His Dark Desires Read Online Free PDF

don't think it was one of the boarders, do you?"
    "It has to have been," I reassured her, even though the chill I'd felt earlier told me differently. Outside the dining room, I paused to collect myself. Low-toned voices and the smells from Mama Louisa's cooking eased a sense of normalcy over me until I heard Mr. Trevelyan's deep voice. Then, as if I were finger-testing water for a hot bath, I peeked cautiously into the room before I entered.
    Mignon and the two women from the Shakespearean troupe, Mrs. Edmund Gallier and Miss Charlotte Vengle, were more interested in Mr. Trevelyan than their conversation about the weather. Mr. Edmund Gallier and Mr. Horatio Fitz, lead actors in the troupe, each had one eye on the women watching Mr. Trevelyan and one eye on Mr. Trevelyan himself. Their expressions mirrored my own disquiet. None of the men wore a gray suit, though Mr. Gallier did have on blue that could be mistaken for gray. But Mr. Gallier's hair was decidedly silver, not dark.
    Mr. Trevelyan emanated subtle power and sophistication despite his relaxed stance against the mantel. His waist and hips were slimmer and his shoulders broader, more imposing than the other men, as if the expensive, tailored cloth of his suit could barely contain what lay beneath. He immediately turned my way, sensing my arrival before the others.
    Smiling, I entered the room. "My apologies for keeping you all waiting. Mignon, has everyone been introduced?"
    "Yes. In fact, Monsieur Trevelyan is trying to recall if he has seen Monsieur Gallier's troupe perform before."
    "And have you, Monsieur Trevelyan?" I asked, curious. His card had cited San Francisco as his home; Mr. Gallier and Mr. Fitz were from the East.
    "Not that we have ascertained as of yet, though we've frequented the same establishments. I spent time studying theater and attending a number of performances from Boston to New York the year before last. Shakespeare's plays are a particular favorite of mine," Mr. Trevelyan replied.
    "Well, then we all have a great deal in common, it seems." Though I had generalized my remark, the look Mr. Trevelyan brushed over me made it seem as if I'd spoken only to him. He had a way of smoothly walking through barriers with a simple word or look. "Mignon, would you say the blessing after everyone is seated?"
    Unless we were having special guests, I kept the dining arrangements informal, allowing the boarders to choose each night where they wished to sit I was always at the head of the table, and Ginette and Mignon sat in the middle on opposite sides to mingle with the guests. Mr. Trevelyan chose the seat to my right, making me wish I'd assigned seats.
    Soon bowls of savory red beans, plates of rice with slices of spicy andouille, and buttered bread filled the table. As I ate, I remembered when invitations to La Belle du Temps had been sought after by the most celebrated members of the beau monde. In the gilded mirror above the mantel, I could almost see an elegant dinner party in progress and taste the old times on the tip of my tongue. The flavorful meals had passed from one course to the next with delicacies that only New Orleans could offer the genteel palate. China, sparkling crystal, silver, and delicate white lace had graced the tabletop, while the chandelier above had glowed warmly, casting a rich sheen on the expensive silks and satins below.
    Now the china was chipped, the silver sparse, the crystal aged, and the guests paid for the meal, which the hostess helped prepare with her own hands. Many of La Belle’s treasures had been stolen or sold, and repairs had been neglected for lack of funds. But traces of her beauty still lay evident in her marble mantels and ornate moldings—a grand dame whose faded wall coverings and tattered draperies exposed her age and now needed candlelight to mask realities too harsh to face.
    I noticed Mr. Trevelyan watching me in the mirror, his expression dark and searching until he met my gaze and smiled. I should