by Susan Ward
With Varian gone, not one gave Merry notice, not even the dreadful blond whose interest had betrayed she had once been a mistress of Varian’s. Regina had favored her with the same look. It was no longer a look she was unknowing to read.
The hostess, Jean’s current mistress, stood back and watched Merry for a spell. Giselle was young, with dark hair and eyes, and a figure that was fashionably plump. She was from one of the finest French families in New Orleans and she recognized the stamp of good birth on Morgan’s latest light-of-love. With a sigh, she sympathized with how the girl must feel in this setting, sensing this frail flower had only recently stepped onto the unlucky path which her own unfortunate love for Jean had made her captive of.
Giselle knew too well what lay ahead for the petite beauty who now graced Morgan’s bed. For a woman, it was not a kind existence outside the protection of family and society. There was still a fresh look of youth and innocence to Morgan’s mistress. She would not remain long in this unspoiled state. A mistress’s lot, regardless of her birth, was always the same.
Her gaze shifted to Cerynis. Men tire. Women cunningly survive. Among the women of Barataria, there was none more cunning than Cerynis. At one time she had been Jean’s and then Morgan’s mistress, but that was many men ago, and with her bloom fading and the passing of time, the harshness of her fate was a little more etched onto her pretty features. There was a little less pleasure, each day, in looking upon her face.
She noticed the girl’s interest in Cerynis. So, la petite fleur, as young as she is can read the room quickly. She is smarter than I and perhaps it will protect her in this. Reminded of Morgan’s harsh warning, that it would be her head if any misfortune befell the girl, Giselle stepped out of her careful watching place to Merry’s side.
“They are dreadful creatures, are they not?” she whispered to Merry, kissing her cheeks. “So you are Morgan’s new rosebud. It is no longer a mystery why he refused Jean’s gift of a woman while here. You are very beautiful. He will not tire of you quickly. Do not fret, ma petite fleur. He will not tire of you. I am very wise in these things.”
Merry stood transfixed. She had no idea what to say to that. The woman introduced herself, then took her to the long buffet, lifting a plate to set it in Merry’s hands.
Gesturing with her fork, Giselle advised, “Trust no one here, ma petite fleur. They are all whores, cunning and mean. I am Jean’s mistress. That makes me the queen bee and they smile and flatter me to my face so prettily, but there is not a one when my back is turned who will not try to take him from me. It will be no different for you. Jean and Morgan, they are unlike the other men, and coveted prizes.”
The other men had been crude and vile, though Merry was not as generous in her assessment of Jean as Giselle was.
Filling her plate with cheese and fresh fruit, Merry asked, “What is the Captain’s council?”
“Ah, it is nothing but men drinking and spouting of their exploits at sea. It is supposed to be the council that keeps order among the pirates, where they can air grievances, settle petty squabbles and share information of the countries at war at sea.”
“Tell her the truth, Giselle. It is but an orgy,” a sultry voice exclaimed behind her.
Merry turned to find the flaxen haired beauty standing close and smiling.
The cloying blond went on, her voice taunting now, “There are women with them now and they will trade their women here.” Her skirts swished about her hips as she moved toward the table. Her smile was cleverly sweet. Lifting a strawberry and pulling it through her lips, Cerynis added, “Pirates, my little friend, share everything. We are all excited and afraid, wondering the same thing. Whose bed will we warm this night.”
Giselle’s eyes flashed at the Cerynis. “Bah. No captain will trade for you. You know exactly where you will sleep.”
The other women laughed and Cerynis flushed. She tossed her hair and fixed her eyes on Merry. “We will see. It will take a great deal of experience to keep Morgan satisfied,” she purred. “He is a most demanding lover. I know that well. We will all soon learn if you are traded this night.”
Feeling her temper soar, Merry countered with false civility, “You must not know well how to keep a man satisfied, otherwise there would not be me.”
The two women stared at each other. Giselle watched in fast rising interest. The girl’s eyes were wide and blue and innocent. But the girl was a fighter. The girl was smart. Then Giselle noted with dismay that the little flower was in love with Morgan. It showed on her face.
La petite fleur does not need my protection, Giselle thought, but noted Merry’s stunning blue eyes betrayed too much for her own safety. The only protection the girl needed was from herself. Not even Cerynis would be able to get the better of this girl.
“Come, Merry, we will walk. The air has grown quite stale in here,” said Giselle, setting aside her place and looping her arm through Merry’s.
They joined the other women strolling the room. They were both quiet, lost in their thoughts.
Merry was wondering if what Cerynis said was true, and if Varian was at this moment indulging his pleasures with another woman. The fear he would trade her was not one she worried, but he was forced into many acts, so unlike the man she loved, prompted by his many guises. She wondered how far necessity would drive him in the Captain’s council. Jealous nipped at her stomach, and a chiding voice she could not silence reminded her she had no one to blame but herself if Varian was with another woman. She had refused his attentions for nearly a month now.
Giselle was wondering if she should warn the girl it was not wise to show her feelings here. It was a room of piranha they strolled in. It was a dangerous world on Barataria. Protection required caution.
After much thought, Giselle said, “I will help you as much as I can during your stay. But you must be more cautious with your thoughts and words and not snap at every bait. The women sitting on the floor. Do not ever acknowledge them. They are on the bottom step soon to fall to the streets as common strumpets. And do not ever, not even once, indulge of the pipe they share. It is opium to block out the misery of their fate. There are many who can smoke then leave the pipe in the tray. Others take one taste and become its slave.”
They settled at a card table. “It is cards I play in these gatherings. It is cards you should play, as well. It is a good way to keep your thoughts and words to yourself.”
Giselle smiled and began to deal. With agitated fingers, Merry jerked her cards into order. They played in silence. At nearly midnight, Merry made a fast passing glance of the room. Most of the women were gone.
Seeing her distress, Giselle said softly, “Continue to play. Do not worry. Jean’s man will not come for you or me.”
Understanding came to Merry, when a man appeared in the door and an older redhead left the room. Cerynis had not lied, the other captains were trading them, and that’s why the women were, one by one, exiting. Hot color suffused Merry’s cheeks and she fixed her eyes on her cards.
In the dignified halls of London society, the vile antics of the French had been something gossiped about in only vaguely worded whispers, caught by Merry in passing. But this she had never anticipated. To be within such a gathering, to watch their depravity and hopelessness. She remembered Emily’s warning that it was better for a woman to know as little as possible what men did in their private amusements. Those had been wise words indeed.
Merry looked up from her cards. She could not imagine a day when she would ever welcome the touch of another man, his scent, his passion, or ever hunger in her heart as she did for Varian. To love Varian and suffer the attentions of another man would be the grimmest of fate. Her gaze shifted to Cerynis.
“Do not concern yourself with Cerynis,” Giselle whispered. “She was long ago. A brief dalliance. I do not think Morgan would have even trifled with her if she had not been a gift from Jean and she were not so expert with those cunning lips.”
Merry tossed down a card.
“I cannot imagine any man being entertained by anything she has to say,” she hissed haughtily.
Giselle’s eyes widened in amusement. She laughed. “You are so droll, ma petite fleur. Words were not the skill of which I speak.” Merry’s confusion over that made her only laugh harder. “Come. Come. It is quite late. Would you like me to show you to the Captain’s room? I think you have had enough of this company for one day.”
Merry rose. She could feel the women watching as she left them.
Once Merry was out of view, Suzette leaned into Cerynis and said, “That was very bad of you. You are not wise to tempt Morgan’s temper.”
Cerynis flipped her hair, but her pouting red lips were tense. “I do not care what Morgan thinks and I do not care for the English whore.”
Suzette laughed rudely. “Bah. You care too much, Cerynis. So much you make a fool of yourself. Did you consider one of the others may tell Jacque of this?”
Cerynis put a chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth, the gesture suggestive, slow, and erotic. “I can handle Jacque. And Morgan will tire of her. You will see.”
Suzette shrugged. “All men tire, Cerynis. But I do not think he will come to you a second time.”
“I do not care if he doesn’t. I am with Jacque now.”
“For now.” Suzette said with a smile. “Morgan will not come back to you. You would do better to put your energies into the bed you will land in after Jacque trades you.”
~~~
Varian retired to his dressing room to quietly shed his clothes, as not to disturb Merry when he joined her. It was very late. Jean’s party had dragged on endlessly, he had wanted to leave the moment it began, but stayed until the wee hours of the morning, not wanting to stir further speculation. Jean had noted a change in him and was rabidly curious in his probing. Curious and dangerous.
Their friendship, if one could call it that, depended upon a certain air of secrecy between them, an understood lack of trust, and a caution that permitted neither man to ever fully put down their guard. Whatever each man was, deep down inside in the private vault of their being, they were surrounded by pirates, thieves, and rogues. Survival depended on never revealing themselves fully to anyone, never betraying a weakness, never abandoning caution, or showing such vulnerability as love for a woman.
In many ways, Barataria was not so different from his childhood. His early life forced the necessity for Varian to become an expert at the deception of the private and public persona. He wondered where Jean had mastered the art. He wondered if the Frenchman’s gentlemanly airs were the true man, or was his true self the rutting boar he had just left greedy in the whorish pursuits so commonly found in the French, or were they all a manipulation. Even after many years, Varian didn’t know. Jean Lafitte was one of the few men he could not read with certainty.
Expecting to find Merry asleep, Varian entered the bedchamber and halted at the threshold. She was sitting at the dressing table, gown pulled back to reveal her long, bare legs, and her feet were propped on a small stool. The cluster of candles surrounding her bathed her in a warm glow.
She was slowly rubbing a lotion into the creamy surface of her flesh and, while the vision she made looked peaceful, he could tell by the motion of her hands and her posture that she was not. Intending to make some casual remark to her, he caught her reflection in the mirror and the words never left his mouth. Instead, he put one hand on the bedpost, as a flicker of distress seemed to pass across her face, and he decided to wait for her to see him.
Several minutes passed, before her eyes lifted, gazing into the mirror to meet his. The bluebell stare betrayed no surprise to find him watching her, he had been aware the moment she had noted his presence, and her delay in meeting his gaze had been deliberate. Her smile could only be termed resigned, an expression of almost silent surrender, and he felt a painful, swift stab of remorse for forcing her to see the less pleasant fate of her defiance of him by bringing her ashore on Barataria.
He understood the smile at once. Battle done. But what it had taken to end it had taken a toll on her.
She studied him for a long time. She said nothing. He came to her then, standing behind her, holding her gaze. His hands slowly lifted, came to the delicate slope of her shoulders, and it was then he felt the rock hard tension inside her.
“What troubles you, Merry?”
She did not ease into his touch. She sat purposely still, staring back at his reflections. “You are the first man I have ever loved. I don’t know how to protect myself with you.”
Softly, he said, “I am the only man you will ever love. You don’t need to protect yourself with me. I will never permit anything ever to harm you, Merry.”
She caught a breath as he spoke. Her eyes went wide with startlingly bright color and apprehension, and he realized he didn’t know where this was going, which was strange since he was never unable to read her.
“I want your word on two things, Varian. I will not return to your bed without your word.”
He answered her with silence, his long fingers clasping her forgotten glass of wine on the table and slowly he took a hearty swallow. His face revealed none of the nuisance of his feelings as he waited for her to continue. Their eyes met through the chill of the mirror again.
Taking in an unsteady breath, she said on a voice that was mostly air, “Don’t ever lie to me, Varian. I don’t know if I will forgive everything you may do, but I do know I will never forgive you for lying to me.”
His black eyes had taken on an intent drowsy look. She had surprised him. Her pulse skipped a pair of beats as his fingers traced upward, stroking the taut muscles of her throat. The heat of his body encircled her from behind, his flat hips pressing into her back as his body lowered with his knee setting on the cushioned seat beside her. He glided her until she was cradled against his thigh.
“I have never lied to you,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. The brush of his breath against her cheek, she could feel in the lower part of her body. “I will never lie to you, Merry. If this is about tonight…”
Her eyes, half-closed, flew wide. Her expression betrayed that someone had explained what Jean's parties were about. It had clearly distressed her, though he couldn’t decide how it played into this or where this was going.
“I will never lie to you, Merry. I will always be faithful to you. I was faithful to you tonight.”
She heard a softly pleading sound escape her throat, as his experienced fingers slipped down her bodice to delicately play on the soft underside of her breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples. It was hard to keep her thoughts focused. She missed him so much and she could feel his own passion a heated coil within him. Easing into his touch, she ran her teeth across her lower lip, trying to steady her wayward mind to finish this.
“I want your word that if I should decide I need to go home, you will not stop me. You will let me go.” Her eyes lifted in the glass and met his squarely. “I want it understood. It will always be my wish if I stay with you or if I leave.”
His body became suddenly still. Varian felt his heart stop in his chest. “Are you planning to leave soon, Little One?”
“I’m not planning to leave at all.”
None of his thoughts showed on his features. And so to Merry, his eyes seemed only alarmingly probing and without emotion.
“Then why would you ask that from me?” he remarked benignly.
“I ask only for the same freedom you have.”
“It has always been your choice, Merry,” Varian said, holding her face in his warm fingers. “You don’t need my word for that. Your choice, Merry. My word changes nothing, but you have it.”
Varian’s lips found the warm flesh of her neck. His fingers eased open the buttons of her dressing gown, and she lay plaint in his touch as he drew the fabric apart over her shoulders. He smoothed it down the trembling flesh of her arms until it floated down around her hips like a frothy white cloud. She wore nothing underneath and the vision of h
er in the glass, touched only by candlelight, was exquisite. He could feel the pent-up desire in her, a pulsing rhythm beneath her flesh. The eager urges of her body told him Merry had decided, before it had started, how this night would end.
By the time he lifted his face, his black eyes were burning embers. She met his gaze in the mirror and felt a current race through her body. He lifted her from the stool. Merry had never wanted him more than she did at this moment. She held him fiercely against her trembling flesh, and once he entered her, nothing in the world held any importance. There was no worry, there was no fear, there was only Varian.
~~~
The next morning Merry woke in the wrap of Varian’s limbs, his hold such as though he could not bear to part with her. She felt lazy and content even as the touch of his kisses against the base of her neck stirred her senses. The long hours of dreamless sleep had left her body still in possession of the pleasant feeling of being spent.
Their first coupling had been passionate and fierce, as their bodies and mouths and hands had expressed frustrated hunger, desire, and need. The second rekindling had been quieter, less frantic and more tender. It was in that quiet Merry fell asleep, feeling at peace for the first time in many weeks.
Varian lay with her until she dozed off again, and then he got up and began to dress. Fastening his shirt, he looked down at Merry. Her glorious hair was a wild cloud on the pillow and she had made no effort to hide her nakedness. That she didn’t betrayed the level of her exhaustion since she was shy about her body, but her sweet persistent modesty was endearing to him.
She looked very tempting lying there. But he shook his head. It would serve neither of them well to let his thoughts deter him from his plans this day.
