Tender Fury by Connie Mason

that were she to give in to Philippe’s passion, no longer would she be in control. It was obvious that his self-esteem was in jeopardy, for he was a man who prided himself on his sexual prowess. Somehow she sensed that her response to his lovemaking would please him and she had no desire to please him. Gabby was amazed at the direction of her thoughts. The shy inexperienced girl had come a long way in the few short weeks since her marriage.
    It was days later before Gabby was to encounter Marcel Duvall. Since their first meeting he had been careful to avoid her so as not to provoke Philippe into violence. Even though they took meals together, they ate in silence, the scowl on Philippe’s face deepening each time Marcel so much as glanced Gabby’s way. Gabby had no idea whatever of the nature of Philippe’s hatred for Marcel. She only knew that she felt a kindred spirit in the man who had offered a friendship she was afraid to accept.
    Marcel’s green eyes lit up in appreciation at the sight of Gabby standing by the railing, a brisk breeze whipping her skirts about her shapely legs and her silvery locks blowing about her face. He could not resist the urge to join her, and when he pointed out a school of porpoises her look of pure delight moved him more deeply than he would have imagined.
    “How fortunate to find you alone,” he murmured intimately, his voice barely audible above the wind. “Your husband guards you jealously, ma chere. ” Gabby flushed becomingly, thinking how wrong he was about Philippe, but said nothing, turning instead to watch the cavorting fish arch high in the air. Soon Marcel’s hearty laughter joined her merry peals, her gaiety as infectious as her beauty.
    Gabby was well aware of the dire consequences should Philippe find her alone with Marcel, but she was starved for companionship, and Philippe’s moody company left much to be desired.
    “Amazing, aren’t they, Monsieur Duvall?” Gabby asked excitedly as she pointed to the frolicking porpoises.
    “Quite amazing,” he agreed, his eyes devouring her face, thinking how little it took to make her happy. “But you agreed to call me Marcel, remember?”
    “Then you must call me Gabby.”
    Unconsciously, Marcel drew nearer until silky strands of wind-whipped hair brushed his face like fragile butterfly wings. It seemed only natural for Marcel to encircle her tiny waist with his strong arm as their heads bent toward one another to better catch their words made nearly inaudible by the wind. So engrossed were they that neither saw Philippe watching from a distance, his hands clenched into massive fists, eyes smoking with gun-metal hardness. Try as he might, he could not quite shake the feeling that it had all happened before.
    The couple at the railing made no move to draw apart.
    Philippe did not miss Marcel’s bold gesture nor Gabby’s willingness to accept Marcel’s embrace. Abruptly, he turned from the scene, walking swiftly in the direction of his cabin.
    It was some minutes before Gabby realized with a start that Marcel had become far too intimate. She pulled away sharply, aghast at his boldness as well as her own willingness to allow him such liberties. “I must go, Marcel,” she said, her voice quivering nervously. “I tremble to think what Philippe might do if he found us like this.”
    “You are shivering, cherie ,” Marcel said, watching her closely. “Are you so terrified of your husband? Does he mistreat you? Tell me if he has hurt you in any way and I shall call him out and…”
    Gabby blanched. There was enough animosity between them without her contributing further to it. “Oh, no, Marcel,” she interrupted, “it’s just that… I mean… our marriage was arranged and I am not accustomed to his ways yet. But having you for a friend means a great deal to me.”
    “Gabby, cherie, I will always be your friend. I would be more if you would allow it,” he said meaningfully. “If ever you need my help, you have but