“You are lovely tonight,
cherie,
” Marcel continued easily. “In fact, I have not seen you look so well since before Jean’s birth.” Naked desire was evident on his darkening visage.
Gabby had donned a lightweight silk dressing gown of a soft mauve color accenting the deeper violet of her eyes. It clung softly to her slim body, falling away at the neckline while Jean nursed, exposing both creamy globes. Marcel’s hot gaze feasted longingly on her loveliness.
“You have taken good care of me, Marcel,” Gabby said shyly. “I owe you so much.”
Marcel searched her face and drew in his breath sharply, her meaning becoming all too clear. Her eyes had become luminous, almost dreamy, her smile inviting.
Moving as if in a dream, Marcel approached Gabby slowly, hesitantly, carefully removing the sleeping Jean from her arms and left the room. When he returned moments later Gabby was still sitting where he had left her. She had not bothered to refasten the gaping edges of her dressing gown.
With infinite tenderness, handling her much as he would a fragile doll, Marcel lifted Gabby to her feet and slowly pushed the robe past her shoulders and over her slim hips until it lay in a shimmering pool at her ankles. She was naked beneath the robe and Marcel drew in his breath sharply as he gazed at her clothed in the mantle of her nudity, proud, regal. He had waited an eternity for this moment and his body reacted violently, hardening instantly. Sensing his emotion Gabby stepped forward until the tips of her breasts touched Marcel’s chest. With an impassioned groan he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Never taking his eyes from her, he disrobed swiftly, and within minutes his maleness was pressing down upon her.
“Are you sure,
cherie?
” he asked, still unable to believe that she would finally be his. “Are you strong enough?” Vaguely he wondered what he would do if she were to say no.
Gabby’s answer was more than he could hope for. “I want you to love me, Marcel. I need to belong to someone. You have proven your love for me and Jean many times over. Make me yours now, please!”
“Coeur de mon coeur! Je t’aime, je t’aime
,” crooned
Marcel, his blood singing in his ears. His green eyes raked her, swept the length of her nakedness before he captured her lips with his in a kiss both tender and savage. He found it difficult to control the great surge of desire coursing through his body but was determined that Gabby should enjoy their first experience together as much as he knew he would. Deliberately, almost painfully, he slowed his breathing until his heart began beating normally once again. Assured now of his self-control, with one hand he stroked the silken flesh, throat, breasts, curve of her slender waist, hips, tasting, taking, savoring the sweet flesh he had dreamed about, longed for.
The moonlight had turned her checks to living ivory and he traced a finger gently along her jawline. Her hair, spread about her like a cloak appeared as molten silver, her eyes deepening to fathomless pools of velvet. His lips, seeking, questing, burning, touched gently to every sensitive area of her body, the hollow of her neck, her breasts, her navel, the tiny bud of her womanhood. His hands, so gentle, so sure, neglected no part of her body while his turgid manhood pressed urgently against her thigh.
When penetration finally came it was with a sharp, clean thrust that made Gabby gasp as she rose to his hard body with throbbing joy. If she had any doubt as to the quality of her response, she need not have worried. No woman alive could have withstood for long Marcel’s expert caresses and words of love. And Gabby was no exception. Before long she was quivering and trembling with a passion equal to Marcel’s, her small cries of delight setting his blood afire as no other woman had before nor was likely to again.
“How I’ve longed and dreamed for this moment,” cried Marcel ecstatically, as spasms of erotic shivers splintered through him signaling the beginning of his journey to a world where nothing existed but bliss. “Now you are mine! Truly mine!”
Gabby barely heard his words, she was so caught up in the moment, the act, this man who truly loved her, who moved so forcefully within her, prodding her ever higher until she joined him in his journey toward ecstasy. Marcel covered her mouth with his until her cries were stilled. Only when she had quieted did he allow his own climax to rip through his body in tearing spasms. But even at the peak of his ecstasy Marcel was made aware of a name he had come to hate, a name Gabby had cried out before he had smothered her cries. “Philippe!”
Mon dieu,
how he hated that accursed name!
Gabby slowly opened her eyes feeling as if she had just come down from a high mountain, surprised to see Marcel leaning above her on one elbow, his features soft and dreamy.
“You are not sorry, are you,
cherie?
” he asked, searching her face for traces of regret.
Sorry? She was sorry perhaps that Philippe could not find it in his heart to love her as much as Marcel did; sorry to see her son lose his birthright; but no, she was not sorry that she had given herself to Marcel, that she had shown her gratitude in the only way she knew how. Just as she had shown Rob so long ago. Marcel had made her his and she had no regrets.
Gabby’s answer was so long in coming that Marcel experienced a twinge of pain. When her answer finally came it made all the waiting worthwhile.
“I feel no remorse, Marcel. You have been patient and loving and I am glad you have finally made me yours.”
“It was well worth the wait,
cherie,
” he whispered tenderly, more than pleased with her answer. “Did… did I please you?”
“Did you doubt it?” Gabby asked shyly.
Marcel smiled. There was no doubt in his mind that Gabby had enjoyed their passionate encounter. Her cries of delight and ardent response to his caresses told him that much. What he did still doubt were her feelings for him. A woman in love did not have the name of another man on her lips at the peak of her joy. It was obvious to Marcel that Gabby still held strong feelings for her husband, no matter how cruelly he had treated her in the past.
“You were so gentle, so tender,” Gabby continued, fearing that she had somehow hurt his feelings when he remained silent for so long, staring pensively into space. “Nothing like… like…”
“Don’t mention that name to me,
cherie.
” His voice was soft, but Gabby could detect an underlying hint of steel. “You and I and our child will go to France as planned and you will soon forget you ever belonged to another. The past died tonight with our coming together. Our loving made you mine for all time.”
Gabby sighed, a nagging guilt tugging at her heart. Could she ever return Marcel’s love wholeheartedly without recriminations? she wondered wretchedly. She drifted off to sleep listening to his heart beats keeping time to the ominous rumbling coming from somewhere deep within Mt. Pelee.
When Gabby woke next it was still dark and at first she thought Luella had put Jean to her breast. But when she opened her eyes she saw Marcel’s tousled head bending over her, lips tugging gently at an erect nipple. She touched his hair. Startled, he raised up, a sheepish expression on his face when he realized he had awakened her. He could not help but want her again and when his passion would not be quelled began his tender ministration.
“I’m sorry,
cherie,
” he apologized guiltily. “My need for you is so great that I could not help but feast at so bountiful a table. I think I could easily become addicted. Soon I shall become as fat as Jean.”
Gabby smiled at his boyish delight in her. “Do not apologize,
mon coeur,
” she chided gently. “Although you may have to fight Jean for the right, you are free to feast to your heart’s content.” Before long time for words was past as Marcel once more lost himself in sweet, willing flesh.
The next day the lovers awoke to a day as bleak and dreary as the previous one. Only now the situation became more desperate; a dull, red glow was clearly visible at the neck of Pelee. Shortly after dawn Marcel readied the carriage that would carry them from St. Pierre while Gabby prepared Jean for the journey. Soon they joined the maelstrom of traffic leaving the city. It seemed to take forever before they had gained the serpentine graveled road winding up St. Pierre’s amphitheater of hills. But before they were able to enter the Trace itself, they were met by a pair of soldiers from the government troops sent over in a vanguard from Fort-de-France to protect the beleaguered city from looters. Both soldiers stood in the middle of the roadway, pistols drawn.
“What is it, Sergeant?” asked Marcel after he reluctantly halted the carriage at the barricade. “It’s imperative that I reach my plantation by nightfall.”
“Not if you intend traveling along the Trace, Monsieur!” replied the soldier. “In places the road no longer exists. We are here to prevent anyone from entering.”
“Are you sure?” gasped Marcel, quailing inwardly. With the Trace gone so was their last link to safety.
“It would be suicide to attempt that road. Think of your wife and child. Go back to St. Pierre. You would be safer there than on the Trace.”
It was obvious to Gabby that Marcel was shaken but trying hard not to show it as ashen-faced he turned the rig and headed resolutely back to the city, masking his rising fears behind stony features. There was no longer any doubt in either of their minds that Pelee was about to erupt. If not today, then the day after that or the day after that. The big mystery was what trajectory it would take. Judging from the ash and lava flow during the past month, St. Pierre had no hope of escaping unscathed.
Marcel handed Gabby out of the carriage. “Don’t unpack,
cherie.
If there is some way to escape the city I’ll find it,” he promised, kissing her gently on the lips and ruffling Jean’s fuzzy head before hurrying away.
During the hours that Marcel was gone Gabby paced nervously, ever mindful of Pelee’s dramatic performance. She was nearly wild with anxiety when he finally returned, a wide grin splayed across his handsome features.
“Hurry, Gabby,” he urged when she met him at the door. “Get Jean. We’re leaving!”
“How? The soldiers said the Trace was impassable.”
“We’re not going to Le Chateau. I don’t have time to explain. Just hurry or we’ll be too late!”
“Too late for what? Please, Marcel!”
Seeing that she would not move until she learned their destination, he hurried explained. “The
Windward
is in the harbor but sails within the hour. Her captain deemed the situation in St. Pierre critical and is loading as many women and children aboard as he can safely handle. As the owner’s wife you are automatically guaranteed passage as long as you arrive before she sails.”
“What about you?” Gabby protested. “Is there no place for you?”
“Please hurry,
cherie,
” Marcel urged desperately. “We will talk later.”
A loud rumbling and new spewing of ash and rock from Pelee hastened Gabby’s steps. Within ten minutes they were in the carriage once more and inching their way to the docks through throngs of people wandering aimlessly about. Before they had traveled very far Marcel realized that there was no way they could reach the
Windward
before she sailed unless they abandoned the carriage and set out on foot. Cradling Jean in his arms he took Gabby by the hand and led her through the crowded streets.
As they neared the docks the crowds became so dense that Marcel had to hand Jean to Gabby and literally fight every inch of the way, pulling them through the passage he opened. Marcel cursed when he realized the cause of the mass of humanity swelling the docks.
The
Windward
loomed before them. On the gangplank stood a flank of sailors holding back a crowd of fear-crazed people with long, sharp pikes. Already the ship was spilling with human cargo. It was obvious to everyone but the people on the docks trying to board her that she was already overloaded.
“They are waiting for you,
cherie,
” Marcel called to Gabby as he clawed his way forward in hand to hand combat. They gained the foot of the gangplank not a moment too soon. To their dismay, the seamen were retreating to the deck preparing to run in the gangplank and cast off the lines holding the ship to the dock.
“Wait!” cried Marcel frantically above the roar of the crowd. “Madame St. Cyr and her child have arrived! Let them board!”
Suddenly the captain’s worried face appeared at the railing and, recognizing Gabby, he sent two sailors to escort her aboard. When Gabby realized that Marcel was not coming with her she clung to his hand, panic-stricken to think that she might never see him again. “Marcel!” she cried as he gently loosened her hold upon his fingers.
“Go aboard, Gabby,” Marcel commanded, tears misting his eyes. “Take care of our son.” Then he lifted her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed her fingertips before he was jostled back amidst the throngs, his parting words echoing in her ears.
“Je t’aime, je t’aime!”
“Marcel! Marcel!” Gabby cried, trying in vain to find his face amid the sea of people. “Please take care of yourself!” If only she could return his words of love!
Just then the captain appeared above her, peering over the rail. “Hurry, Madame St. Cyr! We can delay no longer.”
Squaring her slight shoulders. Gabby turned and resolutely followed the sailors on board the ship, clutching Jean to her breast. Almost immediately the gangplank was run in and the moorings cast. A puff of wind filled the sails and the
Windward
nosed out of the harbor. A strange lump gathered in her throat when she turned to view the thousands of desperate people left behind in the doomed city. Was Marcel one of those doomed, she wondered, choking back a sob.
Gabby had no more time to dwell on Marcel’s fate for Captain Bovier, whom she remembered from her previous journey, appeared at her side. “Look to Pelee, Madame St. Cyr,” he said, pointing to where the glow at its neck had grown brighter with each passing hour. “I would have been safely out to sea by now had I not waited for your arrival. Had you delayed one moment longer I would have been forced to leave without you. It’s strange that Monsieur St. Cyr would leave his wife and child in the city at a time like this.”