Beyond paradise (18 page)

Jervais nodded his approval of their obedience. "Do it now," he ordered calmly. "Come on. Out."

Defeatedly, they all dropped arms and whips and pokers. They made as if to shuffle away without releasing their victim from his plight. "Jervais," she stood on her toes and whispered, "the pirate. Tell them to take him down."

Jervais was not willing to do that. But he seemed to be willing to take the pirate down himself. He strolled nonchalantly into the room's center and let the pirate fall from the hook with a painful thud. He kicked him with his boot to make him crawl to the others. Then he cast Sylvie a look which said, Satisfied? She could only shake her head in disbelief at his callousness. He pretended not to notice her disapproval, and sauntered casually to her side, urging her to file out with the sailors.

"Good night, Captain," some of them muttered on then-way upstairs. Jervais nodded courteously at each such sentiment. When they had all gone, he let his hand float about Sylvie's waist, and giving her a tight squeeze, asked, "Is that better?"

She felt that the squeeze was a bit intimate, but she chose to pick a different battle, and looked directly into his dark eyes. "Jervais, how can you be so cold? How can you let them carry on that way?"

The truth was that Jervais himself was far more brutal when he was tormenting a prisoner. No one hated pirates more than he did, and no one could be more fierce and unfeeling when he had finally brought a pirate he'd been hunting to his knees. Sylvie didn't understand what it did to a man, to be hunting and be eluded by a prey which grew more vile in his mind

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with every failed attempt. She didn't understand the glory of finally capturing someone who so deserved it. And the need to release all the frustration of the chase. "Sylvie," he said with mustered compassion, taking her chin in his palm, "this may look terrible to you, but you have to remember what it is you're not seeing. You're not seeing what the pirates did before we subdued them. You're not seeing the lives they took, the babies they drowned, the ships they robbed, the women they tormented ..." A flash of sorrow sparked his eye. "Sylvie, I know you deny it, but I know what those men did to you. You of all people should understand why they deserve to suffer, as they have made others suffer."

"They did nothing!" she cried, pulling away. "Why won't you listen to me? They didn't hurt me."

Her protest only made him more sorry for her. The poor thing thought she would be scolded for something that had befallen her against her will. "Sylvie," he said, "do you take me for a fool? I hunt pirates for the king's wages—I know them. I know what they do to young girls. Sylvie, it's all right. Etienne may shun you for shedding no blood in his marriage bed, but I will not."

Sylvie went a tad white. It had never occurred to her, the problem of the blood. "Not. . . not all women shed blood, I'm told." He felt her hands tremble in his. "That is only a myth. Some simply don't—it's what my mother said."

"That may be true," he confessed, "but it will make him suspicious—you know it will."

Sylvie's discomfort ran deep. Was it possible Etienne would shun her when he found that she was no maiden after all? Was blood really so common? Would he know immediately? Would he return her to her parents in shame? She looked upon Jervais with suspicion. He had intentionally unsettled her with the thought—she knew he had. If he could not win her with promises of safety and devotion, then he

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would win her with threats of shame. That was his game, she was sure of it. It made her angry, and yet, his method was dangerously effective. He had managed to frighten her. "I have not been ravished!" she hissed. "And those pirates ... whatever they deserve ... it's no worse than what you deserve for giving it to them." She spun around and marched from his presence, but he caught her roughly by the arm.

"Hold on there," he said. "Nobody storms away from me." There was no anger in his voice, but a considerable amount of warning. "I know you're upset, but don't forget you are speaking to the captain of this ship—and a man," he added darkly.

Sylvie was so stunned that her arm went limp in his grasp and she faced him. "What?"

"You heard me," he warned. "Don't test my patience. I have coddled you once tonight, but you will not walk away from me in a huff."

"Because you're a man?" she asked, aghast.

"That's right," he replied. There was no hesitation, no apology. "I know that women act upon feelings, not thoughts. But as long as you're on this ship, you'll remember to show me respect."

"Feelings, not thoughts?!" she cried. "Are you insane? How could you have never known a woman better than that?!"

"You're only proving my point with your temper," he said gently. "Now calm yourself. I don't want to give you a thrashing. Come." He took her hand firmly but tenderly.

"Unhand me!" she cried, releasing herself from his grip. "How dare you threaten me! Do you think you're the ruler of everything and everyone you meet?"

The answer was yes, so he didn't quite know how to reply. He decided the most diplomatic response would be, "Come, you're upset." He brushed his knuckles across her hotly col-

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ored cheek. <4 Why don't we both get some sleep, and I promise you'll feel better in the morning."

She slapped his hand away from her face, making him scowl a warning. "I shall retire, but I shall not feel better in the morning. I shall look forward to our arrival in St. Pierre, when I can go on with my life and forget 1 ever met the likes ofyou!"

This time, he did not catch her arm in time, and she stormed away from him. His smile was positively spiteful. St. Pierre would be farther away than she expected, the little vixen. He would not pull into port until he had her promise of marriage. If he had to bargain, seduce, or even threaten, he would. Her outrageous lack of respect only strengthened his determination to show her that he could have whatever he craved. It was a lot like hunting pirates. The more they evaded, the sweeter was the capture, and the more joyous was the moment they were at his mercy, open and vulnerable to his will. He imagined Sylvie trembling in his bed, her voice a mere squeak as she pleaded for his gentleness. The image aroused him beyond reason. Yes, of course, he would be gentle on their wedding night. But not before he had taught her to be grateful for it. He would teach Sylvie why she should respect a man, so that in her, he would always have an obedient wife. He stormed to his cabin, grinning from ear to ear, as though he had already won her.

Eighteen

In the morning, Sylvie felt guilty for wearing his dress. If only she'd had something else to wear, if only her old dress weren't torn. .. . She had struggled all night not to remember how it got that way. She had bags under her eyes and a scratchiness in her morning voice. Every time she had rolled over, she'd expected to roll right into Jacques's warm skin. Every time she had kicked out her legs, she'd expected them to fall off the edge of a hammock. She couldn't bear to think that he was tied like the others, suffering in one of the storage rooms serving as a brig below. She couldn't bear to think of it, and so she tried not to. He had kidnapped her, taken her forcibly to sea, then betrayed his own words by threatening to keep her for all time. It was his own fault, she kept telling herself. Even if she could have saved him, she would not have. It was his own fault. So why did her heart yearn to run downstairs and free him, to throw herself in his arms and beg forgiveness? Forgiveness for being the cause of his capture. It was completely irrational.

She dressed with great, slow care. The dress she slid over

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her drawers and chemise was black with thick, white lace at the neck. The sleeves fell only to her elbows, something of which her mother would not have approved. But Sylvie was not so modest as to blush at the showing of her arms. Clearly, even Jervais was modern enough to accept the new, lace-trimmed short sleeves. He had, after all, picked out the dress. Her skirt was full, her waist pulled tight, and there was only a hint of her tiny, high-heeled shoes peeking out from her petticoats. Sylvie had a talent for working her own hair, even under the worst of conditions. She tied it into two bunches at the sides of her head, securing her curls with white bows. It was unfortunate she wasn't able to work her pigtails into tight ringlets, but her natural curl would do aboard a pirate hunting vessel, she supposed.

She doused herself with flowery perfume, and then took a deep breath at the door. She would eat breakfast in the main cabin, as she had the right to do. She need not feel guilty, she told herself, for behaving as a guest. Jervais had been paid well to rescue her. She was sure her family and Etienne would have seen to that. So she owed him no more, and need not hide in her room as though ashamed of failing to return his amorous intentions. She looked down miserably at her skirts. To be wearing his clothes and his perfume was unbearable. It made her feel indebted, it made her feel that she owed him ... No. She would see that his expenses were repaid. She would demand that Etienne compensate him for the lovely gowns and the daily fare, and she would live with guilt no more. She tossed open the door with determination.

The Great Cabin on board the pirate hunter's ship was so different from that of the pirates. There was not the same kind of lavish decor; it was as though the sailors had less to prove. Theirs was a simple room with splintered wood tables and chairs. The sailors were not rowdy and festive, but subdued and crude with their words. Sylvie saw Jervais the mo-

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ment she walked in, but turned her nose up and took a seat all by herself, far away from him. He noted that with an angry scowl, but left her alone for the time being. A cabin boy offered her porridge and milk, which she accepted eagerly. She ate with dainty bites, hungry though she was. She did not want Jervais to think she was miserable or unsettled by his boorish behavior. She wanted to remind him with every subtle tilt of her spoon that she was the daughter of a comte, and completely immune to his callousness.

On her third bite, she nearly dropped her utensil. She clutched its handle with a shaking fist and peered past it, into nothingness, frozen in her bent posture. She was listening to Jervais. "Blanchet was his name," he told his shipmates in the midst of a conversation she'd not heard. "He wants that towheaded pirate alive, but I don't know why. Believe me, if it were up to me, he'd be the first one hanged, and it'd have been done before he reached shore." There was some nervous laughter. "Hell, if I'd been able to kill him, he couldn't have captured Mademoiselle Davant. We wouldn't even be here. But this Blanchet is a rich fellow. He paid me well for the first capture—wouldn't pay for the second—said it was my mistake, and wants to be there at the trial and at the hanging. Some sort of vendetta."

"I say kill him anyway," someone ventured. "Tell them it was an accident." There was chuckling.

"I thought about it," said Jervais. "Believe me, I did. But we all have taxes to pay. If Blanchet doesn't get to watch him die, we don't get our pay. Not for that one, anyway. And he's worth more than the others all put together."

"Still, after what he did . . . don't you think it would be worth it?"

Jervais grunted. "No," he said, lowering his voice. "There are ways of making him suffer without killing him." Sylvie stopped blinking. "I had a run with him first thing this morn-

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ing. He's dumb as a rock, I tell you. I had him blindfolded and was beating him. Told him I'd stop if he'd just cry for mercy, but he wouldn't do it. He's a really dim one to have such a high price on his head."

Sylvie heard her heart beating in her brain. Her arms and legs felt as though they were no longer attached. She lost control of her breathing. My God, Jervais. You had him blindfolded. He couldn 't hear you. He couldn 't see your lips and he couldn't hear you. He i not dumb. You are. Her spoon fell into her porridge with a splash. Jacques. My God, are you all right? What did he do to you? Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered. Not her hatred for Jervais, not her marriage, not her life. It was all so small compared to the hot liquid that was filling her heart and threatening to make it burst.

"Good morning." Jervais's dark voice intruded upon her intense, private moment. She reacted as one who'd been caught in a criminal act.

"Good morning," she replied, much, much too kindly.

He was suspicious. And she was suspicious of herself. She would not have been so welcoming if somewhere in her deepest heart she had not made up her mind about him. If she had not decided that he was no longer an infuriating suitor, but a true enemy. "You seem in fine spirits this morning," he remarked with narrow eyes.

"Yes, yes. Well, I ... I suppose you were right after all. A good night's sleep was all I needed." She forced a weak smile. She couldn't believe her own ears. She couldn't believe she had just said he was right. It could only mean one thing. Her instincts must have been telling her to deceive him, but she knew not why.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear that," he said, dragging a chair to her side. He looked unconvinced, but distracted. "Would you join me for a walk on the upper deck?"

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Sylvie thought furiously. There was nothing she wanted ban to spend time alone with him. And she was desperate .. . desperate to see Jacques, to make sure he was all right. But she couldn't tell Jervais that. She knew that if she ever let him know about her affection for that pirate, he would torture him beyond reason. No, she was not fool enough to tell a man who fancied her that she had eyes for another. Not when Jacques's very life was in his hands. It was important that she not even mention him, not even express curiosity over his welfare. Certainly, she must not let him know her plans to check on him. She swallowed nervously. "Of course," she replied. "I would be happy to take a stroll. Will I need a cape

Again, he was suspicious about her ease. He thought it possible that she had reconsidered his offer, realized that he would make a good husband, or even grown fearful of Etienne's response to her stolen virginity. But it seemed the change in her had been too rapid and too complete. For that reason, he proceeded with caution. "There should be a woolen cape in your cabin," he said. "Shall I fetch it for you?"