Dear Impostor

by Nicole Byrd

  But Gabriel did. He would delight her in ways that surely few women had known before. His hand soothed her, incited her, opened her up to sensations that she had not even known existed, brought her to such heights that she almost could not breath. Pressure swirled and built between her thighs as he held her prisoner with only the tips of his fingers. She paused, breathlessly, reaching sightlessly for something she could not name but wanted desperately.

  She sobbed his name in supplication. Gabriel smiled down into her flushed face in understanding and then replaced his fingertips with his mouth.

  Psyche reared up in open-eyed shock, then the delicious sensation enveloped her. Mindlessly, she fisted her hands in his thick hair and held tight as his hungry mouth devoured her secrets.

  Gabriel slid his hands beneath her writhing hips and cupped her buttocks in his palms, burying tongue and lips into her. Gasps heaved in and out of her chest, and just when she thought her heart would surely explode, he gave a final caress with his clever tongue, and her heart and all else exploded into a burst of color and light. Her hips jerked and thrust, but Gabriel slid up her body and kissed her into stillness.

  He watched her, taking all his delight in her pleasure, her surprised but passionate responses. She rested for a moment, looking dazed, her fair body a stark contrast against the dark cloak. During the lovemaking, her hair had come unbound and was twisted around her sweat-dampened body. Tendrils clung to her chest and cheeks.

  “I never knew.” She voiced her amazement.

  “I thought I knew,” he said hoarsely, feeling his heart still pounding. “But I can see there is much that you can teach me.”

  Shaking her head at the absurdity of that, she realized she was completely naked and he was fully clothed.

  “This will not do at all,” she said in a temptress’s tones. Slight tremors still rocked her as she pulled at his shirt, needing to feel the rough warmth of his skin against her. Reaching down with urgent hands, he assisted her, yanking on buttons and ties until his chest was bare and his masculinity exposed.

  Psyche’s eyes widened at the proof of his desire.

  He chuckled low in his throat. “Goddess, you do a man’s ego good.”

  Looking back up into his face, she shrugged and gave a fair imitation of her usual icy disdain.

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Just when her pulse had almost slowed to normal, he sent it rocketing again by pressing his hardness against her wet warmth, and at the same time, taking her mouth in a desperate kiss. When he pulled his lips from hers, he captured her chin in his hand.

  Pressing the smooth tip of himself against her, he held himself there at the brink of her being until her lashes fluttered open, and she focused her passion-dazed eyes upon him. His gaze captured her as surely as his heavy body pressing her into the unyielding floor.

  “Pretend that I have a lifetime to worship you instead of only this one time.”

  Before she could challenge that utterance, he pushed himself into her wet warmth in one smooth stroke.

  Psyche exhaled and tensed slightly at the strange sensation, but Gabriel seemed to anticipate her feelings because he ducked his head down to hers. Carefully, his breath labored, he pressed kisses to her eyelids and nuzzled in the rumpled curls at her forehead.

  Pulsing with heat inside of her, he held himself still and let her adjust. It was all so new to her. On the edge of fright, Psyche opened her eyes again; she saw that Gabriel was watching her; his sea deep eyes kind, and his expression intent.

  “Relax, my love,” he told her, and then he drew almost out of her before pushing back in to the hilt. Psyche braced herself for more discomfort, but this time it was fleeting, and Gabriel’s arms were comforting around her.

  He kissed her lips very gently. “You are more dear to me than my life,” he whispered.

  Then he moved again within her, and this time there was no pain at all, only the wonderful sensations that had been growing through all his careful ministrations. He had incited an intensity of feeling through his touch and his lips that now his deeper masculinity stirred into even more blissful passion.

  Psyche felt waves of pleasure so intense they were almost pain; she could not bear so much joy–surely, she would fall apart, disappear into wisps of vapor that would rise like the dew toward the morning sun.

  Still Gabriel moved inside her, his pace quickening as her own response became more fevered. She felt joined with him at some elemental level, as if one skin covered both their bodies, one pulse labored in both their veins. They had been made one, and she would never again look at the world in the same way.

  The waves were higher, deeper, but this time Psyche knew what to expect, and she wanted it desperately for herself and Gabriel. In characteristic fashion, she held back not at all, instead rushing headfirst to meet it. Psyche let herself go, moving with him, pushing against the strong thrusts, pulling him closer, kissing him so hard that her lips felt swollen, then falling back again, barely aware of the hard floor beneath her. She could feel only the rising passion that surged and crested at last in an ecstasy beyond thought, beyond words, ecstasy that no poet had ever hoped to express.

  She cried out, then felt Gabriel’s whole body tense before he pulled himself quickly out of her body and emptied himself into the discarded sash.

  He kissed her, then pulled her into the circle of his arms. They lay side by side, breathless with spent passion. She felt so alive that she thought she might hear the mice in their nests, the spiders scuttling along their silken webs, the stars making their own celestial music. Speech was impossible for some minutes; she was content to lay her cheek against his chest, feel the light sheen of perspiration that coated his tanned skin, hear his heart still beating fast, his breath at last beginning to slow, and to know that she had mirrored his responses with perfect precision. They were two parts of one whole.

  “Pretend that instead of just leaving your body, I had instead come inside of you, that we had created a little life inside your womb.” He lay a trembling hand on over her belly as if shielding a life there. Psyche let the tears fall unhindered down her face and dampen her hair.

  He brushed the tears away and tried to bring back her smiles “You are a goddess indeed,” he said, very low. “I worship at your shrine.”

  She smiled for him, though her heart ached. She knew him so well but did not know how to convince him that he was worthy of her love. Until he believed it, nothing she said would sway him. But this was no time for sadness. She rallied for him and injected a teasing note into her voice. “Don’t be irreverent.”

  “Then you are the part of my soul that I have been lacking for so long.” This time, his tone was serious; she knew he was sincere.

  He shut his eyes. His breathing slowed, and she thought that he slept. He had had no rest through their carriage ride, the hurried retreat from danger that had brought them here.

  It was as well. She could not bear to hear more denials of their future. She had vowed her love to him, and she had meant it. True, Gabriel had been free for so long, his affections unfettered, his charm and face and perfect body the object of so many women’s lust.

  How could she expect to hold him?

  She just would, that was all. She would not accept one interlude of perfect joy. That, she could expect, had in fact already been given. But she had no doubt that the future could hold much more.

  She turned her head and gazed at Gabriel. Mid-morning sun streamed through the uncovered windows, the grime filtering the bright light so that it fell on his prone body reverently, softly. She studied the strong planes and angles of his face, stern even in sleep. She would have Gabriel, or she would have no man at all. Hands fisted at her side, she breathed a silent plea.

  Please, allow us a future together!

  Chapter 19

  When they awakened, she still lay in his arms, at ease despite her nakedness. When his gaze traveled over her still flushed breasts, his open admiration was a benediction th
at she accepted without self consciousness. So much had changed so quickly, and Psyche had changed, too. In some corner of her mind, she gave thanks that–whatever the future held–Gabriel would always be the one to have taught her about the corporeal side of love, love’s other face. She was sure that no one else could have opened her mind and her heart to the wonders of this passion, could have elicited such responses from her physical nature, responses that had allowed her to surprise even herself. No, she was glad that this had been the first time, with Gabriel, and it had truly been an expression of love.

  They were both still sticky with a light sheen of perspiration, and she thought longingly of a warm bath, or even a chilly secluded lake into which they might plunge. Together, naked, feeling the water cool against fevered skin . . . And that picture evoked images of lovemaking all over again; she blinked, amazed at the feelings that so easily reawakened within her.

  Gabriel raised himself to one elbow and leaned over her, gazing at her face, smiling at the spark of yearning that rekindled within her blue eyes.

  “I believe I have created–”

  ”A monster?” She finished for him, a little fearful that these feelings were perhaps not normal, certainly not . . . respectable.

  “Never,” he said quickly. “A marvel, though not really of my creation. An awakening, I should say instead. An awareness of the passions I always suspected lay beneath your proper exterior.”

  He saw the doubt that clouded her eyes, and he kissed her very gently. “Rejoice, my love; you have been granted a rare gift, a gift that comes from your own honest heart, your own healthy body and mind. Some women take years to learn what you have already instinctively grasped, and some women never come to know it at all.”

  Some women never have a man who cares enough, who is wise and gentle and loving enough, to bring them to this knowledge, Psyche thought, but she did not voice her instinct.

  “So,” she drawled after leaning in for a long kiss, “what made you finally succumb to my demands?”

  “Honestly, I was afraid you might throw the table at me next.” Gabriel laughed and ducked to avoid her mock-furious attack. He gently bracketed her wrists in his hands in expectation of her next swat. But instead, she lifted her face and they shared a long kiss, luscious in its sweetness, with warmth that rapidly grew–

  And was never to flower into passion. Instead, a slight noise sent Gabriel very still. He paused and lifted his head.

  Psyche had heard it, too. “A mouse?” she whispered.

  “If so, it has two very large feet,” Gabriel told her, his voice grim. “I believe it is time to leave this wonderful manse, my dear.”

  She rapidly pulled her simple tunic back over her head and into place, smoothing her hair as best she could and picking up her cloak and her sandals.

  Gabriel also dressed quickly. He tossed the soiled blue sash into the ash-littered fireplace; they had disrupted the layer of dust on the floor, but there was little other sign that someone had been here. With his boots in one hand, Gabriel motioned for her to follow him. She tiptoed across the dusty floor and waited while he peered around the doorframe.

  “It sounds as if they are at the rear door,” he breathed into her ear.

  She nodded again, not even asking who ‘they’ were. Neither of them had any doubts, she was sure. Barrett would never give up; how long could they continue to elude his murderous gang?

  Which way? She looked the question at Gabriel, who seemed to be thinking. He glanced back toward the window, which was shaded by overlarge, untrimmed shrubbery. He motioned, and they ran lightly to the window.

  Gabriel grunted as he pushed at the window sash, the wood swollen from years of neglect. At last it slid open, and he put his head through, glanced quickly around, then withdrew to help Psyche slide over the sill. He held her hands as she scrambled through, then dropped the few feet to the ground.

  Psyche looked around as Gabriel followed her, jumping to the soft earth just beside her. The grass rustled and the bushes stirred; the slight noises seemed loud to Psyche’s ears. Had anyone heard them, seen their escape?

  A shout from the back of the house was her answer.

  “Oy, they be getting away!” a hoarse voice shouted.

  “Make a dash for the woods,” Gabriel instructed.

  Holding her hand, he half-pulled her along as they both ran for their lives. Psyche pelted through the grass, wincing as her bare feet hit pebbles and stubbed against hard roots. Once, she almost fell, but Gabriel caught her and tugged her erect once more.

  Men were racing after them, she could heard the crash of bodies through the undergrowth, see the shaking of limbs as she glanced back. She and Gabriel sprinted across the uneven ground. Soon, she was panting, but Gabriel never seemed to tire, and with his strong hand to urge her on, she was determined to keep up, to run till her very lungs burst from the strain. She would not be the weak link, the cause of his capture, his death. Nor her own, for that matter. The thought of falling into the hands of Barrett and his hired ruffians left her cold with dread.

  So she ran till her sides ached and her legs trembled and her vision was streaked with red. Only when she seemed to float in a daze of exhaustion, when she no longer could even make sense of Gabriel’s words, when he had to take her by the shoulders and pull her to him in the shadow of a giant oak, did she realize that they had apparently outrun their city-bred pursuers.

  “Rest for a moment,” Gabriel whispered. “But do not make a sound.”

  She nodded; she had no breath left to answer. Her whole body was shaking, and she would have fallen if he had not held her against him, his hard-muscled body reassuring in her current state of weakness.

  While her labored breathing slowed, Psyche strained to hear. The woods around them seemed empty again; she heard birds call, and in a moment a hawk shrieked somewhere in the skies above. The sound made her shiver. The hawk was a predator, angry perhaps because it had dived for a songbird and missed. There were other predators in the forest, today, just as angry, just as frustrated.

  Had the gang members given up and turned back to the decaying mansion? Or were they behind the next tree, just waiting for Gabriel and Psyche to show themselves?

  Psyche shivered. They could not stay hidden in the shadow of this tree forever.

  Gabriel seemed to have the same thought. “If we can make it to the village–” he whispered into her ear.

  She nodded. Her driver was there, with the carriage, and people who would witness and perhaps deter further attack. Gabriel scanned the clumps of trees closest to them, then nodded to her. Swiftly, but as quietly as possible, watching where she stepped, aware for the first time that her feet were bruised and bleeding, leaving a track that any shire-born hunter would likely be able to follow, she trailed Gabriel through the trees.

  He was angling back toward the drive, she thought, or perhaps going parallel to it; they could not go too far into the woods and risk getting lost; they might even accidentally double back and walk right into the fox’s den. Yet if they walked openly down the drive, they could be seen.

  Even as she considered all the dangers, she felt Gabriel stiffen. “What?” she breathed. Then she heard it, too, the faint sound of horses’ hooves. Was Barrett getting reinforcements? Fear rushed over her, and she saw the grim set of Gabriel’s jaw. He kept hold of her hand, but with his other, he reached inside his shirt and brought out the small knife.

  She knew they would not take him, or injure her, without a fight, but Gabriel would be sadly outnumbered.

  The noise came nearer, and Gabriel bent low beneath a leafy branch to make out the horse, or perhaps the team, that approached them; the driveway was only a few yards from their current hiding place. Then he dropped her hand and–to Psyche’s shock–darted toward the approaching vehicle, yelling and waving his arms.

  While she watched in astonishment, he looked back and motioned her forward. “Quickly,” he called.

  She ran to join him, then saw with a s
preading wave of relief that it was her own carriage and team, her own faithful driver, returning to collect them as instructed.

  “Get in!” Gabriel pulled open the door so that Psyche could scramble inside. “We’ve been attacked,” he called to the driver. “Turn at the first opportunity and make your best speed away from this place! When you get to the main road, I’ll give you more directions.”

  The man nodded, and Gabriel jumped inside.

  Psyche was still breathing quickly. “Where are Barrett’s killers–did they see us?”

  “I don’t know, but we will soon outdistance them,” Gabriel said, almost giddy from the release of tension. “Barrett is too low on funds to have a four-horse team, nor a well-sprung racing curricle. If they have the same gig they used before, it cannot keep up with your steeds.”

  Psyche nodded and drew a deep breath. Her cheeks had been flushed from the exertion of their mad race through the trees, but now her complexion was fading to its normal creamy hue. She reached back and pulled a twig from her tangled hair, trying to braid her locks into some semblance of order. In his mind’s eye, he saw her hair pins scattered on the library floor where his eager fingers had tossed them.

  Gabriel’s brief elation faded, and he felt a new wave of guilt. How much longer would her safety be threatened by his enemies?

  “Are we going back to London?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  Gabriel considered; he had underestimated this group of villains more than once; he must not do it again. “No, they must be expecting that; they might have an ambush waiting along the road,” he told her. “We will go south instead.”

  Psyche did not protest. She pushed her hair back and then brushed at the leaves that clung to her costume after their dash through the woods. “I will look a strange sight at an inn,” she observed, but her tone was only mildly rueful.

  How many well-bred ladies would have maintained their composure when faced with a sudden flight from a blood-thirsty gang, all the while wearing a disordered costume and little more? She had no baggage, no maid servant, and her reputation was in dire peril, yet her blue eyes were calm, her expression serene. She was a marvel, his enchanting Miss Hill. Gabriel gazed at her, love swelling inside him. She was unique, and she was his–if only briefly. He must keep her safe; next to that, nothing else mattered.