Philippe laughed coldly. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Has it always been like this?”
Her long lashes brushed her cheeks as they fluttered in astonishment. “Philippe, I want you. Can this wilderness have changed you so much that you no longer want me?”
He did not answer as her fingers brought his face toward hers. So many nights before he had left France, he had dreamed of the moment when he would hold her again and delight in her earthy pleasures. She was a young man’s fantasy, as lusty as she was voluptuous. She had been all he’d wanted until he’d discovered what awaited him in Lirienne’s arms.
He pushed her clinging hands away. “No, it won’t work.”
“Why not?” She let the shoulder of her dressing gown droop. “Are you going to let your lowborn wife keep you from me, because she fears being alone?”
Philippe shoved her fingers away once more. “Lirienne has many admirers who would be glad to take my place in her bed.”
She sniffed. “Peasant farmers and men who are desperate for the company of a woman. Who else would want that wench who should be grateful enough to you to let you enjoy a woman who can give you the pleasure you deserve?”
“Why should she be grateful?”
Standing, she snaked her arms around him. “You made a serving girl into a vicomtesse.”
“And she saved my life.” He stepped away. “Not just once, but more times than you could count.”
“So you cling to her out of gratitude?”
“Gratitude has nothing to do with it, except that I must be grateful to you for arranging for me to marry her. How was I to guess your attempt to control me by giving me a woman you saw as no competition would bring me the greatest love I could know?”
Her hand struck his cheek as she swore. When he did not retort, she lifted her hand again. He caught her wrist in midswing.
Releasing it, he asked, “Lirienne was right about you, Charmaine, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t know what lies she told you, but—”
He shook his head. “Not lies. I should have guessed your devotion to me was fake. I wanted to believe that you loved me as I adored you, but you had other lovers when I wasn’t with you.”
She recoiled, but said, “If you think I will tell you—”
“I don’t have any interest in hearing a recitation of your lovers. They don’t matter to me. You nearly stole my pride from me along with my heart. However, Lirienne gave both back to me. With her, I’ve struggled for the life we’ll have here. I don’t intend to ruin that. Good evening.”
“Philippe, mon cher,” she moaned as she reached for him, “I’ve come all the way across the ocean to be with you.”
“If I believed that, I’d be a fool again.” He reached for the latch. “I’ve been too much of a fool for too long.”
As he walked out, he pulled the collar of his cloak up against the rain. He bent his head into the storm, ignoring Charmaine’s shriek at his back. He walked through the mud as he sought the right words to reassure Lirienne, who must wonder where he was. This time there could be no more misunderstandings.
He heard the horses in the barnyard. They should be in the barn. First he would delight in Lirienne’s kiss, then he would see to the horses. He had wanted to savor her soft lips earlier, but had promised to help unload the boat before the storm hit. Now he could take his time and give her the kiss that would show how much he had missed her and how much he wanted her tonight … and every night.
He hurried onto the porch. Opening the door, he called, “Lirienne? Ma petite, where are you?”
He went to the bedroom door and scowled as he saw it was open. Taking the lantern from the table, he peered into the dark room to discover it was empty. Maybe she was bringing the horses in.
He carried the lantern with him out into the rain. The horses milled near the barn door. He shooed them in, putting the lantern on the floor when he saw Cristal standing in the middle of the barn. The white mare shied as she did with strangers. Why was she so skittish? Calming her, he put her in the open stall and poured out some oats.
He heard a sound by the door. “Lirienne?”
Running outside, he stopped when he saw a man dressed all in black. A pistol glistened in the light from the lantern. When he took a step toward Vachel, he heard the unmistakable click of the hammer being pulled back.
“Vachel, is there trouble?”
“There is, but there won’t be much longer.” He shifted the pistol in his hand as he aimed at Philippe and laughed. “You are proving that you’re as big a fool as your low-class wife and your weak-minded brother.”
“Lucien?”
“Do you have another? It was a warning you refused to heed. Instead of seeing that someone was intent on ridding this earth of you, you raced into Paris to get your vengeance. I understand you nearly fell into my trap there also.”
“Why did you set a trap for me?” He fought to submerge the wave of fury that threatened to crash over him, obliterating good sense. “I thought we were friends.”
“You thought wrong. Charmaine was mine before she was yours. She will be mine again, along with the Château you have left to her upon your death.”
Philippe cursed. No, he would not surrender to his fury. He could not let it control him. It had too often in the past. “Was it your idea for her to wheedle me into signing those papers?”
“That was her idea.” He chuckled. “I simply offered to help her get what she wanted. Before I left Philadelphia, I wrote to her that you had never changed those papers.”
“Is that why you kept changing the appointments with your lawyer?”
He laughed. “Of course. I couldn’t have you make Lirienne or her child your heir. Then you sickened, and the child was dead, and you didn’t have time to visit the lawyer before we came here. It all worked as I had hoped. Charmaine received my letter and rushed here.”
“Surprising you?”
“She has little wit, but her pleasures are many. While she seduced you, I needed only to whisper the right words into the proper ear. Lucien was murdered, and you were to be next.” He poked the gun at Philippe, pushing him back into the barn. “I considered killing you when you came to my country estate, but others might have known you were there that night.”
“You miscalculated. I had told only Charmaine where I was going.”
“Yes, I miscalculated then as I did when I tried to get rid of your pregnant wife in Philadelphia. Somehow, she did not fall through the stairs I had cut. Nor did she slip through the ice as I’d planned when she walked into my trap along the river.”
“You did that?” He could not believe what he was hearing. “To get your hands on Château de Villeneuve?”
“It is an estate worthy of Charmaine and me.”
“You’ve miscalculated again. The land and the rubble, probably all that was left by the mob, are not worth my Lirienne’s life or my brother’s.”
“I didn’t miscalculate tonight.” His wild laugh set the horses to shifting uneasily. “Congratulations, de Villeneuve.”
He frowned. What was de Talebot’s ploy? He would go along with this until he knew. As long as de Talebot was taunting him, he was not going to shoot. “For what?”
“On your wife conceiving again.”
“Lirienne is pregnant?”
“Was.”
Rage billowed through Philippe, hot and blinding. He fought it. He could not let his temper betray him now. “What do you mean?” he asked through gritted teeth. “What have you done to her?”
“She’s dead at the bottom of a hill along the river.” With his left hand, he pulled a whip off the wall. “A pair of swipes with one of these finished her.”
Philippe’s hands were on de Talebot’s throat before he realized he had leaped forward. The pistol fell to the floor as de Talebot struck him in the face. He staggered back, then hit de Talebot’s chin. He followed that blow with another. Blood erupted from de Talebot’s nose to soak his hand.
>
Grasping a pail, de Talebot threw it. Philippe ducked and swung again. The blow missed as de Talebot pummeled Philippe in the gut before firing his fist upward into Philippe’s chin.
Dropping to his knees, Philippe gasped. He could not let de Talebot win. He had vowed to see this man dead for killing his brother. And Lirienne … No, he could not believe she was dead. At that thought, he used his fury to clear his mind. He surged to his feet and tried to focus his eyes.
The frightened horses shrieked. Hay in the back corner was on fire. He stumbled to the stalls and opened the doors. A pair of fists hammered his back. He hit the floor hard. The horses’ screeches echoed through his aching skull as he was rolled onto his back.
He saw de Talebot smile, saw him raise the pistol. His boots struck de Talebot in the stomach and catapulted him back toward the stalls.
Philippe tried to stand, but dropped to the floor. A scream brought him to his feet. “No, Cristal!”
The white horse’s hoofs thrashed de Talebot’s limp body again. As the horse ran out of the burning building with her foal following, Philippe lurched toward de Talebot. One look told him de Talebot was dead.
Reeling backward, he grasped Soyeux’s halter and called to her foal. He coughed. The damp hay was smoldering before it burst into flame. If they didn’t find their way out soon … Together, they stumbled through the smoke and out into the barnyard.
He dropped into the mud as his neighbors began to fight the flames. Burying his face in his hands, he wondered why they bothered. He did not care if they saved the barn or not. He had a lifetime to rebuild … and to mourn.
Nineteen
A gentle hand settled on Philippe’s shoulder. He stood so suddenly that the woman beneath the cloak gasped. He almost spoke Lirienne’s name, then realized she was too round for Lirienne.
“Agathe!”
“Come with me! Now!” She took his hand and pulled him to his feet and away from the barn. When someone tried to push a pail into her hands, she thrust it away. She lowered her wet hood as she stepped onto the porch. “Thank God, you’re here!”
He dropped down to sit. Staring at the flames, he choked out, “That cur de Talebot sent a letter to Charmaine Fortier, and then he—”
“Philippe!” She knelt beside him and grasped his arms. “Listen to me. You must listen to me.”
“What does it matter? What does anything matter? He murdered Lirienne.”
Agathe moaned. “I didn’t know it was Monsieur de Talebot, because I was told she said—”
“Said?” He came to his feet. “Lirienne is alive? Where is she?”
“Monsieur Slater sent a frantic message to me that I was needed, that I must come immediately. He found Lirienne by the river when he was checking his traps a short while ago.” She whispered a breathy prayer as she stood. “He sent word that she’s in a bad way. She was in labor, according to Monsieur Slater’s message.”
He cursed. “I can’t get out to his farm when my horses are scattered through Azilum.”
“Monsieur de Talebot has a wagon.” She shuddered as she spoke the man’s name.
“Let’s get it.”
“But Monsieur de Talebot—”
“You don’t have to ask him.” He did not bother to explain that the man he had trusted enough to call a friend was dead.
Grabbing her arm, he hurried her across the common to de Talebot’s barn on the other side of the road. He pulled two horses out of their stalls and hooked them to the wagon. He assisted her onto the seat, then climbed aboard. Taking the reins, he sent the wagon racing up the hill. He hoped he would not be too late … this time.
Slater opened the door at Philippe’s frantic knock. He frowned. “Miss Suchard, when I sent for you, I did not expect you to bring Mr. de Villeneuve. Not after—”
“How is she?” Philippe asked.
“Alive.”
“No more?”
“Why do you care?” he exploded. “Did you let your jealousy and rage overpower you again? She kept you from trying to kill me, but she couldn’t stop you this time, could she? Do you think anyone will forgive you for trying to kill her?”
“Kill Lirienne?” He grasped two handfuls of Slater’s shirt. “What are you talking about?”
“If you didn’t recognize your own wife when you drove her off the road, she knew your white mare. I never would have guessed that you’d do something like this.”
“I didn’t do that!”
“I know what she told me.”
Not caring that Agathe was listening to the exchange with an expression of horror, Philippe said, “Listen to me, Slater. Vachel de Talebot tried to murder her. He wanted to be sure I had no heir other than Charmaine Fortier.” He faltered. “Can I see her?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“And the child?” asked Agathe.
“The contractions are slowing to a stop.” Slater ran a hand through his red hair. “I think. I know about cattle, not women. Miss Suchard, she told me to send for you, that you’d helped with another birth.”
Dropping her soaked cape onto a bench, Agathe said, “It’s about time you two thought of her. This way?” She pointed to a door by the hearth.
Philippe loosened his cloak. “I will—”
“You will stay here while I check on her. I don’t need you in the way,” Agathe retorted with uncharacteristic fire. As she rolled up her sleeves, she glared at them. She closed the door behind her.
Philippe winced at the sound.
“Where is de Talebot?” asked Slater.
“Dead.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Too bad?” He frowned. “He doesn’t deserve to live after what he did.”
“He should have paid for what he did.”
With a grimace as he rubbed his bruised knuckles, he said, “He paid.”
Slater handed him a cup. When he lifted it, he smiled at the scent of whiskey. He took a deep swallow, then another. Setting the cup on the table, he walked to the bedroom door.
“Wait!” Slater called. “Miss Suchard said—”
He ignored Slater and his own voice of caution. Last time, they had kept him from Lirienne’s side when she so desperately needed him. He would not be kept away this time.
Agathe met him at the door. His determination must have burned in his eyes, because she stepped aside and whispered, “She’s not quite conscious, but you can sit with her. Philippe …”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll call you immediately if she needs help.”
When the door shut behind her, he looked across the room where, on a day of insane jealousy, he had almost killed Ennis Slater. Pain coursed through him as he recalled that Vachel de Talebot had been the one to hint that Lirienne was giving Slater more than bread.
How many times had he called her ma petite folle? He was the fool, a huge fool, not believing in the honest gift of love from the one person who wanted to give him her heart despite his title and onetime wealth, not because of it.
A board squeaked as he walked to the bed. He choked back a gasp of dismay when he saw her colorless face.
The sound roused Lirienne from her painful stupor. She gripped the covers. “Mr. Slater?” Her voice rattled through her head as she tried to breathe past the remnants of pain cramping her center.
“Ma petite, wake up.”
She wanted to ask Mr. Slater why he was speaking French. Not Mr. Slater … Philippe!
Opening her eyes, she watched him lift her hand from the quilt and fold it between his. Quietly, he said, “’Twas not me on Cristal, ma petite. I would never do anything to hurt you or our baby. You believe that, don’t you? Please tell me that you believe me.”
Lirienne tried to speak, but her voice cracked. Her breath caught in her throat as he raised her fingers to his lips. The pleasure of his light kiss was sweet, but promised more fiery delights.
“Vachel de Talebot stole Cristal and tried to kill you,” he whispered.
“Why?”
<
br /> “That doesn’t matter. All that matters is you must believe that I love you.” A smile curved along his lips.
“You love me?”
“When I asked you to marry me, I asked you to be my wife for as long as I would need you.” He pressed her palms to his lips. “I will need you every day of my life. I love you and our child.”
“The baby!” she gasped weakly.
“Ma petite, Agathe assures me that you have not lost the baby.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Do you believe that you are the one, the only one, I love?”
“Yes.” She held out her arms to him. As he gathered her close, she knew her heart had found a haven next to his.
Epilogue
Summer, 1795
Lirienne sat on the front porch and watched the sunset reflected back from the lazy waters of the Susquehanna River. On these pleasant evenings, night tiptoed into the river valley.
With a wave, she called a greeting to a neighbor as she continued to hum a lullaby and rock her daughter, Lucienne. Philippe was thrilled with a daughter. Not that he did not want a son, but, with that beguiling sparkle in his eyes, he reminded her of the ecstasy they would share as they kept trying for the son who would be the next Vicomte de Villeneuve.
She rested her head against the chair and listened to the symphony created by frogs and crickets. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The night would not be quiet, so she was glad Lucienne was sleeping now. Maybe she should, too, but, even in her dreams, she could not imagine a happiness beyond what she had discovered here.
So many changes had come to Azilum. Five streets ran north and south, and nine avenues went east to west. Two stores had been built, along with a distillery, a mill, and the wharf. The dream had come true for those who had fled from the tyranny of the guillotine.
And her dreams had come true. She thought back to that night six years ago when a frightened girl had discovered fire on the lips of the man who would win her heart. Looking at the gold ring on her left hand, she thought of how Philippe had bought it back from Mr. Jacobs when he’d sold the two foals to another farmer.
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