Forever Waiting (24 page)

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she began, hoping to provide answers that would not widen the rift between him and John. “When I walked out onto the balcony, I saw you with Anne London.”

He inhaled. “So, you ran to my brother’s arms. Is that what happened?”

“No!” she railed, insulted he was making light of his tryst, while scorning hers.

Paul was satisfied with the response. He’d been right in assuming if John had bedded her, he would have bragged about it. No, his brother had simply capitalized on her vulnerability when she grew disillusioned with her fiancé’s dalliance. “Don’t be a fool, Charmaine,” he proceeded. “John is never going to make you happy.”

“And you will?
”

“I’ve been honest with you,” he reasoned. “I’m a flesh and blood man. You refused me time and again. Last night meant nothing to me.”

“How can you say that? How can you stand there and say that to me?”

“Really, Charmaine, you are very naïve about men. Do you think John hasn’t taken a woman to his bed since he left here last fall?”

“But he wasn’t the one who proposed marriage to me. You were! If you cannot be faithful when you are engaged, how will you be faithful when you are married?”
And John was alone in his chambers last night
, she thought,
not cavorting with the loosest woman at hand
.

“Be a fool then. But you are the first and only woman I’ve ever loved. John, on the other hand, will
never
forget Colette. You know that, and I know it.”

“You’re wrong!” she objected vehemently.

“Am I?” he shot back, further annoyed when she turned her back on him. But when he realized she was crying, his anger abated. “Charmaine,” he cajoled, “let us set this situation straight, right now. Let us go together and find Father Benito. The vows have not been consummated. The marriage can be annulled.”

“No!” she sobbed, wrenching free of the hands that closed over her shoulders, free of the lies he was spinning to confuse her. She whirled around to face him. “I love John! I don’t love you!”

She saw the pain in his eyes and softened her words. “I thought I loved you, Paul. But when John was gone, I missed him so. If he hadn’t come back, I would have believed I meant nothing to him. But he did come back, and he loves me, too. He
does
love me! Last night when I saw you with Anne, I should have been hurt, but I wasn’t. If it had been John in her embrace, I would have cried myself to sleep.”

Her remarks cut deeply. “You’re lying,” he snarled, his anger barely in check.

“No, Paul. Truly, I don’t want to hurt you, but I do love John.”

He didn’t hear her, for his mind was racing. “You saw me with Anne last night, but you say that didn’t upset you. Yet, John finds you praying in the chapel this morning and claims you were very upset … ” His thoughts trailed off as he pieced the puzzle together. Then he glared at her through smoldering eyes. “You spent the night with him, didn’t you?”

Her silence was affirmation enough.

“You little fool! You’ve thrown away the happiness we could have shared! John knew you were vulnerable. Can’t you see he’s using you to get to me?”

When she shook her head in denial he pressed on, determined to hurt her as she had hurt him. “Do you know he came to me and suggested I marry you before he left here six months ago?” He smiled in satisfaction at her stunned face. “It’s true. Ask him. He doesn’t love you, Charmaine. He’s just using you. And when he’s had enough—”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “I hate you! Get out!”

When he didn’t budge, she flew at him, pummeling his chest with both fists. “Get out, I tell you! Get out!”

Frederic heard the cries coming from the nursery and pushed into the room to find Charmaine in hysterical tears. “What goes on here?”

Paul spun around. “I was leaving,” he bit out.

“It’s best you do,” Frederic warned, catching hold of Paul’s arm as his son attempted to brush past him.

Paul stopped, looked down at his sire’s hand, then met the man’s eyes. “Charmaine is John’s wife now,” Frederic said. “Remember that.”

Paul had no intention of heeding his father like a scolded child, and he tore away. Frederic watched him leave, then turned to Charmaine.

She fought to master her emotions, wiping away her tears. “I knew I was going to have to face him. But it was terrible. I’ve hurt him deeply.”

“Perhaps,” Frederic offered, walking over to her. When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “I would say it’s more a matter of wounded pride.”

“I wish it were so simple,” she murmured.

“Do you love my son, Charmaine?” he asked.

She knew he meant John. “I love John deeply.”

“Good, because he needs that love, and I believe he loves you just as much. He has had many hard knocks in his life, but because of you, his future looks very bright. This marriage has made me very happy today.”

John was highly agitated to find them together. It was apparent Charmaine had been crying. “What is this all about?”

She went to him in relief. “Paul and I had words. Your father intervened.”

John’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing. After Frederic bade them goodnight, he put an arm around her and led her back to his room. Once there, she reveled in a soothing bath, leaning her head back against the rim of the tub and closing her burning eyes. Perhaps the water would wash away Paul’s bitter remarks.

John left her to tuck the twins into bed, but returned long before she was finished. He sat on the rim of the tub. Embarrassed, she sank modestly into the water to conceal her breasts. But he wasn’t looking at her, his thoughtful gaze cast beyond the room. “Will you tell me what Paul said to you? I know you were crying.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “It was terrible. I knew it would be.”

“I’m sorry, my Charm,” he said. “I had hoped to spare you his wrath. When he disappeared today, I thought you were safe.”

“If it hadn’t been today, it would have been tomorrow,” she said, though she knew Paul had cornered her in the hope of sabotaging her wedding night.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Only with his words, but I hurt him, too. John—what he said doesn’t matter. I don’t want it to come between the two of you.”

“It matters to me,” John replied heatedly. “We must understand each other if this marriage is to be a success. What did he say?”

She studied him, then plunged ahead. “He called me a fool— said you could never love me as he could—that your heart would always belong to … ”

“Colette,” he supplied.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Damn him,” John swore, but to Charmaine’s chagrin, he did not deny the assertion. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, and John read her pain. “You don’t believe that, do you? Charmaine, you can’t possibly believe that.”

“I don’t think I do,” she choked out. “I don’t want to.”

“Charmaine, I love you, and only you. Colette is dead. Yes, I loved her, but I had resigned myself to a life without her before I came back last August. Still, the love I shared with her has made me a better man, one who understands what is valuable in life. I’m not about to lose you now that I know you love me in return.”

“Is it true you told Paul to marry me before you left for Virginia?” she asked, dreading the answer.

John regarded her pensively. “I suggested he marry you
before
Pierre died, when I knew I had to leave. I had feelings for you, but I was afraid—afraid I’d only hurt the children if I stayed—afraid I’d hurt you. When Pierre died, all those fears were confirmed. I left because I had interfered in everyone’s lives: my father’s life, Paul’s life, the twins’, yours, and most important, Pierre’s, and the consequences were devastating. I didn’t want to live that way any longer, to do the very things my father did to me, be the hypocrite.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“I came back because a friend persuaded me. I came back because I missed my sisters, because I missed you.”

“Would you have returned without an invitation?” she asked apprehensively.

“I would have stayed away,” he confessed. “As I said, I didn’t want to interfere. I missed you, Charmaine, but I didn’t realize I loved you until I walked up to the house a week ago and saw you standing there. I was amazed Paul hadn’t married you yet. I was
happy
he hadn’t married you.”

“And you didn’t interfere last night?”

“When I took you to the ball, yes, I interfered,” he replied. “I was angry at Paul—the way he was treating you. He had six months, Charmaine, six months with you all to himself, and still, he threw away his opportunity to have you!”

“And after the ball?”

“You came to me, Charmaine. I asked you if you were sure before we even started. So, you tell me—did I interfere?”

“No,” she murmured, the color rising to her cheeks again.

His eyes searched hers, then he asked, “And you, Charmaine, did you come to my room last night because you saw Paul with Anne?”

She was astonished, uncertain if he were serious. “Self-assured John Duvoisin needs to ask me that?” she teased, but when his eyes remained earnest, she realized he was as vulnerable as she. “No,” she answered honestly, “I wasn’t upset. I came to you because I love you, John. I suppose I realized it when Paul proposed, but I didn’t know how to tell him, or how to tell you. I was frightened to tell you. When I watched Paul and Anne go off to the boathouse, everything became clear. Paul’s walking away didn’t matter. But I would have been heartbroken if you walked away. I don’t want you to ever leave me again. I love you, John.”

His heart expanded jubilantly, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

“One more thing,” she interrupted, forefinger to his lips.

“Yes?”

“Do you really have a mistress in New York?”

His brow lifted innocently, but his smile turned raffish. “Not anymore.”

The water was growing cold, and she shivered. “Come,” he coaxed, “it is time you were about your bath.”

He rolled up his sleeves and lathered the sponge. When she leaned forward to take it from him, he held it out of her reach, chuckling when she blushed. He lifted a shapely leg out of the water and washed her ankle, her calf, then her thigh. He started on the other leg, and she could feel her tension falling away. He moved behind her and pressed the sponge to her back, massaging it over her shoulders, down one arm and up the other, a soothing caress. He nudged her forward and washed her back. She felt his lips on her neck, then on her shoulder, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine. He discarded the sponge, and his hands traveled down her arms, moving to her breasts, cupping them, brushing his thumbs over her nipples and coaxing them erect with desire. Charmaine groaned and closed her eyes to overwhelming, burning passion. His hands traced over her belly and stroked the inside of her thighs.

When she could stand it no longer, she pushed up from the tub and stepped out of the water. John grabbed the towel off the armchair and, coming from behind, draped it over her shoulders. She was shaking uncontrollably, but not from the cold. He dried every inch of her slowly, then turned her around so she faced him. Using the towel, he pulled her naked body to him, dropping it as he encircled her in his arms and kissed her. His hands roamed freely, finding her womanhood, where ever so lightly, his fingers stroked and teased until she was moist with anticipation. Her loins pulsed with desire, and when he drew away, she looked up at him and pleaded, “Don’t stop.”

He quickly stripped off his own clothing and led her to the bed, pressing her gently into the soft mattress as he rolled on top of her.

“I do love you, Charmaine,” he affirmed in a husky voice.

“I know you do.” She smiled, relishing the ecstasy of being in his arms, yet certain his lovemaking couldn’t be better than the night before. She was thrilled to learn she was wrong.

Monday, April 9, 1838

When they awoke the next morning, they were still in each other’s embrace. Much later, they rose and John stripped the clean linen off the bed, revealing the stained sheet beneath.

“Let them think what they will,” he stated with a wry smile.

“I’d prefer no one see that,” Charmaine stated anxiously.

“Then the gossips in this house will have reason to whisper, my Charm. You are my wife, and I want them to treat you with respect.” With that, he opened the door and glanced up and down the hall. No one was about. He took the clean sheet with him, depositing it in the laundry service room.

When he returned, she smiled warmly at him. “John?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t thank you for all you did yesterday: the way you treated me, your concern, our wedding, attending Mass and your beautiful announcement afterward.” Her eyes welled, and her voice grew raspy. “You never cease to amaze me. The day was perfect in every way, and I shall cherish it always.”

He inhaled contentedly, his happiness compelling her to say more. “Only your lovemaking surpassed it.”

His expression turned wicked, lips curling deviously. “I told you long ago I’d not let your first ride end in failure—that I’d go to great lengths to ensure its success. We’ve given new meaning to Passion Sunday!”

They arrived at the dining room in time to watch a gratified George chastise an indignant Anne London. “I’m afraid you’ll have to pack your own trunks. I won’t permit my future wife to do so for the likes of you. It would be far below her rank in society.” Anne marched away in a fulminating huff.

John chuckled. “Well, George, she hates all three of us now.” He pointed to himself, George, then Paul’s empty seat. “Shooed, booed, and screwed.”

When they had finished eating, John gave Charmaine a quick peck on the cheek and headed toward the study, where he knew he’d find his brother. As he closed the door behind him, Paul lifted his eyes from the paperwork on the desk.

“We need to talk, Paul.”

Paul pushed back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

“I want you to leave Charmaine alone,” John stated directly.

“Do you now?”