A Silent Ocean Away

by DeVa Gantt

  He wrenched free, but George beat him to the brandy decanter on the other side of the room, confiscating it. “No, I can’t tell you what you want to hear, but liquor isn’t going to wash it away, and even if it could, I doubt the past was any better than the present. You’ve been unconscious for three days now. If you can’t pull yourself out of this stupor, you should leave. Go back to Virginia, so Yvette and Jeannette will remember you as you were four years ago, and Pierre, well…”

  “Finish it, George,” John prodded, his eyes sparking back to life. “So Pierre won’t remember me at all. Right?”

  “Damn it, John! Do you want him to grow up thinking of you as a drunk—an obnoxious oaf who spreads misery to everyone around him? Is that what you want?”

  There was no point in preparing for bed; she would never fall asleep. Instead, Charmaine reread the letter she’d recently received from Loretta Harrington. A response was in order, the diversion she needed. She sat at the desk and set quill to paper. But when she had finished, she was no closer to tranquility. Yes, she had written about a variety of things, but the dominant subject was John Duvoisin.

  Charmaine stared down at the pages. Committing her turbulent thoughts to paper had not exorcised the demon. It had only succeeded in anchoring his face more firmly before her. Wide awake…she was still wide awake! How was she to enjoy the serenity of this lavish bedroom when her mind returned over and over again to the night he had invaded her privacy here? With everything that had occurred since then, why did she still picture it so vividly—feel his hands on her, his hard body drawn up against hers, his breath buffeting her cheek? No! I won’t think about him! I won’t! I’ll think about Paul, his kiss before dinner, or his passionate embrace that stormy night when—It was useless! She needed to escape. Suddenly, the night air beckoned, and she thought of the courtyard gardens. Yes, the gardens, where the ocean breezes mingled with the sweet scent of exotic flowers, a haven that might vanquish the odious image of John Duvoisin.

  Paul propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on laced fingers. The cool breeze that wafted off the ocean did not ease his turmoil, for phantom figures continued to spurn and mock him. George was right. He had played the buffoon, played it to the tune his brother piped, leaving Charmaine sorely abused, and his dignity battered. John would never allow him to forget his illegitimacy, would always ridicule his efforts to prove himself worthy of the Duvoisin name. Why did it matter? Because, down deep, I still respect him, Paul admitted. Bastard…the label had dogged him for as long as he could remember, but up until four years ago, it had never mattered to John. Now, John used it as a weapon, skewering him every chance he got. Paul exhaled and closed his eyes. Suddenly, his father stood before him, hard and condescending. For all of Frederic’s praise of his adopted son and vocal disapproval of his legitimate son, John remained sole heir to the Duvoisin empire, with Pierre second in line. Perhaps Paul had no right to pretend to something he wasn’t, to claim a rank among the Duvoisin men who had gone before him. The circumstances of his birth denied him that right. Hadn’t his uncontrolled temper this evening proven his worth as a gentleman? A true gentleman would never have behaved so badly, justified or not.

  “Good evening…” The soft greeting was angelic.

  “Good evening,” Paul returned, standing and stepping closer to the feminine vision before him. “I thought you had retired long ago.”

  “No,” Charmaine said shyly. “And what of you? Couldn’t you sleep?”

  “I had the good sense not to try. Would you walk with me?”

  Charmaine agreed without hesitation, though she was disappointed when he turned pensive, clasping his hands behind his back, rather than taking her elbow.

  “I’d like to apologize for my brother’s behavior tonight,” he finally said. “Actually, I’d like to apologize for my behavior. I allowed John to test my patience and, in so doing, hurt you. I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

  Charmaine studied him in confusion.

  “Am I forgiven?” he inquired in earnest.

  “Forgiven? Whatever for? You said you would be at my side, and you were. How could I ask for more? As for your brother, you need not plead forgiveness for him. He will have to do that himself, though I’ll not hold my breath waiting. I find it amazing such a man can be called a gentleman. Why, a gentleman sets aside arguments diplomatically, as you attempted to do a number of times this evening. But when one is not dealing with a gentleman, then—”

  “Charmaine,” Paul chuckled, suddenly grasping her hand and squeezing it jubilantly, “you must have been sent by the very gods this night—you with your determination and conviction.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Though befuddled, she was caught up in his surge of joy.

  “You’ve just restored my self-confidence, and I’m grateful. You see, John can have a sobering effect on people—force them to look at themselves no matter how hard they resist. And this evening, I fell victim.”

  “Sobering? That’s one word I would never use in describing your brother.”

  “So it would appear,” he agreed. “But just wait until he is sober. His mordant wit was a bit dull tonight. As a rule, he’s far worse.”

  The moment’s gaiety vanished.

  “Worse?” she declared apprehensively. “Then, how am I to avoid him?”

  Paul’s elation did not diminish. “Take the children outdoors. The weather is beautiful. I’m certain they would enjoy a day abroad. Plan a picnic or two.”

  “That is a fine idea for tomorrow,” Charmaine replied dejectedly, “but what of the next day, and the day after that?”

  “John will tire of his little games. He has no reason to remain here.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  Noting her deep interest, Paul deliberated his reply. “He’s curious about Espoir. Once he’s looked everything over and is satisfied with his assessment, he’ll return to Virginia.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so. Future chess games will be far different from tonight’s.”

  “And next time you’ll allow me to win?” she asked coyly, bravely.

  Paul chuckled softly. “Mademoiselle, surely you didn’t take my brother’s assertions to heart?”

  “Did he speak true? Were you allowing me to win?”

  “And if I answer honestly, will you offer a reward?”

  “That depends on what you request,” she answered tremulously.

  His eyes settled on her lips. “A kiss,” he murmured.

  “Very well,” she responded breathlessly, their playful banter taking her into uncharted territory.

  “Charmaine, I would let you win any game if it would afford me a kiss.”

  His words were muted by the thud of her heart and the sweeping motion that pulled her into his arms. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, allowing him full access to her lips, savoring the coarseness of his moustache on her soft skin. When it seemed he could hold her no tighter, his embrace quickened, his ravenous mouth bruising, cutting across her lips and forcing them apart, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. This time he did not withdraw, and the splendid moment lengthened. Charmaine clung to him for support, returning his searing kiss with an ardor of her own. When his mouth traveled to her throat, she sighed, his breath warm on her neck, sending a chill of sensate pleasure down her spine. She was keenly aware of the love words he whispered close to her ear: “Sweet Jesus, Charmaine, my need is great…I long for you…long to make love to you…Come with me to my room…”

  Reality took hold, overpowering that odd blend of expectancy and yearning. “I can’t!” she cried, bracing her palms against his chest. “I just can’t.”

  Tormented, Paul’s iron embrace fell open, and the woman whom he wanted more than any other disappeared beyond the hedge. Although he was left in agony, he reassured himself time was on his side. It wouldn’t be long before she succumbed.

  Safe in her room, Charmaine went through the motions
of preparing for bed, tears of frustration giving way to the pleasing memory of Paul’s embrace. Yes, he had propositioned her again, but she was warmed by the knowledge he wanted her as a man wants a woman, yet respected her enough to set aside his passion in deference to her wishes. Perhaps in time the two would become one.

  About the Authors

  DeVa Gantt

  The workday is over, the dishes put away, and the children are tucked into bed. That’s when DeVa Gantt settles down for an evening with the family. The other family, that is: the Duvoisins.

  DeVa Gantt is a pseudonym for Debra and Valerie Gantt: sisters, career women, mothers, homemakers, and now, authors. The Colette Trilogy, commencing with A Silent Ocean Away, is the product of years of unwavering dedication to a dream.

  The women began writing nearly thirty years ago. Deb was in college, Val a new teacher. Avid readers of historical fiction, the idea of authoring their own story blossomed from a conversation driving home one night. “We could write our own book. I can envision the main character.” Within a day, an early plot had been hatched and the first scenes committed to paper. Three years later, the would-be authors had half of an elaborate novel written, numerous hand-drafted scenes, five hundred typed pages, and no idea how to tie up the complicated story threads. The book languished, life intervened, and the work was put on the back burner for two decades.

  Both women assert the rejuvenating spark was peculiarly coincidental. Though Val and Deb live thirty miles apart, on Thanksgiving weekend 2002, unbeknownst to each other, they spontaneously picked up the unfinished manuscript and began to read. The following week, Deb e-mailed Val to tell her she’d been reading “the book.” It was a wonderful work begging to be finished, and Deb had some fresh ideas. By January, the women’s creative energies were flowing again.

  Unlike twenty years earlier, Deb and Val had computer technology on their side, but there were different challenges. Their literary pursuit had to be worked into real life responsibilities: children, marriages, households, and jobs. The women stole every spare moment, working late at night, in the wee hours of morning, and on weekends. The dictionary, thesaurus, and grammar books became their close companions. Snow days were a gift. No school, no work. Deb could pack up overnight bags, and head to Val’s house with her two children. The cousins played while the writers collaborated.

  Wherever the women went, they brought the Duvoisins along. From sports and dance practices to doctors’ offices, from business trips to vacations, an opportunity to work on their “masterpiece” was rarely wasted. One Fourth of July, Val and Deb edited away on their laptops on blankets in the middle of a New Hampshire baseball field while their families waited for night to fall and the fireworks to begin.

  Both women agree the experience has been rewarding and unexpectedly broad in scope. Writing a story was only the beginning of a long endeavor that included extensive research, arduous editing, and painstaking proofreading. Next came the query letters sent to agents and publishers, each meeting a dead end. Self-publishing was the only option——a stepping-stone that would enable them to compile a portfolio of reviews and positive feedback. Thus they became adept at marketing their work, all in the pursuit of reaching a traditional publisher. Within two years an agent had stepped in and HarperCollins agreed to publish the work as a trilogy.

  Today, the women look back at their accomplishment. The benefits have been immeasurable. Perhaps the dearest is the bond of sisterhood that deepened: they have shared a unique journey unknown to most sisters. Their greatest satisfaction, however, has been seeing their unfinished work come to fruition: the Duvoisin story has finally been told.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  By DeVa Gantt

  A SILENT OCEAN AWAY

  Credits

  Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

  Cover photograph © Fine Art Photographic

  Library, London/Art Resource, NY

  Bottom illustration by Ricky Mujica

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A SILENT OCEAN AWAY. Copyright © 2008 by DeVa Gantt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub © Edition AUGUST 2008 ISBN: 9780061981791

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