Secret Harbor (18 page)

“If I could risk being a pirate I can certainly risk being an English Planter,” the
Comte
said. “It is entirely up to you. But if, my lovely one, you would rather go back to St. Martin, I will agree.”

Grania smiled.

“To sell your precious treasures?” she asked. “Of course not! We must stay here, and because you are so brilliant I am quite certain we shall never be found out. Besides, there is no O’Kerry to accuse you of usurping his title.”

The
Comte
bent forward and kissed her.

“Then it shall be as you wish,” he said, “and you can choose, my darling, in the future as to whether you are a Countess or a
Comtesse
and match the colour of your hair to your choice!”

Grania laughed. Then she called Abe.

“Listen Abe,” she said. “You and only you will know that the gentleman here is really a Frenchman. I expect you heard what the Colonel said.”

“I listen Lady,” Abe replied. “Very good news! We be rich. Everyone happy!”

“Of course we will be,” Grania said.

“One bit bad news, Lady.”

“What is that?” Grania asked.

“New Governor take Momma Mabel. Give big money. Her gone St. George’s!”

Grania laughed.

“That means there will be no embarrassment in asking Henri to take over the kitchen.”

Her voice rose excitedly as she said:

“Go quickly to the ship, Abe, and ask Henri to come and prepare luncheon. Tell everybody else to come here too, and ‘His Lordship’ will tell them what has been decided.”

She laughed again as she gave the
Comte
his new title. Then as Abe without saying anything ran from the Drawing-Room and down the steps of the verandah and across the garden the
Comte
put out his arms and drew her close to him.

“I suppose you know what you are taking on,” he said. “You are going to have to work very hard, my darling, and so shall I.”

“But it will be exciting to work together,” Grania said, “and I have thought of a new name for you—an English name.”

The
Comte
raised his eye-brows as she said:

“I shall call you ‘Beau’ on English soil, and ‘Beaufort’ on French. After all, Beau can be applied to Englishmen like Beau Nash, and who could look the part better?”

“As long as that is how I appear to you, then I am satisfied.”

He drew her closer still as he added very quietly: “How can we be so lucky or so blessed to find a place where we can work, and I can make love to you until we can go home?”

“Suppose when the time comes I want to stay here?” Grania asked.

He looked at her to see if she was serious, then realised she was teasing.

His lips were very close to hers as he said:

“Let me make it quite clear once and for all that where I go you will go. You belong to me! You are mine, and not all the nations in the world could divide us or prevent us from being together.”

“Oh, darling, that is what I want you to say!” Grania sighed. “And you know I love you.”

“I will make you sure of it every day, every hour that we are together,” the
Comte
said.

He pulled her almost roughly closer to him.

Then he was kissing her and she knew that once again he was roving his supremacy and domination over her.

It made her adore him because he was so much a man, but at the same time so sensitive and understanding to her feelings.

She knew that with him she would always feel safe and protected. It would not matter where they were, on what island or what part of the world.

His arms were a secret harbour which kept her safe, a harbour that was made of love.

Then as the
Comte’s
kisses grew more demanding she turned her face up to his to say, and her voice trembled: “Darling, the others will come in a minute. Please do not excite me until ... tonight.”

She saw the fire in the
Comte’s
eyes but he was smiling. “Tonight?” he enquired. “Why should we wait until tonight? After luncheon there will be a
siesta
and I intend to tell you, my wonderful, brave, courageous little wife, how I fell in love with a picture, but fate brought me the reality and she is the most exciting thing I have ever known.”

Then he was kissing her again, kissing her until they heard the sound of voices coming from the garden.

It was the sound of men talking excitedly in a language which was not their own.

But to Grania and the
Comte
there was only one language they both understood and which was the same wherever they might be—the language of love.

The sunblinds were down and the room which smelt of jasmine, was very dim. On the lace-edged pillows two heads were very close together.

“
Je t’adore, ma petite
,”
the
Comte
said hoarsely.

“I love you ... I love you, darling.”

“Tell me again, I want to be sure.”

“I adore ... you.”

“As I adore and worship you, but I also want to excite you.”

“How can I ... tell ... what I ... feel?” Grania’s voice was low and breathless. The
Comte's
hands were touching her and she knew his heart was beating as frantically as hers.

“
Je te desire, ma cherie, je te desire
!”

“And I ... want you ... O wonderful, marvellous, Beau ... love me.”

“Give me yourself.”

“I am ... yours ... yours ...”

“You are mine, all mine, now and for ever.”

Then there was only love in a secret harbour which was theirs alone and where no one else could encroach.