The black swan (43 page)

Claudine did not speak French, but hers was a universal language. She thought he was mighty appealin', said her eyes. She was available, said the saucy sway of her hips. She rubbed first one brown hand, then the other, up her arms and over her breasts. The bandit stood transfixed, his mouth gaping, fascinated and horrified by the malady of the black skin. Almost, he wanted to reach out and touch it.

Claudine extended her fingers toward him. The bandit moved away uneasily. Then Claudine slowly, tantalizingly, pulled up her skirt. Because of its fullness, the watching group saw little except her bare ankles, and the popping eyes of Frangois and the highwayman.

Up to her knees, ever more slowly up her thighs to her waist, went Claudine's skirt. Her hand rubbed lightly up her bare thigh. The bandit's eyes grew glassy. Sahva showed on his lower lip. Then, v^th a lightning-quick motion, Claudine thrust toward him both her pink palms.

The bandit screamed, clutching himself, and bolted for his horse.

After a silence assured them the bandit was gone, Dulcie and Claudine hugged each other, dancing around.

"OUie dear, shouldn't you close your mouth now?" said Aunt Mad, her calm restored. "Claudine, that was very fine and brave of you, but you are exposin' yourself."

"Look, Aunt Mad, he forgot his trinkets!" Dulcie said, still laughing, and pounced on the greasy sack-the bandit had carried.

"Fine, dear, take everythin' out, but watch for lice."

"Monsieur, I beg you, get me down from this tree!"

Oliver's reply was unspeakable, even in French. He repacked the carriage, and they headed again toward the countess's chateau.

The countess was delighted to receive them once she had scanned the letter from her sister. "Quelle belle demoiselle!" she exclaimed, looking at Dulcie. She went on for some time about the purity of Dulcie's skin, her hair of the flame, her eyes of the amber. Then she said, in English, "But you must hunger!"

Over thin cups of strong coffee, and assorted delicacies, the countess chatted with them. Hearing that they planned to attend the grand ball of Rene, marquis duBois, she exclaimed, "But he is my cousin! You shall go with me in my barouche! My servants will follow with your luggage. C'est entendu!"

Theirs had been a long journey, and all of them, even Mad, were happy to place themselves and their plans for the next few days in the capable hands of the countess. She got them to Calais without further incident.

As they entered Calais, Dulcie became acutely aware that this was the end of her Grand Tour. The ball at the Chateau duBois tonight would be the last time she would

dance with men like Alain duBois, son of a marquis. She wanted it to be a night she would never forget. A perfect night.

She already felt as if she were part of a wonderful dream, and the night was not even near yet. Alain's eyes softened with admiration as soon as he saw her step from his cousin's carriage. From that moment he was her constant companion and servant. Whatever she wished, she had it at her fingertips before she was able to speak the words. Her head was spinning with a myriad of gay, romantic visions, each one fulfilled and made real by Alain.

The chateau was magnificent. Each room was decorated to represent the countries in which the marquis had traveled. Alain whispered to her as he took her through miniature versions of Italy, Bavaria, India, and China, with authentic furnishings and wall coverings. He spoke softly of the thousand moments he would keep her in his arms or the amorous miles they would travel through these gaily decorated replicas.

Dulcie's heart thudded in girlish anticipation of being won and loved by Alain. That she didn't know if she wanted to be loved or won by Alain made the coming evening all the more exciting. All manner of heavenly things might happen to her, all against her wavering will.

Dulcie looked like a small flower in full bloom when she entered the room in her softly shaded apple-green gown that emphasized her tiny waist and her flamboyant coloring. Alain was at her side immediately. "Ravissante!" he declared, with the deepest of bows.

He held her at a decorous distance for the waltz, though his eyes plainly told her he wished it otherwise. Dulcie's cheeks were already flushed, and her eyes answered the desire in Alain's with messages she did not know were there. The sparkling crystal chandeliers, ablaze with color, melted into swiftly running rainbows as Alain whirled her through India and China, then into the dimness of the English ballroom.

Her head filled with the glory of being irresistible; she had no chance to resist before Alain's lips were on hers. "Alain . . ." she said, quivering with the feelings he had suddenly aroused.

"Ahh, Dul-see!" he breathed. "I cannot lose such a jewel as you. Why do you not linger here in pleasant Calais?'* He squeezed her to him, heedless of the dancers who might

in passing catch a glimpse of apple-green silk and know it was the American girl whom Alain was compromising. "But I must persuade you, non?"

"Alain! Please, the others, they will see us! Aunt Mad—"

"You will stay here with me. No more Aunt Mad, VoiW."

Dulcie's eyes shone, contradicting the rising panic that warned her she could no longer handle the situation. Alain moved closer. "Ahh, but you are adorable! So modest! So innocent! Mmh! Mmh!" He kissed her twice. She tried to move away from him. Alain smiled knowingly. Between men and women it was all a game, retreat and advance. For one so young she played it well. American ways and her undoubted innocence added just the spice to whet his somewhat jaded appetite. He held out his arm. "Come, Dul-see." They went down dazzlingly white marble stairs into the cool night.

The moon was nearing full. They strolled with studied aimlessness; when they stopped, they were completely hidden by tall surrounding shrubs. "You are mine now," Alain said lightly, and kissed her again. "You are my prisoner in the maze, Dul-see. You cannot get out until you have promised me that you will never leave me."

Dulcie's heart thudded. Could the impossible be happening? Was Alain thinking of marriage—so soon—and with her, of no aristocratic lineage? She tried to speak casually. "I promise not to leave you for five minutes, Alain, then I must go back to the ballroom, or my aunt and uncle will be lookin' for me. Will that be long enough?"

Even in the shadowy maze she could feel his hot gaze on her. "Five lifetimes would not be enough. Mademoiselle." He kissed each fingertip. "Listen to me, Dul-see, for I wish to speak my heart to you. I cannot bear to lose you to your Southland. I have a proposal, ma fleur. I am asking if you will become my mistress."

Dulcie was speechless. She stood staring at Alain while her mind screamed with shock and hurt. "Mistress!" she whispered. "Alain—"

"You are afraid! Ah, but ma petite, what joy I would have in teaching you! You would also, in your own way, enjoy the learning."

"I don't believe—"

He held her closer, while Dulcie stood stiff within his arms. "Dul-see, ma belle, attend to me. My father can

provide us with every material want. He is a man of the world, understanding of these affairs of love. You would have a fine apartment here in the chateau, servants, new gowns, jewels, travel. And in me you would have the perfect lover—handsome, finely clothed, and attentive. Already I speak your language. You, cherie, would speak mine in every way."

"Alain, I could not begin to consider . . . Americans cannot do things like this," she said desperately.

"You are in France, ma douce amour," he murmured softly into her ear. "For us it is entirely proper, and very sensible." He covered her face with kisses, murmuring, "Do not refuse me, Dul-see. Tell me that you will belong to me, and to me only!"

Dulcie felt the warm, confusing surge of passion consuming her, melting away her careful rearing, debasing her chastity.

Alain's seeking mouth found hers. "Oh, Dul-see," he murmured, between kisses, "my desire for you burns red as the harvest moon. Say you will receive me in your boudoir tonight, moments from this moment! Let me fold you in my deepest embrace, let me pluck the blossom from your so dainty flower of love!"

Dulcie gasped. His lips were on her breasts where they mounded creamy above the lace of her low square neckline. "Alain . . ."

He burst into French. "My Dulcie, sweeter than the honey from the perfume fields bf Grasse! I will make you sing with joy, my little nightingale—"

"Oh, Alain, is it so wonderful?" she breathed, wanting to believe Alain was the one she had waited for. Was this marvelous passion he spoke of the magical thing all women yearned for? She didn't know—oh, she didn't know.

Alain drew back, his expression sympathetic, understanding. "Ahh, ma pauvre enfant! You worry about the uncle. My father, the marquis, will explain to Monsieur Raymer. All will be well, ma petite."

Dulcie's heart was pounding sickeningly when he took her back to the ballroom. Alain relinquished her graciously to a young man who approached them. As Dulcie was whirled away, she saw Alain and the marquis walking with Uncle Oliver toward the library.

They were still talking when the music stopped. Oliver was laughing and perfectly agreeable. Her heart was in her

mouth as Alain quickly excused himself and led her to a secluded comer.

As the other guests leaped and whirled in Ihe gavotte, Alain told her, "Your uncle has regretfully refused me, ma cherie. Your father would be desolated if you were to remain in France."

Dulcie blinked at him for a moment, then made her face sad. "I am . . . disappointed, Alain. I had hoped—"

His gesture was one of negation. "A miniscule obstacle, Dul-see. There are always ways of avoidance, n*est-ce pas?"

"Oh, but I couldn't defy my uncle—"

"You have not the hair of flame for nothing, Mademoiselle. I will come to your boudoir to be with you this night, cherie. Together we will discover the mysterious delights of Vamour."

Dulcie's face grew hot. She whispered, "I cannot, Alain.'*

He chuckled softly, regretfully. "My little wild flower, you have the sweet shyness, but you have the desire for Vamour. Mais oui! In you is the passion only waiting to be set free." He pressed his lips to her hand. "Perhaps you will change your mind, ma douce.'*

A passion only waiting to be set free, he had said. Did it show, then? Had her shameful need to be loved by a man begun to show so that all could see? She blushed as she thought of the reckless desire that rose in her at the touch of a n^an's lips. Such thoughts she normally kept under tight control. Only to herself, in one small dark comer of her mind, could she admit the constant hunger to be loved, to be taken and used in love. One day it had to be someone, but each time the chance came, it seemed she would reach the point of decision and then run away from it. Again she wondered if she had made a mistake. Was Alain, after all, the man to set her free of all the longing?

Two days later a large party stood on the pier with Dulcie. Behind them were low, bleak houses, huddling along the Calais waterfront. Around them the gulls wheeled endlessly, crying in their strange voices.

It was time to board. Last kisses of the hand, fond gazes from eyes never to be looked into again, courtly bows and adieux from the marquis and the marquise. Alain took ahold of her arms and gave her a ritual kiss on each cheek,

lingering—oh, so briefly!—on her lips, desire and regret

still on his face. "Au revoir, my Dul-see. Bon voyage." "Merci, Alain. I shall think of you fondly." Then they were on the ferry, waving good-bye across

the widening stretch of water, and Dulcie's eyes were wet.

Good-bye to Europe, to Alain forever. She was going home.

Chapter Ten

In London the Raymer party boarded the Tunbridge for New York. Dulcie found an open spot at the rail where she and Claudine could watch the busy scene on the docks. Carriages and drays arrived, disgorging passengers and baggage, wealthy families with their retinue of servants; the not-so-wealthy, who lugged their own baggage and their infants, with toddlers clinging wide-eyed to their mothers' skirts. A bevy of well-dressed young girls, fussily chaperoned, chatted together as they approached the gangplank, followed by five animated and attractive young men, evidently going home from their Grand Tour. Home to what? Dulcie thought idly, then uncomfortably, going home to war.

It did not bear thinking on, and she turned abruptly away to gaze down the long deck. Except for a few like herself, nearly everyone was moving toward the com-panionway that led to the passenger cabins and staterooms. Two little boys chased each other in and out around obstacles, laughing and screaming, until without warning each found his arm held firmly by a big man in a dark blue uniform. Dulcie watched, fascinated, as he quickly squatted down to the boys' level and appeared to be explaining things to them. He pointed, gestured, smiled, and the boys seemed to listen. One evidently asked about his cap, for the big man laughed and put it on the boy's head. Then he rose and sent them on their way, mildly subdued. He continued to stalk the deck, his hands behind him, his restless eyes seeing everything.

Dulcie nudged Claudine. Claudine smiled dreamily. "A real prime example o' manhood, there, Miss Dulcie. Git

yo' eyes full, 'cause a man like dat, he got him a wife in eve'y poat."

Dulcie fastened her eyes on the opposite side of the deck. He would pass in front of them in a few seconds. Then, as if it were his duty to do so, he deliberately turned his head toward her. In the moment before he lifted his hand to his cap in a courteous salutation, Dulcie saw the brilliant blue eyes widen in recognition.

She got a blurred impression of a clear, warmly tanned complexion; of high cheekbones, a finely sculptured jaw, and a thick, coal-black moustache that curved over his upper lip to stop just below the corners of his handsome unsmiling mouth. She went hot from head to foot, drawing in her breath involuntarily; but he walked on, his smooth long-legged pace unbroken.

For a moment Dulcie stood paralyzed, then her eyes darted after him. He showed no signs of looking back. She found the courage to turn her head and stare frankly at his broad shoulders, moving slightly under the well-fitted dark blue frock coat that tapered down to his slim hips. Dulcie liked the purposeful way he put each shining boot down, like a man in command of himself as well as others, a man with neither braggadocio nor false modesty, whose step had an energetic liveliness that bespoke his long acquaintance with decks in every kind of sea.