The instant she spoke, she was sorry she had, for Ryan drew a sharp breath of surprise that she had known that.
The couple chatted a while longer, but Angele was afraid to say anything else. When Ryan finally steered her away, he remarked, “You know, I was under the impression that you’ve had no formal schooling.”
“I haven’t,” she lied.
“Then how do you know Virginia was the tenth state to ratify the Constitution? You even know the correct year.”
She shrugged. “I hear things.”
“That’s what you said about Francois DeNeux.”
“And I was right, wasn’t I? You said yesterday that you bought some fine horses.”
“You were, and I did, and I’m going to go see about them in a little while.”
Anxious to get his mind on something else, she cried, “Let’s see to it now! We need to know if they’re being cared for like they should be.”
He laughed. “And how would you know? Or have you also heard about that, too?”
It would have been so easy to remove the mocking sneer from his face by telling him she had grown up around stables and probably knew more about raising horses than he did. She could also brag that she had been the best rider at Miss Appleton’s school and could out jump any man for miles around her father’s estate. “No,” she said instead, “but I’d like to see them, anyway.”
“The cargo area is no place for a lady. You can see them when we get home. I might even teach you how to ride.”
And that, she thought, suppressing a smile, would be an experience he would not soon forget.
She drew her hand from his and folded her arms across her bosom as though to ward off a chill. “It’s getting cool. I think I’ll go to the cabin now. I don’t want to walk anymore.”
“Later. Right now we need to talk. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since you ran off yesterday.”
They had reached the stern. The ship was starting to slowly move away from the pier, and everyone else had gathered at the bow. It was a quiet area, and, due to the way the deck curved behind the bulkhead of the stairway leading below, no one could see them. Angele liked the privacy and thought how it might be a good place for her to hide away with her thoughts during the voyage when she felt the need.
Crisply, she informed him, “I didn’t run away.” Corbett said he had fibbed for her, and she believed him. Ryan was just venting his anger on her for a change. “And I don’t feel like talking,” she added coldly.
“You don’t seem to feel like doing a lot of things, and I’m sorry, but I want to know where you went yesterday and why.”
“How many times must I tell you? I wanted to say goodbye to Paris in my own way.”
“Did you meet anybody—a man, perhaps?”
Her skin prickled. There was no way he could have found out. “Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
She whirled on him, masking guilt with indignity. “I don’t think this is a fitting conversation on our wedding day.”
“You’re my wife, and I’ve a right to know where you go and what you do. I also have the right to know everything about you. So far you’ve told me nothing except that you’re an orphan. You’ve said nothing about your family. You say you were raised in a fishing village, yet you seem to know a lot about unusual things for a girl of your background—like horses and history—subjects not exactly taught in the home of a fisherman.”
“I told you—I hear things. I listen to people when they talk. It’s how I learn. You should try it sometime,” she added huffily, “instead of asking so many questions.” She turned her face toward the water, the stiff breeze blowing her hair about her face. Again, she attempted to get his mind on other things. “The sea is so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m actually sailing all the way to America.”
He snorted. “You’re obviously more excited over that than getting married.”
“It’s not exactly an orthodox marriage, you know. You needed to take a French wife, and I needed to get out of jail. It’s that simple. Besides, I don’t know you yet. I’ll have to wait and see if I made the right decision.”
“And so will I.”
She seized the opportunity to ask a question of her own, one that had been burning inside since the day he made his proposition. Whipping about to face him, she challenged, “And what if you find you didn’t make the right decision? What if you ultimately feel that you made a terrible mistake? We haven’t discussed that possibility and we should, because I need to know what’s to become of me if you do.”
“Do as you’re told, Angele, and that won’t happen.”
“No,” she fired back. “That’s not good enough. And besides, I’ve a will of my own, and I won’t always agree with you. What then? Will you make me leave?”
“I want you to have my baby as soon as possible. After that, I would never ask you to leave.”
“Good.” She nodded with satisfaction and even managed a small smile, despite the dark way he was staring down at her. She would not have to worry—as long as she produced a child.
“But…”
She stiffened. His tone was foreboding.
“If you don’t have a baby, and we ultimately decide we can’t stand each other, then I suppose we could come to some kind of financial settlement so you could go your own way.”
Angele brought up another possibility. “And what about your inheritance if the marriage ends before we have a baby? Wouldn’t you be faced with having to find another French wife?”
“Maybe. But I would hope my father wouldn’t hold it against me that it didn’t last. After all, I did do what he asked by marrying a pure Frenchwoman. If it doesn’t work out…” He shrugged.
Pure Frenchwoman. That was another reason Angele knew she had to keep her past a secret. He couldn’t find out she was only half French. He might hide it from his father, but he would hate her for having deceived him.
“I intend to do my part,” she said. “We should get along well.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. And don’t worry—I’ll teach you as much as I can about etiquette and so on before we get home. After that, Clarice can take over.”
“Fine.” Angele suppressed another smile to think how she could probably teach Clarice a thing or two about social graces.
It nettled that he continued to look at her so intensely. “Is something wrong?”
“Have you told me all you want to about yesterday?”
She threw her hands up, pretending to be disgusted. “There is nothing to tell. I walked around to take one last look at Paris. I can’t understand why you’re making such an issue of this.”
“Have you ever been with a man, Angele…”
She blinked, at first not understanding what he meant, but then it dawned just as he made it clear by lowering his voice to add, “…intimately?”
Taken aback, jolted to the tips of her toes, she all but shouted, “No, I haven’t!” And it was not altogether a lie. Her uncle had been intimate with her. She’d not been intimate with him. And she had fought him tooth and nail till he slapped her to dizziness and submission.
“Why do you ask me this?” she demanded.
“A man has a right to know.”
“Well, you asked me, and I’ve told you, and now I am going to the cabin. Don’t try to stop me.”
She turned on her heel and all but broke into a run to get away from him. Nothing had been resolved, she thought, frustrated. He was still curious about her past. Worse, he had confirmed her fears that the marriage would end if he wasn’t pleased with her. And she couldn’t let that happen—no matter what.
Because, sadly, life offered her no other option.
Ryan started to go after her but thought better of it. She was angry, but she would get over it. Hell, he was angry, too, because she had looked him straight in the eye and lied to him. She had met a man in Paris, and, according to Corbett, had got in his carriage and ridden off with him for the better part
of the afternoon. As for her saying she had never been intimate with a man, he would soon know if she had lied about that, as well.
He told himself it should make no difference, but he knew it did. Despite the circumstances of how they’d met, despite her lack of upbringing and everything negative there was about her, he couldn’t deny being drawn to her. And he wanted her, damn it.
Ryan was well aware of how Angele caught the eye of every man in the dining room when they entered. She was wearing a pale-pink gown. The bodice was edged in black lace and pearls, scooped only low enough to show the barest swell of her generous bosom. She had coiffed her own hair in an upswept pouf, capped by the pearl-and-diamond comb he had given her along with many other fine pieces of jewelry. She was truly a lovely sight, and it was obvious everyone who saw her thought so, too.
He continued to be amazed by the wardrobe she’d selected. He had told the dressmaker not to spare any expense but discreetly let her know that due to Angele’s upbringing, she would need guidance. The dressmaker had reported, however, that Angele had demonstrated a keen sense of fashion and needed no help.
She was beautiful and mysterious, and he was delighted she was his bride. But it bothered him that when they had talked on deck earlier she had brought up the possibility of their marriage failing. He didn’t want that to happen. She was going to make a good wife, and he would make sure everything worked out as he planned.
Once she gained a little weight and got over her experiences of living in the catacombs and being in jail, she would be in good health and able to have fine children. In addition, he would see to it that she learned everything necessary to function in and be a part of Richmond society. She would eventually take charge of the household. As the wife of the plantation master, it was only right that she do so. Clarice might not like it, but she would have to accept it.
Dinner passed in a blur of banal conversation with others seated at their table, food Ryan hardly tasted, and too much wine to try to quell anticipation of the night ahead.
Corbett also had too much to drink, and Ryan saw how it appeared to make Angele uncomfortable when he held his Champagne glass up in toast to the newlyweds. She looked as though she wanted to sink from her chair and crawl beneath the table.
Not long after that, she excused herself, declining dessert and tea with the ladies while the men went to their salon for cigars and brandy.
Walking with the other men, Corbett caught up to Ryan and whispered, “I can’t believe you’re wasting time like this on your wedding night. Why do you want to smoke cigars and drink when you can be in bed with your bride?”
“And sometimes I can’t believe how uncouth you can be, Corbett,” Ryan snapped. He turned from the direction of the smoking salon and went instead out on deck.
Corbett was right behind him. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just don’t understand why you aren’t in your cabin.”
“I’m giving my wife time to herself.”
“Your wife.” Corbett snickered. “You know, I still find all of this hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s not important that you do. But at least you’ve had the good manners to make her think you approve.”
“Whether you believe me or not, I have nothing against Angele personally, and I hope you know I hated telling you about her going off with that man, because I don’t want to be involved in any of this. But I have to say I’m surprised you went ahead and married her after you heard about it.”
Actually, Ryan had thought about saying to hell with it, but he had a lot invested in her…and he also wanted her. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“Not directly. I don’t want her thinking you followed her. We’re married now, Corbett, and there has to be peace. She’d resent you if she knew you told me, and I don’t want that.”
“I don’t, either. And if you’re not worried, then neither am I. There’s probably a logical explanation.” He slapped Ryan on the back. “And now that you’ve done it, you know I wish you well.”
“Thanks. Now, why don’t you go join the men? I’d like to be alone.”
“Sure. Sure. I’ll see you at breakfast—if you can get up that early.” With a wink, Corbett went back inside.
Ryan waited a few moments, then decided it was time to go to the cabin. He had given Angele ample time to prepare herself.
He was ready—and eager—to claim his bride.
Angele wished she hadn’t drunk so much. Wine always made her sleepy. Combined with the Champagne, she had hardly been able to keep her eyes open, but at least she was relaxed—on the surface, anyway. Her heart had stopped threatening to leap right out of her chest and her hands had quit shaking. But she had not trusted herself to contribute to dinner table conversation. She had left that to Ryan and Corbett and the two couples seated with them, afraid she would stammer or stutter if she tried to join in.
Once, when Ryan had leaned back laughing at something someone said, his legs had spread slightly, causing his thigh to press against her. She had glanced down, to where her hand had lain earlier, but quickly looked away. What was wrong with her, for heaven’s sake? She was acting like a strumpet. At least she thought she was, even though she had no idea how a strumpet behaved. But ladies weren’t supposed to enjoy looking at a man’s privates, and, despite things that had happened in her past, Angele considered herself a lady.
It was the wine, she had told herself, and had pushed her empty glass away. Then Corbett signaled to the waiter to have it refilled, and, because the butterflies were starting to swarm in her tummy again, she drank it.
She had been grateful when it was all over. And it was only with much effort that she was able to walk back to the cabin without stumbling. Her head was spinning and starting to ache, and, dear Lord, she was so drowsy.
She had undressed quickly, not bothering to hang up her gown. Tossing it on the floor, she grabbed up the nightdress she had bought. Plain, unshaped, and made of muslin, it had a falling collar with a frill that continued down the front opening as a border. The sleeves were long, gathered into a cuff, and fastened by a handmade button. Ryan had told the dressmaker in Paris they were to be married, and she had suggested something more revealing in silk or satin, but Angele had refused.
She knew the steward had been to the cabin, because the lantern was burning when she entered and the bed covers had been turned back. Angele crawled beneath them, pulling a blanket all the way to her nose. Tears stung her eyes as she prayed Ryan would be gentle and do it quickly.
She also prayed to stay awake, but that prayer quickly went unanswered as the wine carried her away to a deep, deep sleep.
She was hiding in the stables, beneath a pile of straw. If only her mother would return, she would be safe. Her uncle would not dare touch her then. But he had sent her to the village on an errand, and Angele knew it was because he wanted her to be alone…and helpless. For weeks he had warned he would have his way with her and she would be wise to stop rebuking him. So she had run away from the manse, intending to hide for as long as necessary.
They were both at his mere he taunted, forced to look to him for every bite that went into their mouths.
Cecil Mooring had shamed his family, Uncle Henry delighted to remind, and the only thing that stood between them and poverty was his charity—which they would not enjoy much longer if Angele didn’t agree to marry him. And if she refused, he swore he would ultimately have her anyway.
Angele could not bring herself to give in and had not let her mother know what he was up to. The poor soul had been through enough and was sickly. So Angele fought to keep her uncle at bay and hide everything from her mother.
Suddenly thick strong fingers wrapped about her ankles, and Angele screamed as she was yanked, facedown, from the straw. He yelled at her to shut up, and when she continued to scream, he slapped her till she was nearly unconscious.
He pinned her wrists above her head, holding with o
ne hand while he used his other to roughly tear off her clothing. She squeezed her eyes shut against the hot, stabbing pain, and…
She screamed, long and loud, because the nightmare was real. He was there, beside her, drawing up her nightdress as his hot, moist lips trailed across her cheeks.
“Angele, stop it!” Ryan clamped his hand over her mouth. She was twisting and writhing from side to side as she fought, and a nail raked the corner of his eye. He was finally able to grasp her wrists, folding her arms across her chest as he gave her a vicious shake. “Stop it, I say. What is wrong with you? I’m your husband now. I have a right to touch you…”
She became still, staring up at him in the lantern’s mellow glow. He was not her uncle. He was her husband, as he said, and she knew where she was and why she was there and realized she had been having the nightmare again.
As she seemed to wilt beneath him, Ryan slowly relaxed his hold, then rolled to the side to look at her, bewildered. “My God, what made you do that?”
“I…I was asleep,” she managed to say, still trembling. “You…you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just going to crawl into bed with you and kiss you awake, like this…”
His mouth dosed over hers, gentle yet demanding. She didn’t respond and lay like a statue in his arms. He had released her hands, but she still held them to her bosom.
He slipped his tongue between her lips to part them, but she drew back.
He began to pull her nightdress up, warm fingers dancing up her legs. Angele’s spine went so rigid she feared it would snap. He was naked, and she could feel the hard swelling against her bare thigh. He spread her legs and used his knee to keep them apart.
“No, wait…” she begged. “I…I can’t do this…”
“Of course you can,” he murmured, his tongue licking her neck. “I’ll be easy, and I’ll make it good for you. Just relax.”
“No, please, don’t…” She pushed against his chest, but it was like pushing at stone. “Don’t touch me.”
She bucked against him as he slipped his hand between her legs and began to stroke.
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