"Who would not be overwhelmed by your family name, Mademoiselle," he said, his tone of voice sounding less than sincere. "Your grandfather held the title of count until he left France almost fifty years ago. 1 believe he had quarreled with his father and relinquished his birthright to his younger brother. Your father and mother are dead. Your mother was English, and you had an English governess, therefore, you speak both French and English without an accent."
"Your sources are to be congratulated," Dominique replied, feigning a yawn. "But there is much you have left out. What you may not know is that my grandfather's family did not approve of his marriage to my grandmother. She was a commoner, you see. You might also like to know that my grandfather never regretted marrying her, nor did he regret for one day giving up his title and lands in France."
"Just because he relinquished his title would not have saved him from death, had our revolution reached this island. I believe that your family in France did fall prey to Madame Guillotine, so I suppose the title has reverted to your grandfather again."
Dominique felt the pain of his words, knowing that the members of her family who had stayed in France had indeed been beheaded in the revolution. "Again your source is to be commended," she replied, trying not to show her distress.
But he was a man trained to forage out pain and weaknesses in others. He could almost see what she was thinking. He twirled the quill pen in his fingers and smiled. "Now that we have dealt with the amenities, let us speak of why you are here."
Dominique squared her shoulders. "I have come to take my brother home," she said simply.
He began scribbling furiously on a piece of paper and then shoved it at her. "What is your opinion of this, Mademoiselle?"
She shrugged her shoulders and handed the paper back to him. "It looks like an oblong box."
"That is partly accurate. It is one of my inventions. I am quite proficient in the knowledge of ancient methods of torture."
She felt fear grip her, more because of his malevolent smile than anything he said. In that moment she felt her blood chill and she forced the words through her lips. "A questionable pastime, Monsieur. One certainly not to my liking."
He glanced back at the drawing. "It is quite fascinating, really, if you understand the mechanics. May I explain the way it works?"
Dominique was growing alarmed by his half-veiled innuendoes. What was he trying to do? "I have no wish to learn about such a vile manifestation."
His thick lips settled in a line of utter satisfaction. Her poise was slipping, no matter how she tried to conceal it. He could read the fear in her eyes, fear he had caused.
Dominique Charbonneau would soon be willing to do anything he asked of her.
5
"Indulge me in this if you will, Mademoiselle Charbonneau," the colonel said. "I believe you will find it enlightening."
Again he pushed the drawing at her. She did not touch it, but stared at it as he spoke.
"The way this works is quite simple. Imagine, if you will, that this is a room—a very small room. If a man were to be locked in it, he would be so constricted he could neither turn, sit, nor even move his arms. Can you imagine that?"
Dread filled her heart. "Oui. I can imagine what you are saying."
"That is good. Now think, if you will, of the torment some poor wretch would experience if imprisoned within those limited walls."
Dominique felt as if she could not breathe. She stood slowly on shaky legs, her eyes wide with horror. "Is that where you have imprisoned my brother?"
Colonel Marceau was enjoying himself; he licked his lips, his eyes bulging with pleasure.
"How clever you are to guess the truth. But I am cruel to keep you in suspense. Your brother was placed in the box only this morning after you arrived. I forgot to mention to you that if a man remains within my little invention for a span of three days, he will lose his sanity and become a hopeless madman."
Anger ran through Dominique like a fire out of control. "I demand that you release my brother at once, and I demand to see the general."
"I cannot bother the general with little frivolities, and I cannot release your brother just yet," he said in a condescending tone. "One does not show pity to a man who has collaborated with the enemy."
"Do you think my family has no friends who will demand justice?"
Colonel Marceau's eyes gleamed slyly and he ignored her outburst. "If your brother cannot endure the box, I wonder how your grandfather would survive my little room. I have not tested my box on anyone who is already mad."
Dominique was shaking so badly that her voice trembled. "You would not dare."
"Oh, but I would dare. You see, I have already sent for Monsieur Jean Louis Charbonneau. He should be arriving here before sundown."
She shook her head, clamping her lips together, allowing herself time to think. Dropping her gaze, she concentrated on her hands clasped in her lap, willing them not to shake. As last she was able to look at him.
"Why would you do this to my grandfather? He has done nothing wrong."
"He will not suffer if you cooperate, Mademoiselle."
Her face paled and her lashes swept over her eyes as she tried not to cry. She was facing a madman, who would not hesitate to harm her brother or torture her grandfather. She would do anything this man asked of her if it would save her family.
Once more she tried to reason with him. "What proof have you that my brother has aided the British? Valcour is of French descent."
"He is only half French," the colonel reminded her. "The other half is English. I have found many on this cursed island to be of French descent, and yet they still favor our enemies. It suffices to say that your brother will be executed . . . unless you decide to help us. I already told you what your grandfather's fate will be."
He was enjoying his power over this proud beauty. "It is in my hands to say if they live or die."
"You, Monsieur, are a monster!"
His eyes bore into hers and he stood, towering over her. "I have been told this before and it does not offend me. Uninformed people simply do not understand the workings of superior minds."
Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. She wanted to slam her fists against him and scream at him, to accuse him of being a hideous fiend, but she dared not. It was true that Valcour favored the British, and apparently Colonel Marceau was aware of it. She dared not provoke the man further, lest he turn his anger on her family.
"What must I do?" she asked, rising to her feet.
"Obey me."
She took a hasty step away from him, and guessing her fear, he only laughed.
"Have no concern that I will ravish you, Mademoiselle Charbonneau." His eyes ran over her slowly and deliberately, lingering on the swell of her breasts. "Although you are a tempting morsel, I have something much more important in mind for you.
"But there," he said. "You are weary and I believe I should allow you to rest until your grandfather arrives."
Dominique reached out to him beseechingly. "Oh, please do not harm my grandfather! He is so ill—have pity. Do not hurt him!"
Colonel Marceau called out, and the same man who had escorted Dominique to the dungeon appeared at the door. "Make our guest comfortable," the colonel said, dropping his eyes to his papers as if he had dismissed her from his mind.
Dominique said not a word as she was escorted out of his office, but she was greatly relieved when she was led to a small room with a settee and chairs. She dropped down on the settee and waited for the man to leave before she buried her head in her hands and sobbed. She then leaned her head back, closing her eyes, soon to fall into a troubled sleep.
Dominique awoke with someone shaking her shoulder.
"Mademoiselle, will you come with me please?"
She stood up, wide awake, running her hand down her riding habit in a futile attempt to remove the wrinkles. She then followed the man to a wide window that overlooked the inner compound of the fort.
The guard nod
ded at the coach where someone was being helped to the ground. Dominique cried out, beating her hands against the thickness of the window.
"Grandpapa! No—Grandpapa!"
She watched helplessly as he stumbled, then two soldiers supported his weight, leading him out of her sight.
Her body trembled with rage and she fought to bring it under control. "Take me to the colonel," she said at last.
The man nodded, and for a moment she thought she saw sympathy in his eyes, but she did not want pity from any of these men, these minions of Napoleon Bonaparte!
This time when she entered Colonel Marceau's office, he smiled tightly and pointed to a chair.
"Let Valcour and my grandfather go free," she implored.
"I do not think I will do that—not just yet."
"How can you mistreat my grandfather, who is ill and has never done anything to harm anyone?"
"We shall keep him with us until you have done as we asked. And you should remember that war knows few friends, Mademoiselle. Now, are you ready to talk to me about serious matters?"
Dominique's shoulders slumped in defeat. "What do you want of me?"
"I want you to serve France. And remember, as soon as you have done that to my satisfaction, I shall release your brother and grandfather."
She met the colonel's eyes with all the defiance she felt. "How do I know that I can trust you?"
"You do not know this about me," he said coldly, "but I am considered a man of my word and I say to you that if you do what I ask, your family will come to no harm."
She watched as the odious man hooked his thumbs through the waist of his trousers and strutted about like a peacock, nodding his head.
"Will Valcour be released from the box at once, if I agree to help you?" she asked.
"But of course, Mademoiselle. He will be treated according to his privileged rank."
"Will my grandfather be allowed his own doctor?"
"Oui, I am not really the monster you suppose me to be."
Their eyes met and locked. "Just so we understand each other completely, Mademoiselle," the colonel said softly, "I will keep faith with you as long as you are keeping faith with me. If you do not, the last thing your brother and grandfather will see in life will be the inside of my little contraption."
Dominique had no choice but to do as he asked. "Explain what you want of me."
He nodded in satisfaction, a grin spreading over his face. "Very well." He returned to his desk and sat down. "Have you perhaps heard of a man by the name of Judah Gallant?"
"Non. I do not know that person. Why should I?"
"There is no reason you should. He is a black-hearted pirate, who preys on innocent vessels. He is causing me great distress and embarrassment, and severe reprimands from General Richepance. I will not have this American upstart interfering with the plans I have made for my future."
Dominique was trying to understand his ravings. She had come to believe he was half mad.
His face creased in a frown, then he smiled. "Should I be the one to capture Gallant, I would earn the first consul's favor."
"1 do not see what this has to do with me. I care nothing about you or your first consul."
The colonel's eyes moved once more over her face, and he continued as if she had not spoken. "Everyone speaks highly of your beauty, even in France. You could well be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
"I want no compliments from you. Your opinion does not interest me."
Unruffled by her words, he lit a thin cigar, took a long draw, and watched the smoke disappear before he continued. "There are many rumors about this Judah Gallant. Some consider him a hero, while others tremble in fear at the mere mention of his name. I am told that he was once married and that his wife died, so he took to a life of piracy, perhaps to forget her. This I do not know. What does interest me is Judah Gallant's liking for beautiful women."
Dominique had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Why should that concern me?"
"I have been informed that when he is ashore he is surrounded by women, and he spreads his favors lavishly. That was when I decided that I would use a woman to bring him down. I would venture that he has never met anyone with your . .. charms. He will not be able to resist you."
This could not be happening. Her legs felt so weak that she had to sit down and grip the wooden arms of the chair. "Surely you do not want me to—"
"Ah, but I do. You are to ingratiate yourself into the American's life and make yourself indispensable to him. You will be the beautiful instrument of his downfall."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Mademoiselle, that this pirate, this Captain Judah Gallant, will take your brother's place in my little room."
"Tell me more about Captain Gallant," she said, acknowledging defeat. "And where will I find him?"
"The man is a mystery. As I said, he is an American, and he is a pirate. Judah Gallant has the ability to strike without warning and sail away with little or no damage to his own ship. Thus far, he has avoided capture, even though there is a high price on his head." The colonel's eyes radiated hatred. "He is clever, but you must be even more clever."
"How do you know he will like me?"
"To ask a delicate question, I am assuming that you have not yet known a man?"
Dominique's face reddened with humiliation. "You go too far, Monsieur. Much too far!"
Laughter filled the room. "By your response, you have told me what I needed to know. Our captain will like you well enough, and even better when he learns how pure you are."
"I do not like you at all," she said angrily.
"And I do not care," the colonel answered casually. "When one is in my position, he gains enemies because he is forced to do many things that others find distasteful."
"I believe you like what you do all too well." She slammed her clenched fist on his desk, venting her anger. "Otherwise, you would not think up such devilish plots."
He glared at her and opened his mouth to speak, when she interrupted him.
"I will meet with this man," she said. "And I shall attempt to help you, but I will not play the strumpet for you or anyone."
"How you perform is up to you." He picked up a letter and scanned it quickly. "I have information that Judah Gallant will soon be meeting with someone on Tobago, most likely to sell his ill-gotten plunder. You will simply go there and wait until he arrives. But know that you were chosen for a reason other than your beauty."
"And that is?"
"That you can speak English without an accent. When you meet Judah Gallant, you will pretend to be English. How you do this is up to you."
"I will not take an English name," she said rebelliously.
"That too is up to you. All I care about is capturing the man everyone wants to hang."
"Why do you not just take him yourself when he arrives on Tobago?"
"Since the island owes its allegiance to England, we can hardly do that, can we?"
"I suppose not."
"You must see that Gallant's interest in you does not wane until you lure him into my trap. What we are unable to do with fire power, you must do with soft words."
Dominique was trembling with fright; the lives of the two people she loved most depended on her success with Judah Gallant.
"What if I do my best and still I fail?"
Colonel Marceau laughed in amusement. "You shall play Delilah to his Samson. Find his weakness and I will do the rest."
6
A heavy mist hung over the rough sea as the frigate Tempest lowered its anchor in a secluded cove off the island of Tobago.
Judah Gallant stepped out of the longboat, treading water to reach shore. He kept watch while his two companions hid the longboat beneath dense undergrowth. His senses became alert to each noise and he motioned for the others to join him behind the thick tropical vegetation until he could make certain they were unobserved.
The members of his crew who had accompanied him ashore were th
e two men he trusted above all others. Cornelius T. O'Brian had served as his first mate, remaining in the navy when Judah resigned. He had since been made captain of his own ship, but when Judah requested that Cornelius serve with him on the Tempest because he was the best navigator he knew, Cornelius had readily agreed.
The first mate was a great hulk of a man in his forties. His unruly red hair and a pockmarked face gave him a sinister look, but the tranquility reflected in his blue eyes belied that impression. He walked with the long gait of a man accustomed to the rolling deck of a ship.
Judah's other companion, Dr. Ethan Graham, had a lofty air about him that intimidated those who did not know him. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and eyes. He and Judah had been friends since childhood, and when Judah had asked him to join the crew of the Tempest, he had not hesitated.
There had been a strain between the two men after Mary's death, since Ethan had been the doctor in attendance. It had not been so much that Judah blamed his friend, but that Ethan had been reluctant to face Judah.
Since boarding the Tempest, they had resumed their old relationship, and the thought of Ethan masquerading as a pirate still made Judah smile—a more unlikely blackguard had yet to be born.
The remaining crewmembers were a lawless lot, willing freebooters of questionable morality that lent credibility to the mission. Thus far, they had performed well when they had encountered the enemy, although they would just as likely give their allegiance to another if the price suited them.
"Captain," Cornelius said, fingering the dagger at his waist, "I've got a bad feeling about this place. I fought the British too long to trust them now, and they're swarming all over this island."
Judah looked at him grimly. "I cannot say I trust them either, but I do trust William York, and the correspondence I received from him assured me that my liaison would meet me here. We were forced to choose a new rendezvous since Martinique has once more reverted to the French."
Cornelius glanced up at the sky that was darkening with clouds. "Looks like it might rain, sir. What do we do now?"
Judah stood to his full height, his gaze moving out to sea. "If you have navigated correctly, Cornelius, the village of Scarborough should be just ahead. I shall walk in that direction."
Siren's Song Page 4
