She handed it to a servant. "Iron this."
In no time at all, the servant handed the wrinkle-free garment back to her mistress.
Tessa draped the surcoat over Dominique's gown, and a magic transformation took place. It fell in gentle folds across the blue velvet, and it almost seemed as if it had been made for the gown.
"Now, let me see," Tessa said thoughtfully. "You need a veil. I only have dark shawls, and they won't do." She rummaged in her trunk again and came up with a lovely cream-colored lace handkerchief, which she placed on Dominique's dark head, allowing the point to come down the center of her hair in front.
Tessa Fletcher clapped her hands delightedly. "I have done it—you are stunning!"
"Thank you," Dominique said, staring at herself in the mirror. She did look like a bride.
Tessa dismissed the servants with a nod, and when they had gone, she turned to Dominique.
"I haven't much time to speak to you, my dear, but I will talk to you as a mother. Judah Gallant is a fine man from a fine family. After his first wife, Mary, died, we all thought he would never wed again. We are glad that he found you. As to children, I do not know. He was so devastated when Mary lost the child and then died. But surely you know this?"
Dominique swallowed a painful lump. "You do not think he will want children?"
"I only know what he said to my husband, John—but this was right after the funeral, so he may have changed his mind."
Dominique hoped Tessa Fletcher would tell her no more. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and shut out the words she had already heard.
"But there, there, dear, I have upset you, and on your wedding day. Pay no attention to my ramblings." The little woman looked doubtful. "I am sure Judah will want children eventually."
Dominique could only stare at her own vision in the mirror. She asked the question that was haunting her—she had to know. "Did Judah love his first wife so much?"
"It is not my nature to gossip," Tessa said, lowering her voice and leaning closer to Dominique, although there were only the two of them in the room. "After Mary died, he drank heavily, and avoided everyone they had known. It was like he wanted to be in that grave with Mary."
Dominique straightened her shoulders. This was her wedding day, and she would think no more of Judah's dead wife. But as she was led out of the room, and into the formal sitting room, where the ceremony was to take place, she felt that Mary's ghost walked with her.
Captain Fletcher was as tall as his wife was petite. He even towered above Judah. Both men were dressed in formal naval attire. Judah looked decidedly dashing with a gold sash and a saber at his waist.
Dominique approached Judah and looked into his blue eyes, searching for the man Tessa had spoken of— the man who drank too much and wanted to be buried with his wife and baby.
As he smiled at her and took her hand in his, the guests closed in around them.
Dominique hardly heard the words that were spoken, and once had to be prompted by Captain Fletcher to reply.
She was stunned when Judah placed a ring on her finger, and she closed her eyes, hoping it had not been Mary's ring.
Then Captain Fletcher smiled. "You are man and wife."
Judah's eyes were tender as she looked into them. If there was not love between them, there was certainly something strong and compelling. She smiled slightly as his lips brushed hers.
"It's too late to change your mind now, Dominique," he told her. "You belong to me."
There were good wishes all around, kisses on the cheek for Dominique, and hearty congratulations for Judah. At last, Tessa elbowed her way the front of the room.
"Now," she said, taking command. "I have it in mind to arrange a hasty reception,, invite a few friends, nothing very fancy."
Judah glanced down at Dominique, whom he held close to him as if she were a part of his body. "You have been wonderful, Tessa, but 1 am taking my wife back to the Tempest, that is if she has no objections." He looked at Dominique inquiringly. "Perhaps you would prefer a reception here."
"No," she said hurriedly. "I mean—"
"There you have it, Tessa," he said, understanding Dominique's reluctance better than she thought. Tessa meant well, but she did talk a lot, and sometimes without thinking.
"Well, it is not my notion of what's proper," Tessa said, her eyes round with disapproval. "All those men around. It's practically—"
"Tessa," her husband scolded, "that is hardly the way a sea captain's wife should talk." He wrung Judah's hand and raised Dominique's to his lips. "Just go and begin your new life together." He winked at Dominique. "And your husband was right when he told me you were a beauty."
Upstairs, Dominique removed the overskirt and handed it to Tessa, but when she would have removed the handkerchief, the older woman stopped her. "Keep that as a remembrance of this day." She kissed Dominique's cheek. "Be happy, my dear."
Judah steered Dominique out of the house and into the waiting carriage. When they were on their way, he drew Dominique to him, not saying anything, just holding her.
She was the first to break the silence. "Judah, are you happy?"
He flicked a dark curl from her cheek and smiled. "If you had asked me before I met you what happiness was, I could not have told you. Am I happy? Yes, sweet Dominique, I believe I have never known such happiness."
She sighed inwardly, choosing to believe him and not the chattering Mrs. Fletcher.
"Dominique, I am sorry you could not have had a proper wedding."
"I was not disappointed," she assured him, "only ..."
"Yes—only?"
"I wish Valcour could have been there." She looked into his face. "You will find him, won't you Judah?"
"I have already sent a messenger to Washington to bring William York to me. I want to give him the letter and have him begin the search for your brother."
"Thank you." She saw the Tempest riding the waves, and it was like a friend beckoning her home. "What do we do now?"
He arched a brow at her. "Mrs. Gallant, what a scandalous question."
She laughed. "No, I mean what do we do with the rest of our lives?"
"I can only think of tonight." His voice deepened and sent shivers of delight throughout her body. "I will have you in my bed, and by rights, that is where you belong."
His hand moved to her arm, and she wanted to lean her head against his shoulder, but the carriage was too public a place and she dared not.
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a mist descended on them, making it impossible to see more than a few paces ahead. Fear, unbridled and strong, encased Dominique's mind. It seemed the clopping of the horses on the cobblestones was echoing over and over, "Mary's husband, Mary's husband."
32
When Judah and Dominique returned to the ship, they found William York impatiently pacing the deck.
The older man greeted Dominique graciously, but with polite restraint. When he heard of the marriage, his face brightened considerably, and he smiled as he wished them happiness.
"I got your message," William said at last. "Your man said it was extremely important that I come at once."
Judah turned to his new bride with regret in his eyes. "Will you excuse us, Dominique? I have much to discuss with William."
She nodded, and Judah caught her arm. "Wait for me in your cabin. I won't be long."
After she had gone, William stared at Judah. "I had no notion Miss Charbonneau was on board the Tempest. I would have thought after all that's happened, you would have left her on Guadeloupe. And the marriage— that is a surprise."
"There is much you do not know, William. I married Dominique only this morning."
"Was that wise?"
"It is most probably the singularly most important thing I have ever done in my life."
"Then I congratulate you." William still looked doubtful. "Apparently you know more of her doings on Guadeloupe than I do."
"She is everything any man would want in a wife."
"Accompany me," Judah said, "I have something to show you."
When they were seated in Judah's quarters with the door closed, Judah handed William the letter Dominique had given him.
William read it once, then in shock scanned it again.
"Can this be authentic?" he asked in disbelief.
"I assure you it is."
William seemed in a daze. "How did you come by it?"
"My wife," Judah said simply.
An ecstatic smile smoothed the rough planes of William's face. "God, Judah, this is what I've prayed for. Louisiana joined to our great country!"
"What will you do with the letter?" Judah wanted to know.
William rose to a standing position. "I will leave at once, today. The president must see this." He reached out and wrung Judah's hand. "We chose the right man when we selected you for this mission. I never thought much would come of it, but we have six French ships added to our navy and now this." He slapped the letter against his hand. "This is the prize of them all."
"Do not give me credit for the letter, William. If anyone is to be thanked, it is Dominique."
"Yes. Yes, of course—she is a wonder."
"There is something I would ask of you in return for the letter, William."
"Name it—money—to be commissioned as an admiral—what is your desire?"
"Only one thing—two actually. First, I want to resign my commission at once."
This came as no surprise to William. "I understand, and that will be arranged. I'll take it upon myself to give you leave to return to Boston. But you said there were two things you wanted."
"The second will not be so easily accomplished. I need you to locate someone for me."
"Certainly, my boy. Who is it?"
"Dominique's brother. He is believed to be working with the English—probably somehow connected with the English navy. And probably as a French royalist."
William looked troubled, for it was a difficult task indeed. "Judah, if I did that, I would have to call in an old favor from the British admiralty."
"Then do it! The information my wife furnished you in that letter is worth more than any owed favor from the British."
William nodded his head vigorously. "If it is possible, you shall have it. Write down all the information you have on the young man, and I will begin the search when I return to Washington."
Dominique sat upon the bed, her hands demurely folded in her lap, her eyes on the door, waiting for Judah to appear. She knew he and Mr. York would be discussing the letter from Charles Talleyrand and what it would mean to the United States of America. But it was taking a long time.
It had been an emotional day, and after a while, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, falling into an all-consuming sleep.
The cabin was dark as the door opened and Judah entered. The light coming from the doorway fell on Dominique's sleeping form.
Silently, he moved toward her, dipping to his knees and softly pressing a wayward curl behind her ear. She groaned, but did not awaken.
She looked angelic, with the soft light on her face, her small hands clutched before her, almost as if in prayer. Warmth circled Judah's heart as his lips touched her mouth ever so lightly.
She stirred, opened her eyes, and stared at him for a moment. Suddenly, a smile lit her face and she threw her arms about his neck. "I am sorry I fell asleep."
He scooped her up in his arms and held her to him. "I have kept my part of our bargain, Madame," he said, pretending seriousness. "Now you must keep yours."
"What did you do?"
"I brought all the powers that be to search for your brother. If he can be found, my government will do it."
Her arms tightened about his shoulders. "Thank you, Judah."
He nuzzled her neck. "I have a better way you can thank me." He carried her to his quarters, where a lantern burning low was the only light.
She thought he would put her down, but instead, he held her, his lips gliding across her cheek to nestle against the pulse beat at her throat.
She was vaguely aware that the wind had caught the sails of the Tempest and they were moving into open waters, but it did not seem to matter.
Judah turned her, allowing her body to slide down his, and she felt the swell of his need. Trembling, she moved closer to him, pressing her body tighter to his, wanting to feel the unending pleasure he had given her before and would give her again.
"Oh, lady wife," he murmured in her ear, "you do so stir my blood."
His mouth claimed hers, pillaging with a savage passion that made her weak with longing. She knew that he had unhooked her gown, but it made no impression on her mind because his lips were draining her of every thought but him.
Her head was spinning, and she felt herself float down to his bed, with his arm there to cushion her descent. His hot, hard body fit into her curves as if it had been created for just that purpose.
His hands stroked her breasts, then his tongue followed that trail. When she squirmed in his arms, his lips returned to her mouth, his tongue circling, enticing, then plunging deep to draw a moan from her.
Their lovemaking was different this time. He was unhurried, playing her body as a master musician would stroke the strings of a violin to make sweet music.
Just when she thought she could no longer stand the aching want, his hand glided smoothly across her belly, gently nudging her legs apart.
"Judah," she breathed.
"Yes, my love," he whispered against her ear, his voice doing as much as his hands to stir her longing.
"I have never felt this way before."
His hands massaged her, then his finger slid into her silken softness and she groaned, arching her back. "I know, sweetheart."
His lips swept down her throat and across her stomach, and she gasped and pressed her hands against his muscled back.
When he raised his head to look into her eyes, she wanted to cry at the expression she saw reflected there— the softness, the intensity.
When he moved between her legs, she raised up, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, her lips opening temptingly for his mouth.
His body pressed against hers, and she gasped and trembled as he arched into her, the heat of him swelling inside her, driving deeper, then slower, and deeper again.
"Judah!" she cried, clinging to him. "Oh, Judah."
Just when she thought she could not stand it any longer, her body trembled and erupted in blissfulness.
Afterwards, they lay there, their legs entwined, their heartbeats slowly returning to normal.
Judah's arms tightened about her and he held her as if she were his most precious possession.
Her hand slid over his shoulder and down his back as she remembered the night of her brother's birthday celebration, when she had foolishly dreamed of a man who would sweep into her life and whom she would know at once as her one true love. What she felt for Judah was deep, all-consuming love that would last all her life.
She raised up on one elbow and looked into his face. His eyes were closed, and she wondered what he was thinking. She decided to ask him. "What can be on your mind, my husband?"
He opened his eyes, and she thought they looked misty, or was it a trick of the light?
"I was just remembering," he said.
Now she wished she had not asked. He must have been thinking of his wedding night with Mary. "Oh."
"I was remembering the first time I made love to you, Dominique. I was rough with you that night, and I will always regret that."
Bubbling laughter came from her lips. "Oh, Judah, I would have you put that from your mind. I set out to, and did, entrap you. You only believed what I wanted you to."
"I think of all you have been through, the grief, the danger, much of whi
ch I am certain you have not even told me. It makes me want to wrap you in my arms and keep you safe forever."
She sighed deeply and lowered her head to his chest. "Oh, Judah. The world is so immense, our paths only crossed by mere chance. I could easily have missed knowing you."
He raised her face to his. "Such deep thoughts."
She could feel his silent laughter. "What?"
"I was just thinking about the first time I saw you on board the Tempest, and how I wanted to toss you into the sea."
"And I would have fed you to the sharks."
Laughingly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to a tub of water, where he proceeded to step in and sit down so the water encased them. The remainder of the night was spent in glorious discovery.
33
Dominique had come on deck because she wanted to catch her first glimpse of Boston, her new home. It was a dull, gray morning and a light drizzle fell. As they entered Boston Harbor, a raw wind struck, making it bitterly cold.
Judah appeared beside her and gave her the special smile that he reserved for her alone. He pulled her hood more securely about her head. "I would have had you arrive in the spring, when the flowers bloom and the weather is not so foul. I fear you will not like Boston, since you are accustomed to the warm tropics. Do you miss Guadeloupe?""
"I will be homesick for a time," she answered as honestly as she could. "But it will pass."
"Then you will not mind the cold?"
She touched his arm. "I have never experienced the cold—not like this. I find it invigorating. I shall love it here. This is my home now—I am a Bostonian—more than that, I am an American."
Pride swelled in Judah at the thought that she was the greatest prize he had won from his pirating.
In that moment, the anchor came grinding down and a thick fog blanketed land and sea. Dominique strained her eyes, but to her disappointment, she could see very little of her surroundings.
Suddenly, she heard Judah laughing, and she looked at him inquiringly.
"It's those damned boots," he said, pointing to her feet. "The first thing I will do is buy you dozens of pairs of shoes so you will never have to wear those again."
Siren's Song Page 25
