Beyond paradise (31 page)

"I want you to know I understand," he said, after studying her downcast eyes for a good, long time.

Somehow, Sylvie doubted that and said nothing.

"It's true," he said, guessing her thoughts and trying to pierce her with the intensity of his black eyes, a piercing she did not receive because her own were focused on the table. "Listen to me, Sylvie. I know what happened."

She looked up bitterly. "Is that so?" she asked in no more than an angry whisper.

He nodded. "I know that it's hard to speak of these things, but I want you to know that I know."

"That you know what?" she nearly laughed.

"I know what he did to you, I know how he made you feel. . . attached."

"What?"

Elizabeth Doyle

"Yes, Sylvie. I'm a man. I know how clever we can be, and how cruel. Listen to me well." He straightened his chair and leaned into his elbows. "I know that he tricked you into ... well... into bedding him."

"What?"

"Shhh." He silenced her in a most patronizing manner, though he had meant it to be comforting. "Don't speak, just listen. I know what he did. I know that he played upon your gullibility, upon your pity, and then he toyed with your instincts. Sylvie, he used you to escape, and then he used you to satisfy his own natural desires. And now you want him to stay. It's the most natural thing in the world, I assure you. No woman wants to be left after she's given herself. But you must understand that he was only soiling you, that you must be angry with him, and not pity him. And that," he added, taking her most reluctant hand in his, "you will not be left ruined. I knew that you'd been violated when first you were captured, and I still wanted you then. It will be no different, even though you have now been a willing victim. I assure you, Sylvie, I understand how a woman feels after being used so."

She was too flabbergasted to be angry. She nearly pitied him. "You certainly know a lot about women," she said sarcastically, "for a man who has never even courted."

He smiled. "My father taught me much."

"Ah, I should have guessed."

"Sylvie, if you will only listen to reason. I..."

"Pardon me." A very annoying voice broke both of their concentrations. They looked up to see Etienne, dressed flamboyantly in a bright red doublet and jewels pinned in every buttonhole. His scarlet-plumed hat was most out of place on a ship where everyone else was bareheaded. His wig had been freshly curled, and his beard newly trimmed to a per-

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feet triangle. "I hate to interrupt, but I have not yet had the opportunity to welcome my fiancee back to freedom." He lifted her limp hand and kissed it. "My dear, you look ravishing, given all you have suffered."

Sylvie repressed a laugh, for never before had she fully appreciated how ridiculous her former groom-to-be really was. After knowing Jacques, a man like this seemed nothing more than a bad joke. Jervais was not amused, however. He was scowling as Etienne pulled up a chair and invited himself to share in the supper that was now being placed before them. "Ah, real meat," said Etienne, reaching for a slice. "Not exactly what we're accustomed to on the island." He winked at Sylvie. "But I suppose you men of the sea get used to living .. . shabbily." He did not dare look Jervais in the eye while insulting him.

"Shall I tell Sylvie the story of how you joined my ship?"

Etienne didn't like that idea at all, and quickly changed the topic. "My dear Sylvie, I am so glad you are finally coming home. Our wedding is so near, and I was so terribly worried. I know that your mother and father will be relieved beyond reason to learn of your rescue." It was the best weapon he had against Jervais, after all. To remind Sylvie of her parents was to remind her of her duty to marry him. He planned to do it often.

For the first time in a long while, Sylvie, in fact, reflected upon her family. It was an image of people she adored which flashed into her mind: the stern mother who had always loved her, never having equated love with approval; the father whose pride always elevated her; and Chantal. Lord, how she missed Chantal. Still, the truth was that though she loved them, she did not long to return. She longed only to be with Jacques. "Sylvie may be having second thoughts about that wedding you mention," Jervais suggested boldly. "She

Elizabeth Doyle

does, after all, have another offer to consider." He rested his eyes steadily on the woman in question, trying to extract some kind of reassuring response.

Sylvie did not look at either of her warring suitors.

"That isn't true, is it?" asked Etienne, as though this were the first he'd heard of it. "You wouldn't truly abandon all of our plans, your family's future and mine, to run off with a ... a common sailor, would you?"

Jervais was too proud to quibble over being called a common sailor. The remark did not deserve the dignity of a reply. Sylvie was the one who spoke. "I shall marry neither of you," she said calmly. "I have made myself clear, and I shall repeat myself as often as need be." She moved her eyes fluidly from one man to the next, making sure they each caught a glimpse of her sincerity. "I love Jacques, and I will marry no other."

"Who is Jacques?" asked Etienne through a wrinkled nose.

Jervais said nothing, only tapped his fork absently and stared at Sylvie. He was a man of honor, and would not reveal Sylvie's secret to the likes of Etienne. He would never tell anyone that she was not a maiden. Even if, by some outrageously unlikely chance, he lost his wager to Etienne, he would never tell. Again, it was Sylvie who spoke. "He is a wonderful man." She looked Jervais in the eye. "Will you let me see him? Just see him?"

He shook his head slowly and rhythmically in reply, causing her to drop her chin.

Etienne bellowed out, "A wonderful man? Who is this Jacques? Sylvie, what has gotten into you?"

She cast him a biting glare. "If you both will excuse me, I do not choose to eat." She started to rise, but Jervais calmly interrupted her.

"Sit down," he ordered in a truly captain-like tone, demonstrating that he did not have to raise his voice in order to be

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chillingly demanding. "You will cat," he reminded her. "You are undoubtedly underfed, and you will eat. Now," he added menacingly.

Sylvie glanced over her shoulder at the exit, and then back at his eyes. She knew she would have to do as he said. Angrily, she took her seat and reached for a slab of salted beef. "You speak to me as a child," she grumbled.

"You're behaving like a child," he countered.

"Does anyone notice I'm here?" asked Etienne.

"No!"

At the end of the meal, which Sylvie could hardly digest, Jervais led her to her cabin. He held her hand on his elbow as though he were a gentleman, when in fact, he was merely restraining her. He let go to fumble for his key, and at that moment, Sylvie tried to flee. He prevented it easily, but accidentally bruised her arm, grabbing her more roughly than he'd intended because he was taken so off guard. "Not so fast," he grumbled, just as angry that she'd forced him to hurt her as that she had tried to flee. "Where do you think you're going?"

She kicked him in the knee, and prepared to fight him, just as Jacques had taught her, but her weeks of practice were not nearly enough to ready her for a battle with Jervais. He'd years of experience to accompany his threatening size, and had her fully restrained within a minute or so. He would not compliment her impressive try, for he would not admit even to himself that she had fought well. She was a woman— it wouldn't make sense. So he banished all consideration of the possibility she had done well as he held her from behind, pinning her arms to her side with his squeeze.

"Let me go!" she cried frantically. "Just let me see him! God, Jervais! Why can't you just let me see him?! Why?!

Elizabeth Doyle

Why?" She broke into sobs that she could not control, sobs that angered Jervais.

He tossed her into her room and shut the door behind them both. "Silence!" he shouted. "Do you wish to wake my whole crew?"

"I don't care!" she wept. "I don't care about your damned crew!" He winced once more at hearing her curse. "Just leave him be! Why are you doing this?"

"It's my job," he replied dully. "I capture pirates. Remember?"

"Please, Jervais. Don't you understand? I love him!"

That made his temple burn red, and his shout was as sudden as it was loud. "You don't love him!" he cried. "He's just a pirate! What is the matter with you? A man seduces you to his bed, and that makes you think of love? Stop being so gullible, woman!"

She was sobbing so hard, she could barely speak through her tears. "You don't know anything. Just let me see him. Please, Jervais. Let me see him."

"You'll see him when he's swinging from a rope," he said brutally, and then, not trusting himself to say a word more, he spun around and left her to her suffering. Sylvie cried out after him, pounding on the door and begging him not to lock it, but to no avail. She collapsed in the corner of her room and slept there. She didn't feel any discomfort. She didn't even feel the sleep that came over her as the hours passed. She felt only the absence of Jacques.

Jervais lay in bed with his arms crossed tightly behind his head. He was scared. His eyes were wide in the darkness, and had been that way for so long, he could now see plainly. He thought hard about everything that had happened to him on this day. It should have been the happiest one of his life,

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for he had gained success on his most important mission. He had found her, he had saved her. By God he no longer had to fear her death or her permanent capture. He had won! And yet, he felt so little joy in his breast. He felt only a deep, pounding anxiety. It was not fear of Etienne's winning her heart. He did not think that could happen. And it was not fear that he would live his life as the lonely man he felt like now. He looked at the far side of his cot, thinking it seemed rather empty of a tender, wifely body. But that was not his fear. He knew he could have her if he just remained determined. It was something else that was truly troubling him. It was something she had said in those final moments. Or perhaps it wasn't even what she'd said, but how she'd said it. She said she loved that pirate. And something in her eyes ... Jervais closed his own and swallowed hard. When he opened them again, he found something rather strange in them. They were stinging a bit. Something wasn't feeling right at all. He was glad of her safety, but he realized now that he'd wanted something more than just her hand in marriage, something he wasn't sure he could strong-arm out of her. He thought about her face when she said, "I love him," as the words repeated over and over in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a lurch in his gut and he had to suck in his lips. And then it happened. Jervais lay on his bed and wept silently, something he had not done for as long as he could remember.

Thirty-one

Etienne decided that Jervais had gotten far too much time with the lady for whom they were vying. In the morning, he was determined that he should be the first to greet her. That he should have to compete for her attention at all seemed an outrage. He was, after all, her groom-to-be, by order of her family and his. But watching the way Jervais swaggered around with all of that bulging muscle was giving him a bit of a fright. For a man who had probably not bedded a woman in years, he seemed awfully charming. While he himself, having bedded more than he could rightfully count, seemed to be losing a battle over the one woman who should not have been able to refuse him. It was infuriating. Nonetheless, he would do whatever needed to be done to regain his rightful position, to secure his future and title, to avoid humiliation, and perhaps even . . . perhaps even to win the heart of that oddly appealing young woman. Every time he thought of her, he smiled. She was simply enchanting.

He arrived at her cabin door, having acquired a key to her room in a most dishonest way. He had convinced the first mate

Elizabeth Doyle

that Jervais meant for him to have it and threatened to awaken the slumbering captain if his request were not honored immediately. It was strange how threatening to awaken the captain was enough to get anyone on the ship to do absolutely anything. Gingerly, he turned the lock and let himself in, forgetting that he should have knocked. Sylvie was midway through the act of dressing. "I'm sorry!" he cried, pretending to turn away. In fact, his eyes were very carefully set upon her from the side.

"No need," she grumbled, hurrying to fasten the last buttons of her hideous pink gown, which made her look like a little girl. For some reason, she scarcely cared that he had seen her partially undressed. Stripping her of the man she loved seemed so much more serious than stripping her of whatever may have been left of her dignity. She faced him and announced, "You may look openly now," letting him know with a lift of her dark brow that she knew he'd been watching.

"Ah yes, yes. Good morning." In slender boots and a sword jangling at his side, he strode toward her. "I have brought you a gift."

Sylvie found that there was suddenly a perfume bottle in her hand. It was of thickly cut crystal, topped with a golden ball. "It is the finest—imported from Paris, you know." His smile was proud, almost boastful.

But all Sylvie could say was, "Why?"

"Why?" he scoffed. "How can you ask why?" He lifted her hand to his lips in a gesture so romantic, he never dreamed he'd be using it on his own bride, and added, "It is for the tender hollow of your lovely throat, and for the silk of your hair."

She was not angry, but her expression was rather stern. "Etienne, you've never given me a gift before. Why now?"

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"Why, to welcome you back, of course. We were so worried about you, Sylvie. All of us were."

She bent her head, not even tempted to smell the perfume. "Etienne, you never cared about me before. You never flattered me, you never presented me with a token of affection." She met his eyes with profound frankness and looked at him as an equal. "Why do I suspect you are only doing this now because you fear losing me?"