A Silent Ocean Away

by DeVa Gantt

  Suddenly, she was discomposed. It was as if this were the first time she’d faced him after his fiery kiss on Friday night. She stepped back and dropped her gaze to the floor. “What time will you come for me?”

  “I will be at your door just before seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she replied. Then, uncomfortable with the blood thundering in her ears, she quickly skirted past him and rushed outdoors.

  Paul watched her go and smiled in satisfaction. “Here’s to you, John!” he toasted, raising an imaginary glass to his brother. You make it so easy to play the chivalrous hero. And doesn’t every impressionable young maiden love the hero?

  Rose took charge of the children while Charmaine dressed for dinner. Washing away the perspiration of the hot day, she donned her best dress, then stood before the full-length mirror, pirouetting to check herself at every angle. Though modest, it hugged her trim figure and shapely curves. Satisfied, she began brushing her hair. After a good hundred strokes, she wound it into a loose bun. The combs she’d received for her birthday were the finishing touch.

  Before the clock tolled seven, she left her chamber and, with a tremulous smile on her ruby lips, made her way through the children’s bedroom and into the playroom. To her surprise, only Paul was there, turning around at the sound of the door opening behind him.

  “Good evening,” she greeted shyly.

  “Good evening,” he returned suavely, an appreciative gleam lighting his eyes.

  She looked away as he stepped forward. Her heart was already pounding, and she attempted to break the spell. “Where are the children?”

  “I sent them downstairs with Rose. They were anxious for dinner, and I was anxious to see you again.” He stepped closer. “Lovely,” he murmured huskily, his hand caressing her cheek, “you are so lovely. I fear I haven’t been of much use to anyone these past few days, for you have haunted my every waking hour.”

  The declaration was intoxicating, opening a floodgate of possibilities and leaving Charmaine vulnerable to the hand that traveled to her hair. Before she could protest, he released the thick tresses, catching hold of the locks as they tumbled down her back. Gently, persuasively, he pulled her head back. His mouth loomed above hers, his lips barely touching as he whispered an endearment. “You are the wraith that invades my dreams…the vision that follows me when I awake…my beautiful Charmaine…” He claimed his prize, his lips moving over hers with a ferocity that forced them apart, his probing tongue tasting its fill.

  She fell into him, thunderstruck, eagerly returning kiss for flaming kiss, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer as she reveled in the strong, sturdy body that held her. This time, no one interrupted, no one desecrated the rapturous embrace.

  Abruptly, he pulled away, held her at arm’s length, then turned his back on her, leaving her shaky and confused. She suffered the first pangs of lust, a foreign sensation of yearning and disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, Charmaine,” he murmured over his shoulder. What is wrong with me? I would have taken her here, in the nursery, without a care of who might walk in on us. Damn! She is too damn tempting!

  “Is something wrong?” she queried, her voice small and laced with shame.

  He inhaled before facing her again, commanding control of his raging desires. “Nothing,” he reassured, a neat smile painted on his lips, “nothing at all.”

  “Then why did you apologize?”

  “Because now is neither the time nor the place to kiss you like that. But you make me do wild things, Charmaine.”

  “Wild things?”

  “Yes, like dreaming of you every night.”

  She delighted in his poetry, the musical sound of his voice, and her heart was fluttering again. “I’m sorry I plague you so,” she whispered coyly.

  “You may plague me, Charmaine, but it would be far worse if you fled me.”

  “Would it?” she asked seriously.

  “It would,” he answered earnestly. “Now, come, we’ve a dinner to attend.”

  Dinner…Amazingly, her earlier dread was no longer there. Paul’s growing love eclipsed his brother’s vicious hatred. With this man at her side, she could combat anything John hurled her way. Tonight, she would reign victorious.

  Paul noted her poise. “You don’t seem upset about the impending ordeal.”

  “With you there, how could I think of it as an ordeal?”

  “You’re a funny one, Charmaine Ryan,” he laughed, recalling how she used to avoid him. “But you are correct. I will be at your side, and John will regret his efforts to come between us. Remember, I won’t allow him to hurt you.”

  “I’ll remember,” she murmured, her throat tightening against her burgeoning emotions. Once, not so long ago, she had dreamed of laying all her burdens upon Paul’s shoulders. Now, under his gentle insistence, she was finally moving in that direction. Could her dreams be coming true? It was best to remain anchored in reality, so she pushed the thrilling thoughts to the back of her mind.

  He took her hand and began to lead her to the door, but she stopped. “Can you wait just a moment? I have to fix my hair.”

  “No,” he objected, catching her arm before she dashed away. “No,” he said again more gently. “Please leave it this way. It looks lovely.”

  She accepted his compliment and complied. The combs were still in place, holding the riotous curls away from her face. Unfortunately, she would be very warm with her hair down, but for Paul, she could endure the discomfort. With a final, wistful glance, they left the room.

  For all her intrepid words, her hands turned clammy as they stepped into the dining room. The power of Paul’s presence fortified her, but Charmaine prayed it would vanquish any defamatory information his brother might divulge concerning her actions of Saturday morning.

  They were the last to arrive. Rose was seated between one of the twins and Pierre, helping them with their napkins. Although she had sworn not to, Charmaine’s eyes went involuntarily to the end of the table, where John had lounged last Saturday morning—Paul’s usual spot. She knew he was there; why did she bother to look? She was relieved to find her entrance was not having the same momentous effect upon him; he was engrossed in conversation with George.

  George noticed her first, and his face lit up. “Good evening, Charmaine.”

  Grimacing, her eyes returned to John. She’d gained his attention. Though his face was clean-shaven and his apparel neat, alcohol had left its mark, his demeanor unsteady, his eyes bleary.

  Paul stepped to the table and pulled out a chair for her. She would be seated close to John, but not directly to his left. She took her place with as much grace as she could muster.

  When Paul turned to the chair she usually occupied, John appeared amused his brother intended to sit between them. But Paul did not take his seat. The chair seemed glued to the floor and would not budge.

  “Are you going to sit down, Paul?” he queried merrily as he straightened up. “Or must we start without you? I daresay, we’ve been waiting for you and Miss Ryan for quite some time now. Whatever could have detained you?”

  Irked, Paul yanked the stubborn chair, but instead of holding stiffly to the floor, it came up easily, and he stumbled backward, regaining his balance just short of a fall. The twins laughed, but he ignored them as he took his seat.

  Charmaine cast cold eyes across the table, stifling the girls’ mirth to an occasional snicker. She wondered what trick had caused the misfortune, her suspicions lying with the newcomer, whose eyes sparkled deviously.

  The table fell quiet as the meal was laid before them—though not for long.

  “I heard someone playing the piano today,” John mused aloud.

  Everyone looked up, save Charmaine, who fixed her gaze on her plate.

  “The music was quite good…whoever was playing it.”

  Mutinously, her eyes connected with his. “Yes, quite good,” he reiterated casually, his regard steadfast and challenging. “An assortme
nt of lullabies and even an attempted sonata…Very—how shall I say—? Sweet.”

  Silverware clanked on china and Charmaine cursed the blood that rushed to her cheeks, advertising her disquiet. His jeering gaze refused to release her, and so, she broke away first.

  Thus dismissed, John turned his attention to his brother, who seemed oblivious to his calculated comments. Evidently, Paul had not yet recovered from his skirmish with the chair. Well, Paul’s fatal flaw was his temper. John’s was never leaving well enough alone. Even now, he was wondering: How far need I push the governess before she lashes out and Paul rushes to the rescue?

  “Might I ask who was playing that beautiful piece this afternoon?” he continued most politely, a masterful performance of cordiality.

  Charmaine knew he was goading her and refused to answer, picking up her fork instead.

  “Nobody knows?” he pressed, eyeing Yvette. “Perhaps it was a ghost.”

  “I know who it was!” the girl offered eagerly.

  Charmaine groaned inwardly. Why didn’t I just answer the ridiculous question, instead of allowing him to intimidate me?

  “Well?” John probed.

  “Information costs money,” Yvette informed him curtly. “How much are you willing to pay?”

  Charmaine was revolted, but George chortled softly.

  “Don’t laugh, George,” John quipped. “I fear your avaricious streak is rubbing off on my sister.”

  George’s face dropped, and John turned back to Yvette, who was waiting for a monetary bid. “Now, Yvette, you wouldn’t be expecting a bribe, would you? For if you are, Auntie over there might be interested in that little matter we discussed in the drawing room this morning.”

  Agatha leaned forward, suddenly interested in the story that was emerging from the opposite end of the table.

  Yvette answered quickly. “Mademoiselle Charmaine was playing.”

  Charmaine was livid. Now that the answer was out, she simmered over the methods used to extract it. To think the man would actually coerce an eight-year-old child for his own gain! Unfortunately, his tactics had worked, and his laughing eyes were upon her again. Charmaine gulped back the bile rising in her throat, surprised when a reprieve came from the foot of the table.

  “What is this matter concerning Yvette?” Agatha demanded of John.

  He raised a hand to wave her off. “You can live without it, Auntie.”

  Sputtering momentarily, she quickly regained her aplomb. “You may call me Madame Duvoisin if you wish to address me!”

  “Address you?” John shot back. “Rest assured I will never wish to address you anything—Auntie—and certainly not with my name. No, you will always be ‘Auntie Hagatha’ to me.”

  “Well, I never! Your father will hear of this!”

  “Fine,” John responded wryly, “why don’t you rush up there right now and tell him? Then perhaps the rest of us can eat in peace.”

  Seething, Agatha glared at him, but dismissed his suggestion. Then, unable to sling an equally debasive remark, she made a great show of ripping her gaze from him and turning her unspent fury upon her plate, forcefully plying her knife and fork into a slice of meat.

  “Now,” John sighed, turning back to Charmaine. “Is it true you play the piano, Mademoiselle Ryan?” His eyes rested momentarily on Paul, who shifted irately in his chair. “Do you play the piano?” he asked again.

  “Yes,” Charmaine answered flatly, looking directly at her tormentor now.

  “You play quite well. Few are acquainted with the modern pianoforte and pound on it as if it were a harpsichord. Did you receive lessons from a maestro?”

  His belittling sarcasm stymied her.

  Rose sensed Charmaine’s distress, aware John was no more interested in finding out where she had learned to play the piano than he was in giving up the alcohol he’d been nursing. It was time to intervene. “John,” she scolded, “eat your dinner before it grows cold.”

  To Charmaine’s stunned relief, John leaned back in his chair, glanced at Yvette, who found the reprimand quite delightful, then lifted a fork to eat. Charmaine turned back to her own plate, grateful for Rose’s deliverance.

  George studied John, his intimidation of Charmaine unfathomable. He remembered her tears on Saturday and sympathized with her plight. Over the years, he had seen many an unfortunate soul go down in defeat once they were in John’s crosshairs, but those victims had always deserved it. He couldn’t imagine what Charmaine, as sweet as she was, could have done to provoke John’s wrath. “I saw Gummy Hoffstreicher in town yesterday, John,” he began with a crooked smile and a dose of levity. “He actually asked me how you were doing!”

  “And did you tell him I’ve been rather miserable lately?” John replied gruffly. “He should be pleased to hear that.”

  “After what you did to him,” George chuckled, “I’d say he would!”

  “What did Johnny do?” Yvette asked.

  George’s chuckle deepened. “When we were boys,” he reminisced, “perhaps a bit older than you, John, Paul, and I used to go fishing off the main wharf in town. Fatima always packed a large lunch, and we’d be off for the day. Anyway, that’s where Gummy always used to be.”

  “Gummy?” Jeannette queried. “Why was he called that?”

  “John gave him that name. His real name is Gunther, but we called him Gummy because he was missing a good many of his front teeth.”

  The twins lit up, giggling at what Charmaine thought to be cruel. Looking askance at John, she noticed he was listening, but eating as well, his mind far from her. The conversation turned spontaneous, and she relaxed.

  “He was always lurking about the harbor,” George was explaining, “scavenging for food and hooks. He wasn’t poor, mind you, just too lazy to bring his own lunch. So, if we didn’t give him something to eat, he would steal the sandwiches out of our lunch sack when we weren’t looking, and then we’d catch him ‘gumming’ down. Every day, we were one sandwich short, until John got angry enough to do something about it.”

  Felicia entered the room with a pitcher of water. Charmaine watched from the corner of her eye as the maid arrived at the head of the table. She leaned over to refill John’s glass, her ample bosom straining against the tight uniform, top buttons undone, her obtrusive pose affording him a generous view. What a lovely couple they make, Charmaine mused. They deserve each other!

  “The next day,” George snickered, reliving the delicious revenge, “John cut open some fish and scraped out the guts. Then he poked out their eyes. Finally, he took the sandwiches and spread some eyes and guts on each one.”

  Charmaine’s stomach heaved. George, however, was not so squeamish, guffawing with glee, tears brimming in his eyes and running down his gaunt cheeks. “I’ll never forget Gummy’s face when he bit into that sandwich. He spit it out so fast, well, I thought he was going to lose his breakfast, too!” His merriment washed over the table as Paul and John, then the children and Rose, began to laugh.

  “And what about the eyes staring up at us from the dock?” Paul added, drawing an even louder howl from George.

  “That was the last thing Gummy ever stole, at least from John, anyway!”

  Charmaine found the entire tale distasteful, and she turned disbelieving eyes upon Paul, who was chortling even harder than George. Everyone found the tale hilarious, save Agatha and herself.

  “I can find no humor in such barbarism!” the mistress declared.

  Without thinking, Charmaine looked to John, certain his retort would be swift and sure. However, he caught her eyes upon him and said instead, “You see, Miss Ryan, my aunt and I are really not alike at all.”

  “That is precisely what I indicated this morning!” Agatha added.

  In response, John raised his glass of brandy. “Here’s to you, Auntie, I believe that is the first and only time we will ever agree!” He took a long draw.

  Charmaine gasped when Yvette imitated him. Rose quickly confiscated her glass of water and reprimanded
her softly. “That is not befitting a young lady.” But Yvette’s eyes remained fixed on John, wide and wistful with her brother’s wink of approval.

  Everyone went back to eating, and the table began to hum with clustered conversations. Paul and George exchanged ideas, but John remained reticent. With him unoccupied, Charmaine’s nerves grew taut. Why had she surrendered Pierre to Rose’s capable hands? Though the child ate his meal passively, seeing to his dish was the type of distraction she needed. Nevertheless, when she smiled at the boy who smiled back at her, she found John’s gaze rested on him as well, and she thought better of having the child sitting next to her.

  Thus, she concentrated on eating, forever mindful of her antagonist. Surely he isn’t constantly watching me! She looked his way and cursed her stupidity. He instantly sensed her regard. The brow arched, and the amber-brown eyes mocked her. She rose to the challenge. She would not allow him the satisfaction of relentless intimidation. She would not!

  As if comprehending her resolution, he addressed her directly. “Miss Ryan, I don’t recall seeing you on Charmantes before I left a few years ago. I realize you would have been younger; however, you don’t speak like an islander. In fact, I detect a Southern accent. I’d like to know how you obtained your position here.”

  To Charmaine’s relief, Paul intervened, sparing the details. “Miss Ryan sailed from the States specifically to apply for the position of governess. She possessed all the necessary qualifications and was offered the job.”

  John propped his elbows on the table and tapped laced fingers against his lips. “Who decided Miss Ryan ‘possessed all the necessary qualifications?’ You? If so, perhaps those qualifications are not in the children’s best interest.”

  His meaning was not lost on Charmaine nor Paul. The latter’s jaw twitched menacingly, but his reply was temperate. “Colette conducted the interview. Miss Ryan was her choice.”

  Their eyes held in a silent, meaningful exchange.

  “A most foolish choice if you ask me,” Agatha interjected, drawing John’s regard. “Miss Ryan has a most questionable past. She is nothing more than a sly opportunist who managed to slither her way into this household by clever pretense, preying on certain members of this family.”