“Marcel approves of everything I do,” Gabby snapped waspishly, his question turning her resentful. Philippe winced at the barely concealed insult but said nothing. “What do you want with me, Philippe?” she asked bitingly. “If you had cared at all about me or Jean you wouldn’t have left St. Pierre without so much as a goodbye.”
Philippe’s eyes became inscrutable and he chose to ignore her question for the moment, deliberately changing the subject instead. “You are looking exceptionally well,
ma chere
.” His hot eyes devoured her figure from her trim waist to her full breasts, causing her to flush prettily under the intensity of his gaze. Without volition his hand reached out and caressed a silken check. When last he saw her, purple bruises marred her perfect skin. His fingers followed the curve of her jaw before falling away.
“Motherhood agrees with you,
ma petite.
You have never looked more beautiful… or desirable.”
Completely unnerved, Gabby recoiled from his gentle touch. “What do you want, Philippe? Why have you come to taunt me?”
“Contrary to your belief I did not come here to torment you.”
“Then why have you come?” she demanded, unmoved by his words.
“Can’t you guess, Gabby?” He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her forward until their bodies touched. Gabby found herself lost in depths as soft and hazy as a misty sea.
“Tell me, Philippe,” Gabby urged softly, hope leaping in her breast. “Tell me why you are here.” She suddenly recalled his words of love and encouragement throughout the long ordeal of Jean’s birth.
“I want you, Gabby. I want you and Jean to return with me to Bellefontaine. I need you, your love, your gentleness, your passion. I need my wife. Ah Gabby,
ma chere, je t’aime, je t’aime!
I think I have loved you from the moment you stood before me, your violet eyes blazing with rebellion, bravely defying your parents.”
Gabby’s heart quickened with gladness. Philippe loved her! Wanted her and his son! Then, in a motion so sudden it took them both by surprise, she found herself in his arms, bodies pressed close. All past hurts faded as he reacted instantly to her nearness.
His lips brushed her neck, her cheek, found her mouth, lovingly, longingly. Hungrily, Gabby returned his kisses, her hands winding around his neck, twining themselves in the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck. With eyes inches apart, each saw and recognized the other’s need, urgent, vibrant, desperate. With mute agreement, Philippe began undressing Gabby while her fingers worked dexterously at the buttons on his shirt, his passion swelling with each passing moment. When she stood wrapped in the mantle of her own nudity and Philippe’s proud body stood revealed in its own masculinity, they sank to the thickly carpeted floor, their mutual consent unspoken.
Perched on his elbow, Philippe watched the play of emotion upon Gabby’s lovely features, reveling in the look of desire glazing her violet eyes. From the corner of his eye he noticed a drop of milk appear at the tip of an engorged nipple and run down the side of her breast. With a groan akin to pain he lapped up the droplet with the tip of his tongue. Gabby moaned and trembled as if from ague while Philippe gently caressed first one rosy breast and then the other with his tongue, the sensations driving her nearly out of her mind. When he lifted his head his mouth was white-rimmed and Gabby couldn’t help but smile for he reminded her of Jean after he had just finished feeding.
“Do I please you,
ma chere?
” Philippe asked huskily when he saw her smile.
“Very much,
mon amour,
” she sighed contentedly.
“Say it again! Call me your lover!”
“Mon amour,
” Gabby repeated sensuously. “Love me,
mon amour!
It has been so long!”
Philippe needed no further urging as he worshipped every inch of her body with his hands and lips. Her body arched and yielded, every pore, every nerve ending coming alive to his touch. He entered her gently, lovingly, and her body sang out as she opened herself to him as a flower opens to bright sunlight. His mouth closed down upon hers, hungrily, possessively, to still her small cries and moans. The sweet essence of her special fragrance swept over him with alluring promises of past pleasures reborn as his proud, unflagging manhood prodded her ecstatically higher and higher. Soon they were in a world where desire and gratification obscured all else. Philippe tensed, and, holding back his own climax, started anew until he felt Gabby begin her shattering ascent toward repletion. Only then did he allow his own journey to commence as together they whirled into the vortex of a volcano more powerful than Pelee.
Slowly Gabby returned from the heights of bliss to find Philippe smiling down on her. His smile was like nothing she had ever seen before.
“Do I amuse you, Philippe?” she asked lightly.
“I can’t get over the miracle of you,” he answered drowsily. “The taste, the smell, the feel of you is etched in my brain forever.”
“Do you really mean what you said earlier? That you want me and Jean with you at Bellefontaine?”
“I have never been more serious in my life!”
“What about Amalie?” asked Gabby uneasily.
“Amalie is no longer at Bellefontaine.” His tone was rich and caressing.
“You have given up Amalie for good?” she asked incredulously. “Where is she?”
“Amalie is… is with someone else.” His voice held a caustic edge that Gabby could not define.
“But… but I thought you owned her!”
“No longer,
ma petite.
”
“You sold her?” Gabby found it hard to assimilate Philippe’s bald announcement.
“I had no choice after I learned what she did to you.
Mon dieu,
Gabby, why didn’t you tell me? I would have sent her away long ago had I been aware of her perfidy. Obeah rites are nothing to be taken lightly.”
“My telling you would have made little difference. You were too angry with me at the time and convinced that I had become Marcel’s mistress.”
“But I also discovered why you risked your life and lost our child in the banana groves on your way to Marcel.”
“You know?”
“Oui,
Amalie confessed that she had seen you in the doorway watching that day I… I made love to her. I’m sorry, Gabby. The act was unintentional, completely unplanned, the first time anything like that had happened since I brought you to Bellefontaine. I never meant to take Amalie that afternoon. You will have to forgive me just as I forgive you for becoming Marcel’s mistress after I left aboard the
Windward.
We can start over, you and I, begin our own family. But you need have no worry concerning Jean. I feel very close to the little fellow.”
His words, meant to be healing, couldn’t have hurt her more if he had hit her. “But I have never… I am not…” Her mouth was dry, her breath a hard knot in her throat.
“Shh,
ma chere.
No more lies between us. Marcel’s son will become as my own. Have I not proved that by assisting at his delivery?”
“Jean is your son, Philippe,” whispered Gabby, her voice choked. “Jean is your son!”
A tremendously long silence loomed up and Gabby grew restive in Philippe’s arms, shifting her weight away from him. He stared at her fixedly, beyond speech. Finally he said, “Believe me, Gabby, Jean will become like a son to me. Haven’t I just promised you that?”
“Become
like a son!” Gabby gasped with dismay.
“How can I convince you that I will love your son and treat him fairly?”
“Love him, treat him well, but not acknowledge him, isn’t that what you really mean? Be honest with me, Philippe!”
“You want the truth? Then you shall have it. I cannot find it in my heart to claim your son,
ma chere.
There is still too much doubt in my mind.”
“He shall never inherit your beloved Bellefontaine, isn’t that what you are trying to say?”
“Isn’t it enough that I will be raising another man’s son? Do not ask me to leave Bellefontaine to a child whose paternity is in doubt. Our firstborn son shall inherit.”
Philippe didn’t wait for Gabby’s response as his lips smashed down onto hers, hungry, wanting, needing, while the past rose up to haunt them like a spectre not yet laid to rest.
Gabby was beyond response. Her dreams of happiness as Philippe’s wife lay shattered by mistrust and their past mistakes. Sensing her lack of passion, Philippe broke off the kiss, watching her face anxiously.
“I ask you one more time, Philippe, not to do this to yourself. Not to abandon me or your son,” Gabby beseeched. “Jean could belong to no one but you for there has been no other man but you.”
Philippe searched her face for a hint of the truth. “But the date,” he insisted levelly. “Do you take me for a fool? I can count to nine!”
Gabby immediately saw the futility of her words. Though Philippe might love her, and in time come to love Jean, his pride would not allow him to relent. Something had convinced him that Marcel had sired little Jean. Tears blurring her eyes, Gabby struggled to rise.
“Hurry and dress,
ma chere,
” Philippe ordered brusquely. “The moment the nurse returns with Jean we will leave for Bellefontaine. You can send for your clothes later.” Despite their angry words only moments before, Philippe did not doubt for a minute that Gabby would leave with him.
“I am not going,” Gabby said sadly as she began pulling on her clothes.
In the midst of his own dressing, Philippe stopped abruptly when he grasped the meaning of her words. “You refuse?” he asked, astounded. “How can you doubt my love after what we just experienced together? If you choose to remain with Duvall it will be the end for us, Gabby. I will not be so foolish to make the same mistake twice,” he warned ominously.
Gabby’s next words sent Philippe reeling with shock. “There is a good possibility I might never conceive again, and if I do, may not carry the child to term. Dr. Renaud said it has something to do with the injury to my pelvis caused by the fall down the stairs. It’s a small miracle that Jean lived. So if you deny Jean now you may never have an heir as long as you remain married to me!”
Philippe fought to control the turmoil of emotion raging through his body. What choice did he have? Claim a child that could very well be a bastard or divorce his wife! “Twice you have destroyed me,” he said wearily. “And both times by a fall. What caused your fall this time, Gabby? Certainly you can’t blame me, or Amalie.” Suddenly, in a flash of remembrance, Philippe recalled Gabby’s wild ravings during her difficult labor. “Who told you I was dead, Gabby?” he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Amalie told me.”
“Amalie! I find that hard to believe. I had just taken her to… to her new owner the night before.”
“It’s the truth,” said Gabby bitterly. “She arrived at midafternoon and forced her way into the house by telling me you were dead from a snake bite. She… she even hinted that she carried your child.”
“What happened?” questioned Philippe gently.
“Word of your… your sudden death upset me greatly. I started up the stairs with no other thought than to be alone with my grief. To my dismay Amalie darted up the stairs ahead of me, extracted a fer-de-lance from beneath her skirt and thrust it in my face.” Philippe sucked in his breath in a gasp of pure rage. Gabby continued, the memory bringing tears to her eyes. “I felt that deadly tongue touch my cheek and recoiled in terror. I must have either fainted or tripped for I knew nothing more until I woke up with you beside me.”
“Amalie again! Must I forever be plagued by wanton destruction of everything I hold dear?” Philippe anguished, burying his head in his hands. “If she had not caused your fall…”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“As things stand now…”
“As things stand now,” Gabby continued when Philippe faltered, “we are no better off than we were when you left me here with Marcel. Nothing I say could change your mind about me.”
Philippe did not dispute her words.
“
Adieu,
Philippe. May you find happiness and the heir you desire with another woman. Your pretence of love was short lived. For all intents and purposes, Jean belongs to Marcel. And after tonight, he can also claim me.”
The meaning of Gabby’s words were clear, leaving Philippe cold and empty. If she wasn’t already Marcel’s mistress, she was now ready and willing to share his bed. His avowal of love, his need for her, meant nothing, he thought resentfully, his face a dark, brooding mask as he dressed in silence. He had begun the day in happy anticipation, their joyful coming together a portent of the future, but their final parting was the bitter ending. At issue was a tiny bundle of humanity whom Philippe realized he could easily learn to love. Perhaps already did. But it was too late for recriminations. Gabby could not, would not accept what he offered. She wanted more than he was willing to give.
Philippe strode stiffly from the room and angrily flung open the door leading to the outside nearly upsetting a startled Luella who was returning from her outing with Jean. Stunned by her collision with Philippe’s imposing bulk, Luella would have fallen and dropped her ward had not Philippe snatched the blanketed bundle from her arms with one hand and steadied her with the other. While Luella regained her composure Philippe cradled Jean in the crook of his arm, startled by the intensity of the tot’s eyes. Since he had last seen the child they had changed from midnight blue to a hazy blue-gray. His skin looked so petal soft that before Philippe knew what he was doing he brushed a finger gently against the smooth curve of the baby’s cheek.
From behind Philippe, Gabby watched in contemplative silence while he caressed his son’s face, a bemused smile softening his hard features. When he became aware of Gabby’s gaze, he turned, thrust the baby into her arms and fled.
The moment Philippe disappeared from view a great lassitude overwhelmed Gabby, and if Luella had not taken Jean from her arms she would have dropped him. Concerned by Gabby’s sudden pallor and violent trembling, Luella uttered a cry of distress, bringing Tildy from the kitchen.
“Take the baby to his room,” Tildy ordered briskly, taking in the situation at a glance. “Hurry, Madame Gabby is ill, we must get her to bed.”