M’sieur Dumain got up hastily, and, with a murmured farewell, scuttled off to get himself a glass of wine. Gabrielle couldn’t keep from laughing at such an ingenious plot to remove an obstacle.
Sitting down beside her, de Marigny quickly captured her hand and placed a warm kiss on the wrist, and then another further up her arm, causing a tingling sensation to run all through her.
“M’sieur de Marigny, you are indeed quite bold, I think,” Gabrielle said, a little breathlessly.
He smiled. “A bold manner is the only course of action when one is dealing with a shy, young flower. It has been my experience—”
“And I presume your experience is very wide,” Gabrielle interrupted, casting a sly look at him.
“Touché, ma’m’selle,” he returned, keeping possession of her hand as he pressed his leg subtly against hers. “Ah, you blush very prettily,” he murmured close to her ear, his words only serving to deepen the stain in her cheeks.
“Forgive me, m’sieur, but I—”
“There is no need for you to make excuses, sweetheart. You are a beautiful woman, and so anything you do is most becoming.”
The flattering phrases rolled off his tongue like honey, but Gabrielle could not help but warm towards this experienced Don Juan. The thought of Dolly’s disappointment caused her some momentary guilt, but now de Marigny was kissing her shoulder, his lips making warm sensations on the delicate flesh of her throat. His kisses were traveling with impunity up her neck and then to her face—in another moment. . . .
“M’sieur, please, I don’t know what—”
“Hush, little flower, little violet flower,” he murmured and took her chin between thumb and finger, forcing her to turn her head towards him. He kissed her softly but completely, with an underlying urgency that took her breath away. Indeed, he was experienced. His hand lay casually against her breast, burning its imprint through the material of her gown.
Abruptly, through her mind’s eye, Gabrielle conjured a glimpse of Dolly’s face watching them. With a supreme effort, she disengaged herself from de Marigny’s grasp, taking a moment to smooth her gown while her cheeks flamed.
“Forgive me, m’sieur, but I cannot—I cannot continue.” She turned to look at him, noting the careless lock of hair that had fallen over his brow, the look of triumph in those blue eyes.
“Nonsense, little one. Let us go to your room now. You want me as much as I want you.”
She shook her head tearfully. “M’sieur, I cannot in good conscience go with you—when you have promised the evening to—to someone else.”
He looked puzzled for a moment, then followed her discreet gaze, understanding showing on his face. “Ah, yes, of course. Ma’m’selle Dolly—she is a friend of yours, yes?” He grinned tightly, striving to maintain his own composure in the face of this disappointment. “There will be other nights, ma’m’selle.” His eyes traveled over the exquisite face turned in profile. “At least tell me your name again.”
“Gabrielle de Beauvoir.”
“It suits you perfectly. I shall call you Gabrielle, and you must call me Bernard. I hope your conscience would not be affronted should I offer to take you for a drive tomorrow afternoon?”
“Oh, m’sieur—Bernard, that would be wonderful!”
“It is settled then. Tomorrow at two o’clock. You shall remain with me the entire day.” He kissed her hand and then stood up to bow briskly. “Until tomorrow.”
Left alone for a moment, Gabrielle took the time to cast curious glimpses about the room, noting that M’sieur Dumain had found comfort elsewhere. She decided to walk outside in the back courtyard, a charming little garden that would provide her with a breath of fresh air. It was close on to eleven o’clock by now, or perhaps later. There was the faintest chill in the air, and she would have gone in for a shawl but decided she would rather not negotiate the main parlor again. It felt good to be outside, and the freedom made her restless.
The crunch of gravel made her turn around swiftly, but it was only Renée, following her out to see if anything were the matter.
“I’m perfectly all right, Renée. There’s no need for you to be so concerned. As you can see, I wasn’t devoured alive tonight.”
“Only because M’sieur de Marigny chose to offer you protection,” the woman returned, not convinced.
“He’s a very exciting man, Renée.”
“Bernard de Marigny is a past master at seducing women, young and old, Gabrielle. Don’t think you can handle him as easily as you might have manipulated M’sieur Dumain. He does not normally let a beautiful woman escape his clutches. Frankly, I’m surprised to find you out here alone.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not destined to escape his clutches for long. He wants to take me out in his carriage tomorrow.” Gabrielle laughed cynically. “Can you imagine, Renée? Asking to call on me as though I were the most proper young lady in New Orleans, guarded by some forbidding duenna and an equally forbidding papa—and not just a prostitute! I could cry at the irony of it.”
Instantly sympathetic, Renée put a soothing arm about her shoulders. “Now, now, Gabrielle. De Marigny is smarter than you think. He knows that you’re not going to throw yourself at any man. I’ve an idea that he’s going to want to keep you all to himself the way he looked at you tonight. I could have sworn he might eat you up like a piece of cake on a platter.”
Gabrielle laughed again. “What sort of offer can a man make to a piece of cake, then?”
“De Marigny is very wealthy, Gabrielle,” Renée said seriously. “He could settle you in a nice town house with two or three servants, if that’s what you want. I’ve heard he even gives his mistresses an allowance every month. He is a most generous man.”
Gabrielle had become very serious as she listened to Renée, and now she caught her hand. “Mistress to de Marigny? But he is already married.”
“And of what possible significance is that?” snorted Renée. “Do you think he’s going to bring you around to the house and introduce you to his wife, for goodness’ sake?”
“But you said he has other mistresses,” Gabrielle went on as though seeking to find a reason to refuse M’sieur de Marigny.
Renée sighed. “Knowing you, I would wager a month’s earnings that within a week you wouldn’t be sharing him with anyone!”
Gabrielle dimpled. “Such a compliment!”
“I’ve heard plenty of them tonight, given in your name. I’m afraid the other girls are not going to be too sorry if de Marigny takes you away from us. Why, I even saw Mr. St. Claire staring at you, sizing you up with as much arrogance as he’d need to throw you over his horse and kidnap you.”
Gabrielle turned quickly in surprise from her idle contemplation of the star-filled sky. “How odd that you should tell me. Earlier I thought I felt someone’s eyes on me, but I had thought they were Bernard de Marigny’s. I must go in and pay my respects to Mr. St. Claire, don’t you think? After all, I never did thank him properly for saving my life.”
“He’s somewhere inside, I’m sure, unless he’s gone upstairs with one of the girls.”
Gabrielle hurried back into the house, Renée following. For some reason, her heart began pounding in her breast, and she felt a rush of excitement at finally meeting this man who had for so long eluded her acquaintance. A memory swept through her of demanding lips, firm hands, and strong arms encircling her as she gave herself up to a whirl of passion.
But to her disappointment, Hugh, the majordomo, informed them that Mr. St. Claire had already left for the evening. Gabrielle sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. She went upstairs, alone, to her own room.
Chapter Twenty-five
Promptly at two the following afternoon, the carriage of M’sieur de Marigny rolled up in front of Madame Renée’s. Glancing out the window, Gabrielle tried to control her excitement. When she felt she was sufficiently calmed, Gabrielle descended the stairs to meet him. She felt her heart’s beat perk up dramatically when her eyes fell on the fine
figure of this elegant gentleman.
Bernard de Marigny, for his part, could not get enough of her and congratulated himself silently for his extreme good luck in finding such a prize.
It occurred to Gabrielle that this would be strictly a union of lust on de Marigny’s part, and of need on her own, with no thought of love involved for either of them.
But she pushed the bothersome thought out of her mind, determined that she would let nothing spoil a beautiful afternoon.
“Charming, my dear,” Bernard commented, bowing over her proffered hand. He tucked it possessively in his arm and escorted her to the waiting carriage, aware of several pairs of curious eyes watching their progress down the street.
“I feel as though I’m on display,” Gabrielle murmured as the vehicle followed Royal Street to Canal and out of the city.
“And so you should be,” de Marigny returned, settling his arm familiarly around her waist.
“Ought you to be so bold in public, m’sieur?” Gabrielle asked him uncomfortably.
He laughed and snapped his fingers. “I care very little about the ‘public,’ as you call it. Everyone knows I’m married to a shrew, although I must admit she has blessed me with numerous children. At any rate, if you are going to be my mistress, you should get used to such things.”
“M’sieur de Marigny! It is all too evident that you have little liking for wooing a lady in easy stages,” Gabrielle said, smiling hesitantly.
“Life is too short to dally when you want something badly enough,” he responded, his voice turning husky.
Gabrielle veiled her eyes demurely. “Where are you taking me?” she finally asked after a long silence.
“Does it matter?” he wondered, and at her startled expression, “All right, I’ll tell you then. We are going to follow the river upstream a little way. I thought you might like to see the countryside around the city.”
“I’m sure I would enjoy it immensely,” she returned, opening her parasol to shade her face from the sun.
When they were outside the city limits, de Marigny drifted his arm from her waist to her shoulders and brought her closer against him. Bending down a little, he planted his mouth firmly on hers, forcing her lips apart no that his tongue explored her mouth while his free hand moved tentatively on her bodice.
Gabrielle broke away, panting a little, determined that he would not treat her so abusively. “M’sieur, please do not forget yourself! You may have little concern for the public, but I have my own self-esteem to consider!” She nodded towards the impassive back of the driver.
De Marigny laughed as though she had said something inordinately funny. “I wasn’t aware that you had any self-esteem left. You were Lafitte’s mistress for two years, were you not?”
Anger rose in her at his thoughtlessness, and, without thinking, she reached up and slapped him, her eyes blazing. For a moment, she saw brief anger in his blue eyes, but then a smile shaped that sensual mouth, and catching both her hands, he bent her backwards in the seat, moving his lips heavily on hers until she fought for breath. When he finally released her, she was very near to tears.
“You may turn this carriage around and take me back, m’sieur, for I do not care to be made a fool!”
“What nonsense,” he returned, urging the driver on. “At least we both know where we stand now. It’s refreshing to get that out of the way so quickly.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple, really. You know now that I will not tolerate a willful bitch, and I am aware that there are certain matters that shall be considered taboo between us.”
She would not reply to the dubious logic of the statement but tried to settle her hat correctly on her head and arrange her skirts that had been disarrayed by de Marigny’s ardent administration of punishment.
They drove on through the sunny countryside and despite her ruffled emotions, Gabrielle watched the scenery with pleasure. Farther up on the crest of an elevated knoll, she could see a tall, sprawling house, gleaming white. There were a few more scattered houses, but it was obvious that this section of the suburbs had not been fully developed.
As they topped the knoll, she could see the buildings of New Orleans perhaps ten miles away. She turned her attention to the impressive mansion, noticing the wide veranda that ran the length of the house and the two spiralling staircases that rose on either side to the second story, where a second veranda connected the two smaller wings of the house by less spectacular staircases on either side. Moss-draped trees stretched away from the house towards the levee, and cedar trees shrouded with the grayish stuff towered majestically above the white-gravelled drive. A blending of perfumes tingled her nose as they neared the drive, and she could see the crepe myrtle, roses, cape-jasmine, and magnolia dotting the well-manicured lawn.
“Why, it’s beautiful—magnificent!” Gabrielle breathed, turning to de Marigny excitedly. “Is it yours?”
He laughed and patted her cheek. “I’m afraid not, my dear, although I should be extremely proud if it were. No, that epitome of grace and magnificence belongs to a friend of mine, M’sieur St. Claire.”
“St. Claire? I’ve heard of him,” Gabrielle said as she tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“He owns quite a bit of acreage around here but has absolutely no interest in maintaining a plantation. So there his house sits, without its master much of the time. He prefers the excitement of the city.”
“I see,” Gabrielle murmured, watching as they drove post the drive leading up to the splendid house. “Are you, then, quite good friends with M’sieur St. Claire?”
De Marigny shrugged. “I doubt if anyone is, as you put it, ‘quite good friends’ with him, my dear. Suffice it to say that we are old acquaintances, and I am fairly often in his company in town.”
“I can imagine what good times the two of you must have together,” Gabrielle commented wryly.
De Marigny grinned like a boy. “Ah, my dear, that goes without saying.”
He broke off to point at the shell of a partially erected house a few miles down the road, closer to the city. "Another house going up..This one happens to belong to another friend of mine, M’sieur Logan, another American. This section will be fairly crowded soon and mostly with Americans!”
“It looks as though it will be very large,” Gabrielle commented.
“Large! Of course, my dear—have you ever known an American without a flair for the ostentatious?” Bernard returned, a trifle snidely.
“I’m afraid I know very few Americans,” Gabrielle said.
“Would you like to see the house?”
The drive was yet only a deeply rutted road of dirt, and the carriage bounced alarmingly as they made their way to the construction site. He helped her from the carriage, and they made their way through the tall grass and weeds. Bernard pointed out certain items of interest, but it was hard for Gabrielle to imagine the crisscross patterns of wood and nails as anything like a house.
Bernard took hold of Gabrielle’s hand and walked with her towards the river. “I should like to build a house up a little farther along the river,” he commented idly.
“How—how does your wife feel about that?” Gabrielle asked, wondering why she would insist on bringing that woman into the conversation.
“She cares little about the thought. She prefers the house in New Orleans where she can be elbow to elbow with all the rest of the population. She insists she must remain there in order to keep her place in society. Pah!” He turned to look at the girl at his side. “If she were as beautiful as you, Gabrielle, she would make a whole new society out here. More and more plantations are springing up. Why go into New Orleans when one can enjoy balls and picnics out here?”
“It seems a lovely idea,” Gabrielle sighed, watching the glistening ripples on the surface of the river.
“If she were as beautiful as you,” he repeated dreamily, and, taking off his coat, he spread i
t on the ground for her to sit on. “How many men have said that to you?”
How easily he replaces his Don Juan mask, Gabrielle thought, but answered him lightly. “Not many.”
He looked at her with disbelief. “You lie, you little vixen. With whomever else can a man sink into those violet depths and never want to come out again? Who could not resist the urge to capture those golden tresses in his hands and make those beautiful lips sigh for more kisses?”
Gabrielle smiled and picked a blade of grass absently. "How pretty the words sound on your honeyed tongue,” she said, her voice holding a note of teasing. “Really, Bernard, you do flatter me outrageously. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds of beautiful women in New Orleans.”
He nodded his head. “Of course there are, but do they all have that special look of innocence about them? Do they blush with such ease when a man tells them how lovely they are?” He brushed her cheek with his fingers and turned her face towards him. “Do their eyes grow big with a kind of wonder when a man decides he wants to kiss that trembling mouth?”
He pressed his lips to hers, and she felt him pushing her back so that she lay in the new spring grass, her hat lolling on the ground and her parasol placed carelessly to one side.
"Mon dieu, beautiful lady! I could make love to you here on the grass!” he murmured passionately, placing burning, urgent little kisses on her neck and breast.
“Bernard, please, the driver—” Gabrielle cried breathlessly, pressing her hands against his chest.
He looked up. “Forgive me, I had forgotten where we were. Of course, no one else must see this perfect flesh.”
He helped her to rise and retrieve her hat and parasol.
“You have ruined my carefully set coiffure,” she laughed, tapping his hand lightly with the end of her parasol.
“I am delighted, then,” he answered in the same vein, linking her arm once again, “for it only promises a quicker way to enjoy my pleasures.” He looked down at her. “There, I have made you blush again, little innocent. I think your face will be crimson tonight. . . .”
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