Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [40]
Saint picked John up, one large hand grasping his collar, the other the seat of his breeches. He carried him to the ocean, waded in, and tossed him out into the waves, facedown.
He was still smiling when he came back to where Jules and Thomas were standing. It was a ghastly, grim smile.
The smile disappeared at the sight of Jules’s white face. She was standing rigidly still, her eyes staring at him but not really seeing him. “She’ll be all right,” he said more to himself than to Thomas. “Jules,” he said softly. He reached out for her, only to see her shudder and stumble backward.
Jules sank slowly to her knees. She raised wide, bewildered eyes to Saint. “He said I gave it to every other man and I should give it to him. He said Sarah told him what I’d done.”
“That stupid, jealous bitch!”
“Enough, Thomas,” Saint said, turning briefly toward the young man.
Suddenly it was too much. Jules saw herself sprawled naked on Wilkes’s bunk, saw him touching her, leering at her. She felt John grinding his body against hers. She clutched her arms about herself and rocked back and forth on her heels. “No, no, no,” she said softly, her voice singsong.
“Oh God, Saint,” Thomas whispered, terrified. “Do something!”
“Take John away from here, Thomas,” Saint said quietly. “Leave me alone with her. Don’t let anyone else come along, all right?”
John was staggering toward them, and Thomas quickly turned to run to him. Saint saw Thomas grab John’s arm none too gently and drag him off. Thomas said something, but Saint couldn’t make out his words.
He waited a few more minutes, then dropped to his knees in front of Jules. He clasped her chin in his hand and lifted her face. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her lips still moving, her only words “No, no . . .” He slapped her hard, and caught her so she wouldn’t fall. He saw her blink, shudder, then cry out softly. Gently he drew her against him, rocking her in the circle of his arms. “It’s all right now, Jules. Everything is all right. No man will ever hurt you again. I promise.”
And he included himself in that promise.
He drew a sigh of relief when she slumped against him and began to cry. He was becoming stiff in the kneeling position, and slowly sat down, pulling Jules down beside him. He kept her face pressed against his chest, his arm supporting her.
“He’s sending me to Canada,” she whispered in a deadened voice, “to Toronto, to live with his older sister Marie, who’s a spinster and does good works. He said he wouldn’t abide my shame here, wouldn’t abide all the shame I’ve brought on his family.”
Saint closed his eyes a moment. God, what was he to do now? He said, “I will speak to your father, Jules. He will not send you to Canada.”
Jules wanted to tell him that there was absolutely nothing he could do, but she didn’t say it. He’d already saved her; he’d already done much too much for her.
“John said that I’d given it to you.”
What a way to talk about sex, Saint thought, so angered at John Bleecher that if the young man had appeared, he would have started beating him again, with great relish. He clamped down on his anger and said quietly, “John Bleecher is a spoiled, thoughtless little rich bastard. I don’t know what your sister said to him, but I fully intend to speak my mind to her!”
He felt Jules’s head shaking against his chest. “No, please, Saint,” she said. “Sarah loves him and she . . . let John have her. He’s got to marry her. She’s just afraid that he won’t, now that I’m still alive.”
“She deserves to be horsewhipped.”
To Saint’s relief, he heard Jules laugh. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it was a start. She was resilient, his Jules. “I agree,” she said. “And you may be certain that I’ll blister her ears.”
“Good. And you may be certain that I’ll speak to your father. Canada, for God’s sake!”
Saint faced Reverend Etienne DuPres across the man’s huge mahogany desk. What a paltry, mean-spirited specimen he was, Saint thought. No humor, no love, just the kind of fanaticism that kills the spirit, doesn’t save it.