A Silent Ocean Away (36 page)

John was contemplating the ceiling and the dust motes suspended above him when the strains of a childhood melody floated into his bedchamber. “Damn good whisky,” he mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Still, he wasn’t as drunk as he wanted to be. Grabbing the bottle he’d retrieved from the dining room earlier that morning, he uncorked it and poured a brimming glass. As he took a swig, the sound caught his ear again. His eyes went to the French doors where the curtains billowed in the breeze. The tune wasn’t in the bottle, and it wasn’t his besotted imagination, either. Finding the music a welcome reprieve from his dismal abyss, he rose and headed to the balcony.

He wasn’t prepared for the piercing light and squinted sharply, reaching for the balustrade, holding fast until his world stopped spinning and the throbbing in his head ebbed. The strains were clearer now, and he pictured the twins as they sang along. A feminine soprano rose above their voices, embellishing the melody.
How sweet,
he mused acrimoniously,
the governess plays the piano, too
. He looked at the glass he held, then hurled it over the banister,
relishing the sound of shattering glass when it struck the cobblestone drive.

“My, aren’t we happy today!”

John leaned farther over the railing. An impish George Richards smiled up at him, his smile broadening when they made eye contact.

“You almost got me in a place I shouldn’t mention.”

“It would have done you some good, Georgie,” John chortled. “What have you been up to today?”

“A better question is: what haven’t I been up to? Paul keeps me going.”

“Poor George,” John cut in with pretended sympathy, “paying the piper for an extended excursion to America. Did he save all the work for you?”

“Not quite, but we’ve spent the morning going from one operation to the next. He’s made a few changes and wanted to acquaint me with them.”

“Changes?”

“He’s put Wade Remmen in charge of the sawmill,” George offered.

“Wade Remmen?”

“You don’t know him. He arrived on the island about two years ago: ambition, brawn, and a sharp mind for business. He’ll keep the lumber supply stocked while Paul turns his attention to tobacco. I’m glad Espoir is nearly running itself now. Even with Paul here, it will be a chore preparing the tracts for a new crop.”

John listened, then snorted. “If Paul is going to be around, I guess we’ll have more time to antagonize one another.”

“Only if you want to, John,” George stated bluntly, hating his role as middleman and peacemaker.

“That’s right, George,” John agreed coldly, “and he must want
it pretty badly if he’s shelved the building of his royal palace to plant tobacco and duel with me. But I’m up to the challenge, don’t you worry about that!”

“John,” George chided, “remember when the three of us ran around Charmantes from dawn to dusk? He’s your brother, for God’s sake!”

Running a hand through his tangled hair, John shook his head, unable to explain his festering misery. “I’m in a foul mood,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling childish. “It’s that blasted piano and the off-key singing.”

“It’s the liquor,” George corrected.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“You ought to give it up, John. It isn’t doing you any good. Besides, the twins have been asking for you. They’re anxious to see you.”

“Yes, yes,” John replied dismissively.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” George suggested. “I’ll be there. So will my grandmother. She wants to see you. She’s worried, you know.”

John considered the invitation, then nodded. “Perhaps I will.”

“Good,” George said. “I have to keep moving. There’s plenty to finish between now and then.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” John quipped. “I wouldn’t want to be blamed if Paul docks your pay for slacking off.”

George chuckled and climbed the steps to the portico. He’d just ridden back from the harbor with Paul. Best to warn him John might dine with them. Not that he regretted coaxing John out of his isolation. Still, the man was drunk and bitter, a dangerous combination that could add up to fireworks.

He found Paul in the kitchen wolfing down a chicken leg and a thick slice of bread. “I invited John to join us for supper tonight,”
he said, nodding a thank-you to Fatima as she set a glass of cold water in front of him.

Paul coughed, swallowed, and then glared at him.

“I thought you should know,” George added.

“I assume then, he accepted your kind offer?” Paul queried caustically.

“I think he did.”

“Thank you, George, for all of us. I’m sure the meal will be as enjoyable as this one.” He waved the bread in George’s face before turning to leave.

George delayed him. “Paul, have a care, will you? John’s your brother. He’s licking his wounds, and they’re deep. He could do with a bit of compassion.”

“Those wounds, as you call them, are of his making.”

“Perhaps, but they are still there.”

Paul’s eyes traveled to Fatima, who was dabbing her eyes with her apron. Uncomfortable with the converging fronts, he brusquely strode from the room.

Deep were his thoughts when he heard the piano. His perturbation evaporated as he moved to the drawing room doorway. He had ignored the music only minutes earlier in his rush to eat and get back to work. Now he needed it.

Charmaine struck the last chord of the long sonata she’d been playing in the hope the children would grow bored and ask to return to the playroom.

“Well done, Mademoiselle.”

She cringed for only a second, then regarded her admirer, who stood tall and handsome in the archway. Paul returned her smile, and her heart soared. She rose from the piano bench as he stepped into the room, his gaze unwavering.

“Children,” he directed, “run along and play outside. I want to speak with Miss Ryan. She will join you in a moment.”

“Why should we?” Yvette objected, rolling her eyes at her sister. “We aren’t babies anymore!”

Charmaine was appalled, but Paul was angry. “Yvette, I have told you what to do. Now, you will respect my wishes.”

One look at his hardened face and Yvette capitulated, marching from the room in a huff, Jeannette and Pierre right behind her.

“Just like John,” Paul mumbled under his breath.

“What is it you wanted?” Charmaine asked.

He stepped closer.
Will the children, the servants, and now, John, forever interrupt us? When will I find release from this gnawing desire?

“Paul?” she queried, summoning him away from his dilemma.

“I’d like to escort you to dinner tonight,” he said, “if you would permit me. I have reason to believe that, unlike last night or the night before, my brother will be present at the table this evening. He’s been drinking and will do his level best to ruin an excellent meal. If I am at your side, he will think twice before he taunts you, as I suspect he might.”

“Oh thank you, Paul! I do appreciate your concern.”

He smiled down at her, impassioned by her ebullient gratitude. “Do you think I’d ever allow you to come to harm?” he murmured huskily.

Suddenly, she was discomposed. It was as if this were the first time she’d faced him after his fiery kiss on Friday night. She stepped back and dropped her gaze to the floor. “What time will you come for me?”

“I will be at your door just before seven o’clock.”

“I’ll be ready,” she replied. Then, uncomfortable with the blood thundering in her ears, she quickly skirted past him and rushed outdoors.

Paul watched her go and smiled in satisfaction. “Here’s to you,
John!” he toasted, raising an imaginary glass to his brother.
You make it so easy to play the chivalrous hero. And doesn’t every impressionable young maiden love the hero?

Rose took charge of the children while Charmaine dressed for dinner. Washing away the perspiration of the hot day, she donned her best dress, then stood before the full-length mirror, pirouetting to check herself at every angle. Though modest, it hugged her trim figure and shapely curves. Satisfied, she began brushing her hair. After a good hundred strokes, she wound it into a loose bun. The combs she’d received for her birthday were the finishing touch.

Before the clock tolled seven, she left her chamber and, with a tremulous smile on her ruby lips, made her way through the children’s bedroom and into the playroom. To her surprise, only Paul was there, turning around at the sound of the door opening behind him.

“Good evening,” she greeted shyly.

“Good evening,” he returned suavely, an appreciative gleam lighting his eyes.

She looked away as he stepped forward. Her heart was already pounding, and she attempted to break the spell. “Where are the children?”

“I sent them downstairs with Rose. They were anxious for dinner, and I was anxious to see you again.” He stepped closer. “Lovely,” he murmured huskily, his hand caressing her cheek, “you are so lovely. I fear I haven’t been of much use to anyone these past few days, for you have haunted my every waking hour.”

The declaration was intoxicating, opening a floodgate of possibilities and leaving Charmaine vulnerable to the hand that traveled to her hair. Before she could protest, he released the thick tresses, catching hold of the locks as they tumbled down her back. Gently, persuasively, he pulled her head back. His mouth loomed
above hers, his lips barely touching as he whispered an endearment. “You are the wraith that invades my dreams…the vision that follows me when I awake…my beautiful Charmaine…” He claimed his prize, his lips moving over hers with a ferocity that forced them apart, his probing tongue tasting its fill.

She fell into him, thunderstruck, eagerly returning kiss for flaming kiss, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer as she reveled in the strong, sturdy body that held her. This time, no one interrupted, no one desecrated the rapturous embrace.

Abruptly, he pulled away, held her at arm’s length, then turned his back on her, leaving her shaky and confused. She suffered the first pangs of lust, a foreign sensation of yearning and disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Charmaine,” he murmured over his shoulder.
What is wrong with me? I would have taken her here, in the nursery, without a care of who might walk in on us. Damn! She is too damn tempting!

“Is something wrong?” she queried, her voice small and laced with shame.

He inhaled before facing her again, commanding control of his raging desires. “Nothing,” he reassured, a neat smile painted on his lips, “nothing at all.”

“Then why did you apologize?”

“Because now is neither the time nor the place to kiss you like that. But you make me do wild things, Charmaine.”

“Wild things?”

“Yes, like dreaming of you every night.”

She delighted in his poetry, the musical sound of his voice, and her heart was fluttering again. “I’m sorry I plague you so,” she whispered coyly.

“You may plague me, Charmaine, but it would be far worse if you fled me.”

“Would it?” she asked seriously.

“It would,” he answered earnestly. “Now, come, we’ve a dinner to attend.”

Dinner…Amazingly, her earlier dread was no longer there. Paul’s growing love eclipsed his brother’s vicious hatred. With this man at her side, she could combat anything John hurled her way. Tonight, she would reign victorious.

Paul noted her poise. “You don’t seem upset about the impending ordeal.”

“With you there, how could I think of it as an ordeal?”

“You’re a funny one, Charmaine Ryan,” he laughed, recalling how she used to avoid him. “But you are correct. I will be at your side, and John will regret his efforts to come between us. Remember, I won’t allow him to hurt you.”

“I’ll remember,” she murmured, her throat tightening against her burgeoning emotions. Once, not so long ago, she had dreamed of laying all her burdens upon Paul’s shoulders. Now, under his gentle insistence, she was finally moving in that direction. Could her dreams be coming true? It was best to remain anchored in reality, so she pushed the thrilling thoughts to the back of her mind.

He took her hand and began to lead her to the door, but she stopped. “Can you wait just a moment? I have to fix my hair.”

“No,” he objected, catching her arm before she dashed away. “No,” he said again more gently. “Please leave it this way. It looks lovely.”

She accepted his compliment and complied. The combs were still in place, holding the riotous curls away from her face. Unfortunately, she would be very warm with her hair down, but for Paul, she could endure the discomfort. With a final, wistful glance, they left the room.

For all her intrepid words, her hands turned clammy as they stepped into the dining room. The power of Paul’s presence forti
fied her, but Charmaine prayed it would vanquish any defamatory information his brother might divulge concerning her actions of Saturday morning.

They were the last to arrive. Rose was seated between one of the twins and Pierre, helping them with their napkins. Although she had sworn not to, Charmaine’s eyes went involuntarily to the end of the table, where John had lounged last Saturday morning—Paul’s usual spot. She knew he was there; why did she bother to look? She was relieved to find her entrance was not having the same momentous effect upon him; he was engrossed in conversation with George.

George noticed her first, and his face lit up. “Good evening, Charmaine.”

Grimacing, her eyes returned to John. She’d gained his attention. Though his face was clean-shaven and his apparel neat, alcohol had left its mark, his demeanor unsteady, his eyes bleary.

Paul stepped to the table and pulled out a chair for her. She would be seated close to John, but not directly to his left. She took her place with as much grace as she could muster.

When Paul turned to the chair she usually occupied, John appeared amused his brother intended to sit between them. But Paul did not take his seat. The chair seemed glued to the floor and would not budge.

“Are you going to sit down, Paul?” he queried merrily as he straightened up. “Or must we start without you? I daresay, we’ve been waiting for you and
Miss
Ryan for quite some time now. Whatever could have detained you?”