“My son has never committed a crime,” Iris snapped. “You’re protectin’ Remy Boudreaux because of Saria. And I have told you repeatedly, it’s Lafont-Mercier, not Mercier.”

Drake turned a predator’s stare on Iris. “We’re done here, Mrs. Lafont-Mercier. And if you’re not willing to abide by my decisions, you are welcome to leave the lair. In fact, you have no choice but to leave the lair.”

“This is my home, not yours.” Iris leapt to her feet, clutching her handbag like a weapon. She glared at Armande, clearly expecting him to come to her aid.

“Not if you don’t accept the leadership. Of course you could always push your son to challenge me. I would kill him, but maybe that’s what you want. You don’t seem to listen to him even when he gives you the truth.”

Iris’s eyes brimmed with tears. She sank back down and looked helplessly for a tissue. “That’s a horrible thing to say to me. I love my son—my children. He came home so broken. He’s not a fighter. He wasn’t raised to be so—so crass. He has a good position in our company and works hard. Remy Boudreaux is a bully. Everyone is afraid of him. All the Boudreaux boys grew up rough. You don’t know because you’ve just arrived here. Saria will tell you that I’m tellin’ the truth. Everyone is afraid of her brothers.”

Saria leaned toward Iris, open sympathy on her face. “My brothers are rough, Iris, that’s true, but you know they’re just. Remy would never touch anyone, least of all Armande, who we count as a friend, unless he was provoked.”

Iris scowled at her son. “What did you do?” Her lower lip trembled.

Armande looked down at the ground.

“This matter has been resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, Mrs. Lafont-Mercier,” Drake said. “Your son took his punishment like a man and earned the respect of the lair. I understand why a mother would be distraught seeing her son broken and bruised, but some things are better left alone. Armande is a grown man and shouldn’t have to talk about certain things with his mother—especially if he’s paid the price for a mistake and everyone else has let it go.”

“But I’m responsible . . .” Iris trailed off when Drake shook his head.

“No, ma’am, you’re not. Armande is a grown man and subject to all the laws of the lair. You’ve done your part in raising him. He’s a good man by all accounts and you should be proud of yourself—but he has to stand on his own two feet now. No man within the lair is going to respect him if they believe he’s hiding behind his mother’s skirts.”

Iris’s frown was more of a beautiful pout. “I suppose you’re right, but I do believe Remy used excessive force.” She glared at Saria. “And I’ll always believe that. Remy despises my son because he’s so charmin’.”

“Mother.” Armande rubbed his hand over his face, clearly mortified.

“I’m sorry if that embarrasses you, Armande. You, at least, took after me with your looks. Women chase after you the way men chase after me. Poor Charisse managed to get brains, and for that we’re eternally grateful.”

Beside him, Saria sucked in her breath. “How lucky you are that both of your children are beautiful, Mrs. Lafont-Mercier.”

Iris didn’t answer. Pauline entered the room and filled the sudden silence. “I know you and your men are tired, Drake. And you have to be hungry. Breakfast is on the table and Amos and I will be gone all afternoon shoppin’ in town. The place will be quiet so you all can rest. I’ll come back before supper and fix plenty of food.”

“Thank you, Miss Pauline,” Drake said. “I’ll admit we’re all worn out. It was a lot of country to explore.” He smiled at Iris, searching to find the right note to connect with the difficult, beautiful, if somewhat childish woman. “You have a beautiful home.”

She sniffed. “Not quite the way I wanted it, but it will do until I can remodel. My husband had such garish taste and someone insisted on indulgin’ him.”

“Mother, Charisse has provided a good livin’ for all of us and dad was dyin’. She naturally wanted to give him whatever made him happy,” Armande defended.

Drake noticed Charisse immediately closed her fingers over Armande’s arm in an obvious signal to stop. It was too late. The mere fact that Armande would take his sister’s side over his mother’s made the woman furious.

Iris sniffed indignantly. “Charisse was spoiled rotten by that man and now I have to undo al the damage he did. She has a lot to learn before she’ll be much good to anyone. And if she continues to date that horrible man she’s seein’, I may have to disown her. I will not have that man comin’ to our house. He’s as rude and as obnoxious as that drunken father of his. He owns a bar, Charisse. Whatever were you thinkin’, goin’ out with him?”

Clearly disgusted, the woman rose. “Pauline, I must leave. The thought of Charisse embarrassin’ our family again with her poor taste in men is leavin’ me faint.” She glared at her daughter. “What are you waitin’ for? You’re already drivin’ me to an early grave actin’ the harlot like you do with that man.”

“Iris,” Pauline said sharply. “You will not talk to my niece like that in my house.”

Iris turned her glare on her sister. “Of course you would side with her. You always have.” She swung around abruptly and marched out of the house. Even as angry as she was, she still managed to look beautiful.