by Judith James
Leaning into her, he loosened his grip and whispered in her ear, “I’m a whore, dearling, and you’re certainly paying me well enough. I’m as skilled at pleasing a woman as I am at pleasing a man. Some say better.” He teased her lobe with hot breath and fluttering tongue. “Are you wet for me, mignonne? Shall I show you what pleasure truly means?” Forcing her hand down, he rubbed it against the bulge in his breeches, stifling a groan. “I’m ready for you, chére. Feel me,” he crooned. “Shall we go to my room, or yours? Or perhaps right here, with your brothers just a shout away. Does that excite you?”
He was right, damn him! She did want him. But not like this! God knew she’d thrilled to the feel of his body pressed hard against hers; his sex, potent and probing; his soft whispers and skillful tongue. To her shame and horror, she was wet for him. She hated him at that moment. She jerked her arm as if suddenly released from a relentless force, and pulled her hand away.
He loosened his grip, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall, and let her go. He stepped back, breathing as heavily as she was. She looked at him, her hair disheveled and her mouth bruised from his kiss. Her eyes, full of unshed tears, were angry and unmistakably hurt, and he felt a brief stab of regret.
“I was only trying to help,” she said coldly. Gathering her dignity, and what was left of her wits, she turned to climb the stairs.
“Then stay the fuck away from me,” he rasped to her departing back. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He entered the music room and leaned against the door. Closing it behind him, he slid to the floor. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Why did she have to plague him? She would tell her brother now. Huntington would make him leave, and make him pay. It would be best to go now, immediately. But where? There was no past he could bring himself to return to, no future he could possibly imagine.
Climbing wearily to his feet, he helped himself to the brandy he’d left the night before, and made his way listlessly back to his room. A fire crackled in the hearth, bringing light and warmth to ease the late night chill. Tipping back his head, he took a healthy swig, hoping to warm himself inside. It couldn’t numb his pain, though. It didn’t even touch it. It remained raw and sore and throbbing, like his cock. He stroked himself, striving for comfort and release, trying to imagine her lying beneath him, warm and soft with welcome, but all he could see were her eyes, hurt and angry, and he felt sick with shame.
Denied any release from alcohol or sex, he hurled the bottle against the wall, watching it shatter into myriad pieces of crystal, each one catching the glow of the fire, sparking scarlet and crimson with its own internal flame. Fascinated, he rose from the bed. Replacing the sacrificial brandy with a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, heedless of the crystal crunching under his bare feet, he crossed the room and picked up a shard, examining it, holding it to the light, admiring its shape and the feel of it between his fingertips.
He sat cross-legged in front of the fire, grimacing only slightly, a half smile on his face as he pressed the razor-thin glass against his wrist until the blood welled ruby red. Carefully he drew a line, and then stopped for a swallow of whiskey, another line, another swallow, continuing until something eased inside him, allowing the whiskey and brandy to do their job, allowing him, finally, to escape into nightmares and a troubled sleep.
Cold rough hands stroked him awake. “Réveille toi mon ange.” An icy, amused whisper. He was running, running as fast as he could, down twisting corridors. Ancient doors yawned open as he hurtled past, hissing voices calling him, arms reaching out to grab him, voices grunting with twisted passion and sick promise as he searched frantically for the door that would let him out, but he couldn’t find it. There was no escape from the terrible, hungry thing closing in on him. He saw her up ahead, drawing away, preparing to leave. He shouted and she turned to look, her eyes cold, condemning, and he knew he was damned. A frigid vice closed around his ankle, dragging him screaming and kicking, down, down, down …
CHAPTER
6
Gabriel rose late the next morning, bleary and sick, grateful someone had come and cleared away all traces of last night’s excess. He was almost relieved when, late in the afternoon, a servant came to tell him his presence was required in Lord Huntington’s study. He’d known she would tell her brother. He’d assaulted her, held her by the throat in her own home just steps away from her family. He’d been waiting for it all day. He was about to be exiled from a home where he’d never belonged in the first place.
Unaccustomedly nervous, fighting to armor himself for what was to come, he took several deep breaths before knocking and entering the study. The room was hung with seascapes, maps, and charts. There were several models of ships of various types on display, as well as a magnificent globe. Ross stood behind his desk, framed by the window and the late afternoon sun. He held a whip in one hand. Gabriel swallowed and concentrated on breathing. He didn’t know if he could accept it. Not from this man, not from any man ever again, but he knew he deserved it. He was seized for a moment by a wild hope. Perhaps the punishment would suffice. Perhaps he would not be sent away. Wordlessly he removed his coat.
Ross was stunned, speechless. Surely to God the fellow didn’t think he had called him here for … to … Good God! What kind of depraved creature had he let into his home? He clutched the whip convulsively in his hand, and it was only then he understood. The lad had seen the whip and thought he’d been called for punishment. Relieved and horribly embarrassed, he quickly tossed it onto the desk and spoke in his sternest voice, “Your pardon, young man. I have business to discuss with you, and though I am aware that everyone in this household takes a slapdash attitude toward dress and deportment, I feel it is reasonable of me to expect a degree of formality in what is in effect, my place of business. Kindly put your coat back on and take a seat. When we are done, you may gambol about the halls, dressed as you please.”
Seating himself, he added sourly, “Frankly, Gabriel, I had not expected you to be learning bad habits from my sister.” He was aware he sounded like a pompous ass, but really, it was the best he could manage under the circumstances. He wondered fleetingly what misdeed the fellow had committed that he imagined warranted a whipping, but chose not to pursue it.
Gabriel, whose face had been white and drawn, now flushed a bright pink as he sank slowly into a chair. She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t said a thing!
Having rescued them both from a great embarrassment, Ross felt more than entitled to a stiff drink. Pouring two glasses of his best port, he handed one to Gabriel and settled back into his chair, watching and wincing as the lad threw it back as though it were water, with no respect for pedigree or vintage. “Good God, man! That’s sublime and complex ambrosia! Show it some respect. It is meant to be sipped and savored, not carelessly tossed.”
“What do you want with me, Huntington?”
“I’ve decided, after much thought, that James has adjusted well enough to his new circumstances for me to consider sending him to school. He’s an extremely bright boy, eager to learn, and as you will appreciate, he has not had the opportunity to make appropriate friends. It is apparent he will quickly outstrip his tutor. How is it, by the way, that he has learned to read and write so well in English and in French?”
Hands tightening around his now empty glass, Gabriel’s stomach clenched and roiled. So he was to be sent away after all. He shrugged. “It amused me to teach him. As you said, he learns quickly.” In fact, he’d loved teaching Jamie. It had made him feel useful and important, and he’d shared vicariously in the boy’s wonder and excitement. Books were familiar accoutrements to Madame’s’ clients, and her library had been well stocked. To her they were props, used to create a mood of welcome and comfort for those who wanted a piece of the familiar served with their vice. To Gabriel they were life and death, a door through which he could escape to ideas and adventures, other lands and places, converse with great minds and play with grand ideas. It was the only place that offered him any escape. Jamie’s
constant barrage of questions had driven him there repeatedly in search of answers, and as he taught him in French, Gabriel’s skill in English had developed apace.
Ross nodded thoughtfully. The man had hidden depths, no doubt about it. They owed him a great deal. “I am debating letting him try the fall term. He is eager to do so. He wants to meet other boys his age, and I believe it might be for the best. He is my heir, and he has lands of his own passed to him by my parents. He must learn to take his place. I’ll not force it, though.” He leaned back, fingers drumming on the desktop. “I am cognizant that you know him better than I do. What is your opinion on the matter?”
Gabriel blinked, truly startled. With the exception of Jamie’s constant questions, no one had ever asked his opinion about anything before he came to this strange and unpredictable house. He took his time, striving to answer as honestly as he could. “I think he’s lost his chance to be a child, and there’s nothing you or your sister, can do to change that, but he can still be a normal boy. Let him do what other boys his age do if that’s his wish. He’s a pretty child, though, Huntington, and he’s been protected.” He gave Ross a challenging look, but the older man only nodded and gestured for him to continue.
“One hears things about some of these places. It would be a pity to have him escape the whorehouse intact, only to be buggered at school.”
Ross shifted uncomfortably. He’d spent time at school himself. Big for his age, and well schooled in self-defense, he’d managed well enough, but he knew what Gabriel meant. “What do you suggest, then?”
“It seems simple enough, Huntington. Find him somewhere safe and close to home. Make your presence felt and let him know that he can leave at any time he wishes.” Gabriel tossed back the remainder of his drink and rose to leave. “If that is all?”
“No, it’s not. Sit, please.”
“I prefer to stand.” It was said without rancor.
“I also wished to discuss your situation, Gabriel.”
“That will not be necessary,” he replied, voice clipped. “With Jamie in school, you will have no need of me here. I agree it’s for the best. Pay me a third of what we agreed. It will suffice.”
“Are you so eager to leave us?” Ross asked, much to his own surprise. “Has anyone mistreated you here? Offended you in anyway?”
“No.”
“Then sit down … please, and let me be clear. My brother, provided I can find him a situation of the nature you suggest, will be home every fortnight as well as over the holidays. He will be expecting to see you here, and, well … one hates to be indelicate, but I must remind you that our written agreement is for one full year. If you choose to end it prematurely, I am not required to pay you anything at all. Come now, lad,” Ross relented, “surely you can put up with us a while longer, for young James’s sake.”
Gabriel nodded stiffly, knowing he’d been deftly manipulated into doing exactly what he wanted most. “You and your sister have a great deal in common,” he observed coolly.
Ross grinned and raised his glass in salute. “Why, thank you. Now back to business. It is my intention that you continue your education as a gentleman.” He raised his hand for silence before Gabriel could protest. “I mean no offense. You are being presented as a friend of the family. It is assumed you are a distant relative, ergo you must have the necessary skills and training. It is clear you have exquisite manners when you choose to use them, and James’s tutor tells me you have a classical education at least the equal of most of the young fops passing for gentlemen these days. It is my understanding that you are largely self-taught. This is much to your credit, given your circumstances. My sister tells me you’re an accomplished musician, another noteworthy achievement. She’s quite skilled herself, and assures me there’s nothing a local music master could teach you. One cannot help but wonder what you would have accomplished if your upbringing had been more orthodox. Now then,” he said, drumming his fingers, “do you dance?”
“Yes, it was part of my training.”
“Mmm, quite. Ride?”
“I have … I did … It’s been a few years.”
“Any good at it?”
“I was.”
“Excellent! It’s not the sort of thing one forgets. We’ll head to the stables after our meeting and find you a suitable mount. Can you defend yourself? Have you any training in boxing or fencing, any experience with sword or pistol?”
“I can use my fists, and a dagger,” he answered grimly.
A slight inflection in his voice made Ross give him a sharp look. “Indeed?”
Gabriel returned his look with the same cold stare Ross remembered from their first meeting. A decorated military man, sea captain, and adventurer, he’d seen that look many times before. The fellow knew how to kill, no mistake about it. A dangerous man, this young lad. Best not forget it. He wondered, not for the first time, why he allowed him near his sister, his little brother. Still, he was no hypocrite. Only a dangerous man could have kept James safe in that hellhole he’d been plucked from.
When it was clear there was no explanation forthcoming, Ross continued, “Well, yes, of course. Ahem … I should like, however, to see you trained in the arts of gentlemanly combat, as well. I have a dear friend, a partner and business associate, Gypsy Davey. He’s currently at sea but we expect him home any day now. He’ll be staying with us over the fall and winter. This is a most fortuitous circumstance for you, young man, as there are few, if any, men alive who could best him with sword or pistol. He is also skilled in hand-to-hand combat and, er … dagger.
“I will ask him to assess your skill and train you if he’s so inclined. You will, I hope, be appreciative of his time and show him the utmost respect. If all goes well, and you’re interested, he may even teach you seamanship. The sea can be good to a man if he has daring and ability. Captain Jenkins was favorably impressed with you on the crossing. He remarked upon your interest and felt you might have an aptitude. Do you know, he asked me about having you as a midshipman? In any case, you will want some form of useful career suitable to a gentleman, and I can’t picture you in the clergy,” he said with a chuckle.
Gabriel hadn’t known. As far as he was aware, he’d never been noticed for anything, other than his body and his face. He’d never been praised for anything, other than that, or his skill with his hands, his mouth, or his prick. Hearing Huntington listing his accomplishments and planning his future when he’d come expecting anger and retribution, left him feeling buffeted and bewildered. He could make no sense of this new world, no matter how hard he tried. He had no map, no compass, no idea of what to expect next. He’d awoken this morning feeling shame and self-loathing, expecting punishment and exile. It seemed that Sarah had chosen mercy, and now her brother was offering gifts. He knew the dangers of easy acceptance and self-delusion, but he was unable to refuse. None of it showed on his face. “Yes, sir. Of course. Thank you.”
Ross nodded, startled and pleased. He recognized that the honorific and appreciation were not trivial things, coming from this man. He was beginning to appreciate what Sarah saw in their prickly young friend. There was enormous potential within him, the makings of something fine. He knew, though, far better than Sarah could, what cruelty, violence, and lust could do to a man, how unlikely it was the lad would ever be able to free himself. Still, he was owed the opportunity for what he’d done for James, and Ross was a man who always paid his debts.
Several hours later, Gabriel turned his mount around and headed back to the house. Leaning forward, he gave the horse his head and thundered down the beach. He felt an intense exhilaration, a rough, unfamiliar joy, and he reveled in the feel of freedom and power as the ground passed beneath him. He slowed the big animal to a walk as he neared the house. The tide was coming in now, as was the night. Reluctantly, he returned the horse to the stable, removed the saddle, and bedded him down.
He felt somewhat guilty for missing supper again. After Huntington’s generosity he should have reciprocated with a
show of good manners at least, but he’d wanted to take the horse, and he’d wanted to avoid Sarah. As his thoughts turned to last night’s debacle, his ebullient mood was punctured and his pleasure fell flat. He couldn’t avoid her forever, but he didn’t know how to face her, either. He wasn’t a vicious man, but last night with her, he had been, and she hadn’t deserved it. He didn’t understand why she’d kept it to herself, but he was grateful. He knew, instinctively, that if she were going to tell Ross, she would have done so already. Last night was between the two of them, and so it would remain.
CHAPTER
7
Though the days were still sultry, the end of August was approaching and the nights foreshadowed the coming season. The air had turned cool, and the night had crept in by the time Gabriel made it back to the house. He could hear the sound of the rising surf breaking against the cliff, crashing and booming against the rocks below. He sat for a while on the cliff’s edge, legs dangling down, feeling the power beneath him. Lying back, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, listening to the ebb and flow of the waves, content, for once, in his life; at peace.
He didn’t know how long he remained there before hunger and cold drove him to his feet. Looking up, he could see that the lights had been dimmed or extinguished throughout the house. It was quiet, most of the staff and family having gone to bed. His disinclination for company and constant struggle to sleep had left him no stranger to nocturnal ramblings.
The kitchen, the library, the music room, he had no trouble finding his way in the dark.
Having missed supper, he headed for the kitchen, stomach growling, only to stop dead at the entrance. His nemesis sat at the table, coffee mug in hand, dressed in a shapeless frilled monstrosity, with a shawl draped about her shoulders. He wanted to run away. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, to beg her forgiveness and thank her for her forbearance. Instead, he offered her a mocking bow. “Mademoiselle, as always, is the height of fashion I see.” She grinned and chuckled appreciatively, the only woman he’d met without a trace of vanity.
