Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Oh, Jean, my love!” she sighed. Why did this feeling of dread linger? If only she knew what it meant.

  The next moment, she heard the thud of his boots on the deck. All anxious thoughts fled. Her whole body came alive, knowing that he was on his way to her. Already she was aroused almost beyond bearing. Just thinking of him did that to her.

  The door to the cabin opened. He had to stoop to enter. As he did, a slow, caressing smile warmed his handsome face. Quietly, he closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world. His gaze never left her. Without a word, he came to her, kissing her all over with his eyes before he touched her. She was trembling, though he had yet to lay a finger on her. She felt as nervous and fluttery as an untried virgin.

  “Come here!” he demanded in a husky whisper.

  She hesitated only a moment before going to him. She stood so close, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, yet still, he did not take her into his arms.

  She watched, trembling with anticipation, as his hand rose toward her face. His fingers, too, trembled slightly. She caught her breath when he caressed her cheek lightly, trailing his fingertips down the side of her throat, to her bare shoulder. For several heart-stopping moments, he hesitated, stroking the slender strap of the white gown as if he meant to ease it off her shoulder. Instead, he let his fingers slide down the narrow silken thread. He stroked her full breast. Every nerve in her body felt that light touch. Closing her eyes, she sighed his name.

  The next moment, he gripped her slender waist in both his hands and drew her hard against him. She could feel the throbbing heat from his loins through the thin fabric of her gown. She wanted to beg him to take her now, here, this minute! But that was not his way. He would torture her first with his gentle caresses and deep, hot kisses. She wanted it that way!

  His face hovered over hers. She stared straight up into his eyes—gone deep, smoky green with the intensity of his desire.

  “Do you know how much I love you, darling?” he asked in a husky whisper.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. “No more than I love you,” she finally managed. “Oh, Jean, whatever would I do without you?”

  “You’ll never have to find out,” he assured her. “We’ll always be together, my darling.”

  She wanted to believe him, but she knew that his promise was as elusive as the moonbeams shimmering on the calm water outside the cabin’s porthole. In the years since she first met the great Jean Laffite, their separations had come all too often. With each parting came the painful thought—the awful possibility—that there might never be another joyful reunion. She still ached inside when she remembered the terrible, pain-filled hours and days that she had waited, wondering if Jean was alive or dead, while he and his men helped General Jackson defend New Orleans against the British. That was neither the first nor the last time she had had to bid him adieu and pray for his safe return. No, they would not always be together!

  Ward sat beside the bed all through the night, watching over Pandora. Her condition confounded him. He was unable to rouse her. Her eyelids fluttered and she smiled or frowned from time to time. Once tears ran down to dampen her pillow. She murmured softly or uttered a deep sigh. It was almost as if she had passed over into another level, living a spirited existence beyond sleep.

  “Or maybe she’s just dreaming,” he said to himself.

  At the sound of his voice, she half rose in the bed. Her eyes remained closed, yet she seemed to be looking about, searching for him. He took her hand.

  “I’m here,” he said quietly.

  “You won’t leave me?”

  “No, I won’t leave.”

  She lay back then, looking relieved, but still clinging to his hand. Ward sat tense, waiting for her next move, her next words. Was she coming out of it?

  His hand lay clutched in hers upon her breast. She stroked the dark hair on the back of his fingers, sighing from time to time. Ward began to feel uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair. Her gentle fondling was arousing him, more than he liked to admit. He dared not draw his hand away for fear of upsetting her.

  The more she touched him, the warmer the room became. He loosened his collar with his free hand. What if someone—even Cassie—saw them like this? It was bad enough that he was in her bedroom in the middle of the night. Cassie had dressed Pandora in a thick linen gown with a high collar and long sleeves. But still, Pandora was undressed, in bed, and unconscious! Far less serious circumstances would be viewed as compromising in this day and age.

  Suddenly, Ward froze.

  He tried to pull his hand away, but Pandora held it tightly. While he’d been lost in thought, she had shifted her position, turning on her side toward him. Now his palm was flattened against her breast. He could feel the pressure of her distended nipple. She held it there as if inviting him to fondle her. To make matters worse, she was now breathing in shallow pants. Ward had bedded enough women to recognize what was happening. His touch was arousing her as deeply as her stroking had affected him.

  “Yes, my darling! Yes!” she moaned.

  Ward pulled his hand from hers and shook her gently. “Pandora, wake up! Can you hear me? You’ve got to come out of this. I want you to come back to me now.”

  “Yes… always come back to you,” she murmured. Then capturing his hand again, she pressed it firmly to her breast, and expelled a deep sigh of longing.

  Jean’s strong hand was on her breast—pressing down hard, making her ache. She moaned aloud from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

  They were still standing in the middle of the cabin, fully clothed. But now he became more forceful. Almost roughly, he kneaded her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. A moment later, his hands were at the straps, stripping them from her shoulders. The gown rippled down over her body, leaving her naked—burning for him—before his smoldering green eyes.

  He reached overhead and turned up the wick of the oil lamp. It shed a golden glow over her creamy skin.

  “I can never get enough of seeing you, my darling,” he rasped. “You are the loveliest creature in all creation.”

  She stood before him, unashamed, her proud breasts full and high, her waist slender, her hips rounded, her shapely legs long and tapered to near perfection. She watched him through half-closed eyes, wondering how much longer her legs would hold her, if he kept looking at her that way.

  He came to her again, embracing her, letting his big hands slide down her back and over her buttocks. He bent to capture one taut nipple in his mouth, sighing with pleasure as he tasted her.

  The next moment, he lifted her gently in his arms and laid her on the smooth coverlet on the bed. She closed her eyes—waiting, knowing that now, at last, he would take her.

  It was like the first time! Only it was better, for now he knew what pleased her, and in pleasing her, he satisfied himself. They clung to each other, matching deep, even strokes until she felt the warm tingling in her legs begin to rise. Up and up the delicious heat traveled until her whole body was possessed and burning with a wonderful fire. Then with an explosion of sensations, they reached the heights together. Never had anything been so wonderful, so beautiful, so holy! She slipped her arms about his neck, drawing his mouth down over hers in a long, intimate kiss…

  Pandora awoke with a start to find herself in her nightgown, in bed, being kissed deeply, thoroughly, and apparently not against her will. She pulled away quickly.

  “Ward! What are you doing?” She sat up, clutching the covers to her chest. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

  “Pandora!” he cried. “Thank God! You have no idea…”

  Suddenly, Pandora became aware of that same sweet weariness she’d felt the night at Ward’s cottage. The dull ache was there, the slight soreness, just as before. Panic seized her.

  “Ward, please, I don’t know what’s happened, but I think you’d better go.”

  “I will! Just stay calm, stay awake. You’ve been so long coming out
of it. I was worried sick, Pandora.”

  Pandora’s kiss had caught Ward off guard. And what a kiss! Surely she hadn’t learned that from Jacob Saenger.

  “Ward, answer me,” she demanded. “Coming out of what?”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “Ward? Tell me what’s happened here. I have a right to know!”

  He reached out to touch her arm, meaning to soothe her. She jerked away from him with a cry.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “All right, Pandora,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to alarm her. She might slip away again. “Are you telling me that you don’t remember what happened?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to bring some order to the clutter of her mind. The last clear memory she had was of getting dressed, waiting for Ward to come and tell her the surprise he had in store for their morning’s outing.

  “When did you arrive?” she asked suddenly, her eyes wide open. “How long have you been here? Why, it’s dark outside!”

  The truth was beginning to sink in and Ward was horrified by it. “You don’t remember going with me to the Eden Musée?”

  She stared blankly at him. “I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Pandora,” Ward said gently, “I want you to listen carefully to me. Please, try not to get upset. Cassie tells me you’ve had these spells before.”

  The color drained from Pandora’s face and she whispered, “No.”

  “I’m afraid that’s what happened. We were in the museum—the chamber of horrors—when you fainted. I couldn’t revive you, so I brought you back to the hotel. You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours. Now, do you remember?”

  Pandora leaned her head down on her knees as he spoke. She raised it up and looked at Ward with dull, anxious eyes. “No, I don’t remember any of it.”

  She remembered his kiss well enough. Her whole body was still tingling. But she refused to admit that to him or the shocking memories of some of her dreams. She clearly recalled the soul-shattering pain of childbirth. She still harbored the dull ache of fear that refused to leave. She could still see her vision of a red hammock, a sandy beach, and a man making love to her on a wide bunk in the cabin of a ship called Pride. She still felt warm with the glow of spent passion.

  Pandora stared hard at Ward. “Have you been here with me for the past twelve hours?”

  He nodded. “Almost every minute.”

  “Then it was you,” she said in a flat, dull tone.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I!” she snapped. “I thought I could trust you, Ward Gabriel.”

  “Trust me? What are you talking about?” Even though he thought he knew, Ward demanded, “What are you accusing me of, Pandora?”

  Tears rushed down her cheeks suddenly and she screamed at him, “Get out! Just get out! I’m still going to marry Jacob, no matter what you’ve done to me. I’ll confess everything to him and he’ll still marry me!”

  “Pandora, have you gone mad? I never…”

  In a fury now, she threw a pillow at his head. “Go! I don’t want to hear any more. Haven’t you done enough? I’m ruined!”

  In a state of shock, Ward Gabriel departed immediately. Not until he left the hotel did the full weight of Pandora’s accusations sink in. Some shrinking-violet of a female might consider herself ruined if she woke to find a man sitting beside her bed, sharing a kiss in the middle of the night. But not Pandora Sherwood! Only one thing could ruin her for the man she intended to marry. She had accused him of taking full advantage of her. Pandora believed Ward had stolen her precious virginity.

  “Of all the pompous, unmitigated gall! The conceit of the woman!” he muttered, striding angrily down the dark street.

  Then, suddenly, he stopped, remembering the way he’d felt after she left his cottage, how he’d given up his plans to visit Abbie Allen’s. He had that same feeling now—as if he had just made wonderfully satisfying love.

  “Maybe she is crazy,” he told himself. “But, if so, I’m as mad as she.”

  Ward called Pandora’s suite the next day, but she refused to speak with him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gabriel,” Cassie told him. “She’s not taking any calls.”

  “How is she?”

  “As good as I ever saw, sir. It’s like nothing ever happened.”

  “Well, thank God for that. I think she really ought to cancel her trip—go back to Galveston. Old Dr. Saenger should see her.”

  “Lord, Mr. Gabriel, you shoulda heard her blow up when I suggested that very thing. She say we going to Paris and that’s that. There’s ain’t no reasoning with her when she sets her mind to something.”

  Ward expelled a long sigh. “I know, Cassie. I know.”

  The following afternoon, Ward was on the dock when Pandora and Cassie boarded the SS France. She looked wonderful. He was relieved. Here ended his responsibility toward her. He’d thought a few days with her in New York would get her out of his system. It hadn’t happened. He wasn’t sure what actually had happened, but now he was certain she never wanted to see him again.

  “Just as well,” he told himself, trying to deny what he knew to be the truth. No matter how Pandora felt about him, he had to see her again. He would see her again.

  He could not pull himself away from the dock until her ship had sailed out of sight. Once it was gone, a deep, empty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Nothing seemed important now that Pandora was gone. The depth of his emotion confounded him. She belonged to another man. He knew that, he accepted it. So why was he feeling like a deserted lover?

  He walked back from the East River docks, not to his own hotel on Broadway, but to the Fifth Avenue Hotel where Pandora had stayed. It was raining, but he never noticed that he was getting soaked to the skin. Only when the bartender said, after Ward’s third brandy, “Mr. Gabriel, you’re going to catch your death,” did he realize he was wet, cold, and shivering.

  He shrugged and said, “What does it matter? Give me another, Mike.”

  Pandora felt dreadfully alone as the ship steamed out of the harbor. She kept thinking about Ward and what fun they’d had together before their dreadful parting. She even allowed herself to dwell on his kiss—the hot, passionate pressure of his mouth and the cool, silky caress of his tongue stroking hers.

  She shivered and closed her eyes. “I dreamt it,” she told herself. “Ward never…” But she knew better.

  She had purchased a special gown to wear to the first night gala aboard the SS France. But she had decided to have a light supper in her cabin instead. She was in no mood for gaiety.

  “Oh, Miss Pan, you’ll miss all the fun!” Cassie complained. “Come on now, let me fix your hair and get you ready.”

  Pandora waved her away angrily. “Please go out on deck for a while. I want to be alone!”

  Poor Cass was almost in tears as she hurried out of the cabin.

  Pandora sat alone in her stateroom, hoping to regain some of the peace and contentment that seemed to have deserted her forever. The ship rocked gently on the waves, reminding her of her dreams. This vessel wasn’t the Pride; no lover was on his way to sweep her off her feet and on to ecstasy.

  She sighed and poured another glass of Ward’s champagne. In spite of the awful row and the vicious things she’d accused him of, he had sent wine and flowers to the ship. She stared at the yellow roses and tears rushed to her eyes. Suddenly, she felt alone—and afraid.

  Pandora wanted more than anything to follow Cassie’s advice and go rushing back to Galveston, back to Jacob where she belonged. The whole business in New York had been most upsetting. But now more than ever she needed to go to Paris. Twelve whole hours were missing from her life. Twelve hours of what? She would never know exactly what had gone on in her bedroom unless she saw Dr. Pinel and let him probe the shadowy depths of her mind.

  She laughed humorlessly and toasted her image in the mirror. “Onc
e the truth is out, who’s to say that Jacob will even want me back in Galveston?”

  A short time later, Pandora crawled into bed. She closed her eyes and held her breath—waiting, listening, hoping, against all reason. No thud of boots sounded outside her cabin door. No warm, caressing hand reached out of the darkness to clasp hers. No kiss touched her waiting lips.

  Finally, she cried herself to sleep, praying that her phantom lover would find her in her dreams.

  The dark hours passed, the ship rolled on, but no one came to ease Pandora’s aching heart.

  Chapter Seven

  “Interesting case!” Dr. Phillipe Pinel spoke the words in French to his assistant, Madame Celeste. Then, nodding, he placed the long, detailed letter from Dr. Jacob Saenger on his desk and lit his pipe. “What time did you say the young lady will be here?”

  “She is due at one o’clock this afternoon, Doctor.” The prim, gray-haired woman in her fifties, a stickler for punctuality and accuracy, checked her appointment book to make certain. “Yes. She should arrive within the next few minutes.”

  “Good, good. Show her in immediately.”

  By way of dismissing his assistant, Pinel turned in his chair to stare out the window, losing himself in deep thought. The Seine flowed like a lazy silver thread far below his office window in the building adjacent to the hospital. All of Paris seemed shrouded in a cold, gray mist this November afternoon. Winter had arrived ahead of schedule—dreary, wet, and depressing.

  The doctor shivered slightly, rose, and poked at the small fire in the grate. He must be getting old, he thought. He could never keep warm these days. Staring down into the orange flames, he thought about Dr. Saenger’s letter and the complexities of Mademoiselle Sherwood’s case. This “second sight,” as his young colleague termed the woman’s condition, could be a form of autohypnosis. The trauma of her parents’ deaths when she was so young might have caused her subconscious to seek this means of escape from a painful reality. If that was the case, his best course would be to use Dr. Franz Mesmer’s techniques to arrive at the root of her problems and thereby affect a cure.