Tender Fury (29 page)

“Philippe! What are you doing here!” gasped Gabby, frantically searching the small room for her wrapper.

“I came to pack my belongings,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire, “but seeing you like this…
mon dieu,
I am only human!” Gabby backed away from his burning eyes, scorched by the raw passion radiating from his hardening body. Unconsciously she covered her protruding abdomen with her hands as if to protect her child from his lust. Instantly he was beside her, drawing her trembling body into his arms.

“Gabby,
ma chere,
I want you! Let me love you one last time!”

To Gabby’s ears it sounded almost as if he were a drowning man begging to be saved. This was not the same man who had taken her brutally time after time, debasing, abusing her. This strange man acted as if he truly needed her. What deception was he playing at? she wondered even as her flesh strained toward his burning touch.

When she made no protest, Philippe wasted no time, carrying Gabby to the bed and hastily shedding his clothes. It seemed like only moments before his lips were claiming hers, savagely, yet not without a hint of tenderness. He outlined the tender shape of her mouth with his tongue, memorizing, before plunging into the sweetness within. She felt his hunger, was overpowered by it, and then she felt her own hunger answering. She stiffened, feeling his mouth move downward to pull at an erect nipple, pausing at the slight bulge of her stomach, hands caressing lovingly, almost reverently. Still he continued his downward journey. Gabby could feel him large and tumescent against her and she moaned in spite of herself as a warm, pleasurable lassitude swept her along on a tide of passion.

“Soon,
ma chere,
soon,” crooned Philippe, whispering words of love. “I want to worship every inch of you one more time.”

And he proceeded to do just that. Not an inch of her body was inviolate. Though she was ready for him he would not be hurried. Even her small cries and gasps of pleasure when he found a particular spot vulnerable to his lips and hands could not persuade him from his quest. Then his mouth found the place he sought and Gabby arched her back to him, pulling him even closer, encircling him with her legs as he tasted, taunted, teased, his tongue hungry for her honeyed warmth.

“Now, Philippe!” Gabby cried, writhing, moaning, ecstasy driving her out of her mind.

Spurred by her words, Philippe plunged into her velvet wetness, afraid he would hurt her, yet powerless to contain his need. To his surprise, Gabby ground her pelvis into his, stunning him by the passion he had unleashed in her as well as by the intensity of her response.

Gabby wanted all of him, and as if to prove it, she flung her arms and legs around his driving body, locking him securely. Lost in the soft recesses of her body, Philippe slowed his pace, savoring, enjoying fully her welcoming flesh. Gabby’s blood boiled, great rivers of molten lava flowed through her veins and she grasped and clutched Philippe even closer. Sensing her urgency, Philippe quickened his movements, plunging down, down, down, into the velvet honey of her. At the onset of her long, wailing cry, he covered her lips with his, taking, muffling the sounds with his own mouth until they mingled and became like thunder in his ears.

Lying side by side, panting loudly, bodies touching, they descended slowly from the towering passion they had just shared. When Philippe could finally speak his voice was tinged with sadness. “A fitting adieu,
ma chere.
One that will remain with me forever.”

Gabby could not trust herself to speak. She wanted their final parting to be as friendly as possible given their circumstances and anything she could say would cause more dissension. She could not face another altercation, knowing in her heart that though Philippe desired her body he could never bring himself to believe her, or trust her. Sighing wretchedly, Gabby sensed that they had just said their last farewell in such a way as to prove that her love for him was not entirely dead… but it was too late… too late.

Hearing her sigh, Philippe was assailed by feelings of guilt and remorse, thinking that he had taken advantage of her again, used her to satisfy his need for her, a need that would torment him for the rest of his life. So before he did or said something to anger her he rose from the bed, careful not to touch her, fearing he might take her again, and began to dress.

“I shall be on hand to escort you ashore, Gabby,” Philippe said as he fumbled with the buttons on his soft, linen shirt, his eyes carefully averted from her enticing body, utterly desirable despite her pregnancy.

“Whatever for? Everyone will soon be aware that we have separated.”

“Perhaps not,” Philippe said mysteriously.

Fully dressed Philippe finally found the courage to face Gabby. He ached to make love to her again, to purge her mind and body of Duvall by sheer force of strength. Then his eyes fell upon the curve of her stomach and his mouth hardened. By all that was right and holy the child she carried should be his, not Duvall’s! With a will of its own his hand crept out to caress the smooth roundness. Gabby flinched but made no move to stop him, waiting for him to say something, anything. With a curse, Philippe flung himself away and out the door into the dark, lonely night.

Philippe was waiting for Gabby the next morning when she emerged from her cabin, mauve shadows marring the pale skin beneath her eyes. With cool detachment that belied his true feelings he offered her his arm and together they descended the gangplank.

Gabby was immediately caught up with the sights and sounds of the island. Her eyes and ears were so filled with the teeming life and colorful people happily going about their business that she was unaware Philippe had hired a carriage until she found herself being handed inside.

“Where are we going, Philippe?” she questioned. “I thought you said…”

“Relax, Gabby, you will see your precious Marcel soon enough. But first we are going to visit Dr. Renaud. I can only remain in St. Pierre a few days before I must see my plantation.”

Dr. Renaud finished his examination and sat down to talk with Philippe while Gabby dressed.

“How is my wife, doctor?” asked Philippe with grave concern. “To my eyes she appears frail in comparison with her previous pregnancy.”

“I cannot understand it, Monsieur St. Cyr,” began the doctor, shaking his shaggy head of graying hair. “I can find nothing physically wrong with your wife, yet… you are correct in your thinking. There seems to be something intangible undermining her health. We must watch her closely if she is to be delivered safely.”

“It’s just as I feared,” muttered Philippe darkly. “Doctor, there are complications to my wife’s pregnancy that you are unaware of.” He paused, considering how much of the truth he should reveal to the good doctor. “What I am about to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence.”

“I am not in the habit of discussing my patients with anyone,” bristled Dr. Renaud huffily.

“I do not mean to question your integrity,” assured Philippe hastily. “Let me explain. While the
Windward
was docked in Norfolk, my wife took it upon herself to go ashore alone after I forbade her to do so. She became lost and was accosted by a common seaman and nearly raped. To further complicate matters she was rescued by a procurer for a house of prostitution and given a sleeping potion to render her senseless and then a double dose of a powerful stimulant in an effort to force her to their will.”

“Sacre dieu!”
cursed the doctor, his eyes saucers of anger and disgust.

“Luckily,” lied Philippe smoothly, “I found her before any harm was done to her and brought her back to the ship.”

“The poor child! What a shock to her system, especially in her delicate condition,” agonized the good doctor, immediately searching his mind for the names of aphrodisiacs she could have been given.

“Doctor,” said Philippe, lowering his voice, “my wife does not remember any of her ordeal and I would prefer to keep it that way. If she had blocked the episode from her mind I see no reason to enlighten her.”

“Wise, very wise,” agreed Dr. Renaud, nodding his head sagely. Privately, he felt much was left unsaid, that something horrible had happened to Madame St. Cyr in Norfolk.

“My main concern is Gabby’s health and the welfare of the child. Is it possible the babe could have been harmed by the drugs my wife was forced to ingest?”

“Mon ami,”
stated the doctor. “I do not know what drugs your wife was given; there are dozens capable of producing the results you described. We all know of their initial effect but what damage, if any, they have on an unborn fetus is anybody’s guess. We can only wait, watch, and pray. Of course, in light of what you have just disclosed, I shall insist that your wife remain in St. Pierre under my care. Bellefontaine is too remote.”

“My thinking exactly, doctor,” agreed Philippe with alacrity. “But unfortunately I cannot remain in St. Pierre. It’s imperative I return to my responsibilities at Bellefontaine.”

“Under the circumstances I do not think it advisable for Madame St. Cyr to remain at your townhouse alone except for servants.”

“I assumed as much, Doctor,” nodded Philippe. “With this in mind I have arranged for my… friend… Marcel Duvall, to look after Gabby. He lives in St. Pierre most of the time, leaving the running of Le Chateau to his excellent overseer. She will reside in his townhouse, under his care, until the child is born.” Philippe could not help but notice the doctor’s startled look.

“Er… rather unusual, isn’t it, Monsieur St. Cyr? There is bound to be much gossip about such an… er… arrangement.”

“But I am certain you will not allow such talk to take root, Doctor,” Philippe continued, his eyes narrow shards of ice. “My wife remains in St. Pierre at your insistence and her living arrangements meet with my complete approval. Armed with this knowledge you should have little difficulty quelling malicious gossipers bent on destroying her reputation.”

“You can rest assured,
mon ami,
” asserted the doctor, stiffening his bent shoulders, “that not one damaging word shall be spoken against your lovely wife in my presence. She has been through too much to be hurt by idle talk. And I am sure that Duvall will not be remiss in his duty toward the wife of a friend such as yourself.”

Philippe breathed a sigh of relief. He had eased the compromising situation Gabby was about to enter upon in the only way he knew how. He felt he owed her that much. Dr. Renaud would see to her health as well as guard her reputation, at least until the child was born. Suddenly, a thought entered his mind. He had failed to ask the most important question of all.

“When will the child be born, Doctor?”

“These things are hard to predict exactly, but according to my calculations you should be a father by the end of August or first part of September.”

Swiftly counting in his head Philippe reckoned that the child could be his only if born after the first of September. Any date before that would definitely prove that Marcel had sired the babe just as he suspected.

Just then Gabby entered the room. “Well, Doctor,” she asked, her smooth face showing signs of strain and fatigue, “am I healthy enough to please you?”

“I can find nothing wrong with you, Madame St. Cyr, that plenty of nourishing food and the mild climate of Martinique won’t cure,” answered the doctor with bluff hardiness.

“I somehow sense, Doctor,” Gabby admitted softly, her eyes carefully averted from Philippe, “that this pregnancy isn’t going as it should.” Philippe could not help but wince at the accusing tone of her voice.

“Nonsense,
ma chere.
It is true that you are far too thin but the baby appears to be prospering. But for safety’s sake I think it best that you remain in St. Pierre where I can keep close watch over you, and your husband has agreed.”

Gabby slanted Philippe a blank look and opened her mouth to speak but Philippe allowed her no time to form her question. Immediately he rose, thanked the doctor, grasped Gabby’s arm possessively, and led her from the doctor’s office.

“Did you tell the doctor?” Gabby asked the moment they were outside.

“Tell him what,
ma chere?
”

“About our separation! He’s bound to learn sooner or later.”

“Not exactly,” admitted Philippe somewhat guiltily. “What I told him was that I was unable to remain in St. Pierre with you because of pressing duties at Bellefontaine, and that my good friend Marcel Duvall would take you into his home and look after you until the child is born.”

Gabby was utterly flabbergasted by Philippe’s words. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“To protect you from slander,” he said coldly. “I care what others say about you even if you do not!”

Gabby searched his face, but his features were carved from marble, his eyes unfathomable. Finally, his meaning became clear. “You mean only to protect yourself! It is your name you don’t want maligned!”

“If that is what you believe…” he intoned dryly as he handed her into their rented carriage.

After seeing that Gabby was settled inside, Philippe shut the door and put his head inside the window. “I will not go with you to Duvall’s house so we will make our adieus now. If you have need of me I will be at my townhouse for two more days. I’ve arranged for your trunks to be delivered to you. If there is anything you need from the plantation I will see that it reaches you. Perhaps you would like the baby clothes you made for
our
child?”

Gabby blanched, her pale face turning dead white. “I will let you know,” she stammered, confused by Philippe’s apparent lack of concern. “
Adieu,
Philippe,” she whispered sadly, wistfully. “May
le bon dieu
deep you safe.”

At her parting words Phillippe’s face softened, gray eyes misty. Against his will his long arms reached for her inside the carriage, drawing her forward until he could reach her lips, covering them, gently, longingly, lovingly. His tongue tasting, savoring, as the kiss deepened, held, then released.

“Au revoir, ma chere.”
Then he was gone, leaving Gabby stunned by the raw emotion evident in his parting kiss.