Broken Wing

by Judith James

  He wore no stock and his linen shirt was open, exposing the elegant line of his collarbone, and the strong column of his neck and throat. Coffee-colored hair fell past his shoulders. Tangled with strands of cinnamon and caramel, it framed high-sculpted cheekbones and a full sullen mouth. His eyes were dark chocolate, bruised, alive with intelligence, and framed by full, sweeping lashes. A proud straight nose and a firm jaw, rescued him from a too feminine beauty. The overall affect was one of sensuality and danger. He was breathtaking.

  Heart pounding, short of breath, her reaction stunned her. Tearing her eyes away, she focused on slowing her breathing, trying to master herself. Pressing her feet firmly into the floor, welcoming its solid bulk beneath her, she turned toward Ross, forcing her way back into the room, back into the conversation. To her astonishment, no appreciable length of time had passed. She ventured a quick glance back. He watched her with eyes that saw everything, eyes that knew too much. The look he gave her was cold, contemptuous, and just a little triumphant. Ah, well. It had been extremely rude to stare, though in truth she’d been incapable of doing anything else. Clearly, caught with her hand in the pastries, she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and flashed him a rueful grin, missing the pulse of surprise in his eyes as she returned to the business at hand.

  Gabriel tore his attention away from the girl, slightly disconcerted. The witch was cackling about something, and introduction of sorts he supposed. They were all staring at him now, waiting for some kind of response. “Well,” he drawled, “I’m here. What is it you want with me? My time is valuable, monsieur, madame. Get to the point, please.” He spoke with the barest hint of an accent and his voice, deep, cool, and slightly exotic, was as seductive as the rest of him.

  Ross, his inbred habit of courtesy seriously tested by the fellow’s pointed lack of civility, refused to be rushed. “Yes, of course. I do beg your pardon. I am Lord Huntington, and this is Lady Munroe. James is my brother.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, and you have come to take him home, non? Very good. We have all heard the story. It has been the on-dit here for days. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve pressing matters to attend to.”

  “Wait, monsieur, there is more.” Ross plowed ahead despite reservations that had been growing louder ever since this unsettling creature had entered the room. “James has become very fond of you. Indeed, he speaks of little else. He has requested that you come with us. We are hoping you will agree.”

  Gabriel was stunned. It was the last thing he’d expected. He steeled himself instinctively, crushing a sudden stab of hope. Other than a blink, no trace of his struggle showed on his impassive features. Taking his hands from his pockets, he crossed them over his chest and cocked his head to one side. His reply was cool, amused. “You don’t look like a sodomite, my lord. But then … one can never tell. Or perhaps you are thinking of your lady wife, yes? I am very skilled in such matters of course, and can pleasure you singly, or together. Perhaps—”

  Ross stood, openmouthed with astonishment, and Sarah burst into startled laughter. “Well, Ross … I dare say we’ve been put smartly in our place! Your mouth is agape.”

  Ross snapped his mouth shut, no longer inclined to courtesy. “Sarah, it is past time for us to leave.”

  Madame Etienne watched with undisguised amusement. Eying the English milady with new appreciation, she poured herself a drink. It was all very entertaining, but she had a business to run. There didn’t look to be any profit here. She’d leave it to Gabriel to sort out lord and lady English. “I’ve other matters to attend to,” she muttered, as she rose to leave, glass in hand. “The brat will be on his way. Ring for Henri when you are ready to go.”

  Gabriel started toward the door, as well, but Sarah moved to block his path. “A moment more of your time, monsieur, s’il vous plait. Our business is not yet concluded. Lord Huntington and I are brother and sister, not husband and wife. I assure you we have no improper designs upon your person, either singly or together, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It is a simple matter, really. Jamie has made it clear to us you have acted as his protector, and he considers you his dearest friend. Naturally, we are very grateful. He has also made it clear he’ll not leave this place without you.”

  That surprised him. She noted it in the sudden clenching of his hands and a slight flush to his cheeks. She really must stop staring at the man! It was unforgivably rude. “We could force the issue, of course,” she continued, “but I am certain you can understand why we are loath to do so.” She moved closer to him, her voice becoming husky, soft and pleading. “Surely, monsieur, as someone who’s taken Jamie’s interests to heart, someone who has sheltered and protected him, you would consider coming with us, at least to help him through this transition.”

  Gabriel’s breath stilled in his chest. Miraculously, he was being offered another chance, and despite his best efforts to strangle it, hope was born again. He knew he shouldn’t trust it. Vile temptress, she betrayed him every time, leaving him weak and wounded in ways too cruel to endure without the familiar palliatives of brandy and blood. He also knew, deep in his soul, if he refused her now, the offer would not come again.

  He met her gaze directly, his eyes intense, uncertain, and in that moment Sarah saw past kohl, artifice, and carefully constructed defenses, to a heartbreaking vulnerability. Careful not to show it, she struggled to give him what he needed, something he could trust.

  “We would pay you, of course,” she said brightly.

  His eyes sparked with sudden interest. Leaning toward her, he murmured in a sinful whisper, “And what are my services worth to you, ma belle?”

  “Eh!” Ross started.

  “Ten thousand pounds, monsieur,” she responded, taking a step back. The man’s sensuality was a potent force!

  “Indeed,” Ross grunted, deciding he’d best take command now, before the situation got worse. Ten thousand pounds, to a glittering catamite, an accomplished whore, because Sarah and James wished it. On top of that, Sarah meant to take him home, make him part of the motley gathering of rogues and eccentrics she called family. Well the man had placed himself between James and those who would have devoured him. Sarah was seldom wrong about people, he acknowledged, and the man was owed that much and more. It was a small price to pay for his guardianship, however unconventional, of young James over the past five years.

  The creature was studying him, eyes hooded, lips curled in a cynical smile, anticipating his outrage and refusal. Insolent pup! He had a good deal to learn. “Ten thousand pounds for a year’s employment, half now, the rest upon termination in one year’s time. You will be employed as James’s companion and treated as a gentleman in my home, as long as you comport yourself as one. I will expect from you, at minimum, the respect and deference a guest should show his host.”

  Gabriel hesitated. It was a considerable sum. Enough to buy a comfortable home, to travel to all the places he’d read about, to leave his life at Madame’s and never return. “Am I not a little old and … experienced, my lord, to be companion to a ten-year-old boy?”

  “You are, indeed,” Ross said. “As my sister has explained to you, monsieur, we are mostly concerned with sparing James any unnecessary worry or fear after all he’s been through. He feels safe with you. Your presence will reassure him as he adjusts to being home. We require nothing more from you than that.”

  “And this agreement, Lord Huntington, it will be in writing, signed and witnessed?”

  “Yes, of course.” As Ross spoke, Monsieur Henri arrived with Jamie and Mr. Smythe.

  “Gabriel!” Jamie hurtled into the room, oblivious to his new brother and sister, chattering excitedly about Bow Street runners, Mr. Smythe, and oh, yes, his new family, which had come to take him home. Sarah and Ross watched in amazement as the elegant, cynical, debauchee they had just invited into their home transformed before them.

  A genuine, sweet smile lit his features as he crouched down to the boy’s level and ruffled his hair, saying with a gentle
laugh, “Calm yourself mon vieux. It is generally useful to the art of conversation to take a breath now and then, non?”

  Obediently Jamie drew a deep breath before rattling on, “I told my brother, that’s him there, and that’s my sister, Sarah, and he’s a my lord and she’s a my lady, I told them you have to come, too, Gabriel, so you’ll be coming with us.” He looked expectantly at Ross and Sarah. “He is coming with us, isn’t he? Gabriel, you will come?”

  Sighing, Gabriel straightened and rose, squeezing Jamie’s shoulder with a graceful fine-fingered hand. He looked past the boy to meet Ross’s gaze, his own somewhat amused, and slightly defiant. “Why, yes, Jamie. I suppose I will. It should prove to be an adventure.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  They came to pick Gabriel up the next morning. Sarah was relieved he hadn’t changed his mind. She’d been almost certain that he would. Ross was relieved at his appearance. His unadorned suit was elegant, but simple. The kohl and the extravagant profusion of lace were gone, and his hair was tied neatly in a queue.

  Jamie, energized and excited, had been to a restaurant, breakfasted in a café, stayed in a hotel, and tried lemonade and hot chocolate for the very first time. Thrilled at the idea of setting out to sea, he insisted on regaling Gabriel with all the details and observations he could manage, as Ross produced a contract and laid it on the desk.

  “I apologize, monsieur. I neglected to inquire as to your surname. If you will provide it, I will enter it into our contract now.”

  “St. Croix will do as well as any, Huntington,” Gabriel said with a shrug. He grinned, equal parts mischief and malice. “It is the name of the street on which I was abandoned as a child.”

  “St. Croix, it is, then.” Ross added the name and affixed his signature, passing the pen to Gabriel, who signed it with a flourish. Mr. Smythe and Mr. Giles, who would be accompanying them on horseback and taking passage aboard his lordship’s schooner, were pressed into service as witnesses. If they saw anything strange in their patron bringing home a denizen of a notorious Paris brothel as the young lord’s paid companion, they were careful not to show it.

  The journey to Calais took most of the day. It was dusty and hot, and after the initial jostling for seats, there was little to say. Gabriel’s presence was not an easy one. Brooding and magnetic, his attempt to subdue his appearance only made him more attractive, as his cheekbones and full mouth appeared more pronounced with his hair tied back off his face. Sarah found herself unaccustomedly self-conscious. She tried to think of something to say, but there appeared to be little in common between them except for Jamie, and the circumstances of the last five years was hardly a topic for light conversation. Her attempts at discussing the weather or their destination met with a polite but unenthusiastic response. She wondered if he was having second thoughts, and tried to imagine how she would feel in a similar situation. Like an outsider she thought, awkward, defensive, and decidedly uncomfortable.

  For much of the journey he appeared to be sleeping, or at least trying. Jamie had elected to sit beside him, elbowing him frequently as he clambered over him trying to see out the window, and constantly jostling him awake. Always patient and good humored with the boy, he would retreat as soon as he was able into a private space of his own. If not for Jamie’s constant observations and questions to the three of them, there would have been no conversation at all.

  It was a relief for everyone when they arrived in Calais and could extricate themselves from quarters grown suffocatingly close. Once on board, the irrepressible Jamie begged to be shown the workings of the ship. Gabriel accompanied him as they toured the vessel, paying close attention to the answers the boy received from the captain and crew as he peppered them with questions. For the next couple of days, he appeared to be as fascinated as Jamie was by the sprightly little schooner.

  Gabriel took to the sea as if he were born to it. He had no trouble keeping his footing, or the contents of his stomach as the ship rolled and pitched beneath him. When rough weather approached, he found his way up on deck, turning his face into the wind as it whipped spray over the bulwark and onto the deck, soaking his clothes and hair and splashing his hands and face. The wind was sweet as music to him, making the little ship sing as it whistled and shrieked through the rigging, setting off a wild staccato of flags and pennants flapping madly overhead. He felt at home, in his element. The ocean called to him, and something resonated deep inside.

  Turning around, he was taken aback to find Sarah on deck, clutching the rail. As soon as he saw her, he turned to leave.

  “Please don’t go on my account, monsieur. I would enjoy the company. It’s magnificent, is it not?” she asked with a brilliant smile, almost shouting, straining to be heard over the din. “I feel so alive when it’s like this, as if I’m a part of it. I feel like I could fly.”

  “I am surprised, mademoiselle, that your brother, or the captain, allow it,” he said sourly.

  She grinned and brushed away a stray lock of hair. “Oh, Ross knows better than to forbid me, and I’m well acquainted with the ocean. Is this your first time at sea?”

  “Yes, mademoiselle,” he allowed.

  “Please, call me Sarah.”

  “No, mademoiselle.”

  “Well, stop calling me mademoiselle at any rate, Gabriel, because I am, in fact, a widow.”

  “I am sorry, madam,” he said with a courtly bow, impressive given the pitching deck. “Might I remark that you seem a rather merry type of widow to me?”

  “Well,” she said, “in truth I didn’t care for Lord Munroe very much, and although I didn’t wish him dead, I would be a hypocrite to say it causes me any undue sorrow.” Leaning into the rail, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the spray.

  He couldn’t help but notice that the damp was making her dress cling in an interesting fashion. It fueled a flicker of hunger that alarmed him. It would not do to allow any interest. Used to controlling his responses, he took a deep breath and suppressed it. If she really was a lady, she would not appreciate or reciprocate the attentions of a prostitute. If she wasn’t, she would find that he’d not left Madame Etienne’s to be a whore, for her, or for anyone else. “I believe I was brought here to entertain your brother, madam, not you. If you will excuse me, I am done with taking the air.” Turning on his heel, he left.

  “Well!” Sarah said to herself with a snort and a blink, momentarily annoyed by his rudeness. Nevertheless, it really was a magnificent day and as the storm whipped, howled, and tugged at her hair, she forgot the annoying Monsieur St. Croix. Letting her head fall back, she laughed into the wind.

  Turning for a last look, Gabriel stood riveted. He’d thought her handsome, rather than beautiful, but at that moment she appeared elemental, like some ancient goddess of the sea, and he felt something dangerous stir within.

  With the storm, the journey from Paris to Falmouth took a little over five days. As Gabriel approached his new home, he felt a growing sense of wonder. The large, two-story manor house stood on a bluff, nestled along a wild stretch of coast above cliffs that fell sheer to the pale sands and rocky shore below. It looked out across the channel, with banks of windows throughout to capture the ocean vista and the rising and setting of the sun. It took full advantage of its aspect, with terraces and gardens surrounding the house, and broad balconies abutting the second floor. He noted numerous well-worn paths along the cliff edge leading down to the wild beach. Creamy-flowered magnolia trees and the tangy musk of pine and sea joined in a heady fragrance that reminded him, somehow, of Lady Munroe. He supposed he was as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get.

  He was given a well-appointed room next to Jamie’s, and introduced as “Monsieur St Croix, a friend of the family from France.” Jamie came to the rescue again as they toured the house, acting as a much needed buffer, pulling Gabriel along by the hand, chattering excitedly about his room and asking questions of all three of them. It was a warm and comfortable house. The main floor had an airy
open design consisting of a long gallery with interconnecting rooms. With the doors open, one could move freely from music room to library to salon. The furnishings were sturdy and inviting, made for relaxation and set in conversational groupings to provide a quiet refuge and placed to enjoy the view. The overall effect was open, eclectic, and unusual, not unlike its inhabitants.

  Sarah found herself watching Gabriel curiously, trying to gauge his reactions, indeed she had made somewhat of a game of it. He had blinked several times during Ross’s lecture on plumbing and indoor heating, signaling she thought, a keen interest. He seemed to have little interest in the music room, looking polite and bored as she showed them the various instruments, but when she bent to help Jamie return a violin to its case, she saw him from the corner of her eye, his fingers poised over the keyboard with what might have been a wistful look.

  Caught up in her study of their enigmatic new friend, Sarah was finally rewarded in the library. Gabriel walked slowly along the shelves of books, his index finger tracing covers and spines as he searched the titles, interest sparking, then flaring in his eyes. She watched as his face relaxed into a slight smile, and ventured to address him. “It’s an impressive collection is it not?”

  He turned to her with an excited smile that made her heart flutter. “It is indeed mademoiselle. I am permitted to make use of it?”

  “But of course! This is your home now. You are welcome to use the library whenever you wish. Perhaps you’d like to take some books to keep in your room.”

  His smile widened into a grin that pierced her to the quick. “Thank you, mademoiselle, I should be delighted.”

  She decided not to correct him. If he wished to smile at her, he could call her madam, or mademoiselle, or whatever he damned well pleased.