Velvet

by Jane Feather

  “Oh, there’s Jake,” Gabrielle said loudly, flinging open the window and calling the child’s name in echoing tones.

  Startled, Nathaniel looked back at her for the barest instant, the door of the safe in his hand. He returned his attention to the safe in time to see the hair fluttering to the floor.

  Gabrielle was talking to Jake through the window, apparently oblivious of Nathaniel as he bent to pick up the hair.

  “What are you up to this morning, Jake?” She pinched the child’s nose.

  “Primmy and me are going for a nature walk,” he said solemnly, peering around her with an anxious twitch of his mouth at the dark shape of his father in the back of the room.

  The governess stood behind him, smiling nervously, twisting her gloved hands. “Now, don’t disturb her ladyship, Jake.”

  “He’s not disturbing me,” Gabrielle reassured. “What do you collect on your walks?”

  “We don’t collect things,” Jake said. “We only look.”

  “Oh.” Gabrielle could think of no response to this. The DeVane children had taken the business of collecting very seriously and competitively—insects, tadpoles, flowers, butterflies—and she’d discovered its appeal soon enough herself. Just looking at things seemed rather dull work for a six-year-old.

  “We don’t like to bring dirty things into the schoolroom,” Miss Primmer explained.

  “No, I suppose not,” Gabrielle agreed.

  “An’ Nurse doesn’t like anything in the nursery.” Jake added his mite. “She says it’s bad enough with all the flies and things that come in on their own.”

  “Come along now, Jake.” The governess took the child’s hand. “We have to be back by eleven o’clock for your lesson with the globes. His lordship will want to know this evening how well you’ve learned about the oceans.”

  Jake’s expression lost some of its liveliness and his eyes darted anxiously beneath Gabrieile’s arm as she held open the window. There was no reaction from his father, so he dutifully took his governess’s outstretched hand and bade Gabrielle good-bye.

  She closed the window again, watching the woman and child walk briskly across the grass to the driveway. They wouldn’t see much of interest if they kept up that pace, Gabrielle reflected.

  She turned back to the room, the cheerful smile still on her lips, no sign of the violent turmoil in her head.

  Nathaniel closed the safe with a snap. For a second his eyes rested on her, brown and unreadable.

  “How very fierce you look,” she said lightly, her pulses racing. “Is something troubling you? Did you object to my talking to Jake?”

  “No,” he said, and sat down again behind his desk, pointedly sorting through the papers.

  “Don’t let me disturb you,” Gabrielle said. “I realize you have work to do.” Had she given herself away? It was impossible to tell from his demeanor.

  Nathaniel merely grunted and dipped his pen in the inkstand.

  “I was wondering …” Gabrielle began. “Oh, but I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She moved around the room, straightening cushions, tidying the periodicals on the side table, humming to herself, trying to decide how best to resolve her uncertainty. Maybe if she broached the subject of espionage directly, he’d give her some clue.

  “I was wondering if you have agents in every city on the Continent?”

  “Most.” He didn’t raise his eyes and answered with brusque impatience.

  Gabrielle ignored the tone. “I suppose you must have people placed strategically in all the royal courts too. I wonder if you have anyone close to Talleyrand? Or in Madame de Staél’s salon in Paris, perhaps?”

  Nathaniel’s lips thinned. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Not yet. Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mmm. It doesn’t seem to have improved your conversational skills. I thought you were averse to conversation only at the table.”

  “I am never averse to conversation, only to prattle.”

  Gabrielle whistled appreciatively. “Now, that’s a home hit, sir.”

  “I doubt that, ma’am,” he said aridly.

  Gabrielle persevered in the same musing fashion. “Do you ever go to work in the field yourself, I wonder? Or does a spymaster just sit in the middle of the web, masterminding machinations? I wonder what it must feel like to send people into danger without exposing oneself occasionally.”

  “It seems to me you do all too much wondering, madame. Go and have your breakfast.” Nathaniel kept his eyes resolutely on his papers.

  “It really is very difficult to find an acceptable topic of conversation,” Gabrielle observed, shaking her head. “Children and childhoods are taboo. Your work is absolutely forbidden. Any speculation as to why you’re such an irritable bastard is equally prohibited. It really makes a body wonder how to fulfill the social duties of a polite guest.”

  For a moment there was no response, then Nathaniel raised his head. He seemed to be considering something, and then one of his rare smiles spread slowly from his eyes to his mouth. “There’s one perfectly acceptable topic, Gabrielle. I’m surprised you haven’t come up with it.”

  “Oh?” She had the sudden absolute conviction that all was well. She had escaped his trap. She could ‘ feel her own smile responding involuntarily to his, even as she wondered if he knew the power of a smile that he hoarded with such care.

  “Sex,” he said succinctly. His eyes narrowed but the smile remained. “Did you know that you have a delicious little cluster of freckles under your right breast, shaped rather like a daisy … and what’s really delicious is that you have almost the identical configuration on the curve of your backside? Definitely worth closer inspection, I think …”

  “Nathaniel!” she said, the soft protest belied by her chuckle and the gleam in her eye.

  “I wish it were strawberry season,” he continued.

  “I’m sure I shouldn’t ask—at least not before breakfast—but why?” Her knees were unaccountably quivery and she hastily perched on the sofa arm.

  “Oh, I have a fantasy,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tones. “I want to fill your navel with champagne and dip strawberries into it.”

  Gabrieile’s limbs turned to melted butter and her loins throbbed.

  “Will you be working all day?”

  “Not if you leave me alone now.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “It could be … now, go!”

  “Yes, sir.” She wrestled with her tumultuous body for a minute and then managed to offer him a mock salute as she went to the door.

  “Gabrielle?”

  “Sir?”

  “See if you can think of a January substitute for strawberries before this afternoon.”

  “And the champagne?”

  “I’ve several cases of a very fine vintage in the cellar.”

  Gabrielle smiled at the crisp dark head still bent over his papers as if they were discussing the menu for dinner. A difficult, irascible, reclusive man was Nathaniel Praed, but it didn’t seem to diminish his sensuality one iota.

  “Until later, then, my lord.”

  “Until later, countess.”

  She closed the door behind her and, still smiling, went toward the small breakfast parlor behind the stairs. At the foot of the stairs she paused, and then, without forethought, went up until she was on a level with the portrait of Helen, Lady Praed.

  The sweetly smiling eyes looked across at her, the gentle mouth curving softly. What had Helen known of her husband’s vibrant sensuality? Of his unerring touch and instinct? Of his arousing hand?

  Gabrielle inhaled sharply as desire again jolted her belly with the force of a lightning bolt. There had been no words of earthy passion in the letters she’d seen last night. Nathaniel had written tender, loving words describing Helen’s smile, the sweetness of her eyes, of how he could barely endure the waiting until they should be together. They were the thoughtful words of a man deeply in love, careful not t
o say or do anything that would frighten or injure his beloved.

  And Helen’s responses … but Gabrielle hadn’t read those. It was bad enough that she’d been unable to tear her eyes from Nathaniel’s writing, let alone that she would dig into the private feelings of a woman long dead whom she’d never met.

  She turned abruptly from the portrait and went back downstairs to the breakfast parlor. Nathaniel’s relationship with Helen was dangerous territory best left well alone. And the same applied to his relationship with his son.

  It became hard to keep to that resolution later that day when Miss Primmer came out of the library just before nuncheon, her face screwed tight, lower lip trembling, a handkerchief held to her mouth.

  Gabrielle, coming in from a walk around the shrubbery spent contemplating a substitute for strawberries, stopped in concern. “Why, Miss Primmer, what is it? Something’s upset you.” Her eyes flicked to the closed library door. Presumably the governess had just had an interview with her employer.

  “Oh, dear, countess … too kind of you … it’s just … I knew it had to happen, of course … and his lordship is being most generous … excellent character and a month’s wages … but, oh, dear, I can’t help worrying …”

  She pulled herself up short, dabbed at her eyes, and straightened her bowed shoulders. “Goodness me, how I do run on,” she said with pathetic dignity. “Take no notice of me, my dear countess. It’s just such a shock, coming so soon … I had thought maybe another two years … but his lordship knows best, of course.”

  “I wonder,” Gabrielle murmured. Not when it came to his son. “Come up to my sitting room, Miss Primmer, and take a glass of sherry with me. Then you can tell me all about it.” She linked her arm with the governess’s and urged her upstairs, ignoring the feeble protests.

  Miss Primmer allowed herself to be put in an armchair, a glass of sherry pressed into her hand even while she demurred faintly.

  “His lordship told me he was considering employing a tutor for Jake,” Gabrielle said directly, sitting on the broad window seat.

  “Yes … and, of course, I know it has to happen … but I did think it wouldn’t be so sudden. Jake is such a shy little boy … it would be so much better if I could stay with him for a little while until he becomes accustomed to someone else.”

  “You mean Lord Praed is turning you out as soon as the tutor arrives?” Gabrielle couldn’t keep the shocked disapproval from her voice even though she’d told herself it was none of her business.

  Miss Primmer nodded, sniffed, dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief, and took a rather large gulp of sherry. “His lordship is all generosity, I mustn’t complain, countess, but I do think Jake needs some time.”

  “Yes.” Gabrielle leaned back against the wall of the window embrasure, turning her head slightly to look out over the river. Miss Primmer might not dwell upon her own misfortunes, but it was no pleasant matter to be turned out in middle years after long service, an excellent reference and a month’s wages notwithstanding. A governess’s life was not to be envied.

  “I have a married sister,” Miss Primmer was continuing, as if divining her companion’s thoughts. “I’ll be able to stay with her for a little while until I find another situation. I can be useful around the house and with the children. It gives Nurse a rest, you understand.”

  “Perfectly,” Gabrielle said. An indigent relative offered house room could certainly be put to good use.

  “But it’s Jake I worry about,” Miss Primmer reiterated. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

  “I think that task should be left to Lord Praed,” Gabrielle stated firmly.

  “Oh, but I’m sure he expects me to break it … oh, dear, that’s not what I mean … to prepare the child.”

  “Nevertheless, I don’t think you should say anything—if you would take my advice, of course.” She reached for the decanter, offering to refill her visitor’s glass.

  “Oh, too kind … no … no, thank you, it makes me quite giddy … not used to it, you understand.”

  Indeed the lady’s cheek was somewhat flushed, her eyes rather bright.

  “I must go back to the schoolroom. Jake will have finished his nuncheon now.” Miss Primmer rose slightly unsteadily to her feet. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, taking hold of the back of the chair. “You’ve been very kind, countess.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “Not at all.” She escorted her visitor to the door. “Don’t say anything to Jake just yet.”

  Miss Primmer looked at her with a gleam of hope in her eye. “Do you think it’s possible his lordship might change his mind?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabrielle said with perfect truth. “But perhaps he might reconsider the timing of your departure.”

  The governess bustled off looking a little less forlorn, and Gabrielle returned to the window seat. There was something about little Jake that tugged at her. Maybe it was the memory of herself as a child, so alone and frightened and confused. Jake was no orphan, but he was motherless and his relationship with his father was fractured, to say the least. And one of the loving and reliable pillars of his short existence was about to be snatched from him. And there’d be no chaotic and loving DeVanes to take her place, only a tutor and the harsh realities of school.

  Gabrielle had heard enough about these realities from the De Vane boys to know the child Jake was now would barely survive physically, let alone emotionally. Why didn’t Nathaniel realize it? But of course that was what lay behind this banishment of the governess. It was preparation. It would certainly prepare Jake for random severity ….

  “I hope your imagination’s been working overtime this morning.”

  It was Nathaniel’s voice, his other voice, the one that accompanied the lingering hand of arousal. Gabrielle turned her head to the connecting door, where he lounged against the doorjamb in his shirtsleeves, deliberately unbuttoning the cuffs.

  “Comfits.” she said, suddenly breathless, all thoughts of troubled children flown from her mind.

  “Comfit?” His eyebrows rose. He rolled back the cuffs of his shirt.

  “Sugar plums and sugared almonds,” she explained. “A perfect accompaniment to champagne.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe that will do nicely.” He gestured past him to his own room. “Will you walk into my parlor, madame?” The brown eyes were aglow, his mouth curved with promise.

  “With pleasure, sir.” Gabrielle walked past him, and he closed the door.

  “My, you have been busy,” she observed, taking in the table set for nuncheon in the window. “Two bottles of champagne, no less!”

  “I’m planning a long afternoon.”

  “But we have no comfits,” she pointed out. “Ham and cold chicken, but no sugar plums.”

  “Hothouse grapes, however,” he said, plucking a succulent black grape from the bunch sitting on a chased silver salver.

  “It seems you had no need of my imagination, Lord Praed,” she murmured, watching fascinated as he peeled the grape with his teeth.

  “Two imaginations are twice as good as one,” he said. “I shall ring for sugar plums in a minute.” He placed the grape against her lips. “Open.”

  His fingertips inserted the peeled grape between her lips and he smiled as she curled her tongue around the fruit, savoring its coolness and the texture of the flesh before biting into it.

  “A promise,” he said softly.

  “I think sugared almonds are the best,” Gabrielle declared, dipping one of the comfits in her personal champagne thimble. “There’s something about the crunchiness of the nut with the silkiness of the champagne. What’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t think I’m capable of one,” Nathaniel murmured, stretching his body beneath the butterfly flickers of her tongue sipping nectar from his navel. He drew a sharp breath as cold drops trickled over his skin when she carefully refilled the thimble.

  “Keep still,” she commanded. “You’ll spill it.”

  A quiver of lau
ghter ran through him as he struggled to hold himself immobile.

  “I’ll try a grape this time,” Gabrielle said consideringly, reaching sideways to select one from the depleted bunch. “Just to refresh my memory.” She popped the grape between her lips, and her laughing eyes held his for a moment before she bent her head.

  He could feel her weight resting lightly across his thighs, her breath on his skin, the tickling brush of the dark red ringlets across his belly as she dipped the grape into the champagne well. Holding the succulent dripping fruit between her lips, she moved up his body until her face hung over his.

  Nathaniel opened his mouth, closing his eyes, and she lowered her mouth to his, delicately pushing the grape between his lips with her tongue.

  “Sugar plum now?” She ran her flat thumb over his mouth, the lingering embers of satisfied desire glowing in her eyes.

  “If you’re trying to rekindle my flagging energies, ma’am, I’m very much afraid it’s not going to work,” he said, smiling as he ran his hands through the cascading ringlets, lifting them away from her face. “You have unmanned me, love.”

  Gabrielle chuckled and pushed herself upright so that she was sitting astride his thighs again. “I don’t think I’m prepared to admit defeat quite so soon.”

  “Mercy!” he cried, reaching down to seize her hands as they set to work with wicked, dexterous skill. “Come cuddle for a minute.”

  “If you’d prefer,” Gabrielle acquiesced equably, lying down beside him. “Just remember I wasn’t the first to cry quits.”

  “You don’t have to work as hard,” Nathaniel pointed out, running a lazy hand down her spine as she curled against his side.

  Gabrielle smiled and kissed the hollow of his shoulder, savoring the salt tang of his skin. “Don’t you think it might be easier for Jake to become accustomed to a tutor if Miss Primmer stays around for a while.” She kept her tone lightly conversational, tracing the shape of his ear with her little finger.

  “I thought we’d agreed that Jake was not a suitable topic for conversation.” Nathaniel spoke with constraint, but it was clear he was making an effort to restrain his rising annoyance. The stroking hand lifted from her back, leaving a cold space.