by Connie Mason
THE DAWN OF ECSTASY
Gabby lay still as Philippe’s eyes became pools of gray velvet, his hands surprisingly gentle on her flesh. With every ounce of her strength she fought against the sensations that threatened to engulf her, knowing that once she submitted willingly she could no longer despise him for forcing himself on her. When Philippe enfolded her in his arms it was as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the very core of her. Yet he was gentle. Never had she known such tenderness from him. His passionate kiss was long and deep, and when he released her mouth she wanted him to claim it again. Her body trembled, tiny seeds of sensation bursting softly into bloom as waves of desire coursed through her. She no longer had a will of her own. Something was driving her on, insisting she find out the meaning of the powerful force pulsing within her.
“Don’t fight it, ma chere, ” Philippe whispered. “There is no greater pleasure than that of the flesh.”
Gabby experienced a terrible, rising ecstasy to which some secret place within herself was vibrating, his questing lips pushing her ever upward…
Also by Connie Mason:
CARESS AND CONQUER
FOR HONOR’S SAKE
Tender Fury
Connie Mason
A LEISURE BOOK
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Summary
RELUCTANT BRIDE
Lovely young Gabrielle LaFarge had resigned herself to the life of a nun in a French convent. But the future that awaits her is far different, for she is informed that she is to marry Philippe St. Cyr, a wealthy plantation owner from the Island of Martinique. Gabby resents and fears this handsome, moody man, whose icy surface conceals depths of passion and violence. Though he awakens her to the sensual delights of lovemaking, Gabby’s heart remains untouched — or so she believes. As for Philippe, she is certain that he is incapable of love. Constantly at cross purposes, separated by war and the conniving of Philippe’s jealous mistress, each tries to forget the other. But a bond has been forged between them that will serve at last to unite them in love’s sweet, strange…TENDER FURY
PART ONE
FRANCE AND NEW ORLEANS
1814 – 1815
Chapter One
Nothing in Gabrielle La Farge’s young, sheltered life had prepared her for this moment. There were many, she knew, who would consider the man standing beside her handsome. But his brooding good looks and cold gray eyes truly frightened her. Most girls her age would jump at the chance to marry a wealthy young man such as Philippe St. Cyr, or so her parents had informed her. Gabby only knew that she had no desire to become mistress of a plantation or wife of a planter in far off Martinique. But the choice had not been hers to make. She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts drowning out the priest’s toneless chanting as she relived in her mind the events leading to this dreadful moment, events as crushing as Napoleon’s defeat in October as his third army was driven across the Rhine by their allied invaders…
It had been barely a week ago that Gabby had been summoned into Mother Superior’s small chamber. At first she thought that she had once again displeased that pious woman by some willful misbehavior, but try as she might could bring no such incident of late to her mind. In fact, since she had resigned herself to a religious life, she had been more content than at any other time during the ten years since she had come to live with the good sisters of St. Cecilia.
Ten years, Gabby fumed silently as she considered her bleak existence at the convent. And in all those years she had neither seen nor heard from her parents. In the early years she had fought bitterly against confinement and even yet there were times she longed desperately to break out of the somber gray walls of the convent to run and laugh, to let her hair blow free in the wind. The hours she had spent on her knees in the chapel as penance for her youthful spirit and willful behavior were too numerous to count.
As the years passed with no word from Gilbert and Lily La Farge, Gabby began to despair. She would never leave the convent. She was destined to remain behind the walls until she died a withered old woman. She realized she could never face life on the outside on her own, for despite her nearly eighteen years she was as innocent as a child in the ways of the world. Finally, she had forced her mind to accept the inevitable. She was now prepared to join the order and become the bride of Christ. In less than a week, St. Cecilia’s would become her home for the rest of her life.
The door to Mother Superior’s chamber stood open and Gabby entered hesitantly, for some unexplained reason her heart beating furiously in her breast.
At first, nothing registered but shock and disbelief as Gabby slowly recognized the couple standing to greet her. Ten years had not changed Gilbert and Lily La Farge a great deal. Gilbert had put on weight but was still handsome with his large-boned frame and florid good looks. His hair was touched with silver now but the effect distinguished rather than aged him.
Lily, at thirty-six, could still be considered beautiful, although she could not hope to compete with her fresh-faced daughter whose dewy complexion still held the first bloom of youth. Lily pursed red pouty lips as her bright blue eyes took in the perfection of Gabby’s willow-slim figure, fully a woman’s beneath the coarse gray habit, thinking how the years had transformed her daughter from a gangling girl all arms and legs whose hint of beauty was barely visible into an astonishing lovely young woman who now stared at her through compelling violet eyes surrounded by thick feathery lashes. Though her hair was completely hidden by her wimple, her features, from arched eyebrows to full lips, were finely drawn and provocative.
“Well, daughter,” blustered Gilbert, annoyed by Gabby’s silence, “must you stand there mouth agape? Is this how you greet your parents?”
“I’m… I’m surprised to see you,” stammered Gabby, shaken by their unexpected appearance at a time when she thought herself totally abandoned by them.
Gabby shifted uncomfortably under the couple’s close scrutiny. “You’ve changed, Gabby,” Lily said, eyeing her daughter critically. “You’ve become a beautiful woman. Hasn’t she, Gilbert?”
Turning to her husband, Lily was shocked and not a little jealous by what was clearly visible in his eyes. That he, too, thought the young woman before him lovely was all too evident by his leering look that was anything but fatherly.
“More beautiful than I would have imagined,” agreed Gilbert placing his hand lightly on Gabby’s upper arm in a motion that soon turned into a caress. It was difficult for Gilbert to believe that this budding beauty standing before him was his daughter. He cleared his throat nervously. “Are you not curious why we are here?” he asked, his hand still resting on Gabby’s arm.
“After ten years I suppose I should be,” answered Gabby caustically, forgetting in a burst of resentment all she had been taught in ten years about obedience and respect.
Gilbert’s hand tightened hurtfully and Gabby winced at the sudden pain. “Don’t be disrespectful,” G
ilbert warned. “It was for your own protection that we left you with the sisters. After the Bastille fell we became enemies of the people. You were far safer in a convent than in hiding with us. I knew not what the future held at that time. You should be grateful you had a good home.”
“But it’s been ten years, Papa,” she accused, unable to hide the hurt she felt from their neglect.
“And I trust your education has been completed in those years,” Gilbert retorted.”Your mother and I have made plans for your future.”
“My future!” gasped Gabby. “My future has already been decided. I shall soon be eighteen and my novitiate completed. I intend to take the sacred vows and join the convent.”
“I’m sorry, Gabby, but that is not possible,” remonstrated Lily. “Tell her, Gilbert,” she urged, turning to her husband.
“In good time, cherie, in good time,” replied Gilbert as he took a large, white envelope from his pocket and wiped the beads of perspiration from his brow. “Have you heard the latest news from Paris, Gabby?” he asked in a placating tone. After Gabby’s negative answer, he continued. “Paris has fallen; Napoleon has abdicated and has been banished to Elba. But his most stalwart supporters, myself included, have not given up. I have pledged all my resources and energies to see Napoleon restored once more as the illustrious Emperor of France.”
“What has all this to do with me, Papa?” puzzled Gabby impatiently.
“Patience, daughter, haven’t you learned anything in ten years? I would have thought you had been cured by now of the willful streak you displayed as a child.” Gabby flushed at her father’s rebuke but waited as patiently as her nature would allow for him to continue. “Soon your mother and I will depart for Italy along with a large group of Napoleon’s staunchest supporters. Once there we will plan together for his return to power and triumphant march to Paris. But before we can leave France there is the matter of settling my debts.”
“But I still don’t…?”
“Be still!” ordered Gilbert. “If you but give me a chance I will explain. During the citizens’ uprising I lost a considerable fortune. Later I invested heavily in Napoleon’s campaign. I now find myself in financial straits and unable to meet my obligations and fulfill my pledge to Napoleon.”
“Not to mention your debts of honor,” interjected Lily. Gilbert’s withering glance warned her to silence.
“I must also see to your future before I leave Paris,” Gilbert continued smoothly, displaying an uncommon amount of parental concern.
“But my future is secure,” Gabby insisted. “I already told you that I intend to pledge my life to le bon Dieu just as you have pledged yours to Napoleon.”
Gilbert’s scathing glance scalded Gabby. “I have arranged for your marriage.” Gabby clutched at her throat and gasped with dismay. She felt as if the whole world was closing in on her.
The irony of fate! Just when she had reconciled herself to living a devout and prayerful life her parents had appeared and shattered her fragile peace. “I have no desire to wed, Papa,” Gabby cried in desperation. “Please do not force me into a marriage I do not want.”
As if on cue, the door opened, admitting a tall, sun browned man whose cold gray eyes immediately sought and found Gabby. “Who am I to marry?” she whispered in a strangled voice, unable to tear her gaze from the man whose handsome dark features instilled terror in her wildly beating heart.
Smiling broadly, Gilbert La Farge motioned forward the tall, broodingly handsome man whose sun-darkened skin proclaimed him to be anything but a native of Paris. Turning to Gabby, he said, “Gabrielle, this is Philippe St. Cyr from the island of Martinique. If you meet with his approval, you will become his wife regardless of the fact that you have no dowry.”
Gabby gritted her teeth, desperately wanting to lash out angrily at her father and the arrogant stranger whose approval meant nothing to her. She had no way of knowing that Philippe St. Cyr demanded only two things of his future wife, she must be virtuous, and she must be obedient to his will.
When St. Cyr had first met Gilbert La Farge at the card table in a certain club in Paris, he had taken an immediate dislike to the braggart who lost large sums of money and indiscriminately handed out his IOU. He personally held a small stack of these worthless notes. When in the course of conversation, Gilbert had learned that Philippe had come to France in search of a wife, preferably a convent-educated one; his eyes had become over bright as they thoughtfully contemplated the man who he also learned was a wealthy planter from Martinique as well as the owner of a fleet of ships. Philippe, for the most part, had ignored the man’s fawning presence until Gilbert had drawn him aside and quietly spoken to him about his daughter. After much persuasion he had finally agreed to a meeting with the girl.
Now, as Philippe bowed before the petite Gabrielle, he was not at all certain she would do. Though no doubt she was virtuous, having been cloistered for the past ten years, she displayed a spark of defiance that set him on edge and her beauty startled him. He had thought himself finished with beauty and spirit. What he desired was an obedient, well-bred wife who would bear his children and become mistress of Bellefontaine, his plantation on Martinique. Once her duty was fulfilled he would demand nothing more from her. He had the delectable Amalie to satisfy his passion and intended to seek his wife’s bed only to beget his heirs. To keep his beloved Bellefontaine he must have sons.
How was it then that he found himself lost in deep, shimmering pools of violet? Where was his willpower? Hadn’t he told himself over and over he was finished with seductive beauty and spirit? When he spoke, his voice sent chills along Gabby’s spine. “Mademoiselle La Farge,” he acknowledged as he bowed over her slim hand, lightly brushing it with his lips.
A shudder passed through Gabby at his touch. “Monsieur St. Cyr,” she replied softly, remembering her manners.
“Your father has told me much about you and I can clearly see he did not exaggerate.
“I’m surprised he could remember anything about me,” she murmured in a moment of pique.
Gilbert bristled at her remark but focused his attention on Philippe. “I told you she was well worth the trip out here,” he boasted smugly. “Well, St. Cyr, what do you say? Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“I would like to hear what Mademoiselle Gabrielle has to say about your plans to sell her to me,” Philippe said, oblivious of Gabby’s feelings.
“Papa!” cried Gabby, drawing back in disbelief. “Surely Monsieur St. Cyr jests. You would not sell your only child!”
“Now, now daughter,” soothed Gilbert, glancing reproachfully at Philippe. “Those are not the words I would choose. Monsieur St. Cyr has generously offered to cancel all my debts and to finance my venture in Italy in gratitude for supplying him with a suitable bride. And you, ma chere, are immensely suitable.”
The knuckles of Gabby’s clenched fists whitened as her whole body stiffened in defiance, negating in an instant ten years of discipline. “I am sorry, Papa, but I refuse to marry Monsieur St. Cyr! I choose to remain in the convent,” she declared hotly.
Gilbert lashed out cruelly and the blow to Gabby’s face resounded loudly in the small room. Philippe stepped menacingly toward Gilbert but at the last minute prudence intervened, and, shrugging, he fell back, deeming Gilbert’s punishment justifiable in view of his daughter’s rebellious nature.
“Gilbert, really!” Lily gasped. “Must you use violence? The chit will do as she’s told whether she likes it or not.”
“Of course, you are right, cherie,” replied Gilbert guiltily. “I’m sorry, daughter, but I will not tolerate disobedience. I have given my word to St. Cyr that you have been well taught by the nuns. Do not make a liar of me.” Though his voice was soft, his words left little doubt that he would brook no interference with his well-laid plans. Gabby knew that no amount of pleading would dissuade her father from his course. She would become the bride of Philippe St. Cyr, if he would have her, and leave her beloved France. Still smarting fr
om her father’s blow, she lowered her head to hide tears of frustration and pain gathering in her eyes.
“Well, St. Cyr?” Gilbert repeated impatiently. “Does my daughter please you? Will you have her?”
Studying the girl through slitted eyes, Philippe saw that she now appeared submissive to her father’s wishes. Perhaps she would do after all, he mused, his eyes drawn to the steady rise and fall of firm, upturned breasts beneath her drab garment. Even though he had not expected her to be so lovely, she would be a pleasant diversion on the long voyage ahead. Her young femininity was appealing and hard to resist, even to one who had forsworn such inducements. With the right clothes… His eyes drifted over the shapeless robe and ugly wimple concealing her hair. A sudden urge struck him and he was powerless to stay his words.
“Remove your headdress, Gabrielle,” he ordered brusquely. Violet, mist-filled eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly as he raised her head. When she made no move to comply, he stepped forward and drew his breath in sharply as a cascade of silvery strands, pale as moonlight, tumbled down her back in a multitude of springy curls from beneath the cloth he had just plucked from her head. The sight strangely unsettled Philippe as he drew in his breath sharply. He found it difficult to still his wildly beating heart.
Gilbert smiled to himself. He was as good as on his way to Italy, he thought smugly. Although St. Cyr had expressed a desire for a virtuous, obedient wife, making no mention of beauty, he was a man, and what man would not want a young and beautiful virgin such as Gabby gracing his bed?
When Philippe finally found his voice. Gabby knew that her prayers had been in vain. Her future had been decided without a thought to her own feelings or needs. “We have a deal, La Farge,” Philippe said, reluctantly tearing his eyes from the vision before him. “The amount agreed upon will be deposited in your bank as soon as I return to Paris.”
