“Charles, let me up!” Her voice shook the slightest bit, and the last word was sounded on a shrill note, as his hands began tearing at the sodden cloth of her gown.
“So, you’re beginning to feel fear at least. Aren’t you?”
Gabrielle brought up her hands to pummel Charles’ face, but this seemed to have no effect on his sureness of purpose.
“I must have you naked, my dear, I simply must,” he said as though apologizing for ripping the front of her gown.
She cried out as his teeth bit into the flesh of her breasts, her hands trying to cover them from his seeking mouth. His fingers pinched a nipple cruelly, and she gasped at the pain.
“Charles, listen to me. You—you can’t do this!”
“I’m going to have you,” he repeated as though reciting a lesson. “I must have you. I must. For many years, you’ve tortured me, looking out at me from every woman’s face I’ve seen, teasing me with your eyes and mouth.” His hands were pushing her skirt down, inexorably easing it from her hips.
“Oh, God! No!” Gabrielle screamed again, and Charles’ hand balled into a fist and came crashing down on her temple, effectively driving her into oblivion.
She came to some minutes later and felt as though the side of her face were swelling up to twice its size. Her tongue seemed to loll in her mouth like a wad of cotton, and she opened her eyes to try and focus. Images swam dizzily, and she thought she saw three images of Charles’ laughing face. She shuddered and closed her eyes again. Something warm and soft was moving on her stomach and she opened her eyes again, finally able to focus them. She could see the top of Charles’ head, with his face pressed into her flesh, his tongue avidly seeking.
“No, please, stop!” she said in a whisper.
“Quiet, whore! You are a whore, and I’m using you like one! I’ve always known what you were, you bitch! Father never knew—you had him fooled, didn’t you? Trotting off to your parties and your lovers, leaving him alone, leaving me alone—but you didn’t care, did you? Did you?”
Horrified, Gabrielle realized that he was seeing her as his mother, and she struggled against the nightmare that was surrounding her.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked harshly, dipping his tongue downward, forcing her thighs apart with rough hands. “This is what you want, isn’t it? You greedy bitch!”
His fingernails were digging into the soft flesh, hurting her cruelly, and she thought she, too, must be going insane. She had to get away, get away from this madman! Struggling to her elbows, she tried to stop the dizzy whirling of her head.
“Charles, listen to me! For God’s sake, listen to me! I’m not your mother. I’m Gabrielle St. Claire—Gabrielle, Charles, Gabrielle!”
He looked up at her, and the look on his face caused a chill to pass through her. “Gabrielle. Lovely, violet-eyed Gabrielle! I hated you for a long time,” he said slowly, bringing himself up so that he could stare into her eyes, “I’ve hated you because you reminded me of her—just the same. I hated you so much, I wanted to kill you!” he breathed raspingly in her face. “But I couldn’t destroy such beauty. I had to find another way to make sure I would never see you again.”
His eyes were crafty now, as though he knew a secret that he wasn’t quite sure he would share with her. He forced her back on the hay, and she could not look at those mad, staring eyes any longer.
“I thought you were gone. I thought I had finally found the way when I told them about you.”
She opened her eyes. “You—told—?”
He nodded, and oddly his laugh was almost a chuckle. “Yes, you’re clever, my dear, but not clever enough, it seems. I was the one who informed on you—I did!”
Gabrielle shook her head, trying to understand what lie was talking about.
“Come now, don’t act so stupid! I’m telling you how it happened! I was the one who told the police that yon had given my father the money for the smuggling! I planted the story in their minds and added a small amount of gold to testify to its integrity. Oh, I was sure I had you then!"
Gabrielle looked at him with new loathing. “You mean you—you informed on your own father!” she said in disgust.
He nodded. “Ah, now you’re catching on. Of course—oh, I admit, it was distasteful, having to relate the fact that it was my own father who was involved, but I had to do it in order to get to you! There was no other way.” He was smiling now like a teacher who is delighted with his pupil’s progress. “You see, I found out about it quite by accident. The other man who had gone in on the venture with my father had come to see him to try and talk him into rejoining after my father had decided to get out. I happened to be in the hall, and they were in the library, carelessly forgetting to close the door tight. I must admit, I almost denounced my father right there, I was so shocked that he could commit treason against Napoleon! But then I thought—what a perfect way to incriminate that little bitch who settled herself so impudently in my household, making my father jump to her pleasure in the same way my mother used to do! This was my best chance! Oh, I had to leave first to pretend to rejoin my troops, but it was easy enough to get in touch with the Paris chief of police and apply for a furlough. It took a considerable sum to get you out of the country, but it was worth it—it was well worth it, knowing the degradation I was putting you through! I even came to the prison that night—a farewell gesture, you may say! Then you sailed away from France, and I thought everything would be all right.”
He stopped and she could feel the force of his hatred. "When Lieutenant Rué told me he had received word the Lillias had been sunk somewhere in the Caribbean, I couldn’t believe my good fortune! I believed you dead!” Gabrielle shivered at the exalted tone of his voice. “But, dead, you were more devilish to me than in life! I saw you everywhere. I heard your voice. You haunted my dreams and taunted me unmercifully. I even tried to kill myself in battle once, but the wound only gave me a fever in which you came to me all the time. The hate festered in me and made me less than a man. I no longer knew how to fight, I couldn’t concentrate on my maneuvers. I couldn’t command my own men any more. And then, when I couldn’t stand it any longer—I ran away, ran away from everything. But even then, even after my disgrace, when I thought your taunting would be satisfied, you were still with me! Four years, my dear, you were with me!”
He paused for breath, and his hand sought her breasts again, stroking them as though enjoying the texture of the firm flesh. “So you can imagine my pain and distress when I saw you again a few weeks ago! Something snapped inside of me, and I knew there was only one way to rid myself of you!”
Gabrielle felt her fright choking in her throat. He was going to kill her! She could almost feel his hands encircling her throat! He laughed, noting the fear on her face.
“No, I’m afraid I can’t kill you, my dear. It does no good, you see—I’ve already found that out. I must possess you, possess that lovely, teasing body that I have dreamed and lusted after. For, once I know your body, you will no longer have the power to haunt me with your mystery. You will be a woman, nothing more, like any other!”
Gabrielle gazed at him with horror-filled eyes. Oh, God, she couldn’t endure this madman thrusting himself into her, abusing her—she couldn’t! He was fumbling with his trousers now, intent on achieving his purpose without further preamble.
With a quickness that caught him off guard, she rolled from beneath him and got to her knees. His hand slipped from her shoulder, and she stood unsteadily, willing the rolling ground to cease its movement.
But it was too late then, for he was beside her again, knocking her once more to the ground, where she began struggling against him, kicking, scratching, her nails making long gouges in his face. They struggled silently, like wrestlers, Gabrielle realizing it would do no good to scream in the face of the howling wind and driving rain. His fingers dug painfully into her ribs, her legs were tiring, and she was nearly out of breath. She was slipping gradually, she knew, but she must fight on.
<
br /> Charles sensed her weakening and laughed victoriously, pressing down on her like a band of iron, squeezing her rib cage until she nearly lost consciousness again.
“Now, now, I will have you, my dear,” he whispered, and in the next moment, she felt an agonizing driving deep within her, hurting her so dreadfully that she choked on her own scream.
“I’ll ride you, you whore! I’ll ride you until you beg me to stop!” he said through his teeth.
“You—you animal!” she cried out, her thighs burning from the scrape of the trousers that still hung around his legs. “I curse you to hell! I hate you, I hate you!”
His hand tore across her mouth, and she tasted blood while her head whirled once more in a vortex of pain and fire.
“Damn you, bitch! I’ll make you plead with me! I want to see you beg!”
It seemed he could go on forever, and she felt blood, warm and sticky, trickle onto her legs. He was going to kill her, she thought through the mist of pain. And then she thought she must be hearing things, for a voice was calling her name in the darkness of the barn.
“Here! Help me!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Charles’ mad laugh filled her ears.
“Are you crazy, bitch? No one is going to help you now! You’re mine!”
She couldn’t stand it anymore. The pain was surging all around her, her whole body bruised, and still he punished her.
“Gabrielle!”
It was a man’s voice, heavy with pain and shock. It was the last thing she heard as she went sinking slowly into welcoming darkness.
Chapter Forty
Images flickered behind her closed eyelids. Voices far away called to her, but she didn’t want to wake up just yet, she thought. If she woke up, she would see Charles’ mad face staring down at her, the apparition of Satan himself, filling her with pain and laughing at her misery. Pain still enshrouded her, and it hurt even to move the fingers of her hand. Somewhere she could hear a voice calling her again, a face moving into view, the horrified expression mirroring her own.
“Rafe,” she said softly, “how can you be here?”
But her lips didn’t move with the words, and she didn’t want them to move—they hurt too much. Just let me lie here, please, she thought. She crept back thankfully to the waiting darkness. Still he called to her. Shut up, shut up! Let me sleep! But he would not, and no matter how tightly she closed her eyes or how hard she willed her ears not to listen, his voice reached out to her—as it always would—reached her and drew her towards him.
I’m coming, damn you!
And then her eyes opened, and, before she was conscious of the pain once more, she gazed into the coolness of green depths, and, because she was sure this was the last time they would meet, and it no longer mattered anyway, she whispered, “I love you, Rafe.”
The green depths deepened and became darker. His eyes did not mock her now.
“Is she conscious? Did she say something? My God, our prayers are answered!”
What in the world was Renée doing here? Gabrielle wondered through the pain that was rolling in waves over her again.
“No, you’re not going back again, Gabrielle,” Rafe said gently to her, supporting her head while another gentleman gave her a spoonful of bitter-tasting liquid. She coughed once, and the movement made her ribs throb with a bruising pain.
“Well, it looks as though we might be able to get some soup down her. Renée, if you’ll feed her, Jane can hold the bowl,” the physician was saying.
“I’m tired,” Gabrielle protested, and this time her voice was louder.
“Of course you are, my love,” Renée said gently, her eyes moist. “But you must try to get some of this broth down. It will help.”
The warm liquid did feel good going down her throat. Four, five, six spoonfuls, and that was all. “Let her rest,” the doctor was saying.
It seemed a long time later that she opened her eyes once more. She wondered how long she had been in bed. Her thoughts were lucid now, and, although the pain was still there like a familiar companion, she seemed to be able to bear it. Her chest still ached if she moved, but her limbs no longer sent shooting pains to her spine.
“May I have a drink of water?” she whispered, and in an instant Renée was clucking over her, offering the glass to her lips.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad to see you awake today. It’s been nearly two days, and we’ve all been terribly worried about you. Is the pain still bad?”
“No. You said two days, but how—”
“Don’t think about anything right now but getting well, child.”
“Renée?” Her voice was still infuriatingly weak, but Renée heard her and smoothed back the hair from her forehead and looked anxiously into her face. “I’m hungry, Renée.”
She clapped her hands together, and her smile of delight seemed to encompass her whole face. “Did you hear that, Dolly? She’s hungry!”
Then Dolly’s face was close to Renée’s, and she was smiling too, her hand taking Gabrielle’s and pressing it in relief. “Oh, Gabrielle, I always did say that, behind that delicate-looking exterior of yours, you were as strong as a horse.”
Gabrielle watched them both with tender affection and was overwhelmingly grateful for their presence. One of the servants entered with a steaming bowl of stew, and she ate every bit that Dolly spooned into her mouth. Afterwards she felt strong enough to sit up in bed and asked that little Paul be brought to her. Holding her son’s wiggling body in her arms was harder than she had anticipated.
“Where is Rafe?” she asked happily.
Renée and Dolly looked carefully at each other. “He—he was called back to the city, Gabrielle,” Renée said gently. “He stayed until everyone was sure you were out of danger, but he had to go back this morning.”
Gabrielle felt a cold, hard lump settle in her chest, a pain that had nothing to do with her bruises. He hadn’t even said good-bye to her, she thought morosely. She was a fool, she really was a fool! In spite of everything, he didn’t love her. Well, he had certainly told her not to expect it—why had she gone on believing that she could make him love her? She hugged little Paul closer to her.
Two weeks had passed since the rape, and the October air brought a blessed coolness that expressed itself in the balmy breeze that sighed through the slats in her windows. Gabrielle sat at her vanity while Dolly arranged her hair. She had mended rapidly, and now only a greenish-black crescent on her temple remained from that horrible memory. Through her conversations with Renée, she had been able to piece together the events that had occurred after she fell unconscious.
It was luck that had prompted Rafe to come back to Fairview from the city, despite the driving rain—luck, and a nagging remembrance of his wife’s anxieties. As he was leading his horse into the stall, he had heard a thrashing about in the back of the barn and thought, at first, that it must be two of the servants enjoying some sport. But then he had caught the sound of a woman whimpering in pain and the demoniacal laugh of Charles as he bragged of his exploit. He called Gabrielle’s name, and then he recognized her voice beneath the piercing screams of the wind and discovered the odious deed.
“You were unconscious,” Renée told her, “but de Chevalier was continuing his crazed passions until Rafe jerked him backwards by his collar. He was stronger than Rafe reckoned and landed a blow along his jaw that dazed him long enough to enable de Chevalier to escape into the rain. It was impossible to find which way he had gone, and Rafe realized that your safety was more important. He rode like the devil for the doctor, who happened to be staying the evening at my house, so naturally I insisted on accompanying him. It took all our strength to keep Rafe from riding out to find that bastard Charles and strangle him.”
“And—what happened to Charles?” Gabrielle whispered.
Renée told her the rest. His body had washed down river to the city where it caught on a wharf piling and was dredged up from the water. No one questioned the cause of death, for so many bodi
es were thrown into the river from quarrels among the boatmen, but either Charles slipped along the muddy bank or threw himself In the water in order, finally, to escape his demons forever.
“Isabel?” Gabrielle wondered, feeling an ache in her heart for the friend who had already lost two husbands.
Renée shrugged expressively. “Her only concern was for you. That girl’s been brought up proper not to show her feelings, but I think she’ll get over it. As far as I could tell, there was no love lost between the two of them, and I might add there was almost a sense of relief on her face.”
Gabrielle nodded. Perhaps, now, Isabel could grow to be her old self again.
Then, as Dolly’s skillful hands arranged her thick hair, Gabrielle sighed deeply. “Things are changing so fast, Dolly,” she murmured. “Sometimes I feel as though my whole life has been one long upheaval. How much longer can I endure it?”
Dolly smiled. “Now, don’t go feeling sorry for yourself. You’re luckier than most, Gabrielle, with a wonderful son who adores you, a husband who can give you anything.”
Gabrielle was careful to keep the emotion out of her face. The two women made some final touches to their toilets and walked downstairs together where Isabel and Renée were waiting for them with the children.
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing by taking this drive with you,” Isabel confided, “but I just couldn’t stay in that stuffy bedroom any longer. Oh, I’ll be so glad when I’m able to get around as I used to,” she added ruefully, gazing pointedly at her still-swollen belly beneath her gown.
Despite her complaints, though, she was very much in awe of her new daughter, whose slightest wish was her command. She had taken to calling her “Ria,” and the name seemed to suit the dark-haired pixie, who was sure to look exactly like her mother as she grew older.
The four women clambered into the carriage, and Gabrielle directed the driver to drive along the bank of the river. She sat back with Paul in her lap to relax in the healing sunshine.
“It’s funny how quickly a woman can bounce back from an experience like the one you had,” Isabel commented thoughtfully, smoothing the unruly down on Ria’s head.
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