Beyond paradise (34 page)

"Well, yes," she smiled nervously, "of course not. That was before—"

"Before I set Jacques free?" It was the first time he'd acknowledged the pirate's name.

"Why, yes," said Sylvie, stepping back. "Yes, it was before that. Exactly."

Elizabeth Doyle

Jervais took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. When he was able, he said, "Of course, I expect this infatuation with that pirate to cease after our wedding." It was not a statement but a demand.

Wisely, Sylvie said nothing.

"It is," he asked cautiously, "merely an infatuation, is it not?" His jaw twitched.

Again, Sylvie wisely said nothing.

"Sylvie," he said, letting some of his soul move to his eyes, "I love you. And I know that in time you will love me, too, will you not?" There was a quake in his voice, a doubt that was most uncharacteristic. Sylvie saw it plainly and lowered her eyes in regret.

"I have never been one to take a woman's whims to heart," he said, reminding himself of the beliefs which would keep him safe from her. "I know that a woman's feelings blow to and fro like the wind, and that your confusion will pass."

Sylvie rolled her eyes only when she was certain he wasn't looking.

"I know," he said, reaching out to touch her soft ringlets, "that you are impressionable, and that I can teach you to love me just as . .." he swallowed hard and finished his sentence quietly, "... just as he did."

Sylvie nodded emphatically, but the falsehood was transparent in her eyes. It angered Jervais beyond reason to see her lie, and to see the truth engraved all over her face, that she truly did not believe a word he had just said. For a moment, he wanted to kill her, or himself, or both of them. But the anger passed quickly, as it always did with Jervais, and he decided instead to kiss her. His kiss was so brutal that it took Sylvie unawares. He did not have Jacques's tenderness or any sort of interest in her response. He kissed as though it were one-sided, as though he were a weapon and she, a target. His embrace was too hard, so much so that she was more

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aware of the pressure he applied to her back than the sensations he aroused in her lips. There was no subtlety, no hidden message in his touch. Only, / want you and I will have you.

Jervais could scarcely believe what he was doing. Ordinarily, he maintained control of his senses, and did not allow himself to be tempted. But it was not actually the temptation which was causing him to explode in such a violent act. It was anger and hurt. Something was nagging at him, something was burning in his chest—it was nearly killing him. He loved Sylvie. And he had to prove something, something that couldn't wait. He lifted her with ease, a show of power meant to humble and impress her, then tossed her on the cot, where she landed with great force.

"You may take me," she told him, despite her discomfort at being thrown so. "I give myself to you, Jervais."

What should have made him harden with delight, instead gave him a sinking feeling and made him scowl. "Your devotion comes too quickly," he told her. "Only hours ago, you wouldn't have me."

"That is behind us," she said. "Jervais, you've saved the man I love, and in so doing, you have enabled me to live on without suffering. I am indebted to you. I will never forget what you did. I love him so much."

Jervais winced. "Stop it," he said. "Stop saying that."

"Stop saying what?"

Jervais turned away, leaving her sprawled on his cot, and paced to his desk. His back turned to her, he pressed his hands against it and dropped his head. Feeling rather awkward in her sudden abandonment, Sylvie sat upright and made certain her gown was straight. "Do you want me to pretend I don't love him? If you wish, I'll say no more of it." She peered around to see whether she could catch a glimpse of his face, but could not. "I can pretend that it's you that I love, if you like."

Elizabeth Doyle

If she could have seen his expression, it would have terrified her. But he did not turn around, so she was spared.

"Jervais, please listen." She rose to her feet and crept nearer to him, hoping to find the words that would placate him. "I have vowed to be your wife, and that I will do, and everything that goes with it," she added, glancing at the bed. "But you have to understand what transpired between Jacques and myself. It wasn't an infatuation or a fleeting bout of passion. Jervais, it was love, and always shall be. I think it would be difficult for someone to understand if he had never had such an experience. Let me see whether I can explain." She chewed thoughtfully on her lip, her eyes flitting about with her mind. "Let's see. All right. Imagine that you met someone who was very much like yourself, enough so that there was very little you had to tell her, because you fundamentally agreed on everything that was the foundation of your perception and your being. Yet, there was enough difference between you that you could look to her as someone who can offer you a light you had been lacking. And furthermore, you had the flattering sensation that she felt the same way about you—that she needed you, not something about you that was false or practiced, but something about you that is the very essence of your existence, something you couldn't fail to give her even if you tried. Then imagine that every time you looked at her, you felt a weakness in your stomach and a strength in your heart. That every time she touched you, you were grateful to be alive, and—"

"Stop it!" His growl was so loud and his face so purple that Sylvie thought he was going to kill her. "Get the hell out of my cabin!" he yelled, jerking her violently by the arm and hair, not caring that he might bruise or even injure her.

His grip truly hurt, and Sylvie feared for her safety. "Jervais, I—"

He flung open the door furiously with one arm and used

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the other to drag her down the hallway at a pace too fast for her to keep up. He flung open the door of her cabin and tossed her, allowing her head to hit the floor. Then, before he could look into her pained eyes, he shut and locked the door behind her. Storming away, he didn't dare think or feel or analyze. He locked himself in his own cabin just as violently as he'd locked her in hers, and then he looked around. He was alone. He could hear nothing but Sylvie's distant sobbing, and that was something he had to strain to catch. Nothing in his cabin moved, including himself. His chest felt as though it were plunging into his gut. Nothingness. That's all his life was. A barren room without a pulse. She did not love him. She never would. No one would ever love him the way Sylvie described. It burned and ached until he could take it no more, and he doubled over into a loud, masculine fit of sobs.

Sylvie had a bad bump on her head, and was still tending it with a cool cloth late into the night. The sun would soon rise, but she did not care. She had no desire to sleep. She gazed out of her porthole at the night sky as she had been doing for hours. The sky was a glittering dome, alight with the very distant magic of clear-colored stars. There was a knock at her door.

Anxiously, she set aside her cool cloth, touching her forehead to see how visible the bump must be. It felt rather large, but there was no helping it. She straightened out her skirt by smoothing it against her legs and moved to the door. "I'm sorry, I cannot open it," she called through the crack. "Only Jervais has the key."

"May I come in?" asked Jervais.

Sylvie cocked her head, unsure why Jervais would be so considerate as to knock first. "Of course." Her voice broke a little, as she was feeling a tad scared of him at the moment.

Elizabeth Doyle

But she took a deep breath and backed away as the door creaked open.

Jervais took one booming step into the room, a firm set to his mouth but a warm glow in his moist eyes. "Go," was all he said.

Sylvie had no idea what he meant. "I ... I beg your pardon?"

He pointed to the ceiling, his expression unreadable. "The ship is ready. The pirates are on board. Go."

Sylvie didn't dare believe he meant what she thought he did. "What do you ... what are you saying?"

"I'm letting you go," he told her stiffly. "Move quickly before I change my mind."

She raced on deck to meet him, leaving everything behind. She didn't take one trinket, one spare gown, or one flask of wine. The moment she laid eyes on him, rugged and bruised, dirt streaked across his face from his miserable confinement, she felt her insides melt and flow. Dreams she had abandoned, love she dared not contemplate, came rushing forth. She flung herself into his strong arms, weeping madly against his chest. He held her with warmth and firmness, rocking her back and forth within the cradle of his arms. The smell of his skin through his torn shirt warmed her nose with sweetness and memories of nights gone by. She felt his heart beating and his unshaven jaw against her forehead. There was nothing for either of them to say—their feelings were just too powerful. But it was Jacques who broke away first. "We'd better go," he said, for he had seen Jervais over the top of her head.

"I can't," she sniffed. "I can't stop touching you. I can't believe you're real."

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He forced her to back away from the embrace, and took her hand firmly in his. "Come."

Separated from Jacques and recovering from shock, Sylvie took a moment to look over her shoulder at Jervais. He was leaning against a rail, his arms crossed, his jaw painfully tight. "Are you ready?" he asked, pushing himself upright but not uncrossing his arms.

Sylvie shook her head lovingly at him. "Jervais," she began tearfully, "I just can't believe—"

"Don't say anything," he grumbled. "Just get the hell out of my sight."

The way he said it did not sound threatening, and Sylvie knew that he was simply unaccustomed to being kind. "You won't get rid of me so easily," she said, flashing him that famous smile, "not without a kiss. Come here." She waved her finger playfully at him, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought he blushed. He strolled over to her coolly and cautiously, and planted a firm kiss upon her cheek. To her, it was far more stimulating than any kiss he had given her in the past, because truly, it was filled with warmth and affection. "Thank you, Jervais."

All he could do was swallow awkwardly and nod. "Go on," he said, not quite looking at her, "go before Etienne wakes up and has a temper tantrum."

Sylvie giggled despite herself. "Oh my. What are you going to tell Etienne?"

"To stop griping in my ear."

They shared a laugh, though for him, it was a stiff one. Sylvie wanted to say so much more to him, but how could she reach a man like Jervais? How could she thank him and really make him feel her sincerity? She wasn't sure there was a way. So she just did the best she could by telling him, "I will never forget you."

Elizabeth Doyle

To this, he responded with a formal nod—not at all the response for which she had hoped. But she would make do with it. She turned around and moved to her awaiting vessel. Jacques scooted her ahead of him with a hand on her back. But before he himself followed, he turned to Jervais. "Thank you," he said.

And to Jacques, Jervais had a much more passionate response. "I didn't do this for you," he growled, his eyes frigid black ice. "I don't like you, pirate. Don't think for a minute that I'm doing this for the likes of you."

Jacques swallowed that answer and replied, "All right," then slowly turned around.

"Wait!" Jervais called to his turned back. He got no response—not even a twitch. That aggravated him so much that he jogged up to Jacques's side, and grabbed his shoulder. Jacques jumped at the sudden assault, but relaxed when he saw it was only Jervais trying to get his attention.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was just calling to you," snarled Jervais. "Didn't you hear me?"

Jacques shook his head, a faint smile crossing his handsome mouth.

Jervais narrowed his eyes, thinking the pirate found himself amusing. But a moment and then another passed without any sign that Jacques was joking. Jervais's squint held great suspicion. "You're ... what do you mean?"

Jacques's reply was casual. "I've never heard a single sound in all of my life," he said.

"But you mean, when I..." Jervais's eyes moved rapidly to the pace of his thoughts, "when I blindfolded you, when—"

"When you beat me, yes. I didn't hear a word you said."

Jervais lowered his eyes. "That's impossible. How could I not have noticed?"

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He shrugged. "I don't know, but I'll guess there's a lot you don't notice. Bon voyage."

"Wait!" he cried, grasping his shoulder. "Does .. . does Sylvie know?"

Jacques let out a snicker. "Yes."

"And she . .. she doesn't mind?"

Jacques didn't think that deserved an answer. He waved a dismissive hand at his former captor and strolled away from their senseless feud, toward the pirate angel who had risked everything to be with the likes of him. Why anyone would do that, he didn't know. But he had to accept it, he had to take her devotion for what it was—an inexplicable, irrational, beautiful foible of the human heart. Her bright smile gleaming at him from the merchantman deck gave speed to his steps and put strength in his heart. She stood there like an angel in pink, surrounded by a crew of filthy, brown-clad pirates. Her hair blew in her face, and her blue eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. He raced to get on board, refusing to be hindered by hatred of any kind. He climbed on board, cheered on by almost a dozen of his friends and welcomed by his happy, musky-smelling lady.

Jervais was a lone shadow on the deck of his vessel. He nodded to his men to sever the grappling ropes, and watched the ship drift away with an ache in his gut. She was going, going, going. He would never see her again. He could have had her, could have kept her for his own, but instead, she was slipping from his sight. He wanted to stop it. He wanted to jump from the deck and reach for the stern of their ship, tugging it and pulling it back into his clutches, never again letting it go. Was it too late? Oh God, it was the worst mistake he had ever made. She was leaving ... he would never find another like her. It was over—the only light he had ever known was pulling away from him. What was that? It was Sylvie.