Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  "It's still warm. Put on a lace shawl over your nightgown and meet him in the garden."

  "No. I'd not be able to think of anything to say."

  Beau regarded her with a decidedly skeptical glance. "Dominique, not once in your entire life have you ever been at a loss for words with a man."

  Dominique knew she deserved that rebuke for indeed she had seldom been engaged in a conversation she had not led. Thinking back, she felt as though she were remembering another person, not herself at an earlier time. "No. I'm much too tired to entertain him."

  "How can you possibly be tired? When were you last out of this bed?"

  "I was up only this afternoon. You saw me downstairs."

  "Yes, and so did Etienne and he's been pining to see you again ever since. Put on some of that new perfume, and he'll probably faint from the sheer joy of being with you."

  Now it was Dominique who grew skeptical. While her brother never discussed his romantic conquests with her, she had no doubt that he had known a great many beautiful women. His experience bore no relation to hers, however,

  and she refused to accept his assessment of the situation. "I don't believe we should take that risk. What if he were to injure himself in a fall?"

  "I think he'd gladly accept a few bruises to lie at the foot of your bed for a while."

  Beau was working very hard to lift her spirits, but an adoring man was the very last thing Dominique needed. "You're very sweet, Beau, but no. I don't want to speak with your friend. Please give him my apologies."

  Beau opened his mouth to try another argument, then thought better of it. "As you wish," he sighed. He kissed her cheek and then rose to his feet. "You're right, of course. It was wrong of me to believe nothing would change while I was away, but I love you so much, I want you to always stay the same."

  "No. The woman I used to be wasn't worth preserving. Good night, Beau."

  "You're very wrong, but I'll not tire you further with an argument. Good night." Beau left her bedroom and went straight downstairs where he found Etienne boasting to Falcon of what an excellent shot he was.

  "I've seen Etienne shoot," Beau interjected, "and he may very well match you in talent. Will you excuse us a moment? I need to speak with him privately." As soon as Beau had drawn his friend aside, he explained his dilemma.

  "My sister is heartbroken over a man who was completely unworthy of her affection. Do you suppose you could speak with her for a few minutes and make her feel pretty again? I've seen how easily you talk with women, and it would mean so much to me, to all of us, if you could just make her smile."

  After the fine meal and gracious welcome Etienne had received from the Barclays, he did not see how he could refuse, but he tried. "If she is not feeling well, won't she merely be annoyed if I disturb her?"

  "No. She was almost pathetically grateful for my com-

  pany when I went up to visit with her just now. Come with me out to the garden and we'll pick a few gardenias for you to take to her. She'll have to invite you in to thank you, and then everything will go well."

  Fearing he would regret every awkward moment, Etienne nonetheless let himself be led outside. It was a glorious night, warm and bright, and scented by the lush fragrance of summer. He waited while Beau broke off several stems of snowy white gardenias and resigned himself to paying Dominique a visit he would make as brief as possible. He carried the flowers up the stairs with a slow, plodding step and stood aside as Beau knocked on Dominique's door. When she answered, he shook his head.

  "I am afraid this will go very badly," he whispered.

  "Nonsense. She is adorable. You'll love her." Beau pushed open the door and placed his hand in the middle of Etienne's back to propel him into Dominique's bedroom.

  "Bon soir, mademoiselle," Etienne greeted her. He entered her room with his arm outstretched to offer the small bouquet. Wanting to get the wretched visit over with quickly, he hurried to her bedside, but beneath the wild curls he had noted that afternoon, he saw eyes as clear a blue-green as the waters of the Caribbean Sea. Then he noted her long sweep of eyelashes, the gentle arch of her brow, and the delicacy of her nose. Her face was a sweet heart-shape, and her mouth, slightly stained with berry juice, was perfection. Her lower lip had a lush fullness, and the upper a well-defined bow. Why had he seen only her tangled hair, when she was such an exquisite beauty? Then he cursed himself for not rushing up to her room hours ago.

  Dominique had seen that same smitten expression on too many male faces to appreciate Etienne's awe. His dark gray suit was far from new, and while he was broad-shouldered, his vest hung loose, emphasizing a thin rather than muscular physique. His hair could do with a trim, but she liked his eyes well enough to produce a slight smile.

  "I'm afraid Beau has played a very cruel trick on you," she said in the smooth, husky tone that always drew men near.

  "Mon Dieu," Etienne whispered. "You are an angel."

  "No. I assure you that despite the sorry way I must look, I'm still very much alive." She reached out to take the flowers and dropped the stems into the pitcher of water on the nightstand. "Merci. You've done your good deed, monsieur, and may go."

  Etienne had charmed his way into women's beds from the day he had turned sixteen, but he could not think of a single thing to say to Dominique. Her hands were resting in her lap and he reached out to touch her wrist lightly and felt the thrill clear to the soles of his feet. "Oui, mademoiselle. You are very much alive."

  His hand was tan, his fingers long and slim. His touch was pleasant, but Dominique was more amused than aroused. "You and Beau are our guests tonight, and you ought to hurry back to the party," she advised.

  Dazzled by her smile, Etienne tried to remember if she had been tall. The one glimpse he had caught of her in her flowing nightgown had disclosed no hint of her figure, but he thought it likely she would also possess Belle's slender grace. He had always found pretty women an entertaining diversion, but mere amusement would not be nearly enough from her.

  "I wish to set America free of British domination," he announced much too loudly for the silent room.

  Fearful she would insult him, Dominique used both hands to smother her laugh, but Etienne was so pitifully sincere she was touched. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but this is a poor time, and a most inappropriate place, for a political discussion."

  "Oui, mademoiselle." Etienne had never suffered from such a terribly vacant mind; his emotions were in complete turmoil. He was torn between fleeing the room and vowing

  never to leave her. Anxious for any excuse to prolong his stay, he seized upon the book at her side. "I could read to you," he offered, "all night if you wish."

  His accent was very charming, and Dominique imagined she would enjoy hearing him read, but again, at another time. "You're very kind, monsieur—another night perhaps."

  "You did not dine with us, and we were served such delicious food. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like more flowers?"

  Dominique shook her head. "What I would like is to be left alone. Good night, Etienne. Sleep well."

  Etienne doubted he would be able to sleep at all. He wanted desperately to kiss her, and feared his heart might cease to beat if he forbade himself that joy. He could not find the breath to ask permission and simply leaned down to brush Dominique's lips lightly with his own. Stunned by the exquisitely pleasurable sensation, he could not immediately draw away. Her response was very gentle and sweet, but she returned his kiss. Elated to have had even a small sample of her affection, he straightened up and broke into a wide grin.

  "Tomorrow," he promised, "you are going to get out of that bed and spend the day with me."

  Shocked that he would be so presumptuous, Dominique watched him swagger out of the room with a confidence he had not once displayed the whole while they had conversed. "What an unusual young man," she remarked absently, but she ran her fingertip over her lips and thought for such a brief kiss, his mouth had felt awfully good. Not as good as Sean's perhaps,
but definitely worth a second kiss. She leaned over to inhale the gardenias' exotic fragrance, and thought perhaps she would be able to leave her bed tomorrow. That did not mean she wanted to spend the day with Etienne, but the plantation was large, and it would not be difficult to avoid him.

  Etienne had to hold tightly to the handrail to guide him-

  self downstairs, but there was no way he could hide his opinion of Dominique from her brother. "Your sister is precisely the jewel you described," he assured Beau. "But I fear nothing I do will please her."

  Beau had never seen Etienne so flustered, and clapped him on the back. "She's not a princess. Treat her as you would any other woman," he advised.

  "She is not like any other woman," Etienne complained, "but I will try."

  "Yes. I know you will." Beau bade his family good night, and with the befuddled Etienne in tow, returned to his ship.

  Falcon and Belle were gathered in the hallway with the others as Christian, with Liberty in his arms, and Liana also left along with Johanna and David. It had been the enjoyable kind of evening Falcon had hoped to have on his last visit home, but as his Aunt Arielle came toward him, he had a sinking feeling he knew precisely what she was going to say. Not wanting to put ideas into her head, however, he waited for her to speak.

  "If your mother hasn't already told you to stay at Christian's, then I won't either, Falcon, but please don't make me sorry."

  "No, ma'am. You needn't worry about me."

  Arielle kissed Belle good night and went on up the stairs but her warning had not been lost on the young lovers. Belle waited until she heard her mother's door close. "Let's go out to the garden and talk," she suggested.

  Falcon leaned down to whisper. "If your mother is going to be watching me later tonight, let's go out to the stable and make love."

  "Don't be wicked," Belle scolded with a lilting giggle, but she did not want anything to ruin the night that lay ahead, either. When they reached the garden, she threw her arms around Falcon's neck and kissed him soundly. He had not mentioned marriage since he had made her his wife in the forest, and she was loath to bring up the subject herself

  but she was anxious to make their union a legal one so they did not have to hide their passion for one another.

  "How long can you stay home?" she asked instead, and dreading his answer, held her breath as she awaited his reply.

  "A few more days," Falcon murmured between hungry kisses. He cupped her breast and teased her nipple with his palm. "I want the war over so I never have to leave you again. It hurts too much, Belle, far too much."

  Belle would never forget the fire in his eyes as he had drawn his knife on Sean O'Keefe and sincerely doubted that he gave any thought to her while he was away. He had been gone only briefly to fight outside Petersburg, but she had felt him withdraw into himself even as he had kissed her farewell. She looked up toward the light in her parents' bedroom on the second floor and laced her fingers in Falcon's to still his wandering caress.

  "There are a couple of empty stalls in the stable, aren't there?"

  "Yes, and they're laid with fresh straw," Falcon whispered enticingly. "It will be almost as nice as the forest."

  "We won't be able to see the stars, though," Belle reminded him.

  Falcon slid his arm around her waist to guide her along the path. "We'll make our own, Belle, and they'll be just as bright."

  They laughed together as they had as children, but the pleasure they had found with each other now was deeper than either had dreamed existed years ago. The stable was warm and dark, but they made it a small corner of paradise and shared all they would ever need of heaven. When they returned to the house after midnight, they parted on the stairs and went to their separate rooms, but were together again in their dreams.

  * * *

  Dominique awakened the next morning, her chest tight with a nameless fear. It was a horrible sensation and she sat up slowly, believing a forgotten dream must be to blame. She left her bed and crossed to the open window. When she looked out, she saw members of Beau's crew moving about the deck of the Virginia Belle, but she lacked their eagerness to greet the day. Beau would not be home long, however, and she did not want him to find her confined to her bed again.

  The water in the pitcher on the washstand was fresh and cool, and she splashed her face and patted it dry. Gazing into the mirror she scarcely recognized the thin face that greeted her; her outward appearance had changed as greatly as her inner mood, but that did not trouble her. In fact, she rather liked the more serious expression she now wore and hurried to her wardrobe in hopes of finding something suitably somber among the bright silks and satins.

  Way in the back, a pale peach muslin gown caught her eye. It was demure in design, if not solemn in hue, and after donning the layers of lacy lingerie her fashions required, she slipped on the summery gown and was pleased. She brushed out her hair, knotted it atop her head, and added an eyelet cap with a ribbon tie. White stockings and kid slippers completed the outfit, and she was again ever so grateful to have such lovely clothes.

  She glanced around her room, and sighting the gardenias, took one and pinned it to her bodice. She had no need of perfume while wearing the fragrant flower, and hoping the tightness in her chest would soon fade, she went downstairs for breakfast. She had not wondered who might share the table, as each member of the family trailed through the dining room at his own pace in the morning, but Beau and Etienne had already eaten and were chatting with her mother and aunt.

  "Belle and Falcon have gone fishing," Arielle announced.

  "Beau has to prepare to sail, but we thought perhaps you could give Monsieur LeBlanc a tour of the plantation."

  "Are you interested in tobacco farming, monsieur?" Dominique inquired. She slid into her usual place beside her father's vacant chair. Etienne was again seated on the opposite side of the table at her mother's right where they could glance easily at each other as they spoke. She never ate more than a few pieces of fruit for breakfast, and began to peel a ripe peach.

  "I can not imagine a more fascinating subject," Etienne replied, but he would have been content to discuss whatever topic she chose. Beau winked at him, but he scarcely needed the encouragement.

  "It's nearly time for the harvest," Dominique remarked.

  Etienne watched Dominique guide a sliver of peach to her mouth. She licked the juice from her lips, and he could barely suppress a moan. "I will enjoy observing that as well."

  Confused, Dominique paused before slicing off another bite of fruit. "Beau is seldom home, so I'm afraid you'll undoubtedly miss it."

  She did not appear pained by his imminent departure, but Etienne refused to give up his effort to impress her. "I am not sailing with Beau," he explained. "I plan to stay in Virginia and fight with the militia."

  Dominique's knife spilled from her hand and clattered to her plate. "Really? Does he know?"

  "Yes. I told him yesterday. I can shoot very well, and I will welcome a chance to wear buckskins."

  Dominique had already noticed Etienne could do with a new suit of clothes, but buckskins had not been what she had had in mind. "We're all grateful for the assistance France has given us to fight Great Britain. I do hope that you'll return home safe and well."

  "Thank you, mademoiselle, I will pray for you as well."

  Dominique tried to smile, then found it easier to concen-

  trate her attention on the slippery peach. She recalled Sergeant Danby had offered to pray for her, but she was not certain she was flattered now. She was in perfect health, but feared Etienne might believe her soul was in need of redemption. "You are too kind, monsieur."

  Arielle caught Alanna's eye and smiled. "I'm so pleased you're feeling well again, but Etienne has had a long voyage, and you mustn't tire him."

  "I'll be exceptionally considerate," Dominique promised her mother. She was relieved when Beau began a description of the beauty of the West Indies, but all too soon he excused himself and went to join their father
in the study. She dallied with a few berries, then ate another peach, but finally could delay leaving the table no longer. "Are you ready, monsieur?"

  Etienne left his chair in an instant and circled the table to help Dominique from hers. He was dressed as he had been the previous evening, and very neatly groomed even if his attire was worn. "Ladies, you will excuse us?"

  "Of course," Arielle assured him, and Alanna murmured a wish for a pleasant outing.

  Dominique glanced up at Etienne. His hair was fine, if thickly curled, and his beard so light it lent only a faint shadow beneath his deep tan. She tried to imagine him in buckskins, but failed.

  "Let's go out through the garden," she suggested.

  "My mother is devoted to her flowers," Etienne confided as they strolled through the well-tended rows of roses, gardenias, and carnations. He bent down to enjoy a deep red rose's perfume, then had to rush to catch up with Dominique. "Do you spend much time here?"

  "Sometimes," Dominique replied. "It's a pleasant place to sit and read, or simply think."

  "Am I intruding upon your thoughts, mademoiselle?"

  He most definitely was, but Dominique smiled and shook her head. "We have a small city on our property, but I'm

  assuming you'd rather walk along the fields than visit with the blacksmith or cooper."

  "Qui" Etienne reached for her hand and was pleased when she did not yank free. "My father is a fisherman as he was in Acadia, and taught me about the sea, so your plantation is a marvel to me."

  Startled, Dominique turned to look up at him. "Your father is Acadian?"

  "I had forgotten that you were not there when I met your parents, and we spoke of Acadia then. Does it bother you? I see no difference where a Frenchman is born. He is still French, is he not?"