impression they're very close friends."

"Indeed," she answered. "They're like sisters. If they couldn't see each other at least three or four times a week, why I just don't know what they would do."

They were in earshot of Georgia and Clarice and Savannah smiled.

"Mrs. Richardson," Napoleon said, "your daughter is a wonderful dance partner."

"Thank you. She's always been graceful, even as a small child."

"Mother," he said to Clarice, "I must make my excuses and depart early." He glanced at Savannah, "My ship, The Savannah, is due in with tomorrow's tide and I will need to take an inventory."

Savannah gave him a slanted look. He did not have to impress her, she was already intrigued by him.

"Isn't that the most wonderful coincidence?" Clarice clapped her hands. "Imagine you meet Savannah tonight and your ship with her name is due. I do find that most romantic. Don't you, Georgia? I watched the two of you dancing. Why no other couple on the floor was nearly so beautiful. I just love--"

"Mother," Napoleon interrupted. "Savannah tells me you and Mrs. Richardson are as close as sisters."

"Yes, darling, that's true. Why I can't go more than two days without--"

"Since you are as close as sisters, I will give my cousin a kiss good-bye." He wrapped an arm around Savannah's waist and brought her closer to him.

She instinctively put her hands on his shoulders. His faint aftershave of sandalwood and spices reminded her of a strong, virile man. Napoleon's mouth on hers was warm and demanding. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he said, "It wonderful to meet a woman who enjoys some of life's pleasures."

Savannah glared at him. She did not need her mother to know about her vices.

Napoleon's gaze danced with a daring merriment and he grinned at her. "I'm sure I'll be seeing more of you, Mrs. Knight. Until our picnic, adieu." He turned to his mother. "Mother, Mrs. Richardson, good evening." With a short bow, he turned and left.

Shocked to her soul, Savannah stood there flabbergasted. A lingering taste of his kiss rested on her mouth. Emotions reeled through her. Desire, shock, embarrassment and intoxication. And all from one simple kiss. But her fingers itched to hit him. At the very least he deserved a swift kick to the shins.

"I do declare! Georgia, did you see that?" Eyes wide, Clarice pressed her hands to her small bosom.

Lord, a mercy. Everyone saw it, Savannah thought as she stared straight ahead. She should have bitten his lip, not enjoyed his kiss even if she did tap him on his back with her fan. However, her most troubling concern was not that she had enjoyed his kiss, but that he might have sensed her initial pleasure. Something she would never admit.

"Of course you all saw my son kissing Savannah," Clarice said, now fanning herself vigorously. "You and Savannah are as white as ghosts. I can't imagine what got into my son. Why I do declare, I'm nearly speechless." She let out a sharp breath. "I do believe I need to have some cooling refreshments, or even something a bit stronger if you know what I mean, Georgia. Well, I'm sure you do. In fact, I'll bring us all something to drink. Perhaps I shall ask one of those gentlemen over there to find us some whisky In fact, I'll demand some. Yes, a whisky would be very nice. I don't know what us Southern women would do without whisky."

The second Clarice was gone on her mission, Savannah said, "Mama, I have the most vicious headache. I must go home immediately."

Everything Napoleon had said had a measure of the truth in it. For the first time since Charles died she felt life breathing back into her. Her heart beat with a singular cheerfulness, and her spirit sang with expectation.

"Savannah Lullaby," Georgia said, "you have just barely arrived. If you must leave, it will be in his wake and people might think you and he are having a tête-à-tête. And what did he mean by that remark about you liking the same kind of pleasures?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Mama."

"Here comes Clarice with a waiter in tow with our refreshments."

"She certainly wasted no time."

"Savannah, Georgia, we're so fortunate I found this nice young man with whiskies. Although they were for someone else, I convinced him it was a pressing necessity that we have them instead. Here you are, Georgia, Savannah. Drink up, everyone."

The small sip of whisky Savannah swallowed burned all the way down. Somehow when she and Napoleon were having their picnic she would find some interesting, yet innocent, way to get back at him for kissing her in public. "Mrs. Falconer, your son is in shipping?" she asked as a means to fill the silence.

"Oh yes," Clarice answered shaking her head. "His shipping and antiques business keeps on flourishing and he makes a fortune. The money just seems to roll in. But his side business is something we totally disagree on. I mean I agree with part of it, but the rest, I tell you we go back and forth on the subject. I do declare it is most disagreeable. It's like a quest he can't give up."

"My goodness, Clarice," Georgia said putting a hand on Savannah's arm as thought to protect her from something disagreeable. "Whatever is it?"

Savannah was quite curious herself and found her attention fixed solely on Napoleon's mother.

"Well," Clarice said fanning herself erratically, "he finds runaway daughters, which of course, is fine. I mean anyone would want their daughter back. But, but...he goes after runaway wives. There. I've said it." She snapped her fan closed and looked away from Savannah and Clarice.

Savannah's breath went down the wrong way and she coughed. Tears sprang to her eyes, she handed her small glass of liquor to her mother.

"Savannah, dear, are you all right?" her mother asked, a concerned look on her face as she took Savannah's glass.

Savannah nodded and pointed in the direction of the ladies' lounge. As she hurried toward it her thoughts swirled around like a hurricane. The last man on earth she should be spend time with was Napoleon Falconer. Yet, she had to admit to herself he was the first man she wanted to become more acquainted with.

Oh, how could fate do this to her? Here she finally meets someone who interests her and he is the nemesis of all that she did. She was determined to find a way to get out of sharing a picnic with him, or anything else.

Her emotions felt as though a run away train had just crushed them. Was it just moments ago she was in his arms? Now she had to avoid him, there was no other consideration for her. But, she wanted to be with him. She wanted to go on that picnic with him, but she would have to cancel it. And if he found her out, her terrible secret, she knew he would no longer want to be with her.

Anger simmered just under the surface for she knew she was only going to have bittersweet memories of this one short evening with Napoleon Falconer.

Chapter Two

The soft cool early morning air beckoned Savannah outside, but inside at La Hibicus Rouge, sitting at her large ornate Louis XIV desk, she tapped her pen against her teeth as she thought about how best to cancel the picnic plans with Napoleon Falconer. The excuse had to sound sincere. She couldn't remember being more distressed about having to cancel an engagement.

Mimi came in carrying a carafe. "I some have fresh coffee for you."

"Thank you." She struggled to smile at Mimi.

Marina, the cook, knocked on the study door and came in.

"Yes, Marina?"

"We have someone at the back door. She is asking for our help."

Savannah sighed. "What is her name, Marina?"

"Mrs. Lynette De Dentelle."

"Lynette?" Savannah whispered. Her breath stuck in her chest. Lynette De Dentelle was one of her best friends. How had she ended up here at La Hibicus Rouge? Had Lynette somehow found out about La Hibicus Rouge and her part in it? Stunned by Marina's announcement, Savannah managed to ask, "Did she say why she had come?"

"No, ma'am. Only that she heard it was a place for women who found themselves in trouble."

As far as Savannah knew, except for the tragedy of their little girl's death the year before, Lynette's marriage was a happy one. "Marina, before I go to see her, would you find out exactly why she is here and how she found out about us."

"Oui, madame."

"Thank you."

As soon as Marina was out of earshot, Mimi said, "Isn't she one of your amies?"

"Yes."

"Ah. This could make it difficult for you."

"Lynette will be horrified if, or when, she finds out I am the mysterious Madame de Masque of La Hibicus Rouge." She tossed her pen down on the desktop. "I cannot imagine what kind of trouble she would be in that would require our help. Her husband is always so gentlemanly." She rubbed her temples for a second then wrapped her hands around her delicate chintz cup.

Mimi sat down in one of the dainty chairs in front of Savannah's desk. "Piff! Men, while they are in public are entirely different creatures than in the secrecy of their own little domaines."

Thoughtfully Savannah sipped at her coffee. What could have happened to her friend? She glanced at her lavender scented notepaper and knew her note to Napoleon would now have to wait until later. Lynette was her first concern. While she and Mimi waited for Marina to return Savannah ran her forefinger along the edge of her reading glasses and remembered the reading glasses, Mr. Plummer, Charles's attorney wore. She thought back to the day she had been summoned to his office.

Sitting behind piles of paper and what Savannah supposed were legal documents, the attorney, Mr. Plummer could almost be seen. The office smelled of dust that tickled her nose. Stacks of paper sitting on a credenza blocked her view out the one grimy window. She looked around at his office. A sofa sat against one wall. Looking at the sofa she couldn't imagine how anyone could conduct business when every available space on the sofa and his desk were piled high with papers. Papers were sliding out of folders, more papers in various colors peeked out from newspapers and additional stacks of files were on the floor. Even from the corner of the desk blotter papers could be seen.

Savannah waited while Mr. Plummer searched for her husband's last will and testament. She pulled off one of her black lace gloves, smoothed out the fingers and put it back on.

"Ah, yes, here we are, Savannah. My apologies for not having this out immediately." He put his reading glasses on and cleared his throat. "Of course, everything Charles had now belongs to you." He looked over the rim of his glasses at her and said, "However, did Charles tell you anything about his business before he passed away?"

Savannah shook her head. "He...he had an accounting business, Mr. Plummer."

Mr. Plummer sighed deeply. "Charles was a good accountant, but he certainly didn't make the money from it to support your lifestyle."

"I don't understand why he would say all our income came from his business if it didn't. You're not making any sense, Mr. Plummer."

"I see. Umm." Mr. Plummer looked at the documents again. "Your husband wasn't really in accounting."

"I don't understand. Do you? Do you know how he earned his money?" Nerves and apprehension sped up her heartbeat. Had her husband been in some financial difficulties and never told her? She clasped her hands tightly.

Mr. Plummer took off his spectacles and got up. He sat down in the chair next to Savannah. "Savannah, my dear, what I'm about to tell you may change your life."

Alarmed, Savannah put a hand to her throat. "Was he in trouble with the law? Some fashion of illegal business?" Her heart pounded in dread. Were they broke and she would have to sell her house? Did Charles owe someone a huge amount of money?

Mr. Plummer settled back in the chair. "Charles owned a bordello--"

"What? What did you say?" Taken aback she moved away from him as far as she could in the chair.

"Savannah, let me finish telling you about La Hibicus Rouge."

So she listened. The initial horror she felt at Mr. Plummer's first words mixed with an unusual sense of pride as he continued with his tale of what Charles was doing for beaten and abused women.

"So, you see," Mr. Plummer said, "you could sell the bordello and probably get a fairly good price, or keep it. But, besides a trust fund that Charles had, it is your only source of income. However, I must caution you whoever buys it will most likely not continue with Charles' secret."

"But...but these women, are...are"

"Ladies of the evening." Mr. Plummer nodded his head.

What was she going to do? She couldn't picture herself trafficking with prostitutes, but she couldn't let Charles' cause die. "I have to think about this, Mr. Plummer. Does anyone else know what Charles was doing?"

"Not that I am aware of. I suggest you and I visit La Hibicus Rouge and you can meet with Mimi, the madame, see for yourself how business is done there."

"I can't go to a bordello," she said even while she was thinking if she were honest with herself she would admit she had always been curious about them.

"We wouldn't go in the evening, of course," Mr. Plummer said.

"Oh, of course." As if going during daylight hours made all the difference.

The following day she and Mr. Plummer visited La Hibicus Rouge. She was stunned by the compassion the women all felt for her. Tears of sorrow for Charles' passing flowed from all of them. However, Mimi was ill and unavailable for an introduction to Savannah.

For a week Savannah stewed over what to do. She knew she couldn't sell the bordello, but she wasn't sure how to run it. She supposed she could let the madame, Mimi, run it and hire an accountant to take care of the bills. But that meant someone else knew about the bordello and while they may not know the secret, they would know she owned it.

The next week was Mardi Gras and the streets were wild with costumed people. Seeing all the fancy masks gave Savannah an idea. She went back to Mr. Plummer.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Savannah."

"I need to do something and helping Charles continue with his efforts is what I'll do. And it would only be for a few weeks at most, just until Mimi is recovered."

"You will be shunned from society if you are ever found out. And that will affect not only you, but also your entire family. You must take into account how your family will feel about this."

"I have no intention of ever telling them or of ever being discovered. Besides all the women wearing masks I have a plan for how they will be paid."

"What is that exactly?"

She told him and waited for his response.

He took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. "It just might work." He put his glasses back on and gave her a direct look. "But I truly disagree with you being the madame. I simply cannot picture you doing that, nor do I think Charles would approve."

"You are wrong, Mr. Plummer. Charles would approve."

What Savannah hadn't counted on was Mimi being ill for the better part of six months. Being the madame filled her evenings with people and things to do, and she discovered to her surprise she was quite good at bookkeeping.

Marina came back into the office pulling Savannah out of her reverie.

"What did Mrs. De Dentelle have to say?" Savannah asked.

"It seems when her husband gets drunk he beats their children. She also said last year when her two year old daughter died, it was because her husband had hit her so hard her neck broke."

"What?" Appalled, Savannah's coffee nearly slipped from her hand and she caught the cup at the last second. Everyone had assumed that Mercy's death, the result of falling down a flight of steep steps, had been an accident. "She never said a word to me about François's part in Mercy's death," Savannah said more to herself than to Mimi or Marina. "My God, even if it was an accident, that's murder!"

"She certainly waited long enough to leave the bâtard," Mimi said.

"Probably because of baby Philippe." Savannah's hands tightened around her coffee cup. "Why did she come today?"

"Yesterday, Mr. De Dentelle became drunk and started to beat their little boy. When she tried to stop him from hurting their small son, he beat her. Now she is afraid for their lives and asks for asylum."

Horrified by this story, Savannah knew in order to protect Lynette she would have to disclose to her friend her secret life. "Did she mention how she knew of us?"

"Her maid told her about us by way of your maid, June Lee."

"I should have guessed. And does she understand that once I meet her she cannot go back home?"

"Oui." Marina nodded. "She is prepared for that. She is waiting out in the garden."

"Thank you." Savannah stood up and carefully placed her cup in the saucer.

"Do you want me to talk to her, Savannah?" Mimi asked gently.

"No. She wouldn't have come here to this area of New Orleans unless she felt her situation was dire. Dire enough not to take me, and I'm her closest friend, into her confidence." Taking in a calming breath of air, she walked down the long hallway to the French doors which opened onto the secluded walled garden. When she reached the open doors she could hear Lynette's eighteen-month old son, Philippe, laugh. Every time a new woman showed up at their door Savannah's heart felt as bruised as their bodies and souls were. Today, her heart bled.

She stopped just before walking outside and leaned against the wall. What would Lynette think of her? Merciful heaven. How selfish could she be wondering what her friend would think? Lynette was in trouble and Savannah would give her any help she could. She pushed away from the wall and straightening her shoulders, stepped outside.

"Lynette," she said softly.

Lynette turned and froze, her blue eyes widening in her white face.

Savannah came forward and took hold of Lynette's cold hands. "My dear friend, I'm here to help you."

* * *

Sighing, she looked down at the stationary and wrote, "Dear". Savannah shook her head and crumpled the paper up and threw it in the wastebasket. She would not start out a note to Napoleon Falconer with 'Dear'.

Mimi entered the study carrying a tray with sandwiches and hot tea. "I didn't get an opportunity to ask earlier, but how was the ball last night?"

"Dreadful," Savannah snapped, remembering her reeling emotions.

"Perhaps a soothing cup of tea will help." She sat the tray down on the desk.

"I doubt it." Savannah huffed a loud sigh. "I don't think I ever want to go to another ball again." She felt that no one else would interest her quite like the man she met last night.

"Your mama's friend's son was désagréable?" Mimi poured the tea and handed the cup to Savannah.

"That's not the word I would have used. Rather," Savannah said as she tapped her chin in thought, "deceptively charming. Interestingly offensive. Handsome and dangerous."

"Those are a lot of words to describe someone. Dangereux men can be fascinating. This is a man who intrigues you. Oui?"

"He did, for about five minutes." All her emotional defenses up like a solid brick wall, Savannah sipped at her tea.

"Such great intérêt you have for him. What did he do?"

"It isn't so much what he did, although that was bad enough," she said thinking about his stirring kiss. "Rather it's what he does."

"Oui?" Mimi said with great interest as she sat down in the chair facing the ornate desk.

Savannah gazed at Mimi and felt a sadness creep through her. Sad that a man who did interest her was out of bounds, if only for her own selfish protection. She rested against the back of her chair. "Apparently in his spare time Mr. Falconer does his best to find runaway wives and daughters. That's why I intend to cancel the picnic we were to have tomorrow and anything else he and his mother can conjure up."

"Do you really think it's wise to cancel those plans?"

Surprise jabbed Savannah. "Slithering snakes, Mimi! I cannot become involved with a man who could undo everything we try to accomplish here. It would be courting disaster."

"Umm." Mimi sipped at her tea.

"I know that look." She pointed her finger at her friend. "What could you possibly be thinking?"

"Don't you see, chéri, if you keep on socializing with him you will be able to discover who he is looking for. That way you'll be able to find out exactly where he is looking and the means by which he is trying to find someone. This could be a perfect friendship to cultivate."

A gentle breeze entered the room through the open window bringing with it the faint bouquet of sweet roses. Savannah gazed at the fluttering white curtains. "I suppose I could stand his company in order to discover if he has been hired to find someone we're helping." It would be extremely dangerous to her heart though.

"A horrible predicament to be sure, but one I am confident you will be able to handle with your usual charm."

"Is that sarcasm I hear, Mimi?" Savannah widened her eyes.

"Oh no, chéri," Mimi answered with a laugh. "Only the truth of the matter."

She rewarded Mimi with a short, but pointed glare. At that moment the phone in the back hallway rang and Savannah and Mimi exchanged a worried look. Only Savannah's maid, June Lee, or herself ever used the telephone and only then for emergencies.

Marina entered the office. "It's June Lee."

Savannah and Mimi rushed to the telephone.

"June Lee?" Savannah said. A minute later, she hung up the phone. "I've got to get to my mother's house. Mimi, please tell Big Ray I need to use the black carriage. And tell him to hurry."

"What's happened?" Mimi followed her.

Savannah said, "It appears Lynette left her home last night and her husband, François, was at my house early this morning looking for her and when my servant said I was still in bed he went to my mother's house. She sent me a note ordering me to get up, get dressed and come to her house immediately. He's waiting there for me."

"Mon Dieu!" Mimi ran ahead of Savannah and yelled for Big Ray.

Savannah grabbed her hat off the front hall table and put it on. Her heart thudded in her chest and her palms sweated as she worried over exactly when her mother's message had arrived at her house. Looking in the mirror, she yanked the heavy black veil down over her face. Every minute was precious.

* * *

"Goodness sake, Savannah Lullaby. As I live and breathe. What kept you? It's almost one-thirty in the afternoon. Poor dear François is getting on my nerves and wearing out my oriental carpets with his pacing."

Savannah took her time pulling the large hatpin out of her hat. She wanted to stamp her feet and tell her mother François was not poor or dear. Striding to keep her voice concerned, she said, "Where is he, Mama?"

The second Savannah's hat was off her mother grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along. "In the living room. I don't know of anyone else who sleeps in as late as you. Why I declare the day is half gone before you even open your eyes. Your servant should have given you my note the second it arrived. You must either instruct your servants better or hire new ones."

"Yes, Mama," Savannah answered not really paying attention to her mother's words.

François stopped his pacing the moment they entered the living room. "Thank God, you've finally arrived. Lynette has taken off with my son. And our Faberge music box is missing."

Anger spiked Savannah's heart and she walked up to him. "Is that all you are worried about François? Your son and your fancy music box?" She glared at him: the murderer. She knew didn't dare say anything because he would know immediately she had spoken to Lynette.

He glared back at her. "Of course not," he retorted. "Has Lynette come to your house? Did she let you know where she planned to go?"

"Do you have any idea why she left?" she asked, closely watching his reaction.

François glowered. "She did not leave me any note if that is what you are referring to."

Georgia sank down on the white silk loveseat. "Speaking of notes, while we're waiting for you, Savannah, I sent one to Clarice to see if perhaps her son, Napoleon, could help."

Instant alarm snapped Savannah's gaze from François to her mother. "Why would you do that, Mama? Perhaps Lynette is out visiting a friend and simply forgot to tell François."

"'Simply forgot'!" François yelled.

Startled by his outburst Savannah put a hand to her breast and took a step back away from him. Fear and anger shivered through her.

"There is no need to yell at Savannah, François," Georgia said in a firm voice.

François jerked his embroidered satin vest down and inhaled a ragged breath. "My apologies, Mrs. Richardson, Savannah. Lynette has been gone since midnight. I seriously doubt any of her friends would receive her at that hour."

"I truly do not understand this," Georgia said.

"Nor do I, Mrs. Richardson," François said.

A servant came into the room. "A Mr. Falconer is here, madam."

"Please send him in immediately."

As Savannah waited for Napoleon, she swallowed hard and reminded herself to behave as frantic and worried as François and her mother.

Napoleon entered the living room. "Mrs. Richardson, Mrs. Knight," he greeted.

"Napoleon," Georgia said, "this is Mr. François De Dentelle. It is his wife, Lynette, who's missing. François, this is Mr. Napoleon Falconer, the man I told you about."

The men shook hands.

"Now," Napoleon said, "what makes you think your wife has run away?"

"She left around midnight with no warning, taking my son and a very expensive Faberge music box."

Savannah watched François, her anger and loathing for him simmering just below the surface. A prickling sensation on her nape caused her to glance at Napoleon. He was watching her with a curious gaze. Immediately she banished the anger she knew was evident in her own gaze and tried for one of concern and compassion for Lynette's husband.

"Do you think you can find Lynette?" she asked Napoleon clasping her hands in what she hoped looked like an action of worry.

"I'm very good at what I do. But, first, I would need a great deal more information and Mr. De Dentelle would have to hire me."

François jabbed his hand in the air. "Of course, I'll hire you. What information do you need?"

Napoleon inhaled deeply before answering. "I would need to see a photograph of your wife and one, of course, of your son. A list of all of her friends and relatives and where they live. A list of everything you think she might have taken with her. And the reason why you think she left."

Savannah sat down next to her mother. "I am her closest friend and she didn't come to my house last night," she said in carefully chosen words. She willed tears to appear in her eyes which wasn't terribly hard to do when she thought of Lynette and all she had suffered at her husband's hands.

Savannah's mother patted her hands. "Don't cry, Savannah. Napoleon will find her, dear. She'll be back with François safe and sound in no time."

Her tears fell at her mother's words. Immediately a handkerchief was thrust at her.

"Here," Napoleon said kindly. "Tears will not help bring your friend back."

"You're right," she sniffled. She took the offered handkerchief and noisily blew her nose in it. She dabbed at her eyes and wadded the soft white cotton up in her hand and held it out to him. When he looked askance at it, she almost snickered.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Falconer. I'll wash it for you." She looked down demurely. She did not want him to see her anger at François or her determination that he would never find Lynette.

As she looked down at Napoleon's handkerchief, she knew Mimi was correct. In order to thwart Napoleon in his efforts to find Lynette, she would have to keep their picnic engagement and any other social engagements that came up. Returning his handkerchief just became another excuse to see him. She tucked it inside the cuff of her green cotton blouse. Keeping Napoleon busy would also mean François would have a harder time finding Lynette. The thought pleased Savannah. But she wanted to test the waters first.

She looked back up at Napoleon. "I suppose this means we will be unable to have our picnic tomorrow." She sighed.

"No. We will still have our picnic. I just won't be able to wile away the entire day with you, as much as I would have liked to."

"You should be looking for my wife not gallivanting about town with Savannah," François said.

Wondering if Napoleon would cancel the picnic after François's statement, Savannah watched the two men.

Napoleon tugged on his left cuff, straightened and slowly turned to face François. "By tomorrow morning, if I have all the information I require from you, things will be set in motion to find your wife. Taking a mere hour or so to eat lunch will not make any difference in finding her."

François's gaze was glued on Napoleon. "Every hour counts."

"Agreed. But I don't work alone. I do have associates. And since every minute counts the first day, I suggest we leave for your home, unless you've a picture of your wife and son on you."

"No, I don't. Mrs. Richardson, Savannah if you will excuse us, we must depart," François said.

Georgia stood. "Of course, François. Savannah and I understand perfectly."

Savannah stood next to her mother. "And we will do anything we can to help. Will you keep us informed as to where you're looking for her and when and if you find her?"

Napoleon gazed at Savannah a half second before answering. "No 'if' involved here, Mrs. Knight. I will find her."

His words sent a shiver down Savannah's back. Her resolve to get Lynette and little Philippe out of New Orleans intensified.

When the men had left, Georgia turned to her daughter. "Savannah, I just can't imagine why a woman would run away from her home. Unless, of course..."

"What?"

"It's just a thought." She casually shrugged. "Do you suppose Lynette has a lover?"

"If she does, I think I would've known." Savannah walked out of the living room and headed for the small foyer. "Mama, I must go home and change. I'm playing cards tonight with some of my new friends."

"At some point, Savannah, I would like to meet these new friends of yours that keep you up so late so many nights of the week."

"Maybe I'll invite them to play cards at my house sometime, and you can come. But, you'll have to learn how to play cards first." She put her hat back on, gave her mother a kiss goodbye and left.

* * *

Several hours later at La Hibicus Rouge Savannah greeted another customer. Charm and a carefree attitude poured out of her, but her thoughts were centered on the fact that Lynette and her little boy were hiding upstairs in the comfortable attic.

"Madame, I've brought a couple of friends of mine with me tonight. Perhaps you would let them stay?"

"My dear Alex, you know the rules." She rested her hand on his arm and tilted her head up at him. "They can only join our establishment the same way you did. First the introduction, and then perhaps at a later date, they will be invited to stay."

"An introduction it is then. I will be but a moment."

Alex left and a few minutes later came back into the house accompanied by two men. The minute Savannah saw the first one her heart squeezed in apprehension he might somehow recognize her. François De Dentelle, the cold-hearted bastard, stepped into the foyer. Anger over what he had done to Lynette and their children iced her blood. And shock he would come here the very day Lynette had left him singed Savannah to her soul.

"Madame, may I introduce François De Dentelle."

He gave her a short bow. The second man stepped around him.

Napoleon Falconer.

Dread like thick, black oil poured onto water washed over Savannah. She pasted a smile on her mouth. She knew he probably would not recognize her while wearing her beautiful feathered mask and blond wig, but he might recognize her voice. Savannah silently held out her hand to Napoleon and he brushed his lips over it. More than ever she was thankful she had taken off her wedding rings. Napoleon was a man who seemed to notice the smallest details. She didn't need him to recall she still wore her rings.

Napoleon smiled at her. "It is my pleasure to meet you, madame."

Chapter Three

Napoleon knew he should have never agreed to accompany François De Dentelle to this bordello. He had no use for bordellos, no matter how elegant they were. He had never paid for a woman in his life and was not about to start now. Women always came to him.

They headed for the steps and looking back Napoleon eyed the madam. Even with her large fancy mask with its feathers and gems hiding most of her face, there was something about this woman was very familiar to him. He recognized the perfume she was wearing as the same one Savannah Knight wore. How interesting Savannah had something in common with this notorious woman.

He was positive he had met this famous Madame de Masque of La Hibicus Rouge before. Was it the arch of her neck that was familiar? Or the way she held out her hand? She kept her eyes downward so he had trouble seeing their color.

It was her mouth, the way it curled up on the ends when she smiled that struck his memory. He had seen that smile before and not too long ago. He was sure of it.

He thought back to the women he had seen during the past couple of days.

There had been the customer at the antique shop where he sold his consignments. The woman had been the right height, and her hair the right color, blond, but her mouth had been broader.

Then there had been the woman down at the dock. She had been looking for her shipment of gowns from Paris. She was a possibility, but her hair was the wrong color.

Again he looked at the madame.

The only woman he could see not wearing a mask, a beautiful quadroon, stood beside the madam. Her skin was as fair as any white woman, but it was the exotic slant of her dark eyes that gave away her breeding.

"Monsieur Falconer, Monsieur De Dentelle, my name is Mimi," the quadroon said. "If you would please follow me, I will introduce you to some of our lovely, young ladies."

Laughter sprinkled down the stairway as they went up, and someone played beautiful melodic music on a harp. Napoleon turned and looked back down again at the madam only to see her looking up at him. When their gazes met, her gaze shot away from his. He could have sworn he saw nervousness in that action.

There was only one woman he had met in the past two days who had dark flashing eyes like those. Savannah Knight.

Savannah Knight might smoke and might cheat at cards, but she would never stoop to being the infamous Madame de Masque of La Hibicus Rouge. It too ridiculous a thought to even consider. A society woman wearing a blond wig, a fancy mask and working late hours at a bordello? Even Savannah Knight would consider it an outrageous idea.

"As you are aware," Mimi said as they continued up the steps, "we don't have anyone available at this time. But you are welcome to apply."

"You make it sound like an exclusive men's club," Napoleon said.

"That's what I like about it," François said. "You're given one woman and she's yours and no one else's."

"Ever?" Napoleon asked, quite skeptical.

"Oui, Monsieur," Mimi answered. "That's one of the reasons our fees are as high as they are."

"How interesting."

They had reached the second floor and Napoleon looked around at the large salon. The salon looked like it belonged in a European palace peopled with women who were dressed as though they were going to a masked ball. Whoever the madam was, she was an astute businesswoman. Keeping all of the women in masks lent an air of mystery and seduction, yet it kept things on an impersonal basis.

If you ever ran into your woman at a social gathering, at the market, or in a restaurant, you would not suffer the pangs of embarrassment.

Clustered in small groups of two or three, carved mahogany Rocaille chairs were scattered throughout the room. Napoleon followed Mimi and François as they made their way to a group of sofas and Napoleon saw what he thought was a medieval, cross frame chair off to one side in a corner.

He casually strolled about the room till he came to the chair. It was beautifully carved with Greenmen and lion's faces. He ran his hand against the gently curved wooden seat feeling for scratches or nicks and discovered none. He felt under the right arm of the chair. If there was a crossbow mark under the right arm, and the chair was authentic, it was one of only two in the world. And was worth a fortune.

"I see you are interested in our good luck chair," Mimi said.

"Is that what you call it?"

"It has been in the owner's possession for generations and as long as we have the chair, we'll never run short of luck. Or so the legend goes."

He knew the same legend, but Mimi only had part of it correct. One needed both chairs in order for the legend to work or so the ancient saying went. "It's an exquisite chair. A very good copy of the original."

"Why don't you try it out? Sit in it. You'll find it's quite comfortable, even without any cushions."

"Thank you." He straightened his left cuff, flexed his wrist and sat down. He put his hands on the curved ends of the arms. It felt like a duplicate of the one he owned. Was it possible he had found the mate? With the lightest of touches he edged his fingers under the chair's right arm. There, he felt a long, narrow scratching. Was it the crossbow, or a scratch?

"What do you think?" Mimi asked him.

"As you said, comfortable. A very good imitation of a medieval chair."

Mimi frowned. "I always thought it actually was from the fifteenth or sixteenth century."

"If it is, it is in remarkably good condition." He stood and looked at the chair. It was much older than what Mimi thought. The minute he had walked into La Hibicus Rouge he had been determined not to come back. Now he would be forced to visit the bordello again if for no other reason than to validate the age of the chair and, if it was authentic, acquire it.

But at the back of his mind, there was one other small reason. And he wanted the answer. Who was the mysterious Madame of La Hibicus Rouge?

* * *

The final guest left. Savannah closed the door and with a gusty sigh, turned and rested against it. "Slithering snakes! Can you believe the audacity of François coming here? And I thought my heart would stop when I saw Napoleon Falconer." She closed her eyes. "We must get Lynette out of here at the first opportunity."

"Oui. I could sense your nervousness, but all of our guests are gone now." Mimi held out her hand. "Give me your mask, mon amie."

Savannah reached up behind her head and pulled out the pins holding her mask in place. "Every time there was a moment of quiet I was sure Lynette's little boy might start crying which would alert everyone to his presence, then everything we've done would be for naught."

"Oui. All of us were aware that could happen."

Savannah carefully lifted the mask away from her face and handed it to Mimi. "I didn't think Napoleon would ever leave."

"A very dashing man."

"Dashing and, as I told you, dangerous." Glad the mask was finally off Savannah rubbed at her eyes.

Mimi tilted her head. "He was most curious about you."

Shocked to a brittle stillness by Mimi's statement, Savannah stared at her. "Do you think he suspected me? Did he say something?" She put a hand to her breast. "Good Lord. I tried my best not to look at him or even be near him."

"No, chéri. He didn't mention anything that could be construed as a suspicion. It appears the only woman he is interested in, as far as La Hibicus Rouge is concerned, is you."

Frowning, Savannah said, "Then he must suspect me."

"Pas nécessairement. I think he wanted to know how much you would cost."

"Cost!" Savannah's eyes widened. "What did he say exactly?" Despite herself she was interested.

"He said he wanted to do some business with you and that means only one thing. At what price can you be bought?"

She stared at her friend a moment longer. "Men," she spat. She reached up, pulled more hairpins free and removed her blond wig. "Well, he can want all he wants to, but he'll never have me. He could offer me the entire United States Treasury and that still wouldn't be enough." She handed Mimi the wig.

Mimi brushed gently at it. Her gaze focused on the hairpiece, she said, "So there is a price you will consider."

"Mimi, if I weren't so tired, I would regard your statement an insult."

"I think you should consider Napoleon's request a compliment."

"Let me tell you something, Mimi," she pointed her finger at her friend, "if I were a man and it were possible for women to purchase the favors of men, I wouldn't consider it a compliment. And speaking of men, the mere idea of François De Dentelle coming here just angers me further. In fact, if I were a man, I'd wring his neck." She shook her head. "And that wouldn't be good enough." She headed for the office.

Mimi followed. "I must say Monsieur De Dentelle is sinfully handsome."

"Sin is the correct word." She arched her back and rubbed it.

"But what would you do to him?"

"I'd have a duel with him." Savannah walked over to the large safe and opened it.

"And what weapons would you choose?" Mimi put the fancy black mask next to several others in the safe.

"Swords. And then I would skewer his heart with one." She made a motion with her hand as if she had a sword in it.

"I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty." Mimi placed Savannah's blond wig next to the masks.

"He'd only be getting his just desserts." Savannah shut the safe.

Mimi made a rude noise. "You'd skewer Mr. De Dentelle's heart with a sword while a simple quick visit to Melvina would take care of him."

"I don't think a little voodoo curse from Melvina would be sufficient. Not as far as I'm concerned."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "What would you do to Napoleon?"

Savannah paused and looked out into the darkened room. "I don't know. Perhaps a pistol aimed at his heart." She let out a long sigh. "I know I can't thwart him on every woman he gets paid to hunt down, but I am determined he never find Lynette."

"Well, other than a picnic tomorrow, do you have other plans to see him?"

Savannah pressed her forefinger against her lower lip and considered all her options. "Did I throw away that invitation to the costume ball?" she mused out loud.

"I've no idea, chéri."

Startled that Mimi answered her, Savannah turned around and looked at her friend. "Of course, you wouldn't. I received an invitation to a costume ball about a week ago and I can't remember if I threw it away or not. All I have to do is make sure Napoleon's mother got one and tell my mother I would like to go, but only if Napoleon took me."

"When is it?"

"Two weeks from Saturday."

"And who would you go as?" Mimi asked.

Savannah laughed. "Why the mysterious Madame de Masque of La Hibicus Rouge of course."

Mimi reached out and grabbed Savannah's arm. "No. You cannot do that."

"Oh? Why not?" asked Savannah eyes wide and frowning in an innocent manner.

Mimi moved and stood directly in front of Savannah. "Think about it. How would you know what she looks like unless you've seen her? And where would you've seen her other than here, at La Hibicus Rouge? Savannah, you don't know what she looks like unless you're her, which of course, you are."

"Hmm. You're right, I shouldn't have even considered it. I must be more tired than I realized." Savannah burst out in laughter and patted Mimi's hand. "Oh, Mimi, you know I would never take such a chance." Savannah continued to laugh.

"I am so pleased to hear this." Mimi rolled her eyes.

A new thought occurred to Savannah and she smiled. "However, that ball is going to give me an opportunity to find out if Napoleon recognized me or not."

"Savannah! This is perilous thinking."

"Yes. And what we do in hiding and finding safe places for these beaten women is perilous. Much more perilous than going on a picnic or attending a ball."

Mimi rested her hands on her hips. "Savannah, you're taking chances with all of our lives."

"And, if Napoleon finds Lynette here, with her little boy, what do you think will happen to us then? I doubt we'd be feted at a tea with the governor for our efforts."

"Didn't you just say a few moments ago your Napoleon was not only dashing, but dangereux?"

"Yes."

Mimi raised her forefinger. "Then, if you must attend that costume ball, go as Napoleon Bonaparte's Josephine." She smiled looking quite pleased with herself.

"Oh, how droll that would be. That would certainly puff up Napoleon's chest."

"A very muscular chest," Mimi said.

Savannah pinned a suspicious look at her friend. "Perhaps the wrong woman is attending that ball. Maybe you should go with Napoleon."

"It was only a keen observation on my part."

"Do you study all the men that come here with that much interest?"

"Oui."

Savannah laughed and shook her head. "What lies you tell, Mimi."

"I wonder how many lies you're going to tell before Lynette and her little boy are safely out of New Orleans."

Dreariness slumped Savannah's shoulders. "Far too many," she said.

* * *

Savannah sat down in the carriage, straightened her slim skirt and opened her lacy parasol. A large picnic basket sat on the opposite seat. Napoleon got in and sat beside her.

"I feel so guilty we're going on a picnic while my friend, Lynette, is still missing," she said.

When he didn't answer her, she turned and looked at him. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed and put her gloved hand on his.

"What?" he asked looking faintly surprised.

"You found her," she said and, careful not to hit him with her open parasol, threw her arms around him and pressed herself against him. "That's why we're going and why you have been so quiet. You wanted to tell me at the right moment."

"Savannah," he said gruffly. "As much as I like you in my arms you have--"

"Where did you find her?" She leaned back and looked up at him in fake adoration. "Did she tell you why she left in the middle of the night? François must be delighted." The horrid man.

"I haven't found her. She's still missing."

She looked intently at him and then sat back against the seat again and stared out at the passing traffic. She had to find out everything Napoleon was doing to find Lynette. "You know I do believe François has a point that going on this picnic is a waste of valuable time."

"I have things under control."

He picked up the reigns and flicked them over the back of the horse and the carriage started down the street. Savannah looked at the passing houses. "My friend is missing and all you can tell me is you have things under control." Tilting her head she glanced back at him. "Could you explain further about that?"

"I've men questioning the people at the railway station, the ferry boats and other means of transportation. François gave me a list of all of her friends and my men will be questioning them as well. We've sent a wire to Lynette's father asking he contact us the minute she shows up, if she shows up. And while we're on our picnic they will be checking out all the hotels."

This was worst than she realized. "How many men do you employ?"

"Four, which is enough."

She relaxed. He didn't have an army of men looking for Lynette as she first supposed. "Not enough if they haven't found her." She stuck her lower lip out in a small pout and huffed a breath.

"If she's still in the city, she'll be found."

Not if she could help it. She and Lynette had discussed going to her father, but decided François would immediately check with him. Instead Lynette had written a letter to her second cousin in London explaining the situation and asking if she could come and live with her until she secured a teaching position.

Savannah picked at the lace edging on her glove. "Did François ever say why he thought Lynette left?"

"That is something you should ask him. What he told me is held in confidence. But I do have a question for you."

Curious, she looked back at him. "Yes?"

"What will you give me when I find your friend?"

"Me?" She pressed a hand to her breast. She'd never considered he would ask that. "Well, I guess I could give you a kiss. A nice friendly chaste kiss."

He took hold of her chin, leaned in close to her and grinned. "That's not quite enough. I may demand something more."

She pulled away from his hold before he could kiss her, though she couldn't deny to herself she wouldn't mind if he did kiss her. That kiss he had given her at the ball had been delicious and dangerous, and far too short. "I don't like men who 'demand'."

He laughed and shook his head. "But you like me, Savannah."

Yes, she did like him, much as she didn't want to. "You are so egotistical. Just like François."

He shook his head. "François De Dentelle. Now, there is an egotistical man."

"Yes," she snapped.

"You sound angry."

"Of course I'm angry." She twisted around to face Napoleon. "His wife and child should be more precious to him than some old music box." As well as he ought to be punished for killing his own child.

Napoleon nodded. "I must admit that was an odd remark he made."

She wondered if François had told Napoleon the truth. Had he admitted to hitting Lynette and little Philippe? Savannah doubted it. She looked out at the passing scenery.

"Where are we going for our picnic?" she asked.

"There's a place on the Bayou Barataria I have in mind."

"Oh, that's a lovely area."

* * *

The mid-afternoon humidity pressed down on the land and Savannah fanned herself as she and Napoleon sat on a blanket beneath a shady tree. Silver green strands of moss hung from the lower branches like pale frothy lace, swaying when just a hint of a breeze pushed against it. She heard the call of a loon and its mate answer. Overhead the buzzing of locusts came closer then faded away.

Between staying up late from the night before, the low drone of insects and the heat it was all Savannah could do to keep from yawning and closing her eyes. Usually she took a nap in the afternoons when she stayed up late the night before acting as the madame. She'd never manage to keep up her charade with her family and friends if she was the madame for more than the two nights a week she worked.

"You're not eating much," Napoleon commented as he finished off a chicken breast.

"Too hot." She leaned against the tree trunk and shut her eyes. "Why do you look for missing wives?" She opened her eyes a mere slit and studied him.

He turned and looked at her. He appeared for just the tiniest of moments as if he were going to tell her, but then his expression closed. With a carefree shrug, he said, "It's just something I do and do well."

Savannah thought over his statement. Something in the way he answered her was quite strange. Most men would have loved to expound on how they started their business, how successful they were, how clever they were. Napoleon answered her as if he were hiding something, or was it just the closeness of the day and her imagination swinging into full gear?

"You've lived here all your life, haven't you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Which of the private and expensive girl's school did you attend?"

"St. Mary's, as did my mother and yours."

"And, no doubt, you were a wonderful student." He wiped his hands on a napkin.

Savannah curled her mouth up in a smile. "Of course, I was. But there was one class I didn't do very well in."

"I can't imagine you not doing well in anything. Tell me, was it some scientific class like mathematics?"

With a little laugh she shook her head. "I doubt you'll be able to guess so I might as well tell you."

"Please do."

"Archery. I'm a miserable failure at it. Mr. Dennison, my instructor, said I was 'lethally incompetent'."

Napoleon laughed.

"Ah, you wouldn't think it was funny if you had seen me in class." Savannah leaned her head back against the tree. "All my classmates ran the second I picked up my bow."

"I would have liked to have seen that." He stood and stretched. "It's quite a close day. Would you like to go boating?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "What?"

"Boating. See that small boat over there?"

She glanced in the direction he indicated. "Yes."

"It's ours for the entire afternoon."

She gazed at the little rowboat. "It's not a very big ship."

"Boat," he corrected.

"Is it sturdy?"

"Afraid of sinking?" he teased.

There was such devilment in his gaze Savannah couldn't help but react. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent swimmer."

He flashed a look back at her. The smile on his face was far too wicked for her liking even if it did make her heart beat faster than it should.

"Do you ever go swimming au natural?"

Arrogant male. "Of course." She grinned back at him just as wickedly and stood. "And you?"

He shrugged a broad shoulder. The look in his eye was filled with mischief. "Never got a chance. But if you're agreeable..."

"Oh, I see where this is going." She bent down and picked up her parasol. "I take off my clothes and then you will take off yours?"

"Would you be more agreeable if I took mine off first?"

"Mr. Falconer, you are the most daring man I know." She popped open her white lace parasol.

"You mean I'm the most interesting man you know."

She laughed. "Perhaps."

"And the only man who is not afraid to take you to his bed."

She gasped at his boldness, yet desire warred with irritation. She frowned at him. "Are you saying the rest of the men in this world are afraid of me?"

He studied her for a moment before answering. "I'm saying I'm the only one who could do it properly."

With a fixed smile on her face, she said, "Hell will be filled to capacity before you will find me in your bed, or any other man's bed."

"I'd say by the way the world is going hell is getting filled rather quickly these days."

"Perhaps when you get there it'll finally be filled." She strolled down the grassy bank toward the boat.

Napoleon followed her. "I don't believe I've ever been told in a nicer way to go to hell."

She would have laughed at his statement and said how smart he was. But she was afraid of him and of her own attraction to him. Afraid of letting him getting too close to her heart, afraid of him discovering she was the madame of La Hibicus Rouge, and, mostly, afraid of him finding Lynette and handing her back to her monster of a husband, François. However, it would be so easy to be swept away on a tide of blazing desire for Napoleon.

"Let's go on our cruise so you can get back to finding my friend."

Napoleon helped her into the small craft and they started down the bayou. While Napoleon rowed the boat, Savannah lazily trailed her fingertips in the water. What she wouldn't give to be able to hike up her skirts, kick off her shoes and roll down her hose to swing her bare legs in the cooling waters. As they rounded a bend, Savannah sighed.

"What was that long sigh for?" Napoleon asked.

"See the plantation house over there?"

"Yes. Evening Breeze. Why do you ask?"

"Just before my husband became ill it was put up for sale and we made a bid for it, but someone else bought it. We never did find out who it was. Probably some northern Yankee."

"Who is now a southern Yankee." He maneuvered the boat around a tangle of drifting tree roots.

She cast him a sarcastic look. "Yankees are Yankees. They are all from the north. Besides, southerners are much more genteel than northerners."

"Southerners only hide behind their charm and good manners. Northerners are much more direct."

"At least we have charm and manners," she said wistfully. Savannah gazed longingly at the large white house. "Evening Breeze should have been mine."

"If you're good, Savannah, I'll buy it for you."

She titled her head and arched a brow at him. "Good, as in your bed? Do you think I am for sale?" She immediately wished she hadn't said that.

"Considering how much Evening Breeze would cost, you should consider my proposal a compliment. Believe me, there is a price for everything."

"Not me and, most definitely, not love," she said thinking about how he wanted to know how much the madame of La Hibicus Rouge would cost. The incorrigible knave. Her heart knew a touch of panic though as she wondered if to save Lynette she would have to give in to his desires.

Napoleon put down the oars and shrugged off his jacket. "Love is fleeting."

"I'm sorry. My thoughts were drifting. What did you say?"

"I said money is fleeting."

"Depends on how you spend it." She could have sworn he had said love not money. Why would he change a word?

He flashed a warm earthy grin at her and once again handled the oars. "Lots of ways to spend money."

Indeed. Such as going to a bordello. She chose to ignore his bright smile and her gaze drifted back to the water.

"Look out!" she warned.

A large mass of debris bumped against the side of the boat and one of the oars became entangled in the woody mass. Napoleon let go of the opposite oar and stood to pull the other one free.

"Someone must be clearing their land up stream," he said as he struggled to free the oar that had become snarled within the mass of vines.

The boat swayed precariously. Savannah put her parasol down and leaned over the side to see better. She stood up, put her hands on the edge of the boat and bent over the edge. The boat rocked dangerously.

"I think you should sit down," Napoleon said not looking back at her but working to free the oar.

"Maybe I could help."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "Better sit down or we will--"

Another large jumble of roots jarred the boat. The boat tipped over sending them both splashing into the dark, murky water. Savannah heard Napoleon swear and she couldn't blame him. She knew better than to stand up in the small boat.

She was having trouble staying afloat. Just as she heard Napoleon call out for her, her long lacy skirt caught underneath on a long jagged and knotted limb and it pulled her under. She kicked and twisted, but those actions entwined her skirt and petticoats further. The surface of the water was only an arm's length away and she swam toward it with all of her strength. Her lungs began to burn. Desperate now, she reached back down and tried to rip her skirt free.

Her hair floated into her eyes. Fighting the knotted slippery, woody mass her strength was quickly dissipating. Where was Napoleon? Her lungs screamed for air. On one last hopeful, furious chance Napoleon would help her Savannah reached up and splashed the surface with her hands.

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