Tess reached up to touch his face, running her fingers down his lean cheek, loving this blissful aftermath almost as much as what had preceded it—again it was something she’d never known before. She weaved her fingers through his hair—black as a raven's wing, thick as a horse's mane, it was as soft as silk in her grasp as she wrapped the long strands around her hand and gently pulled his head down to hers. “Don't ever cut your hair,” she ordered, her mouth an inch from his.
“I won't.” Touching his lips to hers, he vowed, “I'll let it grow until it reaches my ankles.”
She laughed softly. “That will probably take a long time.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed and kissed her. “The rest of our lives.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Nigel stepped out of the carriage and took a quick, disdainful glance around. Here, there was none of the excitement or convenient amenities he came to expect when visiting the Provence coast. Saint-Raphael was a backward little fishing village, with nothing whatsoever to recommend it.
“Wait here,” he told the driver. “You, too, Sullivan,” he added as his valet prepared to step down and accompany him. “I probably won't be long.”
Nigel began his inquiries at one end of the main street, but no one he spoke with recognized the miniature of Teresa.
He crossed the street and retraced his steps on the opposite side, wondering if perhaps Trevalyn was having better luck. The two men had separated at Orange, with Trevalyn taking the road through the Languedoc region to Spain, and Nigel taking the road along the Cote d'Azur to Italy. They were scheduled to rendezvous in Marseilles two weeks from now.
He stepped inside a draper's shop, causing the bell over the door to jangle and the proprietress to glance at him. “I will be with you in a moment, monsieur.”
Tapping the end of his gilt-edged walking stick against the wooden floor, he waited with barely concealed impatience as the proprietress assisted a very stout woman with her purchases, and it seemed an eternity before she finally escorted the stout lady to the door and turned to him. “Yes, monsieur?”
He held out the miniature of his wife in one gloved hand. “I wish to know if you have seen this lady.”
The woman took the tiny portrait and glanced at it. Her dark brows lifted in surprise, and her gaze lifted to Nigel. “Oui, monsieur. Only yesterday.”
A flash of triumph shot through him. “She means a great deal to me, and I have been searching for her for a long time.” Digging in the pocket of his waistcoat, he pulled out a napoleon, twirling it in his fingers before the woman's eyes. “Tell me everything you can.”
She related every detail she could remember of the lady's visit. Nigel listened, a slow, deep anger building within him as he wondered where she had obtained the money to buy clothes.
“She did not tell you where she was staying?”
“Non, monsieur. I have told you everything she said.”
He put the coin in her hand. “I will be staying at the inn. If she returns, come and fetch me at once. If you do, there are three more gold coins for you.”
The proprietress did not question why he wanted to find the woman. Though her eyes were wide with amazement at this unexpected good fortune, she merely nodded agreement and put the napoleon in her pocket.
The cobbler was able to tell him that Teresa had been there as well. She had ordered four pairs of shoes and would be returning for them in a few days. Nigel made the shoemaker the same promise he had made the draper and returned to his carriage. He instructed the driver to take them to the inn, where he spent the remainder of the morning deciding exactly how he would punish his wife for all that she had put him through.
***
The sun was in his eyes. Alexandre blinked and turned his face from the morning light pouring through the window to the woman in bed beside him. Turning onto his side, he rested his weight on one elbow and studied her just for the sheer pleasure of doing so. She was asleep, her expression soft from lovemaking and slumber. There was a crease on her cheek from the pillow, and he reached out, tracing it lovingly with his finger.
She stirred and her eyes opened.
“Good morning.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder above the sheet. Her body moved, radiating warmth and arousing him. Pulling away the sheet, he traced a path of kisses from her shoulder to her breasts and back again. He captured her lips with his and lingered there, rolling on top of her and ignoring the sleep, half-hearted protest she uttered against his mouth as he began to caress her.
He watched her face as he entered her. Her lips parted, her body arched, and he came in a rush of pleasure. Burying his face in the tangle of her hair, he smiled, feeling the small shudders she gave beneath him. It was a long time before he moved again, but finally, with one last kiss, he rolled away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Aware that she was watching him, he dressed slowly with no regard for modesty.
Tess sat up, wrapping the sheet around herself, and as she watched the sunlight play across the powerful muscles of his body, she appreciated for the first time just how beautiful a man's strength could be. When he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, she leaned toward him, pressing her breasts against his back and wrapping her arms around him, loving him with all her heart.
He turned his head. With a smile and a kiss, he said, “Are you planning to lie abed all day, my love?”
Emboldened, she kissed his ear and whispered, “Only if you do the same.”
He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan, but he shook his head. “A very tempting offer, petite, but we both have things to do today.” Turning around, he kissed her nose. “You have to go back to town and buy fabric for a wedding dress. Or had you forgotten?”
“No,” she answered, caressing his cheek. “I hadn't forgotten. But what is it that you have to do?”
“I shall paint today.” He rose, rolling back the cuffs of his shirt. “I think it is time I did a portrait of Suzanne.”
She laughed, falling back against the pillows. “You shall spoil her, I fear.”
“I certainly hope so.” He bent down for one last kiss then walked to the door. Pausing in the doorway, he turned to her. “Tess?”
“Hmm?”
“Je t'aime.”
“I love you, too,” she said, watching him disappear through the doorway.
***
Paul halted the carriage in front of the draper's shop. “This may take some time,” Tess told him as he assisted her down.
“Very well, mademoiselle.” He gave a shy bow and added, “I will return for you in an hour?”
“That will be fine.” Tess smiled and turned toward the shop as Paul made for the tavern across the street.
He stepped into the dim interior and took a seat on one of the wooden benches, indicating to the pretty brunette serving girl that he wanted a glass of wine.
The tavern was crowded with men. Many were travelers, seeking a quick midday meal, but the men seated nearest him were evidently locals, for they were discussing the local gossip with avid interest.
“He's an aristo,” one man was saying. “English. Got pots of money, by the look of him.”
Another man spoke. “Looking for a woman, you say?”
Taking a sip of wine, the first man nodded and continued, “He's been showing her portrait all around. She'd be his mistress, I'd guess.”
The serving girl set Paul's glass of wine before him and added her knowledge of the man to the conversation. “He said they had a quarrel and off she went. He's been trying to find her for a long time.” With a dreamy sigh, she added, “He's a handsome fellow.”
The first man scowled up at her. “You women, always wanting the handsome ones. He's English.” The man spat out the word with obvious contempt. “Don't you go getting any ideas, Lise, my girl.”
She huffed indignantly. “And who are you, Gaspard Leclare, to tell me what to do?” Sweeping a pile of coins off the table and into her apron, she walked away.
Paul frowned thoughtfully into his wine. The mademoiselle was English. He wondered if the woman they were discussing could be her.
***
Tess fingered the length of pale blue silk she had been shown the day before. There was a bolt of lavender silk as well, and one of soft yellow, but she preferred the blue. “I'll take it. Seven yards, please.”
“Very good, mademoiselle.” The proprietress measured off the yardage, cut the fabric and set it aside. “You shall want trims and laces, too?”
When Tess replied in the affirmative, the woman indicated the shelves containing all manner of trim and said, “Please take your time, mademoiselle. I must go out for a moment.”
Absorbed in making her selections, Tess nodded absently and the woman departed from the shop. When she heard the door open again and the bell above the door jangle, she said without looking up, “I'd like eight yards of this Mechlin lace, I think.”
“I think not.”
Tess froze at the sound of that familiar voice. Slowly, dread sifting into her very bones, she turned around.
There he was, standing with his back against the closed door of the shop, an impassive expression on his handsome face. The room began to spin and Tess fell back against the wooden counter, gripping the edges for support.
“You seem surprised to see me,” Nigel commented, lifting the ivory and gold walking stick in his hand as if to study it.
“You're dead.” A stupid comment, but the only thing she could manage past the fear that choked her throat. “I shot you.”
He reached up and caressed the scar at his temple. “So you did.” He smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Forgive me for saying so, my dear, but you are not a very good shot. I survived.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to tell herself it was only a nightmare. But she knew it wasn't, and when she opened her eyes, he was still there. “Oh, God,” she moaned, pressing her clenched fist against her lips.
Nigel shook his head and sighed. “Teresa, did you really think you could hide from me forever?”
“I wasn't hiding.” Desperate, she glanced around, but there was no one to help her. Wildly she wondered if there were a back door. “I thought you were dead.”
He seemed to perceive her intent even before she could move. Three quick strides and he was in front of her, his arms trapping her against the counter and preventing any attempt at escape. She shrank back from any touch, lowering her gaze to the gold buttons of his silk waistcoat.
The tip of his walking stick caught her under the chin, lifting her face. “No kiss of greeting for your husband?” he inquired. “Ah, well, we will remedy that later, when we have more privacy.”
The door opened and Nigel's valet entered the shop. “The innkeeper has been paid, my lord, and the carriage is outside.”
“Excellent. We will join you in a moment, Sullivan.”
“Very good, my lord.” The valet departed.
Nigel stepped back, holding out his gloved hand to her. “My dear?”
She stared at the hand offered to her. She knew what Nigel's hands could do to her. She knew how futile it was to fight, how much worse it would be if she did. She didn't care. “No!” she choked, pushing his arm aside and darting past him.
He caught her in two steps, and she felt as if her arm was being wrenched from its socket as he pulled her around. He turned, slamming her against the nearest wall, and his grip on her arms was bruising, his voice was deceptively soft. “There is nowhere to run, my dear.”
She lifted her chin. “I won’t go with you. You cannot force me.”
It was a lie and they both knew it. He could force her to do anything he wanted. “You are my wife and you will do as I say.”
“I'll divorce you.”
“You have no grounds.”
“I'll run away again.”
“Teresa, it will do you no good to defy me.” He reached out to caress her trembling chin. “Anywhere you go, I will always find you. Don't you know that by now?”
She jerked, but he held her fast, and she strove to think as she fought to hold back the sobs of panic that rose in her throat.
Think, Tess. Think.
She could take the baby and run. But if she did manage to get away, he would still find her, for what he said was true. She could not escape him. There was never any escape from hell.
If she took the baby and ran away, he would find her. He would find Suzanne. He would take her anyway and the baby, too.
She thought of her tiny baby and Nigel's brutality. He would hurt Suzanne, and she knew she couldn’t let that happen. No matter what he did to her, she could not let him ever find out about the baby. No, at all costs, she must protect Suzanne.
The baby would be safe with Alexandre. He would take care of her. He would be a good father. The idea of leaving him was agony, and she wavered, desperately seeking another option and finding none. She pushed aside the pain. She could not think about Alexandre now. Not now.
The baby. Focusing all her thoughts on Suzanne, she made the only choice she had. Sagging against the door, she went limp in Nigel's grip. “You are right, my lord, of course. I have nowhere to go, except with you.”
He did not loosen his hold for some moments, searching her face for any sign of deception. Finally, he relaxed his grip somewhat. Keeping one of her arms firmly in his grasp, he said, “Since the carriage is outside, we will depart immediately. When we walk out, I expect my wife to behave with the decorum of her station. If you try to run again, Teresa, I will be very displeased.”
She shuddered, remembering how painful Nigel's displeasure could be. She followed him docilely out to the carriage, her head high, ignoring the curious stares and whispers of the villagers who had gathered outside the shop. Only pride and thoughts of Suzanne's safety kept her from hysteria.
When Nigel assisted her into the carriage, her hand trembled only slightly in his as she accepted his assistance and stepped inside.
The carriage lurched and began to move. Tess stared out the open window, too numb to think, too numb to feel. She watched the shops of Saint-Raphael disappear, replaced by a view of the sea, as they traveled the coast road toward Marseilles.
She turned away from the window and cast a sideways glance at her husband. He was watching her, and when she met his gaze, she felt another surge of panic. She saw the anger raging within him, and fear forced explanations from her lips. “I thought you were dead. I was terrified of what might happen. That's why I ran away.”
“And where have you been staying? Not at the inn in this God-forsaken village.”
Lowering her head, she stared at her shaking hands and steeled herself to stay calm as she sought a plausible lie. “I've been living with a family near Saint-Raphael for the past six months. A...wine merchant and his family. I am...have been their...um...nursery governess.”
Governess sounded good, she thought. Better than housekeeper or maid. “They have four children,” she added, thinking of Jeanette and Henri. “One son and three daughters...”
Her voice trailed off as Nigel reached out and lifted her hand. He pulled off her glove, then turned her palm upward. She felt his thumb caress the callouses there. “Governess, my dear?” he drawled. “How fascinating.”
His hand closed over her wrist and he yanked her toward him. “We will not discuss this again until we are at home. In the meantime, perhaps you will be able to think of a more believable explanation, and I will decide what punishment you deserve.”
He pushed her away, and she fell back against the side of the carriage. Drawing a deep breath of relief, she straightened and once again turned to stare out the window.
Explanations, she reminded herself, never made any difference to Nigel. He never believed them, and he would always punish her regardless, but he wouldn't do anything to her here and now. No, he would wait until they were home, until he had complete privacy. She thought about the other two times she had run away from him, and how he had w
aited then, too. His goal was to heighten her suspense and fear as she imagined what he would do to her. It was all part of the game, but this time she had no intention of playing. She wasn't going to torture herself with speculation.
She closed her eyes, and another man immediately replaced Nigel in her thoughts. Alexandre would wonder what had happened to her. He would go to the village looking for her. He would believe that she had left him. A crack of pain fractured her heart and the first tear fell. She didn't care if Nigel saw it.
The window was open and she moved to put her head through. Perhaps she could see...
Nigel's hand on her knee gave her a moment's pause. “Careful, my dear. I wouldn't want you to fall out.”
“It's stuffy in here, Nigel,” she answered. “I wanted some air.”
Turning back, she put her head through the window, twisting to stare at the peninsula in the distance, where the château stood high on the rocky cliffs. She could see the tower. Alexandre was probably there right now, painting that portrait of Suzanne.
“Good-bye, Alexandre,” she whispered under her breath, staring at the tower through a blur of tears. “Please take care of my baby.”
The carriage followed a bend in the road and the château disappeared from her view, tearing a sob of complete desolation from her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alexandre laughed, watching the baby shove half of her fist into her mouth. “You are not a good subject, Suzanne,” he chided, waving his paint brush in her direction. “You refuse to keep still.”
The baby removed her fist from her mouth and made a gurgling sound.
“Don't be impertinent,” he told her. “This is very serious work. I—”
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