Beyond paradise (32 page)

He tried to laugh, but didn't quite manage it. Frantically, he tugged at his mustache. "Losing you? What? To ..." He jerked his thumb at the door. "To that... that sailor chap? Oh no, no. I know you are far too wise to succumb to his .. . peasant ways."

She did not even blink. "You know nothing of the sort. For all you know, I could be the most wanton woman in all of Martinique. I could have a special fancy for peasants, though he really isn't one. The point is, you don't know me, Etienne. You've never made an effort to know me. And I believe that the only reason you're showing me kindness and courtesy now is that you don't want to be embarrassed by my leaving you."

His expression changed to a snarl. "You ungrateful woman." His speech was dramatic, for he meant to intimidate her with his bold indignation. "I have tolerated your being ravished by pirates, though I'm told it was your own clumsiness that landed you in their clutches. I have tolerated your foul escape from Jervais's ship. And now I tolerate your consideration of another man's proposal of marriage, right under my own nose. And you accuse me of selfishness?"

His anger had been effective, he knew, for Sylvie bowed her head in pause. "You're right," she said, once she had looked up, "I have been a bother to you. This has all been a terrible disappointment to you, and I should not scold you when you

Elizabeth Doyle

are trying so hard." She nodded reflectively, agreeing with her own statements.

"Then you will still be my bride?" he asked, his eyes glimmering in the hope of victory.

"Of course not," she shrugged, handing him back the perfume. "We're not even in love. I don't know what I was thinking—that I could make my parents happy by making myself miserable? It was insanity. They would never have asked for this marriage if they'd known what a womanizer you are, how much I would suffer as your wife."

Etienne's bottom lip began to quake like a child's. "But... but Sylvie, I. .." He stomped his foot and gazed out the porthole. He could not look at her while saying what he had to say. "I really care for you." His voice was whiny and high-pitched. "I know I haven't been faithful, and I would be dishonest if I said I ever would be, but. . . but that doesn't mean I don't care. I really do." He glanced at Sylvie to make sure she was still listening, and she was. Her expression was one of pity, which he mistook for concern, and went on. "I adore you. I didn't realize it until you were gone, until I heard the news that you may never come back, but it's true. I can show you tenderness, Sylvie. I can show you love. Don't you see? You can have your parents' approval, the life they have planned for us, and have the adoration you so crave. I love you, Sylvie."

Sylvie was shaking her head before he even came to the end of it. "No, Etienne." She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You want me because you found out someone else wants me, too. That isn't love. That's competitiveness. And I won't be the prize."

"But I wanted you even before I found out about Jer-vais's . . . sickening obsession."

"But you didn't want me until you found out I was gone.

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You wanted me because you couldn't have me. And that's no reason to want someone."

Etienne bowed his head, not properly armed with a response. Before he could speak again, Jervais crept up behind him and startled him out of his wits. "Good morning."

"Bah! What's that?!" He spun around and found himself face-to-neck with Jervais. "Oh, oh, good morning. We were just. .. talking, Sylvie and I."

"Oh, good—the more you talk, the better my chances." He turned to Sylvie. "Good morning. I trust you slept well."

"No, I did not," she answered softly. And Jervais understood well. Too well.

"Well, perhaps a stroll on deck will brighten your mood."

"It is unlikely."

Etienne's head hung low, for he was already feeling the sting of defeat, and he couldn't bear it. Not only had he traveled across the sea for this woman, but when he thought of all the women he could be enjoying at home if only he weren't stuck on this vessel... he gazed upon her with eyes of scorn.

"Don't look so agitated," said Jervais with an unfriendly smirk. "You've had the whole morning to impress her with your charms. Come, Sylvie." He offered his arm, glaring triumphantly at his rival.

Sylvie looked warily at Jervais, then at Etienne, then back again. It was a difficult decision to make, but she made it based on the notion that at least if she were on deck with Jervais, she would not have to be alone with either of them. She was disappointed when she discovered that nearly all the crew had cleared from the deck for breakfast, and that with the few sailors still at work so terribly busy, she and Jervais were nearly alone. She cringed when he stopped walking and turned to her.

Elizabeth Doyle

"Sylvie," he said, forcing her to reply with a glance. He bent down and kissed her. Sylvie was so stunned by this that at first she let it happen with wide, startled eyes. But then she turned her head, denying her face and lips, offering only her ear. Jervais took her by the chin.

"Stop it," she said irritably, but found to her horror that he was willing to clutch her roughly to continue their kiss. "Jervais, no!" she said through gritted teeth, not wanting to shout loudly enough for the crew to hear, but wanting to be very clear. "Don't kiss me."

"Is a kiss so much to ask?" he demanded, holding her firmly in place as one who had never tried to seduce a woman, but had always imagined he would take one when the urge came over him.

"But you didn't ask," she said, still struggling. "That is the point, Jervais. You didn't ask."

"And if I had asked?"

"I would have said no."

He let her go with a dark laugh. "Ah, that's a woman's logic for you," he snarled, turning away momentarily.

"You won't win me by insulting my kind," she spat bitterly.

"Then prove me wrong," he said, daring her with his intense, dark eyes and formidable stature. "Say something or do something that tells me you're able to make a rational decision. You've not made one yet, to my knowledge!"

"How is this for a rational decision?" she asked, thrusting her chin in the air, which took a great deal of courage, any crewman would agree, in the imposing presence of Jervais. "It is my decision not to let you kiss me, because under the circumstances, it would seem I have no choice but to let you, and that is wrong!"

"No choice? What do you mean?" He spoke as one who

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had little patience for chatter when he had hoped for so much more.

*M am stranded on this ship," she said, tossing her arms to the side. l i have nowhere to go, and you are captain. You have me locked in my cabin, Jervais. Am I to believe that I'll be allowed to resist your advances?"

He crossed his arms rather defensively in the face of such rationality. "I don't. . ." He looked very unlike himself when he was nervous. "1 don't... do that," he finished softly, eyes averted.

"You don't do what?"

"Force women to succumb."

"How do I know that?" she shrugged. "If you kiss me now, how do I know you'll not be in my cabin this evening, demanding more?"

His eyes regained some of their confident coolness. "I shall not bed you until we are wed."

"But, Jervais . . ."

He uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around her once more. Again, she writhed, but he held her securely. "Why are you so fearful?" he asked, in his best attempt to sound caring. Truly, he did care, but he was not gifted at making it sound so. His tone always carried a certain directness, not conducive to expressing emotional subtleties.

"I told you," she replied, her struggles growing less frantic.

"That you think I will ravish you, just because you are in my care? Sylvie." He lifted her chin with a finger. "I am not a pirate."

Her head shook angrily against his skin.

"No, listen to me," he demanded softly. "I know that you're scared. I know what they did to you. Sylvie, I am not so callous that I have failed to consider your pain. Look at

Elizabeth Doyle

me." When she did so, she saw that he was making every attempt to soften his eyes. They penetrated deeply into her own. "Sylvie, I love you." Her lashes fluttered in response to his bravery. "That's a really difficult thing for a man like me to say," he grinned, "but there is little I wouldn't do for you. I need to hear that you have some feeling for me as well, however small. I know that you're a woman and your moods are always changing, but I need to know that you've thought of me, that you've been moved at least once. A man has his pride, Sylvie. And mine is almost entirely caught up in you at the moment. Do you understand?" He turned her face to look in her eye and make sure she did. "Sylvie, marry me. I will be a gentle husband. I know that they hurt you, but you have nothing to fear in me. I will not be brutal in our wedding chamber."

She could only imagine what Jervais's notion of gentle was. She would have argued the point with him, reminding him of all the times he had threatened to thrash her, but she couldn't see the use. The only statement that seemed relevant was, "Jervais, the pirates did not ravish me. I love Jacques, and he is the reason I cannot marry you. I have already pledged myself to him, and I will keep that vow."

Sylvie had never seen a volcano erupt, but she no longer felt the need. The fury in Jervais's black eyes was more explosive than a mountain's could ever be. She was positively terrified, and for a moment, wished she could take back her words. She thought he was going to hit her, but instead he said, "You have pledged yourself to a dead man," and spun around to leave as if it were all he could do to resist striking her down. "They will all hang tonight!" he called back to her. "On this ship! And you will watch as the guest of honor."

Sylvie pressed a hand over her mouth and ceased blinking. She had never dreamed the men wouldn't at least be brought home for a trial. She had never thought they might

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be killed so soon. Somehow, she had been imagining how she might think of a plan in time, that given the long journey, she eould surely come up with something before it was too late. And now . . . tonight. . . there was nothing she could do. Nothing, except. . . well, except for ... She took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. There was yet one thing she could do.

Thirty-two

The hanging would be at sundown, as Jervais had something of a poetic sense of public execution. There was great symbolism, he thought, in the destruction of worthless pirates coinciding with the disappearance of the day's light. He looked forward to it tremendously, even as he worried over excuses for the pirates' early deaths without a trial. "They tried to attack us." No, he'd used that too many times before. "They threatened to escape, just as they'd done in an earlier instance." Yes, that one had merit, though it did imply a preemptive hanging, a precautionary set of executions based on fear. Perhaps he could do better. "We couldn't afford to feed them." Ah, now that was rather reasonable, as his voyage had been much longer than expected. Still, there were those who would argue with such an explanation as being less than an emergency. Ah, well. He would not let worry over it spoil his fun for the evening. There was nothing like a good hanging to whet his appetite for supper. Especially now that it was so terribly personal. . .

Sylvie knocked on his cabin door, much to his astonish-

Elizabeth Doyle

ment, at just past noon. "Hello," he said, noticing that she had put quite a bit of care into her appearance, much more so than she had done since her most recent arrival on his vessel. She wore her pink gown, which so brilliantly contrasted with her bright blue eyes, and wore her cinnamon hair in rather lovely ringlets, tied carefully with two satin bows. She had even put a bit of color on her cheeks and lips. "You look lovely," he said, inviting her in. She was so petite that he had to look down as she strolled past him, rustling her petticoats in a most enticing manner. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He closed the door behind them and tried to look casual. He didn't want to make too much fuss over her sudden arrival, in fear of frightening her off.

Sylvie wasted no time. Her voice was steady and her hands clasped determinedly before her. "I have made up my mind," she informed him. "I have made up my mind about marriage."

Jervais tried not to leap on that morsel of hope, and instead, crossed his arms, casting her a look of mild curiosity. "And?"

She thrust up her chin, forcing herself to appear dignified in the face of the humility she would be forced to bear. "I have chosen you, but on one condition."

Jervais tried not to smile. His mind was moving rapidly— thoughts of telling Etienne he had won, images of Sylvie on their wedding night, all dressed in the purest white, and guesses about her "condition" all whirred through him at once. "And that would be?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That you let him go." Sylvie's face was so fixed and determined that it prevented Jervais from laughing as quickly as he'd intended to.

Indeed, it had been his first guess as to what her "condition" might be. "That won't happen," he informed her lightly, and she noticed he'd been careful not to begin that sentiment

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by saying, I'm sorry, hut. . . Clearly, he was anything but sorry.

"Then I shall marry Etienne," she told him, causing him to lose something of the casually arrogant look on his face. "I have tossed it back and forth in my mind, and my decision is firm. There is no room for negotiation, Jervais. It is in your power to set Jacques free, and in yours only. If you will use that to grant my wish, then I will know that you love me, and I will marry you. If you will not, then I know you care for me not at all, and that I would be a fool to disappoint my family for the likes of you."

Jervais was more than a little taken aback. He had interpreted her initial request as a pathetic attempt to manipulate him. But her further explanation convinced him that she was in earnest. What she had said made a great deal of sense, and he believed that she would follow through on this threat. He had never thought he might have to consider letting the pirate go—never! But looking at her, this pixie of a woman whom he loved so desperately, offering herself to him forever, tempting him with the promise of his dream coming true, and knowing that one wrong move might send her fleeing for good, really forced him to think. While he did so, he stammered, "And how do I know you won't change your mind the moment I set him free?"