Tender Fury by Connie Mason Read Free Book Online

called that painful act lovemaking for she still considered it rape), he had added insult to injury by sitting back and coolly watching her all the while she washed and dressed. Her cheeks flamed when she thought of the stained sheets and traces of blood clinging to her thighs. She had felt positively naked without her corset and had donned petticoat after petticoat while Philippe’s laughter mocked her modesty.
    She was only too glad to be alone for a while and vaguely wondered at the need for Philippe to confer with Captain Giscard so often. Gabby’s eyes grew misty when she considered how differently things might be if she had taken the vows of a nun or had been allowed to marry someone who cared for her instead of Philippe, a cruel, hard man who proved to be totally unyielding in his mysterious attitude toward her. Somehow, she knew she would not be the frigid wife he thought her given the right circumstances, for even Philippe’s hands on her body had sent unfamiliar sensations coursing through her veins.
    As Gabby paced the deck she suddenly became aware that she was not alone. Abruptly, she turned to face a tall, lean man carrying a gold-headed cane who was rapidly approaching her. Absently she watched the play of sunlight on the head of the cane as he came nearer.
    “I’m sorry if I startled you, Madame St. Cyr, but if we are to be fellow passengers, then we may as well become acquainted,” the elegantly dressed stranger said with a disarming smile that immediately put her at ease. “I am Marcel Duvall, and you can be none other than Philippe’s lovely wife. He is a lucky dog, but then he always had exceptional taste in women,” he added cryptically.
    “You are a friend of my husband?” Gabby asked, completely captivated by his charming manner.
    “Mais oui!” Marcel replied blandly. “We are neighbors, our plantations bordering on the slopes of Mt. Pelee. Did he not tell you I was aboard?”
    “Philippe told me there were to be no other passengers this trip.”
    “That was before he knew I was aboard,” replied Marcel, smiling in secret amusement. “Captain Giscard was right, you are a rare beauty. But such a child. Not at all what St. Cyr…” His voice fell off and his face reddened as if suddenly aware that he was talking too freely.
    Gabby had never encountered such a man as Marcel. His charm and pleasant manner was the complete opposite of Philippe’s dark, violent moods. She warmed immediately to him even though she knew she was being over bold by speaking with a strange man. “Monsieur?” she questioned, waiting for him to finish the sentence he had ended so abruptly. When he did not, she asked, “Did you also have business in France, Monsieur Duvall?”
    “You must call me Marcel; after all, I will be your nearest neighbor on Martinique. And, oui ,” he answered, “I have just concluded marriage arrangements between my sister and a son of the house of Bonnard.” He looked expectantly at Gabby, as if waiting for her to acclaim the fortuitous alliance. But his words only turned her thoughts inward to her own arranged marriage and the hate and fear she felt toward her husband. Her violet eyes became dark, troubled pools and a small frown creased her forehead as she gazed out over the endless expanse of blue water.
    “You are troubled, cherie! ” Marcel exclaimed, noting her black expression. “What is it? How may I help? A new bride on her honeymoon should be too much in love to display even the smallest amount of unhappiness.”
    “Love?” spat Gabby bitterly. “Please, Monsieur Duvall, do not speak of love to me. You do not understand.” Marcel was struck speechless by the animosity in Gabby’s voice. Evidently the bride cared little for the groom, he thought with a kind of perverse satisfaction. He would give half his fortune to possess a woman such as the petite Gabby. Her soft, velvet eyes had the ability to melt the coldest heart, even one as cold as Philippe’s, Marcel