Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  At least Gabby had the means to purchase passage to New Orleans, or even France, if she wished. Both Honore and Linette would welcome her and Jean and give them shelter until she found a way to support the two of them. Why did it have to end like this? Gabby wondered sadly. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she failed to realize that Jean had eaten his fill and slept comentedly, her nipple lax in his pink, rosebud mouth, a dribble of milk running down his tiny chin. Still undecided what course to follow once she left Martinique, Gabby sighed hugely, closed her eyes and wearily rested her head against the back of the chair.

  The moon sent shafts of molten silver through the porthole but still Gabby did not awaken. Though her arms had relaxed, she did not loosen her hold on little Jean who also slept soundly. When Philippe quietly entered the cabin, his breath caught painfully in his throat; his hard-sinewed frame went slack with tenderness. Gabby’s Madonna like features were limned by pale moonbeams caressing her body. There was a porcelain loveliness about her from her silvery tresses shimmering against translucent skin to the faint violet smudges beneath her eyes. Jean slept peacefully in her arms, his small face damp against her breast. The memory of his own face pressed against those creamy globes was etched upon the tissues of his brain. At that moment it seemed to Philippe that everything he ever wanted or dreamed of was embodied in those two sleeping figures.

  Careful, so as not to awaken her, Philippe lifted Jean from the crook of Gabby’s arm. His eyes were diamond bright with unshed tears as he held his son whom he had so carelessly abandoned. With one finger he tenderly traced the curve of Jean’s downy cheek, and smiled when he opened his tiny mouth searching for a plump nipple. Reluctantly Philippe put his son down in the makeshift crib Seaman Laville had fashioned when Gabby first came aboard. Only when he was certain the baby still slept soundly did Philippe turn back to his wife, scooping her up in his arms as if she were thistledown and placing her in the center of the bed that held for him memories too complicated to sort out at that moment. He could feel the soft, stirring rustle of her breath against his cheek.

  Gabby awoke abruptly, immediately sensing something was amiss. Arms held her down like two steel hands. In panic, she became irrational, crying, and hammering her small fists against a rock hard chest. “Jean!” she cried, “What have you done with my baby?” Then she recognized Philippe, eyes wide in disbelief and shock.

  “Our son is in his bed, ma chere,” soothed Philippe softly, “sleeping. He is beautiful, nearly as beautiful as his mother.”

  “Your son!” bridled Gabby, wide awake now. “Why should you want him now when you could have claimed him months ago? Nothing has changed!”

  “You have every right to be angry, Gabby,” admitted Philippe, guilt riding him heavily. “Only my stubborn pride prevented me from claiming my son. I knew in my heart that I had sired Jean. Even if… even if Jean were not mine I would still claim him.”

  “I can’t believe what I am hearing, Philippe,” exclaimed Gabby, completely and totally bewildered.

  “It’s true, ma chere,” Philippe stated emphatically. “Jean is my son and heir! I loved him from the moment he emerged into the world.”

  Gabby held her breath, unwilling to shatter the fragile beginning they had just established as she searched his face for some hint of mockery.

  Philippe grew alarmed at the continued silence. “I… am I… is it too late?” His look was so woebegone and sad that Gabby had to smile. He mistook the meaning behind her smile as he grasped her shoulders, pulling her close as if afraid she would get away. “Tell me it is not too late,” he begged. “Have I completely destroyed the love you once held for me?”

  Because of their past, their mistakes, their trials, and their bitter words, Gabby was afraid to commit herself. She needed time to sort out her emotions, to learn the cause of his change of heart. “How did you find me?” he asked, deciding that talking about anything at all was preferable to answering Philippe’s plea for reconciliation.

  “Marcel told me he had put you and Jean aboard the Windward.”

  “Then he is alive!” cried Gabby, jubilant. Her relief and joy caused a twinge of pain to crease Philippe’s face. Had she come to love Marcel so much? he agonized.

  “No, ma chere,” Philippe said gently. “Marcel died shortly after he was found amid the ruins of St. Pierre. He lived long enough to tell me about you and Jean. I will be grateful to him for the rest of my life. The gift of life he gave to you and Jean more than compensates for his past offenses against me.”

  “He was so good to me… and Jean,” sobbed Gabby, her heart wrenching painfully in her breast. “He loved us, Philippe, truly, and without reservations. Can you understand that?”

  “I know, and I understand,” admitted Philippe, amazed that he really did understand. “I believe he loved you as much as I do. His last words were of you.”

  Gabby was sobbing softly now, and Philippe wanted only to comfort her as he caressed and soothed her, pressing his lips against her bright head.

  “Mourn if you must, mon amour, I really do understand your feelings. Only know that I will never do anything to cause you to seek comfort and protection from another man. No one will ever hurt you, including myself!”

  “You’ve said that before, Philippe,” chided Gabby, wanting desperately to believe but afraid of being hurt yet another time, if not now, then later.

  “I know that in the past I have been an arrogant bastard. I deliberately hardened my heart against you, admitting to no one, least of all myself, how much I loved you, needed you, how empty my life has been without you. My greatest fear was that my love should destroy you as it did all the women I loved.”

  “You cannot blame yourself entirely for Cecily’s death. I thought we had settled that before.”

  “No matter. The blame is mine,” theorized Philippe, shrugging his wide shoulders. “If I had let her go, had not forced her to conceive a child she did not want, had not loved her so desperately, she might still be alive.”

  “Philippe… I…”

  “Wait!” Philippe intervened, holding a hand out. “Let me continue. Cecily’s death is only a part of the tragedy plaguing me. There is yet another death attributed to me. The death of one I held more dear than Cecily even.”

  Gabby’s mind was restless with speculation. Had there been another woman in his life? she wondered, her eyes turning dark, nearly jet in the shadows as she waited for Philippe to continue.

  “I loved my mother as I never loved another human being. Until you came along.” He paused, his face registering pain at the dredged-up memories.

  “Your mother? But…”

  “She died when I was ten years old,” interrupted Philippe. “I… she died because of me.”

  “But… how…?”

  “She and I were on our way to St. Pierre one day when a wheel came off our carriage. We were thrown into a ravine and fell into the rain-swollen river. I was knocked unconscious and my mother held my head above water until Gerard reached us. She insisted that he take me ashore first. When he returned for her it was too late. Keeping me from drowning had so weakened her that she could not stay afloat until Gerard returned for her.”

  “It’s insane to blame yourself for her death,” cried Gabby, torn apart by his guilt as if it were her own.

  “After my mother’s death my father could not stand the sight of me. I know he blamed me for surviving when she did not. Soon afterward he shipped me off to France to be educated. I returned to become master of Bellefontaine after his death eleven years later.”

  “I’m sorry, Philippe. It was cruel of your father to hold you responsible for your mother’s death.” Her heart ached for the rejected child he must have been, banished from his beloved Bellefontaine, forgotten by his father, much as she had been by her thoughtless parents.

  “Then I found Cecily and dared love again,” continued Philippe. “Only… she didn’t return that love, and in the name of love I was responsible for her death, a
lso. Don’t you see?” he anguished. “How could I love again, fearing that my love would claim another life? Then, against my will I fell deeply in love with you, a mere girl who dared defy me.”

  “You had a strange way of showing your love,” reminded Gabby gently. “Strange, yet, at times tender. But always with a fury that left me breathless.”

  “I felt I could protect you only by holding myself aloof and rendering you submissive to my will. I was determined to break your will, to make you into something you could never be. At first I didn’t want your love, only your obedience.”

  “But I loved you, mon coeur,” Gabby murmured against his chest, delighting in the feel of soft hairs tickling her checks. “If only you weren’t bent on destroying that love.”

  “ Mon dieu, Gabby!” cried Philippe in alarm. “Have my insane fears and foolish pride destroyed your love? Have I lost my son as well?”

  “I… don’t know, Philippe,” admitted Gabby truthfully. “So much hate and animosity has passed between us. What if Marcel had been my lover? What about Rob?”

  “All that doesn’t matter. I told you before the past is dead. My life is nothing without you and Jean.”

  As if to accentuate his words Philippe captured her lips, gently nudging them open with his tongue, seeking the sweet breath within. Slowly, Gabby began to respond; her pulse leaped, her limbs went liquid as she melted against his hard body. His hands played restlessly over her back, clutching her slim hips against him, cupping a soft breast.

  Before Gabby realized what was happening, Philippe was undressing her with fingers suddenly gone numb. When she lay clothed only in shimmering moonbeams he tore off his own clothing and lay beside her, gathering her close. The sweet essence of her perfume swept over him with alluring promises of past pleasures reborn.

  “I want you, ma chere,” he whispered against her fragrant flesh. “I need you with every fiber of my being.”

  Gabby lay still, so still that Philippe thought she had fallen asleep. But her eyes were wide open and staring directly at him, her breathing shallow, labored.

  “Do not be afraid of me, amour. I will never hurt you again. If you don’t want me, you have only to say the word and I will go away.”

  She said nothing.

  With a contented sigh Philippe kissed Gabby deeply, offering her his tongue, which she accepted, hungrily. His mouth moved to her breast, adoring first one and then the other, tugging at the turgid nipple with his teeth until he felt her shudder. With his lips he burned a trail of fire across her stomach to the moistness between her thighs. She stiffened, but Philippe gently nudged her legs apart and raised her hips. She gave a startled cry when she felt his tongue, hot, questing, probing. She arched her back, muffling a moan with the back of her hand. Then she gyrated her hips wildly until sparks ignited inside her brain and she writhed in abandon, crying out again and again as a burst of white hot flame seared her flesh.

  Only when she had quieted did Philippe raise up, entering her with a gentleness and reverence that surprised her.

  “This is where I belong, ma chere,” he whispered huskily as he moved deep within her.

  How perfect, how complete! Gabby exulted. The pain of it swelled to agony, a sweet, blissful agony that filled her body until she felt she would explode of it. And then she did, at the same time Philippe began his own blazing eruption.

  Later, lying with his head upon her breast, Philippe was nearly asleep when Gabby whispered his name.

  “What is it, ma petite?” he answered lazily.

  “Not long ago I hated you, but now…”

  “Now you love me,” he finished. “Is that what you are trying to say?”

  “I think so. But how can that be?”

  “What is hate but an extension of love? You and I, ma chere, have lived a lifetime of hate. From this day forward let us know only of love.”

  “I want to believe that, Philippe. Truly I do. Only…”

  “We shall go on a long voyage,” he continued blithely, despite her voiced misgiving. “The three of us. Anywhere you want, England, France, America.” His eyes danced with happiness.

  Gabby’s eyes sparkled in response. Dare she hope that after knowing nothing but the dark side of love all these years she was finally to experience that which Philippe had long denied her? It was as if she had finally burst out of a long, dark tunnel into the light of day. And at the end was the beginning of forever.