Tender Fury (24 page)

An insistent knocking on the door interrupted her reverie. Absently she called. “Who is it?”

“Seaman Laville, Madame St. Cyr,” announced the man standing at the other side of the door. “May I come in? Your husband ordered your trunk of clothing brought to the cabin.”

“Come in,” called Gabby, surprised when the door opened without benefit of key. Had Philippe forgotten to lock her in? she wondered uneasily. What kind of game was he playing now?

If Seaman Laville thought it odd that Gabby stood clothed in nothing but a rough blanket he gave no hint of it. Neither did the two sailors who carried her trunk. Placing the trunk at the end of the bed and wishing her a Merry Christmas, they left, carefully closing the door behind them. Though Gabby strained her ears she heard no telltale click suggesting she had been locked in again.

With a cry of joy Gabby fell upon the trunk and found that all the clothing she had brought from Martinique was still inside. Discarding some of the lightweight dresses inappropriate to northern climate; she chose a medium weight wool in a becoming shade of mauve. Selecting lace trimmed undergarments and mauve slippers to match the dress, she set them aside while she washed in the icy water from the pitcher on the wash stand. After dressing quickly in the chill air, she took up her silver brush and began to work out the tangles in her pale hair until it was smooth and shiny. As a final touch she fastened the amethyst earrings in her ears. She had finished none too soon for Philippe entered at that moment bearing a large tray. The delicious odors wafting from beneath the linen cloth covering the tray set her mouth to watering.

“Very becoming,” Philippe murmured, his brittle gaze sweeping over her lush curves, “but I like you just as well without clothing.” Then his eyes caught the glitter at her earlobes.

Seeing the direction of his stare, Gabby’s hands automatically flew to her ears. “
Merci,
Philippe, they are exquisite.” His face softened for a brief moment before his usual mask of indifference hooded his features. “And the crochet , I love it. But I have nothing to give you in return.”

“Christmas should be a time of joy no matter what one has done,” he muttered with obvious embarrassment. Then taking her hand he led her to the table where he carefully laid out the festive breakfast, urging her to eat while it was still hot.

Gabby attacked the food almost greedily and Philippe had time to ponder the reasoning behind his generosity as he watched her eat, his eyes never wavering from her face. He very nearly hadn’t returned to the ship at all last night. With business at an end he had tried to take his leave of Gordon Blake, the man he had been dealing with for tobacco. But Blake had insisted on bringing Philippe to his home for Christmas dinner. There was no way Philippe could gracefully refuse so he had reluctantly agreed to join Blake and his family in their sumptuous home for a late supper. In addition to Blake and his wife were the couple’s two sons and their wives, and their lovely, black-eyed daughter named Lee Ann whose thinly veiled, flirtatious glances were directed at Philippe all evening. Later he had allowed himself to be persuaded to spend the night with the Blakes, the gleam in Lee Ann’s eyes promising more than a good night’s rest.

Once in his room, Philippe had undressed, climbed between the sheets and immediately fallen into a drunken sleep, the amount of brandy he had consumed during the course of the evening having made him more than a little tipsy. He had awakened confused and befuddled, disturbed by the rustle of clothing. He struggled to rise from his stupor but his spinning head made him drop back heavily against the pillow. A smooth, silken body came into his arms and involuntarily his hands reached out to draw Lee Ann’s supple, willing flesh urgently against his hardening body.

She moaned, and he sought her lips, all vestige of drunkenness vanished as they parted beneath the pressure, becoming pliant, then demanding. Her hands found and grasped his member, leaving no mistake about her intent. She became like a wildcat, scratching, biting, and devouring him with her lips and her body. But even as his flesh responded to her his thoughts strayed to Gabby, held captive in a tiny room by now grown cold and bleak, her loneliness and despair the result of his senseless abuse.

There was no way Lee Ann would allow Philippe’s thoughts to linger on another woman as she eagerly drew him into her scalding flesh with a cry of pleasure, welcoming his hard, cruel thrust gleefully, urging him on with soft words of encouragement. For some yet obscure reason Philippe wanted to punish Lee Ann for not being the woman he really wanted in his bed, but the harder he tried to hurt her, the louder her cries of encouragement. For Lee Ann it was over too soon as Philippe flung himself off her with a disgusted grunt that she mistook for satisfaction. Almost immediately her soft, even breathing told Philippe she was asleep.

Still dazed from too much alcohol, Philippe wanted nothing more than to return to the
Windward
and Gabby. In fact, something compelled him to rise from the bed and dress. Without a backward glance at the sleeping Lee Ann curled up contentedly in his bed, he noiselessly let himself out of the house and, despite the later hour, made directly for the nearest jewelry shop where he pounded loudly on the door until a sleepy-eyed, disgruntled proprietor let him in. But once the man realized that Philippe wished to purchase one of his most expensive pieces of jewelry his anger immediately cooled.

Now, as he watched in silence as Gabby devoured her breakfast, his eyes softened, remembering the first time he had aroused her passion. She had resisted mightily his frequent assaults upon her body until the raging storm as well as his own ardor finally sparked a response in her, unleashing the passion he knew her capable of. With a start he realized that he preferred her willing and eager for him and thought wistfully on the loving woman she had once been.

Gabby sat back in her chair, pushed her empty plate away and sighed contentedly. “I can’t remember when anything tasted so good,” she said, smiling like a cat who had just lapped up a saucer of cream.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen you eat so much,
ma petite
,” Philippe replied, a crooked grin easing his stony face, “except when…” Suddenly he broke off and stared narrowly at her, his eyes searching her features before sliding over her reed-slim body. Abruptly he arose and left the cabin, carefully closing but not locking the door behind him.

Later that day Gabby bravely opened the door to her cabin and strode defiantly on deck, the stubborn tilt to her chin daring anyone to stop her. She was surprised to find the ship nearly deserted until she remembered that they had probably gone ashore to celebrate Christmas. Though the wind was chilly the sun shone brightly and Gabby turned her face toward the welcome warmth. Without warning Philippe appeared at her elbow. “Be careful you don’t become chilled in this cool breeze and catch a cold,
ma chere
,” he cautioned, thoroughly confusing Gabby to his changing moods.

“Would you care, Philippe?” she asked, turning to face him, violet eyes wide and questioning.

“Mais oui, ma petite,”
he answered archly. “Ill you would be of no use to me. A weak body holds little appeal for me.”

Gabby blanched and had to hold on to the railing for support. Would she ever become immune to Philippe’s cruelty? she thought resentfully, swallowing hard on the constriction in her throat. Turning on her heel, she deliberately walked away from him, but he followed close behind, until they were both inside their cabin.

“We leave Charleston tomorrow,” he said with studied indifference.

“To return to Martinique?” asked Gabby hopefully.

“No, our next port of call is Norfolk.”

“That means we will be at sea many more weeks,” replied Gabby dismally.

“Oui,”
Philippe responded coolly. “Perhaps in the coming weeks you will learn the meaning of faithfulness.

“Just as you shall,” replied Gabby softly, a slow smile curving her lips at Philippe’s startled look.

Cold, sleet-driven winds added considerably to the length of time it took to reach Norfolk. Day after day Philippe continued to demand his marital rights, sometimes with little consideration for Gabby’s feelings and at other times with such tenderness that she was at odds with her own emotions. If at any time during their curious relationship Gabby experienced the least bit of softening in Philippe’s attitude, he immediately negated it with cruel taunts and callous disregard.

On the day Norfolk came into view Gabby was standing at the railing buffeted by strong winds. The rough seas made it nearly impossible to keep her balance. Suddenly, nausea rose in her throat like gorge and try as she might she could not keep from spewing the breakfast she had just eaten into the sea. Waves of dizziness sent her reeling and just when she feared she would fall overboard, a pair of strong arms tightened around her waist and she felt herself being lifted from her feet.

Gabby slowly opened her eyes and when her vision cleared saw that she was lying on the bed and that Philippe was tenderly sponging her face with a wet cloth. “Do you feel better,
ma petite?
” he asked, concern evident in his voice if not in his eyes.

“
Oui,
Philippe,” Gabby answered, trying to rise.

“No, do not get up yet. I have no wish to see you lying at my feet.”

Obediently Gabby lay back against the pillows. She needed no one to tell her what had caused her nausea or made her swoon. She knew without a doubt that she was pregnant again! Would Philippe be pleased, she wondered, eying him warily. She certainly was not!

Her uneasy thoughts were rudely interrupted when Philippe placed a hand on her flat stomach and asked, “Whose child is it, Gabby?” His blunt accusation shocked her.

“
Mon dieu,
Phillipe, how can you ask such a thing? No one but you could have fathered this child!”

“How can you be so sure?” he said icily. “I took you not two weeks after you left Duvall. There is no way you can be certain who fathered your child.”

“Philippe! Please believe me! There has been no one but you!”

“Save your breath,
ma chere
. I know Duvall as well as I know your own passionate nature.” Then he removed his hand from her stomach and began to pace the small cabin. “The fault lies with me,” he went on bitterly, “for taking you without thinking, for allowing lust to cloud my judgment. I swore I would never again find myself doubting the paternity of a child conceived by my wife.
Mon dieu,
Gabby, what have you done to me!”

Gabby could almost feel sorry for him. “I have done nothing to you, Philippe,” she retaliated. “But I can see that in your mind I am guilty of adultery. If you don’t believe me, let me go. I will make my own way and somehow provide for my child without you. Divorce me! It’s not impossible these days. Just don’t treat me like your whore!”

“I can’t let you go!” Philippe cried in anguish. “Don’t you understand that? No, of course you don’t,” he said, answering his own question. “How could you when I don’t understand myself. You are in my blood, my brain. The scent and feel and taste of you are with me always. You are mine and I will never let you go. No other man will have you again.

I can hate you, despise what you did to me, yet I cannot let you go. You nourish my body and feed my soul!”

His tortured words shocked and bewildered Gabby who listened, mouth agape, violet eyes unbelieving. How could he need her but not love her? She could not help but ask the question burning on the tip of her tongue. “What of the babe? What are your feelings toward the child I carry?” she asked hesitantly, knowing that his response could change the course of her life.

Philippe was quiet for so long that Gabby thought he hadn’t heard her. When he finally spoke, an all-encompassing emptiness invaded her soul. “In all honesty I do not believe that I have sired this child,” he confessed. “I will do my best to be a good father because there is a remote possibility that the child is mine. I can promise you nothing more.”

Philippe’s words sent a cold chill down Gabby’s spine. She could not bear to think of Philippe’s firstborn being treated any differently from any subsequent children they might have. In her heart she knew she had no choice but to leave Philippe and raise her child with all the love and affection it deserved.

“And once the child is born,” Philippe continued blithely, “I shall not let you out of my sight until you conceive again, for only then can I be certain that my own flesh and blood and not some bastard will inherit Bellefontaine.”

“You monster; despicable cad!” Gabby sobbed, jumping up from the bed to pound her small fists ineffectually against Philippe’s chest. Bewilderment, despair, defeat engulfed her. “I shall love this child above any others you might force upon me!”

Philippe’s eyes grew black with rage as he flung her from him. In his own mind her words reinforced his belief that Gabby carried Duvall’s child. He grew even angrier when he realized that he still wanted her knowing the extent of her treachery. He stomped from the cabin, fully intending to have nothing more to do with her. Once his business in Norfolk was concluded he would order the
Windward
back to Martinique where he would seclude Gabby at Bellefontaine and have her closely watched, for he could not allow her to destroy another child no matter who had fathered it. The nagging feeling that he had sired the child was never far from his thoughts. His doubts would plague him the rest of his life.

Philippe did not return to the cabin that night and Gabby was relieved. She supposed he had slept in one of the empty passenger cabins but in truth cared little what he did as long as he stayed away from her with his teasing lips and hands. It was nearly impossible to remain passionless under his expert probings. She hated herself anew each time she responded to him. And until now he had been unrelenting in demanding his due from her body.

The next morning after having disgorged the breakfast Seaman Laville brought to her, Gabby stood at the railing and watched Philippe walk down the gangplank and disappear into the winding streets along the waterfront. Even though it was snowing and bitterly cold Gabby wished she could have gone ashore herself. She still harbored notions of fleeing and only awaited the opportunity. As if reading her mind, Laville appeared and requested she return to her cabin.

“It is must too inclement to remain on desk, Madame St. Cyr,” he suggested, grasping her elbow and leading her gently but firmly toward the cabin. “Are you ill?” he asked solicitously when he saw her pale face. “Perhaps some hot tea would help revive you.”

“
Merci,
no,” answered Gabby, silently cursing Philippe for appointing Laville her watchdog.

From that moment on wherever Gabby went Laville hovered nearby. She found herself spending long hours in her cabin huddled around a small stove just to escape his constant company. Philippe had not returned to the ship and Gabby supposed he was sampling the charms of Virginia women! She certainly would put nothing past him.

Later, picking at the supper Laville had brought her, Gabby wondered why Philippe had not yet returned. Suddenly there was much shouting and running back and forth on deck and she flung open the cabin door to inquire about the commotion. She watched a few minutes until she recognized Laville hurrying by with a bucket in each hand and stopped him.

“What is happening?” she asked, wondering at the excitement all around her.

“An accident,” Laville answered hurriedly. “A fire below deck. Some of the men lit a stove to keep themselves warm and a spark ignited some clothing nearby. All hands are engaged in dousing it so you’d best stay in your cabin.” Then he was gone.

Gabby had no intention of remaining inside her cabin. This was just the opportunity she had prayed for. With all hands engaged in putting out the fire and Philippe gone ashore, she knew the time had come to make good her escape. Quickly, she donned her warmest dress and sturdiest shoes. From the depths of her trunk she took a reticule that she had filled with coins before leaving Martinique and fastened it to her waist. Then she pulled on a hooded pelisse and quietly slipped from the ship.

Gabby had no idea where she was going but wanted to get as far away from the harbor as possible before her absence was discovered. She hoped to find a decent inn or boarding house far removed from the dock area. She had enough money to last until she found employment if she was frugal. Her pregnancy did not show and it would be several months yet before she had to worry about that problem. In the meantime she would work and save enough money to buy passage to New Orleans where she hoped Marcel’s sister would help her.

Gabby’s pelisse was covered with a light dusting of wet snow and her shoes were soaked through. Shivering, she pulled the cloak even closer about her slim form. In her aimless wandering she soon found herself in a shabby, rundown section of town. Several times she was accosted by rough-looking men as she hurried along the dark streets. She could see inviting lights of an inn ahead and thought longingly of a blazing fire and warm bed.

Approaching the inn cautiously, Gabby paused briefly in the warm glow flooding through an open window. Raucous laughter and loud, boisterous voices, both male and female, greeted her ears and instinctively she knew it would be no place for a lady alone to stay. With a pang of disappointment she moved on determined to find a more appropriate lodging before she froze to death. Suddenly, a hard hand grasped her shoulder, holding her like a band of steel. Gabby felt a constriction in her chest and nearly choked with fright. How had Philippe found her so soon? she thought irrationally.

Gathering her strength she turned to face a complete stranger dressed in rough seaman’s garb and reeling slightly from side to side as if far gone from drink.

“Ah,” the man sighed when he saw her small, upturned face. “I knew this’d be my lucky day but I just didn’t know how lucky.” He draped a large arm possessively around Gabby’s waist and pulled her close.

“Please, Monsieur,” Gabby gasped, panic-stricken, “I am not…!” But she got no further.

“A Frenchy!” the big man exclaimed at Gabby’s first words. “Damned if Big Jake ain’t got hisself a Frenchy! How much, mamselle? How much for a good tumble?” he repeated, pulling impatiently at her clothes.

“I’m not what you think!” Gabby cried frantically, fear gnawing at her insides. “Let me go!”

“Aw, don’t play coy with me, Frenchy,” Big Jake said, shoving his face so close to hers that she gagged at the foulness of his rum-laden breath. “No lady would be out alone at this time of night. Do you have a room?”

Gabby could only stare.

“Never mind, the inn will do right well,” he said dragging her toward the doorway. Finally realizing that her words of protest were having little if any effect upon the big brute, Gabby began to struggle, desperately trying to break his hold upon her. In her efforts to escape, her reticule became dislodged and it hit the frozen ground, spilling out coins all around her feet.

“Whew!” whistled Big Jake. “You sure been a busy gal tonight, Frenchy.” With one hand tight about Gabby’s wrist Big Jake bent to retrieve her coins and push them back into the reticule. He raised a shaggy eyebrow when she reached for it and stuffed it in his pocket, laughing off Gabby’s feeble attempts to take it from him. “After you show me a few of those tricks you French gals are famous for I’ll consider giving it back to you. But only if you please me.”

Gabby found herself being forced roughly through the door and into the inn by Big Jake while her impassioned pleas went unnoticed amid the throng of men and women intent on their own pleasure.

“A room!” demanded Big Jake gruffly, slamming a coin down in front of the innkeeper.

“Up the stairs and first door on the right,” responded the innkeeper with a knowing leer on his coarse features.

“Help, Monsieur, please help!” pleaded Gabby, near hysteria.

The innkeeper laughed crudely, answering, “Don’t look to me like Big Jake needs any help, little lady, but if he don’t satisfy you I’ll be glad to oblige. Always did fancy a Frenchy!”

“You’re right,” guffawed Big Jake, “don’t need no help.

All I need right now is this here little French whore and a big bed.” Without further ado, he hoisted Gabby over one huge shoulder and took the steps two at a time followed by loud cat calls and vulgar laughter from the crowded common room.

Nearly faint from fear, Gabby’s small fists beat ineffectually against Big Jake’s broad back. “Please, Monsieur, please let me go,” she begged. “I am not a… not a… not what you think!”

Suddenly a door along the long corridor opened and a tall, well-dressed man stepped out. “What is going on?” he demanded when he saw Gabby struggling with Big Jake and heard her entreaties.

“Help me, Monsieur, please help me!” Gabby cried, holding her hands out to the man.

“Stay out of this, mister,” growled Big Jake. “I just got me a Frenchy for the night and she’s the type what likes it rough. She’ll tame down once Big Jake puts it to her.”

“No! No!” denied Gabby. “I am not what he thinks. I am a respectable woman!”

“Unhand the lady, Jake!” ordered the man who Gabby had begun to look upon as a savior.

“Like hell!” sputtered an enraged Jake. “She’s mine. Go find your own whore!”

Suddenly Gabby found herself lying on the floor. The stranger had let loose a blow to Big Jake’s chin that sent him reeling across the hall causing him to release his hold on Gabby. Immediately Jake was on his feet facing the man who threatened to rob him of his pleasure, his eyes glazed with pain and hatred. But in his drunken state he was no match for the cool, calculated blows of the other man. Big Jake found himself more on his back than on his feet.

“Had enough?” the stranger asked, panting from his efforts.

Apparently Big Jake had for he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet and slunk off, but not before muttering darkly, “You and that whore ain’t heard the last of Big Jake, yet.”

Ignoring Big Jake’s threats the man turned his attentions toward Gabby. “Are you hurt, my dear?” he asked solicitously as he helped her to her feet.