I heard a light tap at the door and one of the servants who was still working downstairs poked her head in.
"'Scuse me, Missy, but Mistuh Lafitte he say for me to see you all right. He think all that walkin' means you have a pain an' you need somethin'—"
"Tell Monsieur Lafitte that if he's so concerned about me he may come and see me for himself," I snapped. She looked frightened and backed quickly out of the room.
I felt irritable and I found the warmth in the room oppressive. I opened the windows onto the veranda and stepped outside. For Heaven's sake, don't start yapping at the housemaids, I scolded myself. I knew better than to take out my anger on innocent servants.
The door opened again. Good, she had returned. I took a breath and turned back into the room, intending to apologize for my rudeness to her. Jean Lafitte stood in the center of the floor, watching me.
"Oh." I drew the thin silk of my wrapper over my breasts. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. Were you asleep?"
He smiled ruefully. "No. Someone in the next room seems to have been trying to wear holes in the carpet. Are you all right?"
"Of course," I said in a brittle tone. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"No reason, I suppose. The excitement and the wine are keeping you awake, aren't they? I just wanted to see—the maid thought you were upset about something, and that I should see—"
I stepped out of the shadows. "And what do you see, Monsieur Lafitte? Do I seem to you to be sick, well, or simply indifferent?"
"Not indifferent, Elise. Never that." His eyes swept over me. He looked concerned. "And you're not sick, I hope. Yet you're not well, either. I sense a restlessness in you tonight that I haven't seen before. What's the matter? Do you want to go away? Are you unhappy here? Naturally, you were appalled at the way my men behaved tonight. Please forgive them. They are crude, no better than ignorant ruffians. They don't know how to sip their pleasures like civilized people do. No, they gulp at life, like doomed men. And perhaps they are." He spoke sadly, and then pulled himself up and smiled stiffly. "I don't know what's the matter with me. The hour, I suppose. I find that at three o'clock in the morning it is very easy for my thoughts to drift into uncharted waters. What was I saying? Oh, the men. They have never learned how to restrain themselves when they're having fun."
"That is something I have not yet learned, either. Please don't feel that you need to apologize for them. I meant what I said tonight. They are my friends, and I was touched by what they did."
"You made them very happy, Elise: It's not often someone tells them how good they are." After a long pause he said, "Then if you're not angry with them it must be me. It is, isn't it? Won't you tell me, Elise? I won't bite you."
He was using his most fatherly tone. I could have throttled him. But what was I to say? I'm angry because you didn't dance with me tonight? I turned away from him and said in a very controlled voice, "I think I should go away."
"If that's what you want, Elise, so be it. You can be on your way to New Orleans tomorrow. You'll be fine there. I know many influential people who will take you to their hearts, as we have. Of course it won't hurt that you are a noble Frenchwoman, nor that our sainted Napoleon is your godfather."
"Sainted—rubbish," I muttered under my breath.
He came up behind me. "Won't you at least tell me what is troubling you before you go, Elise?" I kept silent. Then he said, "You've fallen in love, haven't you?" He saw me stiffen. "I knew it! Who is it, Pierre? I heard what he said tonight when he was dancing with you. I shall speak to him—"
"Don't you dare!" I faced him. "Oh, how can men be so stupid? Idiots, morons, all of them! And I swear, Jean Lafitte, you are the worst. I wonder that you have come as far as you have. But of course, you deal with men in your business and not women, and it's a good thing. Fools, cretins, all of you! Get out of here at once, get out, I say!"
I flew at him with such a vengeance that he fell back a step with an expression of stupefied amazement on his face. "But—but Pierre—I thought—you—"
"You thought!" I said disgustedly. "Well, you can stop your thinking, and if you're going to do any speaking you might as well speak to yourself, Monsieur, not that any good will come of it. You might as well admit to yourself that I'm not good enough for you. Those men out there—" I waved my arm, "—you're not fit to shine their boots. At least they know a good thing when they see it, and they don't preach one thing while they're thinking another, like some people. Even Pierre—I'm good enough for Pierre, but not for you, am I, Your Highness." I bowed mockingly. He put out his hand in a gesture of placation. "Don't you dare tell me to be calm," I sneered. I roamed the room like a hungry tigress.
"I could kill you for the way you have treated me! I'm so sick of your politeness and your perfect manners that I could scream. I might as well have fallen for a marble statue with all its arms and legs broken off. For the love of God, stop treating me like a daughter. If any daughter felt about her father the way I feel about you, why, Hell itself would open up and swallow her.
"Oh, God, what am I saying?" I looked at him beseechingly. "I am not ungrateful, Jean, but must I feel gratitude towards you all my life and nothing else? Must we continue to be victim and savior, father and child, friends?" I stopped suddenly. My rage drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving me feeling spent and humiliated. In a quieter, more subdued voice, I said, "I have been a fool, Jean, to think that you would really want me after all that has happened. I know now that all I did—that business with the swords and the pistols and the Mary Rose—I did for you, to make you forget the Elise you brought here, to make you want me. I'm sorry. I know you can't buy love with deeds or daring or courage. Some things go—deeper."
"Elise—"
I breathed a long shuddering sigh. "Please go now," I said weakly. "I am bitterly ashamed of myself, and I have embarrassed you enough for one evening. I'll make my own arrangements about leaving. You won't have to see me again."
I walked briskly out to the veranda and clung to the railing, gulping in great lungfuls of sea air. I swallowed back the tears with a great effort.
"I am sorry, Elise," he said softly from the open doorway.
"Please don't say anything, Jean." My voice was almost steady. "It's all my fault. I'll never be able to look you in the face again. I'm—I'm so ashamed."
"It is I who should feel ashamed, Elise. For not seeing what was under my nose, for causing you so much needless distress—"
"Don't you dare pity me, Jean Lafitte," I said, choking on my tears.
"Pity you! For what? Because other men have found you beautiful and have desired you? Because they took you, like animals? I have wanted to do that a hundred times, a thousand, but because I thought you would be afraid and would hate me I fought it. I forced myself to behave towards you in a gentlemanly and grotesquely fatherly manner, but believe me, the thoughts in my mind were far from fatherly!
"Look at me, Elise." I shook my head and kept my eyes fixed on the stars. He came to me, and pulled me around gently. He lifted my chin to face him. "Look at me. What do you see, a man who despises you for something that happened to you long ago, through no fault of your own? No, you see a man who desires you very much indeed, and who always has, but who has been too much of a fool to tell you so."
I dropped my head to his shoulder and felt his arms go around me. "Oh, Jean, you are the most unlikely pirate."
"I know. We must keep this quiet or I'll be drummed out of the profession. You know, the only reason the others have kept their hands off you is because they are certain that you have been my mistress from the very start."
"Really?" I lifted my head. "Then we mustn't disillusion them, must we?"
We went indoors and sat on the edge of my bed. Jean put his arms around me and bent his head to kiss me, but as I reached up to return his embrace, my body broke into a cold sweat; my passion shriveled instantly within me and I felt completely dead and cold. All the old horrors had returned.
"No!" I gaspe
d and pulled away from him. All my desire had fled, and I couldn't bear the thought of a man touching me.
"Elise." He came towards me again, and I forced myself to hold still as he stroked my face, then put his arms around my waist and buried his face in my neck. A great wave of nausea and suffocation came over me. I choked and screamed, terrified, and pushed him away. I was hysterical, out of my mind, and I threw myself face-down on the bed, my body sweating and shaking, while great racking, tearing sobs convulsed my frame and threatened to rip my chest apart.
When my terror and my sobbing began to subside, I became aware of Jean, sitting on the bed, holding my hand.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, Jean," I gasped out, between my sobs. "I'm so afraid, I'm—I'm afraid, Jean. I wanted you, I did, you know I did, but—but—oh, God, I keep remembering, Jean. It was all so horrible." My sobs renewed in vigor, and I held tightly onto his hand.
"Don't apologize, Elise. You don't owe me anything. You don't owe anything to any man, except what you feel you can give him. It's all right, Elise. After all, it's been a long time for you, hasn't it? Just let me hold you, Elise. I love having you in my arms. You are so soft, so sweet, so lovely."
His tenderness seemed to melt away my fear, and I let him hold me. Gradually my tears ceased, and I clasped him tightly. We lay quietly for a long time. I felt great comfort in his nearness, in the smooth slim body underneath his robe. I snuggled against him, and he kissed me lightly, and then again, over and over. I grew hungry for his love and returned his kisses. His hands moved slowly over my body, gently caressing and exploring me. His tongue danced into my mouth, and desire flamed in me anew. I rolled over on the bed, pulling him on top of me. His expert caresses grew less gentle, and he undressed me slowly, reveling in my body. He threw off his robe, and the lamplight played on the taut muscles of his chest, arms, and thighs as he embraced my nakedness to his own. I felt the smooth suppleness of his gentle strength, and I opened the depths of my soul to his love.
As he mounted me, the curtain of my fear again came crashing down between us. A vision of Josiah Fowler swam before my eyes—horrible, grotesque, leering—and I screamed. Once again I experienced a choking sensation and an inner deadness that I could not control. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning under his weight and bulk, choking on the staff of his virility. I clawed at him, and a cry of desperate terror, in a voice I couldn't even recognize as my own, came tearing out of the nightmarish depths of my being. As he pulled away from me I drew my legs up and lay panting like a wounded beast. Then I buried my head in my arms and sobbed bitterly.
So that's what Josiah Fowler had done to me, that was his legacy to me: he had destroyed me as a woman. I could almost hear him laughing at me from the canyons of the Hell to which he had gone.
Jean stroked my hair and held my hand tightly until I was calmer.
"Oh, Jean, forgive me, forgive me. Please understand, I never never dreamed this would happen. Oh, dear God, what has happened to me?" I wailed. "I could die, die. Why don't you kill me?"
"Stop that," he said crisply. "It's not your fault, Elise. I was too hasty. I acted like a green schoolboy, and I should have known better."
"But it's—it's so unfair to you," I said through my tears.
He said wryly, "I suppose I'll live. Go to sleep now, my darling. We don't have to rush things. We have all the time in the world."
I tossed my head on the pillows. "It won't get any better, I know it won't. I'm—I'm a cripple!"
"Why, even cripples can be healed, or haven't you read your New Testament lately?" He kissed me tenderly and said, "Don't be frightened, Elise. I promise you, it will be all right."
I clung to him. "Don't leave me tonight, Jean, please. I don't want to be alone. Please stay with me."
He cocked his head. "You want me to sleep here with you?" I nodded. "You don't kick or have screaming nightmares or long toenails, do you?"
"No."
"Then I suppose I must." He sighed deeply. "How these women take advantage of one's good nature." He moved around the room, extinguishing all the lamps. Then he slid into the bed beside me, but the space between us felt as wide as the Atlantic Ocean.
We lay for a long time in silence. I could tell from his breathing that he was still awake, as I was.
"Are you asleep?" I whispered.
"Certainly I'm asleep," he said crustily. "What do you want?"
I said, "I want you to hold me in your arms again."
"Oh, dear God," he groaned. "All right, come on."
I rested my head on his naked shoulder and snuggled close to him. "Are you always so grouchy in bed?" I asked.
He squeezed me hard. "Always. Women, I think, thrive on abuse."
"You're a darling, Jean. You know, I used to think you were the only man I had ever met who didn't know how to tease." I kissed his cheek and rubbed my thigh over his.
He slapped it with his hand. "If you don't stop that I shall beat you," he threatened.
I promised solemnly to behave myself. After a while I asked, "Jean, do you really have sixteen mistresses?"
"Oh, yes."
"And do you keep them all in the same house in New Orleans?"
"Certainly, Elise. Each of them has her own room, and when I go to the city I have to visit them all, one after the other."
"That must be exhausting."
"Yes, it is," he agreed, "but one has a responsibility to one's dependents, after all. I plan to put you in that house, you know."
"That's very kind of you. And what number shall I be? Shall you visit me first or twelfth or—seventeenth?"
He thought for a moment. "Well, as one goes on one's stamina decreases, you know, and thus the expertise of one's partner ought to increase proportionately. Therefore, I save the best for last. Since you are a beginner you'll have to start at the bottom and work your way up. First is an enviable position, too, though, because you'll get the best of me before I'm all used up."
I rolled on top of him and tugged his hair playfully. "I won't start at the bottom. I refuse. I want to be the first and the last and the best, Jean. I want to be so good that you won't even look at the others. You shall come to my room and take me sixteen times, and I'll get better and better each time, you'll see."
I could feel his manhood growing under my loins.
"You'll regret this, Elise," he said warily. "You know what you are doing and what it will lead to."
"Oh, yes, I know, Jean," I whispered. "I know exactly where it will lead."
He flipped me over on my back and lay on top of me, framing my face with the palms of his hands. "Are you going to cry like a baby?" he demanded. I shook my head. "Or scream like a virgin?" No. "Are you going to try to relax and enjoy it?"
"Yes, Jean. Oh, yes."
He brought his mouth down firmly on mine and at the same time he plunged into me. The fear welled up in me again and again, the nightmare reeling with evil, lusting faces and disembodied limbs and salivating lips and harsh animal breathing. And that face, that face. Oh, God, I said to myself, am I to see Josiah Fowler whenever I close my eyes for the rest of my life? I fought, as hard as I have ever fought anything, and eventually my disgust lay quiet, although I was still aware of it inside me, weighting me down like a stone.
This is Jean, I kept telling myself, Jean. I concentrated on him alone. I bit my lips to keep from crying out, and I pressed my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands. He was as gentle as he could be, and he didn't prolong it, and when he had finished I felt a wave of relief and gratitude sweep over me. Tears filled my eyes and I hugged him tightly. Our love hadn't been good, I knew, but at least it had been possible. I was still a woman. He had given that back to me.
"If you cry I shall kick you out of bed," he said gruffly.
"I'm not crying, Jean, really, I'm not."
"That's good. Now suppose you tell me something. What on earth am I going to do with all those empty bedrooms?"
"Oh, Jean!"
Because he was patien
t and kind and he cared about me, Jean Lafitte helped me to forget the fears that haunted me and he exorcized the visions of Captain Fowler and his crew that plagued me. The process of teaching me to love freely again was a long one—but enjoyable enough (more fun than giving fencing lessons, according to Jean)—and the genuine delight we took in each other's company more than made up for any inadequacies on my part early in our relationship.
I felt my womanhood flowering under his care and attention. I was nearly nineteen, but the experiences of the past year and a half that had matured me too fast in some ways had left me a child in others. Now, as Jean Lafitte the benefactor was superseded in my life by Jean Lafitte the lover, I felt the last vestiges of childish behavior slipping away from me. The Elise of France was a stranger to me. Now I was Elise of Louisiana, Queen of the Pirates, mistress and friend of the country's most renowned blackguard. I tried hard to please Jean as associate and assistant, and I tried even harder to please him as a woman and a lover.
In spite of the horrors I had experienced on the Charleston Belle, my sessions with Josiah Fowler had taught me that the routes to physical pleasure offered limitless variety.
"Really, Elise," gasped Jean, his senses reeling, for once losing his calm control as pleasure exploded into ecstasy, "ladies of quality don't do that sort of thing."
I laughed and caressed him again. His body jumped violently at every touch. "But you love it, don't you!"
"I can hardly bear it, I love it so much!"
"I like it, too. That must mean I'm no longer a lady, wouldn't you say?"
"No, I wouldn't say." He grasped me to him and kissed me soundly. "It means that you are an exceptional lady."
Whether I was an exceptional lady or not, I had an exceptionally good time with Jean. Visions of the Charleston Belle and Josiah Fowler no longer leapt into my focus when Jean made love to me. He thawed the icy pillar in my womanly depths; my involuntary stiffness and horror disappeared.
Savage Surrender Page 21