Destiny's Kiss (19 page)

“You aren't a failure.”

“No? Who puts food on our table? Who, thinking I wouldn't find out, has arranged to sew for half the men in the village? Not Philippe de Villeneuve.”

She smiled. “You are the one they come to when they wish to discuss the future of Azilum. I provide for the present. You provide for the future. I thought marriage meant we were a team.” Pointing with a knitting needle, she said, “Look! There's food in the kettle over the fire. In the larder, we have more. We have clothes and some furniture. What more could we want?”

Lirienne regretted the question as soon as she spoke it. Grief tightened his face. Not only for the life he had left behind in France, for, as if he shouted, she could hear his thoughts. Perhaps because they were hers, too. She longed for children to give them a reason to work for the future.

He cleared his throat. “I must find a way to be more useful in Azilum. The skills I used in France are quite useless here.” With a grin, he asked, “Do you think anyone needs to learn to dance? I may not be as accomplished as a dance master, but I could turn you about the room quite well.”

“Not me. I don't know how to dance.”

“No?” He rose and waved his hands to dry them. “Come here, Lirienne. I'll teach you.”

Laughing, she put the nearly finished stocking on her lap. “Now?”

“Why not enjoy ourselves for a moment?”

“Yes, why not?” Happiness was honey-sweet as it poured through the empty caverns of her heart.

When she stood, he pushed the table to one side of the narrow room.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“You've never danced?”

Memories, which seemed as fragile as a dream, washed over her. One single night she had given in to the lure of music and whirled about in mindless abandon. Then, only the melody had been important, for she had been part of it. As she focused her eyes on Philippe, she wondered if dreams could really come true. Maybe …

“I've never danced as the nobility dances,” she answered.

“Then, my dear Vicomtesse de Villeneuve, it's time you learn.”

When he outlined the steps of a minuet, she laughed. “That sounds complicated.”

“It's easier to understand it when you walk through it. Of course, it would be easier if we had music.”

“I remember—I mean, I know a song that might be the right rhythm.”

A quizzical expression drew his dark brows toward each other, but he only asked her to sing it. When she obeyed, he took her hand and repeated the instructions beneath the melody she slowed to match the pace at which he moved. It took only a few minutes for her to learn the simple steps.

“You sing beautifully,
ma petite
.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“I don't compliment you often, do I?”

“I—” She could not tell him how Agathe had mentioned his comments to the others. Holding out her hand, she asked, “Can we try it again?”

Holding her skirt up at the proper angle, she whirled with him through the steps, together and apart and together again like birds circling through a summer sky. She curtsied at the end, and he brought her to her feet. Her gaze rose along the front of his simple shirt and past its broad collar to his chin. Higher it went past the sensuous line of his lips and the undeniable aristocracy of his nose. Her breath faltered over her thudding heart when she met the passion blazing in his azure eyes.

“Sweet Lirienne,” he whispered, “pretty, intoxicating Lirienne.”

Her hand slipped along his arms which encircled her waist. When one of his hands tilted her chin up, she twisted her fingers through his hair. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, his mouth descended toward hers. A soft moan escaped from her lips in the second before he brushed them as lightly as a butterfly's wings. The tip of his tongue tasted them, lingering at each corner. With her breath rapid and shallow, she pressed closer, for she needed his hard body against her. His fingers slid up her back, each touch bringing her against him and firing the craving which demanded satisfaction.

Lirienne cried out a soft denial when he released her and reached for his cloak. “Philippe, please don't go”

“I must.”

“Stay. We can talk or dance or do whatever you wish.”

“Whatever I wish?”

He gripped her shoulders and tugged her against him. Crushing her lips beneath his, he claimed every morsel of pleasure waiting for him. His tongue thrust past her lips with his desire to conquer her mouth.

She sighed as he traced a line of scintillating sparks along her neck. Her fingers clutched his shirt. A soft moan escaped from her as the tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear. A glow hotter than midsummer lightning flashed through her. When his lips settled on hers again, he cradled her against his arm. She stroked his hard chest and was delighted when his heart raced at the same fevered pace as hers.

When he released her, his fingers curved along her cheek. “That is what I wish.”

“Then come with me.” She took a step toward the bedroom and held out her hand to him.

“No!” Striding to the door, he grabbed his cloak and was gone.

Lirienne ran to the window to see him walking toward the de Talebot house, where he would find some wine to ease the biting edge of the desire haunting them. Wanting to call after him, she leaned her head against the ice-etched panes. With the crash of the door, shutting her out of his life and his arms once more, the pain began anew. She feared that this time it would never end.

Fourteen

“Lirienne, come here!”

She wiped her hands on her apron as she saw how the cold wind had chapped Philippe's cheeks, concealing his deep tan. When he motioned to her, a hint of a ruffled cuff appeared beneath the threadbare hem of his navy sleeve. The excitement in his voice could not be disguised, and his eyes glowed with happiness.

He held out his hand, and she slipped hers into it. The sensation of his fingers around hers was as sweet as a caress. He chuckled and pulled her cloak from the peg. Tossing it over her head with another laugh, he barely gave her time to settle it on top of her skirt before he seized her hand again and threw open the door.

“It's cold!” she gasped as the wind sucked the breath from her.

“I assure you, Madame de Villeneuve, I've heard a rumor that spring does come to this valley.”

“I'm not certain that is true.”

“You've been mighty curious about what I've been doing lately.”

“Yes, for you've been mighty mysterious.”

“Close your eyes!”

She stared at him. Had he lost his mind? “The ground is rough. I could trip.”

He framed her face with his gloves that were patterned with holes and pulled threads. “Trust me,
ma petite
.”

“Philippe—”

“Trust me.” Regret resounded through his voice. “Trust me this once.”

“I trust you.” She put her hands over his and looked up into his eyes. She wanted to hold onto this joy as long as possible. “I trust you all the time.”

“Then,” he said, his smile returning, “shut your eyes and give me your hand.”

She tilted her chin upward and closed her eyes. When his broad palm brushed her face, she opened her eyes to find his hand in front of them. She laughed. “Don't you trust
me
?”

“You? Yes. Your curiosity? No!” He grasped her shoulder, steering her to the right.

The clucking of the chickens told her they were going toward the barn.

He lifted away his hand and whispered, “Look!”

Lirienne blinked as light reflected off the snow. The dark blobs in front of her solidified into two fine-boned horses. One was a very round bay with a full black mane and a luxurious tail. The other, slightly larger, was a beautiful white.

“How lovely!” she gasped. “Where did you get them?”

“I bought them last week from Yves Suchard's friend Jacobs.”

She laughed. “I think Mr. Jacobs is much more Agathe's friend.”

Smiling, he said, “Tomorrow I'm going back to get the stallion. By this time next year, we should be on our way to having a line of fine horses.”

She leaned on the fence. “Is this what you want to do? Breed horses?”

“Why not? Château de Villeneuve has”—he grinned wryly—“it
had
a reputation for excellent horses. That may be the single skill I have, Lirienne. I don't have your knowledge of housewifery or husbandry.”

“You have wonderful skills as a husband,” she said lightly, but he did not smile. With a sigh, she looked back at the horses. “That bay is beautiful. Does she have a name?”

“The bay is Soyeux. The white is Cristal.”

“French names for American horses?”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “Cristal looks like fresh snow, and Soyeux deserves to be called silky, for that is what she is.” His fingers toyed with a strand of her hair. “Just as this is.”

“You're charming today.”

“I thought I was charming every day.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Most days, you're intolerable. Some days you are barely tolerable. Occasionally you border on charming.”

“What a compliment!” He laughed. “I was fortunate to buy Soyeux before she gave birth. Jacobs has several pregnant mares, so he was willing to let me have Soyeux for a good price.”

Lirienne's eyes narrowed as she appraised the horse. “She should foal within a month, if I guess right.”

“That's what Jacobs said. How did you know?”

“I was brought up with horses, for Papa often took me to the stables. If you need help when she foals, Philippe, I have experience.”

“Good. Two sets of hands may be necessary. This is her first.” He held out his hand. “Let's give them a chance to become accustomed to their new home while I speak with you about something inside.”

“Is something wrong?”

He took her hand. “I prefer to speak of private business privately.”

Her heart leaped in joy for the length of a single beat; then she realized he still was talking only about the horses. Or was he? Putting his arm around her shoulders, he caressed her upper arm. She looked at him in surprise. He smiled as she put her hand over his. As he entwined his fingers with hers, she rested her head against his shoulder again. This was where she wanted to be. In his arms, with his heartbeat beneath her ear.

Philippe opened the door and ushered her inside. The scent of freshly cooked bread flavored every breath she took. Pushing the cooling loaves aside, he sat beside her on the bench.

“What is it?” she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.

“I've made arrangements to buy two additional horses from Jacobs.”

“Two? You mentioned only one by the barn.” Her brow ruffled. “How can you buy two more horses? We have no money, and I can't take in enough sewing to pay for one horse, let alone four.”

He settled her left hand on his palm. He stroked her fingers, pausing on the gold band on her fourth finger. His gaze rose to hers as he ran his fingertip along the ring. Pulling her hand away, she stared at him in horror. Her wedding band was the one symbol of their marriage that had not been tarnished.

“Lirienne, I've already discussed it with Jacobs. He'll take the ring in trade.”

“You decided that without telling me? It's my ring!”

“It's the ring of the Vicomtesse de Villeneuve.”

She stood. “I am the Vicomtesse de Villeneuve. You gave me this ring.”

“Now I need it back.” He folded his arms on the table and held her with his intense gaze. “When I gave it to you, I had no idea it would be the key to the future. Think of what it can buy for us.”

“For us or just for you?” With a soft cry, she spun away.

He came to his feet. “Do you think I care so little for you?”

“I don't know,” she whispered. “Once I knew that we were working together to save our lives. But since”—she almost choked, but she forced herself to continue—“since I lost the baby, you've acted as if I'm an impediment to your dreams.”

“You know that is not true.”

“I wouldn't have said it if it weren't true.”

“We've lied often to each other.”

“But I'm not lying now.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “Anything I say will sound callous, but I need that ring to pay for the horses. I had hoped you could share this dream. It's obvious that I was wrong.”

She wished she could snarl the words which would tell him how heartless he was. She should hurt him as he'd hurt her, but she could not. When Philippe had shown her the horses, he had been happy, as she had not seen him since she'd told him she was going to have a baby.

He sat heavily and shook his head. “I should have known it was too much to ask. You're right. The ring was a gift.” With a heart-deep sigh, he looked up at her. “After all, that ring is small payment for the torment I've dragged you through since I coerced you into marrying me.”

“You didn't coerce me.”

“I remember your shock when I proposed. You looked as if you thought you had escaped a beating.”

Before she could halt herself, she blurted out, “I did think that was what you intended.” When his eyes widened with astonishment, she hurried to add before he could speak Madame Fortier's name, “I was also amazed that a
vicomte
wished to marry me. I'm still overwhelmed when I think about that day, although it's now harder every day to remember what life was like in France. Sometimes, it seems as if we've lived here forever.”

“Yes, forever.”

Lirienne closed her eyes as she heard his pain. Wanting to wrap her arms around him and kiss away his anguish, she instead slipped the ring off her finger. Placing it on the table by his hand, she whispered, “I won't keep you from having the chance to make your dreams come true.”