As Gabrielle sat, her hands clasped in her lap, she could not help but think how incongruous it was that she, the daughter of a marquis of France, should be sitting on a levee in this half-savage land of America, looking for all the world as though she were part of it.
And this existence, this life that she was leading now—the mistress of a pirate, the plaything of a brigand—how Isabel would laugh at the irony of it, and, Gabrielle thought with quick wistfulness, how easily Isabel would settle into such a life. She had always had that ability to adapt easily to things that surrounded her.
Watching her covertly, from the corner of his eye, Lafitte saw the look of thoughtfulness on her face and wondered what she was thinking—he had little doubt that she would try to escape him while they were in the city. He was filled suddenly with an inexplicable dread, a haunting knowledge that she would never truly be his. Grimly, he let his eyes roam over the perfection of her features, the youthful swell of the beautiful breasts beneath her snug bodice, the way her hands lay, with unconscious grace, in her lap. He had behaved like a fool, he thought, allowing himself to feel anything other than a healthy lust for her. He should have taken her to New Orleans the first opportunity he had had—in order to lose her. But as surely as he knew that she was not meant for him, he also knew that he would not let her go without a struggle.
Gabrielle, unaware of Lafitte’s thoughts, was trying to brush the past from her mind, and she concentrated on the panorama in front of her.
“Good afternoon, ma’m’selle.”
Gabrielle turned to see a rather short, paunchy, middle-aged man bowing to her, his round face looking almost cherubic as he grinned widely.
“Good afternoon, m’sieur.”
He quickly took possession of her hand and kissed it elaborately. “Charmed, ma’m’selle, indeed. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Jean-Baptiste Sauvinet, completely at your service.”
“Sauvinet! You rascal! I hope you’re not trying to lay a claim to my young friend there,” came Lafitte’s voice, a tinge of warning in it.
Sauvinet recovered from his surprise quickly and extended a hand to the other man. “Lafitte, as always I am completely attuned to you in matters of taste. But tell me, where did you get her?” And then in a lower voice, “Is she for sale, for God’s sake?”
Lafitte laughed and grasped the older man by the arm. “You sly businessman. As always, Sauvinet, I am astonished by your duplicity. Indeed, she is not for sale. This is Gabrielle de Beauvoir—my companion.”
Sauvinet was silent for a moment. “Lafitte—you! I daresay all those tempting young Creole girls will tear their hair out in a fury when they find out the fox has been snared at last.”
“Jean-Baptiste, you must have been drinking too much rum this fine day,” Lafitte interjected goodnaturedly.
The businessman shrugged. “I’m certainly not too drunk to see the fine merchandise you’ve brought in, lad. Egad! Did you pillage the fleet of the king of England?”
“Even better than that, my friend. Come inside and let me go over the lists with you. As always, I depend upon your discretion in getting the word around to the right people.”
“You can rest assured it will be done. And what date did you have in mind for the auction? I’m afraid that Claiborne is getting rather domineering about the whole thing, as you no doubt have heard that Louisiana is being considered for statehood. As governor of the Louisiana Territory, Claiborne stands to land quite a plum if we go into the United States.”
Lafitte nodded, his brows lowering. “He struts like a puffed-up cock in his palace,” he growled, “but thank God we have the citizens opting for us. Christ, he can’t fight the entire populace of the city! Everyone knows there are too many factions now, what with the French quarter, the Spanish sector, and the new Americans pouring in.”
Sauvinet nodded. “It’s a mess that I wouldn’t like to be responsible for. But show me your wares, partner, and let’s tally up the prices.”
The two men went inside the warehouse, and Gabrielle was once more left alone on her crate, wondering what kind of businessman it was who would take up with a pirate in order to gain a profit. A little less than an hour later, Lafitte returned to her.
“Come on, it’s getting late, and I thought you wanted to see something of the city. Would you like to go to the theater tonight?”
Gabrielle smiled, instantly as excited as a child. “Oh yes, how wonderful!”
The carriage took them to a cozy little cottage of brown stucco where Lafitte informed her he kept apartments to serve him when he was in the city. A shy-looking black boy greeted them at the door, and, once inside, Gabrielle marveled at the good taste of the decorations. “You are not quite the barbarian that I had thought,” she murmured lightly.
He smiled at her. “I am glad you enjoy such things, Gabrielle. But then, I suppose that is your birthright, is it not?” He was deliberately goading her, she knew, but she refused to lose her calm.
He proceeded to show her through the house. In the bedroom a large rosewood armoire stood in the farthest corner, and, opening it, Gabrielle found a woman’s wardrobe, all the dresses cleaned and pressed, as though waiting for anyone to wear them. The thought rankled her, and she would have refused to wear anything that the closet contained if it weren’t that she was so looking forward to going out
After a lengthy debate with herself, she pulled out a white satin gown that looked to be about her size. “I suppose I can do a little hasty pinning if necessary,” she commented idly, pressing the gown against her as she looked in the glass.
She caught Lafitte’s dark eyes on her and flushed. “Why don’t you take your bath, fix your hair, and do whatever else must be done to make yourself ready. I have a little business errand to attend to, and I shall be back in two hours.
He left without touching her, and Gabrielle couldn’t help uttering the sigh of relief that escaped her. A few minutes later, a young black girl knocked on the door, and soon afterwards Gabrielle was luxuriating in a tub of scented bathwater, letting the aches and soreness be soothed away.
“Ah, this is Heaven,” she murmured to herself, letting the sponge drip water over her smooth breasts as she held it in the air. Was it really worthwhile to attempt to escape from all of this? Yes, she thought fiercely, remembering that she would also be escaping from Grand Terre and the pillaged ships and screaming prisoners.
The black girl helped her into a silk chemise that she found in one of the drawers as well as real silk stockings that felt odd on legs so used to going bare. The gown needed very little in the way of alteration, and very soon she was posing in front of the mirror, studying the effect of a rope of pearls in her shining hair.
The shimmering white material of the gown was a perfect foil to her peach-tinted skin, which had acquired a touch of gold from her exposure to the sun. Her small, perfect breasts pushed upward at the neckline. Her arms were bared up to the tiny, puffed sleeves, and the skirt of the gown fell in graceful folds from beneath her bosom where it was tied with a garland of silken daisies. LeRoy couldn’t have done better, she thought.
When Lafitte returned, he found her waiting for him, tapping a Chinese-print fan that the maid had found in the chest. Lafitte, himself, was already dressed in a black broadcloth suit, and she could see from his slow appraisal that he thought her very lovely. He took her out to the waiting carriage.
“All of this,” and Lafitte indicated the gown, the fan, and the carriage, “suits you extremely well, Gabrielle.”
Gabrielle smiled, lifting her head proudly, and her violet eyes flashed with tempered arrogance. “Of course, what did you expect?” She realized that, once more wearing the clothing she was accustomed to and moving within the kind of surroundings she had grown up in, she was gaining her self-confidence as well as a certain air of relaxed assurance. Lafitte could not fail to notice the subtle transformation, and he sat watching her speculatively from beneath the lowered brim of his hat.
When the
y arrived at the theater, Gabrielle felt her heart begin to beat faster at sight of the throng of people in attendance. Many of them glanced up at sight of Jean Lafitte and called out hellos in a familiar manner.
An usher seated them at one side of the stage in a small box that afforded a generous view of the hubbub below. Gabrielle gazed with eager interest at the ladies in their glittering jewels and feathered headdresses and the men who strutted like overdressed peacocks as they wound their way through a myriad of smiling faces, flirtatious eyes, and sighing bosoms. Truly, there was an odd assortment here, for in the farther corners she glimpsed the painted faces and gaudy costumes of the prostitutes and their escorts.
“Well, what do you think?” It was Lafitte leaning towards her, allowing himself a generous view down the front of her bodice.
Gabrielle tapped him on the wrist with her fan. “Really, I don’t quite know what to think, Jean. I could almost be back in Paris, and yet—” Before she could finish, the curtains to their box were swung open with a flourish, allowing a young man and a woman to enter.
“John! You, at the theater! My eyes must be deceiving me,” Lafitte burst out, clasping the man’s hand heartily. “But I thought you detested these plays,” he went on, smiling.
The man bowed to Gabrielle and indicated his friend. “Lord knows I do, Jean, almost as much as you, but Denise insisted we come tonight. She says the actors are very good, and everyone is talking about the play. I was powerless against her feminine wiles.” He grinned at Gabrielle, who was looking on in curiosity.
Lafitte introduced everyone. “Gabrielle de Beauvoir, I would like you to meet John Randolph Grymes, one of the best attorneys in New Orleans, and his friend, Ma’m’selle Denise Almond.”
Gabrielle smiled in acknowledgement, finding her hand taken in a firm grasp and kissed appreciatively. “Charmed, I must say, Miss de Beauvoir. Forgive me, Jean, but if I hadn’t looked up and noted this vision sitting next to you, I daresay I wouldn’t have persuaded Denise to climb the stairs.”
After a little more repartee, Grymes was taking his leave with an invitation that they call on him at their convenience. “Lord knows I only see you when you’re in some kind of mess, Jean,” he said with a teasing note in his voice.
“You’re quite right, John, but I’m afraid we shall only be staying in New Orleans for a few days at most. You can be sure, though, that I shall certainly make a point of calling on you the next time I find myself up here for a longer stay.”
“And you must not forget your devastating companion,” Grymes returned.
Lafitte smiled, but Gabrielle felt her gay mood slowly evaporating as she digested the full meaning of his words. “The next time we are in New Orleans.” She felt suddenly as though she would like to fly from the box and run—run anywhere to escape from the man at her side. She tried to conceal her anxiety and turned her face to gaze somberly once more at the crowd. Her situation was not made any easier when Lafitte reached an arm possessively around her shoulders.
“I think John was quite taken with you, my sweet. What did you think of him? You know, he is really one of the best attorneys in the city, probably even in the whole territory.”
“I can only wonder how such a man would be acquainted with a pirate,” Gabrielle answered tartly, shaking herself free of his encircling arm.
The smile left Lafitte’s face, and his brow furrowed. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
She didn’t reply, afraid suddenly of his mood. The silence grew between them until she was saved by the beginning of the overture. She kept her eyes on the stage as the performance began promptly at nine o’clock. She was acutely aware of Lafitte’s burning gaze on the back of her neck and found that she could not become involved in the play. His eyes seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the base of her skull, she thought, but she kept silent, realizing that by the flippant utterance of those few words she had placed him once more on his guard.
Now, now when she wanted to win him by winsome smiles and flirtatious glances, to ease him into trusting her just long enough to escape him, she had bungled by allowing her temper to overcome her reason. Why, why must she be so impulsive? she thought in exasperation.
When the intermission came, she steeled herself to risk turning around to face Lafitte. His black eyes met hers with no sign of softening.
“I—I was hasty in my words before,” Gabrielle began slowly, as she took a deep breath. “I suppose I was feeling homesick, and—”
“Please, my dear, you do not have to take the trouble to lie to me. I believe we understand each other.”
Her brows lifted. “Understand each other?” she prompted, at a loss.
He nodded. “Of course. Your feelings toward me are anything but loving. I am not such a fool but that I can see that,” he said bitingly. “So we must face the truth of this relationship. I am, as you say, the pirate, and you, Gabrielle, are my kept woman. A very simple and satisfying arrangement.”
Gabrielle’s face flamed scarlet at his words, and she pulled open her fan to hide her blushing cheeks from inquisitive eyes. “I dislike having such words applied to myself,” she whispered in affront.
He smiled grimly. “But you wanted the truth, did you not? All right, I admit to being a pirate—well, let us say a privateer at the very least, and you, well, you must be truthful enough to admit your own profession.”
She flashed him a glance of anger from above the top of her spread fan. “I will certainly not admit to any such thing,” she whispered vehemently, working the fan with swift irritation. “A woman who is forced against her will to stay with a man—”
He was watching her with a crafty look on his face as though waiting for her to say the words that would sink her into the abyss, and she hesitated, realizing that this man held her life in his hands.
“Perhaps we had better take our leave now,” Lafitte suggested softly, a slightly menacing note in his voice.
Gabrielle shook her head, afraid suddenly to be alone with him. “If you please, I should like to see the end of the play,” she said, dropping her eyes from his gaze.
He shrugged his shoulders. “As you wish.”
It was over too soon, Gabrielle thought, as she applauded without enthusiasm. Beside her, Lafitte stood, offering her her cloak. Settling it carelessly on her shoulders, he led her from the box and out into the narrow hallway. They descended the stairs to the milling throng below.
Her unease did not subside when they seated themselves in the carriage. Lafitte did not speak, and Gabrielle creased and recreased her handkerchief nervously.
When they arrived at the cottage, he escorted her silently to the bedroom, but when the black girl made as though to help Gabrielle undress, he ushered her out of the room with an oath. Gabrielle shivered, hoping to maintain an air of cool disdain as she threw the cloak and fan onto the bed.
“Jean,” she began, “I am truly weary. Perhaps it would be best if we—”
“Ma’m’selle,” he interrupted in a cutting tone, “I hope you are not suggesting that I go off somewhere and leave you to yourself tonight? After all, you are my paramour, are you not? Or are you becoming greedy?”
Gabrielle looked up at him blankly, her hand to her lips.
“A woman must always have money to tempt her virtue,” he said cuttingly, coming towards her. He brought out several gold pieces from his coat pocket, shoving them roughly beneath her nose.
Gabrielle looked at the money in horror, a distant memory returning to her of ten gold pieces winking in the palm of her maidservant, deposited under her pillow by a man as payment for her “services.” She flung her hand out and knocked the money onto the floor, a look of disgust on her face.
“Your money will not buy me!” she cried out at him, retreating behind a table. “Your actions have been unforgivable. I—I must say that I was certainly beginning to think that you were somewhat of a—a gentleman, despite your despicable profession, but after tonight, you cannot think you have done
anything to confirm that shaky opinion!”
He laughed loudly, throwing back his head and showing his white teeth. “Ma’m’selle, you are priceless!” he said, still laughing. “The very picture of outraged innocence, which can so carefully hide the nature of a courtesan. Perhaps you should think about joining those actors we saw on the stage tonight, for you, surely, need no script.”
White with indignation, Gabrielle pointed to the door. “You will please leave me,” she said.
He shook his head, still chuckling, as he began to divest himself of his coat, shirt, and boots. Gabrielle watched, thunderstruck, and determined that he should not have her this night after his verbal abuses. Dressed only in breeches and stockings, he trod softly towards her, his black eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“No!” she cried, running from him. But there was no place to go, for he effectively blocked any avenue of escape.
His hands tore the silk from her body hurriedly and with no regard for her shrinking flesh. When she was naked, he stared at sight of her slender, golden body before him. Roughly, he pulled her to the bed, and without preliminaries he possessed her in haste. The act left her aching and unfulfilled. He continued to lie atop her, nearly crushing her into the mattress, and Gabrielle struggled to roll him over, angry and frustrated. He finally rolled to one side but kept his leg and arm thrown over her body so that she could not even rise from the bed.
Once more in the night he took her without compassion or regard for her feelings, leaving her once more bruised and tearful. Oh, how she hated him for his cruelty! She would escape from him at the very first opportunity, she thought, clenching her fists. He thought he could possess her and treat her like dirt. Gabrielle de Beauvoir, the girl who had been presented to Napoleon himself! How could she have sunk so low! Remembering the kisses and caresses she had so warmly given Lafitte on those other occasions, she crimsoned in shame. What had happened to her? How was it that God had decided to deal her such a cruel blow?
Gabrielle Page 17