"I'm just nervous. I'm sorry I'm being so silly."
"It's perfectly understandable. You're not in the least silly, but I suspect you're worn out from the rabble we've been entertaining." He sought her lips, and when she didn't pull away, he was encouraged to kiss and caress her as he had longed to do for weeks.
"Now, the first thing we have to do is get you out of this uncomfortable gown. Turn around, love." She turned her back to him and he undid all the little buttons down the back. "You need something to make you relax. I'll just go down and get you a glass of wine. Put your nightgown on and slip into bed, sweetheart. I'll be right back."
She had worried so much about undressing in front of another man, but it had been accomplished without any embarrassment. Her breasts were very large and firm at the moment, and she had no idea how beautifully they were revealed in the satin gown. Charles was back before she was in bed, so she quickly slipped under the covers, but not before he had taken in every detail.
"Here, darling, this will make you sleep." He turned the lamps low and undressed quickly. Kitty averted her eyes and drank her wine. "It's delicious. Thank you."
He took the empty glass from her fingers and set it aside.
Then he gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her breasts.
"You're incredibly lovely. I've longed to hold you like this since the first time I saw you."
He kissed her slowly and made love to her so gently it wasn't an ordeal for her after all. Later, when he was asleep, she half smiled at the complete power she had over him. She would have to be very careful never to hurt him. Her heart ached for betraying Patrick. She closed her eyes to shut out the guilt she felt.
Charles slipped from the bed early in the morning and came back with a breakfast tray. "Sit up and see what I've brought you."
"Mmmm, I can smell chocolate."
He took a long envelope from the tray and held it carefully.
"I want to give you your 'morning gift.'"
"What is a 'morning gift'?" she asked.
"It's an ancient tradition. When a husband is pleased with his bride, he gives her a 'morning gift.' You please me very much."
She smiled at him gently.
"At first I thought of giving you jewelry, but that's such an ordinary gift. I decided to give you something that would be more meaningful to you." He held out the envelope.
"What is it, Charles?"
"It's the deed to one of my Irish estates. It's yours free and clear, to do with as you wish. You mustn't save it for Charles Patrick, because he will get all of my lands. This is yours to keep or to sell, or even to give away, if it so pleases you."
"Why, I ... I don't know what to say. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Absolutely sure." He laughed to lighten the mood.
"Now you can leave me if you want to. You're not dependent on anyone anymore, not even me."
She was crying and in a moment he was in bed with her, holding her and laughing. He tipped back her head and kissed her.
"Charles, the servants will see us," she protested. "Mmmm, I hope so," he murmured against her neck. Much later, when she was alone, she vowed that she would be a good wife to Charles. She knew it would take an extraordinary effort on her part to fulfill the role of a duchess. She would start by putting away her tarot cards. She would help her husband make decisions about their son and their life and stop consulting the cards every time she had a decision to make. It will never do for her to go about telling fortunes now that she was married to a duke. She wanted him to be proud of her and swore she’d make every effort to be a lady.
Chapter 23
Patrick was nearing Bagatelle Plantation at last. He regretted his decision to ride. The heat was unbearable; he'd never been so affected by it. A wave of dizziness swept over him. He steadied himself with his knees and wiped the sweat from his eyes. As he came into view of the plantation, he sagged with relief. He'd been in the saddle for two days and every muscle in his body ached. He dismounted awkwardly and entered the house.
He knew at once that something was wrong. He could not identify what it was he saw in the faces of the house servants -fear? Jacquine greeted him with a brilliant smile, but her eyes were filled with compassion for him. He walked toward her with a sense of impending doom. "Patrick, sit down. I have some shocking news for you."
He sat down and waited.
"A young woman came looking for you. I know it was someone very special to you called Kitty. When she arrived she was very sick-boat fever, I believe-anyway, I did everything I could to save her, but it was hopeless from the beginning."
He laughed. "Kitty? Here? That's impossible! Where is she?" he demanded.
"I told you, Patrick, it was hopeless. She died from the fever."
"It wasn't Kitty. There's been some mistake, some mixup!" he denied quickly. "It's not true, you're lying!" he shouted.
Without a word she turned quietly and went upstairs.
When she returned, she held out the traveling bag containing Kitty's belongings. He snatched it from her and rummaged inside. His mind denied these things belonged to Kitty, but when his fingers closed on the pale lavender silk, he knew. He breathed in her fragrance deeply, and the delicate details of their lovemaking rushed back to him as his fingers caressed the silk.
"My God, what have you done with her? When did she arrive? Why wasn't a doctor called to help her?" he raved.
"Patrick, you look ill. All these questions are only upsetting you. She is dead, you must accept it. Take this brandy."
He ignored her outstretched hand. "Show me where," he said more quietly.
He followed her to the private cemetery plot and saw a small new mound of earth with a plain wooden cross.
"Leave me," he said.
When he hadn't returned to the house after two hours had elapsed, she went in search of him with two male house servants. She would use force on him if necessary. They found him unconscious on the ground, beside the grave. He was soaked with his own perspiration. She knew he had a raging fever and instructed the men to carry him up to bed immediately. She sent down to the cabins for Lucy. "If he dies-you die," Jacquine stated flatly. "When you know for certain one way or the other, you will come and tell me."
Lucy worked over her patient day and night for a week. It was not an easy task. He was well over six feet of raving, cursing, struggling male animal. Her emotions ran the gamut of fear, hatred and finally compassion for the man in her charge. Finally he looked at her with comprehension. She was startled as he hissed, "Why didn't you let me die?"
She ran for her mistress, who came with such caring haste he would never know she hadn't attended him once since he fell ill.
Her smile was tender, her hands gentle as she fed him broth to bring back his strength. He remained coldly indifferent. His eyes were narrow slits whenever they rested upon her for a moment, and she knew she would need to become the consummate actress ever to break through his iron carapace. She plied him with liquor, hoping he would indulge in a gigantic drunk to drown his heartache and emerge with his sorrows behind him. Patrick disappointed her. He set glass after glass aside with hardly a glance. She knew he didn't wish to ease the pain of Kitty, but to hold it close. When he was well enough to leave his bed, he kept to himself. He was silent and remote and she had to double her efforts to reach him. The grave held a fascination for him; he visited it both night and day. He took solitary rides; she rode out after him many times, but could never capture more than a fleeting glimpse as he thundered through the forest. She fell into the habit of riding off her own frustrations after dark. Sleep beec8me elusive. She watched covertly as he returned to the house on foot.
"He has been at the damned graveside again," she said to herself jealously. She walked over to the burial ground and stood gazing down. "I have a garden filled with perfect roses ...... and camellias, but he prefers to gather wild flowers for her." Her mouth twisted downward in a derisive laugh as she thought of the empty grave a
nd the hoax she had perpetrated. Men were such sentimental fools! When would he get on with the business of living? He showed signs of becoming restless and she feared it would only be a matter of days now before he would announce his return to England. Her mind twisted and turned for some small shred, some weakness in his makeup that she could fasten upon and turn to her own advantage. It did not take her long to find an idea.
"Mon cheri, we must speak. Things cannot go on as they are.”
His eyes narrowed. He lit a cheroot and allowed the smoke to mask his expression.
"Don't you think the time has come when you must return to England?"
The moment he hesitated, she knew she had won. "I know how much you must have loved her. She was so very young, you cannot bear to leave her here alone while you return to England. There is still a bond between you which even death cannot sever."
He crushed out the cigar and let her see the naked pain in his eyes.
"Stay here, marry me and you will own all this land. Then you may be near her all your days. We would make good partners. You would be the first to acknowledge this if you were thinking clearly."
During the next few days her words came to him again and again. The truth was that he had wanted to leave for over a month now, but he could not abandon Kitty. He began to look upon the plantation with speculative eyes. He even had an occasional smile for the house servants these days. When Jacquine returned from her ride each evening, her eyes went up to the balcony outside his window.
"Ah, well," she thought, "not tonight, but soon he will send out an invitation, soon."
Jacquine went for her usual evening ride, leaving Patrick still at table with a large brandy. Topaz came in to clear the dishes and she smiled shyly. "Can I get you something else?"
"I'll just help myself, Topaz. I don't want you waiting on me, child."
"It's always a pleasure to do for you sir," she said and smiled.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Topaz. I've been thinking about staying here. I think we're going to have a wedding."
Her face crumpled. "You can't!" she blurted, then quickly covered her mouth.
"Topaz, what's wrong?" he reached out and touched her cheek. The gentle gesture undid her. Tears flooded her eyes.
"Oh, sir, your Kitty's not dead." He jumped up so quickly the chair went over backward. His eyes blazed. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"The mistress sold her to the slave buyer."
His face went ashen and he slumped to his knees before her. "Sweet Jesus, I've prayed that she was alive and now I wish to God she was dead!"
"Oh, lord, sir, she'll kill me for sure!"
"Stop crying, Topaz, I won't let her harm you. Where did he take Kitty? The slave auction in Charleston? What's the slave master's name?"
"I can't remember, sir. Oh, lord, she'll kill me."
"Go to bed, Topaz," he ordered quietly.
Jacquine rode full gallop up to the house and drew rein .under Patrick's balcony. He looked down upon her and struck a match to light his cheroot. The flame flared up and outlined his naked body against the darkness. She smiled up at him and dismounted quickly. She picked up the hem of her habit and ran up the stairs eagerly. He was there before her, splendid in his manhood. She reached out her hands and ran them up his arms and along his muscled chest. He took her in his arms, lifted her high above his head, then brought her crashing down across his uplifted knee. A crack rent the air as her backbone snapped and her body crumpled to the floor, quite dead. Calmly he washed his hands and slipped into his clothes. He lifted her body and took it down to her horse. She rode like a madwoman; it would be natural to assume she had killed herself in a fall. In the stables he caused no stir as he saddled a horse for himself. He knew how impossible was the task that lay ahead of him. He feared he would never find her, but he had to try.
Little Charles caught Kitty's eye. He pulled himself up by a chair leg and tottered over to her, threatening to lose his balance with every step. She chuckled at his progress through the packing cases. Their departure had been delayed a couple of months before the new governor had arrived. She was supervising the packing of Charles' art collection to take back to England with them. She would feel a pang of regret at leaving here, because she had been happy. Charles was so good to her. He treated her as a precious possession, constantly giving her tokens of tenderness to show his love. Often she felt she was cheating him because he made few demands of her in bed. She knew he wasn't indifferent, but she knew he feared failure and embarrassment. Perhaps things would change when they were aboard and he had left behind the heavy responsibilities of his governorship. Kitty longed to see her brother again. As soon as they were back she planned to have her grandfather go back to Ireland to live on the estate Charles had deeded her. Terry could manage it and even breed horses, which always were his first love.
"I did the right thing," she assured herself as she thought of the happiness she would bring to her family when they learned they could go back to where their hearts had always been.
Kitty dressed carefully and picked a large hat that shaded her face well. She walked swiftly and surely from Government House, through the business section of Basseterre and up through the posh residential area where each mansion was more imposing than its neighbor. The last house was larger and more impressive than the rest. Without hesitation she went through the gateway and up to the massive front doors. She pulled the bell and waited patiently. After a few moments Molly Maguire answered the door herself. Her eyebrows rose in surprise when she saw Kitty.
"Well, I'll be damned, it's the governor's lady. Come in, honey. It's not every day I get a visit from flaming nobility." She led Kitty into a small salon furnished in exquisite taste, and rang for a serving girl. When she came, Molly ordered tea and gave orders that they were not to be disturbed.
Kitty spoke for the first time. "We are sailing for home in a few days. The new governor is already here."
"Oh, I've had the pleasure. This is one of the first stops gentlemen make when they arrive on the island," Molly said.
"Well, that really shouldn't surprise me, should it?" said Kitty, laughing and feeling more relaxed.
"I don't often get the chance to entertain a lady. Aren't you afraid someone will see you visiting such an unsavory place?"
"Not at all. I couldn't leave the island without thanking you for all you did for me when I arrived. You saved my life, Molly. I came to say good-bye." She hesitated.
Molly looked at her keenly. "You seem as if you would like to ask me something but don't quite know how to go about it."
Kitty laughed nervously. "You're very observant."
"I don't wish to pry, but if I can help you with something, all you have to do is ask. Don't be embarrassed."
"Well, there was something I was going to ask your advice about, but it doesn't seem important now. I'd better go," said Kitty.
"Sit right where you are! It's something intimate, isn't it? Something isn't right between you and your husband. Tell me," she urged.
"Well, it's just that, he doesn't ... he can't ... " Kitty stopped.
"Listen, Irish, I've seen every sex problem in the world. Sometimes a man can't get an erection." She knew from Kitty's face that she had guessed right. "Usually the easiest way to cure that is to take it into your mouth for a minute and run your tongue along . . ."
Kitty jumped up, outraged. "I couldn't do anything like that!" she cried angrily.
Molly threw back her head and laughed. "I've shocked you! Well, listen to me, Miss High-and-Mighty, if you were passionately in love with a man, doing something like that wouldn't disgust you so much."
Kitty thought of Patrick and silently admitted that what Molly said might be right. -
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to look down my nose at you. I came for advice and then acted like a prude when you were good enough to speak plainly."
"It's not your fault. I'm so used to dealing with whores, I forgot myself. Now, for a man who has trouble gettin
g hard in the first place, you sort of have to set the mood. Undress in front of him, be very seductive. Kiss him, touch him, manipulate him with your fingers. Allow him to explore your body and play with your breasts. A beautiful girl like you shouldn't have any difficulties, unless of course his tastes are perverted in lovemaking. That's an entirely different thing."
"No, I can assure you that isn't the case," replied Kitty. "That's good! With the nobility you never can be sure. Give me a man from the working class every time-he always prefers his sex straight."
Kitty stood up and extended her hand. "We'll probably never meet again, but I shall always remember you. Goodbye, Molly."
"Good-bye and good luck, Irish."
Patrick walked down the wharf in Charleston. He was thinner, and the lines in his face were deeper. He'd searched every pleasure palace from New Orleans to Natchez; He'd done it knowing it was hopeless, but he wouldn't give up. Finally, he'd come full circle back to Charleston, without a trace. He collided with a burly sea captain.
"Well, I'll be damned! Patrick John Francis O’Reilly, himself. Let me buy you a drink, boss; you look like you could use one."
"Big Jim, I haven't seen you in years. Did you just make port?" asked Patrick.
"Aye, aye, sir. By God, you're looking rough. It has to be a woman!"
"We can get a drink in here, Jim. I've some questions to put to you."
They sat down at a table and ordered rum.
"Have you been to the islands lately, Jim?" asked Patrick, getting straight to the point.
"I've just come up from down there."
"I've been going mad looking for a young woman.”
"Our glorious Kitty!" cut in Jim.
Patrick sprang up. "How the hell do you know Kitty?" he demanded.
"She sailed with me from Liverpool last year, that's how I know her."
Patrick groaned and sank down, his head in his hands.
"She's been sold as a slave, probably shipped to one of the islands."