Destiny's Kiss (12 page)

When he pulled away, his puzzled expression was so boyish, she could not help laughing. “What is wrong?”

“I want to make love with you tonight, but …”

His uncertainty touched her heart. No, he had not said he loved her, but he cared for her and for their baby. She ran her fingers along his cheek. “I want you to make love with me tonight. You can't hurt me or our child.” She laughed again. “Hold me, so I can recall this delight when I'm as round as a wine cask.”

As his mouth found hers, she stretched her arms up along his firm back. She laughed softly when his tongue tickled her lips. When he raised his head to look down into her eyes for a moment which suspended time, she forgot the hardships ahead of them and even Charmaine Fortier, whose name was never spoken, but who was always between them. All she thought of was the sapphire glow surrounding her. Ceding herself to its fire, she began to believe her dreams still might come true.

Lirienne's joy filled her as she and Philippe walked to the marketplace, only a few blocks away. As they wove their way through the wagons and pedestrians, a collection of fragrances invited them to investigate the tables. Heavy odors of once-fresh fish competed with scents of crisp vegetables. The tapestry of words was incomprehensible to Lirienne. As she walked from one seller to the next, seeking the best bargains, she discovered she had little choice this late in the day.

She laughed when she saw Philippe staring about as if he had never been in a market. Then she realized he probably had not. A sensation amazingly like pity surged through her. From her earliest memories, she had reveled in market days. The festivities, the bargaining, even the gossip eased an otherwise quiet life.

With a smile, she motioned toward the opposite side of the square. “I see a baker with a good selection of loaves for sale. Let's start there.”

“Lead on, teacher.” He chuckled as she grimaced, ran his fingers along her shoulder, and whispered, “Teach me here,
ma petite;
then I have some sweeter lessons for you tonight.”

The yearning in his gaze touched the need within her. She hurried across the busy market, because she could submerge this longing only when busy with other tasks.

“No, Philippe,” she corrected when he pointed to a loaf, “this is the one we want.”

“But the other is larger and costs the same.”

She tapped her thumb against the bigger loaf and smiled. “Hear that hollow sound? Air holes from rising too quickly.” To the woman selling the bread, she said as Philippe translated, “I'd like that smaller loaf over there. As it is near the end of the day, certainly you can shave a few …”

“Pennies,” he supplied when she faltered.

“Yes, a few pennies from the price of a loaf which shall be worth far less in the morning.”

The woman looked from Lirienne to Philippe, obviously unsure which one to address. “I can't—”

Lirienne recognized her determined expression. She said in precarious English, “Then we shall go. Other people. Better prices.”

Philippe's smile had become a chuckle by the time they walked away from the booth, several minutes later, with the bread purchased at the price Lirienne had planned to pay. While she continued shopping, he spoke only when she required his skills with English. She bought a small chicken and some vegetables.

Within a half-hour, she had enough food for their evening meal as well as some fruit for the morning. As they walked back to their rooms, Philippe teased, “You have a bit of a coldhearted pirate in you,
ma petite
.”

With her arm linked through his, she grinned. “You can learn also.”

“I doubt that. I stand in awe of your greater talent.”

“Don't be so glum. Surely you bargained for something at one time or another in your life.”

He shrugged. “Other than trading my title to you for a chance to avenge Lucien's death, I can't recall another time.” When she stiffened, he asked sharply, “Why are you upset by the truth? We can't change the past.”

“We don't have to dwell on it!”

“Yes, we must.” He turned to face her, not heeding the grumbles of the pedestrians who had to walk around them. “We must never forget the past. I promise you that we'll return to a France that will welcome us. This child won't be denied its birthright.”

“Philippe, we are in a place where you needn't worry about being hunted and put to death. Can't we be happy here?”

“Happy?” He seemed startled by her question. “Yes, we can be happy here … temporarily.”

She closed her eyes in resignation. Philippe did not want to escape the nightmare. What she longed for, a quiet life where she could raise their child in peace and safety, mattered little to him. He wanted revenge, the need for it burning like an ulcer in his gut.

She knew no way to convince him to forget his rage at those who had betrayed his brother and him. He would continue until he could repay them, and she would lose everything she longed for when he returned to France and Charmaine Fortier.

Nine

Hurrying up the stairs, Lirienne went into the dank rooms she tried to pretend were home. She placed her hat on the peg by the door and smiled. In the month they had been here, she had learned enough English to shop at the market on her own, and, on this day, she had been able to buy a chicken. It was scrawny, and she suspected the meat would be stringy and tough, but it was better than anything they had had for almost three weeks.

At a sound behind her, she spun about. Laughing nervously, she said, “Philippe, I thought you were going to call on your friend Monsieur Blanc.”

He waved her aside and reached toward the shelf for the bottle of brandy which had been their single extravagance. Pouring a glass half-full, he sat at the table. The bench creaked, but he ignored it as he downed a large gulp.

When she put her hands on his shoulders, he shook his head. “Maybe you were right after all,
ma petite
.”

“About what?”

“Pride.” He lifted his glass. “To pride. It's the only thing I have left. I've no gold in my purse and no wealth in my heart.”

“But Monsieur Blanc—”

“Refused to part with as much as a penny.”

“But the château is worth so much.”

“Not here where no one knows when I'll be able to reclaim it.” He put his arms around her and drew her down onto his knee. “We're destitute, Lirienne. I don't have enough money to pay for the rent on these rooms next week. I was right when I told you our babe wouldn't be born here.” His fingers gently grazed her abdomen. “My heir will be born in some alley.”

She brushed his sable hair back from his haunted eyes. “Don't be absurd. There must be someone who needs household help and will hire me.”

“Never!” He set her on her feet as he stood.

“Philippe, if the only other choice is starving, I can see no alternative.”

He grasped her upper arms. “You are the Vicomtesse de Villeneuve. The child you bear shall be the heir to a title older than France herself. That child can't be endangered by you scrubbing floors.” He squared his shoulders. “I'll seek employment.”

“Doing what?” she shot back with the tone he used when he considered her suggestions asinine. “What can you do?”

More than once, he started to answer. He stormed toward the shelf, which was empty except for the bottle and a heel of bread. She leaped forward to halt him from reaching for the bottle. Her arm struck his. She cried out in shock as she stumbled backward. He whirled to catch her before she could fall.

“
Ma petite
, are you all right? If you or our baby is hurt—”

“I'm not hurt.” Her voice softened as she uncurled her fingers from around his nape. “But you are.”

“I am fine.”

“Are you?” Combing her fingers up through his hair, she whispered, “You hate being dependent on anyone else, I know.”

“I want to be lord and master of all I view. Is that what you're saying?” He glanced around the room. “It is a pitiful view.”

She turned his face back toward her. “Philippe, you married me so I could help you. So let me help you once again. You can't change what you are, just as I can't change what I always have been. A serving maid.”

His wide hands cradled her face. “You are the mother of my child. I don't want you working on your hands and knees for strangers. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I'll find a way to take care of you. Trust me.”

She knew he believed his words, but this was one promise he might never be able to keep. As he took the chunk of bread off the shelf and carried it to the table to set by the chicken, she wished he realized he could trust her.

Lirienne took a deep breath of the crisp air as she walked along the street. “Is that it?”

Philippe laughed at the awe in her voice. “Yes, that's where the Declaration of Independence was written.” He paused at the edge of State House Yard and stared at the brick building.

“How brave they were to stand up for liberty for everyone.”

“You've been spending too much time with these Americans.” He laughed and tugged a loose strand of her hair. “They're making a little republican out of you.”

“I know you don't believe—”

“I've never denied that people should determine their own fates.”

“But you hate the Revolution!”

“The one in France. Not the one here.” Turning to walk back toward the river, he mused, “I nearly came to fight in this one. Such a cause! I believed the men here to be as chivalrous as the ancient Crusaders in fighting the British overlord oppressing them. Instead I stayed to tend to my dying father's estate.”

“Couldn't your brother have done that?”

His smile grew sad. “Lucien had no interest in anything but poetry and the ladies.”

“Then why was he hunted down as an enemy of the Republic?”

“I have no idea. He seldom went to Paris, so he could not have angered anyone there. He preferred the company of his mistresses, who had patience with his stutter.” He shook his head with a terse laugh. “The idea of my brother making speeches to bring back the royal family is absurd. Even if he had cared about politics, he could not have spoken more than a handful of words before people stopped listening.”

“You loved him dearly, didn't you?” She slipped her hand through his arm, wishing she could ease the anguish in his eyes.

“I would have died for him.” His voice grew hard. “Someday, I will return to France and find the one who betrayed him and make him regret sending my brother to his death.”

Lirienne tried to think of something to say, but they walked on in silence. The autumn wind now seemed chill. If Philippe could let go of his past, they might have a chance to build a life here, but he could not. It was as much a part of him as his every heartbeat.

“Lirienne!”

At the call of her name, she looked along the street. A woman stood on the steps of a church, and was waving to her. With a. smile, she recognized Veronique Saint-Gaudens who had sailed to America with them. The tall, thin man beside her must be Percival Goyette whose name had been included in almost every sentence Veronique spoke.

Veronique rushed toward her, her polonaise gown of forest green floating around her. Beneath the drapes of her overskirt, cream petticoats were decorated with embroidered vines interspersed with roses. Her dark hair was swept up under her bonnet and adorned with ribbons of a vibrant red. Unlike when they had been on the ship, Veronique's face was not a bilious shade from being seasick.

Lirienne was enfolded in welcoming arms as Veronique said, “It is so good to see a familiar face in this city of strangers.” Squeezing her hand, she turned to say, “Good morning, Vicomte.”

Philippe lifted Veronique's hand to his lips with a smile. “Mademoiselle Saint-Gaudens, it is a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

“Now that my feet are on steady ground again, I am happy.” She held out her hand to the tall man. “Percival, do come and greet my friends, Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Villeneuve.”

His stooped shoulders refused to be hidden by his navy coat and the thick fall of crisp, white ruffles at his stock. Black hair drifted forward, like a dog's floppy ears, to frame his long face. As he bowed over her hand, she could not help noticing how his knobby knees were accented by his stylish breeches.

“Vicomte de Villeneuve,” he said with a smile, “I had hoped to encounter you during your stay in Philadelphia to thank you for your kindness to my Veronique on the voyage here.”

“It was my pleasure to be able to remind that cur of his manners.”

“I also had hoped to speak to you of another matter. When I was calling on Monsieur de Talebot last week—”

“Vachel is here?”

“Arrived about a week before your ship,
mon seigneur
.” He nodded toward Lirienne. “If you will excuse us, ladies.”

“Of course,” she said, with a smile at Philippe. He was grinning as he had when she'd told him that she was pregnant. Something about Vachel de Talebot's presence in Philadelphia must mean good news to him.

Veronique took Lirienne's hand. “Tell me all the tidings you have heard here in Philadelphia. Percival is a dear, but he insists that I don't go out unless he can escort me. As he is so busy …” She shrugged.

“My only tidings is that Philippe and I are going to have a baby.”

“How perfect! A new beginning in our new country. The
vicomte
must be delighted.”

“He is.” Her smile broadened as she recalled the proud sparkle in Philippe's eyes when he touched the mound where their child was growing.

“I am so glad things are going well for you.” Veronique sighed. “I sometimes fear Percival and I shall never be married. The
modiste
I hired has bungled everything I have asked her to do.”