Adamant Spirits, page 144
Lauren didn’t need a protector. She never had. But she was out of her depth in this world of magic and chaos, and what started as an innocent inquiry was likely to turn into war.
Any doubt of his love for her fled at the notion he might lose her.
Nicolas closed his eyes and listened to the storm, thinking.
Charlotte
Charlotte Fontenot was in way over her head, and not for the reasons she expected.
Lawrence led her up the stairs, winding them into a series of asymmetrical hallways that left Charlotte dizzy and disoriented. The homes in New Orleans were structured more evenly, with central halls and parlors leading to rooms on each side. The upstairs of this mansion was more like a maze, one she was quite positive once Lawrence left her alone she’d find herself lost within.
She hadn’t expected the moment of engagement to lead so quickly to personal attention. As the man of the night, Lawrence Henry had as many masters as there were guests, and his polite, but quick attention to each of them was what she’d expected for herself as well. Julian would give her grief for the calculated fall, but she feared a customary introduction wouldn’t be enough to make her stand out. She’d never know if it was the fall, the dress, or her, but she had Lawrence in her attention, a no doubt temporary state of affairs. She needed to make the most of what time she had.
Lawrence stopped before a long room with doors on each end. The ornate, gilded handles were as lengthy as her torso and nearly as thick. With a soft grunt, he pulled one of them open, dropping her arm briefly to make use of both hands, and gestured for her to enter first.
Charlotte’s breath caught as she stepped into the room. Mirrors, hundreds, lined the walls, obscuring an actual appraisal of the precise size of the space. Movable racks held dazzling clothing of all kinds, from smoking jackets to gowns. Rotating shelves shaped like long cylinders showcased an expansive collection of shoes.
“You weren’t kidding,” she breathed. She had never been especially snared by expensive things, but Charlotte was mesmerized. “Next time a guy tells me he wants to take me to his dressing room, I’ll believe him.”
“My authentic pickup lines are far more creative.” He stood at a distance, watching her. When she turned to look at him, his smile faded. “I said I’d leave you alone.”
Charlotte pivoted away, heels echoing on the hard floors. She feigned a lack of interest with a dismissive wave over her shoulder. “You can stay, it’s fine. Unless you need to get back?”
“I might need medical attention. Your dress is blinding in these mirrors,” Lawrence teased. He threw his arms dramatically across his eyes when she turned to shoot him a look.
I can take it off, she nearly said, but that was far more forward than she wanted to be this early. In fact, she didn’t want to be forward at all. She only wanted to lower his defenses.
From the blush in Lawrence’s cheeks, she guessed he was thinking the same. He had the decency to move away and filter through a collection of men’s jackets.
Charlotte continued her perusal of the shoes. She’d spotted her size, seven, on the other end of the room, but he didn’t know she knew that, so she took her time. She hadn’t expected time alone with Lawrence, so she wasn’t prepared with the right words to draw out his truths.
She felt his eyes on her again, and she moved with even more deliberateness, knowing full well how the dress sat on her hips, how it contoured and highlighted her best assets. Was she trying to seduce him? She didn’t think so. Certainly, she had no intention of seeing any such game through to conclusion, and she wasn’t looking to confuse the poor man. His measure was what she wanted. There were few things more telling about a man than how he handled himself in private with a beautiful woman.
“It’s so good of your sister to be here with you, supporting your work,” Charlotte ventured. She turned over a size ten in her hands, pretending to regard it with more than passing curiosity.
“Gabrielle?” Lawrence said the name without the warmth of familiarity. “Yes, she’s very supportive.”
“I have to confess, when we first arrived, I mistook her for your girlfriend. My brother kindly corrected me.”
A darkness passed over Lawrence’s soft features. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He stepped away from the jacket rack. “Where are you from, Miss Fontenot?”
“New Orleans.” She saw no reason to lie, as Julian had. If they folded the Henrys into their world, as Colleen undoubtedly hoped they would, a lie was no way to start a relationship.
Lawrence smiled, nodding. “So that’s where I know the Fontenot name. My father is a business acquaintance of Luther Fontenot. Any relation?”
“Luther is my uncle,” Charlotte replied. “My father’s brother.”
“Small world. I escape New Orleans and it follows me to Paris, anyway.”
Charlotte met his eyes in a hundred reflections. “And what do you have to escape, Lawrence Henry?”
Lawrence tried to focus on one iteration of her and laughed at his failure, at the confusing nature of the endless arrangement of mirrors. “If you can believe it, it’s Paris I’d prefer to escape.”
“La Ville Lumière? La Ville de L’amour?”
“Your French is quite good, Miss Fontenot.”
“My mother is French. And you’re deflecting.”
Lawrence stopped his casual perusing of clothes he obviously had no interest in. “Deflecting?”
Charlotte tried to hide her expression, as she remembered the tense conversation between Lawrence and his sister the night before, but this was impossible in a room of reflections. She forced a smile. “Why would anyone want to flee a city like Paris?”
Lawrence tossed his eyes to the side with a faint smile. “Right. City of Light. City of Love. All that?”
“I said it better.”
He looked at his feet, and his grin widened. “Yes, you did.”
“So?”
“Would you believe I’m homesick?”
“If you were anywhere but Paris. And home was anywhere but New Orleans.”
“Fair play,” Lawrence conceded. He pulled his jacket out to his sides with his pocketed hands and shuffled in place. “I have business back home I feel like I’m neglecting, you could say.”
“What sort of business?”
Lawrence clucked his tongue. “What a personal question, Miss Fontenot. Next you’ll be curious about my undergarment preferences.”
Charlotte set down a shoe and squinted one eye. “Oh, Mr. Henry, I’d definitely peg you for a brief man.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think I want to know how you came to that conclusion.”
“That’s good, because I hadn’t planned to divulge my methods.”
Lawrence fumbled around in his pocket with a growing flush in his cheeks, likely unaware that his feelings were displayed a hundred times over across the walls. “How goes the practical shoe search, Miss Fontenot?”
“I’m having a dilemma,” Charlotte declared. She braced herself and tried to bend at different angles, first directly over, and then into a squat. It was no use. Couture was no more intended for function than her Louboutin heels. And though she’d feigned clumsiness downstairs, the act committed her to a change in footwear.
“I’ve solved a few of those in my time.” He started her way, tentative. “Anything I can help with?”
“It’s slightly embarrassing, really,” she said, and this wasn’t a lie. She’d had no problem slipping into the heels, but the flats were tailored tighter. She needed to pull the heel over the back of her foot, but with no forgiveness in her dress, she couldn’t manage the task alone.
“More embarrassing than being outed for a brief man?”
“I suppose that depends on your comfort level with voyeurism.”
“Any confirmation on that is a trap, and we both know it.”
“I could use your help,” Charlotte said. “But I won’t take any jokes about it later.”
Lawrence’s figure traveled across the room, dancing through the panes of glass as he made his way to the shoe rack. “Those are a nice choice, as far as shoes go. Objectively speaking. I think.”
“Yeah? I’m partial.”
“But you’re standing there barefoot.”
“I am.”
“The real story comes together, Miss Fontenot. Slowly but surely. Or do you go by Cinderella?”
Charlotte’s hands splayed at the side of her hips. “The ruching on the back is giving me fits. I can’t… bend over to pull my heels in.” She pursed her lips at the sign of his budding amusement and lifted a finger. “I said no jokes.”
Lawrence pressed his mouth closed, but the delight lived on in his twinkling eyes. He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket and dropped into a crouch. Charlotte handed him the shoes.
“Can you lift your gown a bit?”
“Mr. Henry!” Charlotte declared, teasing, and pulled up the hem.
“You should see my next move,” Lawrence replied.
He reached for one of her bare feet. His hand hesitated, hovering just above it, and then his soft, un-calloused palm slid under her heel like silk. Charlotte braced herself for balance on the rack, but a new sensation washed over her, like chills but warmer and both welcome and not. Gently, he guided her into the satin slipper, toes first, using his thumbs to pull the heel over the back.
Goose bumps covered her arms from shoulder to elbow. Her heart raced at the delicacy of his careful touch, at his strange intimacy.
When he’d finished with both feet, Lawrence rose, almost too fast, and his breath brushed her lips, her cheeks. She nearly swayed, this time in earnest.
Lawrence didn’t immediately move away. His neck pulsed. His cheeks bloomed like a red rose. The breath, his, hers, mingled into one and the moment lived on, neither moving to break it, but neither knowing how to further it, either.
“My life is very complicated, Miss Fontenot,” Lawrence whispered.
“Whose life isn’t complicated, Mr. Henry?” Why had she said it, as if she was leading him closer to her, instead of denying the moment had grown beyond playful banter.
Lawrence’s hands appeared at her shoulders. He ran his fingers down her slender arms, and a new chill took over her. They ended at her hands, and he pulled both to his mouth and pressed his lips to one, and then the other. “I haven’t enjoyed meeting someone this much in a very long time.”
He backed away, still watching her, and was softly pulled back when Charlotte realized she hadn’t let go of his hands. She smiled shyly as she released them. “Thank you for the rescue tonight.”
Lawrence tapped his hand against his trousers and gave her one last smile before leaving her holding her ridiculous rented shoes and a very confused heart.
Charlotte had to find Julian. But first, she needed to slow her pulse. To let the color in her cheeks return to normal. To clear her mind of whatever confusion the odd encounter with Lawrence Henry had caused.
Think. Be logical. You learned so much. Make a list.
Yes, she would make a list. Organizing her mind was the greatest calming agent. And she had learned much, far more than he would ever guess he had given away.
They already knew Gabrielle Henry was not Lawrence’s sister, but now Charlotte was also quite certain the woman was not his lover, either. Not simply because of his denial, or even the disgusted look he gave when she planted the thought.
Lawrence did not want to be in Paris, evidenced first by his faint thoughts the night before and confirmed by both his words and behavior tonight. She sensed in him the feeling of being trapped there, by something, or someone.
He’d enjoyed their delicate dance of playful acting in the dressing room because it was both safe and not. There was caution in Lawrence, but there was also adventure.
His careless blocking was the most stunning revelation of all. Lawrence blocked his thoughts, but the shield was sloppy and ill-applied. She’d picked up on stray sensations, such as his anxiousness at being alone with her, his fear of an unspecified danger. His thoughts broke through in continuous flashes.
A block like his was the kind you found on people who had been shown how to do it by someone more skilled, but did not have the magic themselves to detect whether it was effective.
Like a witch.
Charlotte was nearly positive that Lawrence was not a witch himself. That whatever his business with Gabrielle, it had nothing to do with whatever powers he possessed… or didn’t.
Gabrielle, the Many-Faced Heiress, was the witch. The mastermind. The puppet-master.
What was Lawrence to her?
Julian
Julian spent over an hour repeating to Lauren the details of their night at Lachaise Estate. He began with his observations of the event, transitioned to Charlotte’s version of events, and then back to his own, which had taken their own interesting turn after Charlotte disappeared with Lawrence.
Lauren poked the most holes in Charlotte’s story. Julian guessed Lauren suspected, as he had, that there was more Charlotte wasn’t telling, but, unlike Lauren, he knew well if his cousin had kept events close to her chest, that was that.
“I still don’t understand. Lawrence helped her pick out shoes?” Lauren asked. He could almost see her scratching her head through the phone. Julian could relate.
“That’s what Charlotte said.”
“That’s not weird to you?”
Julian shrugged in the empty room. “You didn’t see her fake fall into his arms, which was enough weird for the whole night.”
Lauren shuffled some papers around on the other end. “And his father knows Luther?”
“Apparently.”
“And he actually told her his life was complicated? He said those exact words?”
“I guess, Lauren. Look, I wasn’t there. The only thing I know for sure is they were gone for about twenty minutes, and Gabrielle wasn’t happy about it. Madder than a wet hen. She dressed him down in front of everyone as soon as he came back down to the party. Without Charlotte, thankfully, or I don’t even want to know how that would have gone.”
“Do you think she knew he wasn’t alone?”
“I didn’t hear anything like that. Sounded like she was mad that the host disappeared from his party, but who knows what she was really mad about?”
“Can I talk to Charlotte now? Maybe clarify a few things?”
“Sorry, she’s still…” He stretched the cord around the corner. Light poured out from under the bathroom, along with bits of steam. Charlotte had been in the bath since before Julian called Lauren. Julian’s only real experience with young women involved his sisters, and they both enjoyed their time in the bathroom, but this felt excessive. “Maybe she can call you when she’s out of the bath.”
Silence was the initial answer from Lauren’s end of the phone. “Fine. But tell her she needs to call me. This is the most progress we’ve had since you both arrived, and I don’t want to miss a single detail. Playing a game of telephone isn’t the way I like to do things, and I certainly won’t recommend action based on it.”
“I know. I will.” Julian stopped short of apologizing for his cousin again. Apologizing for himself and others, in the absence of something more substantial to offer, was an unfortunate gift of his, and he was more aware of it now that he was removed from his tenuous home life.
“All right.” Lauren sighed, a reluctant sound of moving on. “Let’s revisit your notes, then, Julian. Starting with when Charlotte and Lawrence disappeared upstairs, and Gabrielle came looking for them?”
Julian began not then, but moments after that. To begin precisely where Lauren asked would be to reveal the vision he had, which was no different than his previous ones, except that it was stronger, emphasizing the sensation of awaiting doom. The figures ahead were closer in each vision, and he was terrified of what it might mean when they were close enough to touch them.
He didn’t know why he kept this from Lauren. He was certainly the cautious one of the traveling duo, and had discouraged Charlotte at every step, fearful of the danger. But that didn’t mean he wanted to leave, either. Not only for the opportunity to be away from his life in New Orleans—his mother, if he was being exceptionally honest—but for the sense of purpose that might be ahead if they succeeded. Revealing he foresaw acute danger would put the pin back in the grenade before they even had a chance to determine if it was a dud.
“She came out from a hallway, alone,” Lauren pressed.
“Yeah, and she didn’t look happy at all. That was even before she tried to find Lawrence and realized he was missing. I don’t know what the person who pulled her aside said, or did, but she was annoyed from the start. And then she only got more agitated when she couldn’t find Lawrence. She stopped greeting guests when they came up to her, and she was even rude to them. A couple left because of it.”
“And then she disappeared again.”
“After she couldn’t find Lawrence in the ballroom, I suppose. She disappeared down another hallway, and this time I followed her. I’m not sure why I did it, I just felt like if Charlotte was going to work on the brother, I should do something, too.”
“You were right to follow her. The fundraiser was as safe of a place as any,” Lauren said. “And she went in a room that said ‘staff only,’ do I have that right?”
“I was going to try and go in after, you know, after enough time passed, but then I heard her voice only several feet away on the other side of the door, so I stayed outside,” Julian said. “I pushed the door in about a half inch, and I saw the room was actually pretty small and she was just inside. I turned on my phone and snuck a quick picture. I know it isn’t very good… you can’t see her face or anything. But I got another from the side profile. I was too scared to do much more. After, I turned my phone off, because my mom won’t stop calling and I didn’t want to get busted.”
“No, you did great,” Lauren said. “The law firm has access to a few databases that we’ll bump the pictures you took up against and see if we get any hits. Anyway, this seems to be where things got strange. Rather than repeat them back, I think it’s better if you tell me, because then we can check the accuracy of your memory.”
