Christina froze, paralyzed with fear. Never in her life had anyone even spoken harshly to her, much less struck her.
“But it’s true!” Guy insisted. “He never loved you, you little fool!” Suddenly, Guy felt sorry for the poor misguided little girl he held in his arms. He pressed her cheek to his. “I know you thought he loved you, but Richard is that way with all of them,” he said softly. “He is, Christina, I’ve seen him. He just wanted you the way we all want you. Even his brother, for all his priest’s robes and piety wants you.” He held her at arm’s length.
“Don’t you realize how beautiful you are?” Seeing the stricken look on her face, Guy laughed. “Christina, don’t you understand?
I’m
the one who loves you.
Me!
And now, at last, you’re mine! Christina, you must love
me
, now. You
must!
”
He reached up to touch her hair, running his fingers through the silky strands just as he’d seen Richard do that night. But she was still staring at him, terrified, and his fingers began to tighten on her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat, her pulse pounding along the side of her neck. Then he noticed the locket.
“No!” Christina sobbed as he tore the delicate chain from her throat.
He looked at the locket, remembering the expression on Richard’s face as he’d fastened it around her neck. Guy’s fingers closed into a fist and he shook it in her face.
“Do you think I don’t know where you got this?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he dropped the locket on the floor and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. He knew, then, that he must take everything from her that might remind her of Richard—for her own good, of course.
He looked at her intently, as though trying to see her soul. Then he slowly ran his fingers down her throat and stopped at the swell of her breasts. She was so beautiful.
Does she remember how it felt that night, with Richard?
Didn’t she want that now, even as he wanted it? Still holding her by the hair, he ran his mouth over the side of her face, his breath hot against her skin as his fingers squeezed her breast.
“I was there, Christina. I saw it.
All
of it!” he whispered, his lips against her ear as he pressed his body against hers. “Don’t you remember how it was? We can have that now, Christina.” He breath was coming more quickly. “You’re my wife. It’s what I want for us. And I can give you much more. So much more.” Then he pulled back and looked at her, his excitement growing as he saw the terror on her face. He closed his eyes, remembering…
Guy felt his body beginning to respond as he thought of Richard’s dark hands sliding slowly over Christina’s ivory skin. He’d thought of little else since that night.
“Now, my dear, let’s see a little bit of what my friend Richard pretended to be so terribly fond of,” he said slowly.
Suddenly, he grabbed the front of her gown, and ripped it away from her body. The thin cotton easily gave way. He was still holding her tightly by the hair as he reached down and finished tearing it to the hem.
“Guy…Please…Don’t….” Christina whimpered, barely able to move.
He stood a moment, staring at her body. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. He loosened the buttons at his waist as he buried his face between her breasts.
When he let go of her hair, Christina tried to get away, but he caught her wrist, pulling her toward the bed, unable and unwilling to wait any longer. He knew that when she felt him inside her, she’d realize what he could give her.
That
would change everything.
But still she struggled, and he had to pin her arms behind her, holding her wrists with one hand. For some reason, she wouldn’t stop fighting him and he had to hit her again.
What is the matter with her?
He pushed her down across the bed and fell on her, biting at her throat and her breasts, no longer caring whether or not she was ready to appreciate what he was offering.
Christina squirmed and kicked, trying to roll away from him, but he pinned her there beside him, forcing her shoulder down into the mattress and throwing his leg across her so that she could barely move.
She was no match for Guy’s strength. He hurt her as he probed and pinched her flesh and when he thrust his hand between her legs, she cried out.
“Now, now, my dear, I thought Richard had broken you in for me. It’s so much better for a woman the second time, you know.” He closed his eyes, reminding himself that Richard had been there before him. That thought excited him even more and he knew that he couldn’t contain himself much longer.
Then he was on top of her, holding her down with the weight of his body as his cruel fingers dug into her buttocks. She screamed when he entered her. Christina, unable to understand how this could be happening, finally gave up the struggle and lay still. In a few short moments he was finished with her.
“You have a lot to learn about pleasing a man, Christina,” Guy said as he stood and rearranged his clothes. He smiled down at her, benevolently. “But I can teach you. I
want
to teach you.” Then, he picked up his waistcoat from the floor and was gone.
Dazed, Christina struggled to her feet, her gown hanging in tatters from her shoulders. She fell to her knees and began to search for the tiny silver locket. When she found it, she clasped it to her breasts, sobbing.
Christina slept until late the next afternoon, pleading a headache and asking Agnes not to disturb her. She knew the severe looking woman was displeased with her, but she was beyond caring. She only wanted to sleep, to distance herself from reality, to lose herself in dreams—dreams, where she could be safe and her world could somehow be as she’d always known it, not the distorted thing it had become over the past ten days.
And the dreams did give her comfort, for she dreamt of Richard: the two of them together in the garden, beside the river, in the maze at Cybelle’s, under a glorious blue sky at Les Baux. This was what she dreamed of, the happiness and security of Richard’s love. But finally the dreams grew dark and she was in the mausoleum, hearing over and over again the scrape of wood against stone as Marco’s casket slid into the niche in the wall, and turmig to look for Richard, who was no longer beside her.
Christina awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. For a moment nothing looked familiar. The bed hangings were a beautiful pale blue watered silk but they were strange to her. And then she remembered. She stifled the sound of terror that rose in her throat.
“Madame
?
Are you awake?”
Before Christina could answer, Agnes pulled aside the bed curtains. Christina immediately threw up her hands in an effort to avoid both the glare of the bright afternoon sunlight and Agnes’s disapproving gaze.
But the older woman saw the bruises on Christina’s face. She turned away and continued to tidy up some of the things from the dressing table that had been scattered the night before.
Marie, Christina’s maid, had married Guy’s manservant, André, three days before her own wedding and Guy had given the couple two weeks for a wedding trip to visit Marie’s parents. Christina was distinctly uncomfortable having Guy’s humorless housekeeper playing the part of lady’s maid.
“Would you like something to eat?” Agnes asked, her tone even.
It was a moment before Christina could answer, but she did her best to sound confident. “Yes, some broth, I think.”
“Very well,” Agnes said as she turned to go.
“And Agnes…”
“Yes?”
“Please tell my husband I do not feel well enough to join him for supper.”
“Monsieur Jonvaux has gone out, Madame. He instructed me to tell you not to expect him this evening.”
“Oh?” Christina was surprised, but recovered quickly. “I see. Thank you.”
As the door closed behind the housekeeper, Christina wondered what Guy’s message meant. Where had he gone? And just because he wouldn’t be home to take supper with her, didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect to pass that night in her bed.
But Christina did not see her husband that night or the next. On the third day, she received a huge bouquet of yellow roses from him and a message that they would be entertaining two other couples at supper.
She quickly handed the note back to Agnes.
“Impossible,” she insisted quietly as she turned and went to the window, looking down on the courtyard.
“Madame
?
”
“I said, impossible. I do not want to entertain his friends tonight.”
The words were definite, but Agnes heard the tremor in Christina’s voice. She hesitated, not knowing if it would be wise to interfere.
“Madame, please forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but I’ve been in this house for twenty years and I find it is best not to cross Monsieur Jonvaux.”
“What?” Christina turned on her, angry, and at the same time frightened.
Agnes looked her right in the eye, knowing that if she could persuade her new mistress to go along with her master’s request, it would be better for all concerned.
“I am saying that perhaps you’ve noticed your husband has a temper he’s not always able to control.” She looked pointedly at the now fading bruises on Christina’s face and along her collarbone.
Instinctively, Christina’s hand went to her throat.
“I don’t want to frighten you, but I assure you that Monsieur Jonvaux can be very charming when he wants to be, which is when things are going according to his wishes. You seem to be aware of what happens when they don’t.”
Maryse sat contentedly beside her husband, her small hand clasped in his very large one. Christien Chabannier, the baker, was a bear of a man in appearance only. He was, by nature, thoughtful and considerate and though her husband was more than twice her age, Maryse had been extremely happy in her marriage. As the carriage rattled along the cobbled street she looked up at him and smiled.
Christien squeezed her hand, for the thousandth time thinking himself the most fortunate of men. Fate had brought him the most exquisite and delicate of women to be his wife and she, in turn, had given him a healthy, intelligent son and a beautiful little daughter. Though she’d come to him from a brothel, he and his wife had agreed never to speak of the life she led before they were married, and therefor he never gave it a thought. The whispers of those who’d never had the opportunity to know her did not trouble him. Christien Chabannier only thanked God for his blessings.
“So husband, who is this silk merchant we’re having dinner with tonight?”
“Monsieur Jonvaux, the son. The father died in that accident at the beginning of the year, do you remember? A fall, I believe. A pity, he was a good man. As for the son, well, there is talk, but he has been associated with the Baron of Beauvu for some time and I thought it might be wise to see exactly what this business venture is all about. And he’s newly married, so perhaps this young wife of his will be able to curb his excesses.” He looked at her and winked. “The right woman can change a man’s life, you know.”
Maryse smiled but said nothing. She could only wonder what poor woman had the extreme misfortune to have become the wife of Guy Jonvaux.
Christina sat at her dressing table, looking at her reflection and deciding that she had done an adequate job of covering the bruises on her face. But the sizeable discoloration along her collarbone and the deep scratch beside it refused to succumb to the powder.
She opened the box that held the necklace Guy had given her two years before at Christmas. She’d never worn it. She hoped it might please him, but the glittering blue stones felt cold against her skin and carried with them a host of memories.
Richard
.
“Madame
?
”
Christina looked up to see Agnes standing behind her.
“Perhaps this would be appropriate?” she suggested as she placed a delicate lace
fichu
around Christina’s shoulders.
Christina arranged the folds of lace until they covered the bruise. With relief, she tied the ends and pinned them securely with a small circlet of gold that had been her mother’s. Then she picked up the acrostic bracelet Richard had given her. She looked at the glittering stones.
Beryl, she thought, means “happiness in store.” But where had her happiness gone? Where was Richard and why had he gone without her? It was a question she’d asked herself a thousand times—a question no one, including his brothers, seemed willing to answer.
Her fingers slid over the links of the bracelet, finally stopping on the diamond. It was the only stone for which she couldn’t remember the meaning.
“May I help you with that?” Agnes asked impatiently. “Monsieur is waiting.”
Guy paced back and forth across the marble floor of the entry. Had he forgotten anything? Was there any detail he had overlooked? It was imperative that the evening be flawless. He needed these men. He needed their money if he was to go ahead with his plans. Suddenly, he sensed Christina’s presence and looked up.
Under her husband’s unrelenting gaze, she began to tremble and grabbed at the smooth marble banister for support. He smiled and nodded, but Christina didn’t find it reassuring. Only when the houseman came to ask a question, and Guy turned away from her, was she able to force her quaking legs to carry her down the stairs.
Guy turned and took her hand. Very slowly he raised her fingers to his lips. She was shaking and she knew he could feel it.
“Christina, I’ve missed you. You look lovely.” He looked her over. No marks and she was wearing the sapphire necklace. Perfect. He smiled and continued to hold her fingers.
Christina couldn’t speak, she knew her voice would betray her fear.
“You’re trembling, my dear. Nervous about our guests?” he asked solicitously. He gave her hand a squeeze and released her. “You mustn’t worry. You’ll be a perfect hostess. This is a very important evening, you know. I’m hoping to persuade these gentlemen to invest in a business venture I have in mind.” He smiled benignly.
Christina didn’t know what to do. Guy was behaving as though nothing had happened, yet she was still afraid of him. How on earth was she ever going to get through the evening pretending to be a happy new bride? She did her best to smile.