shattered into a dark depth that
was far more familiar to her, but she fought the darkness of her emotions as
she tried to make sense of what had happened. Had her mother summoned the vodou
priest? Or her father? Oh God, this was a thousand times worse than what she thought
had happened. All this time she’d thought he was dead of a freak accident.
He arched an eyebrow.
A protest bubbled inside her. He’d crossed someone else who
summoned the vodou bokor. He’d made an enemy by gambling or seducing another
woman—but the truth was those last few weeks he’d spent most of his time with
her. The weight of a thousand stones pressed her down. His accusation belatedly
sank in and she hissed, “This isn’t my fault.”
But there were a thousand moments she could have called back
and made a different decision and this wouldn’t have happened. She never should
have agreed to sneak out with him late that night. She should have insisted he
approach her father. Or never returned home.
He leaned toward her, his face tight with contempt. “I told
you I would take care of you.”
Take care of her, yes, but had he meant to marry her? She’d
wanted to believe him. He’d told her he owned nothing. What was a girl to do?
If he had told her who he was—
The
duke caught her wrist and held her. “You will have to acknowledge him as your
husband.”
“I’ve never denied him.” At least not here. Perhaps the duke
had seen the beginning of her defection on her face. Not that she ever cared
for herself, but for Etienne.
“The marriage wasn’t legal.” Beau glared. “Neither of us was
of age. I won’t stay here bound to a woman who did her best to rid the world of
my presence.”
Yvette’s
face heated. Where was the Beau who loved her? Had he been only an illusion of
her youth? Her body felt strange as if it were not hers to command. “If the
plantation work didn’t kill you, I don’t imagine marriage to me would.”
A look of disgust crossed his face. “The sugarcane wasn’t
going to kill me. I’m stubborn like that.”
Like his father, she realized. Her thoughts spun and wove
into patterns that made too much sense. More sense than a healthy nineteen year
old dropping dead the morning after their clandestine marriage. Saints above,
he should hate her. He had been turned into a slave because of her. The
conditions in Saint-Domingue were beyond inhumane. Yet Beau had survived and
was here now. “Then I am glad you survived.”
“Didn’t want my death on your conscience?”
His words were biting and Yvette wanted to curl up in a ball
and hide away.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. How many times she’d
wished for one last time with Beau, to hold him and tell him she loved him
instead of being cross about the trick he’d played on her. And had it even been
a trick? His father had worked like a demon to insure that their marriage
stood. She’d convinced herself that he’d truly meant to marry her, but with his
protestations, the hope had been gutted like a fish.
“The solicitors assure me that if neither guardian objected
at the time, then the marriage stands.” The duke leaned forward, his face
growing red. “But I cannot believe you would perpetuate such a deception to
seduce a young woman of good standing. What kind of scoundrel does such a
thing?” His upper lip blanched and rose unevenly. “Certainly no son of mine
would set up a mock marriage for such a purpose.”
She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, shut her eyes,
and stop this.
Beau’s shoulders slumped and bright spots of color fought to
show through his tan. “You wouldn’t say so if you knew what a lying schemer she
was.”
A shriek made all of them swivel toward the door.
“Maman!” shouted Etienne. “Grandpere, you must get out.”
Yvette rushed to the door and threw it back. Her son
clattered down the stairs, his shoes clacking on the wood.
“The slaves are in the house,” shouted Etienne. He pulled a
chair
was far more familiar to her, but she fought the darkness of her emotions as
she tried to make sense of what had happened. Had her mother summoned the vodou
priest? Or her father? Oh God, this was a thousand times worse than what she thought
had happened. All this time she’d thought he was dead of a freak accident.
He arched an eyebrow.
A protest bubbled inside her. He’d crossed someone else who
summoned the vodou bokor. He’d made an enemy by gambling or seducing another
woman—but the truth was those last few weeks he’d spent most of his time with
her. The weight of a thousand stones pressed her down. His accusation belatedly
sank in and she hissed, “This isn’t my fault.”
But there were a thousand moments she could have called back
and made a different decision and this wouldn’t have happened. She never should
have agreed to sneak out with him late that night. She should have insisted he
approach her father. Or never returned home.
He leaned toward her, his face tight with contempt. “I told
you I would take care of you.”
Take care of her, yes, but had he meant to marry her? She’d
wanted to believe him. He’d told her he owned nothing. What was a girl to do?
If he had told her who he was—
The
duke caught her wrist and held her. “You will have to acknowledge him as your
husband.”
“I’ve never denied him.” At least not here. Perhaps the duke
had seen the beginning of her defection on her face. Not that she ever cared
for herself, but for Etienne.
“The marriage wasn’t legal.” Beau glared. “Neither of us was
of age. I won’t stay here bound to a woman who did her best to rid the world of
my presence.”
Yvette’s
face heated. Where was the Beau who loved her? Had he been only an illusion of
her youth? Her body felt strange as if it were not hers to command. “If the
plantation work didn’t kill you, I don’t imagine marriage to me would.”
A look of disgust crossed his face. “The sugarcane wasn’t
going to kill me. I’m stubborn like that.”
Like his father, she realized. Her thoughts spun and wove
into patterns that made too much sense. More sense than a healthy nineteen year
old dropping dead the morning after their clandestine marriage. Saints above,
he should hate her. He had been turned into a slave because of her. The
conditions in Saint-Domingue were beyond inhumane. Yet Beau had survived and
was here now. “Then I am glad you survived.”
“Didn’t want my death on your conscience?”
His words were biting and Yvette wanted to curl up in a ball
and hide away.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. How many times she’d
wished for one last time with Beau, to hold him and tell him she loved him
instead of being cross about the trick he’d played on her. And had it even been
a trick? His father had worked like a demon to insure that their marriage
stood. She’d convinced herself that he’d truly meant to marry her, but with his
protestations, the hope had been gutted like a fish.
“The solicitors assure me that if neither guardian objected
at the time, then the marriage stands.” The duke leaned forward, his face
growing red. “But I cannot believe you would perpetuate such a deception to
seduce a young woman of good standing. What kind of scoundrel does such a
thing?” His upper lip blanched and rose unevenly. “Certainly no son of mine
would set up a mock marriage for such a purpose.”
She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, shut her eyes,
and stop this.
Beau’s shoulders slumped and bright spots of color fought to
show through his tan. “You wouldn’t say so if you knew what a lying schemer she
was.”
A shriek made all of them swivel toward the door.
“Maman!” shouted Etienne. “Grandpere, you must get out.”
Yvette rushed to the door and threw it back. Her son
clattered down the stairs, his shoes clacking on the wood.
“The slaves are in the house,” shouted Etienne. He pulled a
chair
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