Afterward, he slept, but Dera was wide awake. She wanted to love him so much and hoped in time she would. She felt a surge of tenderness for him and kissed the tip of his nose. ���I���ll try,��� she whispered.
Dera stood beside Timothy in the meadow and watched the larks circling the bright blue sky. All of her possessions were packed and waited with Dominick and Anna in the carriage. She had departed Fairfax Manor with dry eyes and didn’t look back. Strangely, saying goodbye to her uncle was hardest of all.
Timothy stood near her, his clothes hung on his thin frame. Dera suspected he hadn’t been eating properly, but she didn’t scold him.
“A fine man you’re marrying,” he said, chewing on his pipe stem. “I wish you happiness.”
“Thank you,” she said. It felt odd to be bidding him farewell. “And you? Will you be fine?”
“Don���t worry about Timothy Brennan. I’ve been caring for myself since long before your birth.” He turned his attention from the sky and looked at her. “Do you love him, lass?”
Dera sighed. “I hope to make him a good wife. Perhaps one day, love will come,”
“That saddens me for I wish for your happiness. You’ve been like a daughter to me.” He kissed her brow,
She trembled with emotion because Timothy had never shown any physical affection to her before. She hugged him quickly. “Goodbye,” she whispered.
Before they drove away, she took one last look at Timothy standing forlornly in the green, fertile meadow. She lifted her hand and he waved back.
Dera. watched until he and the meadow disappeared from view.
Part Two
New Orleans 1769
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The eyes shimmered before her, more sensual than a warm Louisiana night. The face was hidden in a shadowy mist, but she knew it was handsome and strong, just as she knew every chiseled feature her fingers had traced three years earlier. As she reached for him, the eyes faded into the mist.
A second later Dera’s own eyes flickered open in the gray morning light, and like other mornings before this, she discovered herself in an upright position with her arms outstretched to the phantom lover of her dreams.
“Dear God,” she whispered and lowered her arms. She pushed a long, dark lock of hair from her shoulder before stealing a glance at her husband to make sure he still slept soundly. Dominick hadn’t stirred; she leaned against the back of the bed, disturbed by the unusual feelings coursing through her body.
Would she ever be free of Quint Flannery? Since arriving in Louisiana with Dominick she had put him behind her and believed she could make a life for herself and her son. Dominick, who was a kind and loving person, had accepted the child as his own. She thought she loved Dominick, at least as much as she could love any man, and she thought that was quite enough until the strange dreams began.
She got up and opened the French doors which led onto the small garden she had planted. French damask roses, pink like the ball gown she had worn at Fairfax Manor, laced the garden with their perfumed blooms. She remembered that she had worn that dress the night Quint barged into her room and made love to her. I must stop this, she thought, but even as she wanted to cast aside the memories and dispell the haunting dreams, she couldn’t. For some inexplicable reason she felt Quint was near her, taunting her.
Wrapping her blue silk robe around her body, she breathed in the fragrant October air. The evening before, she and Dominick had returned from the small house he owned upriver, a place where they had been sequestered for the last month. Doctor Perrier had insisted that Dominick take a much needed rest, and Dera had agreed after realizing how worn and tired he appeared. Since arriving home, he assured her that the country air had revitalized him, but still Dera worried. Sometimes he was out of breath and puffed so hard that she worried he���d suffer an imminent attack before her eyes.
She determined to make things easier for him, must lend a hand more in the shop, though Dominick insisted that he could handle things very nicely. He didn’t want his wife devoting herself to anything but himself and their son, Paul.
She smiled whenever she thought about her son. He resembled Quint so much that Dera’s heart sometimes skipped a beat when he looked at her with his pitch black eyes. His hair was blond, though a shade lighter than Quint’s, and whenever he stood straight and proud, she saw a hint of rebellion there and couldn’t help loving him all the more.
A slight movement on the bed alerted her that Dominick was watching her.
“I didn’t know you were awake,” she said.
���You were so deep in thought, cherie, that I hated to disturb you. What is the matter with you lately? You’ve circles under your eyes and you thrash about at night.”
She made herself comfortable beside him and kissed him on the cheek. “I just have trouble falling asleep.”
He pulled her towards him, his arms driving Quint from her mind. “I think you’re worried about me.”
She nestled her head on his shoulder, saying, “If I don’t look after you, you won’t take care of yourself. You know Doctor Perrier warned you to rest and give up the shop for a while.”
“I feel fine. All of this fuss over me is crazy. The only time I was ever sick was when I was a child with the fever, but I recovered and am strong. In fact, I shall show you just how strong I am.” He kissed her deeply and she was instantly aware of his intentions.
“Do you think we should?” she asked in concern.
“You’re all a man needs to restore his health.”
He smiled and pushed her deeper into the mattress. She stretched languorously upon the cool sheets as Dominick explored her neck with his tongue, then bared her shoulders to seek the warm, soft flesh peeping above the thin lace of her bodice.
“Have you any idea how lovely you are?” he asked.
She gently drew him closer and touched his lips. “I know only that I’m a lucky woman to have your love,”
He held her so close to him that she felt smothered, then he relaxed his embrace and looked at her with a sudden sadness. “Do you love me truly, Dera?” he asked.
Her heart lurched because she would never be able to love him the way he deserved, yet she did love him. ���Yes, I love you,��� she breathed into his ear.
His senses reeled, his heart pounded. Too quickly he made love to her in an attempt to forget the hurt in his soul; to forget that she had once loved a nameless Irishman. When it was over he lay beside her, a slight tightness in his chest, ashamed that he hadn’t increased her pleasure and very much aware that she was miles away. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have made love. You need to rest.” She hoped he didn’t see the relief on her face now that it was over.
“Your body is ripe for love and I can’t please you.” He stroked her chin. “Am I not right?”
He was correct, and they both knew that her contentment with him stemmed not from passionate love but from security. In the beginning of their marriage he was a little clumsy and hurried. Now, he just hurried. There was no excitement for her in his lovemaking, only a profound wish for it to be over quickly. How many times had she pretended pleasure so his feelings wouldn’t be hurt? Too many times to count.
“Let us not be talking about this, Dominick. I have to dress and tend to Paul. Rosette must be tired of him by now and will gladly hand him over to his mama.” She smiled apologetically and got up to dress.
He lay back down, feeling the tapping of his heart against his ribcage. He wanted to rest a bit longer, but he had a business to run, a son and a sister to support, and a beautiful wife who grew further away from him with each passing day.
CHAPTER THIRTY
���You are the most adorable little boy in all the world!” Rosette said, holding the squirming blond haired child in her arms and planting a kiss on his plump cheek. She giggled when he pushed her arms away and freed himself of her embrace.
“No, Tante Rosette.
I want to play. No kissing,” the child said in exasperation.
“If I don’t hug and kiss you, mon petit Paul, whom am I to love?”
Paul Saucier thought this over for a second, then he said, “Kiss papa or mama.”
“You mean I cannot love my only godchild?” She made a mock pout and wiped her eyes of make believe tears.
The child, believing he had hurt her, put his tiny arms about her neck. “I love you, Tante Rosette.” His genuine affection for her touched her and she held him close.
“Life would be unbearable without you,” she said, and placed him on the floor beside her. “Play with your soldiers.”
“I tell mama we saw real soldiers today,” he said, as he marched the toy ones about the floor.
“Yes, Spanish soldiers.” She ruffled his hair. “Soon you must eat your breakfast or mama will be upset.”
“No breakfast,” he whined. “I want to play.”
Rosette hated to deny the child anything; she loved Paul with all her heart. In her eyes, he could do no wrong. But the boy’s mother was another story. She had never liked Dera. She had only been fourteen when Dominick had brought his beautiful wife home and Rosette resented the intrusion. She looked up to him as the father she never knew, as the hero of her dreams.
In fact, he was her half brother, their father having married twice; once to a proper French girl and the second time to a Choctaw woman, who was Rosette’s mother. Her earliest memory was of Dominick’s kind and handsome face taking delight when she took her first faltering steps. But after years of his total devotion, Dera arrived.
Rosette was beautiful and knew it, but she resented the way her brother gazed with calf-like eyes at his new wife, following her every movement and forgetting everyone else. She believed Dera had usurped his love and her resentment of Dera grew into an aching bitterness.
Though she knew her beauty was sensuous in an earthy, bewitching way, she felt unattractive in Dera’s presence. Yet she shouldn���t compare herself to Dera for had she not already ignited the passions of Etienne Lefevre, the banker’s son, with her midnight black hair and lush curves? She licked her lips remembering how excited he had become when he felt her nude body beneath his, how his hands burned her flesh. She made him swear not to tell anyone they had made love, and he had agreed. She knew Etienne could be counted upon to remain quiet. Marriage was out of the question, though Dominick pushed for a match. Etienne was too ordinary looking and not aggressive enough.
Still, making love had been rather nice and she longed to do it again���but not with Etienne. In her imaginings her lover wasn’t inexperienced and wasn’t all hands with no fire. She pictured a handsome, powerfully built man as her lover, a man who would make her body burn and melt into nothingness.
Rosette laughed aloud at her thoughts. Picking up Paul’s playthings, she placed them in a chest near the window. Her attention was drawn by the movement of the soldiers outside as they drilled on the muddy street.
They wore the uniforms of the Spanish Army, but they weren’t Spanish, or at least a large portion of them weren’t. Many were Irishmen who had joined for mercenary reasons and to escape unpleasant situations in their homeland. Since they had arrived in August, some two months before, Rosette realized she should be used to seeing them, but she doubted if she would ever grow used to the foreigners parading up and down streets which had once belonged to France. She admitted, however, that she did find some of the men attractive, especially the soldier who surveyed the scene on horseback.
She liked the way he loosely but confidently held himself in the saddle, sure that no man would disregard his orders. He was outfitted in a uniform with epaulets and medals; and she decided he was an officer of some sort. Yet it wasn’t the uniform which drew her, but the piercing quality of his dark eyes, the gleaming blond hair and the sandy mustache and beard. She trembled when his eyes happened to meet hers from across the street.
“Look, Paul,” she called to the child. “The soldiers are passing.���
“Soldiers!” he screeched in delight and joined her at the window, jiggling from one foot to the other. “Bonjour! Bonjour!” Paul waved to the bearded man. The man grinned and waved in return at the child, but he bowed his head toward Rosette as he passed the house and rode down the street. ���He waved at me!��� Paul cried.
���Yes, he did.��� Her flashing brown eyes followed the handsome soldier���s back until he turned the corner.
���I want to be a soldier,” Paul said, his eyes still on a few remaining men.
“When you’re grown, you may be one,” came Dera���s voice from the doorway.
“Mama!” Paul rushed into Dera’s arms and hugged her tightly. “Did you see the soldiers?”
“No, darling. Papa and I have just gotten up.” She embraced her son anew, finding it hard to believe that the chubby, beautiful child was hers. The trip upriver had been necessary for Dominick’s health, but during the last month all she had thought of was Paul. They had never been separated before then and she vowed never to leave him again unless he could accompany her.
Paul was nearly three years old, but taller and brighter than children twice his age. Early on, he developed the capacity to speak well and very seldom spoke baby talk. He was well beyond other children in intelligence and she loved him so much she couldn’t help indulging him. Dominick, however, objected to the way she catered to the child’s every whim. Many times he told her she was pampering him, that he would grow up without morals. Outwardly, Dera agreed with her husband, but in her heart she knew that Paul was special.
“Papa!” The child yelled and whirled away from Dera when he caught sight of Dominick. He threw himself headlong into Dominick’s out stretched arms and received an enormous hug in return.
“Have you been a good boy for Rosette?” Dominick asked, smiling.
Paul cast a sidelong glance at Rosette. “I wouldn’t eat my breakfast.”
“Ah, I see. Well, you must make it up to her by doing what she tells you from now on.”
Paul nodded in his serious way, then changed the subject. “We saw the soldiers. I want to be one when I grow up.” He wiggled out of Dominick’s arms and picked up one of his toy soldiers. Dominick patted Paul’s shoulder, but he glared at Rosette.
“How dare you allow him to watch those Spaniards,” he hissed. “You know how I feel about them.”
A lump formed in Rosette’s throat to be spoken to so harshly by her beloved Dominick. She knew he hated the fact that New Orleans had been turned over by King Louis XV of France to his Spanish cousin, Charles III; and she also knew how touchy and upset he had been ever since his friend Jean Baptiste Noyan had been arrested in a plot to overthrow the new government. But she saw no harm in letting Paul watch the soldiers. It was hard to shield him from the sight of them. “I’m sorry, Dominick,” she said contritely.
“Rosette has nothing to be sorry for,” Dera interrupted and came to the girl���s defense. ���It���s impossible to keep Paul in ignorance. After all, he does have eyes.���
“Please do not speak up for me,” Rosette snapped.
With a none too gentle look, Dominick ushered Dera back into their bedroom. “How dare you criticize me in front of our son and Rosette. I won’t have it, Dera. I’ve always given you your own way, but I won’t tolerate voicing your opinions with others in attendance.”
She rose to her full height, sorry that she had upset him but not about to be silenced. “Paul can’t be sheltered forever. Whether you like it or not, he is going to grow up as a Spanish citizen. We’re all subject to the government of Spain, Dominick. There’s nothing to be done about it any longer.”
“If things had worked out differently last year, the Spanish would have left and New Orleans would again be under French rule.” His face relaxed a bit and his eyes took on a far away, dreamy look to remember the heated fervor of last October when farmers from upriver, led by the city’s merchants,
attempted to overthrow the Spanish with the help of government officials. They had forced the Spanish governor, Don Antonio Ulloa and his wife, to take refuge on a frigate moored in the Mississippi. Mysteriously, the cables were cut and it sailed down the river and out of New Orleans. It had been a wonderful night and he had been a part of it by helping Jean Baptiste Noyan gather the farmers together for their march into the city. Everyone was convinced that France would reclaim New Orleans. Instead, in ten months time, Alexander O’Reilly, an Irish mercenary in the employ of Spain, sailed into port with three thousand soldiers and twenty four warships and had taken over the city in the name of Spain. Soon after his arrival, the twelve major conspirators in the plot to overthrow the government, including Jean Baptiste, had been arrested and incarcerated.
The plan, the revolt, had been for naught, and Dominick felt an impotent rage. Common sense told him there was nothing left to do but to bow to Spain’s domination, but he detested the idea. In his heart he would always be French, if not in actuality, then in spirit.
Dera placed a hand on his arm. “I worry so much about you, darling.”
He looked at the face of the woman he loved and his anger melted away. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. The last few months haven’t gone well for me. Let’s ask Rosette to fix us her special herb tea and I’ll humble myself to her also.” He kissed her and took her hand.
“Everything will be all right, Dominick.”
Her confident words caused him to smile, but she didn’t feel the truth in what she said. Somehow, she knew that as long as Dominick harbored such hatred, things would never be right again.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Dera still found it difficult to adapt to the climate of Dominick’s native city. She learned to accept the hot temperatures, but she doubted she would ever grow used to warm, muggy weather in October or celebrating Christmas while one perspired and swatted insects.
Emerald Desire (Emerald Trilogy) Page 17