She had learned about desire from the doxies who frequented the village cockfights. She had watched them rub their bodies together- the whores and drunken farmers- acknowledged the pleasure they found in touching. Occasionally, she would hear the other girls at the convent whisper, sharing secrets, but none of the things she had seen or heard had prepared her for the feelings that had taken hold of her that afternoon. The urgency of it all had been razor sharp and sweet- mindlessly pleasurable, equally painful- for her as well as for Chantz.

Daft ninny. What had she been thinking to confess her feelings? What had she been thinking to seduce him? Right there in the cane field. Right there in broad daylight. A kiss. A forbidden touch- that's all.

A confession of love.

It had angered and frightened him, of course. He had put her away from him and stalked off even though she had called out his name. Even though she had run after him with tears burning her eyes and embarrassment biting her sunburned cheeks.

Chantz Chantz Chantz.

Juliette paced in the dark, up and down the gallery, thinking she might go insane if the hounds didn't stop their barking.

"You really should attempt to be less obvious," came the voice behind her, and she turned to look into Phyllis's eyes. Phyllis gave her a tight smile. "Granted, there is something about Chantz that crawls into a woman's blood and won't let go. But most of us attempt to hide it... at least in polite company."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Juliette replied, turning her back on Phyllis.

"Very good. Keep on denying it. Perhaps, eventually, you'll come to believe it yourself. But that will require you to leave Baton Rouge and never see him again. Are you willing to do that, Miss Broussard?"

"I've nowhere else to go."

Phyllis moved up beside her, her arms crossed over her bosom as she looked out over the dark terrain.

"I almost envy you for what you are. I wish I had your courage and willfulness and spirit- not to mention your pride. I wish I had even the tiniest portion of your strength and humanity. It's why he admires you." Leaning against the pillar, Phyllis regarded Juliette's profile. "I suspect that his... admiration isn't exactly what you have in mind. No doubt you desire his love and undying devotion."

"You do love him," she said, feeling loss loom around her, and within her. "Don't you?"

"Yes."

She swallowed. "And does he love you?" Her voice trembled.

Phyllis remained silent as the hounds' barking sounded louder and more frantic. "And if I said yes? Would

that change how you feel about him?"

"No."

Phyllis smiled. "Isn't it a shame that we can't simply turn love on and off at will? Our hearts would hurt far

less. Perhaps our lives would be spent in contentment instead of remorse over what might have been if only..." She sighed. "If only I was marrying Horace because I loved him. If only Chantz's eyes weren't so blue or his grin so cute and his kisses so soft... I might actually, eventually, fall in love with Horace. If only Chantz wasn't forbidden..."

At first the shouts sounded like a night bird's, faint and static in the distance.

Juliette and Phyllis exchanged looks before hurrying to the far end of the dark gallery. Some instinct made

Juliette reach out and catch Phyllis's hand, as if the connection would somehow force a strength back into her legs that felt, suddenly, as trembling as pudding.

The sound again. Closer.

"Dear God." Phyllis drew in a quick breath. "Something's happened."

A figure moved swiftly through the darkness toward the house.

"It's Liza." Phyllis covered her mouth with one hand.

Lifting her skirt, Juliette descended the steps and struck out running to meet Liza whose gulping sobs

made Juliette's thumping heart climb her throat.

"Liza!" she cried. "Liza, what's happened?"

Stumbling, Liza fell into Juliette's arms. Her fingers clutched with desperation at Juliette's dress as she

sank to her knees. Her words were incoherent, and as she covered her face with her hands, she rocked back and forth.

Juliette eased to the ground and took Liza's tear-streaked face between her hands. "What's happened,

Liza?" Her voice shook and dread filled up her chest with such force she felt as if she might explode. She wanted to shake sense into the woman. "For the love of God, Liza, calm down and tell us what's happened. Please."

She gave Liza a sharp shake that snapped Liza's head back. Something in her dark, grief-stricken eyes struck Juliette with a fear so immense she couldn't breathe.

"Chantz," she choked. "Something's happened to Chantz."

Liza nodded and sobbed.

Phyllis fell to her knees, her hands clasped to her bosom.

"Is... is he dead?" Juliette demanded. "Is he?" She shook Liza furiously. "Tell us, damn you."

"Gator got him," she finally managed. "Took him clean under."

Juliette stared at Liza as if hoping to find some indication in her face that this was all a mistake.

"Is he dead?" she heard herself ask.

"Don't know. Louis done gone in the water after him." Swiping the back of her hand over her cheeks, Liza looked at Juliette squarely and said, "Tylor sat there and let it happen. Chantz done reached out his hand for help and Tylor done sat there and let that damn bull take him."

Several men emerged from the dark. One shouted, "Fetch the doctor! Best git him quick. Chantz bleedin'

bad!"

Juliette stood, glanced at the others, like wooden statues with their mouths open and their eyes big and as glazed as china. The only thought to beat at her brain was that Chantz was alive.

Someone on a horse went tearing by, popping a crop frantically against the animal's haunches. Juliette started down the path toward the bayou, tripping on her skirts, forcing her to lift them as her stride stretched into a run down the narrow, stone-littered path, tripped over tufts of prickly sedge until her ankles and shins felt as if they had been raked by knife blades. The blazing bonfire cast light over the group of men huddled near the water. Louis looked up and saw her.

She froze as he stood and moved toward her. His drenched clothes clung to his skin, the white shirt

soaked by blood and his hands shining wet with it. Sickness and fear rolled in her stomach as she forced herself to look up into his anguished face.

"Best you gits on back to the house, Miss Julie. This ain't no place for a young lady. I done sent Elijah to

town to fetch help and soon as Doc gits here ever'thin' gonna be just fine."

"He's alive?" She swallowed and tried to breathe. Impossible. The air radiated with heat from the bonfire making her skin feel as if it were being seared from the bone.

Louis nodded but looked away.

"I want to see him. I want to see for myself-"

"Don't be wantin' to see him now. Not 'til the doc been here and-"

She moved around him.

Andrew came out of nowhere. The damp streaks of blood on his face made him look savage as he took

her shoulders in his hands. His fingers felt slick and damp with blood and a shudder passed through her. A scream crawled up her throat and she fought to restrain it. Those last moments in Chantz's arms rushed over her like the incinerating heat from the bonfire.

His arms sliding around her, Andrew pulled her close, held her hard. Only then did she realize she had begun to cry. Her body shook and she buried her face against his shoulder.

"Hush now." His voice sounded thick and the words wavered. "We'll have to be strong for him, Julie."

"I want to see him, Andrew. Please."

After a moment's hesitation, Andrew took her by the arm and they walked together toward the huddle of men on their knees, some talking in soothing tones while others appeared to be working feverishly on Chantz's leg.

Chantz lay on his back, his eyes closed, and for a horrifying moment she believed him to be dead. She clutched at Andrew's arm as he said, "He's in shock, in and out of consciousness. I think he doesn't know a damn thing about what's happening."

She eased to the ground, just by his shoulder. His face, though damp with sweat, looked pale and smooth as wax.

Andrew dropped down beside her. "How is it looking, Matthew?"

The black man shook his head. "Gots the bleedin' most stopped. He done bled fierce, though."

Chantz groaned.

Juliette touched his cold brow. His eyes opened and for an instant she felt impacted by the blue of his eyes. He might well have been asleep, just awakened, drowsy and barely aware of where he was.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. Lingering there, her eyes drifting closed, she allowed her senses to absorb the feel of his flesh against her mouth, the soft brush of his hair against her cheek- his scent- oh God, his scent. It rushed through her body with a heat greater than the fire burning in the distance. She felt desperate to press her body against his.

Andrew touched her back. "We have to move him now, Julie. Come away."

As he pulled her aside, she struggled, briefly. Chantz turned his face away, and as the first spasm of pain

flashed through him his hands dug into the dirt, shaking and suddenly sweating. A sound rolled inside him.

His teeth clenched.

Louis and Matthew situated a stretcher beside him, and as the men moved to lift him, Andrew forced

Juliette away. "Have Rosie prepare us plenty of hot water and clean linens. And bourbon. I suspect Chantz is going to need a great deal of that."

Turning on his heels, he moved to assist with the careful lifting of the stretcher.

Shifting her gaze toward the water, she looked directly into Tylor's eyes.