“It does. If you see men you raise your chin, thus.” Martin lifted his chin. “Then you give to them the look you gave to me when you tell me you like horse, and cats of mischief. They will not bother you.”
“Thank you, Martin! Thank you so much,” Lenobia said.
“Do you know why I help you?”
Martin’s question had her turning back to look at him questioningly. “I suppose it is because you must be a man with a good heart.”
Martin shook his head. “No, it is because you were brave enough to ask it of me.”
The giggle that escaped Lenobia’s mouth was semi-hysterical. “Brave? No, I am frightened of everything!”
He smiled. “Except horses and cats.”
She returned his smile, feeling her cheeks get warm and her stomach make a little fluttery shiver because his smile made him even more handsome. “Yes.” Lenobia tried to pretend she wasn’t breathless. “Except horses and cats. Thank you, again, Martin.”
She was almost through the doorway when he added, “I feed the horses. Every morning just after dawn.”
Cheeks still warm, Lenobia glanced back at him. “Perhaps I will see you again.”
His green eyes sparkled and he tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Perhaps, cherie, perhaps.”
CHAPTER FOUR
For the next four weeks Lenobia existed in an odd state that was somewhere between peace and anxiety, happiness and despair. Time played with her. The hours that she sat in her quarters waiting for dusk and then night and then the gloaming of predawn seemed to take an eternity to pass. But as soon as the ship slept and she was able to slip the confines of her self-imposed prison, the next few hours rushed past, leaving her breathless and yearning for more.
She would prowl the ship, soaking in freedom with the salt air, watching the sun burst gloriously from the watery horizon, and then she would slip down to the joy that awaited her below deck.
For a little while she convinced herself it was only the grays that made her so happy—so eager to rush to the cargo hold and so sad when the time passed too quickly; the ship began to wake, and she had to return to her quarters.
It couldn’t have anything to do with Martin’s broad shoulders or his smile or the sparkle in his olive-colored eyes and the way he teased her and made her laugh.
“Those grays don’ be eating that bread you bring them. No one be eating that stuff,” he’d said, chuckling that first morning she’d returned.
She’d frowned. “They will eat it because it is so salty. Horses like salty things.” She’d held the hard bread out, one piece in each palm, and offered it to the Percherons. They’d sniffed and then, with surprising delicacy for such big animals, taken the bread and chewed with a lot of head bobbing and expressions of surprise that had made Lenobia and Martin laugh together.
“You were right, cher!” Martin said. “How you know about what horses like to eat, a lady like you?”
“My father has many horses. I told you I like them. So I spent time in the stables,” she said evasively.
“And your père, he not mind that his daughter is in the stables?”
“My father did not pay attention to where I was,” she said, thinking that, at least, was the truth. “What about you? Where did you learn about horses?” Lenobia changed the focus of their conversation.
“The Rillieux plantation just outside New Orleans.”
“Yes, that was the name of the man you said was shipping the grays. So, Monsieur Rillieux must trust you quite a lot if he sent you to travel all the way to and from New Orleans and France with his horses.”
“He should, he. Monsieur Rillieux is my father.”
“Your father? But, I thought—” Her words trailed off and Lenobia felt her cheeks getting hot.
“You thought because my skin is brown my père could not be white?”
Lenobia thought he seemed more amused than offended, so she took a chance and said what was on her mind. “No, I know one of your parents had to be white. The Commodore called you a mulatto, and your skin is not really brown. It is lighter than that. It is more like cream with just a small bit of chocolate mixed with it.” To herself Lenobia thought, His skin is more beautiful than plain white could ever possibly be, and felt her cheeks flame again.
“Quadroon, cherie,” Martin said, smiling into her eyes.
“Quadroon?”