•
Gabriel sank into the tepid water as a groan of relief vibrated his body. The chill gradually eased from his bones, freeing its icy grip on his mind and soul.
The water’s depth amounted to little more than a hip bath. And yet, despite being far too large for the wooden tub, the sensation was incredible. He felt like a damned king … as if he were bathing among the ornate claw tubs found in the Tuileries Palace. Sighing, he draped both arms over the wooden sides and lolled his head backward. Moonlight illuminated his outstretched arms, and his eyes drew to the scar on his right bicep. And then he felt it – the inevitable return of his past, the whisper of ghosts who would never be laid to rest …
He struggled to fight away his dark thoughts, to lose himself within the moment. Beyond the walls, muffled chatter and the sounds of tinkling pots and pans resounded. They were comfortable noises – reminders of a simpler time and happier place.
But those sounds quickly dissolved, leaving twisted memories in their wake. The cocoon dissipated and ebbed away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable once more. His fingers gripped the tub’s edge and dug into the wood. He sealed his gaze, willing away ghosts that would never be laid to rest. An image rose behind his shut eyes – a striking face, long raven hair, and sooty black lashes cast over an enchanting gaze …
Gabriel cursed himself and released his arms from the tub. He attempted to regain his fragmented composure, but those images continued to race through his mind – ruthless, mocking, and unforgiving.
My doing. My fault.
He leaned forwarded and plunged both hands beneath the water. Just as he was about to splash his face, the image of his marred features materialized upon the glassy surface. Before ripping away the linens, he’d covered the mirror with one of the bathing towels.
For the first time, the complete horror of his disfigurement was visible.
Granted, the reflection was difficult to fully make out – but there it was. Gabriel swallowed back his nausea and examined his reflection with a mixture of awe and disgust. Resembling two seething wounds, his eyes returned his leveled glare. Mon Dieu. How could Ariah look upon his features without recoiling in horror? Was she not disgusted? Was her outward apathy merely a façade? Or was she somehow drawn to his darkness, like she was used to such a thing? If so, who’d caused her such harm? She’d suffered a great deal of pain and affliction – that much was obvious. But at whose hand? Certainly not Jacques’s. Unlike himself, Jacques had been an honorable gentleman on and off the battlefield. As for Gabriel … well, he was far from gentle – and more monster than man.
Unable to stomach the sight of his face, he plunged his fists through the surface and disturbed the reflection. Water streamed over his features, resembling the tears he refused to shed. He splashed his face once, twice, three times – aching to feel clean again. Aching to feel whole. But this was far from holy water, and he was possessed with demons that could never be exorcised.
Cradling his skull in both palms, Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and battled the ghosts of his past. Then he blankly stared as he rocked back and forth, to and fro, behaving like a frightened, forgotten child.
Chapter Seven
Gabriel smoothed the final bandage over his disfigurement. It was a rather ingenious idea, to say the least. Smears of animal hide glue secured the material in place, yet could be washed away with a spoonful of water. Without the dressing wrapping his entire face, he could finally breathe – and he felt more like a human being and less like some wounded beast.
Jacques’s trousers fit surprisingly well, though the dress shirt resembled a damned strait-jacket. Indeed, the thin material clung to his muscles like a second skin. For decency’s sake, Gabriel wore his greatcoat over the garment.
And how very wrong it felt … lying in his comrade’s bed, wearing his clothing, fantasizing about his wife …
Beyond the bedchamber, a delicious aroma filled the walls and anchored his attention. His stomach growled and his insides stirred in response. In truth, he felt almost nauseous with hunger pains. He hadn’t been capable of keeping a meal down before today, and the need for nourishment hit him at full force. Melodic footfall and muted chatter wafted from the drawing room, beckoning his attention. Seated on the bed, Gabriel shifted his body against the headboard and eyed the chamber’s door. Light seeped from under the panel and danced across the oak floorboards.
Curiosity inflamed him, and Gabriel struggled to make out the words. He fairly held his breath as he eavesdropped like some petty spinster. He could hear Ariah shuffling about beyond the walls. And if he listened carefully enough, he swore he could make out a faint humming … as if she was serenading herself with a lullaby. Between the homey scents and tender refrain, he grew lightheaded with nostalgia.
After several moments, the door was urged open. Ariah stood beneath the archway, silent and still, a large tin decanter and two porcelain bowls balanced in her grasp. If she sensed any hint of his eavesdropping, she didn’t show it. She merely eyed him for several seconds, as she so often did, before surrendering to an elusive smile. Then she crossed the threshold and entered the bedchamber. Oliver waddled beside her and loyally clung to her heels. His hind leg emitted a thunderous screech as it skidded across the planks.
Gabriel’s reaction was immediate and came without invitation. His mind grew hazy, each nerve ending stirred, and his heart banged against his rib cage. He inwardly cursed himself, convinced that she could hear the godforsaken drumming.
“Figured you might be hungry.”
Indeed, he felt ravenous. And not only for the food. Gabriel tensed as she drew closer. Her heels chimed against the floorboards and mocked the frantic beat of his heart. With each step, his palms grew warm and clammy. His body stiffened while all rational thought melted into a delectable swirl of heat. Damn. What in God’s teeth was wrong with him? He’d stared death straight in the face, had commanded soldiers into battle on countless occasions … and yet this enigmatic woman left him feeling entirely vulnerable and undone.
Staring into her intelligent sapphire gaze, he reminded himself that she belonged to another man – the reality of Jacques’s ill-fate did not change that fact. Jacques still lived within Ariah’s heart and eyes. And he refused to steal that away from her.
“Refreshed from your bath?”
He finally brought himself to nod. “Very much so.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”
She placed the decanter and bowls next to the oil lamp. The mattress sank into a slight arch as she propped on the edge of the bed. She remained a safe distance away, though was close enough to share her warmth. Rosewater and nectar mixed with the scent of the food and flavored the air in an exotic blend. Sparks of awareness coiled through every centimeter of his body. Her hair was loosely swept back this evening, exposing the creamy flesh of her neck. Unable to tear his eyes away, he leisurely tracked its endless length. She was much more than just pretty. Her very spirit called out to Gabriel – speaking to a part of himself that he’d believed no longer existed. Indeed, within her presence, something inside him blossomed to life. It was as though his spirit had withered away and was slowly being nurtured back to health.
“It occurred to me only yesterday that you haven’t eaten a proper meal in ages.” Gabriel saw through her façade with ease. Despite the casual demeanor, she was clearly uncomfortable. She hesitated, brushed a loose tendril aside, and then glanced out the lone window. Moonlight flashed across her whimsical features and set her eyes aglow. “Rather chilly evening. Hope you have a taste for soup.”
“Soup suits me just fine.”
Her delicate fingers coiled around the decanter’s handle as she lifted it from the table. The wedding ring sparkled beneath the lamp, shining like a beacon. Gabriel glanced away, unable to bear the sight and its implications. With her other hand, she set the bowls side by side and filled them with steaming liquid. The aroma flooded Gabriel’s soul and returned him to better times.
&nbs
p; She met his eyes over the decanter and seemed to read the emotions buried there. Her gaze softened while a charming smile curved her lips. Then she placed the decanter atop the end table and nudged the bowl toward Gabriel. The ceramic rattled loudly within the stillness. “Bon appétit, Monsieur Gabriel.”
“De Laurent,” he finished. “My name – it’s Gabriel de Laurent.”
Ariah studied him intently, the beginnings of a grin tugging at her rosebud lips. “Those bandages should be able to come off soon, Gabriel de Laurent.”
With a subtle nod, he curled his palm around the bowl and lifted it from the table. Seduced by the aroma, Oliver plopped next to the bed and tracked every movement with those chocolate eyes. Gabriel returned the mutt’s pleading stare, cleared his throat, and tasted the soup. The liquid seeped down his throat in a delectable waterfall of spice and warmth. Then he blew on the liquid and took another sip, drinking it deep. It wasn’t particularly delicious to say the least – but it had been prepared with great care and empathy … and that in itself sated his hunger pains.
Ariah brought the bowl to her mouth and drank soundly. Her lips hugged the outer rim in a sensual kiss. The slender chamber of her throat delicately pulsated, beckoning Gabriel’s attention. Her muscles’ subtle movements were strangely unnerving. Strangely erotic. A curl dislodged from her coiffure and swirled across the slope of her cheek. Gabriel clenched his free hand as he was overcome with the urge to deftly sweep it away … to tuck it behind her ear and feel the erratic beat of her pulse. Touch me, it whispered in a mocking voice, taste me, consume me …
“How is it, monsieur?”
“Quite good, actually.”
She startled him by laughing aloud at the comment. It was a full, robust sound that suggested she held nothing back – something that was entirely at odds with her apprehensive ways. It resonated deep inside Gabriel and caressed his soul with warm, beckoning fingers. “Don’t you know, monsieur? Lying is a grave sin.”
“Well,” he replied with a cocked brow, “I suppose a pinch less salt would have sufficed.”
Her eyes sparkled at the critique. Then she raised her hand in a mock salute. “Duly noted.” She lifted the bowl to her mouth and wrapped her lips around its rim again.
Fierce longing stirred inside Gabriel. He averted his eyes, battled his mounting arousal, and followed suit. Due to the injury, excess soup dribbled from the left corner of his mouth. Gabriel clenched his fingers, lifted his hand, and dabbed it away. Just as quickly, a rush of anger flowed through his veins.
Pitiful. Humiliating. Pure degradation. He felt like a mere shadow of the man he’d once been. He fought the temptation to destroy something … to heave the bowl against the wall and watch it disintegrate into a million little fragments.
Ariah released a calm sigh and lowered her eyes. Long, pale lashes shaded her cheekbones with graceful crescent moons. They appeared impossibly delicate and softer than a butterfly’s wings. “It shall get easier with time.”
She was speaking about his trouble eating, he knew well – yet she seemed to say so much more. Suddenly lightheaded, Gabriel cleared his throat and hastily motioned toward Oliver. “So where did you manage to find that mongrel, anyhow?” The mutt turned to him and cocked his enormous head, as if working through some complex puzzle.
“Well, I found the great brute in an alleyway over a year ago. Tail tucked beneath his legs, cowering, cold, and half-starved. He was as sweet as could be … just aching for a good wash-down and a family to call his own.”
“Ah.” Gabriel chuckled and toyed with the signet ring before downing another sip. “How very charitable of you, madame. If I’m not mistaken, it seems you have quite the talent for gathering wounded beasts.”
Ariah arched a fine brow at the retort. Despite his ill quip, her voice remained remarkably kind and patient. “Emmaline had already fallen ill. I’d thought he’d make a nice companion. Bring some cheer into her life. And that’s exactly what he’s done.” A small smile graced her lips. Seeming to relax a bit, she slouched her back and thoughtfully gazed out the window. Kissed by remnants of moonlight, her curls brilliantly glowed. “I can’t say where Oliver came from nor why I found him in such an unfortunate state … but it was a true blessing in disguise.”
“I had a dog when I was a boy. There’s no greater friend.” A contemplative silence took hold. “Emmaline is ill?”
Sighing, Ariah met his gaze and nodded. “Yes. With the whooping cough. But it has improved significantly over the last week or so.”
Gabriel cradled the ceramic bowl and raised it in a toast. “To Emmaline’s health.”
She followed suit and clapped their bowls together. A sweet chime rang out as the ceramic shared a tentative kiss. An intoxicating smile crept across Ariah’s lips and summoned her dimples. Then, with a charming blush, she added, “And to your health, as well.”
Silence descended as she gazed out the window again. Her delicate features grew strained, her eyes riddled with intense thought. A thousand questions threatened to burst from Gabriel’s tongue. What happened to her parents? Who’d caused her so much pain and heartache? What secrets was she hiding? Did she find him repulsive and monstrous?
Did she love Jacques Larochelle?
Instead, the silence won out.
After a few moments, she lowered the bowl and rested it in the cradle of her lap. Then she tucked an errant curl behind each ear and momentarily glanced away. “Now that you know where Oliver came from … tell me,” she said rather conversationally, “what exactly is your story, Gabriel de Laurent?”
She turned to him and hesitantly leaned forward. Reaching out, she ran a fingertip over one of his badges. Nearly spilling the soup, Gabriel straightened against the headboard and peered down at her caress. The heat of her touch ignited the metal with the force of a wildfire.
“There’s not much to tell.” Needing distraction, he glanced downward and traced the bowl’s ceramic edge with contemplative circles. The signet ring glowed and helped bring forth his words. “Spent the last decade at war. Lost my parents and sister to the plague years before that. Now this.”
A frown creased her lips as she echoed the word, “This …” Her finger skimmed his greatcoat, traveling from decoration to decoration. A trail of heat formed wherever she dared touch. Swallowing deeply, he stiffened and tightened his grasp on the bowl. It soon threatened to shatter against his damn palm. “And what precisely is this?”
Swept with emotion, Gabriel shook his head and struggled to form a coherent answer. “Defeat.”
A wisp of air escaped her lips as she drew her hand away. She laid it within the safety of her lap and fiddled with her wedding ring. Then she shook her head and exhaled a thin breath before finally speaking. “No. I don’t see defeat. And you are no ordinary soldier, no ordinary man.” Gabriel’s breath hitched inside his throat while her eyes rose to his. “Your badges – I recognize them. This one here … the Légion d’Honneur … it is Napoleon Bonaparte’s highest honor.” A small, sad smile curved her lips. She scooted forward a centimeter or two, sufficiently bridging the space between them. Heat wafted from her body, whispered his name, and melted his insides. “So tell me, Gabriel de Laurent … what brought you to the Seine that night?”
Gabriel scarcely remembered how to breathe. They were intimately close. Only a kiss away. Hot breaths fanned against his nude cheek, filling him with warmth … seducing his trust. The cross gleamed beneath the frail moonlight and shimmered like a beacon. She locked his gaze and sought the darkest crevices of his soul. An enticing blend of fear and determination radiated from that unwavering stare. Then warm, soft fingertips skimmed the curve of his chin and urged it upward. Gabriel’s entire body constricted, and his breaths grew unusually hollow.
“I can see it in your eyes.”
“What? What do you see?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper, almost inaudible to his own ears.
“The same things I see each night when I close my own eyes. Pain and d
arkness.”
•
Ariah tracked the line of Gabriel’s stare. With an unsteady breath, she dropped her fingertips from his chin and set the bowl on the end table. It rattled loudly against the wooden surface, rupturing the quiet. Just as she’d feared, Emmaline lurked beneath the archway, her charming features scrunched with intense concentration.
Her daughter peered inside the bedchamber and absently twirled a ringlet of her hair between two fingertips. Her blue eyes rapidly shifted between Ariah and Gabriel. One of her rag dolls was tucked beneath her arm and held soundly against her side. She chewed on her bottom lip as the silence grew. Ariah cleared her throat and crept backward several centimeters, expanding the empty space between her and Gabriel. The mattress creaked in defiance, manipulated by the slight pull of her body.
Knowing he wasn’t about to receive any scraps, Oliver limped onto his feet and paddled over to Emmaline. His hind leg dragged against the floorboards with each step. Emmaline’s eyes brightened while a grin stretched her mouth. “There you are, Olly, boy!” She smiled at the mutt, greeting him with kind words and fond strokes to his parchment-thin ears.
“Emma, darling. Don’t be shy. You can come inside, ma petite.” Ariah turned to Gabriel. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Hmm? Not at all. In fact, I think I’d rather enjoy the company.”
Emmaline grinned and held out her dolly. “Can Daisy come in, too?”
“Why, most certainly,” Ariah said, her eyes never parting from Gabriel.
Needing no further encouragement, Emmaline and Daisy paced into the cozy bedchamber. Ariah observed Gabriel with a measure of rekindled fear. Instinct told her he wouldn’t harm her child, though he was still a stranger at best … and a severely damaged man to boot.
“Is Aunt Miriam in bed already?” Ariah asked. Her sister had distanced herself from Gabriel considerably – and they’d formally met only days before. The introduction had been strained, to say the least.
Emmaline shook her head. “Non. She’s knitting!” Staring at Gabriel’s massive form, Emmaline clung to Ariah’s side, the dolly clutched against her body like a makeshift shield.
Finding Gabriel Page 11
