Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  Though he hardly knew she existed, she was thrilled when she and Wade were invited to his spectacular ball. But Wade didn’t want to go, maintaining they’d be out of place. She disagreed, and for weeks she’d pestered, wheedled, and begged, until finally, he gave in. Unfortunately, he was right. She was unprepared for the disillusionment of stepping into that grand banquet hall and beholding the most elegant of women in their finest garb. Paul would never notice her in her plain dress, certainly wouldn’t dream of asking her to dance.

  On a whim, she sought him out. All she needed was a few moments of his time; he’d have to notice her then. She knew she was attractive. She’d heard the whistles and catcalls from the sailors when she and Wade passed by Dulcie’s. But she had botched her opportunity in the Duvoisin kitchen, had acted like a ninny. She’d vowed to be truthful with him. Yet, where had it gotten her? In his eyes, she was little more than a silly, tongue-tied girl, blurting out her childish adulation. For months, she had fretted over her behavior that night.

  Her brother’s illness last September changed all that. Although Paul might not like her, at least now he knew she wasn’t some simpering simpleton. She could stick up for herself and her brother. Like Wade, she had strength of character.

  “Rebecca?” Wade interrupted her deep contemplation. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Why are you always daydreaming?”

  She smiled brightly at him. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I’m going to be extremely busy for the next few weeks.”

  “Why? Is Paul going to Espoir again?”

  “Weren’t you listening to anything I said?” he chided with a scowl. “He’s leaving for New York tomorrow to track down his father and his brother. He’ll be on the Tempest when she casts off at dawn.”

  “But why is he doing that?” she queried in alarm, remembering Felicia’s words of yesterday. Charmaine has him wrapped around her little finger. Why, he’s so blind he’ ll do anything for her.

  “He’s worried,” Wade explained. “He hasn’t had word from them in over three months. He’ll be gone for at least two weeks and he’s putting me in total control of the sawmill. That means no George checking in.”

  Rebecca cared little about her brother’s gratification. She was very upset and ate most of her meal in silence, her brother’s comments doing cartwheels in her head. When he left the table to leaf through a newspaper, she slipped next door to wish the Flemmings a happy Christmas and speak privately to Felicia.

  “Did you know Paul intended to follow his father and brother to New York?” she asked when she and Felicia stepped out the back door.

  “I’m not surprised,” the woman said flippantly. “Charmaine’s probably cried on his shoulder, and now he wants to make her happy by bringin’ John home.”

  “But if she’s after Paul as you say, why would she do that?”

  Felicia laughed. “She doesn’t really want her husband back. She just wants Paul to think she does.”

  “Why would she want him to think that?” Rebecca pressed.

  Irritated by the obtuse question, Felicia’s face twisted in haughty contempt. “Agatha got rid of Pierre for the money, and Frederic and John are probably dead at her brother’s hands. Charmaine will have it all if Dr. Blackford kills Paul, too—her baby the sole heir to the Duvoisin fortune.”

  “Do you really think Dr. Blackford has killed Frederic and John?”

  “You figure it out! Why else haven’t they sent word?”

  Rebecca was truly worried. If Paul’s brother and father were dead, then he was headed for the same trap.

  Felicia babbled on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s working with Blackford.”

  “Oh, Felicia, I can’t believe that!” Rebecca objected.

  “No? Well, you don’t know the woman like I do. Everyone knows her father’s a murderer. She’s been sly from the start. I’d even lay money down her daughter isn’t a Duvoisin. She married John in April, one week after he came home. Babies take nine months to arrive. Hers came in eight.”

  Rebecca could not sleep that night. She didn’t believe everything Felicia had told her, but still, she was concerned. Lying there in the dark, in the dismal quiet that mimicked her life, she decided she was sick and tired of sitting back and doing nothing.

  Rising, she tiptoed into her brother’s room and groped furtively through his drawers, pulling out trousers and a shirt. She couldn’t write, so she couldn’t leave him a note, and she wasn’t fool enough to wake him. If she told him where she was going, she wouldn’t get out the door. No, let him think she’d gone off somewhere on the island to be alone. She dressed quickly, pulling a length of rope through the belt loops of the baggy trousers and knotting it at her waist. She grabbed his cap off the peg by the door and tucked her hair into it, then took a chunk of leftover bread from the cupboard and crept out of the slumbering cottage.

  In no time, she was on the wharf, standing before a tall ship, majestic and still on the rippling water. Stealing a glance in both directions, she quickly scurried up the gangplank. A couple of sailors were asleep on the open deck, but she hastened past them with her head bowed. Nobody could see her face in the darkness.

  Where to hide? When she and her brother had stowed away over three years ago, they had squeezed between the large casks in the hold, squatting there for nearly a day. She did not fancy doing that now, but it was the best way to lie low until the vessel was well into the Atlantic. Then the activity on the deck would die down, and she could meander up above. If she kept her head down, no one would take much notice. She’d wait for the right moment to slip into Paul’s cabin and hide there. She hoped he would stay above deck until nightfall. By the time he found her, they’d have voyaged a fair distance, and she’d have time to reason with him.

  Wednesday, December 26, 1838

  Paul left the house while the stars still studded the sky, a gibbous moon bathing the front lawns in heavenly light. He had said his goodbyes the night before, savoring his last few minutes with Charmaine.

  “Take good care of Marie while I’m gone.”

  “You don’t know how much this means to me, Paul,” she had whispered.

  “I think I do.”

  By the time he boarded the Tempest, the first rays of sunlight streaked the eastern sky. The sailors were preparing for departure in the predawn light. Philip Conklin, the Tempest’s captain, greeted him. Philip knew this was not a typical voyage, although the tobacco in the hold would be sold at auction in New York. Paul assisted with the preparations, and in less than a half hour, the Tempest was pushed from the pier. The tide was going out and the wind took hold of the sails. The ship sped out of the harbor, through the cove, and onto the open sea.

  Six days, Paul surmised, and he’d have some answers. What would they be? Was he prepared for them? Never had he known turmoil of this magnitude, and he prayed God would be merciful. Did he want his brother dead? Certainly not. He was glad John had found happiness, even at his own expense. John and Charmaine loved each other. For that reason alone, he wanted to bring John home alive. But if providence deemed otherwise, Paul was prepared to step in and cherish Charmaine as his brother had. Don’t think about it, his reasonable mind cautioned, for he knew her pain would be devastating. What is done is done. Very soon, you will know the truth.

  Rebecca paced the cramped cabin. Her plan had gone off without a hitch. Since early afternoon, she had sat quietly in the stuffy cubicle awaiting Paul. She was tired and ached all over from hours squashed between hogsheads in the hold. The small bed looked inviting, but they hadn’t traveled far enough yet, and she had to be awake in case somebody ventured into the cabin before dark. If that happened, she would bow her head, mumble an excuse, and scurry away. Once darkness fell, she began to breathe easier. The first day was over.

  The hour grew late. Six bells rang out, signaling the sixth half hour of the night watch—eleven o’clock—and still Paul did not come. She began to think she was in t
he wrong cabin, though this one was next to the captain’s quarters and spacious in comparison to the first mate’s cell. So much the better if he didn’t bed down here. She’d wait an extra day before confronting him. There would be time enough to convince him not to do anything dangerous, especially for his scheming sister-in-law. She, Rebecca Remmen, loved him— was free to love him! Perhaps she wasn’t as old and as sophisticated as Charmaine Duvoisin, but she had never belonged to another man, either. Closeted together for days on end, he would recognize her love and hopefully return it.

  She espied a knapsack tossed beneath a small table and opened it. It was filled with essential, finely tailored clothing. This was definitely Paul’s cabin. She concluded he had chosen to sleep above deck, under the starry sky. Rubbing her eyes, she realized her fatigue was rivaled only by her hunger. She ate the last of her dry bread and washed it down with fresh water from the bucket that sat in the corner, then stretched out on the small cot and turned toward the wall. The rocking ship lulled her to sleep.

  Paul entered the cabin near midnight and groped his way to the desk where an anchored lamp sat. Blindly, he struck the flint and ignited the wick with a tiny spark, illuminating the room with a low, glowing light. He rubbed the back of his neck, sitting down on a stool to pull off his boots and shirt. He stood to unfasten his trousers when he noticed the bundle in the middle of his bunk. Frowning, he stepped closer, staring down in irritation at the young man with long hair sound asleep in his bed.

  “What in hell?” He gave the lad a sharp nudge.

  The boy groaned and turned over. His eyes fluttered open in confusion, and he scrambled from the bed, brushing the hair from his face.

  “Jesus!” Paul swore angrily. This was no lad at all, but one Rebecca Remmen. “What the hell are you doing here?” he roared.

  “I—I stowed away,” Rebecca muttered.

  “How? When?”

  “Last night,” she said anxiously. “It was easy. Everyone was asleep.”

  Paul rolled his eyes in utter amazement. “Why?”

  Rebecca took a deep breath and bit her bottom lip. “Because I was afraid for you. I don’t want you to—to get hurt—to be murdered.”

  Paul drove both hands through his hair. “Don’t you think I can take care of myself?”

  “No—I mean—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I was just—” She threw her hands up in the air. “I love you—and I don’t want to lose you.”

  Terrific! Paul thought, jaw clenched. Just what I need! An imbecile chasing me up the North Atlantic coast! “Are you mad or just stupid?” he expostulated.

  Rebecca’s eyes widened, momentarily hurt. She had bared her heart, and all he could do was call her names. “Go ahead and make fun of me!” she blazed. “But I’m the only one who cares what happens to you!”

  “I don’t need you to care. I don’t want you to care! Now get out, I’m tired!” He thrust a finger toward the cabin door.

  “What?” she asked, aghast.

  “Get out,” he reiterated indifferently. “Find somewhere else to sleep.”

  “But—I can’t go above deck. When the men realize I’m a woman they’ll—”

  His derisive laugh struck her dumb. “Woman? You have nothing to fear, my dear,” he countered, his eyes raking her from head to toe. “They’ll see you’re only a little girl. Or is it a boy?” He thought of Charmaine, and added, “After all, no woman would ever do what you’ve done.”

  Her throat stung, yet she gritted her teeth. “I’m more woman than your precious Charmaine!” she hissed, as if reading his mind.

  His nostrils flared. “What would you know of Charmaine?”

  “More than you can guess,” she answered, raising her chin a notch.

  “Try me,” he growled. This girl was more trouble than she was worth.

  “I know she’s using you to get what she wants!” Rebecca exclaimed callously. “She doesn’t love you, but she knows you love her! She’s certain you’ll do anything for her if she just acts shy and occasionally looks your way. She throws crumbs at your feet, and you grovel for the few you can catch!” In her insane jealousy, Rebecca blathered on. “It’s disgusting, really, and everyone on Charmantes is laughing at you!”

  “Out—get out!” he bellowed. In two strides, he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the door.

  “No! You can’t send me out there!” she shrieked, slapping him across the cheek with all her might. “Let go of me!”

  He was astonished, and his eyes turned steely, infuriated by her smug face, her hand poised to strike again. “Oh no, you don’t!” he snarled, catching her wrist and giving her one hard shake.

  “Let—me—go!”

  “I’ve had enough of you, Rebecca Remmen. It’s high time somebody put you in your place.”

  He dragged her across the cabin and sat hard on the cot, pulling her across his lap. She didn’t scream, but she fought like a wild animal, and he had all he could do to pin her flailing limbs with one hand while he wrenched the rope belt free with the other. He yanked the pants down, baring her firm bottom. His palm smarted with the first crack of his hand, but he was gratified when she cried out. She thrashed violently, nearly squirming free. He readjusted his grip until she lay taut across his thighs. This time, he spanked her harder. She yelped, then sank her teeth into his forearm. He released her with a loud oath, the bite deep, blood trickling from his wrist. “You damn little wench!”

  She clambered from his lap and tripped over the trousers bunched around her ankles, lying sprawled at his feet. He threw back his head and laughed, lunging forward and grabbing hold of the pants, pulling them free. She was up in a flash, streaking bare-bum to the door. But before she could throw it open, he was upon her again, yanking her around. His anger had evaporated, vanquished beneath a rush of passion, the animal instinct to dominate and conquer, and he relished the arousal her struggles had ignited.

  “Now, where will you go without any pantaloons? Or aren’t you afraid of those men anymore?” She pushed hard against him, but he didn’t budge. “I know,” he chuckled. “You aren’t frightened. You’re a strapping lad! Let me see your muscles.”

  Before she could react, he ripped the shirt open, revealing perfect little breasts, round and inviting. Aghast, she pummeled his hairy chest with both fists, but he ignored the admirable attack as he swept the tattered garment from her shoulders, leaving her naked before him. He pinned her to the door, grabbing her bottom with one hand and the hair at her nape with the other. He pulled her head back and kissed her passionately, forcing her lips apart and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. His hand traveled from her buttocks along the curve of her hip and up to her breast, which he cupped and kneaded.

  The sensual assault left Rebecca reeling. She relinquished the battle with a feeble punch, prisoner to Paul’s blistering kiss and her own smoldering passion. If he didn’t release her mouth she would faint, and yet she hungrily kissed him back, quickly noting how it was done. Her mutinous hands grabbed hold of his corded arms and swept over his broad shoulders. She savored the feel of his skin under her palms, her breasts crushed against his rock-hard chest, and luxuriated in the arousing heat of his body.

  He abruptly tore away, and she teetered on weak legs until he scooped her up and turned toward the bed. She didn’t fight him when he put her there, observing him through hooded eyes as he ripped off his trousers and joined her.

  “So you want to be a woman?” he queried, his voice husky.

  “Your woman,” she murmured, titillated by the unbridled lust in his eyes.

  Her words were as intoxicating as her unadorned beauty, and his loins ached for her, the fire that burned there volcanic. His mouth possessed hers again, a consuming, breathless kiss. When he released her, she sighed, but his lips pursued their sensual assault, tracing a searing path along her jaw and down her throat. His coarse moustache raked her soft flesh, meeting the callused hand that fondled a firm, yet pliable breast, sampling the delectable orb,
teasing the nipple with his tongue until it stood erect.

  The familiar wanton desire that was triggered whenever she looked upon him was stoked to an unbearable degree, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, joyous tears trickling into her hairline. His roving hands continued to explore the curve of her hips, her belly, the inside of her thighs. Upward he stroked, until his fingers found and probed that most delicate of spots, already moist in anticipation of his lovemaking, the center of all pleasure, craving him now in unchaste abandon. She groaned with expectancy and agony when he mounted her.

  She was a virgin. In all his thirty years, he had had many women, but never a virgin. The thought that this young woman had never lain with another fanned his ardor. He would make certain she yearned for him when this was over, so he fought to subdue his soaring need and lay still until her pain ebbed, basking in the sweet sensations of rapacious lust, until he could stand it no longer, her supple body responding beneath him. Shifting on his elbows, he began to slowly move inside of her, each throbbing stroke exquisite.

  Rebecca pressed her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes to ecstasy. He kissed her all over, his lips constantly coming back to hers, then roaming afield again. His rhythmic invasion evoked familiar, ravenous sensations in her loins. As he grabbed her buttocks, she wrapped her legs around his hips to receive more of him. He rode her harder, faster, plunging ever deeper, and her body answered with a will of its own, hips writhing, the sublime sensations indescribable—building—the summit nearly reached. Suddenly, he groaned and, with one final thrust, collapsed upon her, clutching her closely in resplendent gratification. Surprisingly, it was his stillness, the press of his body, that catapulted her into the realm of rapture, an upheaval of such enormous proportion she shuddered violently, the spasm sucking him into the very depths of her womanhood, leaving her tummy and pelvis quivering, surpassing any act she’d initiated in her lonely bedroom. She lay with her eyes closed, astounded, her heart pounding, her breathing as ragged as his. When he moved, she hugged him closer, reveling in the feel of his blanketing body.