Wild legacy (28 page)

"You've been wounded, haven't you?" she asked.

Etienne spread his arms wide. "Does it show?"

"It's not something I can see," Dominique murmured. "I just know."

A hint of a breeze ruffled the tobacco leaves and the lacy edge of Dominique's frilly cap. Etienne thought her even more beautiful in daylight than she had been in the soft

glow of a lamp last night. "I have the scars for proof, should you need it."

'Til accept your word," Dominique readily conceded, and continued on toward the row of barns. She thought it quite odd to be escorting the battle-scarred descendant of another Acadian around the plantation, but then decided it was exactly the distraction she needed.

"We employ only free men," she explained, "as my family has never condoned slavery. As you can imagine, our views often clashed with our neighbors' even before the war."

"Beau never mentioned your family's customs, but I would not want to own another man. You have every right to be proud."

Dominique dared not comment on pride, when she feared her own was to blame for her current sorrow. "Thank you. What did Beau tell you about us?"

Beau had told him a great many entertaining tales, and Etienne had to sift through his memories for something suitable for her ears. "He said he had an uncle who was a Seneca Indian, which was a surprise, but I was more interested to learn his mother was Acadian. I wondered if she has felt as lost as my father has since being turned out of her home."

They had reached the first barn and the door was open wide, allowing them to enter without breaking stride. Several degrees cooler than the fields, the shady interior was most inviting. "My mother taught us all to speak French as babies, so we've always known Virginia wasn't her home, but I don't believe she's ever been unhappy here."

The sunlight was slanted through the doorway, highlighting the curls that peeked from beneath her cap. The peach tones of her gown were very flattering with her golden tan, and Etienne thought her freckles charming. Alone where no one could observe, he wanted only one thing. He leaned

down to kiss her, and wanting more than he had taken last night, slipped his arms around her waist to hold her tight.

Instantly the fear which had marred her waking moments returned in full force, and Dominique put both hands on his chest to shove him away. Then, feeling slightly dizzy, she grabbed for his arm to steady herself. "I think we'd better go," she urged in a breathless whisper.

"Dominique? Are you ill? Oh, of course you are. That's why you were in bed yesterday. Please, let's sit down here until you feel better. Or would you rather I carry you back to the house?"

Badly frightened rather than ill, Dominique shook her head. What was the matter? she tormented herself. She had once been so content in a man's company that she could laugh and chat for hours or dance away half the night without ever feeling a bit of fatigue. She was not really tired now, though, but frightened by some unseen peril. Etienne had merely kissed her, as many other men had, and her quivering fright was an absurd reaction.

There was a sprinkling of straw scattered over the dirt floor, topped with ragged bits of last year's crop. Etienne removed his coat and spread it out to provide a place for her to sit. When he gestured with a deep bow, she was grateful for his thoughtfulness.

"Thank you. If I just rest a moment, I'm sure I'll be fine." She arranged her skirt carefully as she knelt down, and then sat surrounded by deep folds of peach muslin.

"You look like the heart of a rose," Etienne exclaimed as he knelt beside her, "all dressed in scalloped petals." He positioned himself at her right where she could lean back against his shoulder. The barn held the pungent aroma of tobacco, but he thought Dominique so sweet, he did not even notice.

"I'm so sorry," Dominique murmured, but despite her lingering anxiety, she found Etienne's shoulder the perfect support. "I'm not in the least bit frail, and I never faint."

"I do hope I have not made you ill," he whispered against her temple.

His accent was as reassuring as her mother's, and Dominique was positive he was not to blame. She was the problem, or perhaps simply love, and for the first time it occurred to her that she might actually die of a broken heart. Her mother had taught her many cures, but there were no herbs to soothe her sorrow. She leaned against Etienne and closed her eyes. It would be so easy to simply let go of life, but as he began to caress her shoulder with light kisses, death lost all its appeal.

Dominique turned slightly to look up at him. "And what, pray tell, are you, monsieur?"

Believing he had won her interest, Etienne pushed for more. "Kiss me and I will explain."

Dominique looked away. "I'm not that curious." She folded her hands in her lap. She was adept at encouraging men, not discouraging them, but hoped she had conveyed sufficient disinterest to convince him to focus his affections elsewhere.

A persistent man, Etienne nibbled her earlobe. "You are a very beautiful liar, and you are very curious about me."

"I am not," Dominique exclaimed, but as she turned toward him, he leaned down to kiss her. She ducked her head, but he shifted position to catch her neck in the crook of his arm and held her fast. His mouth was warm, his tongue smoothly insistent as he parted her lips, but she was no easy conquest and shoved him so hard he lost his balance. As he tumbled backwards, he pulled her down across his chest.

Etienne laughed at how badly her attempt to escape him had failed. "Do you want to play?" he teased. He slid his hand under Dominique's cap to grab a handful of her hair, and ignoring her muffled protest, kissed her again. She squirmed, pressing the soft fullness of her bosom against his chest and heightening his pleasure to the point where he could not bear to stop. Releasing her hair, he locked his fingers around her wrists, did a quick roll to the left, and forced her down onto his coattails. Captured, her eyes widened, but he wanted only kisses and held her in a light grasp.

"I love passionate women," he declared. "You see? You are exactly what I want."

"But I don't want you!" Dominique cried. "Now get off me, or I'll scream and a dozen men will come running."

Her sultry voice had taken on a steely edge, and when Etienne realized she was not enjoying the amorous play as

greatly as he, he was badly disappointed and quickly moved aside. He stood, and leaned down to take Dominique's hands and pull her up beside him. The instant she was on her feet, she pushed his hands away.

"My apologies, mademoiselle. I did not mean to force myself upon you."

Dominique laughed at that ridiculous comment, and shook out her skirt to dislodge the bits of tobacco clinging to every fold. "What do you call it then? Is that the way Frenchmen behave? If so, I'll not even speak to another of your countrymen."

Etienne reached down for his coat and brushed off the tobacco and straw. He stood back as Dominique poked several errant curls up under her cap. Her cheeks were filled with a bright blush, making her even prettier in his eyes, but he took exception to her haughty attitude. "At breakfast, you were grateful for the help of Frenchmen. I am still the same man. Like Lafayette, I believe in the cause of freedom. I also hope that once we have won it for America, Americans will help us win our own independence."

Startled by the seriousness of Etienne's response, Dominique studied him more closely. Rather than handsome, when he was angry, he looked simply dangerous. He was lean, but tough, and much stronger than she had supposed. "You are no gentleman, monsieur, but if you are sincerely committed to our cause, then I'll forgive you, but only this once. If you can't treat me as a lady, I'll not allow you to call."

Etienne's stare turned cold. "I thought you would have a heart worth seeking, but you are no more than a beautiful shell, like a pastry without a delicious filling." He raked her with an insolent glance, and then shook his head. "If it were not the war, you would have another excuse to push me away. Beau called you a treasure, but you are not worth the price of an amusing whore."

Dominique slapped him so hard her handprint was visible

on his cheek as he strode out the door. Nearly blinded by tears, she waited a moment before following, but when she left the barn, she discovered Etienne had gone only a few yards before stopping. Falcon and Belle were rapidly approaching, and Dominique hurried to Etienne's side. "Don't say a thing," she warned.

"He is carrying a rifle. Do you think I am stupid?" Etienne's scowl deepened. "I have no choice but to pretend nothing has happened."

"Nothing has," Dominique hissed through clenched teeth. She raised her hand to return Falcon's wave. "Are you going hunting?" she called to him.

Falcon waited until he and Belle had reached them to speak. "No. I just wanted to see if Etienne is as fine a shot as he claims."

Etienne's cheek still stung, and he turned slightly to hide what he feared would be a telltale mark. "Select a target, and I will gladly hit it."

Eager for a contest, Falcon nodded toward the cotton-wood trees at the end of the line of barns. "Rather than put a hole in a barn, let's aim for the trees." He pulled a piece of canvas from his pocket. "I'll tie this to a branch, and give you the first shot."

"I'll not need more than one," fetienne claimed proudly. He held the rifle while Falcon sprinted for the trees and tied the cloth to a low branch. The brave stepped back and adjusted the drape of the fabric to form a target perhaps six inches square. He then came back to the others in an easy lope.

Etienne shoved his coat into Dominique's hands, and too surprised to complain, she took it. He raised the rifle to his shoulder with a relaxed motion, took careful aim, and fired. The report was deafening, but after the puff of smoke had cleared, they could all see the clean hole in the canvas dangling from the tree. "I do not believe that you can do any better," he challenged.

Clearly impressed, Falcon nodded. "You are a good shot. Now I'll show you what I can do." He returned to the tree, untied the fabric, folded it in half, and retied it to create a target half the size of the one he had given Etienne. He ran back, took his weapon from fetienne to reload, and then also drilled a clean hole through the fabric with one quick shot.

"It's unfortunate the British won't hold as still, but I've killed my share," Falcon announced with a pride that sent a shudder through Belle.

"Please," she implored him. "You needn't remind us that you prefer human targets."

"I do as well, mademoiselle," fitienne remarked coolly. He reached for his coat and slung it over his shoulder. "Please excuse me. I wish to speak with Beau."

He moved away with a long, purposeful stride, and Dominique felt certain he intended to tell Beau he had changed his mind about remaining in Virginia. After he had compared her to a whore, she was relieved to see him go, but at the same time, she was sorry he had not taken her at her word when she had first complained she would only disappoint him. She had never enjoyed conflict for its own sake and wished they could have parted as friends. Instead, Etienne had been a demanding, arrogant ass, and she refused to torture herself with a new regret.

When Dominique glanced toward Belle and Falcon, she was embarrassed to find them observing her closely. Fearing she might still be dusted with tobacco, she looked down at her gown, but it looked fine to her. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Do I look strange for some reason?"

"It's not in the way you look," Falcon mused gently. "It's in the peculiar way Etienne behaved. He was obviously furious, and I'll wager your palm is an exact match for the patch of color on his left cheek. I was sure you would tell me if you wanted him marched off the plantation. Was I wrong?"

Etienne had already swung toward the docks and was lost

from view. Dominique had found their whole exchange deeply troubling, but felt no need to share it. "He's an exasperating man, but I didn't need your help to handle him."

"Well, don't hesitate to ask if you do." Falcon took Belle's hand and nodded toward the house. "We caught bass for dinner. Have you already eaten more fish than you can bear?"

Dominique lifted the front of her gown as they started walking toward the house. "Yes, but I don't want to miss dining again with Beau. I fear he's already stayed with us too long."

"He's not been here even a day," Belle argued, "but I imagine he'll sail soon after dinner to clear Hampton Roads tonight and return to sea. Perhaps the next time he returns home, he'll bring along a friend you'll find more appealing"

"I'll beg him not to try," Dominique insisted. "I'm through with men. Oh, not you, of course, Falcon. You're a dear cousin and as close as a brother, but other men no longer interest me."

Falcon rolled his eyes. "Better make a note of the date, Belle, because I doubt Dominique can exist for more than a few days without an admirer or two."

Belle gave Falcon's hand a fierce yank to silence his teasing. "You mustn't make fun of us," she begged. "Neither of us gives our affection casually, and I would never seek another man's company should I ever lose you."

"God forbid!" Falcon shouted.

"Thank you, Belle," Dominique murmured under her breath, for it was comforting to know her sister understood how much she missed Sean. As they entered the house, she had to fight off a numbing dread, but while Beau was in the parlor with Jean, Etienne was not. Nor did the Frenchman appear as they gathered in the dining room, and Dominique took her place, greatly relieved that he would not spoil the meal.

As soon as Byron had ended the blessing, he leaned toward his elder daughter. "Do you have a good reason for reeking of tobacco?" he whispered.

The heat of a bright blush flooded Dominique's cheeks before she realized the peculiar odor could be easily explained without revealing she had been rolling around on the floor of a curing barn with Etienne. She mumbled something about giving Etienne a tour of the fields and barns which seemed to satisfy her father, but she was mortified all the same. She was positive she had not invited Etienne's vigorous attentions, and he had ceased when she had made her disgust clear. She would send her gown to the laundry to be washed that very afternoon to rid it of the lingering scent of tobacco, but she doubted her memories would be as easy to cleanse.