Sapphire. Rosemary Rogers
first night they met. A few innocent kisses, followed by heated glances across crowded rooms and several furtive meetings, and she’d fallen madly and hopelessly in love with Maurice, and he with her. Visions of a magnificent wedding in the garden at Orchid Manor danced in her head. Her only quandary was convincing dear, sweet Papa that Maurice was the right man for her—the only man for her.
“Sapphire, we should return to the house,” Angelique called from where she and Jacques were floating on their backs by the cliff that enclosed their favorite swimming pool. “If we’re gone too long, Papa will come looking. Remember, we’re supposed to be listening to the baroness’s harpsichord recital.”
Only a year older than Sapphire, Angelique was not only the sister of her heart, but her best friend. The two had been inseparable since Sapphire’s parents adopted Angelique. Though ebony-haired and native born to the island, the daughter of a slave, Angelique’s skin tone merely appeared sun-kissed year round and did not give evidence of her true heritage. “I don’t want to go to dinner and listen to Papa’s boring English guests.” Sapphire pouted, turning to brush her lips against Maurice’s. “I’d much prefer to stay here.”
“Perhaps you should return, ma petite,” Maurice whispered softly in her ear. “I would not want to anger Monsieur Fabergine, my future father-in-law.”
He teased her earlobe with the tip of his tongue, sending little shivers through her body. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, the water was cold and she trembled as unfamiliar and exciting sensations coiled in the pit of her belly, making her nipples grow hard and ache with anticipation.
“Meet me later tonight after your dinner, in our special place, oui?” Maurice suggested huskily in her ear.
She grasped his strong forearms and looked into his eyes. “Yes, and then we shall go riding. I adore riding in the dark, through the jungle and along the beach with only the moon to guide me. It would be a hundred times better if we were together.”
“Or, we could pursue…other diversions.”
Maurice covered her mouth with his and she melted into his arms, sighing. Sapphire was not as generous with her affection as Angelique was, and, unlike the beautiful free-spirited native, she had guarded her virginity carefully. But her resolve was beginning to wane. She was fully a woman and eager to experience all there was to being one. What reason was there to wait? she wondered, light-headed as she finally tore her mouth from his, gasping for breath.
“Come sit on the bank and dry a little before you dress,” Maurice murmured, wrapping his arm around her and guiding her toward the shore. He picked up a blanket and led Sapphire just off the path to a clearing among giant ferns, palm trees swaying overhead. He spread the blanket and took her hand again, easing her down onto the soft carpet of the jungle floor.
“I can only sit a minute.” She smiled, inhaling deeply and savoring the scents of the jungle paradise. “Angelique is right. We should go before Papa finds us.”
“Ah, papas,” Maurice sighed, nuzzling her neck. “They are overprotective of their beautiful daughters, oui?”
She lifted her chin to gaze into his eyes and rested her palm on his broad shoulder. “Oui, at least this father is.” Sapphire brushed her lips against Maurice’s and he closed his arms around her, easing her back to the ground, deepening the kiss. When he again molded his lean body to hers, she felt the evidence of his desire, and heat rose in her cheeks.
Maurice drew his hand lightly over Sapphire’s rib cage, up under her breast, and she sighed. Then he moved his hand slowly over her breast and squeezed gently, bringing a moan from deep in her throat. How could anything so forbidden feel so wonderful?
“Sapphire! Mon dieu! You, sir, remove yourself from my daughter at once!”
“Papa!” Sapphire had not heard the riders until they were upon the clearing beside the pond. She gave Maurice a push as she sat up and crossed her arms over her breasts.
“Bon après-midi, Monsieur Fabergine. How are you this fine afternoon?” Maurice had asked politely, as if nothing had happened.
“How am I?” Armand Fabergine sputtered, dismounting from his fine bay gelding, waving his white leather crop. He was dressed in a riding suit of white knee-length breeches, a white silk shirt, a pale blue coat and expensive boots. Behind him, several male guests on horseback strained their necks to get a look at Sapphire and her lover. “In truth, Mr. Dupree, I am not good,” Armand said in lightly accented English as he pointed to his daughter. “Fille, get up. Get up at once!” His lips were pale, his eyes narrowed in anger.
As Sapphire stood, her father grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“And where is Angelique?”
Her father didn’t often become truly angry with her, but he was right now—so angry, sparks seemed to fly from his gray eyes.
“Coming, Papa!” Angelique sang.
“And you,” Armand snapped, looking Maurice up and down with contempt, “are fortunate that I am a civilized man. My father would have shot you down like a dog had you dared to lay a hand on one of my sisters. You had better go from here now, because I cannot promise not to lose my self-control and thrash you.”
“No, Papa!” Sapphire cried.
“You shame me, daughter. Cover yourself!” He glanced over his shoulder. “Please, gentlemen, could you give me a moment?”
The three Englishmen reluctantly backed up their mounts and disappeared behind a giant elephant ear plant.
“Angelique!” Armand called.
“Coming, Papa!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sapphire saw Jacques duck and disappear under a clump of ferns near the shore. She turned back to look at her father. It was Angelique’s way, even since childhood. She never disobeyed or argued with their parents or Aunt Lucia. She would nod, smile prettily and do what she damn well pleased.
“Papa, you don’t understand,” Sapphire pleaded.
“What is there to understand?” Armand bellowed. “This…this young man, who is no gentleman, has obviously attempted to take advantage of you.”
“No!” Sapphire released one corner of the blanket and stepped back to loop her arm through Maurice’s. “Maurice and I are in love, Papa. He has done no wrong—he would never take advantage of me.”
“Love? What do you know of love?” Armand scoffed, taking a step closer. He had grown thin in the past year and his dark hair had turned almost entirely white, but he still had a voice of authority that made men nervous.
“I should go, mon amour,” Maurice said as he stepped back.
“I think that is wise, Monsieur Dupree, before I forget that I am a gentleman and deliver the painful lesson that you deserve.”
“I will see you later,” Maurice whispered in Sapphire’s ear, and then he turned and hurried back toward the shore to gather his clothing.
Angelique came up the bank already dressed, carrying her slippers. “Papa,” she said sweetly, “we were just going up to the house to prepare for your dinner. I simply cannot wait to wear the new gown you brought for me all the way from London.”
Sapphire took a step toward her father, defiance in her eyes. “You cannot do this to Maurice or to me, Papa. I won’t have it! We’re in love…we’re in love and we intend to marry!”
Armand looked down at her, his jaw firm. “You will not marry Maurice Dupree,” he said coldly. “He is not fit to clean your riding boots.” He turned and strode toward his horse.
“Papa! You can’t just walk away from me. I am not a child any longer and I will not stand to be treated like one!”
Armand put his boot into the stirrup and swung onto his horse. “I am still your father and the lord over this plantation and all who