Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  “Melissa,” he sighed, then closed his eyes again and went back to a fitful sleep.

  In the morning, he was much better, the fever abated. Melissa carried in hot cornbread, molasses, and gumbo, hoping to tempt his appetite.

  “Jesus, I hate being in bed,” he grumbled, then grinned mockingly at her, “except, of course, when it’s serving its true purpose.”

  She smiled back. “Rafe St. Claire, I do believe you’re going to be recuperating a lot faster than Dr. Bernais thought possible.” She placed a cotton napkin on his lap, letting her hand linger softly as it explored the proof of his well-being.

  Rafe caught her hand in his and pressed it hard. “I wouldn’t be doing that, ’Lissa, my dear, unless you’re fully prepared to take the consequences,” he said insolently, his free hand moving to slip itself inside her open gown.

  His fingers caressed the responsive flesh, and he thought absently that Melissa’s breasts were really too big to fit a man’s grip properly.

  “Rafe! I do declare you do surprise me, lover! If I hadn’t seen the length of that wound in your side....”

  “I suppose the doctor swathed me like a goddamn baby,” he replied with a touch of temper. “It feels like I have ten pounds of gauze going around my middle.”

  She took his hand from her breast and fidgeted with the silver. He ate the soup slowly, favoring his wounded side and drank deeply of the wine she had brought.

  “You make an excellent nurse, ’Lissa,” he said affectionately. “You should apply as a volunteer to the Sisters of Charity for work in their hospital.”

  Melissa, giving him a wry grin, shook her head. “I’m doing this for you, darling. Anything I do for you has to be perfect.”

  His answering grin was devilishly wicked. “Anything?”

  She nodded, and he thought she looked as though she would have liked very much to pounce on him.

  “You enjoy men too much, Melissa,” he said, his voice losing the teasing note, and her face seemed to freeze for a moment.

  Her full mouth trembled loosely and she folded her hands tightly together. “You’re cruel, Rafe,” she rebuked him softly. “You know very well that I—I do love you deeply. I can’t help that I—that I enjoy that part of it, too.”

  “I can’t help it either, dearest—especially now,” he added, mocking her again.

  “Why don’t you call me what you did last night?” she said, letting her hand work its way beneath the bedcovers once more after she took the tray from his lap.

  His brows arched into sardonic black crescents. “Pray tell, what was that? I’m all ears, as there’s no telling what might have spewed forth in my delirium,” he replied.

  “You called me ‘kitten’,” she said, her hand finding what it sought and closing possessively.

  Rafe frowned. “I must have been delirious,” he said. Her fingers squeezed him, then he felt her sharp fingernails bite deep, and he jumped. “For God’s sake!” he cursed her. “Gently, you little silver-haired bitch!”

  Her blue eyes were narrow and reminded him of cold, perfect sapphires.

  “I can’t help being jealous, Rafe,” she said quietly, passing the tip of her pink tongue over her upper lip.

  He laughed shortly. “A tigress—jealous of a kitten?” he drawled mockingly.

  Then he gasped suddenly as she flung herself wordlessly against him, pulling back the counterpane so that her experienced mouth could bring him back to her. His hand came down hard against her head, and with a violent motion, he jerked her by her hair.

  Spitting like the tigress he had likened her to, she slithered out of his weakened grasp and pulled her skirts up so that she could straddle him. Her determination was so comical that Rafe couldn’t help laughing. The effect on her was instantaneous, and, with as much dignity as she could muster, she rose from the bed, smoothed her skirts, and lifted the tray.

  "You enjoy pushing me to the limit,” she muttered, "enjoy hurting me, using me for your own ends.” Unexpectedly, he perceived the tears coming to the surface. “I really hope, Rafe St. Claire, that someday, some woman will have the strength to put you through the same kind of hell.” He stopped laughing and watched her thoughtfully as she flounced out the door.

  Five days later he was ready to leave although he was still a little stiff and sore. He shook hands with Thomas Lawrence, who still had that hopeful look about him, and was mounting his horse when Melissa flew off the porch to throw her arms about him and kiss him one last time. He kissed her fully in the eyes of her parents and couldn’t help laughing to himself at the sudden flush that suffused Thomas’ face.

  Then he was off on his chestnut stallion, riding to Fairview, his mind full of business, dismissing the memory of Melissa’s face as though she were nothing but a passing addiction. He must see his attorneys this afternoon. His shipping firm needed constant supervision, and although Rafe trusted his lawyers implicitly in business matters, they needed a firm hand to keep them from letting things slide.

  He also wanted to see Bernard as soon as possible.

  De Marigny was a good friend, and he wasn’t about to let a girl come between them now. At the thought of Gabrielle, he smiled to himself. He’d neglected her far too long, he thought, and it was high time he paid more than just a cordial visit to her. Tonight, he would let her know that she would have to resume paying him for her keep.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Gabrielle was just sitting down in her customary chair next to Jane in the sitting room when she heard the front door open and close. Straightening up, she looked at Jane, then hurried to the hall to peer down towards the door. Her breath left her in a small gasp as she perceived the tall, muscular form striding confidently towards her.

  “G-good evening,” she said in a small voice.

  He nodded to her, then strode past her into the sitting room, ignoring Jane who was attempting to pass unnoticed as she slipped out of her chair.

  Jane left, closing the door behind her, while Gabrielle walked back to her chair and sat down carefully, her eyes riveted to that broad back. “I was expecting you earlier today,” she began uncertainly, wondering at the darkness of his face as he turned to her.

  “I’ve seen Leigh Owens today,” he began tightly. “He was drunkenly informing everyone who cared to listen that he was privileged to spend one night in your bed—with my wholehearted approval!” He stopped, waiting for her to confirm or deny his statement, but when she was silent too long, he continued, “I’m away a few days and I come back to find my mistress is dallying with one of my best friends!” he said between his teeth, but still appearing to lean indolently against a large armchair.

  Gabrielle, feeling justifiably angry, shook her head quickly. “He was here on your orders, if I remember correctly. He was most eager to inform me that you both shared everything—was I supposed to believe that included me, too?”

  Rafe watched her eyes flashing up at him, and his fists tightened. God, how he hated the beautiful little bitch! He had not seen her in so many days, and then he found that she had been entertaining another man in his absence! It was too much.

  “Mr. Owens did sleep in my bed that night,” Gabrielle continued. “There was very little I could do to dissuade him—I’m only sorry now that I didn’t join him! I can see, though, that you are determined not to believe me!” She hesitated. “If you have no wish to continue this— affair—I will have my things packed and will be out of here as soon as you like, but—I will need some time to find suitable living arrangements for myself.”

  He laughed, his dark brow arched sarcastically over his left eye. “Suitable arrangements?” he mocked her. “Perhaps, ma’am, you were thinking of the Hotel de la Marine, or maybe even a place on the waterfront, for surely those would be the only quarters you could afford—and that only if you gave yourself as down payment.” He eyed her with a brutal contempt. “But then, I suppose you wouldn’t flinch too greatly at the indisposition?”

  Her face turned pink, and
she lowered her eyes. “You really don’t think I—”

  “—would stoop so low?” he finished caustically. “Why, yes, in all truth, I do. Surely you realize that no one is going to be obliging enough to give you a room free of charge, do you—unless he is as big a fool as I was!”

  Gabrielle’s hand whitened as she grasped the arm of her chair. “You act as though I’m ungrateful, but I—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gabrielle! Please, no pretty speeches. I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for them right now.”

  She straightened up then, her pride rescuing her from the degrading situation. “I fail to see how your sarcasm and bullying is supposed to make you less a fool,” she countered impudently. “If you think that I am going to sit here and let you treat me this way, I’m afraid you’re terribly mistaken. I am not obliged to listen to your insulting remarks!”

  He applauded briefly, then she saw his eyes narrow slightly, and the green blazed at her like the fire in an emerald. “Oh, my dear mistress, I’m afraid you are the one in the wrong. You see, you are obliged to listen to whatever I may take it in mind to say to you. You’re obligated to do even more than that, actually.” He moved closer to her and smiled wickedly. “You forget, kitten, that I own you now. You are my personal possession—a woman paid for already and greatly in arrears in the debt she owes me.”

  Gabrielle stood up, her violet eyes matching his in anger. “What do you mean? I belong to no man—my spirit and my soul are my own and I shall do with them as I please!” she returned, breathing harder.

  “And your body?” he questioned her softly. “I suppose you consider that your own, also, but you are wrong, my dear. I am the only person who has any rights over that.” His arms reached for her, and she flinched as his fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm.

  “Let me go,” she said, between her teeth, struggling to move away from him.

  He laughed insolently. “Come, come now, kitten. Surely you did better than that with Owens. I want to hear you say sweet, welcoming things to me. I want your hands to caress me. I want. . . .”

  “Oh, you’re hateful!” she cried out, pushing at his chest with her hands. “You only want to insult me!”

  He held her still and deliberately bent down and kissed her, hard and bruising, forcing her mouth to open to him. His hands left her arms and pressed against her back, so that her body was crushed to his.

  She felt dizzy and somehow pliant in his arms, telling herself that she hated him, that he was only using her, but unable to stop the warm yearning at his touch. When he finally released her, she gazed up at him, her eyes huge and darkened, her breath coming in short gasps.

  He looked down at her, and his smile was commanding. “Now, I want you to come with me upstairs, kitten, and we’ll see about paying back that debt you owe me.”

  “Oh, you—you make it all sound so businesslike, so impersonal,” she flung at him desperately.

  “But that’s all it is, kitten—business. You wouldn’t have it otherwise, would you?” he mocked her, following her to her bedroom and swinging the door shut. “Take off your clothes, kitten,” he said, a sardonic look on his face.

  Gabrielle watched him in disbelief as he pulled off his coat and proceeded to lay his shirt over a chair. She stood silently, trying to swallow the lump that seemed to be stuck maddeningly in her throat. How could he do this to her? If only he would show one ounce of tenderness or a bit of affection, she would do anything for him—anything but this. He treated her like a whore, like some nameless hussy off the street, hurrying to get things done so that he could pay her and be on his way. It disgusted her, and she would not be abused in such a manner.

  When he was naked, he looked up expectantly and frowned to see her staring at him so accusingly. “What’s this? Don’t tell me you’re going to balk now?” he asked impatiently. “It’s too pretty a gown to rip,” he added with a menacing note in his voice.

  “I’ll not behave like some courtesan no matter how much you try to force me into it,” she replied, her voice breaking disconcertingly.

  He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then, with a sigh of impatience, he strode over to her and hooked his fingers in her gown. “You’re a stubborn woman, kitten,” he muttered, “but you’re no less desirable because of it.”

  And with one wrenching pull, he ripped the gown down the front of her bodice so that the two halves lay open over her skirt. His hands cupped her breasts, and his thumbs pressed hard against the nipples.

  “That’s a pretty fast-sounding heartbeat—for a woman who professes no interest in what’s coming,” he laughed scornfully, bringing his hands down to her waistband.

  Gabrielle bit her lip so that she wouldn’t cry out involuntarily as he tore the skirt away from her. She would not go along with his disgusting game, she thought, but she found it increasingly hard to keep her promise to herself to remain uncooperative when he carried her to the bed and began to caress her flesh with the touch of a master. Her only defense was to fight him, and she began to slap at his hands and kick out at him with her feet.

  His laughter only increased her fury, and she tried to bite his hand, her eyes spitting at him. He wrestled with her as a cat plays with a mouse, letting her use up her strength so that his ultimate goal would be all the easier.

  When she stopped for a moment, breathless and tired from her useless exertions, he moved his body on top of hers and smashed his mouth over her lips, kissing her with an abusive mastery that she hated. She wriggled beneath him, curving her fingers into claws to rake at his face. He caught both her hands and moved his mouth downward to her tender breasts, biting at the smooth flesh until she entreated him to stop.

  “I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!” she sobbed, even as he drove fiercely into her.

  A cry escaped her lips as he moved in her mercilessly, and, despite herself, she felt the burning heat within her, filling her entire body with a sweet, delicious pleasure that made her back arch to meet his thrusts and her arms entwine themselves around his neck.

  He recognized her surrender and slowed his movements, taking his time now that her resistance had been shattered. He watched her face, noting the struggle taking place within her between the desire that was suffusing her and the mental pride that made her continue to resist him.

  “Relax, kitten,” he murmured softly, nuzzling her hair with his lips. “Enjoy it.”

  A moan trembled in her throat, and she turned her head away from him so that his mouth grazed her chin and moved down her throat, seeking those high, rounded breasts that pressed provocatively against his chest.

  “Impudent little things,” he commented, nibbling at her flesh.

  His movements were increasing in rhythm now as her stirrings beneath him excited him beyond belief. Her hands moved on his back now like gossamer wings that stroked him and added to his own pleasure. They climaxed together, lifting each other to the pinnacle of pleasurable delight, and, afterwards, he lay on her, gasping as the shock waves rolled over him and finally receded.

  “Jesus, kitten,” he said laughingly, “you must be the best piece ever to grace my bed.”

  Gabrielle, whose eyes had been cloudy with desire, flinched at his words and looked up at him bitterly. “Is that all you can say?” she demanded, catching at the sob in her throat.

  He shrugged and rolled off her, drawing her against him. “I meant it as a compliment,” he returned nonchalantly.

  She would have said more, drawing on her anger to fire her words, but it was so nice to be held close against his lean, tanned body and have his fingers idly caressing her. She shivered in his embrace and moved her hand so that it lay, small and white, against his chest.

  The next morning she awoke still clasped in his arms, and she revelled for a moment in the comfort and security. Her hands moved along his chest, stroking his side. He winced and awoke instantly, glaring at her as though wondering how he came to be in her bed.

  “Christ, kitten, can’t you be
a little more careful?” he asked her.

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “Open your eyes, dammit! I’m still a little sore there.”

  She followed his pointing finger and gazed in surprise at the pinkish scar that looked to be the result of some sharp object—a knife?

  “How did it happen?” she asked, touching it gingerly.

  He shrugged. “A fight.”

  She moved up on her elbow and looked down at his face. “A fight? And you were hurt? Why didn’t you come to me? I would have—”

  “No need, kitten. I already had a nurse,” he replied, grinning arrogantly. “It’s just a knife wound, nothing serious,” he explained, observing the hurt look in her eyes. “I was actually on a mission for the governor—trying to catch your old lover.” He could see now the carefully closed expression.

  “Did—did you catch him?” she asked.

  He shook his head, angry suddenly and not quite understanding why. “No, the bastard got away, but we were able to get some evidence against him—although I really don’t know if Claiborne will be able to use it. Seems a damn shame when you consider that a good man died because of it.”

  “How awful,” Gabrielle murmured, her mind far away. Rafe looked into those violet eyes and wondered what lay behind them as they stared at nothing. Was she thinking of him? Abruptly, he pushed her away so that he could pad over to the window.

  “It’s going to rain,” he said absently. “I guess I’d better get dressed. I don’t know if Lafitte recognized me, but if he did, I’m sure I can expect increased retaliatory action directed against my shipping firm.”

  Gabrielle shook off her reverie and faced him, sitting up in the bed, the sheet drawn over her breasts. “Must you leave already?” she said a little wistfully, at which he grinned at her lazily.

  “Why, kitten, am I to believe that you actually want me to stay with you? And all the time I thought my presence was—distinctly unsettling to you.”

  Gabrielle pinkened and looked away from those penetrating green eyes that seemed to bore into her head. “Well, it’s just that—that I do get lonesome sometimes, and I—”