Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  “A few hours can be a lifetime with a bewitching creature like you arousing my senses,” he drawled in a voice made husky with desire. What manner of woman was she? Philippe wondered as his body responded eagerly to her nearness. She was innocent of worldly knowledge, yet extremely provocative. She was trained to be submissive, yet her very nature rebelled against authority. She taunted and baited him, yet he desired her with an all-consuming fire. When he spoke, his words sent chills of apprehension down her spine. “I will always want you, ma petite, if only to prove to you that you belong to me, that I am the only one with the right to take you, wherever and whenever it pleases me, no matter how many small flirtations you might conduct.”

  “But, Philippe,” Gabby protested, “I did not…” The words died in her throat as Philippe claimed her lips.

  Despite Gabby’s feeble struggles, and given Philippe’s superior strength, it took no time at all for him to disrobe them both and carry her to the bed. His ardent kisses and caresses failed to quiet her, but to her dismay she found that his hands began to force a strange reaction from her body. When he paused, she felt hauntingly hollow, as if craving something more. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to fight against the maddening sensations he was arousing in her. Turning her head from side to side she stifled the moan rising in her throat. Finally, Philippe flung himself atop her, plunging deep within her resisting flesh.

  When the pain of his forceful entry diminished, Gabby’s eyes opened wide at the pleasurable feelings coursing through her body, careful to give no hint to Philippe that she felt anything but repugnance, or that he was eliciting any kind of response in her. She nearly strangled suppressing the small gasps of pleasure beginning low in her throat, all the while despising the way Philippe’s driving body roused her to wanton desire. Never would she allow herself to enjoy the things Philippe was doing to her! Suddenly his body grew rigid as he exploded in a thunderous climax, and Gabby breathed a sigh of relief.

  During the entire ordeal Gabby had raged against the banked fires that threatened to engulf her as the over powering need of her body began to overcome the dictates of her mind. Now, as he withdrew, she experienced a sharp pain of regret, as if she was on the brink of a great discovery and was denied the final knowledge. She sighed, partly from remorse, but mostly from relief. Relief that the act was over and she no longer had to fight against her own body as well as Philippe’s.

  “Why the sigh, ma petite?” asked Philippe, who had been watching closely the play of emotion upon her face. “Tell me truthfully, was not the pain absent this time as I promised?”

  “Oui,” she admitted grudgingly, “but you will never make me want you or enjoy your so-called lovemaking.”

  As the ensuing days passed, Philippe continued to make love to Gabby almost nightly, striving mightily to elicit some response from her, until, in desperation, he took her roughly, disgusted with her lack of response. Even though his caresses turned her insides to the consistency of molten lava, Gabby fought hard to remain passive beneath Philippe. In her heart she knew that were she to give in to Philippe’s passion, no longer would she be in control. It was obvious that his self-esteem was in jeopardy, for he was a man who prided himself on his sexual prowess. Somehow she sensed that her response to his lovemaking would please him and she had no desire to please him. Gabby was amazed at the direction of her thoughts. The shy inexperienced girl had come a long way in the few short weeks since her marriage.

  It was days later before Gabby was to encounter Marcel Duvall. Since their first meeting he had been careful to avoid her so as not to provoke Philippe into violence. Even though they took meals together, they ate in silence, the scowl on Philippe’s face deepening each time Marcel so much as glanced Gabby’s way. Gabby had no idea whatever of the nature of Philippe’s hatred for Marcel. She only knew that she felt a kindred spirit in the man who had offered a friendship she was afraid to accept.

  Marcel’s green eyes lit up in appreciation at the sight of Gabby standing by the railing, a brisk breeze whipping her skirts about her shapely legs and her silvery locks blowing about her face. He could not resist the urge to join her, and when he pointed out a school of porpoises her look of pure delight moved him more deeply than he would have imagined.

  “How fortunate to find you alone,” he murmured intimately, his voice barely audible above the wind. “Your husband guards you jealously, ma chere.” Gabby flushed becomingly, thinking how wrong he was about Philippe, but said nothing, turning instead to watch the cavorting fish arch high in the air. Soon Marcel’s hearty laughter joined her merry peals, her gaiety as infectious as her beauty.

  Gabby was well aware of the dire consequences should Philippe find her alone with Marcel, but she was starved for companionship, and Philippe’s moody company left much to be desired.

  “Amazing, aren’t they, Monsieur Duvall?” Gabby asked excitedly as she pointed to the frolicking porpoises.

  “Quite amazing,” he agreed, his eyes devouring her face, thinking how little it took to make her happy. “But you agreed to call me Marcel, remember?”

  “Then you must call me Gabby.”

  Unconsciously, Marcel drew nearer until silky strands of wind-whipped hair brushed his face like fragile butterfly wings. It seemed only natural for Marcel to encircle her tiny waist with his strong arm as their heads bent toward one another to better catch their words made nearly inaudible by the wind. So engrossed were they that neither saw Philippe watching from a distance, his hands clenched into massive fists, eyes smoking with gun-metal hardness. Try as he might, he could not quite shake the feeling that it had all happened before.

  The couple at the railing made no move to draw apart.

  Philippe did not miss Marcel’s bold gesture nor Gabby’s willingness to accept Marcel’s embrace. Abruptly, he turned from the scene, walking swiftly in the direction of his cabin.

  It was some minutes before Gabby realized with a start that Marcel had become far too intimate. She pulled away sharply, aghast at his boldness as well as her own willingness to allow him such liberties. “I must go, Marcel,” she said, her voice quivering nervously. “I tremble to think what Philippe might do if he found us like this.”

  “You are shivering, cherie,” Marcel said, watching her closely. “Are you so terrified of your husband? Does he mistreat you? Tell me if he has hurt you in any way and I shall call him out and…”

  Gabby blanched. There was enough animosity between them without her contributing further to it. “Oh, no, Marcel,” she interrupted, “it’s just that… I mean… our marriage was arranged and I am not accustomed to his ways yet. But having you for a friend means a great deal to me.”

  “Gabby, cherie, I will always be your friend. I would be more if you would allow it,” he said meaningfully. “If ever you need my help, you have but to ask.” Then he lifted one small hand, turned it upward and placed a warm, moist kiss on the palm.

  His meaning did not escape her. With a sharp intake of breath, Gabby withdrew her burning hand and fled to her cabin, her mind turmoil of emotions. She chided herself for acting like a young girl being courted for the first time by a handsome man.

  Gabby entered the dimness of the cabin, her heart beating wildly, checks crimson, eyes sparkling. She rested a moment with her back against the door, trying to gain some measure of composure. She failed to notice Philippe seated at the small table, a glass of brandy in his hand and the half-filled bottle before him. The day that had begun in brilliant sunshine suddenly turned dark and forbidding as a squall swiftly gathered on the horizon; a storm no less fierce than the one raging within Philippe.

  From across the room Gabby met his cold, gray eyes as he raised his glass in mock salute, a mirthless grin slashing his grim features. He jerked unsteadily to his feet and with sinking heart Gabby realized he was drunk. “I wonder, Madame,” he drawled, slurring over his words, “if you would find Marcel Duvall’s lovemaking more to your liking? It is obvious you hold mine in conte
mpt. Perhaps you find me repulsive, or are more receptive to men who take that which belongs to another?”

  Gabby turned to flee, but before she could Philippe propelled himself forward, putting one large hand against the door and pulling her roughly away from it with the other. When he released her, the abruptness of his action sent her flying to the opposite end of the room where she hit the bulkhead with a resounding thud, them crumpled to the deck like a rag doll. Barely conscious, she watched through frightened eyes while Philippe locked the door and dropped the key into his pocket before he turned toward her, a perplexed frown creasing his face when he saw her lying at his feet.

  Swaying slightly he reached her side and bent to help her to her feet. Gabby shrank from his touch and Philippe raised his hand as if to strike her, but quickly lowered it when he realized his insane anger was causing him to do something he would regret later.

  “Why are you doing this to me, Philippe?” she whimpered.

  “You have the nerve to ask me why,” he shot back, eyes blazing, “when night after night you lie beneath me cold and passionless, yet invite the embrace of a man you hardly know!”

  Gabby’s heart sank when she realized Philippe had seen her and Marcel together earlier. “You forget,” she reminded him boldly, “that you are a stranger as well, and have shown me nothing but indifference and brutality in the short time we have been together. At least Marcel is kind and thoughtful.”

  “You do not know Marcel if you think he has nothing on his mind but friendship,” Philippe raged.

  Pushing aside Philippe’s helping hand, Gabby rose unsteadily to her feet. “Don’t touch me,” she spat.

  “You allow Duvall to touch you,” he stormed. “I will kill him before I allow him to corrupt you!”

  “Why do you hate him so?”

  Her question caught him unaware but his brittle gaze did not waver as he answered with one word, “Cecily!”

  “Who is Cecily?” The name meant nothing to Gabby.

  Though befuddled and confused from too much brandy, Philippe knew he was not ready to tell Gabby about Cecily. Instead he said, “Don’t trap me with your questions, Gabby, Cecily has nothing to do with you.”

  Then his glazed eyes fell on the neckline of her dress, which had become unfastened in the foray and hung open revealing a creamy breast. The flash of desire was swift as he ordered harshly, “Take off your clothes!” Gabby ignored his command with stony silence. “Did you hear me, ma petite?” he repeated. “Take off your clothes! Or I will tear them from your lovely, frigid body.” Grimly Gabby raised her trembling hands to unfasten her dress. “Do not look so glum,” Philippe laughed sardonically, “just pretend I am Marcel.”

  Gabby’s neck corded, and anger was bitter on her tongue. His cruel words and filthy accusations stunned her. She longed to strike out at him but fear held her in check. “Hurry,” he said as he poured himself another brandy and flipped it expertly down his throat, hot eyes devouring her as piece by piece her clothing dropped to the floor. “Tonight, ma chere, you will find paradise,” he promised, his voice softening into a hoarse whisper. “I shall not allow you to suppress your natural passion with a pretense of frigidity. When I am through with you your thoughts will never again stray to another man.”

  Effortlessly, Philippe plucked her from the mound of discarded clothing at her feet and carried her to the bed, flinging his own clothes off before falling at her side. Gabby shivered, suddenly aware that the wind had risen and the ship was no longer the sedate lady she once had been. Though it had grown dark, streaks of lightning lit up the cabin while thunder rumbled across the heavens.

  Gabby lay still as Philippe’s eyes became twin pools of gray velvet, his hands surprisingly gentle upon her flesh. With every ounce of her strength she fought against the sensations that threatened to engulf her, knowing that once she submitted willingly she could no longer despise him for forcing himself on her. When Philippe enfolded her in his arms it was as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the very core of her, his body hot and demanding. Yet, he was gentle. Never had she known such tenderness from him. His passionate kiss was long and deep, and when he released her mouth she wanted him to claim it again. His lips etched a path along the smooth curve of her neck to the tip of her breast where he felt her nipple rise as his tongue flicked hotly against the pulsating bud before moving across the pale goblet of her belly, kissing and caressing all the small hollows and indentations along the way. Her body trembled, tiny seeds of sensation bursting softly into bloom as waves of desire coursed through her. By the time his lips reached the smooth, tender skin of her inner thighs, she no longer had a will of her own. Something was driving her on, insisting she find out the meaning of the powerful force pulsing within her.

  “Don’t fight it, ma chere,” Philippe whispered, his mouth twisted in a crooked grin, all vestige of drunkenness gone. “There is no greater pleasure than that of the flesh.” Then his lips were where no lips should ever be, teasing, nipping, tasting, as she experienced a terrible, rising ecstasy to which some secret place within herself was vibrating, his questing lips pushing her ever upward.

  “Philippe,” she begged in a haze of delirium, “have mercy!”

  But Philippe showed her no mercy. Every muscle of her body was as taut as a finely drawn wire as she strove toward a truth she had long denied, even feared. Then all sense of time and reason receded as a million stars burst inside her head, hurtling her skyward to join the maelstrom of the storm raging outside the cabin, powerless before that long withheld surge of emotion until her body had nothing more to give.

  When she was quiet Philippe raised himself and whispered in her ear, “That was for you, ma chere now for me.” She gasped as he plunged deep within her, moving with swift, sure strokes until Gabby felt once again the flood of warmth coursing through her veins. Her eyes opened wide in shock, confusion reigned. Could he be bringing her again to that pinnacle of towering passion in a repeat of the ecstasy she had known only moments before? Then all thought fled as she joined Philippe in his race to the summit.

  Grabby drifted in an eddy of quiet contentment aware only of Philippe’s cries of completion ringing in her ears. Before sleep claimed her she felt amazingly at peace. The briefest smile of triumph flitted across Philippe’s face before he, too, sank into oblivion, both unaware of the raging storm and tumultuous sea around them.

  The storm blew unceasingly for three days. It was not a full-fledged hurricane, but a fearsome squall nevertheless. During that time Gabby did not leave the cabin, and Philippe only once or twice, and then just long enough to check on the condition of his ship. But the passage of time was like nothing to the lovers as they rode out the storm as well as their pleasure locked in each other’s arms, and time drifted sweetly on, the rocking of the ship a cradle of passion. Sometimes Philippe made gentle, tender love to her, her rapture more intense than any she had ever known. At other times his fierce ardor swept her along on a tide of passion so consuming that she was left drained and exhausted. Then there were times when just lying side by side, bodies touching. was enough.

  The innocent, convent-raised, untutored virgin no longer existed. In her place dwelt a woman who had learned volumes about loving, and recorded a thousand ways to please and be pleased. But not once had Philippe’s words implied she meant anything more to him than a vessel for his lust. He still remained a mystery to her. Why did Philippe treat her so shabbily? No matter how intimate they became she could not penetrate his cold reserve. There was always a part of him held back, even in his greatest moments of ecstasy. Sometimes Gabby hated him, as well as her own traitorous body. No word of love passed his lips. And always that same triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth each time she cried out for pleasure.

  Chapter Five Gabby awoke just as the day was dawning with a blush of crimson in the eastern sky and realized that the storm had finally blown itself out. Busy sounds drifted in and she knew that the ship was once more responding to the directions
of men instead of its capricious mistress, the sea. She ventured a glance at Philippe and saw that he still slept, looking much like a little boy, all the lines in his face smooth and his black curly hair lying unruly upon his forehead. She stifled an urge to brush her fingertips across his brow and arose from the bed careful not to disturb him. She shivered in the cool morning air, hugging her arms across her naked breast.

  She was unaware that Philippe had awakened and watched her through slumberous eyes while she washed and dressed. Her fragile beauty never ceased to amaze him. When a knock shattered the silence he was instantly up and donning his trousers. Their early morning visitor was the cabin boy with a request to join Captain Giscard for a hot breakfast, their first in three days.

  If Gabby thought Philippe’s attitude toward her had altered during those three days when he had become a tender lover, she was mistaken. His manner remained cool and aloof, as if their shared intimacies meant nothing to him. She choked back the resurgence of hate that rose like gorge in her throat, seething bitterly as she recalled the carnal pleasures he had taught her to enjoy in just three short days.

  Philippe’s voice startled her from her reverie and she was surprised to see him dressed and shaved while her mind wandered. “Gabrielle, I expect that Duvall will be at the captain’s table,” he said sternly, as if lecturing a willful child. “You will do well to remember all that I have told you about him and act discreetly.”

  Gabby bristled with indignation and her eyes flashed violet flames. She opened her mouth to utter a scathing retort but Philippe forestalled her.

  “You cannot begin to know what Duvall is like. You must trust my judgment in these matters. Your experience in the ways of the world is sadly lacking.”

  “But I am learning fast, am I not?” she mouthed contemptuously.

  Philippe frowned menacingly as her chin shot defiantly upward. “I am beginning to think I made a dreadful error in marrying you,” he said. “Your father was mistaken if he thought the convent had gentled you.”