by DeVa Gantt
“A slip, yes!” she pleaded through tightened throat. “But you can’t possibly believe what I said actually occurred today! I swear—”
“Miss Ryan,” he interrupted, “you spent the entire day in John’s company.”
“With the children ever present!”
“And—” he held up a hand to silence her “—did not seem to be avoiding him.”
“I had no choice! He insisted the children were my responsibility—that I must accompany them.”
“Exactly. He used you—with your consent. You even let your hair down for him!” he declared childishly, his lips twisted in rueful triumph. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that bit of incriminating evidence when I met you on the road this afternoon. You needn’t deny it, Charmaine, for I know you would never have said what you said this evening if you didn’t feel comfortable with my brother, very comfortable.”
“That is not true!”
A shriek penetrated the closed doors of the nursery. When no one answered his knock, John went in. Pierre was playing with the kittens in the middle of the floor, but Jeannette was in the far corner of the room, cowering, while Yvette dangled something above her head.
“Keep it away!”
“Yvette!”
The twins turned toward John’s voice, and Yvette rapidly tucked her hand behind her back. “What have you got there, Yvette?” he demanded as he advanced on the girl, his eyes trained on her reddened face.
“It’s only a spider,” she answered, presenting the creature that wriggled lamely against a trapped leg.
“Throw it down!”
With a click of the tongue, Yvette complied.
John looked about the room. “Where is Mademoiselle Ryan?”
“Paul called her away a little while ago,” Jeannette responded.
“To take her to his dungeon, no doubt,” John contemplated aloud.
“Dungeon?” Jeannette queried. “Does he truly have a dungeon?”
“No, not literally, Jeannie. But when Paul gets his dander up, being cornered by him is tantamount to torture. Tonight we must act as Miss Ryan’s champion.”
“Champion?” Yvette asked suspiciously.
“We must rescue her from his clutches,” he explained. “The question is, who would like to help me with this chivalrous endeavor?”
“I would!” Yvette volunteered excitedly. “How much do I get paid?”
“Paid? Since when do I have to pay you to help me?”
“Oh, all right, I’ll help you for free.”
Charmaine was near tears, certain the worst was yet to come—at any moment Paul would mention Pierre. “I cannot believe you are saying this to me!”
“Do you deny he went swimming?”
“He took the twins into the water, and they were all clothed!”
Paul snorted. “I used to believe you were the epitome of decency.”
“And now you don’t?” Charmaine queried in a tiny voice.
“Now I think you were playing me for an idiot! All these months I’ve respected your wishes, treated you as a gentleman should, have waited patiently in deference to your innocence. I was taken in by your professed virtue, until today. Should I have acted differently? Would you have preferred a direct attack? Is that how my brother has succeeded where I have failed?”
“What—what are you saying?”
“Don’t you know? Damn it, Charmaine, I want you—have wanted you from the start. And damn you for preferring to spend the day in John’s embrace!”
“But I told you that didn’t happen! I was angry with Agatha. She had passed innuendoes at the table, and I lashed out at her sarcastically without thinking. I swear, there is nothing between John and me! Please believe me!”
It was too much! She burst into tears.
“Damn it,” he swore under his breath, his anger flagging, “don’t cry. God, how I hate it when you cry.” He pulled a freshly laundered handkerchief from his dinner jacket and pressed it into her hand, contrite.
Even with his change of mood, Charmaine could not stop crying.
His remorse increased. “He’s done it again, hasn’t he?”
“What has he done?” she heaved.
“Connived and twisted an innocent situation to his advantage. He knew his remarks would lead me to believe the worst—send me on this rampage. He counted on it. I suppose I’m no better than he.” He drove his fingers through his hair. “I’ve asked for your forgiveness before. I do so again, though I would understand why you might not find it in your heart to pardon me.”
His voice was sincere, his eyes just as earnest, and, as he grasped her shoulders, the electrified atmosphere swiftly changed.
Without warning, the door swung open, and Yvette crossed the threshold. “Mademoiselle Charmaine?” she queried in an unusually meek voice.
“Damn!” Paul swore again, oblivious to his sister’s apparent distress.
Charmaine ignored the man’s rekindled temper. “What is wrong, Yvette?”
“Well…” she began reluctantly as she fiddled with her fingers.
“Well and what is it?” Paul barked. “Let’s have it out and over with!”
“Pierre had an accident!”
“An accident?” Charmaine gasped, racing halfway across the room before the girl spoke again.
“In his knickers.”
“Jesus Christ!” Paul sneered. “And did you think this ‘accident’ warranted an interruption, young lady?”
“If you were in our room you’d think so,” she rejoined. “It smells something terrible up there!”
“Then you’ll just have to endure the stench until your governess and I are finished. Now, return to your chambers and do not leave them again.”
“But it’s awfully messy up there,” Yvette complained. “Jeannette tried to change Pierre’s pants, but he only giggled and pulled away from her and…and…he ran into your dressing room. He even locked the door and refuses to come out!” she added, as if on an afterthought.
“My room! What in the name of God is he doing in there?”
“Hiding I suppose.”
“You suppose? You suppose? You have two minutes—two minutes to get him the hell out of there. Do you hear me, young lady?”
“But—”
“No buts!” he shouted. “Just do it!”
“Paul—” Charmaine interposed “—I’ve left them unattended for far too long. I really should return to the nursery.”
“No! John is problem enough. I’ll not have the pestering of a passel of brats continually trespass against my time with you.”
He faced Yvette. “Go back up those stairs and get your brother out of my chambers immediately—soiled knickers and all!”
Confident she had presented a convincing act worthy of John’s praise, Yvette strutted from the volatile room. Beyond the doorway, she met him. He was fighting the urge to laugh aloud, biting down hard on a white-knuckled fist.
“You had better make it good,” she warned in a whisper. “He’s fit to be tied.”
John subdued a last chuckle, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and rapped on the doorframe. “May I come in?” he asked with dramatic courteousness.
“What do you want?” Paul growled.
Charmaine stepped forward. “I shall leave the two of you to speak privately. I must see to Pierre.”
John agreed, clearly entertained. “Having just now spoken to Yvette in the hallway, I would say he is in dire need of Miss Ryan. Yvette is in quite a dither.”
Paul’s scowl blackened, his rancor proportionate to his brother’s delight, and he fired a barrage of French expletives.
“Watch your tongue, dear boy,” John warned as if shocked.
“What will Miss Ryan think, since she doesn’t know the language? Why, it’s like talking behind her back.”
“That’s right, John, you just keep it up!” Paul sneered, teeth bared.
“I fully intend to.”
“You lewd, despicable—”
/> “How despicable must I be before you storm from the room again?”
“So—you want me to leave? Is that it?”
“I want you to leave Miss Ryan alone,” John responded. “We all know why you’ve cornered her this evening, demanding you speak with her privately. I’d call it a brow-beating, and I decided to put an end to it.”
“Since when have you become her paladin?”
“Let us just say I’ve grown fond of her,” John answered.
“Let’s not. Let us get to the real point, John.”
“The point is: you are jealous,” John replied, his voice high with merriment. “So there is no point in trying to uncover your point. Get the point?”
“Fine, John, just fine!” Paul threw up his hands and strode to the door.
“Where are you going?” Charmaine called after him, her turmoil resurrected. Everything she had believed to be reconciled was once again in the balance.
“Out!” he blazed. “To get some air!”
“But Paulie, there’s a hurricane about!”
“Aye, and its company is preferable to yours!” With that, he was gone.
Charmaine turned to John. “He wouldn’t really go out there, would he?”
“I wish he would,” he replied flatly.
Her perturbation spiraled into fury, his cruelty solidifying every misery he’d caused her that day. “Oh, how I despise you!”
“Someday that will be different.”
The statement seemed a promise, and she balled her fists in outrage.
He stepped in close. “Do you realize how dark your eyes become when you are angry? How the tip of your nose wiggles when you rant and rave?” He placed a forefinger on it.
She tried to swat it away, but his fingers deftly encircled her wrist, lowering and then pinning it to the small of her back. He drew her against him until their bodies met in the most agonizing of places. She pushed futilely against his chest with her free hand, turned her face aside, but he grasped her hair at the base of her neck, entwining it round his menacing fingers. Ever so slowly, he pulled her head back, dashing any hope of escape. Insidiously, he lowered his lips to hers until they touched—a gentle, teasing caress—his embrace like iron, demanding, his kiss tender, pleading. His mouth moved on to the hollow of her neck, and she could feel an intake of breath as if he were savoring her scent. She renewed her efforts to break free, stumbling back a step when he decided to release her.
“As delectable as I had imagined,” he murmured.
The sentiment was not reciprocated. Charmaine’s hand lashed out, but for all her swiftness, John caught her wrist again. “You weren’t going to slap me, were you, my Charm? Not a very kind gift to bestow on the eve of my birthday.”
Twisting away, she glared at him defiantly. “Don’t ever try that again!”
“Saving yourself only for Paul, are you?”
“That’s right!” she retaliated, and she rubbed her forearm viciously across her mouth, proof of her revulsion. Unmoved, his smile broadened. She gritted her teeth and marched to the doorway.
“Where are you off to, my Charm?”
“To see to the children. You’ve detained me from my duties long enough!”
“Duty?” he called after her. “There is none.”
She came to an abrupt halt and eyed him suspiciously over her shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘there is none’?”
“Duty,” he reiterated. “There is no duty—or should I say, doo-doo? The story about Pierre was a little ruse.”
“A ruse?” she asked in stupefaction.
“Yes, a ruse. Concocted to rescue you from my furious brother.”
“Saved from his grasp only to fall into yours,” she threw back at him.
“A brilliant observation, my Charm,” he commented rakishly.
“But wasn’t it worth it? After all, now you have a basis for comparison.”
After a brief lull, the tempest raged again. Charmaine remained in the nursery long after she tucked the children in for the night, but when they refused to settle down, she withdrew to her own room, taking Pierre with her. At the girls’ insistence, she left the door open, and slowly, their chattering subsided.
Pierre was asleep in no time. Unfortunately, the arms of Morpheus evaded her. The house moaned and creaked with each ferocious gale, a mimicking reminder of all that had happened that day. Try as she might, she could not get John out of her mind: his taunting, the awkward attraction, his kiss! Her pulse quickened as she recalled his hard body pressed against hers, his lips—not displeasing—a tender caress. She had made certain he didn’t know how he had affected her. At least he could not say she’d enjoyed it.
She chided herself for her desire to uncover the soul of the man, to figure out what made him tick. She thought about his quarrel with Paul and wondered if the whole of his waking hours were spent trapping and tormenting his opponents. But he had other sides, too. She had never known a person to display such an array of dispositions. Hate—love, and everything in between.
My birth is not a celebrated event in this house… Had Frederic truly spurned him? What happened to this family so long ago? To the adult brothers? They were close once…very close… And where did Colette fit in? The mistress Colette was a very different woman than the one you have made her out to be…She should never have become Mrs. Frederic Duvoisin…
Yes, the hatred was there, manifested in moments of apathy, bitterness, and anger. But John loved as well. This morning, Charmaine had denied his capacity for love, but she was losing stock in that axiom. He loved his younger siblings. At first she thought he sought them out to infuriate her, but she didn’t believe that anymore. They need somebody to love them. He’d spoken those words earnestly.
She wrapped an arm around Pierre.
For all the love he’d been denied, he hadn’t begrudged his sisters any. He had spent the entire day making their birthday special: from the treasure hunt, to the ponies, to his undivided attention. No wonder they loved him so much.
It seemed unfair that a piece of cake presented by the cook would be the only acknowledgment of his birthday. They ought to reciprocate—show they love him, too. She quickly formulated a plan, and thus reconciled, cuddled closer to Pierre.
The clock tolled eleven, and John rose from the desk in the study where he’d been reading through documents Stuart Simons, his production manager in Virginia, had forwarded to him. In the hallway, he met Paul, who glared at him. Neither spoke as they strode toward the staircase, reaching it at the same time.
“After you, by all means,” John invited, stepping back.
As Paul ascended the three steps to the landing, John’s voice halted him. “Oh, Paul, I think you dropped this in the study earlier,” and he extended a crumpled handkerchief embroidered with the initials PJD to his brother, dangling it between forefinger and thumb. Paul ripped the linen from John and shoved it into his pocket. His eyes were smoldering, but he refused to speak.
“Don’t make her cry too often, Paulie. You wouldn’t want to lose a gem like Charmaine.”
“I don’t intend to.”
John’s smirk infuriated Paul more than his words. “And not even your manipulation of Pierre will serve your purpose to the contrary,” he added.
John’s face turned turbulent for only a moment, then he was chuckling. “What’s the matter, Paul? Afraid you don’t measure up?”
“Just stay away from her,” Paul sneered, “or I’ll be forced to—”
“To what, Paul, inform Father his bad boy son has turned an eye upon the governess? That can hardly hold a candle to my other, more serious, offenses.”
“There are other ways to deal with you, brother,” Paul enjoined, “and let that be my warning to you.”
John only yawned and walked past him, mounting the north staircase. Paul ascended the opposite flight, and had just placed his hand to the doorknob when John’s voice cut across the stillness. “Step lightly in there. There was a terrible stench coming fr
om beneath that door an hour ago.” John chuckled again and entered his bedchamber.
It reeked of cheap perfume. Felicia reclined in his bed, an inviting smile on her lips, a blanket clasped to her bosom. She sat up, lifting her hands to the back of her neck, removing hairpins, the coverlet dropping to her waist, revealing generous breasts that were quickly veiled beneath the black mane she had loosed.
Without a word, John stepped closer, his eyes never leaving her. She shook her head, and the straight tresses scattered wildly, offering another tantalizing glimpse of her wares. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “Good evening, Master John.”
He inhaled and watched as she artfully raised her hands to the base of her neck and pulled her hair up and over the pillow, exposing everything to his view. He moved closer still. “Aren’t you in the wrong room, Felicia?” he demanded as he tried to ignore her seductive display. He concentrated instead on holding his anger in check, anger at himself that he was tempted to take advantage of the maid’s invitation. In his younger days, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But then, life had taught him some hard lessons, so perhaps he was learning from his mistakes.
“I was frightened by the storm,” she pouted with a giggle. “I thought you would protect me.”
Her reply did not soften his stern visage. Instead, his scowl deepened. He scanned the room for her clothing, spotting the garments strewn over the far chair. In three strides, he was across the chamber to retrieve them. She jumped when he flung the articles at her. “I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear,” he said in a low, threatening voice, “but I’m in no mood to entertain a frightened housemaid.”
“Then allow me to entertain you,” she purred.
“No, Felicia. I don’t settle for cheap entertainment. But Paul’s room is just a short walk away. Perhaps he’d be interested. A word of warning, though: Once he’s tired of a woman, he rarely invites her back to his bed.”
She was stung by the truth of his words and fell mute.
“Now, I’m leaving this room for five minutes. When I return, you’d better be gone. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to evict you, which might rouse the entire house. I doubt even you could bear such humiliation.”
