by Jane Feather
"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."
Gabrielle'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 to 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 awalk around the shrubbery spent contemplating asubstitute 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 Icould 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 De Vanes to take her place, only a tutor and the harsh realities of school.
Gabrielle had heard enough about these realities from the DeVane 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.
"Comfits?" 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.
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"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 laughter 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.
Against her better judgment, Gabrielle persevered. She hadn't intended to say anything at all yet, but somehow the long intimacy of the afternoon had blunted her natural caution and the words had formed themselves and spoken themselves.
"I just wonder if you've considered all the aspects," she said, kissing his ear.
"Don't do that, Gabrielle." Nathaniel jerked his head sideways. "I don't like it."
"You don't like my kissing your ear, or talking about Jake?" Infor a penny, in for a pound.
"The latter," he said. "It's not your business, and you have no right to presume on the basis of what… of what we've been doing all afternoon."
"It's called making love, I believe." Gabrielle sat up. "And I don't mean to presume. But there are other ways of looking at things and maybe you're being a bit shortsighted."
Nathaniel sighed. "I would really appreciate it if you didn't spend time discussing my private affairs with my staff while you're here."
Gabrielle gulped. Was that what she'd been doing? "Miss Primmer was very upset. I just asked her what the matter was." She could hear the defensive note in her voice.
"And she poured out her woes and her opinions into your receptive ear, presumably hoping that you would use your influence while my guard was down."
Gabrielle winced. "I don't believe that was the case. She doesn't strike me as manipulative, poor woman."
"Oh, for God's sake!" Nathaniel gave up the attempt at restraint. "Poor woman, indeed. You've been listening to her wailing and now I'm some harsh and exploitative employer turning out a pathetic, homeless crone-"
"Oh, stop it!" Gabrielle lost her own temper. "That's not it at all, and you know it. She was very insistent about your generosity, but she was concerned for Jake-as we all are, presumably even his father!" She glared at him through a veil of unruly dark red curls.
Nathaniel swung out of bed. "Yes, even his father I think you've said enough, Gabrielle. If we're to salvage anything of this afternoon, I suggest we part company and cool off."
Dismissals didn't come much clearer than that. If she wasn't careful, he'd be calling a halt to their interlude long before the two weeks were up, and she'd have failed.
Without a word Gabrielle slipped from the bed, gathered up her discarded garments, and went naked to the connecting door.
"Don't forget that you were the one who pointed out that passion can't exist in a vacuum," she said as she left. She closed the door behind her with deliberate softness.
Nathaniel swore under his breath as he looked around the room at the tumbled covers and the remains of their lascivious picnic. Lustful interludes with no strings to the future and no connections with the past. Who on earth had they been trying to fool?
Chapter 10
The memorandum was clear and precise: Le lievre noir removed June 6, 1806. Agent six disappeared during assignment, presumed dead. Norepercussions -deathbefore capture is presumed.
Gabrielle stared down at the paper in her hand, stared down at Nathaniel's elegant script. A jet of fury leaped through her veins with all the vigor and crystal clarity of the fountains in the gardens of Versailles.
She'd known it, but the confirmation, here in her hand, burning into her eyes, shook her more deeply than she could ever have believed it would.
The document belonged in a file of private memoranda-notations, emotionless statements of the success or failure of various enterprises under Lord Praed's direction. It was the spymaster's personal, professional diary. And it contained the confirmation of Guillau
me's death as it was ordered by Nathaniel Praed.
Gabrielle took a deep, slow breath and looked around Nathaniel's bedchamber. Late afternoon shadows gathered in the corners of the meticulously tidy apartment. There were very few personal touches in the room, which was furnished with an almost spartan simplicity.
The house was very silent and there was a curious suspended quality to the quiet. The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed four o'clock. Nathaniel wasn't expected to return from his ride around the estate with the bailiff until close to dusk, but there was no point taking chances. There was still much to be learned from the file, but the search of Nathaniel's chamber had taken the best part of two hours and it was all too easy to make mistakes at the end if one cut things too fine.
Gabrielle slipped the folder back into the cavity beneath the false bottom of the top drawer of the armoire. She stared down into the space, concentrating as she pictured the position of the folder when she'd first lifted the false bottom. Satisfied that the folder was replaced at exactly the same angle, she dropped the bottom of the drawer into place and meticulously replaced the linen cravats that had covered it. She had removed each one separately to be sure there were no booby traps between the folds, but had found no strategically positioned pieces of cotton or fluff.
Again she stared down into the drawer, picturing it as it had been before her disturbance. It looked the same. She slid the drawer closed and drew from her skirt pocket a small envelope containing a fine white powder.
Her tongue dampened her lips, and a deep, intense frown drew her eyebrows together as she sprinkled a film of the powder over the top of the armoire to reproduce the undisturbed surface she'd found.
It was the dust that had alerted her to the hiding place, although she was willing to admit that she might not have noticed it if she hadn't had such a scare over possibly missing something like it with the safe. But she had her own supply of the spy's tricks of his trade, and substitution was no problem.
