His grin was sour. “Isabel would have done all right, maybe even better, without me. Isabel is a woman who can get what she wants easily enough. She’s a whore down to her bones. What do I care about the child she has in her belly—it’s not mine—and sometimes I wonder even if it is Henri’s.”
Gabrielle wrenched her arm angrily from his grasp. "Charles, how dare you say such evil things! Isabel was very much in love with Henri. She was heartbroken when she told me of his death!”
“Oh, a guilty conscience can just as easily cause a broken heart, my dear,” he said, downing the rest of the liquid in his glass. He sighed. “Hell, what does it matter anyway. I married the bitch and will do my duty by her. Of course, I never thought you would show up like the little angel of mercy to lend a helping hand. My God! I thought I was rid of you, and now you’re back to throw everything in my face!”
“Charles, I—I don’t understand you. I only want to help Isabel. She’s my friend and—”
“—and I am not,” he finished abruptly. “Did you ever think we would meet again, my fair lady?” He stood next to her, so close that his whiskey-laden breath farmed her face.
“I never even thought about it,” she returned, icy-calm.
He laughed as though she had said something terribly funny. “I’m very hurt, my darling, for, you see, you were always with me—the woman in my dreams, the woman around the corner, the whores I went to for pleasure. And I thought to myself, you’re a fool, Charles, how can you fuck a dream?”
He sat back in his chair and began laughing crazily. Gabrielle stared at him in consternation, wondering if he had gone mad.
He held out his glass to her. “Another drink, if you please, little sorceress!”
She ignored him and hurried from the room to fetch Solomon to help her get him upstairs. When she returned, she found him snoring loudly, sprawled in the chair, his mouth open like a fish out of water.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“You remind me of the good little shepherdess, welcoming the lost sheep,” Rafe drawled sarcastically, leaning against the bedpost as Gabrielle finished explaining the events of the day.
“Isabel would have done the same for me,” she said staunchly.
His smile was overbearingly insolent. “Would she?”
Gabrielle blushed indignantly. “Of course she would. I suppose you never had a friend close enough to feel that way about you!”
He laughed. “I’ve had enough women to worry about feeling ‘that way’ as you call it, without counting on my male acquaintances.”
“Oh, please, don’t throw your casual flings in my face!” she shot back, her anger sparked by his smugness. “Don’t you think I can guess at your disgusting habits when you’re away?”
He looked infuriatingly amused. “Of course, madame. I hardly think you have to guess at my habits, as you knew all about them before we were married.” His green eyes were hard as emeralds now. “I even had the notion that some of those habits weren’t all that disgusting to you.” His mouth quirked into a lazy grin, as he moved closer to her. “Take off your gown, wife, and let us see just how disgusting we can get.”
Her eyes blazed furiously at him, twin violet stones that narrowed in outrage. “How can you possibly think that I could—”
But his hands were already on her shoulders, forcing her to him so that his mouth closed over hers, stopping her protests effectively. She fought him angrily, her mind burning with the thought of the other women he had held like this, subdued to his will—perhaps even earlier tonight! Her hands curved into claws to rake his face, and he caught them in his, his face dark with excitement as he pulled her towards the bed. She scratched and kicked, but he finally succeeded in peeling the nightgown from her shoulders so that he could push her onto the mattress.
“You—you think you can come to me,” she cried out in fury, “after seeing that—that woman!”
His movements slowed as he looked down at her scornfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, damn it! You’re my wife, lest you forget, and you practically arranged the marriage yourself, my dear. Now, you’ll be a good girl and lie quiet, or I’ll thrash you for your disobedience!”
She snarled like a tigress. “I’ll not be made a fool of and then welcome you on my back with open arms,” she spat at him.
He shrugged and laid his body over hers, holding her hands with his as his knee sought to gain entrance between her thrashing thighs. “Goddamn it, kitten, if I wasn’t so hot with wanting you, I’d leave you for a more biddable piece!”
But she would not stop fighting him, and her movements excited him to the point where, despite himself, he forced her roughly, knowing that he hurt her, although he was aware only of his own throbbing senses.
Afterwards, breathing heavily and feeling her warm, slippery flesh beneath him, he heard the sound of her sobs, stifled by the back of her hand. He looked up, his brow lowered, not for the life of him knowing what the matter with her could be.
“Look at me, kitten,” he commanded, “and tell me what the hell is troubling you!” His green eyes gazed into hers.
“H-how can you be so unfeeling,” she sobbed. “You know very w-well what is the matter with me! I’m sick of y-your exploits with other women!”
He looked dumbfounded for a moment, then a guilty look stole over his face. “I suppose I should have guessed,” he said quietly. “Jane couldn’t keep her lip buttoned forever, but—”
“Jane!” she said, rolling from beneath him and sitting up to stare at him. “Jane!”
His face wore a disdainful expression. “Hell, kitten, it wasn’t as though I raped the wench! She took to it willingly enough and from what I could tell wasn’t so loath for another round!” He saw her face go livid with fury.
“You had the—the audacity to consort with a girl hardly seventeen—my servant! You’re even lower than I believed,” she flung at him.
“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “You had stayed the night in town, and I came home, a little drunk, and there she was—”
Gabrielle could hardly believe her ears and then heard herself laughing. “Jane—never told me anything,” she managed.
Rafe caught her hands and jerked her still, his face brutally disdainful. “Don’t be an idiot!” he said roughly. “I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t have known about it if I hadn’t thought—”
“And how many others do I not know about?” she questioned him viciously. Then her expression changed, grew calculating. “I do have a lot of catching up to do with you, don’t I? Dear Bernard, I’m sure I can count on him to make a cuckold out of you!” Her head snapped back with the force of his hand on her cheek, and tears started in her eyes.
“Christ, woman! You act as though I spend all of my waking hours planning which woman to take next.”
Gabrielle dashed the tears from her eyes and her mouth tilted upwards. “Oh, but it would be perfect, wouldn’t it, darling? Bernard and I—and then you and Melissa. I’ve heard how popular it is among the decadents to exchange partners and indulge in bedsport. It would make everything a lot simpler, wouldn’t it?”
He flung her away from him. “You’re talking nonsense, kitten,” he said, making an effort to quiet his voice. “I’m sorry about Jane, but you can’t blame her. I’m sure she was as surprised as I when it happened. Neither of us has ever felt the inclination to make the relationship permanent, I can assure you. As for other women—”
“Don’t bother to lie,” she said dully, her head in her hands. “I saw you, Rafe. I saw you with her—with Melissa.”
To her surprise, she looked up to see an angered look on his face instead of the one of shock she had expected. “The woman’s a bitch, Gabrielle,” he said. “Her demands are insatiable. I feel sorry for her husband.”
“So sorry that you feel obliged to make love to his wife behind his back?”
“I didn’t make love to her,” he replied in a tight voice. “But I saw you!”
He shrugged.
“I subdued her. Her temper nearly matches yours and she threatened to go to you and tell you that we’d been having an affair all the time you and I had been married. Knowing how easily you’ll believe anything said against me, I assured her silence in the most effective way I know.” His smile was sardonic. “But I haven’t touched her since, though God knows, with your tantrums, I’ve been tempted!”
“You blame me! You can actually blame me! Don’t think I believe your tale for one minute,” she said quickly. “You don’t love me, Rafe St. Claire, and you never will!”
He caught her in his arms. “Love? My dear wife, I never thought that had entered into our contract. Did you expect that with a few words mumbled by a priest and a gold band slipped on your finger the emotion could suddenly spring into existence? I never led you to believe that I loved you, for God’s sake!”
“I’m sorry, how stupid of me,” she flung back at him, feeling tears gathering in her eyes once more. “I had hoped—that is, I thought that we could at least come to care for each other for Paul’s sake.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks and dropped on his arms, and she could not look at him. “All these months—all this time,” she sighed softly. “I should have known better—I should have realized.”
Rafe, gazing at the bent head, feeling the tears on his skin, suddenly wanted to enfold that shaking body in his arms in a tender gesture that would bring her back to him. Damn! Had the girl actually fallen in love with him? A funny way she had of showing it, practically clawing his face and fighting him with all her strength when he desired her. She was a wildcat, a temptress, a mother, a regal courtesan—all of these things combined to drive a man mad with desire. Other women paled beside her, but he must fight that feeling that was threatening to engulf him—or surely, he would no longer be free if he allowed it to overcome him. But if he didn’t love her, why did he have this overwhelming urge to press her against him and comfort her, to kiss away those tears and make her moan for him with that soft, keening sound that caused a man’s blood to quicken in passion?
His strong, sun-browned hand came up to stroke her silky mane of hair, to push it back from her face, as his other hand tilted her chin up so that he could look into those violet pools that made a man want to drown in them. God! she had a beautiful mouth, made for a man’s kisses, trembling now as she looked at him, her face wet. His two hands cupped her face between them and drew her towards him so that his mouth pressed into hers, feeling it part softly beneath the pressure. The kiss grew deeper and whirled them both into a swimming sensation that turned slowly into blissful oblivion. God, he could go on kissing her like that forever, revelling in the warm, pliant mouth that was responding so sensually to his unspoken demands. His hand swept from her hair down her arms to her breasts—such beautiful breasts, firm and up-lilted, the peaks hardening with desire even before his fingers touched them.
Gently, he laid her down on the bed, letting his hands go farther down to caress the flat belly and silken joining of her legs. He thanked the heavens that she did not protest or question him now, but let herself be swept along willingly on the wave of his desire. It did not seem amazing to him that the two of them could be now so utterly joined, so fully in tune, when, just moments before, they had faced each other in mutual fury and distrust. All that mattered was this—the coming together of two splendid bodies, the soaring of two spirits, seeking an emotion, a pinnacle of shared feeling, that was surely the most exquisite music two people could experience together.
Neither uttered a word, so afraid were both of breaking the spell. And then, when she was stretched taut with desire and he could prolong his excitement no longer, they knew a rising tide of joy that brought both of them surging together in the culmination of pleasure. Several minutes passed, during which neither was sure that they should speak.
Rafe touched her cheek gently and gazed into her eyes. “Surely you know that no other woman has ever done that for me,” he murmured.
She smiled almost shyly. It was not what she had wanted to hear, but it was a beginning.
Gabrielle awoke the next morning, noticing that Rafe had already risen and dressed and was probably downstairs meeting their guests. She smiled to herself, knowing that little by little she would win him now.
She called Milly to help her dress and, on a whim, chose a bright gown of yellow muslin, sprigged in tiny violet flowers. Her face was radiant as she looked at her reflection and blew herself a small kiss in salutation, then swept into the hall and down the stairs where she found Rafe and Charles seated in the library.
“Good morning, kitten,” Rafe drawled lazily, letting his eyes travel thoughtfully over her shining face and sparkling eyes.
“Good morning, darling. Good morning, Charles. I do hope you slept well?”
He nodded and his satirical smile seemed to guess at the reason for her high spirits so that she blushed unwillingly. “Where is Isabel this morning?”
“Still in bed,” he responded, his grey eyes jumping from her mouth to her bosom.
“Then—then I suppose I should go up and see how she is,” she said uncertainly, disliking the lack of respect in his gaze.
“Charles and I were discussing the possibility of finding him a position in the city guards,” Rafe cut in smoothly, aware of the tension between his wife and this man, whom he had remembered only vaguely. The man’s manner irked him, and he could easily see the effect it had on his wife.
“That would be wonderful,” Gabrielle replied lamely. She made her exit swiftly and went to Isabel’s room.
“How are you feeling, Isabel?”
“Much better, thank you.” Isabel stretched. “I’m truly ravenous, Gabrielle. Could we breakfast together here in my room?”
Gabrielle smiled. Isabel’s face was still pinched and a little sallow, her hair still not shining as it once was, but these were things that would be easy to change, especially after she was delivered of her child.
“When do you think the child will be born?” she said after the maid had brought a breakfast tray.
The other shrugged. “As soon as possible, I hope. I believe I shall have perhaps another two weeks of this, and then the little rascal should make his debut.”
“It seems I was only just in time, then,” Gabrielle said, sipping her tea.
Isabel nodded. “What I would have done without you I really don’t know,” she confided. “Oh, I’m sure Charles would have taken care of me, but—sometimes—I really wonder if marrying him was the best course of action.
“It seemed the only possible thing to do, I suppose,” Gabrielle put in.
Isabel noticed the look of pity in her friend’s eyes. “Oh, don’t think I presume that Charles is in love with me, Gabrielle. I found out soon enough that he can’t love any woman—except maybe his dead mother, who, from all accounts treated him abominably.”
Gabrielle nodded. “I remember his father telling me about it.” She looked at Isabel with sudden curiosity. “Did you ever find out what happened to his father?”
“I think Charles told me he died in Italy—poor man!”
Gabrielle echoed the thought, then decided to turn the conversation to something else. “They say that General Andrew Jackson is due to come here sometime in the winter. Let’s hope he’s not too late to stave off the British.”
“He must be a brave man and a grand fighter,” Isabel said. “From all reports—and news travels fast in the shanties—if anyone can beat the English, he can.”
“I’m sure Governor Claiborne hopes the rumors are accurate. Suzette tells me that he is nearly beside himself with worry.”
“You know the governor and his wife?”
“Of course, didn’t I tell you that Rafe is one of the governor’s aides? You really must get out of bed and meet my husband.”
Isabel agreed and rose from the bed, dressing herself with Gabrielle’s help in one of Gabrielle’s maternity gowns. The two women found the men still in the library, talking of war.
“Rafe,
I would like you to meet Isabel—de Chevalier. Isabel, my husband, Rafe St. Claire.”
“Charmed, madame,” Rafe said, pressing a kiss to the hand she extended.
Isabel’s dark eyes danced. “Oh, but he’s so handsome. You didn’t tell me,” she exclaimed laughingly.
Rafe’s smile mocked her excitement, and Gabrielle saw Charles watching his wife with a cold contempt.
“Why don’t you sit down, Isabel, before our host has to fight you off with a club,” he said nastily.
Isabel crimsoned, then seated herself next to him, fairly subdued by his unkind words. Gabrielle cleared her throat in embarrassment, then suggested a glass of wine for everyone. They seated themselves, and Rafe resumed the interrupted conversation.
“So, we received word just yesterday that the British had asked Lafitte and his crew to join them in return for various rewards and the like. I must say I was surprised when the scoundrel wrote to Claiborne himself, asking him what he might counter with to induce him to refuse the British bribe. The man has gall, certainly, but to expect Claiborne to drop all charges against him is a bit hard for the governor to swallow.”
“I can almost admire a man like that,” Charles put in, draining his glass.
Rafe glanced at him with mocking contempt. “Lafitte’s clever, there’s no denying that, but I’ve an idea that he’s not going to win on either side this time.”
“What makes you so sure? The British might keep their promise and allow him free passage, with a trunkful of gold besides. This man Lafitte must be able to command a good deal of respect from his men, else why the longevity of his reign on Barataria?”
Rafe smiled scornfully at Charles as the man made his way to the wine bottle. “Lafitte is a murderer, a smuggler, and a robber. He makes a great deal of profit illegally al the expense of lawful business concerns in the city.”
Charles turned quickly. “You have little room to talk, St. Claire, when it comes to illegal trafficking, for I do recall that you enjoyed your own large profit from smuggling—at the expense of my father’s good name.”
Gabrielle Page 43
