Bernard suddenly seemed to spring to life as he executed a series of thrusts, fences, and parries that caused the waiting duellists to murmur approvingly. Rafe’s agility was the only thing that saved him as one of the thrusts whistled close to his side, and he sprang away with lightening speed. Bernard thrust again, and Gabrielle could see Rafe flinch as the tip of the other’s sword nicked him at the shoulder. A fine point of blood beaded on his shirt and then streaked down his sleeve. The mediator held up his hand and stood between the two men.
“Blood has been drawn. M’sieur de Marigny, M’sieur St. Claire, do you wish to call the duel satisfied?”
Rafe gazed coolly at his adversary and shook his head. Bernard shrugged and did the same. The man backed off and once more gave the signal to begin.
Again the watching, the search for an opening began, and Gabrielle could only look on, asking herself why they had not stopped the duel. I love you, Rafe, she screamed soundlessly. I want you to see your child one day and be proud of him. She was unaware of the tears splashing on the ground in front of her, or of Will, who had come up silently behind to offer her comfort should she ask for it.
The duelists continued, and the sunlight was steaming now, causing Gabrielle to shrug off the cloak that she wore. How many minutes had gone by—perhaps fifteen, twenty?
The whole of Rafe’s left sleeve was red with blood, and still he fought on, coolly, logically, waiting for an opening in his opponent’s guard. The moment came when Bernard slipped after a thrust that caught him off balance, and Rafe struck his sword deep in his shoulder, jarring off the collar bone. A spurt of blood instantly dyed the front of Bernard’s shirt, and, once again, the mediator stepped between the two to ask them if they should call their honor assuaged. Once again, both men shook their heads.
As they circled once again and continued the graceful, almost elegant movements, Gabrielle felt as though her mind would no longer accept this tragedy that was unfolding. She could see that Bernard was slowing down, his fluid movements becoming clumsy, less true—and Rafe, too, was becoming tired, missing his thrusts completely too many times.
Rafe stepped forward quickly with a sudden snakelike movement that caught Bernard by surprise and his sword only just came up in time to deflect the other’s blade, but then Rafe disengaged before Bernard could adjust his grip again, and the point flew downward ripping into Bernard’s thigh.
Bernard screamed with pain, and anger suffused his face as he thrust hard at Rafe who had half-turned, waiting for the mediator to break them apart again after this third drawing of blood. The point of Bernard’s saber struck Rafe’s shoulder blade, and, in surprise, Rafe looked back at Bernard for an instant before falling backwards to the ground. Bernard was instantly on top of him, his sword pressed to his opponent’s throat, his arm tensed.
Gabrielle could see the almost eager wildness in his face as he pressed his sword closer. No one moved, and Rafe still wore a look of cold disbelief on his face. Gabrielle heard a woman scream and realized that the sound came from her own throat.
“No! No! Bernard, you must not kill him, for God’s sake!”
She was running now, disregarding Will’s frantic attempt to grab her by her skirt or the other men’s disapproving looks. Gabrielle was beyond coherent thought—all she knew was that, with one more stroke, the man who had awakened her to womanhood, who had made her his mistress, who had planted a part of himself within her, would be dead!
Rafe was looking at Bernard’s face still, completely disregarding the woman, who stopped three steps away to implore Bernard to withdraw and call his honor satisfied.
“Gabrielle, you should not have come. Now go away,” Bernard said, not taking his eyes off the man on the ground, or his sword from his throat.
The other men were all staring at Bernard now, waiting for him to end it, but still Bernard hesitated. Finally, in a voice hard with anger and pain, he said, “I could kill you now, St. Claire. I could run this sword through your throat and that would be an end to you—but, unfortunately, we have been friends a long time and—I have never before killed a man in a duel. Then, too, there is the woman to think about.”
Rafe’s green gaze did not falter as he looked into Bernard’s face. “She has nothing to do with the outcome of this,” he said quietly.
“She does!” Bernard cried out, pressing the point of his sword so that a bead of blood appeared at the tanned throat. “She carries your child, you fool!”
Not by a flinch or a movement did Rafe signal what he felt at this announcement, but Gabrielle saw his eyes darken incredibly so that they seemed almost black.
“I could kill you, but I won’t,” Bernard began, “if you will promise to marry Gabrielle de Beauvoir immediately.
”A harsh laugh broke the tense stillness in the air, and Rafe’s amused expression infuriated Gabrielle. “Marry her? For Christ’s sake, de Marigny, have you lost your reason? She’s nothing—she’d sell her favors to any man who knocked at the door. Jesus, how do I know the little bastard she’s carrying is mine?”
He was stopped abruptly by increasing pressure on the sword, and a trickle of blood rolled down his neck and pooled slowly on the ground.
“You’ll marry her, St. Claire, or say your prayers—if you believe in God!”
It seemed that the scene was frozen for a moment, with no one moving or making a sound. Gabrielle was aware only of Rafe lying on the ground—willing to die, incredibly, before honoring her child with his name. It seemed that an eternity went by, and she could see the sweat pouring from Bernard’s face. Rafe’s in comparison was cool and detached as both men stared at each other.
Finally, Rafe’s voice broke the silence. “I hardly see that marrying her will assuage your conscience, de Marigny. But neither can I see forfeiting my life for such madness.”
“You will marry her, then?” Bernard pressed.
“I’ll marry her.”
Looking relieved, Bernard took the blade from his throat and stood up with difficulty, his leg obviously paining him greatly. The doctor bent quickly to examine it.
Meanwhile, Rafe rose unsteadily to his feet.
Gabrielle started to go forward timidly to offer whatever service she might be able to render, but was stopped abruptly by the look of withering contempt Rafe gave her.
“It seems you are to acquire a husband, mademoiselle,” he said, his voice scornfully mocking her. His eyes swept over her figure as though seeking the truth of her pregnancy. “And I,” he went on, his face showing amusement now, “am acquiring a family.”
Gabrielle thought she had never seen his eyes so like twin emeralds as he gazed unblinking at her, and she wondered what Bernard had done to her.
PART FOUR
Destiny Fulfilled
Chapter Thirty-five
Suzette Claiborne stroked the rosy cheek softly as she leaned over the bassinet, then straightened up and smiled at the infant’s mother. “He is beautiful, Gabrielle,” she said, noting the appropriately proud expression on the other’s face. “And motherhood agrees with you, my dear,” she went on, her dark eyes sweeping over the curving hips and upthrusting breasts.
“Thank you, Suzette,” Gabrielle said, tucking the blanket around the sleeping infant. “Little Paul does love compliments, and at only a month old!”
Suzette sighed and slipped into a chair. “It’s hard to believe he’s already a month in this world. It seems only a few days ago that you and Rafe were attending the Christmas Ball at the Governor’s House and I looked up to see your white face as you clutched the table. Goodness, that’s a memory that will stay with me for a long time, I grant you!”
Gabrielle smiled, too, at the memory. “I just refused to believe that he was going to be early,” she said as though to herself—and another memory pushed itself into her thoughts, of another baby born before its time. “It was rather frantic that night, wasn’t it?” she laughed deliberately.
“Of course, I should have known that Rafe would be hi
s cool, practical self even in the face of such an unexpected situation. There he was taking you upstairs and directing one of the governor’s aides to fetch a doctor! Poor Dussault never did get over the imagined slight.”
Gabrielle remembered the hours of interminable waiting and the pain that encompassed her totally before Paul Andre St. Claire finally made his appearance on a chilly Christmas morning. She had been surprised at Rafe’s insistence on staying beside her, his gentle encouragement when she was in the worst throes of despair. It hurt her to think that, even after that, he could still be sarcastic and mocking with her at times, almost indifferent. But at least he had never questioned the paternity of the little boy, who from the first had looked just like his father.
“How are things going in the city?” she wondered aloud, realizing that she was neglecting her guest.
A thoughtful frown crossed Suzette’s lively face. “Things aren’t really good, Gabrielle,” she began in a subdued voice. “I worry about dear William sometimes for he works hard enough for two men, and that group of idiots called a senate is openly hostile to any suggestions he has for trying to catch Lafitte and throw him in jail. You’ve heard about the terrible news at the Temple?” Gabrielle shook her head.
“Well, the first of the year, handbills were distributed all over the city announcing another auction at the Temple. The auction was to be held on January 20, and over four hundred slaves were being offered for sale. William nearly had apoplexy when he heard about it and appealed to the customs office to do something about it. The collector of customs sent a small force to stand guard at the Temple, and we all thought that Lafitte had finally been outfoxed.”
“And? He was—captured?”
Suzette shook her head violently. "Word came only two days ago that Mr. Stout, who was temporarily doing duty as an inspector, was killed and two others fatally wounded during a foray with Lafitte and his companions!”
“Oh, no!” Gabrielle said, wondering just how far Lafitte would go.
“But what’s worse,” Suzette continued with the air of one imparting rather sensational news, “is that the auction was a complete success! All the slaves were sold, and Lafitte made enough money to continue greasing the palms of the legislature! I tell you, William nearly smashed his fist through the wall of our bedroom when he heard the news! If things go on as they are now, this mess will be the death of him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gabrielle said. “Is there nothing that can be done?”
“William wants to call a meeting with some of the American merchants and bankers and select a friendly grand jury to send out indictments against both the Lafittes and their lieutenants. I don’t know if it will work, but something has to be done. Lafitte sends armed men with every consignment of contraband goods now, it’s said, and there is absolutely no way to stop him, given the lackadaisical air of the legislature.”
“And as though this thing with Lafitte weren’t bad enough,” Suzette continued, “the English have convinced the Indians to display hostility. William has sent repeated requests for assistance, and they have gone virtually unanswered. General Flournoy says he can afford no more than seven hundred men to concentrate in the entire state! I’m telling you, my dear, if it weren’t for our brave General Jackson, I don’t doubt we’d have been scalped before now!”
“Rafe told me about his routing of the Choctaws at Horseshoe Bend,” Gabrielle said swiftly.
“Six hundred Indians were killed and the rest scattered,” Suzette said proudly. “Ah, they say Andrew Jackson is a real man. Tall and lean, and a fearless warrior!”
“Let’s hope he can help us with the English if it comes in that. The governor needs all the support he can get now.”
“I must say, my dear, your husband may be a scoundrel when it comes to women, but he is one of William’s staunchest friends, and sometimes I just don’t know where we’d be without him.”
Gabrielle felt pride blossom in her breast. “He believes in what the governor is trying to do,” she put in. “I only hope they can both come through this trying time in one piece.”
Suzette echoed her hope fervently. She got up, loath to leave her friend, but saying that she had guests coming for dinner that evening and had to get back to the city. “I’ll expect you to visit and bring little Paul the minute you’re allowed out of the house,” she said fondly, drawing her cloak about her as Gabrielle accompanied her downstairs and to the waiting carriage.
Gabrielle was sitting near the window, the baby at her breast, when she heard her husband’s familiar step outside the nursery. She turned her head to welcome him, her heart beating faster as always when he entered the room.
“Rafe, you’re back early tonight,” she said, feeling awkward as his eyes travelled to the suckling babe.
He sauntered over to her chair and bent down to take her lips, his mouth drawing every ounce of sweetness from her so that she closed her eyes in abandon.
“Christ, I feel jealous of my own son,” he said with feeling, letting his eyes fasten on the round globe of her breast.
Gabrielle flushed, thinking that it had been a long time since they had been together in the big bed.
“Tonight, kitten, I’m not taking no for an answer. I have an idea your doctor enjoys seeing husbands suffer.” His eyes flashed down at her and his mouth twitched in sarcasm. “I didn’t marry you just to be the mother of my son,” he said wickedly.
His maleness was so powerful, Gabrielle thought she could melt in her chair. He desired her and made no bones about his wanting her physically, but he had never told her that he loved her, and she was certain that he had amused himself in other arms when she was confined with the baby. The thought caused her waves of jealousy, but she swallowed her pride painfully and made no mention of it to him.
The first few months of their marriage, he had treated her like a whore to be used at his pleasure with no thought as to her feelings, but his anger had finally worn down when her belly began to swell with the child. When Paul was born, Bernard de Marigny had visited the manor, and there was a tenseness in the air when the two had met, but it did not take long for them to settle their differences, and Gabrielle had breathed a sigh of relief when Bernard left, smiling merrily in true Creole fashion and shaking Rafe’s hand with genuine fondness.
“I had to forgive him,” Rafe had laughed later that evening, “after all, he came away from the duel with a limp from the wound in his thigh, and I had nothing but a few more scars to show for it.” Then he’d looked at her wickedly, “And an obstinate wife, of course.”
Now as his gaze bored into hers, she thought she would never love him more than she did at this moment. Words choked in her throat, and she lowered her eyes so that he couldn’t read their expression. If only he would tell me he cares for me even a little, she thought wistfully, planting a light kiss on her son’s forehead. When she had laid him back in his crib and had spoken to his nurse, she followed Rafe to their room.
“Suzette Claiborne was here today. She told me that things haven’t been going well.”
His face born an enigmatic expression. “She told you about Lafitte’s latest exploit?” he asked. “He’s got to be stopped. As it is, legal trade and commerce in this area are virtually at a standstill thanks to his illicit smuggling.” He strode around the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I’m sure—I’m sure he’ll not escape much longer,” Gabrielle said soothingly. “Lafitte may be clever, but—”
“Ah, yes, you of all people should know how clever he really is,” he interrupted sardonically.
Gabrielle paled but brought her chin up. “That was a long time ago, Rafe, and I don’t see how bringing up the past will—”
“Christ! I’m sorry, kitten,” he apologized unexpectedly. “It’s just that I’m so wound up in this whole damn mess, and when I think that he and you—” He stopped and was at her side in four quick strides. “Damn you! You’re surely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known—and the
most maddening!”
He caught her to him and pressed her backwards in his arms, kissing her almost savagely, hurting her mouth so that her lips felt bruised when he released her. Her head whirled dizzily, and she clung to him for support.
“God, I want you, you little witch!” he said passionately, his hands going to her shoulders to pull down her dress.
“Rafe, dinner will be ready soon. The servants—”
“To hell with the servants, woman! You’re as ready for me as I am for you! Dammit, now be an obedient wife for a change!”
She was powerless to resist the expert hands, the masterful kisses, and she let him undress her, then lay her on the bed, her whole body awakening to sensations she had not known for a long time. He was not gentle with her, and she did not want him to be. His mouth and tongue evoked shivers in her flesh, his hands caressed her, stroked her. Her nipples grew taut in his lips, and her whole body felt on fire. His knee parted her thighs and she arched upwards as he entered her, driving so hard that she gasped in pain.
Her arms clung to him, and she was unaware of the room or where she was—she knew only this man whom she loved more fiercely than ever, this man who could make her whole body scream with desire, he who was her whole being. The pleasure washed over her in waves, and she heard herself moaning, calling his name. His mouth tortured her sensitive breasts, and she rolled her head from side to side, her nails digging into his back.
She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, cloudy with desire, intent on achieving his own ends, but willing to bring her along on the crest of his pleasure. He prolonged the act until she could barely stand it, trying helplessly to stifle her passionate cries so that her teeth sank into his shoulder. Her hair was damp on the pillow, her whole body a white-hot core of passion that built to an incredible crescendo as her movements grew faster, willing him to assuage the ache in her.
There was no one else in the world for her at this moment, only this man whom she hated and loved and fought for and against, who knew how to draw every drop of reserve from her nature and reduce her to a half-mad, passionate woman, as abandoned as any whore, and just as shameless in her need. He brought her to the peak of frenzy, and she cried out in fulfillment as the culmination was reached.
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