He expected the purely physical connection he needed so desperately. None of the intimacy that would make it more than a bodily function. He was wrong. She kissed him, and though there was no sweetness in it, there was a passion that was real, begging to be shared. Her hands pulled him close and her legs wrapped him closer. The comfort of the pillow and bed paled next to the feel of her whole body blending with his. Tense with the effort to restrain himself, he felt no answering tension in her. She stretched her head back. Her eyes closed.
All shared in silence, words the only part of her that she did not give him. He wanted to give her some pleasure. To give her time to enjoy the coupling. What he wanted and what his body could give were two different things. His thoughts faded in a primal pulse of need. He buried his face in her neck as he filled her body. She pressed up against him, opening to him with a generosity that made the word whore a tribute.
He tried to thank her, tried to do something more than fall asleep still holding her, but this drug was too powerful to resist. He mumbled one word, “Tomorrow,” and closed his eyes.
CHARLOTTE COULD TELL all she needed to know about a man the first time they had sex together. If a man was physical, sex with him was about position and endurance. If he was selfish, his satisfaction was all that mattered. If he was kind, he would pay well, no matter the circumstances. And if he was cruel, she did her best to avoid the bedroom.
Worst of all, worse than cruel, was the man who came to bed a different person than the one met in the ballroom. Whose life in society was all lies. A man like her husband, so practiced in his deceit that neither she nor her mother had seen through the façade. If innocence had been her excuse then, he had seen that she never made that mistake again.
Lord Gabriel was sound asleep, lying on his side, the warmth of his body finally easing the chill and the headache that came when she had reached the end of her resources.
One of his arms was outside the covers, stretched across her stomach. In protection, not possession. If he wanted to mark possession, his naked arm would be across her naked body. No, the covers between them made it protection. And the gesture bore out her observations earlier tonight. When he had asked for a robe and warmed her feet with his hands, or even before that when he had asked what would become of Georges.
He had not been free more than a moment or two and he had begun to reassert that essential quality that prison had done its best to destroy. He was one who cared. Who cared with temper and passion and not by halves.
That made him dangerous in more ways than one.
How could he have been a spy? Temper and passion were problem enough, but if you combined those with his kindness, he was bound to die for his cause. Or was it all pretense? Was he that good an actor?
Charlotte knew she should leave. She could go to the house and make sure all was well there and return, all before he stirred. She inched away from his warmth, his arm still loose atop her, and pushed one foot from under the covers.
She swore very quietly and fell back into the bed, her head swimming with insurmountable fatigue. Her eyes kept closing as if they had their own idea on how to spend the day. In that moment she made her decision, leaned over and blew out the remaining candle.
If taking him to her house was her first mistake, then falling asleep beside him would be her second. If she was wrong about him, if Gabriel Pennistan was capable of such deep deceit, deeper than her husband’s lies, then this gesture would mean her death. Her last waking thought was that if he was not the man she thought him to be, she would rather not wake in this world.
MOVEMENT ROUSED HER. Charlotte spread her arm out without opening her eyes. The other half of the bed was empty. Anger and panic woke her completely. How could she have fallen asleep? How could she? She jerked upright and searched the almost-dark room.
Gabriel came from behind the screen and stopped at the window. Making a small opening in the heavy drapes, he stood watching the world beyond their retreat.
She bit her lip and did her best to control her anger, while she reached for the flint to light the candle on the table near the bed. “What is there to see?” she asked. “This room is at the back of the house.”
“I can see that it is twilight.” He spoke without turning around. “This place is already alive with business. Madame Rostine keeps a very clean house and she will tolerate no dallying among her servants.”
“And how can you know all that?”
Now he did look at her, smiling. “I have excellent eyesight.” He let go of the curtains, but then pushed them apart a little so that the last of the daylight filtered into the room. “My excellent night vision also tells me something else.” He came back to the bed and slid in beside her. “You are in need of more attention. You should be in fine spirits and I do not see even the smallest smile of satisfaction.”
She made to rise from the bed, but he stopped her by kissing her shoulder and then the side of her neck.
There was that damnable kindness. The feel of his lips made her want to turn to him, let him lavish his sweetness on every inch of her body, but there were a thousand reasons it was unwise.
“Another one of my observations, Charlotte, is that sex changes the way things are between a man and a woman.”
Less tension and more trust. She could feel it too, in the one hand massaging her neck and in the way he spoke, as though sharing his observations was as intimate an act as the kiss.
She forced herself to stiffen in his hold, knowing that despite the intimacy, his generosity was woefully misplaced.
“Leave me alone.” Summoning the contempt that had been so completely eroded, she shrugged out of his reach and spoke without looking at him. “I gave you what you wanted last night. But once is entirely enough.”
He stilled, then pulled her back onto the pillow, so that he was looking down into her face. “Are you saying that we had sex because you felt sorry for me?”
“Yes.” The one word came out sounding brusque and callous. Though she was well aware of his temper, she went on. “I knew it would send you off to sleep as efficiently as a drug.”
“You’re lying,” he said with what seemed to her like real amusement. “Charlotte, my dear, you wanted it as much as I did.” The humor in his eyes faded. “I could make you want me again.”
He touched her lips with his, small tempting touches. Each awakening the tiniest memory and an unmistakable invitation.
She turned her head away. “Is sex all men think about?” She hoped her breath of laughter sounded like exasperation. “If it is, then I can have Madame Rostine send someone to you. Need I remind you that your life is at stake? And I must go and see what can be done to preserve it.”
“I hear fool even though it is unsaid. How wise of you not to actually speak it.” He moved away from her and she wondered if his words, that kiss, had been nothing more than a contest of wills.
“If it is time to leave, then, madame, we will go together.” He left the bed and gathered his clothes.
It would mean taking him to her house. Was there any other choice? She considered the question while she watched him.
He dressed quickly and efficiently, as though clothes meant no more to him than body covering. None of the vanity of a society dandy for Gabriel Pennistan.
The scars on his back were an insult to an otherwise impressive body. She admired what little she could see in the half-light—the narrow waist, the well-formed legs—and imagined the grim determination it took to walk endlessly around the cell for weeks that had stretched into months. She added the word resolute to the mental list of attributes she could make use of. And while it might not be easy to bend him to her will, once he was convinced, he would be relentless in pursuit of the goal.
Her plans were in disarray but not compromised, thank God. The only option she could see was combining the two aspects of her mission. For it was imperative that they leave Le Havre as soon as possible. Lord Gabriel would understand that.
It would b
e easy to let him believe that he was the sole reason for this elaborate game. It could work. It had to work. Please God, let this not be her third mistake.
9
GABRIEL STARED OUT THE WINDOW while he waited for Charlotte to dress. How long would it be before he was comfortable with a locked door, in a dark room? Exhaustion had overridden the fear last night. Now all he wanted was to be outside, breathing the less-than-pristine air of the city. Is that what his life would be reduced to: moments of panic, the urge to escape his self-made prison? Dr. Borgos would turn in his grave at such a waste of a life.
The floor creaked as Charlotte moved from the bed to the dressing area.
Had she done it out of pity? If so, it would be the only time that ever happened. It made him feel like a pathetic excuse for a man.
Jess had taught him that he should be sure to ask the wallflowers to dance. It was, he’d said, a gentleman’s responsibility to ensure the comfort of all the women in his circle.
Gabe was sure that his brother had done it just to see them smile. If he was brutally honest, Gabe had done it out of pity.
Was Charlotte truly a whore? Did bedding a man mean no more than a single turn on the dance floor had meant to him?
How dearly he hoped that his occasional dance partners had never construed his gesture as pity. No moment of pleasure was worth the embarrassment, the mortification, the anger that came with the realization.
“Are you ready, my lord?”
Gabriel turned to face the woman who had spoken to him. “Where is Charlotte Parnell?” he asked, not entirely joking. There had been no sound of the door opening, so he knew who this woman must be, even if the evidence before him argued against it.
“There could not be an uglier dress.” He reached out and pinched a piece of the wool to see if it felt as uncomfortable as it looked. He stepped back. “Where is your red hair? I liked that wig, as did every other man in Le Havre.” He shook his head at the overall effect. “Well, at least your bonnet is bearable. Are you a governess?”
“With you by my side, I am a dowdy wife.” She did not react at all to his critique, only handed him a pair of spectacles. “Put these on.”
He did as she ordered but asked, “Why is this necessary?”
“Because the act continues. Last night your supposed mother hired me. And I am expensive, my lord. If you are cured of your grief, which we implied by our night together, then we would not be walking the streets together again this evening. We would be in bed. That is supposing you could afford a second night.” She stepped back and considered him as though he were a work of art. “Very good.”
“Did you plan this or do you keep clothes here to cover all possibilities?”
“A little of both,” she answered absently as she walked around him. “A stick would be too much. Stoop a little so people will believe we are a couple.”
“They believed we were a couple before.”
“Yes, but only because I painted you as a man desperately in need of my services.”
“A virgin. A man made impotent by grief.” He nodded. “And what am I to be now?”
“A man of science, of course.”
“A man of science with a mouse of a wife.”
“You learn quickly.”
She went to the door, picked up the key from the table and opened it.
They made their way down the back way, using the servants’ stairs. The passageway that ran the length of the basement was not well lit. Noise came from the kitchen, where everyone was busy preparing dinner.
Gabriel and Charlotte blended into the shadows. Moving down the hall at a confident pace, they left through the back door. Charlotte led him through the roughly cobbled alleyway as though she had done it a dozen times before.
When they reached the boulevard she took his arm. Anyone who bothered to look would think that she was clinging to him.
They walked toward the moonrise in silence and he looked up to fix his direction. There was a planet shining next to the new moon, a bold pinprick of light. They were headed west, but that meant nothing in a city he did not know.
There was something about this parade that did not feel right. It was more than his own anxiety. Twenty minutes ago he could not wait to breathe the night air and now he wanted to be back in the room, the bed, among the familiar.
He marked their route and watched for landmarks even as he considered his disquiet. It was not the situation that was a threat. At least not any more than it had been from the moment he stepped out of the prison.
They made their way down the street, without the twists and turns of the night before. Charlotte was not making any effort to confuse him.
That’s what it was. Her tight hold on his arm was another proof. It was as though her grip was the only thing that was keeping her from breaking into a run.
Leaning down closer to her, he whispered, “What is worrying you, madame?” He tried to sound like a solicitous husband. He slowed to look into her downcast face. “Are you afraid of who we might meet on the street or what is waiting for you at home?”
He felt her surprise. She drew a long breath and swore elegantly in French. “Gabriel Pennistan, I will be so happy to see the last of you.”
He took stock of that unexpected answer and then smiled. When he did not respond, she looked up at him.
HE WAS SMILING, damn him. Smiling as though he knew what she was thinking. What arrogance. She should never have stayed with him, slept beside him like some besotted woman with her first lover.
She loosened her grip on his arm. How did he know she was anxious?
No one was paying any attention to them, except for two boys who had been following them awhile. She was sure they were thinking of picking a pocket or stealing her reticule. She held it tighter.
The boys passed by, then the younger of the two turned back toward them. Charlotte watched as Gabriel looked over the tops of his glasses, giving the boy a stare that was a threat out of all keeping with his bent shoulders and shabby clothes. The boy reconsidered and moved on with a bob of his head.
“Very well done, monsieur,” Charlotte said in the meekest of voices.
“I’m not so sure. He knows I am not what I am pretending to be.”
“One who plays his sort of game can recognize another. Let us hope that he thinks you are a man making love to a pathetic dab of woman in hopes of winning her fortune.”
“Oh yes, a far better image than thief and spy,” Gabriel said with a cynical glance. “Why can I not be a tutor who longs for a wife and children and you are my last hope?”
“Because no teacher would be able to discourage a thief with only a glare.”
“From whom do you think I learned that look?” he asked, with a short laugh. “My tutor was a master at it. I had years to observe firsthand the stare that could freeze a boy in his tracks.”
“Tell me about your childhood.” Talk to me; tell me anything that will stop me worrying about how Georges managed. If he and the children were safe. What if he had not been able to claim them as the orphanage had promised? It would take weeks, if not months, to reconstruct another ruse. She should have gone home last night. She should have gone with Georges. Please, please, God, do not let my weakness result in harm. Take me, take me, but not them.
They walked the length of the street before he answered her. He stopped at the next corner. The roadways were crowded and they would have to wait for a space before they crossed.
“You want me to tell you stories of my childhood? Of Lynford and Jess and how we used to hide from my father?” He could hear the edge in his voice. “Why are you so interested? Is it so I do not pay attention to the route we are taking? So that I am even more completely in your hands?” He directed their steps around a puddle from last night’s downpour. “I think not, madame. If you will not tell me what is worrying you, we will walk in silence.”
The road was clear and they crossed it. It was he who set the pace, slow and steady. Charlotte relaxed a
little and allowed the less-than-amiable quiet. It would only add to the sober image they were trying to convey.
GABRIEL RECOGNIZED THE ALLEYWAY that led to the back of her house. She urged him past it. They were going in the front door this time. Never mind that the hour for calling was long past. That was a nicety he was sure did not matter in this neighborhood.
Light filtered through a space in the curtains of a room on the ground floor. Who was waiting for them?
Charlotte did not use a key to enter. She knocked and waited. A man opened the door. It was Georges, dressed as a butler. Not well dressed, but with a face as impassive as the best porters in London.
Gabriel could feel relief replace Charlotte’s anxiety. Georges was the reason for her unease? He lived for the day when some woman cared that much for him. Georges nodded firmly and answered her smile with one of his own. Gabriel watched the wordless communication and wondered what triumph they were sharing.
Georges stepped back so they both could enter. He showed them into the small well-lit parlor. The room was far from welcoming. The one settee was old and worn. The fire unlit. There was a table with two chairs on either side. A rug old enough to be called an antique if it had not been faded from years of sun. The light was the only warmth in the place, leading anyone passing outside to think, as he had, that the room was cozy and in use.
Charlotte walked across the room and pulled the drapes fully closed. Had the bit of light been a sign that all was safe?
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