Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  Lying side by side, panting loudly, bodies touching, they descended slowly from the towering passion they had just shared. When Philippe could finally speak his voice was tinged with sadness. “A fitting adieu, ma chere. One that will remain with me forever.”

  Gabby could not trust herself to speak. She wanted their final parting to be as friendly as possible given their circumstances and anything she could say would cause more dissension. She could not face another altercation, knowing in her heart that though Philippe desired her body he could never bring himself to believe her, or trust her. Sighing wretchedly, Gabby sensed that they had just said their last farewell in such a way as to prove that her love for him was not entirely dead… but it was too late… too late.

  Hearing her sigh, Philippe was assailed by feelings of guilt and remorse, thinking that he had taken advantage of her again, used her to satisfy his need for her, a need that would torment him for the rest of his life. So before he did or said something to anger her he rose from the bed, careful not to touch her, fearing he might take her again, and began to dress.

  “I shall be on hand to escort you ashore, Gabby,” Philippe said as he fumbled with the buttons on his soft, linen shirt, his eyes carefully averted from her enticing body, utterly desirable despite her pregnancy.

  “Whatever for? Everyone will soon be aware that we have separated.”

  “Perhaps not,” Philippe said mysteriously.

  Fully dressed Philippe finally found the courage to face Gabby. He ached to make love to her again, to purge her mind and body of Duvall by sheer force of strength. Then his eyes fell upon the curve of her stomach and his mouth hardened. By all that was right and holy the child she carried should be his, not Duvall’s! With a will of its own his hand crept out to caress the smooth roundness. Gabby flinched but made no move to stop him, waiting for him to say something, anything. With a curse, Philippe flung himself away and out the door into the dark, lonely night.

  Philippe was waiting for Gabby the next morning when she emerged from her cabin, mauve shadows marring the pale skin beneath her eyes. With cool detachment that belied his true feelings he offered her his arm and together they descended the gangplank.

  Gabby was immediately caught up with the sights and sounds of the island. Her eyes and ears were so filled with the teeming life and colorful people happily going about their business that she was unaware Philippe had hired a carriage until she found herself being handed inside.

  “Where are we going, Philippe?” she questioned. “I thought you said…”

  “Relax, Gabby, you will see your precious Marcel soon enough. But first we are going to visit Dr. Renaud. I can only remain in St. Pierre a few days before I must see my plantation.”

  Dr. Renaud finished his examination and sat down to talk with Philippe while Gabby dressed.

  “How is my wife, doctor?” asked Philippe with grave concern. “To my eyes she appears frail in comparison with her previous pregnancy.”

  “I cannot understand it, Monsieur St. Cyr,” began the doctor, shaking his shaggy head of graying hair. “I can find nothing physically wrong with your wife, yet… you are correct in your thinking. There seems to be something intangible undermining her health. We must watch her closely if she is to be delivered safely.”

  “It’s just as I feared,” muttered Philippe darkly. “Doctor, there are complications to my wife’s pregnancy that you are unaware of.” He paused, considering how much of the truth he should reveal to the good doctor. “What I am about to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence.”

  “I am not in the habit of discussing my patients with anyone,” bristled Dr. Renaud huffily.

  “I do not mean to question your integrity,” assured Philippe hastily. “Let me explain. While the Windward was docked in Norfolk, my wife took it upon herself to go ashore alone after I forbade her to do so. She became lost and was accosted by a common seaman and nearly raped. To further complicate matters she was rescued by a procurer for a house of prostitution and given a sleeping potion to render her senseless and then a double dose of a powerful stimulant in an effort to force her to their will.”

  “Sacre dieu!” cursed the doctor, his eyes saucers of anger and disgust.

  “Luckily,” lied Philippe smoothly, “I found her before any harm was done to her and brought her back to the ship.”

  “The poor child! What a shock to her system, especially in her delicate condition,” agonized the good doctor, immediately searching his mind for the names of aphrodisiacs she could have been given.

  “Doctor,” said Philippe, lowering his voice, “my wife does not remember any of her ordeal and I would prefer to keep it that way. If she had blocked the episode from her mind I see no reason to enlighten her.”

  “Wise, very wise,” agreed Dr. Renaud, nodding his head sagely. Privately, he felt much was left unsaid, that something horrible had happened to Madame St. Cyr in Norfolk.

  “My main concern is Gabby’s health and the welfare of the child. Is it possible the babe could have been harmed by the drugs my wife was forced to ingest?”

  “Mon ami,” stated the doctor. “I do not know what drugs your wife was given; there are dozens capable of producing the results you described. We all know of their initial effect but what damage, if any, they have on an unborn fetus is anybody’s guess. We can only wait, watch, and pray. Of course, in light of what you have just disclosed, I shall insist that your wife remain in St. Pierre under my care. Bellefontaine is too remote.”

  “My thinking exactly, doctor,” agreed Philippe with alacrity. “But unfortunately I cannot remain in St. Pierre. It’s imperative I return to my responsibilities at Bellefontaine.”

  “Under the circumstances I do not think it advisable for Madame St. Cyr to remain at your townhouse alone except for servants.”

  “I assumed as much, Doctor,” nodded Philippe. “With this in mind I have arranged for my… friend… Marcel Duvall, to look after Gabby. He lives in St. Pierre most of the time, leaving the running of Le Chateau to his excellent overseer. She will reside in his townhouse, under his care, until the child is born.” Philippe could not help but notice the doctor’s startled look.

  “Er… rather unusual, isn’t it, Monsieur St. Cyr? There is bound to be much gossip about such an… er… arrangement.”

  “But I am certain you will not allow such talk to take root, Doctor,” Philippe continued, his eyes narrow shards of ice. “My wife remains in St. Pierre at your insistence and her living arrangements meet with my complete approval. Armed with this knowledge you should have little difficulty quelling malicious gossipers bent on destroying her reputation.”

  “You can rest assured, mon ami,” asserted the doctor, stiffening his bent shoulders, “that not one damaging word shall be spoken against your lovely wife in my presence. She has been through too much to be hurt by idle talk. And I am sure that Duvall will not be remiss in his duty toward the wife of a friend such as yourself.”

  Philippe breathed a sigh of relief. He had eased the compromising situation Gabby was about to enter upon in the only way he knew how. He felt he owed her that much. Dr. Renaud would see to her health as well as guard her reputation, at least until the child was born. Suddenly, a thought entered his mind. He had failed to ask the most important question of all.

  “When will the child be born, Doctor?”

  “These things are hard to predict exactly, but according to my calculations you should be a father by the end of August or first part of September.”

  Swiftly counting in his head Philippe reckoned that the child could be his only if born after the first of September. Any date before that would definitely prove that Marcel had sired the babe just as he suspected.

  Just then Gabby entered the room. “Well, Doctor,” she asked, her smooth face showing signs of strain and fatigue, “am I healthy enough to please you?”

  “I can find nothing wrong with you, Madame St. Cyr, that plenty of nourishing food and the mild clim
ate of Martinique won’t cure,” answered the doctor with bluff hardiness.

  “I somehow sense, Doctor,” Gabby admitted softly, her eyes carefully averted from Philippe, “that this pregnancy isn’t going as it should.” Philippe could not help but wince at the accusing tone of her voice.

  “Nonsense, ma chere. It is true that you are far too thin but the baby appears to be prospering. But for safety’s sake I think it best that you remain in St. Pierre where I can keep close watch over you, and your husband has agreed.”

  Gabby slanted Philippe a blank look and opened her mouth to speak but Philippe allowed her no time to form her question. Immediately he rose, thanked the doctor, grasped Gabby’s arm possessively, and led her from the doctor’s office.

  “Did you tell the doctor?” Gabby asked the moment they were outside.

  “Tell him what, ma chere?”

  “About our separation! He’s bound to learn sooner or later.”

  “Not exactly,” admitted Philippe somewhat guiltily. “What I told him was that I was unable to remain in St. Pierre with you because of pressing duties at Bellefontaine, and that my good friend Marcel Duvall would take you into his home and look after you until the child is born.”

  Gabby was utterly flabbergasted by Philippe’s words. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “To protect you from slander,” he said coldly. “I care what others say about you even if you do not!”

  Gabby searched his face, but his features were carved from marble, his eyes unfathomable. Finally, his meaning became clear. “You mean only to protect yourself! It is your name you don’t want maligned!”

  “If that is what you believe…” he intoned dryly as he handed her into their rented carriage.

  After seeing that Gabby was settled inside, Philippe shut the door and put his head inside the window. “I will not go with you to Duvall’s house so we will make our adieus now. If you have need of me I will be at my townhouse for two more days. I’ve arranged for your trunks to be delivered to you. If there is anything you need from the plantation I will see that it reaches you. Perhaps you would like the baby clothes you made for our child?”

  Gabby blanched, her pale face turning dead white. “I will let you know,” she stammered, confused by Philippe’s apparent lack of concern. “ Adieu, Philippe,” she whispered sadly, wistfully. “May le bon dieu deep you safe.”

  At her parting words Phillippe’s face softened, gray eyes misty. Against his will his long arms reached for her inside the carriage, drawing her forward until he could reach her lips, covering them, gently, longingly, lovingly. His tongue tasting, savoring, as the kiss deepened, held, then released.

  “Au revoir, ma chere.” Then he was gone, leaving Gabby stunned by the raw emotion evident in his parting kiss.

  “ Adieu, Philippe,” she whispered into the emptiness of the coach, her heart strangely heavy with a grief she wished she did not feel.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gabby hesitated before Marcel’s front door, her hand poised on the knocker, her mind in a turmoil. She realized that once she entered Marcel’s house all hope of reconciling with Philippe was lost forever. But then, hadn’t he already refused to claim his own babe? No, thought Gabby, resolutely firming her chin, Philippe did not deserve the son or daughter she would bear him. Her decision made, she grasped the knocker firmly, preparing to make her presence known. But before she could raise the heavy, brass object, a voice from behind startled her.

  “Gabby, cherie! Is it really you? I have been out of my mind with worry since St. Cyr spirited you out of New Orleans!”

  Gabby turned just as Marcel bounded through the front gate, a look of pure joy lighting his handsome features.

  “Marcel!” sobbed Gabby, suddenly aware of how glad she was to see him.

  “Where have you been, cherie?” Marcel asked, searching her pale face. What he saw made him gasp in shock and outrage as he drew Gabby into the protective circle of his arms. “What has he done to you, Gabby? Mon dieu, look at you, you are ill! If he has harmed you in any way I shall kill him!” Marcel announced with cold fury. The dark smudges beneath Gabby’s eyes accentuated their violet hue and brought into focus her pale features. Her skin had the transparency of fine porcelain. All this Marcel noted with growing alarm.

  Suddenly it all became too much for Gabby as Marcel’s face faded into the distance and she felt herself begin a slow descent to the ground. Then she knew no more.

  Marcel, his face a mask of concern and love, had his arms around Gabby even as she began to crumple and lifted her weightless form, making his way into the house where he placed her gently on the sofa at the same time calling to his housekeeper to bring cool water and clean clothes. Then he began to unbutton Gabby’s tight dress, starting at the high neckline and continuing to her waist where his fingers paused, noticing for the first time her thickened waistline and gently swelling stomach. He grit his teeth in barely suppressed anger but continued with his ministrations when his housekeeper, Tildy, arrived with the water and cloths.

  Dismissing Tildy, Marcel tenderly bathed Gabby’s flushed face and neck until her eyes began to flutter. “Gabby, cherie,” he crooned softly, “what has he done to you?”

  Gabby’s eyes blinked upon and she was momentarily stunned to find Marcel bending over her. She tried to answer but Marcel put a finger to her lips.

  “Don’t speak until your strength returns, ma chere. I shall send immediately for the doctor.”

  “No, Marcel!” Gabby replied, straining to rise. “I have just come from Dr. Renaud’s office!”

  “You have already seen a doctor?”

  “ Oui, Phillipe insisted on accompanying me there the moment we docked. Because… because of my… condition,” Gabby stammered shyly. The pink staining her cheeks was the first sign of any color Marcel had seen on her pale face since he had found her standing on his doorstep.

  “Philippe knows you are to bear his child?” Marcel was astounded. Why was Gabby here? Surely St. Cyr would not let her out of his sight now that she was carrying his heir, he reasoned.

  “Philippe is well aware that I am pregnant,” Gabby whispered in a voice so low Marcel had to bend to hear. “Only… only… Oh, Marcel,” Gabby sobbed, clutching at his shirt and hiding her head against his shoulder. “He refuses to believe the child is his!”

  “ Mon dieu, what a jackass! Who does he suppose the father to be?”

  Gabby lifted her misty eyes and Marcel was shocked and angered at the pain and suffering mirrored in those violet depths. Even without being told he knew the answer. Gabby’s words only confirmed it.

  “He believes that we were lovers and that you sired the child before I left Martinique aboard the Southern Star.”

  “If that were true I would be the happiest man alive, cherie,” Marcel said tenderly. And he was never more serious in his life. He would cherish a child by Gabby conceived from his own loins. Suddenly his jaw hardened, his fists clenched and his eyes became cold green emeralds.

  “What did that fool do to you after he decided that child you carry was not his? Did he beat you? Starve you? From the looks of you it is obvious that you have been abused. Did he force you? Tell me, Gabby, tell me everything,” insisted Marcel through clenched teeth. “The sooner I know the truth the sooner I can call him out and kill him. Once I make you a widow we will be wed.”

  “Marcel, please listen,” begged Gabby. For some unexplained reason she did not want Philippe dead. “As soon as I learned I was with child I told Philippe, thinking he would be pleased. His reaction stunned me. He refused to believe I had remained faithful to him.”

  “The damn fool!” cursed Marcel bitterly. “Is that when he began abusing you?”

  Gabby thought back to Norfolk and shuddered. “Just the opposite,” she admitted slowly, still puzzling over Philippe’s strange behavior after he found her at Daisy Wilson’s. “Before that I was little more than his prisoner aboard the Windward. Philippe took away my clothes and fo
rced me to submit to him. I think he was determined to either bend me to his will, or… or kill me.”

  “Now I know I cannot allow him to live!” snarled Marcel. “What suffering you must have endured! But you said he changed after Norfolk. In what way?”

  “ Oui, he did change. But not before I tried once again to run away. There was no way I could remain with him and allow his own child to be treated as a bastard. So I left the ship while Philippe was ashore. Only… only…”

  “What is it, cherie?” Then seeing Gabby’s distressed face, Marcel was prompted to add, “Tell me only if you wish.”

  “Everything that happened in Norfolk is still fuzzy, distorted in my mind. I would rather not speak of it now.”

  “Of course, cherie, I will not press you.”

  Reassured by Marcel’s gentle understanding, Gabby continued. “Needless to say Philippe found me and brought me back to the ship. For some unexplained reason I was ill and have not fully recovered.”

  “Are you certain St. Cyr did nothing to harm you? He did not neglect you while you lay ill?” asked Marcel sharply, the picture of Gabby sick and helpless before Philippe’s anger vivid in his mind.

  “No!” denied Gabby, recalling the bruises inflicted upon her defenseless body while she lay unconscious, but loath to reveal to Marcel the full extent of Philippe’s cruelty. “Philippe was gentle and caring during my illness.”

  “Ha! I find that hard to believe!” sneered Marcel.

  “It’s true, Marcel, although I found it difficult to believe myself at that time. That’s when he told me he would not stand in my way if I still wished to leave him.”

  “Philippe said that?” Marcel’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Did he indicate that he might divorce you?”

  “No! He made it clear that he would never consent to a divorce, that if I chose to… to live with you, it would be without benefit of divorce.”