Tender Fury by Connie Mason Page A

to ask.” Then he lifted one small hand, turned it upward and placed a warm, moist kiss on the palm.
    His meaning did not escape her. With a sharp intake of breath, Gabby withdrew her burning hand and fled to her cabin, her mind turmoil of emotions. She chided herself for acting like a young girl being courted for the first time by a handsome man.
    Gabby entered the dimness of the cabin, her heart beating wildly, checks crimson, eyes sparkling. She rested a moment with her back against the door, trying to gain some measure of composure. She failed to notice Philippe seated at the small table, a glass of brandy in his hand and the half-filled bottle before him. The day that had begun in brilliant sunshine suddenly turned dark and forbidding as a squall swiftly gathered on the horizon; a storm no less fierce than the one raging within Philippe.
    From across the room Gabby met his cold, gray eyes as he raised his glass in mock salute, a mirthless grin slashing his grim features. He jerked unsteadily to his feet and with sinking heart Gabby realized he was drunk. “I wonder, Madame,” he drawled, slurring over his words, “if you would find Marcel Duvall’s lovemaking more to your liking? It is obvious you hold mine in contempt. Perhaps you find me repulsive, or are more receptive to men who take that which belongs to another?”
    Gabby turned to flee, but before she could Philippe propelled himself forward, putting one large hand against the door and pulling her roughly away from it with the other. When he released her, the abruptness of his action sent her flying to the opposite end of the room where she hit the bulkhead with a resounding thud, them crumpled to the deck like a rag doll. Barely conscious, she watched through frightened eyes while Philippe locked the door and dropped the key into his pocket before he turned toward her, a perplexed frown creasing his face when he saw her lying at his feet.
    Swaying slightly he reached her side and bent to help her to her feet. Gabby shrank from his touch and Philippe raised his hand as if to strike her, but quickly lowered it when he realized his insane anger was causing him to do something he would regret later.
    “Why are you doing this to me, Philippe?” she whimpered.
    “You have the nerve to ask me why,” he shot back, eyes blazing, “when night after night you lie beneath me cold and passionless, yet invite the embrace of a man you hardly know!”
    Gabby’s heart sank when she realized Philippe had seen her and Marcel together earlier. “You forget,” she reminded him boldly, “that you are a stranger as well, and have shown me nothing but indifference and brutality in the short time we have been together. At least Marcel is kind and thoughtful.”
    “You do not know Marcel if you think he has nothing on his mind but friendship,” Philippe raged.
    Pushing aside Philippe’s helping hand, Gabby rose unsteadily to her feet. “Don’t touch me,” she spat.
    “You allow Duvall to touch you,” he stormed. “I will kill him before I allow him to corrupt you!”
    “Why do you hate him so?”
    Her question caught him unaware but his brittle gaze did not waver as he answered with one word, “Cecily!”
    “Who is Cecily?” The name meant nothing to Gabby.
    Though befuddled and confused from too much brandy, Philippe knew he was not ready to tell Gabby about Cecily. Instead he said, “Don’t trap me with your questions, Gabby, Cecily has nothing to do with you.”
    Then his glazed eyes fell on the neckline of her dress, which had become unfastened in the foray and hung open revealing a creamy breast. The flash of desire was swift as he ordered harshly, “Take off your clothes!” Gabby ignored his command with stony silence. “Did you hear me, ma petite? ” he repeated. “Take off your clothes! Or I will tear them from your lovely, frigid body.” Grimly Gabby raised her trembling hands to unfasten her dress. “Do not look so glum,” Philippe laughed