A Silent Ocean Away (40 page)

“I couldn’t care less how
Papa
manages his affairs, and even less about his great estate. I’ve done fine on my own and, unlike you, will continue to do so without taking a single penny from his pocket.”

“How dare you suggest I’ve taken money from this estate?”

“I wasn’t
suggesting
at all, Paulie. I was merely stating the facts.”

“Well, let me state a few facts for you, dear brother!” Paul
thundered. “Unlike you, I don’t draw a salary every month—which I’m certain has secured you a great many investments, not to mention the purchase of that additional plantation of yours in Virginia. Yes, John! I, too, know what’s going on! So, let’s just say I’m cashing in on ten years of wages I’ve never laid claim to.”

“Any salary I draw is coming out of
my
future inheritance,” John retaliated. “I believe I’m still first on father’s will, am I not? Amazing, loyal as you are to him, you are not even mentioned in that document.” John shook his head once, and clicked his tongue for emphasis. “That being the case, your island operation is costing me dearly!”

Paul stepped in close, his red face only inches from John’s, his fists balled white. “You’ve gone too far this time!”

Before he could act, George grabbed John’s arm. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he chided sternly. Next, he scolded Paul. “And you’ve taken the bait. Now, John and I are going to say ‘goodnight.’” He gave a slight nod, then shoved John toward the door.

When they were gone, Paul slumped into his chair, and Charmaine heaved a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Are you out of your mind?” George asked, his voice rising as they reached John’s suite. “Why in hell did you say that to him? Why do you perpetuate this rivalry? It isn’t Paul’s fault your father favors him, is it?”

“I can’t stand how he exploits it—he’s a real
daddy’s
boy.”

“He may be a daddy’s boy, John, but Paul was the one who held this family together four years ago. He was the shoulder all the tears were cried upon. He was the one who calmed everybody down and got life back to normal here.”

John grunted in renewed disgust, but George wasn’t silenced. “You were dead wrong accusing him of embezzling money from this estate!”

“Out of my way, George,” he growled, pushing into the room.

“No, I won’t get out of your way!” George expostulated, deliberately stepping in front of him. “You were at it all evening long, and not just with Paul. Why in heaven’s name were you picking on Charmaine Ryan?”

“She’s a sneaky little actress,” John sneered.

“Charmaine?” George exclaimed incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”

“She has you fooled, too, George?”

George frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I caught her in here the other day riffling through my papers.”

“Charmaine? I find that hard to believe. Are you sure?”

“No,” John fired back sarcastically, “she was a mirage!”

“This doesn’t sound like Charmaine. Did she explain?”

“She gave a lame excuse.”

“She’s not a liar,” George maintained. “She’s a decent, honest young lady.”

“And what’s this business about her father?”

“He was a wife-beater. One day it went too far. It has nothing to do with who she is, but it does upset her to talk about it.”

“Ah…” John muttered snidely, “that explains it.”

“Leave her alone, John, or you’ll have me to contend with.”

John was perturbed by George’s adamant defense of the governess. Fleetingly, he wondered how she’d managed to charm both his brother and his friend. “You know what, George? You talk too much.”

“Aye, I talk too much,” George agreed, grabbing John’s arm as he attempted to brush past him, pulling him round and looking him square in the eye. “But somebody needs to tell you a thing or two!”

“You can’t tell me what I want to hear,” John replied bitterly, “so why don’t you get out and leave me alone?”

He wrenched free, but George beat him to the brandy decanter on the other side of the room, confiscating it. “No, I can’t tell you what you want to hear, but liquor isn’t going to wash it away, and even if it could, I doubt the past was any better than the present. You’ve been unconscious for three days now. If you can’t pull yourself out of this stupor, you should leave. Go back to Virginia, so Yvette and Jeannette will remember you as you were four years ago, and Pierre, well…”

“Finish it, George,” John prodded, his eyes sparking back to life. “So Pierre won’t remember me at all. Right?”

“Damn it, John! Do you want him to grow up thinking of you as a drunk—an obnoxious oaf who spreads misery to everyone around him? Is that what you want?”

There was no point in preparing for bed; she would never fall asleep. Instead, Charmaine reread the letter she’d recently received from Loretta Harrington. A response was in order, the diversion she needed. She sat at the desk and set quill to paper. But when she had finished, she was no closer to tranquility. Yes, she had written about a variety of things, but the dominant subject was John Duvoisin.

Charmaine stared down at the pages. Committing her turbulent thoughts to paper had not exorcised the demon. It had only succeeded in anchoring his face more firmly before her. Wide awake…she was still wide awake! How was she to enjoy the serenity of this lavish bedroom when her mind returned over and over again to the night he had invaded her privacy here? With everything that had occurred since then, why did she still picture it so vividly—feel his hands on her, his hard body drawn up against hers, his breath buffeting her cheek?
No! I won’t think about him! I won’t! I’ll think about Paul, his kiss before dinner, or his passionate embrace that stormy night when
—It was useless! She needed to
escape. Suddenly, the night air beckoned, and she thought of the courtyard gardens. Yes, the gardens, where the ocean breezes mingled with the sweet scent of exotic flowers, a haven that might vanquish the odious image of John Duvoisin.

Paul propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on laced fingers. The cool breeze that wafted off the ocean did not ease his turmoil, for phantom figures continued to spurn and mock him. George was right. He had played the buffoon, played it to the tune his brother piped, leaving Charmaine sorely abused, and his dignity battered. John would never allow him to forget his illegitimacy, would always ridicule his efforts to prove himself worthy of the Duvoisin name. Why did it matter?
Because, down deep, I still respect him,
Paul admitted. Bastard…the label had dogged him for as long as he could remember, but up until four years ago, it had never mattered to John. Now, John used it as a weapon, skewering him every chance he got. Paul exhaled and closed his eyes. Suddenly, his father stood before him, hard and condescending. For all of Frederic’s praise of his adopted son and vocal disapproval of his legitimate son, John remained sole heir to the Duvoisin empire, with Pierre second in line. Perhaps Paul had no right to pretend to something he wasn’t, to claim a rank among the Duvoisin men who had gone before him. The circumstances of his birth denied him that right. Hadn’t his uncontrolled temper this evening proven his worth as a gentleman? A true gentleman would never have behaved so badly, justified or not.

“Good evening…” The soft greeting was angelic.

“Good evening,” Paul returned, standing and stepping closer to the feminine vision before him. “I thought you had retired long ago.”

“No,” Charmaine said shyly. “And what of you? Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I had the good sense not to try. Would you walk with me?”

Charmaine agreed without hesitation, though she was disappointed when he turned pensive, clasping his hands behind his back, rather than taking her elbow.

“I’d like to apologize for my brother’s behavior tonight,” he finally said. “Actually, I’d like to apologize for
my
behavior. I allowed John to test my patience and, in so doing, hurt you. I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

Charmaine studied him in confusion.

“Am I forgiven?” he inquired in earnest.

“Forgiven? Whatever for? You said you would be at my side, and you were. How could I ask for more? As for your brother, you need not plead forgiveness for him. He will have to do that himself, though I’ll not hold my breath waiting. I find it amazing such a man can be called a gentleman. Why, a gentleman sets aside arguments diplomatically, as you attempted to do a number of times this evening. But when one is not dealing with a gentleman, then—”

“Charmaine,” Paul chuckled, suddenly grasping her hand and squeezing it jubilantly, “you must have been sent by the very gods this night—you with your determination and conviction.”

“I’m sorry?”

Though befuddled, she was caught up in his surge of joy.

“You’ve just restored my self-confidence, and I’m grateful. You see, John can have a sobering effect on people—force them to look at themselves no matter how hard they resist. And this evening, I fell victim.”

“Sobering? That’s one word I would never use in describing your brother.”

“So it would appear,” he agreed. “But just wait until he
is
sober. His mordant wit was a bit dull tonight. As a rule, he’s far worse.”

The moment’s gaiety vanished.

“
Worse?
” she declared apprehensively. “Then, how am I to avoid him?”

Paul’s elation did not diminish. “Take the children outdoors. The weather is beautiful. I’m certain they would enjoy a day abroad. Plan a picnic or two.”

“That is a fine idea for tomorrow,” Charmaine replied dejectedly, “but what of the next day, and the day after that?”

“John will tire of his little games. He has no reason to remain here.”

“Then why
is
he here?”

Noting her deep interest, Paul deliberated his reply. “He’s curious about Espoir. Once he’s looked everything over and is satisfied with his assessment, he’ll return to Virginia.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so. Future chess games will be far different from tonight’s.”

“And next time you’ll allow me to win?” she asked coyly, bravely.

Paul chuckled softly. “Mademoiselle, surely you didn’t take my brother’s assertions to heart?”

“Did he speak true?
Were
you allowing me to win?”

“And if I answer honestly, will you offer a reward?”

“That depends on what you request,” she answered tremulously.

His eyes settled on her lips. “A kiss,” he murmured.

“Very well,” she responded breathlessly, their playful banter taking her into uncharted territory.

“Charmaine, I would let you win any game if it would afford me a kiss.”

His words were muted by the thud of her heart and the sweeping motion that pulled her into his arms. She tilted her head back
and closed her eyes, allowing him full access to her lips, savoring the coarseness of his moustache on her soft skin. When it seemed he could hold her no tighter, his embrace quickened, his ravenous mouth bruising, cutting across her lips and forcing them apart, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. This time he did not withdraw, and the splendid moment lengthened. Charmaine clung to him for support, returning his searing kiss with an ardor of her own. When his mouth traveled to her throat, she sighed, his breath warm on her neck, sending a chill of sensate pleasure down her spine. She was keenly aware of the love words he whispered close to her ear: “Sweet Jesus, Charmaine, my need is great…I long for you…long to make love to you…Come with me to my room…”

Reality took hold, overpowering that odd blend of expectancy and yearning. “I can’t!” she cried, bracing her palms against his chest. “I just can’t.”

Tormented, Paul’s iron embrace fell open, and the woman whom he wanted more than any other disappeared beyond the hedge. Although he was left in agony, he reassured himself time was on his side. It wouldn’t be long before she succumbed.

Safe in her room, Charmaine went through the motions of preparing for bed, tears of frustration giving way to the pleasing memory of Paul’s embrace. Yes, he had propositioned her again, but she was warmed by the knowledge he wanted her as a man wants a woman, yet respected her enough to set aside his passion in deference to her wishes. Perhaps in time the two would become one.