by Jane Feather
She backed toward the door that connected with her boudoir and then stood very still, examining the room, mentally checking everything over. It all looked the same, and she was willing to lay odds that not even someone as experienced as Nathaniel would be able to tell there'd been an intruder.
Gabrielle slipped through the door and back into the safety of her own apartments. Only then did she allow the grief to resurface. It welled up from deep within her, great racking gobbets of sorrow filling her throat so she could barely breathe, tears pouring heedlessly from her eyes, soaking the front of her gown, her face contorted with the raw brutality of her emotion.
She stood quite still and silent under the violent buffeting of indescribable sorrow, and then as it ebbed she waited for the cleansing fire of anger to sweep through her, hardening her with the compelling power of vengeance.
She would be revenged upon Nathaniel Praed and his secret service. And it would be the subtlest revenge and all the more satisfying for it. She would use and manipulate the man who had ordered her lover's murder. And he'd never know what a dupe she'd made of him. Not unless she decided to tell him, of course. And maybe one day she would… and how she'd enjoy the telling.
Calm again, she washed her face, bathing her eyes with cold water until the swollen lids subsided and the translucent pallor of her complexion was restored.
Then she sat down in her favorite spot on the window seat to collect her thoughts. After her disappointment with the library safe, she'd decided that Nathaniel must have removed his vital documents and it stood to reason that he wouldn't have left them lying casually around. Yesterday, when he'd ridden into Southampton on business, she'd conducted a thorough search of the small office where he dealt with estate business and met with his bailiff.
It had turned up nothing, although she was the first to admit that didn't mean there was nothing; it was always possible to conceal things from the most experienced spy. But that afternoon she'd attacked the next most obvious place and had turned up gold. It was ironic that Nathaniel's precautions had given away the hiding place. But then, she'd profited from the lesson of the library.
A tap on the door heralded Jake's now-customary evening arrival. He was looking remarkably cheerful, the reason obvious in his first bubbling announcement.
"Papa doesn't want to see me in the library today 'cause he's still doing business with the bailiff. So we can have a really long story." There was utter confidence in his assertion as he clambered onto the window seat beside her and beamed up at her.
Gabrielle smiled and encircled him with one arm. "Which story?"
Jake tilted his head, a little frown on his brow as he considered the question. He resembled the portrait ofHelen much more nearly than he did his father, but there were moments like this one when an expression, the tilt of his head, or some tiny gesture would remind Gabrielle of Nathaniel with an almost heart-stopping accuracy.
"The one about when you and Georgie an' Kip rode the ram with the curly horns and he chased you out of the field and you got stuck in a bramble hedge."
"You know it already," Gabrielle laughed.
"Yes, but I want to hear it again." He stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled against her.
Children were always immensely comforted by the familiar, Gabrielle reflected as she began the tale, searching for some interesting and hitherto unrevealed embellishments to enliven the narrative.
She heard the door to Nathaniel's bedchamber open and close. Heard his footsteps on the bare polished floor. Heard the sound of a drawer being opened, a cupboard door unlatched. Her heart began to speed but her voice didn't falter as she continued with the story. She felt the child stiffen against her for a minute as he, too, heard the sounds of his father's proximity, then Jake relaxed again.
Nathaniel opened the connecting door and stood leaning against the jamb in his shirt-sleeves, one-handedly loosening his cravat as he took in the cozy scene.
Gabrielle's skin prickled as her eyes absorbed the long-fingered hand against the white lawn of his cravat, the lean, athletic frame, and her body shot off on one of its unilateral journeys into the world of throbbing arousal as she felt as vividly as if it were real his hand and his body on hers. Ten minutes earlier she'd been filled with lethal hatred for this man, and now she could think only of what his body did to hers.
"Nathaniel." Somehow, despite the swirling turmoil as her physical responses warred with her emotions, she managed to greet him with a serene smile, her arm tightening around the child as she felt the currents of unease flowing through the small body. "We're just finishing a story. Did you have a successful afternoon?"
"Tedious, but I achieved what Ihad to," he said. "Isn't it time you were in bed, Jake?"
"I can't tell the time yet," Jake confessed in a tiny voice, his solemn, liquid brown eye- regarding his father anxiously.
Nathaniel made no immediate response. He was struck by the comfortable intimacy of the woman and child and the softness that surrounded Gabrielle like an aura. It was feminine and loving and it seemed to flow over Jake. How had he ever thought she lacked womanly tenderness? The more he learned of her, the less it seemed he knew.
"Hasn't Miss Primmer tried to teach you?" he asked after a minute.
"I'm not very good at it," Jake confessed, wriggling uncomfortably. As always, the atmosphere in the room had changed with his father's arrival, and he could feel something different in Gabby, almost as if she were angry about something. He hated it when people were angry. When Cook shouted at Hetty, the scullery maid, and Hetty cried, he always felt like crying himself and his tummy went into a hard knot. But even though he could feel something was wrong, Gabby was smiling. His father wasn't, but then, Jake didn't think his father ever smiled.
"Well, I think it's time you became good at it," Nathaniel said, glancing at the Chippendale clock on the wall above the chaise longue. "It's almost six."
"Yes, sir," Jake murmured with downcast eyes. He squirmed out of Gabrielle's hold and slid off the window seat.
"Don't you want to hear the end of the story V Gabrielle asked, laying a hand on his arm.
Jake glanced at his father and then stared down at his feet again, mumbling something inaudible.
"Finish the story," Nathaniel said abruptly, feeling like an ogre from a fairy tale casting gloom and despondency wherever he went. Anyone would think he took pleasure in making the child unhappy, but for some reason everything he said to the boy came out wrong. And Jake looked at him all the time as if he was expecting harshness. Had he looked at his father with the same apprehension? If so, he'd certainly had a good deal more cause than Jake.
He shook his head with an impatient gesture. "I have to get out of my dirt before dinner, Gabrielle. I'll see you in the library in half an hour."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment and lifted Jake back onto the window seat. The child's eyes darted toward his father, and on impulse Nathaniel stepped forward and awkwardly patted his head.
"Good night, Jake."
The salute so startled the boy that he stared dumbly at Nathaniel, who, without waiting for a response, turned and went into his own room, closing the door behind him.
Now, that had been quite promising, Gabrielle thought as she resumed the story. Whatever ill she might wish Nathaniel, it belonged in the dark world of espionage and bore no relevance to his relationship with his child. If she could effect some changes there, inject a ray of warmth, then she would do it.
Nathaniel stood frowning, stroking his chin thoughtfully behind the closed door of his own chamber. His eyes darted to the armoire. He'd checked it as soon as he'd first entered the room. The film of powder remained undisturbed. And the second safe he kept concealed beneath a loose floorboard under his bed also bore no signs of intrusion. Not that he would expect anyone to find it without a wholesale search that would involve tipping up the massive poster bed. Gabrielle certainly couldn't move it alone.
He glanced over his shoulder at the closed d
oor and nodded thoughtfully. So far, it appeared that Gabrielle was what she seemed. One more thing remained before he would be completely satisfied, however. He must search her possessions. As soon as the Vanbrughs sent on the rest of her luggage, he would conduct that search and then, so long as it turned up nothing even remotely out of place, he would reconsider employing Gabrielle in the network.
That evening Gabrielle's particular brand of sensual challenge seemed even more pointedly mischievous than usual, and once or twice Nathaniel, even as he responded, felt a stirring of unease. There was a brittleness to her, almost a hint of desperation. He told himself he was being fanciful, that his mistress was just in one of her more intensely passionate moods, and as they soared to the heights of ecstasy during the glorious hours of the night, he forgot his earlier misgivings in the kaleidoscopic wonders of their fusion.
Gabrielle sought to vanquish turmoil in the clean responses of passion. She told herself that the afternoon's discovery altered nothing, since it merely confirmed what she had already known. But whoever Nathaniel Praed was… whatever he had done… nothing could diminish the power of their mutual obsession, an obsession that would facilitate her revenge.
She awoke the next morning lying on her stomach, her body pressed into the mattress with Nathaniel's length measured along her back.
"Is it morning?" she murmured, stretching her arms over her head, her toes reaching to the foot of the bed in a bone-cracking stretch beneath his weight.
"Mmmm."
"What are you doing?" She wriggled beneath him, tightening her thighs in playful resistance.
"Guess." He nipped her earlobe, inserting a knee firmly between her closed thighs.
"Supposing I hadn't woken up."
"I'd have been mortally offended."
Gabrielle chuckled lazily, yielding to the insistent pressure of his probing flesh.
Winter sun filled the room half an hour later when Nathaniel reluctantly pushed aside the sheet and stood up, stretching and yawning. He smiled down at Gabrielle's prone figure, her nose still buried in the pillow. Leaning over, he scribbled a fingernail along her spine and smoothed a flat palm over the peach roundness of her bottom.
"It looks like a beautiful day. If it's not too cold and the wind and tide are right, would you like to go for a sail on the river?"
"I should love to," she said sincerely. "Will you teach me how to sail?"
"If you like." Something remarkably like a grin curved the comers of his mouth. "Are you a patient pupil?"
"That depends on the instructor, sir." She rolled onto her back and squinted up at him with a quizzical smile. "I'd guess patience is not your long suit… so, perhaps it would be a bad idea."
"Oh, I might surprise you," he said blandly. "I'm not totally predictable."
"Then surprise me."
"With pleasure, ma'am." Bending over her, he ran a fingertip over her nipples until they rose beneath the caress, then, with a smug nod of satisfaction he left her, smiling in languid satiation.
For the remainder of that day Gabrielle saw a different side to Nathaniel. He was a humorous, relaxed companion concerned with her welfare and her pleasure, exhibiting an extraordinary amount of patience as he taught her how to rig the sails, how to catch the wind, how to gauge the exact moment to tack across the broad river.
They kept to the river and the tidal cuts in the marshes, not venturing into the choppy winter Solent. It was cold and exhilarating, and for these few hours the dark inner worlds ruled by suspicion, calculation, betrayal, and vengeance were held at bay.
At noon they tied the twelve-foot dinghy to an isolated jetty and tramped across the marshy grass to a thatched inn. Nathaniel was greeted with an easy warmth by the fishermen in the taproom. There was an equality to the conversation that fascinated Gabrielle, given that Lord Praed was the lord of the manor and these his tenants. She herself was virtually ignored, and she assumed that women didn't frequent the village tavern.
She sat contentedly by the fire, drank porter, and ate a succulent meat pie and a large wedge of cheddar with pickled onions. Nathaniel meanwhile sat up at the bar in his shirt-sleeves, one leg propped on the rung of a stool, his hand curled around a tankard of ale as he talked tides and winds and fishing with his fellow drinkers.
Gabrielle suddenly wondered what Jake would think if he could see his father like this. It was Jake Nathaniel should be teaching to sail and fish. He should be introducing his son to the locals with whom he was on such easy terms.
She stretched her toes to the fire and closed her eyes.
"Come on, sleepy. The tide will turn in half an hour and we're on a lee shore." Nathaniel stood between her and the fire, blocking the warmth as he put on his coat again.
"What's a lee shore?" Gabrielle said, yawning.
"One that's windbound," he responded, holding down a hand to pull her to her feet. "Not easy to sail off, and if the tide's running out, we could find ourselves hauling the boat down the channel by hand, up to our knees in mud."
"That does not sound like an appealing prospect." Gabrielle followed him out in the chilly afternoon and back to the dinghy.
"That was a lovely day," Gabrielle said truthfully as they walked back from the boathouse to the house at the end of the afternoon. She gave him her crooked smile, linking her arm through his.
Nathaniel leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. "You've been the most amazingly docile companion for once."
"Docile? Me?"
"Yes, you," he said. "And you shall have your reward when- Who the hell is here?"
He stopped on the path leading to the side of the house and the gun room door that Nathaniel always used when entering the house from the grounds. From there they could see the gravel sweep before the front door. A chaise stood at the bottom of the steps, the team snorting, their breath steaming in the late afternoon air. Servants were unloading baggage from the roof of the carriage under the direction of Bartram, and Mrs. Bailey could be seen on the front step, ushering someone within doors.
Gabrielle strained her eyes in the gathering dusk, trying to make out the emblazoned panels of the coach, then she said with a joyous laugh, "Oh, it's Georgie. She must have brought my things herself. And she must have come with Simon-she couldn't possibly pay an overnight visit to a bachelor's establishment without him."
"You did," Nathaniel pointed out glumly.
"Oh, but I'm different," Gabrielle declared with perfect truth. Gathenng up her skirts, she ran toward the front of the house.
Rather more slowly and with a distinct downturn to his mouth, Nathaniel entered the house through the gun room door. He was not yet ready to greet his guests with Gabrielle's enthusiasm.
Chapter 11
"Georgie, how wonderful to see you!" Gabrielle flew up the steps and into the hall, arms flung wide to embrace her cousin. "What a wonderful surprise."
"I couldn't resist it," Georgie murmured into her ear as she hugged her. "Simon and Miles are as cross as two sticks."
Gabrielle gave her a conspiratorial squeeze, then drew back to greet the two men standing behind Georgie, her crooked smile faintly mocking as she saw their clear discomfort. "Simon… and Miles too. How kind of you to escort my luggage."
"We were just passing," Simon said, kissing her cheek.
"Yes, just passing," Miles agreed, taking her proffered hand and raising it to his lips. "You're looking very… um… very well," he finished somewhat lamely.
"Positively windblown," Georgie declared, removing her velvet bonnet and shaking loose her golden ringlets. "What have you been doing?"
"Sailing on the river," Gabby replied. "Nathaniel was teaching me… where is Nathaniel?" She looked around, puzzled, having assumed he would have followed her up the steps. "He must have come in through the gun room. But why would he do that when he knew he had visitors?"
Miles and Simon exchanged a dourly comprehending look just as Nathaniel entered the hall from the side corridor.
"Well, well," he
drawled. "This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe it? Or shouldn't I ask?"
"We were just passing," Simon repeated as awkwardly as before. "Just passing and we thought we'd drop in on our way and leave Gabby's luggage." He cast a fierce glance for support toward Miles, who was trying to be invisible.
"Yes… yes, just passing," Miles reiterated, clearing his throat.
"Passing from whence to where?" demanded Nathaniel. "As far as I know, Burley Manor isn't en route to anywhere that would entice Lord and Lady Vanbrugh or Mr. Miles Bennet in the middle of the Season. Far too countrified."
A dull flush appeared on Miles's cheekbones at this caustic statement, and he shot an I-told-you-so glare toward Simon, who pursed his lips but said nothing. Even Georgie appeared to lose some of the assurance that had so far swept all opposition aside.
"For heaven's sake, Nathaniel!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "Don't be such a miserable grouch! They're your friends and they've come all this way to visit you, the least you can do is offer them some refreshment. Besides, they were doing me a favor, bringing my luggage so quickly."
"I stand corrected, ma'am," Nathaniel said as sardonically as before. "I was forgetting your own claims on my hospitality. Of course they must extend to your friends."
Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath, but before she could come up with anything suitably cutting, Nathaniel gestured toward the library.
"I'm afraid there's no fire in the drawing room, gentlemen, since I wasn't expecting guests, but come into the library. I'm sure I can produce a bottle of decent claret. Gabrielle, I will leave you to entertain Lady Vanbrugh."
"He is so rude," Georgie declared in a fierce undertone. "How can you stand him, Gabby?"
"All in good time," Gabrielle said with a grin. "I know perfectly well that's why you're here. Let's go up to my boudoir and we can have a comfortable coze."
"I beg your pardon, my lady…" Mrs. Bailey, who'd been standing in the shadows, a silent observer of the last minutes, stepped forward. "Should I prepare bedchambers for his lordship's guests?"
