Miracle (41 page)

M
arie returned to their bedroom one year after her transformation into a spiritual being in search of purity. Sebastien had become so accustomed to his solitary nights that when she glided in, a coarse muslin robe belted loosely around her body, always reminding him of a novitiate from a nunnery, he almost resented the intrusion.

Almost. It was true that some needs were basic, simple, and selfish, and the coldness within him had grown so much in the past year that he no longer cared whether there was any emotional intimacy between them. She knelt on the bed beside him, her black hair framing a face that had grown thinner from her vegetarian diet.

“It is time to try again,” she whispered. She clasped her hands in her lap and regarded him with placid eyes. She seemed no more than a quiet stranger, waiting to be serviced.

She would get her wish, for now. Sebastien tossed a file of paperwork onto the nightstand. He did not tell her so, but he believed that this pregnancy would be as futile as the others. After six years of miscarriages, it was time to stop trying. If she lost this baby, he would explain to her that he no longer wanted children. He was burned out, with no resources left to confront the grief of each disappointment. And he couldn’t shake the morbid sense of being cursed.

“Could we begin trying again tonight?” she repeated, watching him closely.

Without answering he got up and removed his robe and pajama bottoms. She draped her robe over the bed’s ornate foot rail and continued to sit like a supplicant waiting to be blessed. Her wistfulness twisted something dark inside him—he didn’t hate her, he felt sorry for her, sorry for them both.

But sentiment would not get the job done. Sentiment must be pushed aside for lust. The sight of her firm, olive-skinned body was all that his months of celibacy needed to create the blindness of desire. He knelt on the bed in front of her, watching her gaze drop approvingly to his rigid penis. He cupped her chin in his hand for a moment and studied the anticipation in her face. She breathed quickly, her lips parted. She tilted her head and let her gaze move to his mouth.

He took her by the arms and turned her so that her back was to him. She hesitated for a moment, looking over her shoulder as if she was about to protest, a frown creasing her forehead. Then she shrugged and lowered her head in a cradle made by her forearms.

With her face buried in her arms she was anonymous to him; it was better this way, and he decided that from now on, until she conceived and lost interest in sex again, he would only take her from behind, so there would be no need for either of them to pretend affection.

Sebastien lifted her hips and ran his hands across the firm mounds. Sliding his fingertips up her spine, he caressed her shoulders for a moment, then reached under her and began playing with her breasts. She moaned softly and begged, “
Ne me tourmente pas.
”

No need to waste time, she meant. And why should he? He had a great deal of reading to do after he finished with her. Sebastien grasped her hips and eased into her. She swelled and tightened around him; he threw his head back and gasped at the hot glove that squeezed each time he pushed forward. Only a few seconds passed before her guttural moans became frantic. Her back arched like a cat’s, and she writhed.

After a year’s abstinence her movements made him feverish with sensation. In the trance of approaching release he shut his eyes and allowed pleasure to open channels in his mind. The onrush of emotion flooded him before he could retreat. He grimaced and gave a hoarse shout as he came.

Breathing heavily, Sebastien looked down at Marie, who was deadly still. Then she jerked herself away from him and whirled around, crouching on the bed, her face livid. “If you have mistresses, I don’t care! But don’t call their names while you’re with me!”

A chill ran through him. “I wasn’t aware that I’d called anyone’s name. And I have no mistresses.” Sebastien stretched out on his side and tried not to appear shaken. “So tell me, madam, who is this lover that I can’t even recall?”

She leapt forward and slapped him solidly across the face. Sebastien grabbed her wrist in an electric snap of movement then held it rigidly. Her hand quivered in the air and he loosened his grip. “Who?”

“
Amy
.” She snarled the name.

Sebastien felt the breath leave his lungs. And yet a sense of the inevitable taunted him. He wasn’t surprised. He was only sorry he had hurt Marie. “It means nothing. I’ve never been unfaithful to you. I apologize for being so ungallant.”

Her anger wavered. She searched his eyes for a moment, then shuddered. Her head drooped. “You have bad timing, Sebastien, that’s all. I shouldn’t have slapped you. But you and I, we are so alike, so pragmatic, I have always been proud of that. I dislike emotional displays. And no disruptive energy must come between us right now. Who is this Amy?”

“Someone I knew before I met you. In America. No need to be jealous.”

She arched a brow in surprise. “That many years ago? What a woman she must have been!”

“Forget what happened. I wasn’t even thinking about her.”

“I’m not jealous. I simply don’t want anyone to cloud
your focus. You’re going to be a father. Our next child will live. The time is right. The planets, the mood, the signs—”

“I hope your mysticism lives up to its noble purpose.” Feeling tired and distressed, he let her hand go. After a second he stroked her hair. He tried not to reveal that he wished she would leave.

She kissed the small graying spot at the center of his chest hair. Her expression was now more indignant than angry. “Good night. I have to go back to my own room and meditate.” She slipped away from him and nodded politely, then took her robe from the bed’s foot rail.

Sebastien nodded back. “Until our next mating session.”

After she left he got up, feeling dazed, and went to the armoire across the room. He jerked its bottom drawer open and scooped stacks of linen handkerchiefs onto the floor. Underneath them was a large, lacquered box. He hadn’t opened it in years. There were numerous Celtic crosses that had belonged to his mother, a Bible that Pio Beaucaire had given him, a pistol that had belonged to his maternal grandfather, and a box of the special cartridges it required.

Wedged in a crack between the base and one side of the box was the old silver token on its tarnished necklace. Sebastien ripped it from its place. He went to the balcony doors and opened them, then stepped naked into the freezing night air and hurled the necklace into the hedges across the courtyard.

Memories were more dangerous than he had realized. If he cultivated them they would only make him examine his choices, his life, himself.

Pio was getting old. It saddened Sebastien to have to shorten his strides to match Pio’s stiff, slow ones. But Pio was too happy to notice. Spring was here and the vineyards were rich green stripes under a magnificent sky, and Pio hummed as they walked among the trellises. They had strolled the vineyards together each spring for as long as Sebastien could recall. First at his father’s estate, now here at his own. It was one of the few traditions that mattered to Sebastien. Stealing amused glances at Pio’s satisfied smile,
Sebastien recognized a vintage year. What did Pio’s infirmities matter when compared to that?

“Ripe. I like it when everything is ripe,” Pio announced, waving his arms. He slapped Sebastien’s shoulder. “This spring feels special. You watch—this will be the year you become a father.”

“Marie is only four months pregnant. She’s lost babies later than that.”

“Such pessimism. And Marie is so positive, this time!” They halted, and Pio scowled at him. “What will become of you, if you don’t have a little faith in something besides your work at the hospital?”

“Hmmm. Let’s change the subject. I have a surprise for you. I’ve bought a small winery in the United States.”

Pio snorted. “What for? Isn’t owning one dreadful American winery in Georgia enough?”

“This one is my personal place. It’s to enjoy. Simply to enjoy. I want you to visit it. It’s in California.”

“California!
Merde
! You won’t even get good table wine from it!” Pio spat with such disgust that Sebastien laughed.

“I went there two weeks ago and made the final purchase arrangements. It’s a wonderful place, Pio, with an old stone house that only needs some repair to be enjoyable. I plan to hire a caretaker to work the vines. They’ve been badly neglected, but within a few years—”

“That is not a winery. That is a charity project. What will you do with an unimportant vineyard halfway across the world?”

“Use it as another home.”

Pio frowned harder. “You don’t need a home in America. Your American days are long past. I’m too old to go chasing you, and I’m sure your father would send me.”

“And I’m sure his spying would have as little effect as it did before.” He patted Pio’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I don’t run as fast as I once did.”

Pio relaxed. He chuckled ruefully. “You certainly kept him busy. Especially with that last escapade.”

“Which of my
escapades
could possibly have become so infamous?”

“The one with that funny young woman who lived with
you right before you left for Africa.
That
one had your father worried. She was so totally unsuitable that he was certain you were going to keep her just to spite him.”

Sebastien stared hard into Pio’s eyes. Why was the past crowding him so much, lately? “My father knew about her? You told him?”

Pio’s amusement faded. “Of course. I told him about every woman you had. You found my snooping not the least threatening. You used to call me Inspector Clouseau, remember?”

“But why her? I knew her so briefly—”

“Ah, but she was the only one you took care of as if she were a wounded bird. The only one who charmed you into supporting her, sending her to college, giving her an expensive car.” Pio spoke lightly again, though there was a worried glint in his eyes. “You should have seen your car parked in front of the decrepit old house she lived in at school! You would really have questioned your decision if you’d seen
that.
”

“You visited her? You never told me! I never asked you to look after her, so what business did you have with her?”

The look on Pio’s face said that he’d only just realized his misstep. He made several awkward noises, then coughed. “I was curious about her. I wanted to see how she was spending your money.”

“I see more in your eyes. Much more. I see the fear that you’ve become old and careless, and that you’ve told something I was never supposed to know.” Sebastien grasped Pio’s shoulders. “
What were you visiting her for? What had my father sent you to do
?”

“Nothing! Why does this concern you now? You left America almost nine years ago! You have a wonderful wife! She’s going to give you a child this fall—yes, I have faith! You’ve avoided almost every plan your father had for you and you’ve gone your own way. You should be happy! Why this interrogation?”

“Goddamn you, Pio!” Sebastien shook him. “Goddamn you! What plot did you and my father concoct?”

The older man’s face had gone white. “You’ve never cursed me before.”

“I’ll do worse than that if you don’t tell me the truth! I’ll fire you. You can go back to my father’s estate and gloat over your victories there!”

“Fire me? Fire me?” His eyes were furious, but glistening with tears. “How can you talk that way to me?”

“How can you continue to deceive and manipulate me?”

“Honor! Loyalty! You are the heir of one of the finest, oldest families in France! You must not be allowed to ignore your responsibilities!”

“The truth, Pio!
Now
. Or get off the estate!”

Pio shoved him away and stumbled down the row, clutching the vines for support. “I’m leaving! I’m going to pack! Oh, Sebastien, Sebastien! How could you have come to this—”

He grabbed his chest and pitched face-forward on the thickly matted grass. Sebastien raced to him, broken words catching in his throat. He turned Pio’s limp body over and groaned at the blue tint already staining the face, and the sightless, rolled-back eyes. Ripping Pio’s shirt open, he put his ear to the unmoving chest.