Tender Fury Read Free Page A

second time she had ever seen the man she must now call husband. Her mind turned inward to that time three days ago when she had first seen him standing beside her parents in Mother Superior’s chambers. She had thought him cold and arrogant then, his calculating gaze raking her insolently, and he had done nothing since to change that opinion.
    Philippe’s voice jolted her back to reality. “You seem far away. What are you thinking, ma petite?” His endearment seemed only to mock her and did nothing to dispel her dark thoughts.
    “I’m thinking, Monsieur, that I wish myself back at St. Cecilia’s,” she blurted, finding in impossible to lie to him.
    “My name is Philippe,” he admonished softly, yet sternly. “I am your husband and you must not call me Monsieur.”
    “ Oui, Philippe,” she corrected dutifully, yet seething inwardly at his rebuke.
    “Would you like something to eat or drink?” he asked, leading her toward the small buffet table set up in the chamber.
    “ Non, Monsieur, I have no appetite.”
    His hand closed hurtfully on her arm but at her small cry of pain immediately released his hold, his mouth drawn into a thin, white line as he frowned. She rubbed the bruise his grip had caused and vowed to remember henceforth to use his name. Mon Dieu, what manner of man was he? she thought, her mind stumbling over the unfamiliar oath.
    “If you will excuse me then, I must speak privately with your father before we depart. I suggest you go to your room and change from that hideous wedding dress into something more appropriate for traveling.”
    “I’m sorry if my dress does not please you,” Gabby shot back caustically, “but I could not do much better with only three days’ notice to prepare for this wedding. You forget, I am newly arrived from a convent where such fripperies were unnecessary. If you desired me to be fashionably dressed, you should have allowed more time for a dressmaker to be hired and a proper trousseau made!”
    “ Touch?! ” Philippe smiled with a slight bow as he turned to join her father in the study.
    Gabby breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Philippe’s broad shoulders disappear from sight. She supposed, given different circumstances, she might find him attractive. From the back, she noticed how the fine cloth of his jacket clung to his wide shoulders and the way his well-cut trousers molded the muscular length of his thighs and legs. Even the midnight tendrils of hair curling at the nape of his neck would probably appear charming to another woman. But his cold, unrelenting eyes and the unmoving line of his mouth left her little doubt that he was a man who would demand complete submission to his will. Given time he would overpower her own indomitable spirit, manipulating her to his own purposes. She was not too naive to realize that she would eventually become the docile, obedient drudge he wanted, producing his heirs until she became worn and old beyond her years. On that unhappy note, she left the room to change her attire in preparation for the long journey ahead.
    As Gabby passed her parents’ bedroom on the way to her own room, she recalled the intimate conversation she had overheard the night before. She had been unable to sleep and was on her way downstairs to get a book from the library. The door to her parents’ room was ajar and the only reason she had stopped to listen was because she heard her name spoken.
    “Are you sure you are doing the right thing by allowing Gabby to marry that fierce St. Cyr fellow?” she heard her mother saying in a sudden burst of latent maternal misgivings.
    “Cherie,” her father answered in a placating voice, “St. Cyr is a rich man and she could do much worse. Besides, think of all the beautiful new Italian gowns you can buy to drape around that enticing body of yours.” There was a significant pause before Gabby heard her mother’s gasp.
    “Ah, Gilbert, do not stop, please!” Lily’s voice was low and throaty, the