by Judith James
The furniture was solid, sturdy, and exuded comfort. Soft carpet and colorful tapestries blended it all together, creating an impression of warmth and welcome. It was the kind of room where a man might relax and stay a while. A large bed on the far wall, parallel to a recessed window seat, captured his attention. Strewn with pillows, books, and discarded clothes, its velvet coverlet was thrown back, exposing what appeared to be silk sheets. It looked comfortable and inviting. He imagined he could still see the imprint of her body in the sheets, and his body tightened in expectation.
Sarah motioned him to place the tray on a low table. "There will be fine, for now." Stretching to reach, she opened the doors to a large armoire, pulling out a soft wool blanket.
His nerve endings hummed with expectation as his body came exquisitely alive. His nostrils flared, capturing her scent, clean, musky, with hints of smoke, salt, and spice. He was intensely aware of his clothing, caressing and constraining, his erection heavy and turgid, twitching and swollen against his breeches. Without conscious awareness he changed, metamorphosed, his manner becoming languid, seductive, his eyes hooded and heavy with sensuality, his lips parted, full and inviting.
Sarah was trying to open the doors to the balcony, struggling with the blanket and almost tripping over her shapeless nightgown, somewhat annoyed that he was standing there, doltish, rather than aiding her. "Bring the tray if you please, Gabriel." Goodness, what was wrong with him? Couldn't he see she needed help?
Distracted, he did as he was told. He'd been hoping for the bed, but he would service her anywhere, and any way, she pleased, standing, sitting, or lying on cold stone. Stepping out onto the balcony, he stopped suddenly, turning his head in amazement. He'd read somewhere of how homeowners in Arabic lands would turn their rooftops into delightful gardens, fantastical, private oases, open to the sky. He imagined they might look something like this.
The balcony was wide and solid and ran the length of her room. It seemed to float out over the ocean, like the prow of a ship, and he imagined he could feel the swell and pitch of the waves beneath them. An ancient oak loomed in the darkness on the northern edge to his left, its branches shading the second floor and towering above the roof. The balustrade was fitted at regular intervals with oil lamps in the shape of widemouthed brass bowls. Some of them were lit now, providing a soft, unobtrusive, glow. There were shrubs, herbs, and exotic potted plants along the wall and in the corners, mingling with the breeze in a heady aroma that reminded him of her. Stone benches fitted with padded cushions lined the seaward edge here and there, and what appeared to be a swing sat almost dead center.
Wordlessly, Sarah stepped forward and took the tray from his unresisting grasp, setting it on a low stone table next to the swing as he continued to marvel at the magical little world he'd stepped into. Turning his face up to the heavens, his skin pricked with superstitious awe. The vaulted ceiling above him sparkled and glittered, pulsing with an ancient beauty, stirring something deep, and atavistic, within. The enchanted little space from where he watched wasn't dwarfed or diminished by the night's majesty, but somehow enhanced, fragile, warm, human, and all the more precious because of it. The overall effect was one of floating, as if they were part of the night, sailing amongst the stars.
He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with wonder, and then moved to examine an instrument set out on a jutting platform. It looked like the muzzle of a small cannon set on a tripod. Reaching a hand out tentatively, he looked back at her. She smiled and nodded, and reverently he felt the barrel, trailing his hands along its length, examining the focusing mechanism, tubes, mirrors, and mounting. "Is it real? Does it work?"
His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement, and her heart skipped a beat. "Yes, it works. Have you used one before?"
"No, I've read about them, though"
"Here, then, let me show you. Lets start with the moon." Careful not to touch him, Sarah showed him how to focus and align the instrument with the thin sliver of the moon. Standing by his shoulder, she explained that this was a twenty-four-inch reflecting telescope, made by Mr. James Short, of Scotland. She was about to regale him with the advantages and disadvantages of reflecting versus refracting telescopes when she realized he was far too engrossed in what he was doing to pay her any attention.
She contented herself with watching him. It was the first time she'd seen him completely stripped of mask or artifice. He was boyish and eager in his enthusiasm, enraptured with the wonders revealed through the lens, and she saw past all the walls that hurt and cruelty, abandonment and betrayal had built around him, to the lively, sensitive, spirit within, and realized she was in danger of falling quite hopelessly in love.
Gabriel was caught up in an excitement of discovery unlike anything he'd ever known. To learn from books was one thing, but to actually see, with one's own eyes! The moon had taken on a character now. It was a place. It had mountains and valleys! He had seen them clearly, stark against the shadow that obscured all but the crescent edge. He wondered what it would look like full. He must ask her to show him. Surely she'd let him look again. Might he be able to find Mars, the red planet? He began to realign the telescope, beginning his search, when she spoke over his shoulder,
"Come, Gabriel. It's time." "But I want—"
"You'll miss the shooting stars. They've started. You have to watch the whole sky now, or you'll miss them." Forgetting her promise not to touch him, she took hold of his hand, pulling him away. "You can come back to use it, Gabriel, on any clear night, but these only come once a year. No one else ever watches except Davey."
Who was Davey? Gabriel wondered, not for the first time.
"Please, Gabe! I want someone else to see it with me, to know."
He recognized her plea on a level so intimate he almost gasped. How many times had he looked to the sky in awe and appreciation, only to find the beauty diminished and hollow as it echoed, lost inside him, with no one to share it with? He understood her invitation now. She had brought him here to share her treasure, to fashion it into a gift for someone else...for him.
He sat beside her on the swing, close, but not touching, and she spread the woolen blanket over their legs. Munching an apple and doing justice to the excellent local cheese, he happily accepted the wine jug she passed him. Leaning back contentedly, he used one leg to push the swing back and forth as he scanned the sky, eager to take it all in. They stayed like that for hours, in a companionable silence, broken by short sharp bursts of excitement.
"Did you see that? Did you see it?"
"God, yes! It was amazing!"
Finally, gathering his courage, he said what he needed to say, asked her what he needed to know. "You didn't say anything to your brother, about last night."
"Why would I tell Ross about a private matter between you and me?"
"Christ, Sarah! I assaulted you!"
"Well I would hardly call it that. Oh, my God! Look! From the west, did you see?" She tugged urgently at his elbow.
"Why, Sarah? Why didn't you tell him?"
She turned to look at him. "Because he didn't need to know, and he wouldn't have understood. He would have overreacted, and as I've told you, I didn't consider it any of his business."
Her gaze met his, steady and clear, and he wanted desperately to kiss her.
"Sarah, I...I've been wanting to tell you how sorry I am." Damn but this was hard! He felt exposed and vulnerable, and he hated it. "I acted like an animal, and you didn't deserve it. You should have told him and had me thrown out of the fucking house " Exasperated, she glared at him, digging a sharp elbow into his ribs. "Gabriel, we're missing the best part, and you shouldn't use such language! You're making much too big a fuss. You grabbed me and kissed me and I'm sorry to tell you, you weren't very good at it despite all your boasting. You caused me no harm. None at all, except to my pride." Her eyes softened and her voice gentled. "I'm sorry, too. I provoked you. I'm forever poking my nose where it doesn't belong. I didn't mean to cause you any distress."
>
He realized she was holding his hand, or he hers, and the ache that went through him spread from his chest to his loins. At a loss for words, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, he was tremendously relieved when she gasped in amazement.
"Oh, my Lord!"
Turning to follow her gaze, his eyes lit with wonder as a fireball trailing plumes of blue, yellow, and green streaked across the sky. They turned to look at each other, still holding hands, grinning in awe and excitement. It was the most beautiful moment of his life. It was something that he'd never done, never even imagined possible, sitting under the stars with a young lady, hand in hand. It was something that lovers, sweethearts, people who cared for each other, did. Her hand was soft, strong, cool, and he stroked her wrist with the pad of his thumb, unconsciously sensual. Delicately tracing her knuckles, he gave her hand a soft squeeze and she turned, smiling, and gently squeezed him back.
He felt it when she drifted off to sleep, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, her body, soft and warm, pressed against his side. Shifting to make room for her, he eased his arm around her shoulders and contented himself with holding her, as the dawn made its first ascent in the eastern sky. She slumbered, a contented smile on her lips. Tracing the line of her jaw with his knuckles, not quite touching her, he bent and stole a featherlight kiss, grinning as her nose wrinkled in sleepy protest.
Hooking an arm gently under her knees, he gathered her into his arms as the house began to wake. Cradling her close against his chest, relishing the feel of her, he buried his face in her hair and carried her carefully to her room, laying her down on the big bed with a rueful grin. This wasn't at all how he'd imagined their evening ending, when he'd first laid eyes on those rumpled sheets. He tucked the blanket around her, allowing his fingers to trail through the wisps of chestnut curls at her brow. Retreating to the balcony he closed the doors behind him. Sliding easily to the ground with the aid of the great oak, he made his way back to the stables, surprised to find himself whistling. He hadn't known he knew how.
Chapter
8
Gabriel met Ross at breakfast, relieved he could face him with a clean conscience. Well, somewhat at least. He didn't suppose the earl would be delighted to know about his nighttime visit to his sisters bedchamber. Still, the evening had ended innocently enough. Innocence—it was a new and heady flavor, and he liked it tremendously.
He spent most of the next two weeks in Jamie's company. Lord Sidney, a distant neighbor with two boys of his own, was hosting an Oxford tutor of some renown. Jamie had been invited to attend, along with Sidney's nephews, and Ross hoped it would help gauge his readiness for formal schooling.
Something inside Gabriel had eased since his afternoon in Ross's study, and his night with Sarah. He joined them at meals, was a polite and amusing dinner companion, and even joined them in the music room one night, accompanying them effortlessly, on the piano. Huntington played the guitar like a Gypsy, and Sarah coaxed unearthly delights from her violin. He was surprised at how much pleasure it gave him to join them in point and counterpoint, trading notes and rhythm into something greater than the sum of its parts. He hadn't returned to Sarah's room, but he thought he might, when the moon was full, to look through her telescope.
At weeks end, he accompanied Ross and Jamie to Lord Sidney's. Accepted for what he appeared to be, a distant relative visiting from abroad, he caused a stir amongst the young ladies of the household and an inquiry from Sidney, as to his prospects. He watched with a wistful smile as Jamie joined in quick alliance with Sidney's brood, fretting impatiently to be free of the adults and off on his own adventures. Gabriel had never known friends growing up, and it filled him with satisfaction to know things would be different for Jamie. Still... he was going to miss him.
They made some attempt at conversation on the ride back, but without Jamie's enthusiastic chatter, they soon settled into a companionable silence. Gabriel felt unsettled leaving the boy behind. His guardianship of Jamie had been the most important thing in his life, the only important thing for the past several years. He'd built his life around protecting him. Jamie had anchored him, keeping him from drifting any farther toward self-destruction. He'd been a little dismayed at how easily the boy had said goodbye, clearly impatient and eager to return to his new friends. Sighing, he shook his head, earning a quick glance from Ross.
"Ungrateful little bugger practically tossed us out on our ears. Couldn't wait to be shed of us, eh?"
Both men burst into laughter and Gabriel felt a warm rush of appreciation. One had to admit that for a pompous ass, Huntington wasn't a bad sort at all. In better spirits as they neared home, he noticed a large three-masted sloop in the harbor below. "Is that one of yours, Huntington?"
"Eh? What? Be damned! It's that rogue, Davey, home at last! I'll wager he's already up at the house cozening Sarah with gifts and tales of derringdo."
Gabriel stiffened in his saddle, causing his horse to dance and snort in protest.
"Come along, lad, you're in for a treat," Ross said, grinning, as he urged his horse into a gallop.
The house was awhirl with excitement, all of it centered on a large charismatic fellow holding court in the library, as the servants and Sarah crowded around him.
Broadshouldered, merry-eyed, with braided, coal black hair, he had a broken nose and a dashing scar that scored him from jaw to cheekbone. He was a wildly romantic figure. Dressed all in black, with leather boots and breeches, he looked every inch the pirate.
"Well, if it isn't Gypsy Davey, returned from the sea, and turning my household upside down."
"Ross!" the dark-haired giant boomed, striding across the room, and throwing his arms around him, lifting him up off the floor.
Laughing, Huntington enthusiastically returned the other man's embrace. "You took your time, you canny bastard! I was beginning to fear you were swinging from a rope somewhere, you old pirate!"
The man they called Gypsy Davey placed a finger against his lips and winked. "Shhh, my darling. Not in front of the children, and it's privateer, if you please." Turning to look at Gabriel, he grinned and bowed. "And who's this pretty child, Huntington?"
Gabriel returned the bow, replying before Ross was able, eyes hard, voice cold and dangerous, "Why do you ask, my dear? Do you fancy a tumble?"
"Oh, ho! What's this? Huntington, the cub has teeth!"
"Aye, that he does, Davey. That he does." Quickly stepping next to Gabriel, Ross gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "I'm hoping you can teach him how to use them."
Cocking his head to one side, Davey looked at Gabriel again, assessing him. "Well, it appears you've some spirit, at least. If you've any ability, I might consider teaching you a thing or two, to please my old friend here. What would you say to that?"
Gabriel wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, and it showed clearly in his eyes, but he wouldn't embarrass Sarah, or Ross, by insulting a friend in their home. Remembering what Ross had said about this man, he struggled to contain the rage his careless comment, and more to the point, his obvious interest in Sarah, had engendered. "I would say, monsieur, that I would hope to show myself most appreciative of anything you might care to teach me."
Davey regarded him with renewed interest, a speculative gleam in his eyes. "Your name?"
"Gabriel, monsieur."
"Ah, a fellow Frenchman, yes? Et Men, Gabriel, I'll be staying on my ship for now. Make yourself available in the morning and we'll see if you're worth my while." Turning to Sarah, he bowed gallantly. "Sarah, my darling, I must do my duty by your brother. If you'll excuse me, I'll continue my tale at supper."
Ross and Davey retreated to the study, leaving Sarah alone with Gabriel for the first time in over two weeks. She'd been a little surprised to wake snug in her bed after the meteor shower. He must have carried her there, and the thought of it made her blush. She rather regretted she hadn't been awake to enjoy the experience. He'd seemed hesitant, almost shy in her company since then, but that was a vast improve
ment over cold and surly, she thought with a grin.
Something fundamental had shifted between them since their rough encounter in the hall. She'd appreciated his apology, though she'd never really feared he would harm her. His coldness and contempt were what had wounded her, and that had disappeared since his visit to her balcony. They had shared something magical that night, and it had sown the seeds of a fragile but budding friendship. They had been careful with each other since, neither of them wanting to presume or impose.
Having acquired the habit of studying him, Sarah hadn't missed Gabriel's angry reaction to Davey's careless comment. She knew, better than most, how it would have stung. It couldn't have been easy for him to see Jamie off, either, she reflected. With a smile of sympathy, she walked over to thread her arm through his. "You mustn't mind Davey. He's a little wild and tends to say whatever he pleases, but he has a heart of gold and there's no truer friend. Come, walk with me, and tell me what happened at Sidney's. Will Jamie be happy there, do you think?"
He answered her questions as best he could, soothed by her touch. As they walked, he realized he had many questions of his own. How did this man they called Gypsy Davey fit with Sarah and her family? How had they lost Jamie in the first place, and why had it taken so long to find him? Had she really been married before? Conditioned to acceptance of whatever fate sent his way, he'd taught himself to be incurious unless a matter was likely to affect him directly. Now he was realizing there were many things he needed to know. "Who is he, Sarah? This man? What is he to your family? Everyone speaks of him."
"Davey?"
"Yes."
"Well, he's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. He's of Huguenot descent, a second cousin on my mother's side. His family left France for Ireland when the persecutions started. His parents were killed in some futile border skirmish and he came to live with us. I remember him being great fun, and wickedly adventurous. He was like an older brother to me, but he was rather wild, always off with the Gypsies, or getting into some scrape or another. We had some grand adventures together growing up, and of course, he and Ross connected immediately."
