Humbled (6 page)

Yet there was nothing he could do. She made her choice, and the captain had her ring. He had done his part and it was time to leave her, no matter how reluctant he felt. When she arrived in La Nouvelle-Orléans, the nobility there would surely assist her.

“Would you like to go back out onto land? Take a walk or have a meal in Le Havre before you set sail?” he asked, unable to simply walk away and leave her.

She shook her head. “No, thank you. It is safer here, unless Moreau plans to turn me in. And I do not want him to leave without me. But I will walk out with you—to say goodbye.”

Goodbye.

He had not expected to experience such loss at being rid of his responsibility for her. They walked down the platform together, and she stopped on the ground.

“Well… thank you. I mean—”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “No need to thank me. I repaid a debt to you, nothing more. Now we are even.” He ignored the sensation of his gut burning. “Be very careful—trust no one.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Washes of cold made him feel almost feverish. He needed to part quickly with her—dragging it out only made them both uncomfortable. He grabbed her and pulled her against him in a rough embrace. “God be with you, Corinne.”

“Thank you,” she repeated, her voice sounding strangled.

He turned and strode away without looking back. Finding a tavern, he entered and ordered a drink, his heart still beating erratically, his chest feeling tight.

Why did she have to choose La Nouvelle-Orléans? He gave a silent curse and tossed his drink back with a gulp.

He sat in the tavern until it grew dark, though no amount of time or drink eased the aching under his breastbone, or the curious sensation of longing.

Did he long for her?

No, he had never pined for her.

But that was a lie. She stirred something in him, though he never aspired to be her husband, nor even a lover. As much as he believed in the revolution and the equality of man, Corinne was still a lady to him, and he was nothing more than a pig thief to her.

He rubbed his face and ordered another drink.

Damn her
. She was not safe on that ship alone. And he could not, in good conscience, leave her to make that voyage on her own. What did he have to return to in Gramont, anyway? His wife and unborn child had died. He had his smithy, he had work, but was it not reasonable to assume he might find that sort of work in La Nouvelle-Orléans? Perhaps he could even apprentice with a silversmith and do the kind of work he loved.

He stood up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and marched back to the ship. Night had fallen, the stars hidden by a thick blanket of fog. The ship was gone from its position that afternoon.

He scanned the area, blood rushing in his ears.

There it was. The plank had been pulled, and the ship sat anchored several hundred yards out in the ocean, ready to set sail on the morning tide.

He found a man with a rowboat and paid him to take him out to the ship, calling for a rope ladder to climb aboard.

* * *

She had been blinking back tears all evening. She should not feel the loss of Jean-Claude so strongly. She had only known him little more than two weeks. She should mourn her parents, her friends, even her servants from Gramont. Not him.

She could even concede he might have been right about her plan to go to Louisiana. England would have been safer. Now she was trapped on the ship for two months with a captain who knew her secret and planned to make her suffer for it. Not to mention that she had to live and sleep in dirty, crowded surroundings, working as a servant.

She had been given the task of serving at dinner, and as she left the kitchen now, exhausted and morose, one of the sailors grabbed her around the waist.

“Hello there, sweet thing! You look good enough to eat.”

She struggled in his grasp. “Let go of me!” she snapped, twisting to free herself. “Get off, you swine!”

A deep voice boomed, “Get your hands off my wife!”

She spun around, her heart fluttering like a bird.

Jean-Claude gripped the sailor by the throat, looking more menacing than a bear roused from hibernation. The sailor released her, holding up his hands in surrender.

“You came!” she said, blinking in happy confusion, then corrected her mistake. “It is about time you returned, husband!” she snapped, her hands at her hips.

Jean-Claude still looked furious, though he released the unlucky sailor. “Do not touch her again,” he growled.

“I did not know she was married!” the sailor protested.

Jean-Claude stalked to her side and took her arm, tugging her toward the servants’ quarters.

“Do not speak so disrespectfully to your husband in front of others,” he growled without any hint of teasing.

She stopped in her tracks, resisting his hold on her. All gratitude at his timely rescue dissolved into ire. “May I remind you, I did not beg your escort for this leg of the journey. I am no longer subject to your orders,” she challenged, throwing her shoulders back.

The tension in Jean-Claude’s face eased, and a trace of humor returned. “Yes, but we are known as man and wife here, and a husband has a right to discipline his spouse when she offends him.”

She took a step back, taking advantage of his eased grip on her arm.

“Again, I did not ask for your companionship. You have no right, imaginary or otherwise.”

“Who will stop me?”

She ground her teeth, realizing he was right. If she protested a spanking, at best she would gain an audience, at worst one of the sailors like the one who had just accosted her would “rescue” her, leaving her vulnerable to his sexual demands. She would rather choose the known evil of discipline at Jean-Claude’s hands than the unknown fate of another man’s will.

She swallowed. “You mean to punish me now?” she asked, cursing the waver in her voice.

He did not miss it. His lips curved around the edges, but he surprised her by saying, “No,
ma cherie
. I had not intended to chastise you. I was angry with the lout who had his hands on you, that is all.” He closed the distance she had put between them, cupping her chin in his large hand. “But I meant it when I said not to speak disrespectfully to me in front of others. It was one thing to make a show for the official in Rennes. But you will not make a henpecked husband of me on this ship, no?”

Her face warred between a smile and a scowl.

Jean-Claude pulled her closer with the hand at her jaw, reaching behind to slap her backside. “Understood?”

She stomped her foot, then caught the merriment in his eye and exhaled with a little giggle.

“There are no switches here, but there is plenty of rope. I will not hesitate to thrash you with a loop if you goad me, woman.”

“Just so long as you do not exercise your
other
husbandly rights.”

She had no fears of such, as she had just traveled over a fortnight without his forcing himself on her, yet something in Jean-Claude’s reaction to her demand made her stop and stare. His eyes had darkened and his expression looked hungry. Or perhaps haunted. He released her chin abruptly, giving her a gentle shove which he followed up with another slap on her bottom.

“Go on. It is late.”

They walked down to the steerage. She was grateful for Jean-Claude’s companionship, as she had been dreading her night there. The room stank of bodies and stale air, and though some were already nestled in their hammocks, voices were raised to a boisterous pitch.

She shot a sidelong glance at Jean-Claude. He strode over to a woman as if he were perfectly comfortable and inquired which hammocks were available. The woman pointed to a dark corner where the ceiling pitched so low Jean-Claude had to bend at the waist to enter. A woman and a girl who looked about eight years old swung in their hammocks nearby. The girl was clutching her stomach and moaning softly. She experienced a moment of pity for them. At least she was not troubled by seasickness.

Jean-Claude stretched one of the rope beds wide and gestured to her. She approached it cautiously, sitting first before she tumbled abruptly into it, lurching to the side and almost falling out the other end before it swung back and cocooned her.

Jean-Claude smothered a laugh. She glared at him, trying to get comfortable. It was impossible. How was one supposed to lie in a swinging cradle? She tried to sit up, only managing to spill herself from the bed entirely. Jean-Claude snickered as she stood up, dusting off her skirts.

“It is bad enough to bed with the peasants, but how does he expect me to sleep in this?” she hissed in a low voice so the woman and her daughter would not hear the slight.

Rather than commiserating, Jean-Claude withdrew, his face closing, his expression remote. Like an idiot, it took her a moment to understand the cause. Jean-Claude was a peasant. Why was it she did not think of him so?

“I beg your pardon—” she began, but Jean-Claude had turned his back on her, climbing into his hammock and closing his eyes as if she were not there.

“I did not mean you…”

She trailed off. Did it make it better or worse to admit her prejudice but excuse him from it? Probably worse. She closed her mouth in fear she would continue to alienate the only living soul on this ship who halfway cared about her.

Curling up on the hard wooden floor underneath her hammock, she blinked back tears as the rocking of the ship lulled her into a troubled sleep.

* * *

His work assignment was relatively light. The captain had not really needed extra servants; he had just wanted to make Corinne suffer. She worked the saloon, serving the merchant class. After the remark she had made the night before, he was inclined to enjoy her suffering. Never had a woman made him want to throttle her in one moment and tear her clothes off in the next.

His choice to accompany her to Louisiana, while easing his conscience about her safety, made him aware of his growing feelings for her. And yet, she was not a woman he could have. Certainly it would be easy enough to take advantage of her in her weakened and lowered state, but he considered himself an honorable man. He would not see her maidenhead taken when it was one of her few remaining assets. No, her chances of success in the new world lay in her beauty, her nobility, and her innocence. She would find a noble, or at least upper class, husband and her future would be secure. His only obligation was to deliver her to La Nouvelle-Orléans with her virginity intact.

He did not see her more than in passing for most of the day, but in the evening, he worked on deck as the dinner arrangements were made for the wealthy merchant travelers. Because the weather was fine, he was ordered to carry tables and chairs out from the saloon to the lower deck in front of the captain’s office where they’d had coffee the day before.

He saw Corinne carrying food out to the passengers, who were mostly men. The men at the captain’s table gave her a hard time, sending her back for things and amusing themselves with her humiliation.

The man across from Moreau purposely spilled his wine, then chided her to hurry and mop up the mess.

“Come, now. You missed it over here. Faster! You are such a clumsy girl.”

He gritted his teeth and watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of dread.

Corinne mopped the spilt wine on her hands and knees, rising with her dress stained dark red. The look on her face held the stubborn expression with which he had become familiar. She left for the kitchen and returned with a fresh decanter of wine, which she promptly dumped down the front of the man.

Jean-Claude spun into action, darting to the scene just as the man slapped Corinne across the face. He caught her shoulders and pulled her behind him.

“Please excuse my wife. She is extraordinarily clumsy. I will punish her for it.”

The captain leaned back in his chair with amused speculation. “Will you?”

Moreau surely guessed Jean-Claude was beneath Corinne, perhaps even assuming he was her servant. He probably thought it a bluff.

“She knows I will,” he gritted with a harsh look of censure. The look had its desired effect—Corinne paled and tried to twist out of his grip.

The captain inclined his head in the direction of his office. “I have a strap in my office. You may take her in there and deliver the punishment.” His smug satisfaction made Jean-Claude want to break his nose.

He inclined his head. “Thank you, citizen.”

He tugged Corinne to the office and shut the door.

She whirled to face him. “I hate you!” she hissed.

“Would you rather be whipped by me or one of them?”

Her jaw thrust forward and her eyes flashed, but she threw herself at him—smacking her forehead against his breastbone and leaving it there. He took it as a request for an embrace and wrapped his arms around her, though she did not return the hug.

“Come,” he said, spying the leather strap hanging on the wall. He retrieved it and sank onto one of the wooden chairs, pulling her over his lap.

She gripped the legs of the chair in her fists and glared at him over her shoulder.

“The sooner you cry, the sooner this will be over,” he said, knowing he could not walk out of there without Corinne looking properly chastised.

“I will never cry!”

He sighed. “I feared you would say that.”

Lifting her skirt up over her back, he clamped her legs under one of his own and brought the leather strap down across her two cheeks. The sound reverberated through the room, and he imagined the men out on the deck could hear it as well. Corinne did not make a peep. He was not surprised. He struck her again and again, landing even stripes across her bare bottom, down to her thighs, then back up again, then repeating the pattern. He kept a steady, rapid pace.

“I admire your pluck, Corinne. I truly do. But I have doubts as to your ability to appropriately assess risk.”

She still did not utter a cry, but her body writhed and danced across his lap, even with his leg holding her in place. He knew she must be experiencing pain by now, even if she was furious.