by Pamela Aares
“I tell you what I can. The mission I was assigned, the one I was waiting to begin when I met you—there were lives at stake. Innocent lives. And outside the fact that it didn’t go as planned, it’s not over.” Drawing his hand from her face, he rested it on her shoulder. “I don’t want to tell you more, even though I could. There are burdens you need not carry.”
A flicker of defiance flashed in her eyes. Or was it hurt? For all his eons, nothing had prepared him for the bone-wrenching thrusts of emotions that coursed through him.
Command. It was supposed to be his great skill. It was the reason he’d been chosen to lead the most crucial missions. But it wasn’t command he was feeling now.
He held her gaze as a caged breath escaped him. He wished it hadn’t sounded like a sigh. She touched a finger to his lips, then traced a pattern against his cheek.
“And,” she said with a tender smile, “there are things you wish you didn’t know.”
Her words felt like an absolution. Soothing. Forgiving. Before he could rest in their peace, she continued.
“I know this feeling.” She drew her hand to her lap. “At least in part. I walk in the world and yet I see what lies beyond the surface of the common place actions, beyond the day-to-day words and habits that sometimes soothe, sometimes lull, sometimes harm. And though there are times when all this seeing overwhelms me, I wouldn’t have it otherwise. I wouldn’t trade my knowing, not for more moments of calm or restfulness—perhaps not even for joy.” She turned to look out the window. “I’ve had to find my peace in the truth of life. In the dark places as well as the light.”
Then, waving her hand above her head in a gesture of surrender, she turned back to him, laughter lighting her eyes. “Although I shall have to adjust my estimation of the world, now that I’ve met you.” Then she nailed him with a lift of her brow. “You did say you would get around to Lord Gabriel. There’s no such person in the peerage. Serena looked.”
He should’ve known she’d want every detail he could fill in. Writers, it seemed, were ever curiouser and curiouser.
“Gabriel is not easy to explain.”
***
Jane watched as Michael stood and paced the room. He began his story and as she listened, waves of emotion that all her life she’d thought she’d understood, had thought she’d known well, rolled over her. She’d prided herself on uncovering the hidden motivations of others, had woven those very discoveries into her stories. But she now understood that she’d never before plumbed the depths of either motivation or emotion. Faced with such a truth about herself—faced with the recognition that she’d not truly known herself—she was disturbed and humbled. Meeting Michael had already drawn her open in ways she would have prayed for had she recognized they existed.
He told her of engaging Gabriel—the Gabriel—to find Darcy, and she laughed at the tale of such a being hating to cross the sea. It had never occurred to her that angels had varied powers, that they had to work together to accomplish their miracles. When he told her of banishing the demon from Lord Rendin during the carriage race, she shuddered.
“Though I saw you do that,” she confessed, “I had no idea what I was seeing. It made me doubt my senses.”
“I hadn’t known you’d seen. You shouldn’t have—I’m sorry. But at that point, I could hardly have explained.” He took in a breath. “And I should have seen it coming, the demon, that is. I should’ve perceived that the forces were gathering, but I didn’t. Gabriel tried to warn me before he left Anderley; I was in no mood to listen.”
He paused and toed the fringe of the carpet with his boot. The gesture was endearing; she rather liked knowing that he was nervous, that this circumstance was new for him as well.
“After the carriage race,” he continued, “when we argued in the garden—”
“I hardly think argue is the word. If I remember correctly, I gave you no chance to say anything at all.”
“You sent me away. You had every right. And though I tried to stay away, I found I simply had to see you. It wasn’t hard to persuade Princess Charlotte I was distantly related, to do some quick work behind the scenes as the Duke of Sanclere and help her secure permission to host a ball to honor Darcy. The poor girl was happy for any excuse to escape the scrutiny of her father.”
“But a ball?”
“I was sure you’d refuse to see me if I came back to Anderley. The ball was a way I could legitimately cross your path.” His smirk said he was proud of his machinations. “It worked, didn’t it?”
She laughed and nodded. She didn’t want to break his narrative, not now.
He frowned. “I had no way to know how being close to you that night would affect me. I couldn’t bear being with you another moment and not being able to tell you the truth. I wanted to tell you, to touch you, to feel your hand in mine and to ... ” He closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, then opened them and held her in a blazing gaze. “And to kiss you. I feared I’d make a deal with the devil right then and there. I got it in my head to race off to Gabriel. I thought he’d solve it all and I’d be back before you’d miss me.”
He frowned again.
“I left a note for you with the page at the door, with very clear instructions.”
His revelations flooded her with all the memories of her heartache. They’d been like a set of stepping stones across a stream that stopped halfway. How many times had she stepped onto those stones only to be arrested in her path and unable to cross over? Unable to go forward but not wanting to go back, unwilling to return to the shore she had left.
“There were nights I lay awake in the darkness,” she said quietly. “Nights when all my rational faculties told me I’d deluded myself, that you’d simply gone off, back to a world in which I didn’t belong and would never fit. And yet ... in those dark moments, my heart harbored a hope I could not release.”
He winced. “Even heavenly imps are more reliable than that young page, and that’s not saying much.”
He knelt at the side of the settee and covered her hand with his. At his touch, her body surged with heat and a powerful, yet subtle, energy.
“Jane, that night ... That night, I went to Gabriel. I knew he could help me to become embodied; he has that power. What I felt for you was forcing me beyond my command. Gabriel knew it, and though I could see that he wished it otherwise, he agreed to help.”
An odd smile lit his eyes.
“As I am the Supreme Commander of Heaven’s Bodiless Hosts ... Well, I’m sure you appreciate the irony.”
Turning her palm in his, he traced each of her fingers, then closed his hand over hers. She couldn’t feel where his hand stopped and hers began, as if her body melted into his, meeting, merging.
“When we danced,” he said, “the night of the ball, I felt ... ”
He said felt as if he were speaking a foreign tongue, as if he was still divining its meaning.
“I felt”—he repeated, opening his eyes and nailing her with his gaze—“that you wanted me too. But I had to be sure. While I know there’s a wisdom of the spirit that directs it—a wisdom that I trust—I also had to know that what I sought was true. I long ago learned not to mistake an act of will with the force of destiny. Before I faced you again, I had to be free to tell you the truth.” He lifted his hands from hers and swept them along his body. “And I wanted to meet you as I am now.”
He froze mid-motion.
“But I could never have known how terribly I’d be tested. It’s why I was away so long.”
Though he couldn’t tell her all, she could tell from what he didn’t say that his actions carried a price. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that price was.
“That night ... Jane, time is not the same for us as it is for you.”
“I imagine little is.” She smiled, shaking her head. His tale would no doubt surpass any she’d ever heard. But she was convinced that every word would be true.
“Though it seemed to me that I was gone but a night, more tha
n a month had passed here, in this realm. I would perhaps still be away, perhaps would not have survived, if Gabriel hadn’t aided me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I get ahead of myself. The beginning, you say.” He sucked in a long breath. “There are so many beginnings, Jane.”
He moved to the fire. Taking up the iron poker, he wrapped his hand around it and shifted a log, coaxing the fire into dancing flames. She tried to ignore the flexing muscles that rippled as he effortlessly turned the heavy log and the way her heart raced as she watched him. He caught her watching and grinned.
Without thought, without words, she knew. This was the love she’d sought all along. This was the love she’d labored to create for her heroines, but had feared to know for herself. And by some grace of the universe, it had come to her. He had come to her.
And she knew that once his story came to an end, her life would never be the same. Stories, she thought, we live and die by them.
“That night”—he looked up from the surging flames—“I thought to fall asleep and to wake embodied. Thought it would be easy. That this”— he gestured again to his body—“would be easy. I was a fool.
“Jane, there are consequences when one breaks with heavenly protocol. Some that even I don’t yet know.”
He unfolded from where he crouched by the fire. He towered over her, as if the room could barely contain him.
“I slept that night and awoke, remembering nothing. What I didn’t know was that I wasn’t awake at all. I was in the deepest of Hell, but that wasn’t apparent. Not at first.”
He ran his fingers along his collarbone, then told her rather sketchily of Lucifer’s deception, how he had tried to trick Michael.
The storyteller in her could see that he was editing his tale. She was sure, from the way he avoided her eyes, that some of what he omitted had to do with her. A tremor ran through her as she considered what he might know of her life. Whatever it was, the look in his eyes told her not to ask. When he told her of locking in battle, the horror of it seeped into her bones. Her chest tightened, fisting around her heart.
For once she found herself wishing a great story to be at its end.
“Though I fought him before, Lucifer has had millennia to gather his power and allies. I underestimated him, even though I knew better.” He let out a breath. “And I’m afraid what I faced is just the beginning.”
Though he spoke calmly, his voice low and measured and strong, she saw the effort he made not to alarm her. Yet a knifing fear coursed through his words and pierced into her. He had literally risked his soul to be with her.
A shudder prickled a nervous path deep in her body.
He saw it. He seemed to see everything.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he quickly told her. “Not nearly so terrible as an all-day tour of Rosings with your Mr. Collins.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to allay her fears, to calm her with his jest. Even her mother thought her obsequious Pride and Prejudice character, Mr. Collins, to be unbearable.
“You’re right. Compared to Mr. Collins, going toe to toe with the devil must be mere child’s play.” She tried, but her voice belied her attempt at a light tone.
“Lucifer is cunning and deceptively charming, and his rhetoric is ... Well, even I admire his rhetoric.” He slanted her a wry grin. “You would, too, since he has a way with words. But he is no match for love—never will be.” Michael crossed to her and dropped to his knees. The heat he radiated was hotter than what any fire could generate.
“No matter what,” he said, fingering a wayward curl at the nape of her neck, “the universe pulls for love. It’s one thing you can always count on.”
“I always have,” she whispered.
He dipped his head and touched his cheek to hers. She thought he would kiss her, but he inhaled a deep, sharp breath and stood once again.
“I must tell you the rest. Though the mission didn’t go as planned, we were able to secure sufficient information to accomplish it.”
To her surprise, he laughed.
“It seems my own team is bent on extending my penance. I had to work with an old nemesis.” He shook his head. “No, nemesis is too strong. In all fairness, she’s an effective agent, working undercover at Bedlam.”
Jane raised a brow. The hospital of St. Mary’s of Bethlehem, commonly known as Bedlam, was more of a prison for the insane than a hospital; a terrible place by all accounts.
“Why send her to such a horrific place?”
“It situates her team perfectly to take care of the final details. Besides,” he added as a grin curved his lips, “I rather think a madhouse suits her—she’ll fit right in.”
He started to laugh but then looked at his hands. When he lifted his gaze there was no trace of humor.
“I’m being unfair. Without her help, I wouldn’t have been able to come to you. Not in time.”
He saw the question flash in her eyes before she could ask it.
“My embodiment is limited. Even I do not know how long it will last. Already I have stretched its limits.” She saw the self-censure, as if he’d already said too much.
He paused, watching her, then paced back across the room. He picked up the crumpled paper that had landed in the corner near the fire and handed it to her.
“You should keep this; it’s quite good.”
He hadn’t even looked at it. But then she remembered. With a nervous laugh, she took it from his outstretched hand.
“It became clear to both Gabriel and me,” he continued, his tone serious, “that this struggle, my testing in the battle—my meeting you—are intertwined in some mysterious way. I’m sure it’s why he agreed to help.”
It wasn’t a smile that lit his face; it was more like a beaming. The man could beam, even under the most trying circumstances. It simply wasn’t anything she could defend against. She found she didn’t want to.
“Not that paths are all set out, of course,” he continued. “Life in this realm is more like a collection of probabilities. Every day, choices are made that alter lives, alter destinies. More so for you than for me, for I’m bound by my vows—bound irrevocably, unless I want to follow Lucifer’s path, which I don’t.”
He pulled her to her feet, held his hands closed around hers. The crumpled paper tumbled to the carpet.
“But you,” he said solemnly, “you have the full power of choice, no restrictions.”
He leveled a gaze at her that should have disintegrated her, but didn’t.
“And so, it’s you, Jane, who now holds my life, my destiny, in your hands. What happens between us this night is up to you.”
She didn’t want to move, not even to breathe. And she certainly didn’t want to think. But that’s exactly what she did. Thoughts crowded one upon another. Doubts flooded in. And most unwelcome among them was the realization that she had no idea what to do next.
And then, to her dismay, her stomach let out a low, unmistakable growl.
Michael raised one eyebrow, assessing her.
“A sometimes unfortunate effect of having a body,” she said, embarrassed.
“Gabriel tells me it’s one of the great pleasures. He loves his meals.” His brows knit together as he surveyed her. “When did you last eat, Jane?”
“I had ... ” She searched her memory. The morning felt ages in the past. “I had toast this morning.”
“Dost thou think that because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?”
“Twelfth Night, one of my favorite of Shakespeare’s plays,” she said with a touch of triumph.
“Yes, by Saint Anne,” he continued, “and ginger shall be hot in the mouth, too.”
“Impressive.” Then she wrinkled her nose at him. “Though with your powers,” she teased, “it’s hardly any accomplishment. I have to make an effort to memorize.”
The way her nerves were jangling at the moment, she was amazed she could remember anything more than two seconds past.
***
“I haven’t spent this much time in the kitchen since we moved here.” She laughed.
“You have other, more important pursuits. Writing, for instance,” he said. He glanced out at the waning light of the sunset. Day was swiftly dissolving into twilight, too quickly bringing the night. The next day would too soon follow.
But he wouldn’t think about that. Not yet.
“I haven’t written for months,” she said over her shoulder as she fumbled with kindling at the stove. “But you know that, don’t you?”
He watched as she struggled to revive the fire, then stood and moved her gently aside. With a hasty wave, he passed his hands over the coals. They leaped into a steady, perfect blaze.
She backed away from the fire and from him.
“You’ll soon be writing again,” he said, ignoring her astonishment and sliding back into his chair.
“I’m afraid my culinary skills, while sufficient, are not remarkable,” she said shakily. “And all I have are buns and some ham. Perhaps I could—”
He waved his hand, stopping her before she could apologize. “Did I ever tell you that doubt creates more work for angels, more so than even fear? Don’t doubt yourself, Jane. There’s no reason.”
She nodded toward the stove. “I don’t suppose you could show me how to do that?”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t think so. But it would save an inordinate amount of time.” She hummed as she set out slices of ham and bread, and then she sat beside him at the table. He watched as she ate several bites of her meal and washed it down with tea.
“I haven’t had a meal in ... ” He stopped and grinned. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say. You’ll realize I’m much older than I appear.”
“Then it’s lucky for you that this is a time when a man’s age matters little. Though people pretend otherwise, only their power is of consequence. You seem to have plenty of that.” Her smile wavered as her eyes searched his face. “Exactly how old are you?”
