by Dana Roquet
Desiree found she was responding to the feel of his kiss, his body, in spite of herself. Losing herself in her own long denied need and she reached up to pull him closer, her response every bit as demanding as his. He released her mouth, pulling back and searching the depths of her eyes.
“So much for your indifference.” He said softly. He kissed her once more and his lips traced down her throat to the soft white flesh rising above her gown.
Desiree ran her hands through his hair, then along his shoulders, totally involved with his moist warm mouth searing her. She barely felt his hands moving to her back and her clothing fell to the floor in a heap, it seemed of its own accord. She moaned softly as his hands possessed her, fondling roughly. She felt completely vulnerable as his practiced touch brought her body to life and she trembled, leaning against him for support. She was starved for him and wanted only to be possessed by him. Nothing mattered but this moment and Stephen.
He whispered gently as his lips hovered near hers, “You want me Desiree. You want to share with me those lofty heights we have, so often in the past. Just try to deny it. You want me to possess you this minute.”
Without waiting for a response, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed and laid her across its expanse while his mouth clung to hers. Still fully clothed, he lay down beside her; resuming his caresses and she welcomed his kiss, his hands and reached to touch him. He held her hand from him and she looked into his eyes.
“Is this indifference Desiree?” he asked softly as he released her hand and his own slid between her parted thighs.
“Is this indifference?” he asked again with a tender kiss to her mouth.
“No—no indifference.” Desiree admitted, returning his kiss. She wanted to tell him she loved him, she wanted to tell him of the baby and she wanted to beg him to ask her to stay. She wanted nothing more than to be with him forever.
“Thank you for admitting that.” He laughed scornfully and abruptly removed his hands from her.
She stared up at him in shock. Her loins ached for the want of him and she couldn’t believe that he had duped her so easily.
“You bastard!” she spat, sitting up and slapping him full across the face.
“So now I am a bastard, when only practicing what you have taught me!” he growled.
Desiree could now see in his face that it had all been an orchestrated performance.
“You see—this little ploy works both ways doesn’t it Desiree? Your beast I may be—but you are mine also! Love or hate?” he questioned softly.
“Get out!” Desiree spat and attempted to move from the bed but Stephen prevented her from rising.
“I’ll let you go Desiree. I won’t interfere with your plan. If I had one wish it would also be to have never met you in the first place. I want you to know that.” He whispered as he leaned over her and brushed her lips softly with his own. “I wouldn’t have this torment that eats at my guts.” He kissed her lips again, inhaling deeply as she breathed out and then kissing her more forcefully as she returned his kiss. “I wouldn’t have this need that no other can satisfy.” He confessed, possessing her mouth greedily. “You have ruined me Desiree and if it is the last thing I ever do, I shall overcome your torturous spell!” he vowed softly, pressing her back upon the pillows as her arm’s reached up to draw him closer.
***
Stephen slowly rose to a sitting position and arranged his breeches. He sat upon the edge of the bed next to Desiree, hunched over, with his arms resting upon his knees and his head in his hands, looking to the floor. “It’s best left at this.” He thought to himself. "It isn’t supposed to be this difficult. It shouldn’t be a constant battle.”
Desiree lay motionless. She stared up at the high canopy and felt a slight discomfort in her abdomen but she knew that in their consuming passion, they could not have been gentle with each other. It would have been impossible. They had come together, desperately—roughly, until their mutual need had extinguished their mutual rage and they had shared themselves with each other in what had been both an exquisite blend of perfection and at the same time, total loneliness. She had bit her lip to stop herself from crying out his name as she reached her fulfillment and he also—hadn’t uttered a word, just held her tight and kissed her deeply, one last kiss. She could sense that he had finally accepted this was their end, just as she had.
Slowly Desiree rose to a sitting position and saw Stephen watching her as she tucked her legs beneath her, pulling a sheet across her body. She looked into the eyes of the man she loved and had lost forever and tears fell but she brushed them away with haste.
“This is finished Stephen. Please leave.” She whispered.
He gazed into the unreadable depths of her brilliant violet blue eyes and for the first time since the death of his brothers, a tear softly fell, tracing down his face, “It has never been my intention to bring you unhappiness Desiree.” He said in a husky whisper, while reaching to wipe a tear from her cheek.
Desiree drew back from his touch. She knew if she allowed him to touch her again, her resolve would crumble. She had to be strong. This had to end. “Please leave.”
Stephen wiped the tear from his face, rising from the bed and walked from the room, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Forty-Two
Tim pushed away from the wall with his shoulder where he had been leaning uneasily, waiting for Desiree to emerge from her room. He heard the door open and walked to meet her, taking the satchels from her hands.
“Tim could you please?” she asked, turning her back to him and he quickly laced her gown.
“The carriage is drawn up out front.” He informed softly, finishing the task which gave him a good idea of what must have transpired.
Desiree nodded, unable to meet his searching gaze. She moved along the hall, appearing very calm when in fact, she was in pain both mentally and physically.
“Desiree, tell me what happened? Did he hurt you? Did you tell him of your condition?” he asked hesitantly, watching Desiree glance his way and then down the staircase to the front hall warily searching for Stephen’s presence, “He’s gone” Tim assured, taking her hand and leading her down the stairs.
“No Tim. I did not tell him and no, he did not hurt me.”
They walked out the front door to the open carriage that stood waiting and Tim tossed the bags in the back, assisting Desiree to the high bench seat; then hurried around to the other side, climbing up beside her. Desiree watched over her shoulder as the large mansion receded and they moved out of the drive. She would never forget this place that seemed so welcoming and warm upon her arrival and now held so many sad memories. Her abdomen cramped uncomfortably ending her thoughts and she turned to face forward, taking trembling slow deep breaths until the pain abated. She glanced at Tim, finding his concerned attention upon her and she looked to her hands in her lap, trying to think of something to say to avoid the question forming upon his lips.
“Stephen and I shared our last war of words Tim. Can you understand now, why you must keep my secret?”
Tim didn’t answer, only watched the road before him, his face a tight and angry mask. They were driving along the streets of Somerset now, nearing the docks and she touched his arm, looking urgently into his eyes, needing his assurance before they arrived and were joined by Bridgett at the ship, “Tim, answer me, please.”
“Desiree I am inclined to track the fool down and tell him.” He admitted.
“No! Please Tim do not do that!” she choked out desperately, determined to fight the tears and keep her composure, “I—I am having some discomfort. I beg you, leave it as is!”
“Oh Lord.” he whispered, “And yet you say he didn’t hurt you!”
“It was not anything he did. Tim please forget about everything I have told you. I will be gone and it will be as though I never existed, as though I had never told you of my condition. Tim I did not tell him I carried his child—so this is unimportant! Please promise me! Tel
ling him of any of this news would do nothing but cause more pain for him and me.”
He could see the panic in her face and answered bitterly, “I promise Desiree. I will keep your secrets to myself—every one of them.”
The carriage rolled to a halt at the wooden dock and Desiree could see Bridgett on deck, watching them as they sat for a moment, as if in conversation. She was experiencing another pain and breathed slowly, clutching Tim’s hand until it passed.
“You must rest, you need to lie down!” Tim pleaded anxiously, “You must tell Bridgett!”
“No! I shall rest and if it becomes necessary I shall tell her.” Desiree looked to the ship, “Will you help me down Tim without drawing Bridgett’s concern?”
He nodded hesitantly and jumped down, rounding the back and hurrying to her side of the carriage, holding her carefully by her ribcage and gently setting her to her feet. He then reached for her bags and offered his arm nonchalantly. A seaman passed by them to retrieve the trunk from the carriage and Tim watched him pass, speaking quietly in Desiree’s ear while looking over her shoulder to the man, “This is absolute insanity! I can’t believe I am allowing you to do this, any of this!” he whispered ruefully.
“I shall be fine—don’t worry.” Desiree whispered with a reassuring squeeze of his arm, “Don’t forget to tell Red, if and when he comes of my change of residence.” She continued more loudly, smiling up at Bridgett as they rose to the deck from the gang plank.
“I won’t.” Tim played along, helping her down to the deck, “Bridgett—” he smiled, “You take care and have a safe voyage.” He hailed a crewman, handing him the satchels, “Desiree,” he turned to her and smiled warmly, “Don’t be surprised if I turn up at your door one day. Please take care.” His brow knit with concern and she hugged him warming, placing a kiss upon his cheek.
“Good bye Timothy,” she whispered, “I shall never forget you.” She buried her face in his throat for a moment, holding back a flood of tears. He cradled her gently to him, rubbing her back until she felt more in control and Desiree stepped back, smiling bravely, “You are welcome at my home always Tim. Au Revoir.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Stephen slipped on his breeches and moved to the window, looking past the grimy pane to the misty glow of a lantern in the courtyard below which cut through the dense fog of London’s waterfront. It was December and England was shrouded in bleak misty fog more often than at any other time of the year. It was fitting, he decided, the gloom outside mirrored his own mood—cold, empty, lonely. The bed creaked and he turned to see the young woman reach for her clothes and he watched as she dressed, taking in the feminine curves without feeling any emotion.
“I be goin’ then Sir.” she nodded, picking up the fee he had dropped upon the table. She turned back to him to speak further but thought better of it and left the room quickly.
Stephen took a large draw of dark rum from the bottle and sat heavily at the table. He winced, testing the bluish flesh over his ribs and breathed deeply, sitting straight to ease the pain somewhat. He was developing a pattern, a ritual of sorts—beginning each evening scouting the front, looking for a good fight and after punishing an opponent and usually receiving a fair amount of punishment himself, he would end the night in this shoddy room near the docks attempting to regain his former vigor and again he had failed miserably.
The women were by no means unusual and he had never held himself above taking a whore if she were comely and clean but his inability was tormenting him. He was constantly fighting against his emotions, his irrational wanting of Desiree and no other. This night was his last time the fool. The woman who just left would surely be spreading the information around to her peers about collecting a full fee for no services. He had in essence been castrated, it seemed. He didn’t enjoy the feel of a woman, no passion—nothing at all. And then, as tonight he would need to drink himself into a stupor in order to sleep undisturbed by dreams of Desiree and the torment of all that had occurred between them that he still did not understand. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, then stood, taking the bottle and sat upon the bed, leaning back against the headboard.
His gaze was drawn across the room to his dark brooding eyes, reflected in a tall mirror standing upon the floor. He noticed a darkening beneath one eye and touched the flesh gingerly, then winced, pulling his hand back to examine a recently dislocated index finger. The swelling was subsiding but he could have sworn that when Ham forced it back into place, more damage had been done than good.
He lifted the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply; then stood slowly from the bed, approaching the mirror and examining his side and the tender cracked ribs beneath. He shook his head with a disgusted sigh, “What the hell are you doing Colter?” he asked his reflection, while rubbing across the heavy beard that shadowed his jaw, “Why does one French virgin bring you to your knees, crumble your soul—leaving you an empty shell?” He shrugged his shoulders at his reflection and turned away, sitting again upon the edge of the bed.
He tipped the bottle once more, gritting down the harsh, oily rum, “It is insanity to love her still!” he thought bitterly, “She played me for a fool. Making me the buffoon for her amusement! What sorcery has she used upon me to leave me wanting her so? Have I no will of my own? Why do I feel as though I would be betraying her by the taking of another when she hates me, fled me, is no longer mine in any sense? I take fleeting pleasant memories and give them substance, making some imagined significance out of nothing! I dream of her form and claim it as mine—and by what right? That she was innocent and I deflowered her? How very simple-minded can one man be?” he chuckled in disgust.
He rose from the bed, dousing the candle upon the table with wetted fingers and staggered back to slowly lay down, mindful of his battered body. She would be in France now or arrive by the first of the year, he calculated. He had taken a more southerly route, catching a strong tailwind on the way and had made record time, pushing his arrival up by a good week. Now he would be off tomorrow for the colonies and would not be tempted to go to France to search her out as that thought had crossed his mind several times over the past few days.
His mind wandered back over their last day together. The last time he had held her, kissed her and then had made love to her. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her body beneath his hands, the warmth of her embrace as she welcomed him in spite of their mutual rage. It had been pure frenzy as they consumed one another as though fighting the deciding battle in a very long war. And then finally leaving the anger behind and sharing themselves tenderly without words until they were spent and empty of emotion and shared a final last kiss. For himself he had fought to hold in all the pleas running through his mind that day. So many things he had wanted to say but could not. He had wanted to tell her he loved her and beg her to stay and grovel at her feet and plead for her love—but his own stupid pride had prevented him from voicing any of it.
“Will this hell never end?” he softly asked aloud, “Will I never be free?” He breathed deeply trying again to clear the thoughts of Desiree but the memories washed over him and he lay transfixed, staring blankly into the darkness, while she tread heavily upon his mind.
***
It was a cold January morning when Desiree stood solemnly at the rail, watching the dense fog lift, exposing Le Havre beneath. Dark wisps of smoke from fireplaces stoked against the chill mingled with the misty fog, softening the harshness of the waterfront. Desiree smiled, her hand slipping over her slightly rounded abdomen and the flutter she felt beneath her palm. “This will be your land, your home.” she whispered, “We shall be fine.” She assured gently, caressing the child within.
Bridgett joined her at the rail, lifting Desiree’s hood and covering her head, “You don’t want to catch a chill, sweet.” She said, kissing Desiree’s cheek, “You should come down for breakfast soon.”
“I shall Bridgett, in a few minutes.” Desiree sighed, patting her hand, while her eyes remained up
on the approaching land.
“All right dear.” Bridgett nodded, leaving Desiree alone once more.
Desiree felt elated. She was almost home and the pain of the past months had dimmed somewhat. She knew that she had made the right decision to go. She felt no malice toward Stephen, only glimpses of memory, without emotion connected to them. He seemed to have been an imagining and if not for the child, she could almost believe it had all been a dream.
The first days on board ship had been difficult, as the discomfort from their lovemaking had persisted and she was worried she would lose the baby. She had prayed for the pains to cease and after three days her prayers had been answered and now she had proof of the child, nearing the fifth month. She could feel it and see it growing; adding roundness to her stomach and it was a glorious experience.
Bridgett had discovered her pregnancy without a word from her. Her gowns became overly snug and uncomfortable early in their voyage and Bridgett had found she was unable to draw the lacing in about her waist and one morning after doing what she could with them, she had sat down upon her bunk and began to cry. “How far along are you?” she had wept.
She had rushed to her side and hugged her nurse, “Don’t cry Bridgett. I want this baby. I am so happy about it! I wanted to tell you but hadn’t been able to find the right time. I believe it was conceived in September. It shall be due in June. What a lovely month for a baby to be born!” She had sighed happily.
“Did Stephen refuse to wed?” Bridgett had demanded.
“No he does not know. I told no one but Timothy and he gave me his word he would keep it to himself. I didn’t want to force Stephen into marriage. We shall be fine this way. Bridgett it shall be wonderful!”
