She was becoming alarmed by the power he had over her. One look from those flashing eyes, one touch from those long, lean fingers and she fell beneath his spell. She opened her lips and invited his kiss; she opened her body and invited his. Her mind, her soul, her very being belonged to him and there was danger in this—she knew that, but she could not resist.
Suddenly it occurred to Dominique that she had become the kind of woman she pretended to be—a woman of loose morals. And oh, she welcomed his lips on her, his hand in hers, his body merging with hers. He had become so much a part of her that, even when she was not with him, he was always in her thoughts.
In a sudden panic, she pushed him away and rolled from the bed.
"Dominique, what are you doing?" Judah asked in frustration.
She straightened her clothing and hurried to the door, fearing that he would follow her. She needed to be alone to think. "Leave me alone! Do not touch me!"
She threw the door open and fled. She slipped past the man at the helm and found seclusion behind the bulkhead. The moon was a crescent and gave off but little light, so the night sky was as soft as black velvet with thousands of stars reflected in an equally black sea.
She felt a slight salt-tinged breeze touch her lips, and her eyes became misty as she cowered in the darkness. She sensed rather than heard Judah behind her. His hands gripped her shoulders and he turned her to face him.
"Why did you run away from me?" he asked gently.
How desperately she wanted to press her face to his rough cheek, to feel his arms about her, holding her so the world could not come between them.
"You have not answered me," he said.
Reluctantly, she raised her head and looked into blue eyes that were softened by longing, and in that instant she was aware that he desired her as much as she desired him.
Judah's arms closed around her and he held her to his heart. "Can you imagine what it is like to love a woman to the distraction of all else, Dominique?" The confession was torn from his lips, taking him by surprise.
She misunderstood him. "You . . . speak of your wife," she observed sadly.
"No, Dominique. I spoke of you."
She shook her head in denial. His confession should have made her happy, but instead she was struck with such a pain that she cried out in protest. "Do not love me, Judah."
Judah watched the different emotions play across Dominique's face, not understanding her reaction. "Perhaps I should not have spoken of love so soon."
She pressed her face to his chest. "Put all tender feelings for me aside."
"Dominique," he said with understanding, "I know you have secrets that you cannot share with me. Perhaps someday you will realize that you can trust me, and even accept the love I offer you."
With his index finger, he lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. "You know that we belong together and I will never let you go."
If only they could sail to some deserted island and never allow the world to intrude upon their lives, but Dominique knew that could never be. Their destinies lay in different directions.
As much as she wanted to be with Judah, she could never take her happiness at the expense of Valcour and her grandfather. Why had she been chosen to betray the only man she would ever love?
Her fingers trembled as she touched his face, knowing that hers could well be the hand of his destruction. The time would soon come when he would despise her as much as he thought he loved her tonight.
"No matter what may happen in the future, Judah, I implore you to always remember that I love you," she admitted softly.
"Then I have won the prize," he said, laughing and hugging her to him. "But I will not have to remember because you will always be at my side to remind me. We were meant to be together, Dominique."
She could only stare at him in wonder.
"I would like you to be my wife."
"You would want me to have your ... children?"
"I must be honest with you, Dominique, I do not know how I feel about children. To say I court the notion of fathering a child would not be truthful. Some day I will tell you why, but not now."
She already knew why—because he had lost a baby when his wife had died. A sob caught in her throat and she turned away. "Do not say any more at this time, Judah." She squeezed her eyes together tightly, hoping he would not discover that she was crying again. "Give me time to think."
He placed a kiss at the nape of her neck. "I am asking you to be my wife, and I will give you all the time you need," he said, feeling certain that she would accept his proposal. The minute she agreed to marry him, he would tell her the truth about himself and insist that she be honest about her life as well.
* * *
Judah steered the Tempest into the waters of the hidden cove that he had used on his other visits to Tobago. The ship would lie off the island until the crew that had delivered the Josephine to Charleston rejoined them.
It had been three weeks since Judah had asked Dominique to marry him, and she grieved because they could have no future together. Each night he would take her in his arms and make love to her, as he waited patiently for her answer.
Dominique walked slowly to Judah's desk and touched the small wooden chest he kept there. He had only recently started leaving the chest unlocked—it was his way of showing that he trusted her.
Oh, how ill placed that trust had been. Hesitatingly, she raised the lid and reached inside. There was a need for haste because it would soon be dark, and Judah could return at any moment. With a heavy heart, and her eyes filled with tears, she began to read a letter she found there.
Dear Captain Gallant:
I just wanted to take the form of this letter to thank you for your devotion to duty. Your country is proud of your accomplishments, and, as Admiral of the Navy of the United States of America, let me add my praise to that of a grateful nation and to President Jefferson's.
She could read no further, for her eyes were blinded by tears, so she replaced the letter in the chest and turned away.
So Judah was not the pirate he wanted everyone to believe—he was a man of honor serving his country.
Colonel Marceau would give much to get his hands on this information, and Dominique had no doubt that she could use it to gain her family's release. She tried to think with her head and not her heart. She must leave this ship as soon as possible. Tomorrow night would be soon enough. Tonight, she would steal just a little more happiness before her world was shattered.
As if he had sensed her yearning, Judah appeared in the doorway. He smiled and held his arms out to her, and she ran to him.
"I could not keep my mind on my duties," he whispered, running his tongue along the shell-like curve of her ear and causing a shiver of delight to dance on her nerve ends.
With eager hands, she unlaced his shirt and he removed hers.
She was impatient to have him hold her and make love to her, to chase all her demons away, if only for tonight.
Passions ignited, their bodies were aflame. They were soon naked on the bed, and when Judah entered her, Dominique gripped his shoulders, meeting his thrusts with her own upward motions. Passion swept through her like the hurricanes that had so often plundered her island home. Pleasure beyond any she could have imagined rocked her body until she collapsed beneath Judah, crying his name.
The next morning, Dominique walked about the cabin, her mind clear for the first time. After reading Judah's letter and realizing that he was a man of honor, she was certain he would want to help her devise a way to rescue Valcour and her grandfather from Colonel Marceau, their common enemy.
She would confess her real reason for coming aboard the Tempest, and assure Judah that she could never have betrayed him. She smiled happily—she would agree to marry him if he still wanted her.
Hearing a commotion outside, and the sound of scurrying feet, Dominique hurriedly left the cabin and joined the crewmen who were already on deck. She discovered that three boats filled with native men a
nd women selling fresh fruit had come up beside the ship. Apparently the secluded glen was no longer a safe haven for the Tempest, if the natives had discovered them.
One man had a small monkey that was perched on his shoulder, turning flips and entertaining the crew. Dominique laughed as the man whispered something to the little animal and pointed at her. She was amazed when the monkey scampered up the side of the ship and deposited a plump, ripe papaya in her hand.
The smile left her face when she glanced back at the man to find he was not a native at all—he was Colonel Marceau's aide, Corporal Parinaud!
Fear robbed her of the ability to think clearly when he called up to her, trying to imitate the local accent. "Slice the fruit deep, lady, you will find it to your liking."
She did not stay to hear more. Clutching the objectionable object, she rushed to the cabin. With trembling hands, she reached for Judah's sword that hung on a peg on the wall and sliced the fruit.
Her endeavor was met with success, for in a place where the core should have been was a piece of paper.
With dread, she read words that chilled her to the bone.
We are watching for Gallant, just see that he comes ashore and we will do the rest.
So much for her plans to remain with Judah. She must find a way to warn him, then she must leave the ship, so she would not be a danger to him.
She lowered her head into her hands, sobbing. Everyone she loved was in peril because of Colonel Marceau.
With determination, she raised her head, her eyes hard and cold. Now, she must find a way to save not only her grandfather and Valcour, but also Judah.
18
Judah was occupied with Ethan and Cornelius on the lower deck, so Dominique found her chance to escape.
But first she picked up a quill and wrote a letter to Judah. She could not put in all that was in her heart, but she could warn him of the danger he faced.
Judah,
I am honored that you asked me to be your wife and I am sorry I must refuse. But I must warn you not to go into Tobago, for there is danger for you there. I am sorry that I was forced to take your gold piece, as well as four others, after all. I do not believe we shall meet again, but I beg you to leave this island as soon as possible—you have enemies here.
Dominique
She propped the letter against the small chest on his desk, and then, looking about the place where she had known such brief happiness, she silently left the cabin.
As she crept along the shadows of the deck, she was grateful that it was a night without a moon, for it would make it easier to escape without detection.
Dominique made no noise as she slipped over the side of the ship and gripped the anchor, lowering herself into the water.
It was good that she was a strong swimmer because the tide was against her and kept pushing her back toward the ship. It was like an omen, or her heart warning her not to leave the man she loved.
Wet and bedraggled, Dominique made her way down the deserted beach, skirting the town of Scarborough and especially the Blue Dog Tavern, where no doubt Corporal Parinaud would be waiting for her. She would go instead to one of the smaller coastal villages. There she would hire a boat to take her directly to Guadeloupe.
Somehow, she would find a way to defeat Colonel Marceau—she had to.
As she walked along, her thoughts were of Judah. Each step carried her further from him. Judah Gallant had offered her his greatest gift, his heart. He would never know that he was her one and only love.
She had come to realize that Valcour and her grandfather would not want their freedom at the price of Judah's life, and it was a price that she was not willing to pay.
After trudging for over two hours, Dominique became so exhausted that all she wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. But she must reach her destination before anyone realized that she was missing.
It turned out to be more difficult than she had thought to find someone willing to take her to Guadeloupe; everyone was frightened of the French soldiers at the garrison there.
It was almost noon before she finally persuaded an old fisherman to help her. She gave him the five gold pieces and they set sail in his battered old boat, which smelled strongly of fish and did not appear to be seaworthy.
Tired and hungry, she curled up in a damp corner and closed her eyes. At last she was going home.
Before she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was of Judah, and she hoped he would take her warning seriously.
Judah crushed the letter in his fist and closed his eyes. He had thought Dominique loved him, but if she had, she would not have left without saying good-bye.
"What is it?" Ethan asked, noticing Judah's stricken expression.
Judah thrust the letter at his friend and watched as he smoothed it out and read it.
"I have been the worst kind of fool, Ethan. I allowed myself to forget that Dominique was a spy."
He turned away, thinking how cleverly she had played him, then like a thief in the night, she was gone.
Bitterly, he wondered how she intended to spend the reward she would no doubt receive for his capture.
Ethan reread the letter, trying to discern its meaning. "She says that there is danger for you on Tobago. If she did not care for you, she would not have mentioned that. Perhaps we should do as she warns and set sail right away."
"Don't be deceived by her words, Ethan. She is clever, and she knows I will tear the town apart looking for her. There is nowhere she can hide that I will not find her."
Ethan placed the letter on Judah's desk and walked out of the cabin. It would serve no purpose to try to talk him out of going ashore. The best he could do was to accompany Judah and watch out for any trouble that might come.
Under the cover of darkness, Judah and Ethan climbed out of the boat and waded ashore. They had no way of knowing that they were being watched.
"You wait by the boat, Ethan. As always, if I do not return by dawn, leave without me."
"I won't do it this time, Judah. We both know that you are in danger."
"You will do as I say—that's an order."
Judah stepped into the road, making his way toward Scarborough. He had but one aim in mind: nothing would stop him from finding Dominique.
He heard a noise, but he never saw the blunt instrument that struck him from behind. Pain exploded in his head and he fell to the ground.
Ethan heard a commotion and came running to help. He stopped when he saw the gun aimed at him. Then a bullet grazed his head, knocking him to the ground. He lay there dizzily, wishing the world would stop spinning so he could help Judah.
In a haze of pain he heard French voices.
"Fool, you hit him too hard."
"Non, he is merely unconscious. Pick him up and we shall take him to the ship. Colonel Marceau will be glad to see this American, no matter his condition."
"What about his companion?"
"Leave him, he is dead—did I not put the bullet in him myself?"
Ethan tried to call out in protest, but blackness enveloped him.
* * *
Judah regained consciousness to discover that his arms were in shackles and he lay upon a straw-covered floor. From the swaying he felt beneath him, he realized that he was on board a ship.
When he tried to move, he felt dizzy and groaned in agony, falling back against the wall.
He tried to remember what had happened. He had been talking to Ethan. No, he had left Ethan and had gone only a short distance when he had heard a noise. After that, he remembered nothing else.
Slowly, Judah rose to his feet, using the wall to help him. With doubled fists, he pounded against the door, but no one came. There was such silence that he had the feeling he was alone. In anger, he picked up a chair and slammed it several times against the door. The chair splintered into pieces, but the lock held fast.
Not one to give up easily, he went to the porthole, but it was useless to think he could escape by that route.
As far as h
is shackles would allow, he paced the small, dark cabin like a predatory cat, often bumping into objects he could not see in the all-consuming darkness.
He felt the moment the wind filled the sails and the ship got underway. He had no notion of where he was going, but he did know that he was a prisoner of the French, and they had many reasons to want to see him hanged.
There could be only one person who had known of his hidden cove, only one person who could have betrayed him to his enemies.
Dominique Charbonneau! Damn her treachery!
What hurt almost as much as her betrayal was that he had trusted her, had opened his heart to her and asked her to be his wife, even though he suspected what she was.
"Fools deserve what they get," he muttered, feeling so weak that he fell to his knees.
He pulled against the chains at his wrist and gave a strangled cry of impotent rage. All he wanted was to live long enough to get his hands around Dominique's lovely neck. That was the thought that would keep him going, the thought that would dull his pain, the thought that would keep him sane.
Somehow they would meet again, if not in this life, then surely in hell, and he would show her no mercy.
Dominique, looking bedraggled and somewhat like a street urchin, with her rumpled clothing and her uncombed hair, came to the gates of the garrison, speaking decisively to the guard.
"Take me to Colonel Marceau at once."
"Now who would you be, acting like you are some fine lady that the colonel would want to see?" the sentry asked, giving her a shove that sent her sprawling to the ground. "Get off with you, island rubbish!"
She stood up with as much dignity as she could gather, straightened her soiled linen shirt and glared at the soldier. "Inform Colonel Marceau that Mademoiselle Dominique Charbonneau insists on seeing him."
With doubt on his face, he now looked at her closely. "You do not look like her."
"Well, I am. Open the gate and admit me at once, or be prepared to face your colonel's rage."
Siren's Song Page 14
