Destiny's Kiss (20 page)

He clasped her hands between his. “Thank you,
ma petite
. Don't be sad. When we have established this line of horses, you will have all the gold rings you want.”

I only want this one you gave me the day we wed
.

“I'm glad for you that you'll have your dream. I'm glad for me that I could help you.” She laughed, shocking herself as much as him. “And I'm glad for Agathe, because Mr. Jacobs must be planning to ask her to marry.”

His eyes grew wide. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Some of the gossip in Azilum is true.”

Philippe said nothing as she went to fold the laundry piled on the bed. He was tempted to throw it and all caution aside as he pressed her into that mattress. Was he out of his mind? No, just yearning for her softness all around him.

He stared at the ring that had been worn by so many
vicomtesses
in his family. Maybe he could buy it back before they left for France. He shook his head. Once Jacobs slipped it on Agathe Suchard's hand, it would be lost to his family forever.

He almost laughed at the irony. In France, he could have bedecked his wife with gems and gold. Even their plates and goblets would have been gold. Here, they dined on pewter and drank from thick glass. Thoughts of returning to France and avenging Lucien's death came seldom now, for every day's labors left him exhausted, and sleep came as soon as he stretched out on the narrow bench.

Alone.

He glanced back at the bedroom. The one constant amid all the upheaval had been Lirienne. Her smile, her compassion, her belief in him. Had he traded all those precious parts of his life for an even more uncertain future?

Setting the ring on the mantel, he turned, pulled his cloak from the hook, and walked out the door. He went to the paddock and stared at the two horses. He hoped they would have an easier time adjusting to Azilum than he had. With his arms dangling over the top rail, he stared at the shadows of the clouds playing across the mountains.

When slender fingers touched his arm, he smiled to ease Lirienne's sorrowful expression. She was so beautiful, so desirable, so unbelievably tempting. And so strong, for she had helped him weather what he could not have withstood alone. Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he relished its downy texture. She placed her fingers over his, holding them close to her.

“When I see you staring at the horses,” she said quietly, “I think I understand how important this is to you.”

Turning her into his arms, he delighted in how perfectly she fit against him. “How can you know so much about me when I'm only discovering the truth about myself?”

“By listening to my heart.”

“And what does it say? Does it speak to me as well?” He put his fingertip in the center of her chest. When she gasped at the intimate motion, the need for her pulsed through him. “Does your heart always thump so rapidly?”

Lirienne shook her head, afraid of the truth calling out from her heart. To speak of love was sure to end this sweet moment. When his finger roved along her bodice, her knees trembled, and she clutched his shoulders. Barely able to breathe, she stared up into his smile as he slipped his fingers beneath the modest kerchief at her bodice.

She moaned with uncontrollable longing as he loosened the laces beneath it. The sound vanished when his mouth covered hers, teasing her lips into sharing the rapture as he stroked her breast. When he pressed her hips to his, he held her between his hard body and the uneven fence post.

His chuckle was warm against her ear as he teased it. Lightning-hot need coursed through her when he cupped her breast. She wanted this. She had waited for this for so long.

“Lirienne!” Agathe's voice was filled with happiness. “Are you out here?”

Lirienne pulled away, fumbling to tie her dress back in place. Turning, she called, “Just a moment.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Philippe, what is …?”

She stood alone by the fence.

Vachel handed Philippe a glass of wine and smiled. “We soon shall grow nostalgic for the swill we drank in Philadelphia.”

Downing the wine in a single gulp, he set the glass on the table. Vachel's house was nearly as large as the Grande Maison, as befit his place as one of the founders of the settlement. The furniture here was well made and comfortable, reminding Philippe of how he owed even what little he had to his friend.

It meant nothing. That thought shocked him, but he knew it was true. By the barn, he nearly had given in to his craving to make love with Lirienne. He had not thought of the consequences, only his need. If Agathe Suchard had not interrupted when she did, he could have destroyed everything for a few moments of exquisite pleasure.

“What is bothering you, my friend?” Vachel asked, sitting in a chair by the window that overlooked the common area.

“Lirienne.” He cursed silently. Why had he let the truth slip past his lips?

“I told you that you should have left her behind.”

“Once she married me, even if we had divorced, she was in danger of losing her head to the guillotine.”

“I meant in Philadelphia.”

He sat and stared at the fire on the hearth. “She had just lost the baby.”

“You are beginning to care about this serving wench you married.”

“She is my wife.”

“I've asked you this before. For how long? Will you take her back to France with you?”

“I don't think she will leave here. She loves Azilum.”

Vachel's lips twisted. “And why not? These fools here treat her as if she were born to her title.” He spat a curse. “This settlement has given your wife and the Suchards and the rest of them the idea that we are all equal. If you want my opinion …”

“I do,” he said, although he was not sure he did.

“Divorce her and return to France.”

“Divorces aren't so easy here in America.”

“Anything can be had for a price. That's the same the world around.”

Philippe smiled tautly. “But the price is more than I can afford now.”
Even if I wished to divorce Lirienne
. For a moment, he feared he had spoken those words aloud. It was bad enough that they haunted him. He did not need Vachel discovering what a fool he was to be consumed with longing for his wife. From the beginning, he and Lirienne had planned for this marriage to be only temporary.

“Getting a divorce may be easier than you think, my friend,” Vachel mused.

“What do you mean?”

“Adultery by your wife will help you gain a divorce.”

“Adultery? Don't be silly.”

Running his finger around the rim of the glass, he said, “I have hesitated to mention this, but it seems you are the only one in Azilum who has not noticed how your wife flirts with every man.”

“Lirienne? Impossible!”

“Is it?” He took a deep drink of his wine and grimaced. “Watch for yourself. You may be surprised. Very pleasantly surprised.”

“That you are mistaken?”

“That I'm right, and you have a way to rid yourself of your wife as soon as you wish.”

Fifteen

Lirienne strolled along the path which smelled of the melting snows and thick mud. She paused to admire small blue flowers peeking through the snow at the edge of the road. The endless winter was really ending, and, if this part of Pennsylvania was at all like France, soon spring blossoms would be cloaking the hillsides.

She swung the basket in rhythm with her steps. Her fears that the winter would never end had vanished. Life should be taking a turn for the better.

This morning before dawn, Philippe had shaken her from sleep and told her to get dressed. It was the first time he had come into the bedroom while she was sleeping. She had raised her arms to him, hoping he would come into them, but he had only tossed her dress toward her as he explained he needed her help because Soyeux's foal was about to be born.

Philippe had been an anxious father. “Hurry,
ma petite
,” he had urged as she drew on her heavy cloak against the chill left from the night. “I don't want to leave her alone too long.”

“She should do fine.” She tied her cloak closed. “Is it still cold outside?”

“Spring isn't here yet. It's a frosty morning, but it will be a beautiful day.”

“It's below freezing.”

“Now. By midday, it promises to be glorious.”

“Shall we go and welcome this new baby?”

He settled her wide scarf over her hair and twisted it into place. Securing the ends into her cloak, he grinned. “So you won't freeze.”

Lirienne wanted to tell him that with her hand in his, she could not imagine being cold, but she hurried with him to the barn. She smiled as he set a lantern on a nail and lit it. Warm, musky scents surrounded her when she walked toward the smaller stall. Once these had been the aromas she loved best, for they had been the ones she shared with Papa.

She paused to pat the white mare. When Cristal first had arrived, she had been so frightened that they had despaired of reaching past her flailing hoofs. But now Cristal trusted them. She regarded Lirienne with liquid brown eyes and made a whooshing sound.

Philippe talked softly to Soyeux in the larger stall. The bay remained his favorite, and Lirienne could understand why. Soyeux's coat was sleek, and her lines suggested she could be the mother of excellent foals.

He soothed the uncomfortable mare. He was gentle and spoke to Soyeux as if she could understand him. Just as Papa used to do. Smiling, Lirienne squatted next to the horse and waited for any chance to help.

As he gave quiet instructions to her, it was as if she were working with Papa again. Philippe had the same aura of serenity that reached the horse, easing her fear. Sitting and stroking Soyeux's nose, she whispered comforting sounds to the horse.

Hints of dawn from the open doorway were cutting across the floor by the time the foal was nursing greedily. The filly was a miniature of her mother.

“You were a great help,
ma petite
. You kept her calm.”

“I think you did that. She watched you the whole time.”

He chuckled. “It's my charm with the ladies.” He drew her within the arc of his arm as they walked out of the barn into the first glow of the sunrise. Dew moistened every scent to thicken the morning with a fine mist, and lights were appearing in the houses.

She raised her tired eyes to meet his. “I'm glad I could help. Papa was determined that we'd all learn husbandry skills. He always said …”

When she paused, he urged, “Tell me what your papa always said.”

“You want to know?”

“Of course.”

Lirienne almost gasped in astonishment, so many times had he told her that he did not want to hear about her past. She must not show her surprise, however, because it might cause him to close up again. Any chink in the wall he had built must be protected. “Papa always said a farmer's wife should know as much about caring for the animals as the farmer does.”

“How right he is!” He laughed as he squeezed her shoulders. “This farmer needs all the help he can get from his wife, but what I need right now is a cup of something hot. If this day is going to warm, as it should at this time of year, it's slow about it.”

She had smiled and slipped her arm around his waist. “How does coffee sound?”

“Perfect.”

Lirienne continued to smile as she remembered their laughter during breakfast as they had discussed what to name the foal. She could not recall ever seeing Philippe so at ease with himself and with her.

She crossed the yard in front of Ennis Slater's house. She was almost glad Agathe had not come with her today. It had given her time to enjoy the precious memories of this morning. Although, she had to admit, when Agathe was along on the walk, the climb up the hills to Mr. Slater's farm did not seem as long.

The house seemed to belong on this hill beyond Azilum. Whitewashed walls and a stone porch added a permanency that the dwellings in the new settlement would not be able to have for years.

Snow and mud sucked at her feet. She held tightly to the basket with its two loaves of bread. She did not want them falling into the mire. She was trading them for the milk they needed until they could afford a cow.

She rapped on the door before opening it. Softly, she called, “Mr. Slater?”

Despite herself, she gazed with longing at the collection of shining pans hanging along the kitchen wall. Her fingers stroked the smooth top of the table, and she smiled when it did not rock. Somehow she had become so accustomed to the rickety furniture in Azilum that this table seemed as grand as something to be found in the finest gallery of Versailles.

She had not seen Mr. Slater working in the barn, so she had been sure he would be here.

A muffled sound came from beyond the door by the fireplace. “Mr. Slater?” she called. She hoped he was not ill. Another epidemic like the one in Philadelphia could doom Azilum.

“Mrs. de Villeneuve?”

She hurried to the door as she heard the faint sound of Mr. Slater's voice. If he were ill, she would make sure he was comfortable before she sent someone to get a doctor. She was not sure where one might be near here.

Opening the door, she peeked inside. Like the kitchen, its walls were logs. A small, braided rag rug waited by the door, but the rest of the floor was bare pine boards. She tried to push the door open wider, but it opened only enough for her to see the footboard of a bed. She could not see if anyone was in it.

She hesitated, dampening her lips. “Mr. Slater?”

Her only answer was a cough.

“Mr. Slater, are you sick? Do you need help?”

Between more coughs, she heard, “Mrs. de Villeneuve, is that you?”

Squeezing through the door, she saw a stack of dirty clothes behind it. No wonder she could not open it. She walked to the bed where Mr. Slater was lying, his nose almost as red as his hair.