Beyond paradise (38 page)

"But you're not. . ."

"Yes, I am!" he yelled so loudly that Sylvie winced. "I am a man, as good as any other."

"But you can't. . ."

Elizabeth Doyle

"I can hear!" he cried. "Just not the way you do." He didn't know how to explain that any better, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to convince anyone else, because somehow, he had convinced himself. He wrapped an arm around Sylvie, and placed a hand over the gun. "Let him go," he whispered, kissing her ear, "let him go. He isn't worth it."

"I knew you couldn't kill me," sneered Blanchet.

"That's right," said Jacques, holding Sylvie tightly against his side, "I have a wife who doesn't want to be a widow. And I have a life that I don't want to spend in Bicetre prison. I'm not going to throw all that away for the likes of you."

Blanchet snarled, "I spit on you."

"I don't care," said Jacques, eyes as fixed as a dead man's. "That's the wonderful part of it. I just don't care anymore. Now, go."

"I didn't come here to leave emptyhanded."

"Well, whatever you came here for," said Jacques, jerking his head at the gun, "consider it a failed mission."

"I'll never leave you be."

"Well, if you ever try to touch my wife again, I don't care what it costs me. I'll send you to your grave."

Blanchet snickered, turning his full attention to Sylvie for the first time since he'd let her go. "Wife," he said, as though the word were unthinkable. "How does it feel to be called the wife of an animal? How did such a pretty young woman come to be wed to the likes of this?"

"He's not an animal," said Sylvie, her eyes narrowed, "you're the animal. He's never tried to hurt me, he's never been cruel to anyone, and I wed him because I love him. You're only angry because you have no wife, because you know that no woman would ever be wed to the likes of you."

Jacques would have stopped her if he'd seen that sentence coming. Blanchet was awfully sensitive about the wife who left him, and to mention it was dangerous. But now it was

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too late. Blanchet used the rage of that offense to do what he had been planning for many long minutes. He made a grab for the gun. He caught it by the barrel, and it misfired. Sylvie dropped it, startled by the noise it had made. Jacques caught her before she backed herself against a wall. And Blanchet did nothing for a long, wide-eyed moment. Hunched over, holding his wounded stomach, he gazed curiously at Sylvie, wondering whether she had pulled the trigger on purpose. Then he turned his gaze to Jacques, without hatred or disgust, but with only disbelief in his dark eyes. He could feel the blood pumping between his fingers. Could it be? Could the asylum boy have caused his demise? He looked at Jacques as though he had never seen him before. He looked . .. like a regular man. He glanced down at his bleeding gut and realized that he himself looked like a monster. "This can't be," were the last words he spoke before crumpling to the floor.

Jacques hugged Sylvie, forcing her head into his shoulder so that she might not see. He couldn't believe it. On this day, Blanchet had been pried from his wounded heart, and then removed from the earth. Jacques's deep fear of his own inhumanity withered away on the floor along with one of its prime creators. "Did I kill him?" asked Sylvie, but she was talking into his chest and he could not hear.

He let her look at him, but kept her face turned from the dead man with a firm hand. "What?" he asked.

"Did I kill him?" she asked, trying to turn her head to see. But Jacques would not allow it.

"You didn't kill him. It was his own stupidity. He tried to grab the gun and wound up killing himself."

"But I . . r

"You did nothing."

She allowed her head to fall on his shoulder once more, and listened to Jacques think aloud. "He's not a Parisian. No one knows who he is," he said pensively, stroking her back.

Elizabeth Doyle

"If we're lucky, no one saw him come in. Or if they did, they won't notice that he didn't reemerge. He has no family. We ..."

Sylvie looked up with surprising confidence in her eyes. "Then this should be no problem at all for a couple of partners in crime like ourselves." She waited until he smiled before she did so herself. "Just like old times," she teased darkly. "I wonder whether we'll be able to make it a single year in our marriage without committing a felony."

He couldn't help laughing, though he wanted to be careful. He knew Sylvie was upset over witnessing a death, and didn't want to mistake her bravery for a genuine lack of concern. "You stay here," he said, "I'll take care of.. . it."

"What are you going to do with the body?" she asked as he moved away. She caught a glimpse of the fallen man and gasped.

Jacques reproached her lovingly. "I told you not to look," he said, forcing her away once more with an embrace. "I don't ask you to obey me often, but do so this time."

She was quivering a little from the sight, but she worked to control her breathing and borrowed the warmth of Jacques's body to lend her strength. "You're right," she said. "I wish I hadn't looked."

"Stay here," he instructed. "I'll dump it in the river Seine."

"Perhaps we should tell the authorities," she suggested, glancing up at him. "We did nothing wrong, after all."

"Doing nothing wrong," he advised, tapping her on the chin, "has failed to keep many an innocent man out of prison. Let's not put our trust where it is not well kept."

"Indeed," she agreed, then nearly made the mistake of looking again. Jacques cast her a warning look. "I'll just wait here," she promised, somewhat apologetically, "Are you sure it will be all right?"

"Yes," he said, seemingly for the sole sake of assurance.

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Though in a strange way, he believed it. It puzzled him to feel this way, but he actually believed that everything might turn out all right. Where once he had expected doom around every corner, he suddenly had a sense of hope. Where once he had looked upon Sylvie as an angel he did not deserve, he suddenly looked upon her as an angel whose trust he had rightfully earned. It was strange. But it was wonderful. Perhaps everything really would be all right. Perhaps he had finally set himself free.

Thirty-seven

He stood behind her, brushing her hair to one shoulder, kissing the back of her neck. "I know that you're human," he said, "but tonight, I want to pretend that you're my possession." He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and whispered into her hair, "Let me have my way with you."

She looked at him, a dreamy droop in her eyes, and said, "I love you."

"I know you do," he said against her ear. "That's what's so charming about you."

She laughed and gave him a firm nudge in the ribs, making him burst out chuckling in turn. "To my count of five, you have to say something more romantic than that," she told him, "or I will go to the drawing room and work on my ship."

"All right, all right" he said, succumbing to the threat. k M love you, too, Sylvie. I love you because of who you are, I love you because of who you will be twenty years from now, and I love who you have always been. 1 love you because you've always believed that I'm a man like any other. You've made me a man."

Elizabeth Doyle

"You made yourself a man," she said, swiveling in his arms to face him. "You did it by pushing Blanchet from your life."

"He pushed himself from my life by grabbing that gun."

"No," she said, cupping his jaw in her hand, "you did it by expelling his hatred from your heart."

He bent down and kissed her, something that still made her knees tremble. "You were always my destiny," he told her, gazing disbelievingly into her bright eyes.

"We have built our destiny together," she countered. Then, breaking into a wicked smile, she added, "And to think we did it all by breaking laws and being a menace to proper society."

"God bless anarchy," he said, leaning in for another kiss.

But this time, Sylvie stopped him with a finger to his lip. "I will let you have your way with me, monsieur. But only under one condition."

"Condition?" he smiled, his eyes hooded with lustful anticipation. "I didn't know wives get to set conditions."

"This one does." They shared a smile.

"Well, then," he said, "may I hope that the condition is that I ravish every last inch of you and don't leave a single spot untouched?"

"You may hope anything you like," she said, "but do tell me when you'd like to hear the truth."

He settled his arms around her hips with a sigh, giving them a squeeze to let her know he would not wait long. "I think I'm ready."

"The condition," she said, "is that after you're finished treating me as a mere object of your desire," she broke into a wide, delightfully evil grin, "you let me do the same to you."

Teasingly, he let go of her hips and threw his hands in the air. "Oh, no, no, no," he said. "You see, that's entirely different."

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She lifted a dark eyebrow. 4k Is that »

"Oh yes, it's incomparable. You see, I'm a man and 1 need respect, even worship, from my subjects, you being one of them, and I can't afford to risk my authority over a matter as trivial as . . . well, husbandly activities."

Sylvie was tapping her foot. "Are you finished with your jervais impression?"

"Yes," he grinned, placing his arms back around her. "You may do what you like, only be gentle with me. I'm very delicate." He managed to kiss her without laughing.

k Tll be as gentle as you are with me."

"Now, that's not very reassuring. Stop that." He startled her by bending down and lifting her into his arms. After letting out a little squeal, she wrapped her arms about his neck and grinned.

"I don't know what I'm getting myself into now," she said, rubbing her nose playfully against his, "but I had better say this now in case I am angry in the morning. Jacques, I could not have made a better decision than the one to be your wife. I threw away nothing for you. I gained everything. I was nothing but a child in Martinique. If I have helped make you feel a man, I am glad. Because my love for you has made me a woman."

All he could do in reply was kiss her. He laid her down upon the bed and bowed his head in prayer. "It's all right," she told him, stroking his golden hair. "You don't have to say anything." He looked at her quizzically, having failed to catch the first of her words. "It's all right," she repeated. "You have loved me though you have never heard me. And I, too, can love you in silence." Their kiss lasted all the night through and well into the morning.

Epilogue

k it is a letter!" cried Sylvie. "It is a letter from my mother!"

Jacques caught his wife in both arms before she could knock him over. "What does it say?" he asked, setting her back on her feet.

"It says ... let's see ..." She was somewhat out of breath, as she had run all the way home. "It says that. . . that they are happy I married a viscomte? Hmmm. That must be you."

He broke into a strange smile. "I suppose I should be glad Jervais didn't come up with worse for me. I could have been a court jester."

"Shush. Tm still reading. All right ... it says. Oh, my goodness!" She leapt up and down, tucking her feet right under her with each bounce. "It says they are visiting! It says they shall come see Paris!"

Jacques tried to look happy about that, and truly he was happy for Sylvie. Though for himself. . . he predicted an awkward visit. "That's wonderful," he said bravely.

Sylvie's eyes were still scanning the document. "Yes, it says my mother and father will both be here—and Chantal

Elizabeth Doyle

and her new fiance! Oh, my goodness! My baby sister is betrothed! I suppose she is seventeen now." She covered her mouth to prevent an excited squeal. "I can't believe I'm going to see her again! Oh, I love my sister. You'll love her, too. And this man she's marrying, let's see ... he's ... he's ..."

"He's what?" he asked cautiously.

"He's ... well, he's ..." She looked up crookedly. "He's Jervais."

"What?!"

"Well, it says right here ..."

He tore the letter from her hands and read it for himself. "It can't be."

"Well," said Sylvie, desperately trying to keep the chipper mood from dissipating, "people do change, Jacques. Perhaps all he's been through has truly affected Jervais. Perhaps he's kinder..."

"Hogwash."

"Well," she squeaked, "I hate to tell you this, Jacques, but he's going to be your ... brother."

She might as well have punched him. He winced furiously and groaned. "No, I can't. Sylvie, I can't have him here. I can't..."

"He let us go!" she reminded him in a highly scolding tone of voice. "If it weren't for him, we would not be here. Don't forget your debts so easily, Jacques. I know he has been cruel to you, but he was also the man who set you free."

Jacques rubbed his face exhaustedly. "They're not staying here. At least, he's not."

"Then we'll set them up somewhere else. That shouldn't pose any problem. But give him a chance, Jacques. Maybe you will learn to like him."

He cast her a sarcastic glare.

"Well," she shrugged, "maybe you'll learn not to hate him?"

He offered a consenting tilt of the head.

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kk In any case, let me read the rest of the letter." Jacques leaned into one leg. for he eould hardly wait to hear what other disturbing news lay ahead. "It says here. Oh." She covered her mouth for a giggle. "It says that Etienne is also wed. He has been wed for two months, and has a seven-month-old baby girl."

"Doesn't take a lot of math to solve that puzzle."

"My mother says many first babies are premature " She laughed at the memory. "Oh, but I don't think it will be true in our case," she said.

"No, not in ours," he chuckled. But his chuckling didn't last. Within moments, he noticed that Sylvie's eyes were rather large and mysteriously set upon him. "Well, wait," he said, "what do you mean—our case? We don't have a case, do we?" She was smiling in a way that suddenly tormented him. "Do we?" he demanded.