The prospect of sharing her company had put him in a foul mood since noon, since Max had sent word that Chantz was to meet with him tonight. Hell, he'd made a point of staying as far away from Juliette as possible the last days- since she'd shown up on his doorstep in the wee hours of the morning looking like some child angel with moonlight in her eyes. She had pressed her soft mouth against his and he'd felt... gut punched. He'd wanted to shake some sense into her and curse her for her naivete. But he hadn't... only because if he'd put his hands on her in that moment his restraint would have shattered.

It might shatter yet, he acknowledged as he glanced around the foyer, at the expansive walls and high ceiling where an imported chandelier glistened with a hundred candle flares. There were massive portraits on the walls- austere men with glowering blue eyes and exotic faces- Spanish, according to his mother, several generations removed. Chantz's own flesh and blood, and he didn't even know their names.

No doubt about it, there was very little patience left in his reservoir of endurance at the moment. Something was going to snap soon. If he was kept standing here in this damn foyer for another twenty minutes it was liable to be Max's neck.

Little Clara came bounding down the curving staircase and threw herself against Chantz. She beamed him a snaggletooth smile and dove into his pants' pocket with one hand, her big dark eyes twinkling in excitement.

"You done brung me some ho'hound, Chantz?"

He frowned hard and shook his head. "No ho'hound tonight, Little Clara. Rosie tells me you've been naughty. You know I don't oblige naughty girls with ho'hound candy."

"I done put that frog in the chamber pot cuz I didn't have nowheres else to put him. 'Sides, you just pullin' my leg. You gots me ho'hound. You always gots me ho'hound if'n I been bad or not."

She plunged into his other pocket, giggling as she withdrew the chunk of hard mint and molasses candy. "You's an angel, Boss Chantz," Clara declared, pressed a big kiss on his hand, then scampered through the nearest door.

Chantz grinned, shook his head, and looked to the top of the stairs.

Juliette stood there, awash in peach silk, still as an alabaster statue. For a long moment, she didn't move. Her green eyes didn't blink. Slowly then, she descended, one hand resting lightly on the smooth walnut banister, the other lifting the hem of her skirt just enough so he could glimpse her ankles. Another time he might have found the flash of that dainty foot arousing. But he had already seen a lot more of Juliette than her ankles. It was that image in his mind that made him hard... again. Made him brace his legs apart in an effort to contain the sudden overwhelming desire to storm up the stairs and do something idiotic.

At last reaching the floor, hand still resting on the banister, Juliette glanced right then left, as if desperate for a means to escape him. Finally, and with apparent difficulty, she stood straighter and forced her gaze up to his. Her skin shimmered and flushed. Her lips parted slightly, and he heard her draw in an unsteady breath.

"Mr. Boudreaux-"

"I prefer Chantz," he said in a voice that came out sounding low and rough. "Besides," he added with a sardonic afterthought, his gaze drifting down over the pink skin above her daring decolletage, "I think we've seen enough of each other to dispense with formalities."

A flare of something ignited in her eyes. "You needn't remind me, you know. A gentleman would at least attempt to dismiss the occurrence from his memory."

He curled his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "In case you haven't paid close enough attention, Miss Julie, I'm not a gentleman."

"Regardless." She shook her head, causing her hair to loosen slightly from its combs, threatening to spill. "I've been remiss in thanking you for your help. You saved my life. I've struggled these last days in an attempt to think of some way I could show you my gratitude."

"I could think of ways. But I suspect they would get me killed," he added.

"Chantz."

She took a step toward him, then drew herself back. Her hands clasped together. When her eyes met his again, hers were warm and intense in a way that made the gnawing start in his belly again. His body responded, turning hard enough to make maintaining his control next to impossible.

"I acted very foolishly," she said softly. "You could have easily taken advantage of my unfortunate behavior. Yet you didn't." Forcing a smile on her pink lips, she said, "Perhaps you should give yourself more credit. There could be more gentleman in you than you think."

"I don't think so, chere." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Believe me, if I had it to do over again, nothing that I would do to you could be remotely misinterpreted as gentlemanly."

"My dear Juliette!" Max exclaimed as he strode into the foyer, not so much as glancing toward Chantz. "My God, don't you look beautiful. The dress is splendid on you. But then I knew it would be."

Juliette forced her attention on Max.

"Rosie has our supper prepared. I hope you won't be too wearied by our business conversations."

Max turned a dark fleeting look on Chantz. "Come along, Chantz. I'll try not to keep you long. I'm certain you must have better things to do with your time."

Staring at Max's back, Chantz said through his teeth, "I've got better things to do than stand around in a foyer for half an hour."

Dragging one hand through his dark hair, Chantz closed his eyes and willed back the savage anger that made him shake. It wasn't the fact that he'd been kept waiting for half an hour and him so damn bone tired he could have lain down on the hard cypress floor and easily slept- Christ, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd fished Juliette out of the river and discovered her eyes and body would haunt him every waking and sleeping minute. It wasn't that Max couldn't find enough politeness in him to speak when entering the room. It wasn't even because Max talked down his nose at him like he was less consequential than dirt.

It was her. Seeing her. Smelling her. Remembering what she felt like in his arms. It was watching her glide down those stairs like a vision, her hair a dark fire cloud around her head and her breasts smooth and pale as ivory.

It was watching her walk off on Max's arm.

If he was smart, he'd turn on his heels and leave the house now. Tell Max if he wanted to talk business tonight he could come see Chantz. Max could swelter in that sorry box of a house that was so damn hot Chantz would lose his appetite. Too damn hot to even sleep. Too damn hot to do anything at night but lay sprawled nude across his bed and think about Juliette Broussard and how her naked body had felt curled up against him those hours after he'd fished her out of the river.

By the time he reached the dining room everyone was seated- a serene setting to be sure, despite the undercurrent of hostilities. The room was warm and mellow in the light of a large Dresden lamp on the mantelpiece. Candles flickered in two tall hurricane shades on each end of the table. In a cut-glass crystal bowl in the center of the table, Rosie had arranged a centerpiece of pink japonica and delicate magnolia fescata. As always, the fine linen tablecloth was white and spotless.

Max sat at one end of the table, Juliette at his right. Tylor sat at the opposite end of the table. Rosie had placed Chantz directly across from Juliette.

Rosie was placing a large platter of fried chicken on the table as Chantz entered. She turned her broad, sweating face toward his and her eyes regarded him in a way that made him feel ten years old again. There was warning in that look to behave or suffer the consequences.

Tylor, slightly slouched in his chair, regarded Chantz with a smirk as he reached for his nearly drained glass of bourbon. "Well, well, look what the cat has dragged up again. Daddy, when you gonna do something about these damn river rats?"

Rosie bent over his shoulder as she placed a bowl of potatoes and asked, "You wants a drink, Chantz?"

He glanced at Max who already had the flushed appearance of one who had been imbibing for a while. "Water only. Somebody here should stay sober or we'll never get anything accomplished."

"The voice of reason speaks again," Tylor declared, lifting his glass in the air. "Where the hell would we be without the mighty Chantz Boudreaux's sage advice?"

"The poorhouse, I suspect," Chantz said. He looked at Juliette. She averted her eyes. The soft glow of the lights made her complexion look like the china on which they were eating. Her hair shimmered with a radiance like slow heat.

"Thanks to this flood, we're liable to be there soon enough," Max joined in. Sitting back in his chair, he appeared to be more interested in watching Juliette pick at her food than he was in eating. "I hope you'll pardon us, Juliette, if our conversation becomes a bit heated. We often have our differences of opinion. I considered carefully before including you in this discussion. I'd hate for you to form the opinion that we're all ill-tempered heathens. But your education in the running of a household such as Holly House is important, especially if you entertain the idea of reconstructing Belle Jarod."

Max turned his gaze on Chantz as he reached for his bourbon. "The last week Juliette has proven to be quite the astute pupil. Soon she'll be overseeing the running of this house as capably as any wife."

"Or daughter," Juliette stressed, flashing Max a look that wiped the smug grin from his face. "And speaking of Belle Jarod. When do you intend to drive me out to see it?"

"In time, my dear. Obviously there are more pressing matters to attend to. Such as the reconstructing of a levee that will keep my land from drowning every two years. Over the last few days my overseer here has had the task of putting together a plan that will satisfy those needs once and for all. I trust, Chantz, that you have a satisfactory strategy for accomplishing that?"

"Why, of course he does, Daddy." Tylor planted his elbows on the table and leaned toward Chantz.

"Why wouldn't he? He's God's gift to sugarcane, after all. I'll bet ever'time Chantz takes a piss on the ground a cane shoots up ten feet tall."

Juliette put her fork down with a loud plink against the china plate. She lifted her gaze directly into Chantz's and this time did not look away. Her eyes burned as hotly as the sudden blush of color on her cheeks.

"That'll be enough, Tylor," Max said. "I fear you're upsetting Juliette's sensibilities."

"I suspect it would take more than a crude word to affect Miss Julie's sensibilities, Daddy." Tylor grinned and flopped back against the chair, lifted his glass, and cut his gaze to Chantz. "But then I suspect our overseer would know better than either of us just to what lengths we could go before insulting the young lady."

"Careful," Chantz said in a measured tone, shifting his gaze to Tylor's slack, beet-red features. "I'm fast losin' my patience with you tonight."

Tylor snorted and drank and smeared the back of his hand across his mouth. Fat drops of sweat ran down his temples. The harder Chantz stared at him the more he sweat. Little by little the hot beet color drained down his cheeks, leaving the flesh of his face looking like damp bread dough. His eyes became pale blue sockets.

"That'll be enough from both of you," Max declared irritably. "I didn't call this meeting tonight to listen to the two of you go at each other like a pair of bull gators. Behave yourself, Tylor. I won't have you discomfiting Juliette. If you've got a problem with Chantz, just keep the young lady out of it."

"If you've got a problem with me, Tylor," Chantz said through his teeth, "we'll take it outside."

Max grunted and glared at Tylor. "We both know that isn't going to happen, Chantz. If he had the guts to take you to task he would have done it long ago."

Sinking deeper into his chair, Tylor finished his bourbon and shouted, "Rosie! Where the hell are you? My goddamn glass is empty!"

Little Clara ran into the room carrying the bourbon bottle, her cheek bulging with ho'hound candy. "Granny be down at the kitchen fetchin' cake. I be pourin' you a drink, Massa Tylor." She grabbed for his glass, knocking it into his lap.

Tylor snatched the bottle from her hand, then shoved her hard enough to send her flat on her butt. Before Chantz could react Julie jumped from her chair and slapped Tylor's cheek hard enough to nearly topple him.

Tylor lunged to his feet.

Chantz jumped up, knocking his chair back to the floor while Juliette stood toe-to-toe with Tylor, her small hands knotted and shaking in anger.

"You're despicable, Tylor Hollinsworth. While I might be forced to listen to your taunts and jeers toward Chantz and your snide insults at me, I won't tolerate your cruelty toward a helpless child!"

He gave a short laugh and curled one hand into a fist.

"You don't frighten me, Tylor. I'm not a little child you can bully. If you strike me, you'll rue the day you were born. And while I'm at it, if I'm to act as mistress of this house, according to your father, I hereby lay down this rule: You will never, for any reason, put your hand on a child again in this house. Furthermore, I will not tolerate your infantile tantrums, vulgarities, or drunkenness at this table."

Max roared in laughter.

His face sheet white, his bloodshot eyes bulging, Tylor turned his focus on his father, who reared back in his chair and howled in hilarity. "Son of a bitch," he slurred. "You gonna let her talk to me like that, Daddy?"

Catching his breath, Max reached for his bourbon and nodded. "By God, Juliette, you've got the heart of a lioness. I'm damn impressed. You're exactly what Holly House needs, a woman with spunk and backbone; something neither of my wives had- obviously, or Tylor wouldn't have turned out to be the pitiful excuse for a man he is today."

Tylor flung his napkin on the table. "I don't have to stand here and tolerate this. The lot of you can go straight to hell."

He stormed from the room, slamming doors as he went.

Chantz watched as Juliette relaxed. Chagrin crept over her face and a twinkle of something that looked deliciously like mischievousness brightened her eyes. Her lips curved. She glanced at him askance as she turned to Little Clara, who gaped at her in awe.

"Lawd," the child whispered. "I ain't never seen no white lady behave like that. Miss Julie, that be somethin' to behold. Lawd, lawd. I gots to go tell my granny what you done. Ain't never seen nothin' like it."

As Clara ran from the room, Juliette sank into her chair. "I apologize. I fear I allowed my temper to get the best of me."

As Chantz righted his chair and sat, Max smiled; his eyes were intense with emotion. "You're your mother, all right. I never knew another woman with her spirit for bucking the shackles of convention. She'd stand toe-to-toe with any man and give as good as she got."

"If that's an attempt to compliment me, Max, I'm sorry to say that you failed horribly. I hardly aspire to follow in my mother's footsteps."

"Despite what you've been told, Maureen was astute and competent. In your father's occasionally long absences she ran Belle Jarod with an iron fist and a lust to succeed equal to or greater than your father's. There were times I'd seen her working right there along with the slaves, on her hands and knees, giving each ratoon a kiss for luck before burying it in the soil. Jack used to say she was the reason why his cane was so damn sweet. How could it not be when touched by her lips?"

"Please." She shook her head, her gaze focused on her plate of food, forgotten during the last heated minutes. "I don't wish to talk about her. Ever."

Whatever force had burned in her during her confrontation with Tylor was now, apparently, extinguished. Chantz watched her relax in her chair, once more the demure, somewhat nervous and troubled young woman whose odd, naive sensuality excited him as intensely as the passion of her anger had those moments ago. In her ferociousness her hair had slid from the pearl-backed combs- a disarrayed mane the color of rich claret. The light shimmered within the wild curls like sparks.

Chantz forced himself to look away from her, into Max's hard eyes that watched him with the sharpness of the knife in his hand.

"The levee," Max said in a monotone, his lack of inflection as telling as the threat in his eyes. "I trust you have a viable plan to remedy this sorry situation in which we find ourselves."

"Yes." He nodded and shoved his plate away, no longer hungry. The hell that had broken out moments ago was nothing compared to what was about to transpire, he reasoned.

Sitting back in his chair, he released a weary sigh. "I made a few calculations. The base of the new levee would be three hundred feet, the berm thirty feet, the new borrow pit two hundred and fifty feet. This means, of course, that the new levee would have to be moved back nearly three hundred feet from the line of the old one.

"The men would need to move an average of one thousand yards of earth a day for four months, rain or shine, if we hope to remedy our sorry situation before the winter rains begin. An impossibility, as I see it. And there is one other factor that must be considered...

"You have only one recourse if you want to guarantee that your sugarcane will remain dry when the river rises." Forcing himself to look directly into Max's eyes, he said, "The levee would pass directly through this house."

His lips thinning, Max said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Rough calculations estimate the cost of such a levee would run ten thousand, give or take, basing the numbers on what Owen Howard spent two years ago to construct a levee capable of holding the river. Of course, that doesn't include the reconstruction of the house at a different location. Nor does it include the cost of labor."

His hands curling into fists, Max leaned toward Chantz, his nostrils flaring and his face red and sweating. "Are you trying to destroy me, Chantz? Is that what this is about? You want to drive me into the ground? I suspect that would please you to no end, wouldn't it?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Max, had I wanted to destroy you these last years, all I need do is walk away. You wouldn't get another man in this state to work for you. No one else would tolerate your drunken abuse or Tylor's stupidity. Aside from that, your slaves would riot. They'd scatter to the four corners and leave your cane to rot in the field. You wanted my opinion and you got it. To save Holly Plantation you'll have to sacrifice something and that something is this house."

Max came out of his chair, slowly, leaning on his hands, his body trembling. "My father built this house with his bare hands-"

"Your father built this house fifty years ago, Max. The river has changed since then. Hell, it's changed radically in the last ten years. Unless something is done soon, half your cane fields are gonna be under water in the next five years."

"Just how am I supposed to pay for this?"

"Convince Tylor to curtail his spending. He's run up quite a gambling score at Dietrich Hall. Then you might consider selling your apartments in New Orleans. There's also the expenses of your outrageously lavish soirees twice a year."

"I have a goddamn reputation to live up to. People expect certain things out of Maxwell Hollinsworth."

Chantz laughed and reached for his water glass. Juliette, her food completely forgotten, looked at him with an expression of dismay. The idea occurred to him in that moment that the impending disaster threatening Holly House wouldn't just affect Max. Faced by the inevitable catastrophe, Max would look at Belle Jarod with a new and desperate vigor. She knew it, too. A shadow of panic darkened her eyes.

A door burst open suddenly and Simon limped in. His eyes were wide and he struggled to breathe. Chantz left his chair and caught the boy as he collapsed just inside the room.

"Boss Chantz." Simon gasped. His entire body shook so hard his teeth chattered. "Dat paddy roller be down at Louis's- be huntin' a runaway."

Chantz swore aloud, and as Juliette fell to her knees beside Simon, he told her, "Stay in the house."

"What's happened?" she asked as Max stormed from the room.

"Bounty man," Chantz said. "Keep Simon here and calm him down. And I mean what I said, Juliette." He pointed one finger at her. "You stay in this house."

A pack of hounds lunged against their ropes, frenzied by the chase and the tension crackling the air. Chantz shoved his way through the press of black bodies crowded around Boris Wilcox and his companions- two of whom pointed a rifle at Louis's head while two others wrestled a terrified Negro man into the mud. Louis's frightened eyes, reflecting the torchlights held by Wilcox's posse, widened as he saw Chantz. Tessa, Louis's wife, rocked on her knees, weeping as another woman did her best to calm her.

"What the hell is going on here?" Chantz demanded as Wilcox turned to smirk in his face. "Get those damn rifles off my man, Wilcox, or-"

"Or nothin'," Wilcox snapped, standing his ground. "We tracked that runaway for two days and found him hid in that shanty yonder. Hid by this man, here." He pointed at Louis. "You know the punishment for assistin' a runaway, Boudreaux."

Chantz looked first at the hog-tied man on the ground. His body was heavily scarred from previous whippings. There were lash marks on his back that were several days old, just beginning to scab over and heal. As he turned his horrified eyes up to Chantz's, Chantz felt dread turn over in his chest.

"He be my brother, Boss," came Louis's voice. "I can't turn him back when he come to my door. He the only family I gots, Boss. I gots to help him. I gots to."