Tender Fury (22 page)

Accordingly, she voiced her wishes to Marcel. “You have been content here, haven’t you,
ma chere?”
asked Marcel, unhappy with her decision.

Gabby stared thoughtfully at Mt. Pelee before answering. She sensed in it a sleeping giant, ready to erupt at any time, just like Philippe. Sighing hugely, she finally replied, “Too happy, Marcel. In fact, so content that I had nearly forgotten that Philippe could return at any time and force me to return to Bellefontaine, just as he did Cecily so long ago. I am convinced he will never send Amalie away and I could never be a wife to him under those conditions.” Gabby’s violet eyes turned dark as she fought back tears of remorse. “Don’t you see, Marcel? It’s imperative that I leave Martinique before Philippe returns. I’m afraid that the next time Amalie will succeed in her diabolical plan to do away with me. Will you help me, Marcel?” she beseeched.

“Cherie, cherie, “
crooned Marcel, running his hand along the soft curtain of her hair. He saw how terrified Gabby was of Amalie and Philippe and decided to work it toward his own purposes.
Le bon dieu
knew how much he wanted her and once she was away from Philippe he was certain she would come to love him in turn. “Of course I will help you, even if it means parting with you for a short time. How soon do you wish to leave?”

“The sooner the better,” came Gabby’s determined answer.

“I will make inquiries on the docks this very day. Leave matters to me,
cherie.
I shall arrange everything to our mutual satisfaction. You will go to my sister in New Orleans. And Honore shall accompany you.”

“Merci!
I knew I could depend on you,” cried Gabby throwing her arms impulsively around Marcel’s neck.

The imprint of her soft body pressed so intimately against his was too much for Marcel. With a groan of surrender he drew her ever closer and captured her slightly parted lips in a fierce, demanding kiss that left her breathless and confused. Gabby resisted only for a moment, then responded more out of gratitude than love. Fired by her response, Marcel became more than ever determined to have her for his own. He would finish his business on Martinique and follow her to New Orleans. To his way of thinking nothing mattered except having Gabby all to himself, in every way. With the greatest effort of will he removed his hands from her soft body and broke off the kiss, his head awhirl with plans for a future that would place Gabby exactly where he wanted her… in his bed.

Two days later arrangements for Gabby’s and Honore’s passage to New Orleans were complete. When Honore found she and Gabby were to travel together to New Orleans for a visit with her sister, her dark eyes sparkled and she clapped her small hands happily. “You are so good to me, Marcel,” she laughed. “It’s been ever so long since I’ve visited Celeste that the children must have forgotten me already. And Gabby,” she said, turning to Gabby with outstretched hands, “you are so kind to accompany me. It would be impossible for me to travel unchaperoned.”

“Gabby realized that you could not make the trip alone and has agreed to see you safely to New Orleans,” put in Marcel smoothly. It was best Honore know nothing of Gabby’s plans to leave her husband.

Honore gave Gabby a quick hug. “Celeste will be pleased to have Gabby as a guest,” she added. “I’m sure a change of scenery will do us both a world of good.” Honore was thinking of Gabby’s recent loss and her own loneliness following her sister’s departure.

“Then it’s all settled,” announced Marcel. “Your ship leaves in two days.”

“That doesn’t give us much time,” cried an excited Honore, jumping up to begin packing immediately. “Will you be able to join us?” Honore asked of Marcel before she left the room, suddenly mindful that her brother would be left alone.

“I promise that I shall not be far behind you,” he answered, looking directly at Gabby. Satisfied by his reply, Honore scampered up the stairs, leaving Marcel and Gabby alone.

“Merci,
Marcel,” Gabby said warmly. “Not only have you arranged for me to leave Martinique but you have provided me with an excuse to do so. And I shall have Honore’s delightful company besides. But are you sure your sister will welcome another guest? Do you think she will allow me to become governess to her children?”

“Do not worry,
cherie
,” chided Marcel gently. “A letter has already been dispatched on a swift packet informing Celeste that you are to be afforded every courtesy as her guest. When I arrive is time enough to discuss your future. Until then you are companion and chaperone to Honore.”

By the time he arrived in New Orleans, Marcel expected Gabby to come willingly to him. He would set her up as his mistress and in a grand house. If all he hoped came to pass he would even consider selling all his holdings on Martinique and moving permanently to New Orleans. Or perhaps they could all settle in France. It would not be difficult to arrange a suitable marriage for Honore in France and they would be out of Philippe’s reach. It bothered Marcel not at all that he was taking another man’s wife. Gabby was too good for Philippe, he reasoned. Teasing flirts like Cecily or vicious witches like Amalie were more to his liking. Perhaps he could even arrange for a divorce and marry Gabby himself.

Gabby stood beside Honore at the rail of the
Southern Star
as they entered the mouth of the Mississippi River, a cool winter breeze whipping their skirts around their legs. Gabby glanced fondly at Honore as the younger girl’s excitement began to spark her own. Their passage to New Orleans had been a pleasant interlude. Honore had seen to it that Gabby did not become bored and her constant chatter often saved Gabby from dwelling too much on the past.

Gabby pulled her warm cloak closer about her and thought fleetingly of the coming Christmas season. She had hoped to be with her own little family at Bellefontaine when Christmas arrived, but fate had willed otherwise. Her arms still ached to hold the babe Philippe had heartlessly accused her of murdering. Not even Honore’s sunny disposition and welcome company could dispel her longing. Sadly she realized that as long as she remained estranged from her husband she would never hold a child of her own in her arms.

When Gabby first learned from Marcel that the
Southern Star
was a ship of Philippe’s line she had nearly refused to board her until Marcel had sworn to her that there was no way possible for her husband to learn that she was a passenger. Marcel had even taken the precaution of listing her as Madame Marcel Duvall on the manifest. He had also carefully checked the passenger list and found that none of his close acquainrences traveled aboard the
Southern Star
. As far as Gabby could tell, her departure from Martinique went completely unheralded.

Soon the ramparts came into view and Gabby became as animated as Honore to be once more in the first city she had set foot in when she arrived from France and which she still held in warm regard. She thought briefly of Jean Lafitte and of her friend Marie and wondered if those heroes of the battle of New Orleans still resided on Barataria.

The
Southern Star
eased into a berth along the long row of docks and Honore began anxiously scanning the wharf for her sister. Amid the bustle of busy sailors on the ship and the throng of people along the ramparts, Honore was unable to identify a familiar face. But to Gabby’s horror the face of a man she had hoped never to see again emerged from amid the crowd to stand on the dock waiting for the gangplank to be lowered into place. Thunderstruck, Gabby could only watch in silence as Philippe boarded the ship, spoke briefly with the captain, then walked unerringly in her direction.

Honore spied Philippe as he advanced on them and gave a cry of surprise. “Gabby!” she gasped. “Your husband is in New Orleans and has come to meet you!” Completely unaware of Gabby’s estrangement from Philippe, Honore continued enthusiastically, “I am so happy for you! How exciting to be reunited with your husband so unexpectedly!

Gabby winced at Honore’s words but had no time to think of an appropriate reply before Philippe was upon them.

“Ma chere,”
he greeted with mock tenderness that rang falsely in Gabby’s ears, “I am so happy you chose to join me for the holidays.”

It was obvious to Gabby that Philippe’s great show of affection was for the benefit of all within hearing as he took her into his arms and tenderly kissed her. If she didn’t know better Gabby could almost believe that Philippe was glad to see her.

“How… how did you know I was aboard the
Southern Star?”
stammered Gabby when she finally found her voice.

“Later,” he returned smoothly. His words conveyed little by way of an explanation but the twitch in the muscle along his jaw line warned Gabby to silence. “First we must find Honore’s sister and when we are alone I will tell you what you want to know. I will also demonstrate just how happy I am to see you,” he added, an underlying thread of malice in his voice. Gabby stiffened but fought hard to keep the smile on her lips.

“But, Monsieur Philippe,” protested Honor innocently, “Gabby was to be Celeste’s guest. Does this mean her plans are altered? Marcel expects Gabby to be at our sister’s home when he arrives. Did you know Gabby has been staying with us?” Gabby swallowed the lump of fear rising in her throat. Honore’s innocent words sounded condemning even to her own ears. What would Philippe think? she wondered fearfully.

“I am sure your brother will be the first to agree that my wife and I have been parted long enough,” he said lightly, but with steely undertones. “She will join me aboard the
Windward
where her company will be most welcome during the long weeks to come.” Gabby blanced and would have protested had not Philippe’s threatening look forewarned her. “Come, ladies,” he announced curtly, “shall we disembark?”

It took no time at all once they were ashore to locate Celeste. She waited inside her carriage on the perimeter of the crowded dock and in spite of her own predicament, Gabby smiled at the tender greeting between sisters. After far too short a time she found herself taking leave of them with tears glistening in her violet eyes, Philippe’s grip upon her arms tightening painfully as she watched them depart.

“We shall meet again on Martinique,” Honore promised, giving Gabby a final squeeze before climbing into the carriage. “Is there a message you wish me to convey to my brother?” she asked, unaware of Philippe’s icy eyes at the mention of Marcel’s name.

“Oui,”
murmured Gabby with a wary glance at Philippe, “tell him…”

“Thank him for seeing that my wife reached me safely,” Philippe interjected, dropping his arm to encompass Gabby’s tiny waist. Then they were alone.

“Shall we leave,
ma chere?”
Philippe asked. The timbre of his voice sounded low and strained to Gabby and her knees began to tremble. What would Philippe do to her? There could be no doubt in his mind that she was leaving him and Honore had inadvertently let slip that she had been staying in Marcel’s townhouse. Naturally he’ll assume the worst, Gabby thought ruefully.

Quaking inwardly, she allowed herself to be guided along the docks until they reached the
Windward’s
berth. She resisted only momentarily before giving in to Philippe’s none too gentle prodding up the gangplank. They were met by a stern-looking, gray-haired man whom Philippe introduced as Captain Bouvier, the replacement for Captain Giscard. He seemed to have been expecting her and after a formal word of welcome went about his business.

Then Gabby was rapidly propelled toward the cabin she had previously shared with Philippe on her crossing from France. Shoved rudely inside the room, she stumbled, clutching at a chair for support, but unable to stop herself sprawled at Philippe’s feet. She had all she could do to keep from crying out as Philippe stood menacingly over her, feet wide apart, hands on hips, his darkening features more frightening than she remembered.

“Up to your old tricks again,
ma cherie?”
he said scathingly. “I can tell by your face that you hoped never to see me again. I am sorry to disappoint you.” His steely gaze held her captive to the deck.

“How did you know I was aboard the
Southern Star?”
Gabby demanded with more bravery than she felt at that moment.

“Your lover Marcel sent a message to his sister on one of my packets,” Philippe explained in a brittle voice. “I happened to be in New Orleans when it arrived and the message was put into my hands by the captain. I recognized the name of Marcel’s sister and read the letter out of curiosity before sending it on to its destination. To say I was shocked would be an understatement.” He paused to glare accusingly down on Gabby. “To learn that one’s own wife had become whore to a man he despised is hardly what I would call welcome news. How long has Marcel been your lover? How long have you been living with him? I imagine you have set St. Pierre agog with your shameless behavior. What’s even more despicable is that you used poor, innocent Honore to cover your affair.”

Gabby made to rise but Philippe held her firmly to the deck with his booted foot. “It’s not what you think, Philippe!” denied Gabby hotly. “Marcel is my friend, nothing more! If you knew why…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” bellowed Philippe, removing his foot from her stomach. “Do you think I have forgotten or forgiven you for your indiscretion with Captain Stone? It appears that the innocent girl who wished to become a nun has turned whore as well as murderess!” Wincing, Gabby closed her ears against his cruel, hurtful tirade.

How dare he act so self-righteous, Gabby fumed. How dare he condemn her after she found him in the arms of his mistress. Aloud she said, “I am sorry for you, Philippe. You accuse me unjustly. Will you not hear me out before you judge me? I am not the only one who has sinned.”

Her words must have hit a raw nerve for his dark face grew fierce. “Enough!” he ordered harshly. “Your idle prattle bores me.” He looked down upon her with disgust. “Get up!”

When Gabby made no move to obey, Philippe grasped her hands and pulled her roughly to her feet. His gray eyes narrowed in guarded scrutiny, moving from her face insinuatingly down her curvaceous body. “You appear quite recovered,” he said. “Apparently Marcel has been most careful with your health.”

Forcefully he pulled her into his arms, his fingers sinking into the soft hair at the back of her head, tightening, holding her motionless for the cruel descent of his hard lips. She could not move, could hardly breathe under the controlled savagery of his passion. Gabby could feel the steady beat of his heart, feel the hardness of his body against hers, stiff and unyielding like the man himself. His other hand ravaged the soft curves of her body. She remained rigid and unmoving beneath his violent onslaught until he flung her from him in disgust, the feel of her tense, defiant body sending him into a rage.

“Do you prefer the gentle touch of your lover to mine?” Philippe asked icily.

Anger prompted Gabby to retaliate. “Perhaps I do.” She was immediately sorry she had provoked him as she found herself lifted bodily and flung to the bed, pinned beneath Philippe’s punishing strength. With deft hands he undressed her, her feeble struggles serving only to enflame him. When she was divested of every stitch of clothing and lay naked and exposed, Philippe silently and grimly removed his own clothes. With bleak eyes Gabby saw the state of his arousal and turned her head from the strangely disquieting sight of his strong, masculine body. He laughed sardonically when he saw the direction of her gaze.

“How do I compare to your other lovers?” he taunted cruelly. “Surely you haven’t forgotten so soon the extent of my passion?”

Enraged by his words, Gabby tried to strike out at him but found her wrists captured and pinned above her head. Philippe lay full length atop her, her breasts pressed into his massive chest. Freeing one hand, Gabby clawed instinctively for Philippe’s eyes. His head snapped back as her fingers raked the side of his neck, immediately drawing blood.

Gray eyes blazed with anger as well as passion. “Don’t fight me, you little hellcat,” he warned ominously. “I own you. You are mine. I can take you at will. This is the law.” Then he wrenched her free arm up to join the other over her head. Her hands grew numb, her shoulders straining in their sockets. She watched with perverse fascination as the blood from the grooves in his neck dripped upon her breast. Almost cruelly Philippe lowered his mouth to her trembling lips as his free hand plundered her body. Tears of frustration welled in Gabby’s eyes but did little to stop Philippe’s onslaught. Then, without warning, she sensed a change in him as his body relaxed and almost tenderly he explored the moist corners of her eyelids, the smooth curve of her cheek, the hollow at the base of her neck. His quickening breath seared her flesh, setting off in her an uncontrollable shudder as his lips trailed fiery kisses to the taut peaks of her breasts.

Involuntarily, a low moan issued forth from Gabby’s throat and Philippe’s flinty eyes glinted in savage satisfaction when he heard it. It had been so long since Gabby had been loved that once Philippe had awakened her sleeping passion she could scarcely control her rising emotions. Her body remembered the tenderness he was capable of and yearned to experience it once again. Then all pretense of tenderness fled as Philippe continued his ruthless plunder.

Gabby lunged under him, every muscle straining to throw him from her, but the effort served only to instill him with a need to hurt her. The rigid muscles of his thighs pressed into her soft body and his hands ravaged her flesh with a directness she could not thwart. When he tore into her she cried out in agony but as he moved within her she experienced a growing weakness, a primitive urge toward surrender that had nothing to do with her will to resist.

With a will of its own Gabby’s body began moving in rhythm to meet Philippe’s thrusts. Sensing her surrender, Philippe released her hands and they immediately wound themselves about his neck, forcing him even deeper within her. There was no way Gabby could fight him now, no way she could deny him, or herself. A wild sob was torn from her throat and suddenly they found themselves adrift in a sea of ecstasy.

When Philippe finally eased his body away from Gabby, she turned on her side so he could not see her tears. She thought bitterly of Philippe’s betrayal with Amalie, of his harsh accusations, and hated her body for responding to him almost as much as she hated the man himself. Alerted by her soft sobs, Philippe raised up on one elbow, his face momentarily losing its stony facade while he studied her in silent appraisal. A flicker of emotion coursed through him before his eyes once more became shuttered, his face a mask of icy reserve. He turned Gabby to face him.

“Why do you cry?” he asked with mock concern. “Don’t you enjoy playing whore for your own husband?” His sardonic smile cut into her like a saber, his words twisting the blade more effectively than his hands ever could. “I ask no more of you than what your lovers would expect.”

“Philippe, listen to me, please,” Gabby cried angrily, determined to make him understand. “Marcel and I…”

“Enough!” Philippe ordered, immediately stilling her protests. “From this day on the name of no other man shall pass your lovely lips. You will be available to no one but me. You will be at my service and at my mercy.”