"Leave it alone, Julie-"

"I won't!" Clutching his arm, she sat back on her heels, stopping him in his tracks and spinning him around

to face her. Her wide eyes fixed on his and her breath rushed in and out of her lips in audible little pants.

"Dear God," she gasped. "It wasn't you and my mother-"

"No." He yanked his arm away and backed toward the stairs. "I didn't see anything, Julie. I was down at the kitchen when the fire broke out."

"You're lying."

"There were storms. I took shelter with the others in the kitchen. By the time we saw the smoke and flames-"

"What others?"

"The house servants."

"Why weren't they in the house?"

"Because your mother always sent them out when she entertained her... gentlemen friends."

"I see." She swallowed. "I take it she had several?"

Releasing a weary breath, Chantz shook his head. "I don't know, darlin'. Just leave it alone, Julie. Take a

good look around you and get it into your head that all the drudging up of memories and wishful thinking isn't gonna change the past. Put it behind you and get the hell away while you still can. Before all these old ghosts rise up to destroy you, too."

A flash of emotion brightened her eyes- tears rose though she fought valiantly to deny them. Then her shoulders slumped and she looked at him with a dawning that only added to her despair. "Oh Chantz. Look at you. Hurting so badly and trying so desperately to hide it. And as usual I've been too caught up in my own thoughts and emotions to see clearly- too damn overwhelmed by all of this." She swept one hand around her, blinked and knuckled away her tears, brows drawing together as she looked at his leg.

"You're bleeding," she said with a rip of despair in her voice. She ran to him, dropped to her knees before him, and oh so gently touched him where his pants leg had become blotched with blood. Her head falling back, she gazed up at him from her cloud of dark-fire hair, her eyes and face illuminated by the afternoon sunlight. "I love you, Chantz. I have since the first instant that I opened my eyes and looked in your face the night you pulled me from the river. I think I have since I was a child and you saved me from the fire. Always you were there, a tower of strength and bravery. My security. Someone who made me laugh through my tears. It was always you I reached out for in my dreams... and in my worst nightmares."

He touched her hair and her cheek with his fingertips.

"I never want to hurt you, Chantz. Never." Closing her eyes, she pressed her face gently against his thigh, her hands easing around his leg to stroke it- lightly so lightly and gently it felt like worship.

He knew, even before he reached for her, that his life would never be the same after this. Lifting her, pulling her against his hard body, Chantz slanted his mouth over hers with a force that made her whimper, made her shake, made her small hands clutch at his shirt as if she were tottering again on that precipice above the raging Mississippi. He wanted to hurt her. Frighten her. Make her believe in that instant that the emotions burning in him were anything but what they were.

There was no room in his life for love. Women were simply a convenience, necessary upon occasion to assuage his base hungers- cane was his true mistress.

Yet her mouth... Christ, her mouth. Any other woman would have wilted to the floor under the fierceness of his kiss.

Not Juliette.

Curling her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his hair, she drew him deeper into the kiss, molded her body into his, inflaming him with the feel of her loins pressed against his.

Lifting his head, he stared into her eyes, wanting like hell to teach her a lesson she wouldn't soon forget, teach her that a man like him would lead her straight down the path to damnation.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded roughly, and shook her, then lowered his mouth again to hers, more gently at first, then harder as he brushed his fingers across her breast, felt the nub of her nipple rising up high and hard beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

She moaned; her mouth parted; her tongue danced with his as she pushed harder into his hand, offering her breast to his caress that went from gentle to hungry. The control he'd held over his body since the moment he'd dragged her out of the river eroded like sand in turbulent waters.

Easing her down onto the floor, amid the clutter of dry leaves and the tattered remains of ruby-red carpet, he slid his hand under her skirt, eased his fingertips up her calf to her thigh. A sudden wind gust groaned through the empty rafters, stirred the branches high overhead so the leaves clattered like a sprinkling of pebbles on a tin roof. As dust lifted and danced in the spear of sunlight pouring through the glassless window, reason felt as gossamer as the crepuscular rays pouring over Juliette's face and hair. The hunger to possess her, not just her body but her soul, made him urgent, made him shove her knees apart with his leg and draw the skirt up her thighs, made him slide his hand through the slit in her drawers to the warm, moist, and feminine flesh within.

She gasped. Her arms slid over his shoulders and her hands curled into his shirt.

"Damn you," he whispered as she unashamedly opened her legs, lost in the bliss of what his hand ignited in her body. Turning it hot. Turning it liquid and silken and redolent with a scent that sluiced to his brain and incinerated his ability to reason. The world in that moment became Juliette's eyes, green as the leaves on the trees shifting shadows over the floor, her mouth, lips parted, full, quivering, her face, pale amid the wild, tangled shock of red hair- He slid his body partially over hers, so she could feel his weight and the hardness of his penis against her thighs- needed her to know how badly he wanted her, that his control had bled from him through the ragged holes in his flesh. He wanted to tell her that in those last frantic moments before he had gone black with shock she had been the only image to rise up in his mind. His only regret. He had wanted to turn back the clock to that bright hot afternoon in the cane field and not walk away in fear. He wanted to lay her down in the warm silt and possess her, body and soul. He wanted her to know that he ached more for her than he ached for legitimacy.

She moaned as she felt his mouth against her throat, her face, her lips; his hands fumbled with the buttons on his breeches and once he was released he caught her hand and moved it to him, reluctant at first, then her fingers closed around him and his eyes drifted closed in such sweet agony he could only groan and tremble. His fingers found her, between her thighs, touched her lightly, parting the lips of her sex, and she cried out at first, startled by the sudden sensation and the ecstasy of the gentle invasion. Yet, her eyes watched him with heat and yearning- no embarrassed coyness from her, and he hadn't expected any; her legs opened farther, inviting, and he moved between them, fighting the hunger to move too fast- she was a virgin, after all, and he entered her gently- though he didn't feel gentle, he felt violent- allowing her body to open, little by little, knowing the instant he breached her- the cry was soft, the gasp sudden, the darkening of her eyes like a passing of one life to another.

Her hands clutched him and her lips parted, eyes lit by emotion, fire, and wonder. "Oh," she sighed against his mouth. "How... wonderful."

Wonderful, he thought, sinking closer, deeper, drifting in the cloud of her scent and the music of her words. Wonderful. Wonderful. Christ, wonderful would be never leaving her body again.

"Now isn't this cozy," came Tylor's voice from the door.

Juliette stiffened and her eyes flew wide.

Chantz froze.

He eased his body out of Juliette's and pulled down her skirt, adjusted his pants, then struggled to stand, hopping up and down on one leg as new pain, sharpened by his escalating anger, washed over him. He swung around to face Tylor, his fists clenching as Tylor, smirking, walked into the room, riding crop in one hand, tapping at his leg.

"I declare, Chantz, but this is getting to be a bit redundant, finding you with your hands on that young woman. And that"- he pointed his crop at the bulge in Chantz's breeches-"is positively vulgar."

Chantz straightened, keeping his body between Tylor and Juliette. "If you have something to say, Tylor, say it and get the hell out of here."

Tipping his head to one side, Tylor grinned. "Juliette, certainly you're aware I have every right to demand satisfaction. In most cases that might be a duel to the death. But on second thought, an exchange of gunfire at dawn is a gentleman's way of settling such distasteful matters. For a piece of mud dauber trash like Chantz Boudreaux we simply tie him to a post and whip him until he bleeds to death."

Juliette gasped- Chantz cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

Tylor moved in close, his blue eyes never leaving Chantz's. "I'm gonna make you regret your sorry existence... more than you already do, of course."

Chantz narrowed his eyes and said through his teeth, "Go to hell, Tylor. You just go straight to hell."

?Fifteen.

"What have you done, Chantz? Look at me, son. Something's happened. Something dreadful."

Chantz poured rum into a glass and considered how he should break the news to his mother that he had become, in the blink of Juliette's green eyes, a man as stupid as Jack Broussard and Maxwell Hollinsworth and God only knew how many others- all emotionally blinded by a madness that made him ache harder for Juliette than he dreaded the consequences of his behavior.

"What gives you that idea?" he said, aware his voice sounded rough and tight and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Emmaline moved up behind him and placed her hand on his back. "Your refusal to look me in the eye for one. You know you never could lie to me, Chantz. Those damn blue eyes give you away every time.

"Second, that's the third drink you've had the last hour. You're not a stupid man, normally. You wouldn't be swimming in that rum if you wasn't bothered by something."

She took the bottle from his hand and put it on the table, next to his shaving cup and brush and Bible that lay next to a clear jar of colored pebbles the children occasionally presented him. Emmaline's eyes were lined by worry and bright with the fierce, desperate protectiveness of a mother for her son. He'd seen that look far too often not to recognize it now. Hell, he could lie to the world, lie to himself, but never to his mother.

"You can't do it," she said. "You can't look me in the eye. You've got guilt stamped all over your face. No. Not guilt. Something more frightening than that. It's her, isn't it? Juliette? Folks was talking, Chantz. They say Andrew drove her out to Belle Jarod today and that when you found out about it you climbed out of your sick bed and rode out of here like a mad man. They say Andrew came back alone. What happened there, Chantz?"

"Leave it alone, Mama."

He turned away and drank his rum. His leg hurt like hell and he was one deep drink away from inebriation. Just as well. The damn rum would make facing the inevitable a little easier. It was only a matter of time... minutes, probably. He could almost hear the seconds ticking by in his head.

Standing in the open doorway, he swirled the liquor in the glass and focused on the big house where lights burned in the dusk. The whir of crickets had begun along with the occasional garump of a bullfrog.

He wanted to wrap his hands around Juliette's beautiful throat and strangle her for turning him into the kind of man who could so easily lose control, not just of his good judgment, but of his body. He wanted to press her down in the grass, climb between her beautiful legs and finish what they had started at Belle Jarod, and that's what angered him most.

He stepped from the house, into the dark and humidity. His mother was right on one count. Too damn much rum in his blood. Among other things.

The bell began ringing.

The doors along shanty row opened, spilling yellow light down the steep stairs. Louis came first, hurrying up the path. Behind him filed others, their expressions grooved with concern as they moved toward the big house. Louis's dark eyes touched upon Chantz's briefly as he walked by. Normally he would have stopped. There would have been discourse on the reason for the call bell, but Louis knew as well as Chantz did what hell was about to break loose, and why.

Little Clara exploded from the big house and tore through the dark. The converging men parted to allow her through, watching with mounting concern as she barreled toward Chantz, eyes wide and mouth turned down, a wail of despair erupting from her as she flung herself against him with her face buried against his belly. Behind her came Simon in a frantic limp, then Liza.

The darkness did little to mask the distress on Liza's features as she approached.

"What's happening?" came Emmaline's voice behind him. "Chantz? Why is that child crying so? Chantz-"

"Hush," he said, cutting her off. Looking down onto Little Clara's ribbon-coiffed head, he soothed the trembling child with a hand on her shoulder. "Mama, I want you to go in your house and close the door. I don't want you to come out for any reason. Understand?"

Her footfalls thumped down the steps and he felt her move up behind him. "Lord God in heaven, son-"

Looking around into his mother's haggard face, he said more softly, "Please. Don't argue with me. Don't make this any harder on me than it need be."

Her face ashen, Emmaline searched his eyes, resignation and acknowledgment weighing her shoulders and turning her jaw hard as stone.

"Damn you," she muttered as drops spilled down her cheeks. "You were always too muleheaded for your own good. I told you..." Her voice broke and choked to a tight sob. Drawing back her shoulders, she turned away and, heels dragging, moved toward her house.

Liza, her fists pumping at her sides, stalked toward him wearing the same dress she'd worked the fields in, the same sweat-stained tignon that had held her hair off her neck as she hoed weeds from around the cane stalks.

As Little Clara looked up, tears spilling and nose running, he allowed her a dry curl of his lips and said, "Don't look now but here comes trouble."

"You knew good and damn well what you was riskin' by foolin' with Julie," Liza declared as she approached. "But like a stubborn-headed jackass you gone and done it anyway, hadn't you?"

Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Liza took hold of Little Clara and peeled her off Chantz, shoved her toward shanty row and shouted, "Git! Git them young'uns- all of em- inside and don't be stickin' your nose out f'nothin'. You hear me, Little Clara? First ones I see peekin' is gonna get a whuppin' with a willa switch."

She covered her face with her hands and tried futilely to hold in her emotion. Finally, she shook her head and her voice rose in mounting hysteria. "He gonna whup you, Chantz! Tylor. He gonna do it!"

He nodded and looked past her. "Where is Juliette?"

Dark eyes flashing with disbelief and anger, Liza shook her head. "Didn't you hear what I just said? Tylor is comin' here with a whip. He gonna cut you up-"

"Is she all right, Liza? Because if either of them touches her..."

Liza covered her trembling lips with one hand and tried to breathe evenly, to swallow the short sharp sobs closing off her throat. Closer, she reached one quivering hand out and clasped his arm, fingers twisting into his shirtsleeve. "Ever'thin' just goin' to hell, ain't it? For you. For me. For Miss Julie. What gonna become of us, Chantz?"

The bell tolled. On and on it went, like the death knell for Sister Eve, ringing and ringing for what felt like forever, until Juliette had been forced to cover her head with a pillow or start screaming.

She paced as Rosie sat on the ottoman, skirt hiked to above her big knees to allow her thighs to cool. With her crossed arms nestled beneath her massive breasts, the Negress stared at the ceiling and moved her lips as if carrying on a conversation with angels.

Planting herself in front of Rosie, her hands clenched and buried in the folds of her shirt, Juliette declared, "For the love of God, will you stop muttering and tell me what's happening? Why did the Buleys leave so suddenly? Why have I been locked in this room like some prisoner-"

"'Cause you done wrong, Miss Julie." Rosie pursed her brown lips and shook her head. "Shouldn't have talked Andrew into takin' you to Belle. Shoulda known that would stir up a hornet's nesta trouble with Massa Max and Tylor. That man just been waitin' to make trouble fo' Chantz."

Falling to her knees before Rosie, Juliette grabbed her dark, plump hands in her own. "Tylor wasn't serious about whipping him-"

"He know what he was doin' when he ride to the Belle after you and Andrew. Tol' him myself-'you be askin' for a whuppin' if'n they finds out.' Sho'nuff his dust ain't settled fo' Tylor show up from church, like he knowed somethin' was gonna happen."

Heaving herself to her feet, her gait like a boat rocking side to side, Rosie moved to the curtained and locked French doors. She peered between the drapes, out into the night, her face somber as she began humming low in her throat. Tears welled over her dark eyes and beaded on her lashes.

Juliette crossed the room and gripped the sleeve of Rosie's dress with her trembling hand. "What's happening, Rosie?"

"I 'spect it over by now."

Frantic, Juliette looked around, swept the lush fern from the bowlegged marble-top stand.

"Lawd!" Rosie shouted and clutched her hands to her bosom, "Chile, what is you doin'-"

"I'll damn well find out for myself!"

Juliette heaved up the table, swung it as hard as she could toward the glass doors that exploded from the impact in shards over the dark gallery.

Her slippered feet slid on the glass slivers and she fell hard amid the knife-edged debris, felt it cut through the thin cotton of her skirts and into her knees and shins, into her forearms and wrists, and the faint thought flashed through her mind that she might well bleed to death, realizing in the same moment that she wouldn't care, not if she had in some way caused more harm to Chantz.

No mournful baying tonight, the hounds, they filled the charged air with maddened chesty yaps as if frenzied by the scent of bloodied quarry. As Juliette descended the steps to the ground the distant wail of weeping added to the horrifying cacophony of the dogs. With her skirt lifted to her knees she ran down the path, down through the shanty row where groups of black-skinned men, women, and children clustered on the steps or in open doorways, their gazes following her as she passed through the shafts of light from their houses, toward the group of huddled men.

"Out of my way," she cried, shouldering through the men who turned to stare at her with shocked expressions. Stumbling into the clearing, she froze.

Liza moved in front of her, took her shoulders in her hands, and looked hard into Juliette's eyes. "This ain't no place for a young lady like you, Miss Julie. Best you git on back to the house afore-"