Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  Was she thinking of this afternoon, he wondered? She’d nearly torn the flesh from his shoulder with her sharp nails when he finally dragged her under the cover of a magnolia tree. He had chased her for an hour, always letting her stay just a little ahead of him, but always in control. His smile thinned—except for that one moment when he heard de Marigny calling to him.

  It had been peculiar how the sun had gleamed off the tousled hair of the girl beside de Marigny in the carriage, turning it to spun gold. Even from that distance, it had been easy to deduce that the woman wasn’t his wife, and the rumpled air about her told too plainly that someone else had taken advantage of the warm spring afternoon to indulge in the sport of passion.

  Something about that girl—it had hit him suddenly. He had been tempted to trot over to the carriage and watch her reaction as de Marigny introduced him. But Melissa, as though sensing that his attention was now focused in a different direction, had galloped off the opposite way, and he had been forced to follow.

  “Rafe, you’re not listening, darling,” Melissa reproached him petulantly.

  His left eyebrow lifted indolently. “Did I miss something important?” he inquired.

  Melissa frowned. “Papa suggested I show you the new gazebo that arrived from Savannah last week. It’s out in the summer garden and is the dearest thing. It reminds me of a tiny castle!” She clapped her hands like a child.

  Rafe was not deceived by this display, which was put on totally for the benefit of her father. “Melissa, I’d love to see it, but I’m afraid I have engagements in town tonight, and I really should be going.”

  He saw the narrowed eyes, the thinning mouth. “I see. Well, if you must go, let me walk you to the veranda.” She took his arm in both her hands.

  Rafe bowed to Sadie. “A most pleasant meal, ma’am.”

  “Try not to make it such a long time before the next one,” Sadie reproached him gently.

  He smiled, shook hands with Thomas, whose eyebrows lifted in silent questioning to his daughter. “Business engagement in town—tonight, Rafe?” he asked striving to keep the heartiness in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  Thomas blustered for a moment, then nodded and resumed his seat, bringing the cordial to his lips in a hurried movement. Once out on the veranda in the deepening twilight, Melissa swirled around to face him.

  “Rafe, why must you go into town tonight? It would have been so easy for you to go out into the garden with me for only a moment?”

  “It is never just a moment with you, sweetheart,” he said laughingly. “The moment draws out to an hour and then two while you entice me into your web of ravishment.”

  “Oh, Rafe, you do have a way with words! You make me sound like a spider!”

  And so you are, he thought objectively. A pretty little silvery spider who sucks the life out of her mate with her demands and then, when she has no more use for him, kills him with one impassioned draft of her poison.

  “I must go,” he said, his voice authoritative now, noting the stubborn look creeping into her eyes.

  “Business engagements! Bah! You have no business engagements tonight, Rafe St Claire. You’re off to Renée’s. Oh, don’t think I don’t know all about the ‘liveliest whorehouse in New Orleans.’ Do you have some special girl there who waits for you every night?”

  He laughed cruelly. “Not one special girl, Melissa. There are several beauties at Renée’s, all very skilled in the art of pleasing a man.”

  She drew herself up angrily. “I can please you better than all of them, Rafe. Don’t you remember when we first met and you wanted me to—to put my mouth on you and I—I wouldn’t do it—I couldn’t do it! And you kept insisting, teasing me cruelly, telling me there were other girls that would do it until I—until I gave in and—”

  “Melissa, for God’s sake, your parents may be just inside the door!”

  “Oh, Rafe, why do you do this to me? If you want me to be a whore, I’ll be a whore! I can see that infuriating expression on your face now. What are you thinking? That maybe I am a whore already—that maybe I belong with your other girls at Renée’s?” She was digging her nails into his arm furiously. “All right, all right. I’m a whore—but only for you, Rafe, only for you.”

  Disgusted with her, Rafe drew away, pulling his arm forcibly from her grip. “Christ, Melissa, save your act for your father! He’s the only one who still thinks you’re his darling, innocent little daughter. Why don’t you admit it, Melissa? You love yourself too much and you love men even more—any men!”

  Frenziedly, she began unbuttoning her bodice, ripping it open with quick, jerking movements of her fingers. Her breasts shone white as she pulled them out in her hands, cradling them lovingly, her fingers pressing slightly on the taut nipples.

  “Here, Rafe, this is what you want, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Look at them, lover, and tell me that you have business engagements in town!”

  “What’s got into you, Melissa, for Christ’s sake?” he said contemptuously as he tried to cover her with her bodice.

  She brushed his hands away angrily. “What’s got into me?” she repeated, her voice rising steadily. “I’ll tell you what’s got into me—lover! I practically had to come out and ask you to marry me—in front of both my parents, and you just sat there—and said nothing!” Furious, she shoved her breasts back and buttoned her bodice. “Well, don’t expect me to beg anymore! I don’t like to be humiliated, Rafe St. Claire—I hate it almost as much as I hate you!”

  She turned on her heel and returned swiftly into the house, leaving him standing on the veranda, smiling mockingly at her bravado, knowing full well that she would come back to him when he asked for her again. She was a spirited, temperamental woman, that was true, but she was also a stubborn woman—and when she set her mind on one thing, it took a hell of a lot to pry her loose. She had still not let go of him, and he laughed to himself, imagining her standing, just inside the doorway, listening—waiting for him to come back for her.

  With a silent salute, he strode briskly to where he had tied his horse and mounted swiftly. “Good night, Melissa,” he said softly to the darkening shadows.

  Rafe rode at a leisurely pace into town, thinking of calling first at one of the casinos before stopping for the night at Renée’s. He was riding down Royal Street when he spotted Bernard just giving the reins of his horse to Renée’s stableboy.

  “De Marigny, I see we both have the same idea for our evening’s entertainment,” he called out, trotting briskly to his friend’s side and quickly dismounting.

  Bernard de Marigny turned, and a smile flashed across his face. “Rafe St. Claire! Don’t talk to me of entertainment, my friend, when I can well imagine how you spent your afternoon today!” he chided him, pausing on the walkway to Renée’s.

  St. Claire laughed and clapped the shorter man on the back. “I noticed that you seemed well set up to observe the same delightful pastime,” he returned sardonically. “That was a young lady in your carriage I saw this afternoon—and not your wife, by the color of her hair.”

  Bernard winked. “You should have ridden by the carriage, and I would have introduced her to you. You’ll not find such perfection anywhere else, my friend, for she is one of the most beautiful of women. She is waiting for me now.” His eyes rolled upward.

  St. Claire’s smile deepened. “Then you and I must have a drink together, Bernard, to celebrate your unwarranted luck!”

  “No, I’m afraid not. She might not take kindly to my keeping her waiting. She’s never—”

  “Come on, Bernard. For God’s sake, I’ve never known you to cater to a lady’s whims—especially a lady of the evening! Have one drink with me in the tavern across the street. How long can it take?”

  “All right, then. You’ve persuaded me against my better judgement, but perhaps one drink will bolster my stamina for the night.” He laughed wickedly and followed his friend across the street

  Five hours later, it was all he could do to get h
ome without falling off his horse. His head felt four times its size, and his stomach leaped at every step his horse took.

  “Bernard, I’m sorry about this, my friend. It seems we overstepped ourselves in our mutual toasting tonight,” Rafe said sympathetically next to him, but Bernard did not notice that his companion rode his horse with an ease that belied the liquor on his breath.

  “Just get me home where I can be sick in peace,” Bernard pleaded.

  “But your little friend at Renée’s. Shouldn’t you send her a message of some sort?” Rafe questioned softly.

  Bernard shook his head. “I’ll get to her tomorrow. She’ll—she’ll understand, I’m sure.”

  Rafe grinned devilishly to himself and urged his horse to a quicker step.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Dolly gazed with frustration at her friend, not knowing whether she should waste any more breath on her or land a good hard knock on her stubborn head. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big to-do about this, Gabrielle! Bernard has apologized profusely and has been by to see you several times these last two weeks!”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “I—I just can’t bring myself to make the commitment now, Dolly. I know he has explained why he wasn’t able to come around until two days later after being so sick, but I still can’t forgive him for humiliating me so.”

  “Humiliating you! Why, he’s done everything he can to extract your forgiveness,” Dolly exploded. “Sent you flowers, bought you presents, paid you visits. How many men would do that for a whore, Gabrielle, how many?” “I’m not a whore!” Gabrielle flashed back angrily. And then she immediately became contrite. ‘Tm sorry, Dolly, it’s just that he showed so little regard for my feelings, for my nervousness, I—I just can’t—”

  “Well, he’s a Creole, you know, and he vows he will wait for you to change your mind. Of course, he’s not living the life of a priest while you’re making up your mind, but you can hardly hold that against him!” Dolly shook her head again. “He’s a handsome man, Gabrielle, and gay and charming. He could do a lot for you! He must like you an awful lot for him to keep paying for your keep like—”

  “What—what did you say?”

  “Why, I thought you knew. I didn’t know—Renée didn’t tell me not to say anything,” Dolly floundered.

  “You mean that Renée has accepted money from Bernard de Marigny in my behalf?” Gabrielle said, outraged.

  Dolly caught her by the arm as she was about to fly out the door. “Don’t go getting mad at Renée, Gabrielle. Will you think for a moment? You were the one who was so adamant about not being a burden to Renée!”

  “Oh, Dolly, why—why didn’t you tell me this before? It’s so unfair to Bernard to have to pay for me when I am doing nothing for him!”

  “Well?” Dolly said accusingly, folding her arms across her chest.

  The two young women stared at each other, and finally Gabrielle looked away.

  “Do you think you will say yes?” Dolly asked her softly.

  “Oh, Dolly, I just don’t know. He’s married and somehow—somehow I can’t help feeling sorry for his wife. I’d feel—guilty—even though I know that if it weren’t me, Bernard would find someone else.”

  “Gabrielle, you can’t think of anybody else. Think of yourself and of Bernard. He wants you, Gabrielle. He wants you enough to help you even when you’ve behaved so horribly towards him.”

  “I’m thinking of him and myself,” Gabrielle answered quietly now. “I just don’t know. Maybe there’s something else holding me back—something. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s married, or something inside of me that’s frightened of being hurt again.”

  “At least see him, Gabrielle. Let him visit you,” Dolly urged persuasively.

  “All right. I’ll see him, Dolly. I suppose I do owe him that much.”

  A few days later, Gabrielle knocked on Renée’s office door. She found her bent over the ledger sheet, painstakingly figuring the week’s earnings.

  “Gabrielle, how are things with you, my dear?” Renée asked, smiling as she looked up from her accounts. “Oh, yes, you told me that Bernard de Marigny is taking you to the opening of the new casino on Bourbon Street. Are you excited?”

  Gabrielle nodded. “I—I wanted to talk to you, Renée, about—about finances.”

  Renée laid down her quill and folded her hands. “Yes.”

  Gabrielle fidgeted with the pocket of her skirt for a moment. “I know that Bernard has been giving you money—for my keep.”

  “Yes, of course he has, but—”

  Gabrielle waved her to silence. “I’m not going to protest, Renée. I know we’ve been through this before, and I know that you are aware that I’m giving him nothing in return.”

  Renée nodded.

  “I—I just want to know—how much I owe him,” she went on.

  Renée looked surprised. “Why, Gabrielle, you know that M’sieur de Marigny doesn’t necessarily expect that you repay him. He does it on the chance that you will—”

  “—become his mistress, I know,” Gabrielle interrupted. “But I am not his mistress, and I want to know how much I owe him.”

  Renée sighed heavily. “Just a moment. Let me get out your expense sheet I keep one for every one of our girls,” she assured her.

  She unlocked the middle drawer of her desk and produced a thick sheaf of papers filed in alphabetical order. She thumbed through it for a moment.

  “Here it is. March 15, 1813, through April 2—three hundred and forty-eight dollars—American money, of course.”

  “Three hundred and forty-eight dollars!” Gabrielle mentally calculated. “So, by the end of April, should he continue financing my rent here, I would owe him over a thousand dollars, Renée!”

  The other woman nodded, replacing the papers.

  “Oh, dear Lord, I can’t continue to allow him to do this for me.”

  “What do you intend to do about it, then?”

  Gabrielle gave the woman an earnest look. “Do you think—do you think I could win that much at the ‘Golden Palace’ tonight, Renée?”

  “God almighty, Gabrielle! You’d have to be mighty lucky to win that much—and that’s assuming the dealers are legitimate. You know that some of them cheat to keep the money for the house. And besides, you don’t have any money of your own to begin with.”

  Gabrielle sent her a crafty look.

  Renée frowned. “I suppose you’ll be asking me for it, then?”

  “Oh, please, Renée! I promise if I don’t make it back for you tonight I’ll—I’ll get it somehow. Please give me this chance.”

  Renée could hardly resist the pleading in those huge eyes. “All right, all right,” she said after a moment, “I give in, like I always do. It’s a hell of a way to run a business, but you already know I’ve got a soft spot for you. But, if you lose the money, I don’t want you telling me that you’ll go downstairs again. I’d sooner you tell de Marigny yes before letting you do that again.”

  “Oh, Renée, I promise you won’t regret it!” Gabrielle cried, hugging the woman with genuine affection.

  “Let’s just hope you don’t regret it,” Renée said softly as the girl left

  That evening, when Dolly came in to help Gabrielle dress, she found her staring down at the handful of bills on her dressing table and pressing her hands together uttering little shrieks of excitement.

  “Good God, the girl’s lost her wits,” Dolly said, standing with arms akimbo in the doorway. “What’s got into you?”

  “Nothing, Dolly, nothing. I just feel that all the luck is going to be on my side tonight,” Gabrielle answered, getting up to tug on a clean chemise.

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard that M’sieur de Marigny is taking you to the ‘Golden Palace’ tonight,” Dolly returned somewhat sourly. “Talk about luck! I think it just follows you around, girl, looking for a chance to happen!”

  Gabrielle laughed. “Don’t be catty tonight, Dolly.” She stopped and looked soberly at
the other girl. “Dolly, it’s got to be on my side tonight—it’s just got to be!”

  “What’s so important?”

  Gabrielle bit her lip. “I can’t tell. It might break the spell, you know.” She grinned slyly.

  Dolly reached for the gown laid on the bed and slipped it over the other girl’s head. The dress was of watered silk, a shimmering silver drapery that fell in soft folds around her ankles, tied with a lavender velvet sash underneath the bust.

  When Gabrielle arrived downstairs, she found Bernard already waiting for her.

  “Good evening, my dear,” he said, taking her arm.

  It was barely nine o’clock, but the April night promised to be delightfully warm, with a slight breeze that lifted her cloak as they walked outside. In the shadows of the porch, Bernard took her quickly into his arms and kissed her, pressing her tightly against him so that she could feel, even through the layers of their clothing, the hot probing of his desire.

  “Come with me now, Gabrielle,” he whispered. “You’re more beautiful than ever, and you know how much I want you.”

  Gabrielle veiled her eyes with her lashes, feeling somehow guilty about her plans for tonight. Bernard was asking her to be his mistress, and here she was, trying to ensure that he could make no more claims on her.

  “Bernard,” she said softly, “I’ve been so looking forward to tonight. It will be exciting, don’t you think?”

  He sighed in mock offense. “Just like a woman. Here I am, laying my undying devotion at your feet, and you can only think about the program for the evening. Gabrielle, I’m convinced you let your head rule your heart much too often.”

  She laughed. “Perhaps, Bernard, but I think that may be a refreshing change for you.”

  He laughed, too, then and took her arm once more. “The evening is nice enough. Would you prefer to walk?”

  She nodded. “That would be lovely,” she answered. The “Golden Palace” was one street away, and, when they arrived, it was already filled with a large crowd. Many heads turned at Bernard’s arrival, and Gabrielle realized that he was a well-known figure about town and popular with the men as well as the ladies. The host of the gambling house, one Philip Paul, came forward immediately and shook hands with Bernard, openly admiring his lady.