Philippe! And you have managed to take my innocence forever. But no one, not even you, can destroy my spirit.”
“Your innocence was not too difficult to take, ma petite ,” he laughed cynically. “It seems you were ripe for the plucking and I got more than I bargained for. I knew you could not remain an ice maiden forever. But I warn you,” he said, his features darkening, “your treasures are mine alone, bought and paid for. There will be no question of whose child you carry when that day arrives.” He thought of Cecily and the child who might have been his.
“How dare you, Philippe,” cried Gabby, shocked by his words. “I am legally your wife and although I never wanted this marriage I have no intention of breaking those sacred vows. I did, after all, learn something in the convent.”
“More than Cecily, I should hope,” he muttered cryptically.
“Cecily!” Gabby repeated. “Who is Cecily and what has she to do with me?”
“Cecily, ma petite, was my wife,” he replied in a sudden burst of confidence.
“Your… your… wife?” Gabby stammered.
“Was my wife,” Philippe emphasized.
“I had no idea you had been married before. What happened to her?”
“She is dead! As well as the child she carried.”
Gabby’s natural curiosity ran rampant. There was no way she could have stopped the next question even if she had guessed at the shocking answer and the effect it would have upon her life. “How did she die?”
Philippe debated the answer in his own mind, fighting to control the turmoil of his emotions. Only when his anguish subsided and he gained a semblance of control did he speak, his voice flat, devoid of feeling. “I will speak of this only one time and then never again. Do you understand?” When Gabby nodded, he continued. “I killed Cecily.”
Gabby sucked in her breath, her gasp of horror shattering the silence. Fear raged within her and unanswered questions, ones she dare not ask, died in her throat. Did he intent to kill her also when he tired of her? What had the hapless Cecily done to warrant her untimely death? Why hadn’t the authorities arrested him for murder? Mon dieu, what manner of monster had she married?
Gabby shrank from his touch when he came forward to usher her from the cabin, her eyes wary and distrustful. Suddenly it came to Gabby that she would not hesitate fleeing from the man she had married.
Breakfast was an ordeal Gabby could have done without. Time and again Marcel tried to draw Gabby into conversation. “I see you have weathered the storm in good condition, Madame St. Cyr,” he said, addressing her directly.
“Oui,” she answered, dropping her eyes discreetly to her plate of food.
“You were not seasick?” he asked, hoping to elicit more of a response from her.
“My wife was not seasick,” cut in Philippe rudely. “In fact, our seclusion was well spent in pleasurable pursuits.” No one could mistake his meaning.
Gabby flinched, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks when the full impact of his words struck her. Even Captain Griscard cleared his throat in embarrassment. Smiling a secret smile Philippe went on to thoroughly enjoy his breakfast, blissfully unaware of Gabby’s discomfort or of Marcel’s covetous glances.
The following weeks brought little change to the status quo. Philippe continued his assault upon her night after night. And she was powerless to resist. As long as she responded he became a tender, consummate lover, striving to satisfy her as well as himself. He carried her to heights she never knew existed or had even imagined so long ago when she lay alone in her hard convent cot. How could there be so much contradiction in one man? she wondered dismally. By night her rapture knew no bounds, his gentleness deceiving, for during the day his brooding silence clothed her in a cloak of fear. She did not mention Cecily again nor did he.
When they entered southern waters, Philippe’s dark moods lightened somewhat and he
“Your innocence was not too difficult to take, ma petite ,” he laughed cynically. “It seems you were ripe for the plucking and I got more than I bargained for. I knew you could not remain an ice maiden forever. But I warn you,” he said, his features darkening, “your treasures are mine alone, bought and paid for. There will be no question of whose child you carry when that day arrives.” He thought of Cecily and the child who might have been his.
“How dare you, Philippe,” cried Gabby, shocked by his words. “I am legally your wife and although I never wanted this marriage I have no intention of breaking those sacred vows. I did, after all, learn something in the convent.”
“More than Cecily, I should hope,” he muttered cryptically.
“Cecily!” Gabby repeated. “Who is Cecily and what has she to do with me?”
“Cecily, ma petite, was my wife,” he replied in a sudden burst of confidence.
“Your… your… wife?” Gabby stammered.
“Was my wife,” Philippe emphasized.
“I had no idea you had been married before. What happened to her?”
“She is dead! As well as the child she carried.”
Gabby’s natural curiosity ran rampant. There was no way she could have stopped the next question even if she had guessed at the shocking answer and the effect it would have upon her life. “How did she die?”
Philippe debated the answer in his own mind, fighting to control the turmoil of his emotions. Only when his anguish subsided and he gained a semblance of control did he speak, his voice flat, devoid of feeling. “I will speak of this only one time and then never again. Do you understand?” When Gabby nodded, he continued. “I killed Cecily.”
Gabby sucked in her breath, her gasp of horror shattering the silence. Fear raged within her and unanswered questions, ones she dare not ask, died in her throat. Did he intent to kill her also when he tired of her? What had the hapless Cecily done to warrant her untimely death? Why hadn’t the authorities arrested him for murder? Mon dieu, what manner of monster had she married?
Gabby shrank from his touch when he came forward to usher her from the cabin, her eyes wary and distrustful. Suddenly it came to Gabby that she would not hesitate fleeing from the man she had married.
Breakfast was an ordeal Gabby could have done without. Time and again Marcel tried to draw Gabby into conversation. “I see you have weathered the storm in good condition, Madame St. Cyr,” he said, addressing her directly.
“Oui,” she answered, dropping her eyes discreetly to her plate of food.
“You were not seasick?” he asked, hoping to elicit more of a response from her.
“My wife was not seasick,” cut in Philippe rudely. “In fact, our seclusion was well spent in pleasurable pursuits.” No one could mistake his meaning.
Gabby flinched, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks when the full impact of his words struck her. Even Captain Griscard cleared his throat in embarrassment. Smiling a secret smile Philippe went on to thoroughly enjoy his breakfast, blissfully unaware of Gabby’s discomfort or of Marcel’s covetous glances.
The following weeks brought little change to the status quo. Philippe continued his assault upon her night after night. And she was powerless to resist. As long as she responded he became a tender, consummate lover, striving to satisfy her as well as himself. He carried her to heights she never knew existed or had even imagined so long ago when she lay alone in her hard convent cot. How could there be so much contradiction in one man? she wondered dismally. By night her rapture knew no bounds, his gentleness deceiving, for during the day his brooding silence clothed her in a cloak of fear. She did not mention Cecily again nor did he.
When they entered southern waters, Philippe’s dark moods lightened somewhat and he
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