Double Jeopardy

  DOUBLE JEOPARDY

  By Liliana Hart

  Copyright 2011 by Liliana Hart

  Smashwords Edition

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  Chapter One

  New Orleans, 1925

  Secrets could never be kept from the maid.

  Chloe Monroe found this out first hand as she stood in the darkness of the servant’s stairs behind the master bedroom wall, a small lantern at her feet. She was no stranger to the sounds of passion—the soft moans, rustling sheets and whispered words—she’d been a widow for more than a year, but that didn’t mean one forgot.

  The folded linens in her arms went forgotten and her pulse leapt in anticipation. Lucian Deveraux was the master at Vieux Coeur, an estate his great-grandfather had built during the early eighteen hundreds. Chloe had never seen anyone as handsome as Lucien. With his gilded hair, sinful blue eyes and rakishly good looks, it was no wonder that women frequently found excuses to visit the house. She’d felt the same pull of attraction dozens of times, but Lucien was a busy man who had no time to pay attention to his servants. And that’s all she was now. A servant. Her days of glamorous parties and a staff of her own were long over.

  The servant’s stairs ran all through the estate, from the basement to the third floor. Legend was that the elder Mr. Deveraux had had dealings with Jean Lafitte himself and used the passageways to smuggle contraband to the canal. It was most likely true because she knew for a fact that Lucien used the same passageways to smuggle bootlegged whiskey out of New Orleans.

  Shafts of light gleamed into the dark passageway through wood that was riddled with wormholes, and it glittered upon the dust dancing in the air. There was a small tear in the silk wallpaper from the inside of the room and it gave her a perfect view inside Lucien’s private domain. A faint glow of candle flame flickered from somewhere and the scent of sex was stronger than the earthiness of the corridor where she stood. Her eye roamed lazily around the room, over plush chairs and a low-banked fire, to the massive four-poster bed that was the focal point of the room. Crimson sheets pooled over the edge and onto the floor like blood.

  The muffled sound of a grunt pulled her attention to the center of the bed. Her eyes widened as she saw Lucien in naked splendor. His skin was tanned from the time he spent on his ships, and his torso and thighs were muscled impressively. A fine feathering of light hair covered his chest, and the sheen of perspiration matted the hair at his temples. He knelt behind his lover, his buttocks flexing with each thrust, and he threw his head back in ecstasy as his rhythm sped to an impossible tempo.

  But it wasn’t the sight of Lucien that brought a small gasp to her lips. It was the man who knelt before him. She’d never seen him before. She would have remembered.

  The man’s swarthy skin and black hair contrasted against Lucien’s fairness. And he didn’t seem the type to kneel before anyone. Even now, his head was thrown back in a defiance that warred with his moans of pleasure.

  Moisture pooled between Chloe’s thighs, soaking the thin cotton of her bloomers. She watched the man’s face, the mixture of pleasure and agony, as Lucien’s thrusts became even more rapid.

  “You love my cock, don’t you?” Lucien asked. “You can’t be around me without wanting my cock up your ass.”

  “Fuck you,” the dark man answered.

  Lucien’s lover held onto one of the massive posts at the end of the bed, his legs spread far apart and his muscles taut. His thick prick stood at attention, almost to his bellybutton, so hard it looked painful. It was wet with the beginnings of his come, the tip swollen and ripe like a plum. Lucien took hold of the man’s hips and each thrust made the bed creak.

  Chloe let the fresh linens she held fall to the dusty floor. She’d have to rewash them in her off hours, but she couldn’t help the sudden need that came over her. She hadn’t felt a man’s touch in so long, and her fingers had been her only satisfaction for the last year. She inched the dark gray skirt and slip she wore up over her thighs until it was bunched at her waist. Her fingers found their way to the soft folds of flesh, slicked with desire, and she found the tiny nubbin hidden within.

  “No, mon noir,” Lucien answered. “It is I who is fucking you.”

  My darkness.

  Chloe thought the endearment terribly appropriate. She couldn’t take her eyes from the erotic picture they made—both of them so strong, so muscular—one taking, the other being taken. The sounds of their flesh slapping together, the scent of their sex, the gentle touches and demands they gave as they neared completion.

  Chloe rubbed her swollen flesh, wishing she could join them on the bed—to feel a hard cock penetrate her once again. Her nipples were rigid and rubbed against the coarse fabric of her dress. She breathed in shallow pants as a heaviness gathered at her core. Her hand braced against the raw beams of the passageway, and she ignored the splinters as she delved her fingers into her neglected channel.

  Lucien caressed a finger down the dark man’s back, bringing a chill to his lover’s skin. Lucien then slid his hand around, teasing his lover with his fingers as they barely touched the tip of his rigid cock. The dark one’s rod jumped at the touch, and Lucien laughed at his lover’s predicament. Lucien finally decided to torment no more and grasped his lover’s rod in a hard fist, pumping him with every thrust.

  “Harder, harder,” Lucien’s lover panted against the assault.

  Chloe knew they were both close to fulfillment, as was she. The moans grew desperate. The air lay heavy with tension until Lucien gave a final thrust and plunged into the dark man’s ass further than before. Chloe watched as a white stream of come shot from the stranger’s prick, thick and copious, and landed on the crimson sheets. Lucien stiffened and screamed out his own pleasure. She couldn’t contain her own moan as an orgasm hit her with the strength of a wave crashing on the shore.

  Chloe slumped against the wall, her breathing heavy and her pulse racing. It had been too long since she’d come like that. For the last year her climaxes had been a necessity, a way to relieve the body of sexual desire the same way one might relieve a headache by rubbing at the temples.

  She let her dress fall back to her knees and tried to straighten her appearance as best she could. She’d have to go back to her rooms and wash and change clothes. Her panties were soaked and her clothes were wrinkled and damp with sweat.

  Chloe bent to pick up the linens that had fallen to the floor and spared one last glance at the couple on the bed. Lucien was hunched over his partner, his breathing beginning to slow and the sweat on his back beginning to cool. But it was the other man, once again, who caught her attention. He rested comfortably on his elbows, his head up and his posture relaxed despite the man who lay heavily on his back.

  His dark gaze stared at the wall, as if he could see through it. As if he could see her.

  Chloe shivered and used the passageway to go back to her room, assuring herself that the direction of the stranger’s stare was only coincidence. But she knew it would be him she saw in her dreams from now on. Not Lucien.

  Chapter Two

  Rain splattered against the window pane in Chloe’s small bedroom and the sky loomed black when she woke the next morning. The air looked bitter and cold, and the trees and shrubs slanted to the ground with the force of the wind.

  She frowned as she thought of a day cooped inside the house. She always to
ok her lunch out in the gardens and walked to do her errands instead of relying on the trolleys. The house was too cold, too sterile to be trapped within its walls all day.

  In her opinion, Vieux Coeur needed a woman’s touch. Badly. Four generations of Deveraux men had lived in the house. The ladies of the manor had never stayed long enough to make their mark—they’d either died too young or escaped to find a man who didn’t like to control things quite so much.

  Thoughts of control reminded her of Lucien fucking the dark man the day before, controlling him just as he controlled his household and his businesses. Lucien was not a cruel man, but he had certain expectations that came from being someone of great importance. His potency never failed to draw her notice, and being shut in the house with him on a rainy day was nothing less than torture to her overly ripe libido.

  She rose from the twisted covers on her bed, thinking of the sleepless night she’d had and the orgasms she’d brought herself to over and over again, just by replaying the scene of the dark man’s seed spewing onto the crimson sheets.

  Chloe dressed in clean bloomers, a slip, and a chemise, and fastened her stockings to her garters. She pulled on one of the three dresses she’d been given when she’d been employed—a gray frock that fell to just above the knees, shapeless and dowdy, and a white apron that tied around her waist.

  A Cheval mirror stood in the corner of her room and reflected a woman who was too thin, too pale and too sad. Her features were arresting, presenting an intriguing package if not a beautiful one. Her mouth was too wide, her eyes too large. Her black hair was cut short in the latest style—the cook had a handy way with a pair of scissors. Her blue eyes stared back at her, washed out and tired, not at all like the vibrant cobalt they’d been before her husband’s death. She was twenty-six years old and she felt forty. When was the last time she’d laughed? Or cried even? It was as if her emotions no longer existed.

  They’d been rich. The Monroe’s had been to South Carolina what the Deveraux’s were to Louisiana. She’d married Samuel at seventeen, he almost thirty, and she’d been naïve in the ways of a woman. But she’d been desperate to leave the small farmhouse that housed her eleven brothers and sisters, so she’d moved to the Monroe mansion at the top of the hill and become his wife and hostess, throwing lavish parties and spending a fortune redecorating the estate. His parent’s were dead and he had no siblings, so it was just the two of them. She’d welcomed Samuel to her bed and learned how to please him. How to please herself. She’d shown no reservations in bed, becoming a student to the arts of pleasure. And in return he’d treated her like a queen.

  How the mighty had fallen. It was greed that had killed her husband. When the Volstead Act of 1920 went into effect, prohibiting the sale and consumption of alcohol, Samuel saw an opportunity to make money. He was nothing if not a good businessman, and he already owned several distilleries, so he continued production in secret and sold his barrels to the highest bidder. And one of his buyers had been in New Orleans.

  That day was like any other. Spring ripened the air with sweetness and the plants and trees were lush and thick. She and Samuel followed the truck that carried the banned substances all the way from South Carolina, using the trip to make love in every hotel they stopped in each night. And if there wasn’t a hotel, they slept in the car. She remembered fucking Samuel to a mind blowing orgasm in the back seat of their Ford, the car bouncing as she rode him, his body almost glowing as the moonlight washed over him through the windows. They’d driven into Louisiana the next day. Right into a trap. She still didn’t know who his buyer had been, who the traitor had been. Only Samuel had that information, and he’d carried it to his grave.

  His buyer had turned him over to federal agents who had been waiting to ambush them. They’d shot Samuel in cold blood and left her on the side of the road like garbage, stealing the truck for themselves in the name of the law. When she’d tried to find passage home she’d been told that other federal agents had raided her home, taking what they could to sell and burning the rest to the ground. She’d been left with nothing but the clothes on her back and a dead body to dispose of. She hadn’t even had the proper funds to bury her husband. A small church had let her bury him at the edge of their cemetery with only a cheap wooden marker to show that he’d ever existed at all.

  Chloe had done what she’d had to do to survive. She wasn’t proud of it. But she’d survived. She had to have food. And she needed to get to the city to find a job. So when those faceless men fucked her, she went away inside a secret place in her mind and thought of the times she’d had it all, and she vowed to herself that she’d one day have it all again.

  And then finally she fucked the right man and he dropped her right at Lucien Deveraux’s front walk. Lucien had answered the door himself. He’d looked her over, his face never betraying his thoughts. Her clothes had been dirty, her hair unwashed and another man’s seed ran down her leg, but she held her head high and looked at him defiantly as she asked for work.

  He’d let her in the front door, which had stunned Chloe into speechlessness. He’d told her he had no need for a butler and only felt it necessary to have one full-time maid and a cook, though he did have part-time help—another maid who would come in three days a week to help out, and a gardener who was quite territorial. He had no need for an excess of servants, and he like his privacy, which knowing what she did now, Chloe could understand completely.

  Lucien Deveraux had given her clothes and food and a place to sleep, and all he’d asked in return was her honesty and discretion. She owed him for giving her a life. If not the life she’d had before.

  She fastened the white crocheted cloche cap to her head and looked at herself one last time before heading out of her quarters to begin the day’s work.

  Chloe served Lucien’s breakfast in the library at precisely the same time every morning. He always had one egg over-easy, two pieces of toast, a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a full carafe of coffee. His requests never varied.

  She knocked twice on the outer door of the library and waited for the summons to enter. He never made her wait very long, but he was oftentimes distracted by his work and forgot she had asked to enter. She always hated it when his breakfast was cold because he’d lecture about how important it was to be prompt, looking straight at her with clear, crystal blue eyes, while she fantasized of him lifting her skirts and taking her over the desk. But he’d never shown interest in her that way, and she now understood why.

  Chloe breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the command to enter. She closed the door behind her gently and set the tray on the corner of his desk, away from the scattering of papers he was focused on.

  “Thank you, Chloe,” Lucien said.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” She ducked her head and made her way back to the door.

  “Just a moment please. I have a few things I wish to speak to you about.”

  Chloe stopped and turned to face her master. He’d left the papers on his desk and was now standing behind it. He crooked his finger, and she walked back toward him slowly, her mind racing at what she possibly could have done to draw his attention.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Is something the matter?”

  “No, not at all, Chloe. You’re doing a fine job for me. How long have you been in my service?”

  “Just more than a year, sir.”

  “Yet I never see you venture out very far from the house other than for your daily walks. This is a city of pleasure and vices. Surely you could find something that suits your particular tastes. Do you have no man to court you? “

  Chloe was confused. Not once in the year she’d worked for him had he ever taken the time to ask about her personal life.

  “No sir. I am a widow.”

  “But you are still a young woman,” he said unaffected by her statement. “You must move on with your life.”

  “Are you dismissing me, sir?”

  He sighed impatiently. “Of course not, Chloe.
But I get the feeling you are hiding from something. You are a stunning woman. You have the bones of royalty and the manners of a duchess. Not qualities often found in a maid.”

  Chloe said nothing and stood completely still. Had Lucien found out about her husband’s dealings? She’d always carried a small amount of fear that the men who had killed her husband and destroyed her home would search for her. That they would seek her out and do away with loose ends—meaning her. She’d seen all their faces. Memorized them and replayed them over and over again in her memory of that terrible day. She’d seen a few of those same faces on her walks through the city, some dressed in plain clothes, others dressed in police uniforms. Thoughts of vengeance filled her head, but she knew she was powerless to fulfill the need.

  He continued to look at her, waiting for her to break the silence, but she never did.

  “Come here, Chloe,” he finally said.

  She took a few tentative steps forward until she stood directly in front of him, her head lowered, looking at the scuffed tips of her shoes. He tipped her chin up with his finger so she had no choice but to look at him.

  “Have I been a good employer, Chloe?”

  “Oh, yes sir,” she said, nodding her head.

  “And have you enjoyed your time here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are a loyal servant, Chloe. I appreciate that. And I feel comfortable knowing that my secrets are safe with you.”

  Chloe felt the blush start at her neck and work its way up to her cheeks. She thought of what she’d witnessed the day before and wondered if others knew of Lucien Deveraux’s preference for men. Would it hurt his position in New Orleans society if they did? What he’d said about New Orleans being a city of vices was true. Society probably wouldn’t give his sexuality a thought, just as they didn’t give his warehouses filled with barrels of whiskey a thought.

  Lucien gave her a long hard look and took her hand. “I can never repay you for your loyalty. It is not a quality that can be bought. Only earned.”