The Elusive Flame (35 page)

“Oh, Beau, I do hope I didn’t disturb you,” Germaine cooed worriedly with a sweetly contrite expression as she rose and crossed the room to him. “I left my shawl in your carriage the other day, and I do miss not having it. Would you mind terribly asking your driver to fetch it for me?”

“Certainly,” he replied, wondering why she hadn’t thought of asking Philippe to do the same. He found the chef waiting outside the kitchen and sent him on the errand, then returned to the front sitting room, where his guest was now contemplating the painting of the
Audacious
hanging above the mantel.

“CK?” Germaine looked back at him inquiringly. “Does that stand for Cerynise Kendall?”

“Yes, it’s one of her paintings,” he answered, averting his gaze from the oil. As much as he liked the painting, he knew that henceforth it would always remind him of the young woman who had managed to firmly ensnare his heart.

“You certainly must admire her work a great deal to hang the oil in such a prominent place,” Germaine gently nudged, hoping to gain more information.

“I happen to think it’s an excellent likeness of my ship.”

“I understand that she sailed with you on your last voyage from England.”

Beau glanced around, wondering where Germaine had gotten her information. He was not above asking outright. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, Cerynise told me when I visited her at her uncle’s house yesterday. You see, I was mistaken about not knowing
her, and when the realization finally dawned on me that we had gone to the same academy for a time, I wanted to apologize to her personally.”

“That was nice of you,” Beau commented, with only a slight trace of sarcasm. He was no witless fool when it came to detecting the wiles of certain women. He could sense that Germaine had something more to say and that she was just waiting for the appropriate moment to launch her cannonball, for he was sure whatever she was working around to would be delivered with devastating precision. “How did you find Cerynise? Was she well?”

Germaine shrugged prettily. “Oh, I suppose so, but you know how it is with women in their early stages of…well, you know…her condition.”

Beau looked at her inquisitively, wondering if she had lost her mind. “No, I don’t know.”

Germaine managed a blush. “You know that
word
ladies are not supposed to use…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “
Pregnancy
…”

He scoffed in disbelief. “That’s absurd!”

“Oh no, it isn’t,” Germaine argued, and leaned near to further confide in a low voice. “I saw her myself. She’s rounding quite nicely. If I were to guess, I’d say she’s at least three or four months along if she’s a day. I’m sure you’ll be hearing about it through the grapevine fairly soon. A young, unmarried woman like that can hardly hide her condition much beyond the first months, and Cerynise is so slender, every bulge shows.”

Beau was speechless with shock. Four months ago he had been seriously ill and out of his head. And that was precisely the time that those haunting memories of making love to her had begun. Distracted by his thoughts, he turned away and went to the large cabinet against the far wall. There he poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter, tossed it down with a flick of his wrist, and then shuddered as he realized it wasn’t something he particularly liked.

“Beau, are you all right?” Germaine queried worriedly.
Even her father, who was wont to drink overmuch in private, waited until after lunch to have his first tipple of the day.

Beau wanted to laugh at the very idea that anything was wrong. He knew now that Germaine had come in a quest to destroy Cerynise’s reputation, but she had just told the wrong person. “Aye, but it will take me a while to get used to the idea.”

His guest was still trying to decipher that statement when he faced her. When she finally gave up her futile attempt, she inquired, “Get used to what?”

“Why, to the idea of being a father.”

Germaine’s jaw dropped substantially before she managed to gasp, “Whatever do you mean, Beau?”

“Well, it comes as something of a shock, but I guess from what you say I’m going to be a father.”

“You…and Cerynise Kendall?” Her jaw sagged even more, pulling open her mouth until it gapped as much as a widemouthed bass’s. She stared at him, horrified. “You mean you’re the father of her bastar—”

Beau was suddenly delighted to be able to make the statement, “I mean that my wife is pregnant with our first child.”

Germaine’s reply was barely a whisper. “I didn’t know you were married.…”

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Few people in Charleston did. My crew knew it, of course. Cerynise and I were trying to keep it a secret for reasons you wouldn’t understand, but now I suppose there’s no help for it. ’Twill have to be told.”

“But when were you married…?” For once in her life Germaine was feeling very close to a genuine faint.

“Several days before we set sail from England,” Beau informed her. Lest the woman be mistaken about the length of time it took for the crossing, he added, “In late October, about five months or so ago.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Germaine would have used a stronger statement, except that she didn’t think
Beau Birmingham would tolerate being called a liar quite as well as Cerynise had. “It makes no sense. Why would you keep your marriage to her a secret?” Germaine’s skepticism strengthened the longer she thought about it. “You’re just being gallant, trying to save her from a scandal.”

“You think too highly of me, Germaine, but if you’re suffering any doubts, wait here a moment.” Beau stepped across the hall to his study and, from a drawer in his desk, withdrew the marriage document that Mr. Carmichael had given him. When he came back, he handed it to the woman. It was only for Cerynise’s benefit that he took the time to show such evidence. Otherwise, he’d have let the woman wonder till her dying day. “You see, it’s all been duly signed and documented, and if you’d care to notice the date, you’ll see it’s just as I said.”

Germaine was greatly tempted to shred the parchment in tiny pieces. Seeing his name along with Cerynise’s scrawled at the bottom made her want to scream in rage. Slowly she lowered the parchment and quirked a brow as she stared up at him. “This is most curious, Beau.”

“Aye,” he agreed, plucking the document out of her hands. He smiled for the first time in at least two days. “But I’m rather relieved that it’s out now. There will, of course, be some changes made.…”

“What kind of changes?” she asked, hoping against hope that they would be to her liking.

“I’ll have to discuss them with my wife.” Beau stepped to the parlor door and called down the hall. “Philippe, could you run out and ask Thomas to ready my carriage?”

“Oui, Capitaine.”

Beau returned to the parlor and, taking Germaine’s arm, escorted her to the front portal. “Now, I hate to be rude, but I really must be getting along before too much time has elapsed. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

Before she knew it, Germaine was standing outside the front door which had been closed without preamble behind
her. She had never been so swiftly evicted from a home in all her life, and probably never would be again.

On the elegant cobblestone street that contained the residences of Charleston’s most prosperous sea captains and merchants, Sterling Kendall paused to consider the darkening clouds overhead. Other than that, he didn’t hesitate as he walked away from the same address that Germaine had left a half-hour earlier. The captain had just left, he had been told by a Frenchman, but even before departing his own home that morning, Sterling had already decided what his next course of action would be. Now his plan seemed to unfold of its own volition.

A wave of his hand secured a passing carriage. Sterling spoke the name of a well-known plantation to the driver before he settled back within the interior. The ride would take less than an hour, and he was not at all certain what his reception would be at its end, but he had no doubt what he was now required to do.

T
HE PAINTING OF
Beau had been lifted to a place of distinction on the easel, and it was where Cerynise’s gaze was focused as she sipped tea in the loneliness of her studio. No one knew how much she yearned to have the real man sitting across from her, but that would never be now. He was probably destined to become Germaine’s husband, and they’d no doubt have beautiful, dark-haired children who would have rightful claim to their father’s name.

Cerynise blinked away a start of tears and, taking a deep breath, determined that she wouldn’t cry again, at least not for another moment…or hopefully, even two. Cora was outside, taking in the clothes. With the wind that had sprung up, tiny twigs and dead branches were constantly being flung against the windows or falling onto the roof. The noise had ceased to startle Cerynise, for she was far more apprehensive about the storm that was sweeping toward them. Her dread deepened apace with her gloom as dark clouds continued to roil overhead and lightning sizzled in jagged streaks across the sky. The
rumble of distant thunder grew steadily louder as it followed the flashes of light making their way toward the city. With the flying debris bombarding the house, she was surrounded by a wild cacophony of different noises, so much so that she wasn’t even motivated to investigate a distant rapping. A moment earlier she had responded to a similar noise and had gone to the front door to see if a visitor was there, only to find a broken branch rattling down the steep roof.

Yet in the midst of all of this chaos, unbelievably, a keen awareness swept over her, causing Cerynise to lower her teacup shakily to its saucer. She wanted to turn and search the hallway behind her for the familiar figure, but she knew the foolishness of that farfetched idea. No one would be there. Beau Birmingham had gone out of her life like the dousing of a candle. Indeed, if she went to live in another city, they would probably never see each other again.

Tears blurred her vision, and as much as she tried to halt them, they quickly erupted into harsh sobs that shook her whole frame. With an agonized whine, she shoved the teacup and saucer aside and, folding her arms upon the table, buried her face within them. She wept bitterly, her shoulders shaking with the violence of her sorrow.

A soft thump on the table beside her startled Cerynise, and she sat back with a sharp gasp, her tears for the moment forgotten. She wasn’t at all certain what had happened, but when she could blink away some of the moisture from her eyes, she saw a small stack of torn papers that she could only guess were remnants of what used to be a sheaf of documents. She picked up one curiously and saw her own signature on one section and then Beau’s on another. Then she saw the word
annulment.
Could it be? But how…?

Catching hold of the back of her chair, Cerynise turned upon the seat and saw a tall, broad-shouldered form advancing toward her from the doorway. She blinked, wiping desperately at her tears, and somehow managed to push
herself to her feet despite the trembling limbs that threatened to give way beneath her. Then she saw Beau’s smiling face and his arms extended toward her, and all of heaven opened up to her. In an instant she was flying into his embrace and being lifted off her feet. She wrapped her arms tightly about his neck. Laughing and crying crazily, she covered his face with ecstatic kisses. Then his searching mouth snared hers, and it became a wild, ravenous meeting of lips and tongues, a hungry consuming search that left Cerynise fairly faint with joy as he held her closely against him and slowly turned in a circle in the middle of the room. Finally she drew away for a breath.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” she whispered, brushing her lips across his brow, down his lean nose and pressing them once again to his mouth.

“Why did you sign the papers?” Beau asked huskily between her teary, salt-tinged kisses.

Cerynise leaned back in his arms to look at him. “I thought you wanted me to.”

“Never!”

“Never?” She frowned in confusion. “But why…why did you sign them?”

“Because it seemed that you were demanding them.”

“But that was only because I knew you wouldn’t be able to get an annulment if we waited much longer.” She gulped, hoping she wouldn’t destroy their happiness by what she was about to tell him. “I know you don’t remember making love to me during your illness, but we made a baby together, Beau, and my condition is getting very noticeable.”

Beau stood her to her feet and turned her about until her front side was silhouetted against the storm-darkened light streaming through the windows. His hand followed the gentle curve of her belly, and as she awaited his reaction in suspenseful trepidation, he began to grin and then to chuckle. “Many times I wanted to ask you if I had dreamed it all or if I had actually made love to you. I remembered bits and parts, but I was half-afraid I was
fantasizing, and I could only imagine that my inquiries would convince you that I was a lecher.”

“’Twould seem our marriage has often been foiled by our own reticence.” Cerynise tilted her head aslant as she peered up at him. “In fact, the way Germaine left here after she took a close look at me, I thought she’d search you out posthaste to tell you the news.”

Beau laid his arms around his wife’s slender shoulders and pulled her close again. “Aye, she did, but she only gave me the proof I needed to hold you in our marriage. Had I known sooner you were carrying my child, I’d never have consented to an annulment.”

“Even though it meant losing your freedom?” she queried timidly.

“Freedom be damned,” Beau rejoined, and then stated emphatically, “I lost all interest in my freedom as a bachelor soon after we were married. I began to want you as my wife on a permanent basis, and that’s the way it will be from now on.”

“Oh, how happy that makes me!” Cerynise exclaimed joyfully, slipping her arms around his waist and snuggling close.

“Is your uncle here?” he asked, pressing his cheek against her hair.

“No, he’s been gone for several hours now, and I really don’t have any idea when he’ll be back.”

“Then we’ll leave him a note if he’s not here by the time we’ve finished packing your belongings.”

Cerynise pulled back again to search his sun-bronzed face. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home! Our home, where you belong.”

“And my paints…”

“We’re taking everything. I’ve got my carriage outside waiting for us, and I’d like to leave before it starts raining.” Even as reluctant as he was to turn her loose, he was even more anxious to get her home with him. “Where are your trunks?”

“Upstairs in my room.”

Beau took her hand. “Show me.”

Cerynise was soon escorting him upstairs, a climb that was just long enough to permit a little marital familiarity. Laying a slender hand over the much larger one that inspected the tautness of her breast, she smiled up at him. “Still rutting, I see.”

“Aye,” he acknowledged huskily, meeting her gaze. He raised a dark brow inquiringly. “Do you have any arguments against me indulging my husbandly rights?”

“None in the least, sir,” she murmured with a smile as she swept her own hand down the front of him, making him catch his breath at the sudden pleasure she evoked.

“As long as I can indulge a few wifely ones as well.”

Greatly relieved, Beau nuzzled her neck. “By all means, madam, but let us not tarry here lest we shock your Uncle Sterling out of his scholarly wits.”

Once in her bedroom they began packing her clothes, and soon Beau was toting her trunks down the stairs. Returning to her bedroom once more, he found her trying to lift one of the heavier satchels. He quickly relieved her of it.

“Madam, believe it or not, I’m quite capable of carrying everything you’ve packed if you’d but give me the chance,” he gently scolded. “You’ll have to think of our child from now on and refrain from exerting yourself. Now, while I’m getting the rest of your paintings and supplies, you’d better write a note to your uncle and tell him the annulment is off and that you’ll be living with me from now on as my lawfully wedded wife.”

Cerynise made no attempt to subdue her grin. “Aye aye, Captain!”

Beau gave her a wink above his own wide grin. “Good girl.”

In less than an hour they were in the carriage and on their way at a brisk pace. Upon their arrival at his residence, Beau lifted his wife down and then hefted a trunk on his shoulder as Cerynise paused to look at the house. At present, several large trees around the structure were
being buffeted by the wind, but she gave little heed to the gusts with her husband near. It was a large Georgian-style mansion surrounded by a pleasant garden behind a wrought iron fence, situated well back from the street to assure both privacy and serenity. The weatherboards were painted white, the shutters on either side of the windows a deep forest green, and the front door a matching hue trimmed in white beneath a fanlight of cut crystal depicting a vessel under full sail. In all, the residence reminded her of a countryside estate though it was located only a short stroll from Charleston’s busy wharves.

Cerynise smiled up at her husband. “Oh, Beau, I feel like a princess being brought home to a castle.”

“Well, in that case, madam, you should be shown in royally,” he replied, setting the trunk on end and motioning Thomas to fetch the others. When Beau turned back, he swept his wife up into his arms and bore her swiftly to the door as the rain began in earnest.

In the entrance, he set her to her feet. “Why don’t you look around a bit while Thomas and I carry in your things? If it’s all right, I’ll put your paintings and oils in my study. You can work in there if you find the amount of light acceptable.”

“But won’t I be disturbing you if I do?”

“You may, but only because I’ll be indulging my second favorite pastime…watching you.”

Cerynise giggled. “I need not ask what your first is.”

“That will come shortly,” he promised her warmly.

She ran to open the door for Thomas, who was struggling with her largest trunk. Then, as Beau and the driver returned to the carriage for the rest of her baggage, she looked around at the rich, tasteful appointments. Cerynise couldn’t have imagined herself
not
liking the interior, for Beau, in his own right, was an artist of exceptional abilities. He had a keen eye for elegant furnishings and decor and applied that talent well. An entrance hall with a beautiful floor of variegated marble in tones of white, gray and magenta opened onto a more spacious, airy central hall
where a curving staircase, replete with polished mahogany steps and handrail that sat atop gracefully turned spindles of white, twined gracefully upward to a second-story landing. The interior woodwork was painted white, and abundant greenery complemented it. Everywhere she looked, Aubusson carpets were plentiful, and furnishings of Chippendale, Queen Anne and similar pieces were fully in evidence throughout.

Once again Cerynise returned to the front portal and held it open for the men. They carried in the last of her trunks, satchels and paintings just in time, for the rain, driven by the wind, had begun to pelt the windows. Thomas ran out to bring the carriage around to the back, leaving Cerynise to close the door behind him. With a vivacious smile, she turned to face her husband. “You leave nothing for a wife to do but stare in awe,” she said with pride. “The interior is even more lovely than the exterior.”

“Want to see the bedroom?” Beau invited with a teasing leer.

Her eyes shone as she scanned the length of him. “Only if you’re willing to show it to me.”

“I’m eager to show you a lot more than that,” he assured her with a chuckle. “But Philippe is in the kitchen, and he’ll want to see you ere I whisk you upstairs. The way I’ve been yearning for you, it may be another week before I allow you to leave my bedroom. I’m definitely not going to tolerate any interruptions until I’ve sated my every craving.” Beau stepped near, and his wife lifted her face expectantly. He lowered a soft, warm kiss upon her lips before he urged huskily, “Now hurry, my love. Go see Philippe while I get your baggage upstairs. Then we can be alone together.”

The kiss was so nice Cerynise wanted more and rose on tiptoes to steal another. Her husband readily accommodated her, this time making it far more sensual as his tongue slipped inward to play chase with hers. When he
drew back, it seemed she had no strength of her own, for she leaned heavily against him.

“More,” she pleaded wistfully.

“I dare not, madam, lest you’d have me wear your skirts.”

“Beast,” she fussed with a pretty pout as she rubbed herself against him.

“Wench,” he whispered back, smiling as he brush his lips against her temples. “Ere long, you’ll have my heart in your hot, greedy hands if you don’t desist, my winsome wench. I’m not two seconds away from taking you upstairs and pleasuring myself with you. Philippe and your trunks be damned.”

Cerynise heaved a sigh, exaggerating her disappointment. “I suppose I must leave you since you put duty before pleasure.”

Beau’s eyes glowed as he watched her wander dreamily toward the kitchen. He could only marvel at the significant change that had taken place since he had let himself into her uncle’s house. His knock on the front door had gone unanswered for several moments, and when he had finally ventured in and traversed the hall in search of his wife, he had found her seated at a table in a back room, staring dejectedly at his painting. She had reminded him of a small child who had been severely rebuked, for with shoulders hunched, her slender frame had clearly conveyed an attitude of defeat. He had expected her to turn at any moment after she had straightened, for he could have sworn that she had sensed his presence, but what had followed had nearly torn his heart. He couldn’t remember ever having heard a woman sob with such deep, harrowing anguish.

Her cheery voice now came from the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Philippe? Where are you?”

“Madame Birmingham?” the chef cried in surprise. He ran into the corridor and, upon seeing her, took both her hands in his and liberally pressed happy kisses to them. “Oh, it is so excellent to see you, madame.” Immediately
cautious of what he was about to say with her husband in the house, he slipped into his native French and began to confide how the captain had nearly sunk into the depths of despair without her warm glow lighting his life. “He would not eat, madame, and drank far more than he ever did.” Then with a knowing smile and an upward flick of eyebrows, Philippe sighed. “Ahh,
l’amour.
”