Gabriel spoke first. He shifted forward and inclined his dark head. The forelock slid across those deep, cognac eyes, concealing them from view. “Colonel Gabriel de Laurent. Good to formally meet you, child.”
The decadent rumble of his voice summoned chills up and down Ariah’s spine. He outstretched a colossal hand for Emmaline’s taking. Ariah swallowed and unconsciously clutched at the bed sheet as the scene unfolded.
Emmaline hesitated for a moment, then laid her small hand over his. Gabriel enveloped it completely as they shook. Emmaline placed her dolly atop the mattress and grasped onto her skirts with the opposite hand. Then, nearly tripping herself in the process, she bent into an adorable curtsy. The right side of Gabriel’s lips quirked. He briefly captured Ariah’s eyes before reverting his attention back to Emmaline.
“My, what an impressive young lady you are.”
Emmaline outright blushed at the praise. “Daisy is a lady, too.” She collected the dolly from the mattress and bent it into a curtsy. “See?” Then she turned into her shoulder as her body spasmed with coughs. A flash of hope bloomed in Ariah’s heart; the cough sounded much less congested. Almost normal.
“Indeed, I do,” Gabriel replied, his voice smoother than silk. He thoughtfully cocked his head and scratched the stubble on his chin. It had grown dense over the past few days and was taking the shape of a beard. “If I’m not mistaken, she will be the belle of the ball. How did you manage to teach her to curtsy with such grace?”
Emmaline beamed impossibly more and slanted her chin at a comically high angle. “From Maman.” Then she edged forward and added in a low, conspicuous whisper, “No one curtsies better than my maman.”
Laughter rustled inside Gabriel’s throat. Ariah felt the sound race through her body, resonating deeply and without restriction. Her skin prickled at the sensation, and her cheeks grew increasingly warm. Gabriel nodded and glanced in her direction. Then he propped himself against the headboard and folded both arms over his immense chest. Ariah eyed his defined, well-muscled limbs as the greatcoat drew taut. “Tell me, little one. Can Daisy dance the waltz, as well?”
Emmaline sulked and shook her head. She swayed from foot to foot as a dark cloud seemed to gather on her face. “Non. I can’t teach her. See, I don’t know how to waltz. Neither does Maman. She was born with two left feet, she says.”
Mon Dieu. Ariah nearly expired from embarrassment. Gabriel, however, merely grinned and shrugged his strong shoulders. “Ah, it’s not too difficult, chérie. Perhaps, when I’m feeling better, I can show you. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve never had a dancing partner before!” Emmaline nodded enthusiastically, curls bobbing about her shoulders. Joy flushed through Ariah as her daughter’s spirit resurrected before her very eyes. It had been so long since she’d experienced companionship outside of their tight-knit family. “Won’t you teach Maman, too? Oh, please?”
A wolfish grin formed on Gabriel’s mouth. Stark white teeth flashed within the dim room, his smile made imperfect only by the shattered molars and swollen gums. Then his eyes raked over Ariah’s body in slow inspection, missing absolutely nothing. “I believe that can be arranged.”
“Yes, well – we shall see,” Ariah interjected. She felt rather lightheaded. The beginnings of a blush seared her cheeks and caused her temperature to rise significantly. Then his crooked grin morphed into a genuine, heartfelt smile, and Ariah’s chest contracted again.
Who would have ever thought Colonel Gabriel de Laurent possessed such kindness and sensitivity? The revelation was shocking and more than a bit intriguing. The bandages obstructed most of his features, though he was very endearing when he smiled. Those smiles never lasted long and seemed to vanish as quickly as they’d first appeared. It was akin to catching sight of a rare wonder … much like witnessing a blazing comet as it streaks across a bejeweled night sky. Brief, striking, and awe-inspiring. It was a precious moment one cherished forever.
And Ariah wouldn’t soon forget it.
Her thoughts darkened as she recalled the severity of his disfigurement. What would Emmaline think of such a thing? She prayed she’d taught her daughter well enough. True beauty was much more than a skin-deep phenomenon – though Ariah knew Gabriel would be an object of horror for the rest of his life. To most, he’d be perceived as a monster. And despite his hardened exterior, she had a gut-wrenching feeling that he was far from a monster.
The right side of his face remained devastatingly handsome – a stark contrast to its wrecked counterpart. Ariah’s breath hitched in her throat as her gaze traveled over Gabriel’s impressive form. His body was powerfully built – a flesh-and-blood testament to his years on the battlefield; even in his weakened state, he could overpower her with little to no effort. Beneath the greatcoat, Jacques’s dress shirt clung to the planes of his chest.
Jacques. The name echoed through her mind, summoning a brutal wave of guilt.
“Very good,” Gabriel said to Emmaline, interrupting her thoughts, “be sure to save me a spot on your dance card, chérie.”
“Oh, I will, I promise I will!” Emmaline turned to Ariah, her blue eyes alive and beaming. Then she fell silent, cocked her face, and examined Gabriel’s bandaging. “Are you still hurtin’, monsieur?”
“Non. Not so much now.” He held Ariah’s gaze for several indescribable seconds. Chills coursed up and down her spine as she returned his heated stare. Her skin drew taut as his eyes descended to her lips. Finally he dropped his gaze and glanced out the corner window. A heavy breath inflated his lungs, causing the wide breadth of his chest to expand. When he spoke, the words were almost a whisper and laced with pain. “Your maman has taken good care of me.”
“Oh. She takes good care of me, too.”
Gabriel chuckled at the comment. It was a low, decadently rich sound that swelled the room to the rafters. Ariah’s pulse jumped to life. She sensed a sincere kindness within Gabriel … one that caused her heart to somersault inside her breast. Emotions racing, she came to her feet in an unsteady motion and towered above Emmaline’s little body. Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s brow, she murmured, “Monsieur Gabriel must rest now. And you ought to ready yourself for bed, darling. Go. I shall be there shortly.”
“All right, Maman.” Emmaline snaked both arms around Ariah’s neck and held her close. Ariah tensed, feeling the burn of Gabriel’s eyes upon her skin.
Then Emmaline stepped out of her arms, grasped onto the material of her skirts, and rewarded him with another adorable curtsy. “Night, monsieur!”
As Emmaline exited the room, Ariah studied Gabriel’s features. They had softened considerably … and something was buried in his gaze – a potent combination of tenderness, heartache, and nostalgia. Not for the first time, Ariah wondered exactly who Lisette was.
•
Hours later, the hearth gently crooned, casting transient shadows along the walls and floorboards. Outside the home, the wind chime jingled as it was manipulated by a harsh breeze.
Emmaline was sprawled across the planks, chin resting within her tiny palms. A storybook lay open beneath her. Pictures of mythological creatures filled the pages as she slowly flipped through them. Miriam lounged nearby in the rocking chair as she continued her knitting. The socks were a third complete and taking on a semi-recognizable form.
A comfortable hush filled the air. Only the snapping logs and a wintry breeze disturbed the silence. Red embers floated into the chimney’s abyss, clashing against the blackness. Ariah smiled to herself. A rush of contentment filled her soul. Emmaline had taken immense pleasure in her interaction with Gabriel; now a healthy flush brightened her cheekbones and set her expression aglow. Indeed, she’d been unusually energetic this evening and quite unable to sleep.
Ariah knelt beside her daughter, her heart aching, as she sifted her fingertips through the voluptuous tangle of curls. Emmaline’s eyelids gradually lowered to half-mast, the dolly clutched listlessly against her breast. Each page was turned a bi
t slower than the last. After several moments, Emmaline stretched her cramped limbs and smothered a bear yawn.
It was a peaceful moment shared between family. Ariah’s heart soared from the sheer pleasure of having her loved ones near – though a distinct emptiness dampened her spirit.
The sensation was quite foreign. And she knew Gabriel was to blame. Even now, she could feel the brush of his fingertips, his strong, encompassing grasp around her neck, the soft tease of air fluttering across her nape as he breathed in her aroma. She shivered from the powerful memories and vainly attempted to shake them away. Just as she’d feared, he was disturbing the delicate balance that had become her life. And she was betraying Jacques.
“Ariah … w-what is on your mind?”
“Hmm? Whatever do you mean?”
Miriam smiled grimly and set down her needles. “You’ve just been so quiet as of late. So q-quiet and so very th-th-thoughtful.”
Ariah stared into the hearth as she absorbed her sister’s words. “Well, a lot has happened as of late.”
Miriam nodded emphatically. Then her gaze traveled to Emmaline. The child was fast asleep, her body curled against Oliver’s massive form. Both creatures lightly snoozed, their limbs twitching within dreams.
“Goodness. I can’t recall s-seeing her so relaxed or happy. Tonight she was a child a-again.”
Ariah harnessed the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She held her breath for several moments before daring a reply. “I know. She’s been so isolated and lonely. Her world has become such a dark and dreary place. What sort of mother am I? The pain, solitude … she deserves so much better. I cannot bear it.”
Miriam shook her head as her lips curved into a charming smile. “You are the best, most d-dedicated mother in all the world. And you mustn’t b-blame yourself for her illness. However …”
Suddenly the air shifted directions. Tension swelled the atmosphere and drew Ariah’s skin taut. Gooseflesh blazed across her arms and legs. Miriam’s smile melted away, and in its place hung a severe expression.
“What? What is it, Miriam?”
“I urge y-you to be careful around him.”
“You mean around Gabriel?”
Miriam resumed knitting. The needles worked feverishly as she spoke. “Ever s-since Doctor Mongeau said those terrible th-things …” Miriam exhaled a weary sigh and shook her head. She momentarily paused her handiwork and locked stares with Ariah. “It w-worries me more than I can s-say. Ariah … we haven’t the slightest notion of who that m-man is. Why would he do such a s-sinful th-thing? And w-what else is he capable of?”
A hesitant smile crept to Ariah’s lips. “If anything, I’d say Gabriel should be concerned about what I am capable of,” she teased, referring to the infamous dagger incident.
Miriam remained silent, finding no humor in Ariah’s words.
“He surely must think me a madwoman.” Ariah sank onto the rug beside Emmaline and Oliver. Her voice softened to almost a whisper. “And yet I saw no judgment in his eyes.” She leaned forward and reached for her sister’s hands. Miriam released the needles and seized hold. “I suppose we all are a bit mad. We all have our secrets. Reasons for doing what we do. You know this as much as myself.” Ariah’s heart clenched as she envisioned the scars that branded her sister’s upper back. Each one was a testament to the cruelty Miriam had endured at her mother’s will.
“You t-trust him?”
Ariah’s hands slipped away and landed in the safety in her lap. Consumed by her own memories, she toyed with her wedding band and focused on the wind chime’s soulful melody. The notes summoned an image of her father’s winsome features. In the back of her mind, his weeping violin curled about her heart and serenaded her soul.
“I don’t trust anyone. And that’s why you mustn’t worry. I know how to guard myself. I’m well aware of the dangers of trusting someone … of allowing someone inside.” She paused and leaned toward the hearth, welcoming the flames to warm her skin. I feel an unexplainable connection with Gabriel, she wanted to confess. But she dared not speak the words.
“And despite Gabriel’s hardened exterior – despite whatever drove him to do what he did … beyond those things, I know there’s much more. Tonight, I saw a gentleness in him, a sensitivity that cannot be easily faked. Geoffrey tried to deceive me years ago. But now I know better.” Stroking Emmaline’s curls, she finished with a sigh, “Believe me – I shan’t risk the equilibrium we’ve found. Not when there is so much to lose.”
Chapter Eight
The door emitted a low creak as Gabriel eased it open. Taking care he was alone, he surveyed his dim surroundings before exiting the bedchamber. Indeed, the hallway was empty and quiet, the other two doors securely shut.
Exhaling a withheld breath, he tiptoed across the cracked planks. He moved with silent efficiency, utilizing the skills he’d acquired across countless battlefields.
For the first time, he examined the home outside of the cramped bedchamber. Everything was simple, outdated, and in need of urgent repair. Yet the room radiated with a sentimental quality … one that made him strangely homesick. Dying embers crackled in the hearth as they fought for breaths. Chopped into a variety of shapes and sizes, a meticulous log pile rested beside the fireplace. Moonlight slanted through the faded draperies and spilled across the ground in generous, wavering shafts. Gabriel trod the floorboards, willing them to not moan and betray his presence.
A box of matches and a tallow candle were situated on the chipped mantel. A hiss broke the silence as he struck a match. Then he cupped his palm over the flame and willed the candle to life. Within moments, the foul scent of burning tallow assaulted his senses. He coughed, stepped backward, and examined the various trinkets that lined the mantel: faded miniatures, a chipped pull toy, whittled figurines, a lead pencil, and a stack of blank parchment. He ran his fingertips across the dusty wooden surface, leaving tracks wherever he touched.
Continuing his investigation, he turned away and wheeled around the rocking chair. Moving in a ghostlike motion, it brushed against his body and dipped into a haunting sway.
An easel was propped against one of the walls, and seated upon its outstretched arms sat a blank canvas.
He strode forward, and several more canvases beckoned his attention. Like children in the midst of a timeout, they stood upright in a single-file line and faced the wall. Gabriel hesitantly reached out, allowing the pads of his fingertips to glide across the coarse material. Then he rotated one of the canvases, exposing it to the candle’s docile glow. Unable to make out the image, he lifted it from the floor and paced toward the window. He positioned the painting at a slant and urged the moonlight to illuminate its beauty.
And beautiful it was.
It was a portrait of a younger and considerably healthier Emmaline. And her spirit was contagious. Her cheeks appeared round and rosy, her eyes flushed with an iridescent, enchanting glow. His heart ached at the smile she wore; it was the precise smile he’d witnessed only hours ago.
“Thought I heard someone in here.”
The unexpected sound of Ariah’s voice lurched Gabriel from his thoughts. Feeling as though he was trespassing, he lowered the canvas and turned toward her voice. His throat instantly went dry. Every thought melted away, and his heart roared like some caged beast. She was clothed in a rather plain nightdress, and a ratty shawl hugged her slender shoulders. Both garments were drab and coarse from overuse – though nothing could detract from her intoxicating beauty. Curls flowed about her shoulders in a wild flurry, mirroring her inner spirit. They cushioned the soft curves of her face, awarding her with a rather girlish appeal. He’d always been a connoisseur of long, flowing hair … the kind a man could wrap around his body and lose himself in. Her blue eyes briefly crawled down his form – taking in the snug material of Jacques’s dress shirt and trousers.
Then, pursing her lips, she gestured to the canvas with a delicate wave. The wedding band shimmered as it drank the nearby candlelight. �
��I painted it many years ago.”
“Ah, you are undoubtedly talented,” he replied, clearing his throat.
The very air shifted between them. She drew closer. Gabriel held his breath as the heat of her body radiated, beckoning his spirit. The planks emitted a low groan from the pressure of her slippers. She gazed down at the painting as a whimsical smile curved her lips. “Why, thank you, monsieur. Ever since I was a girl, painting has been a dear passion of mine. Painting and carpentry.”
“Carpentry? I wouldn’t have ever guessed.”
She nodded and drew silent, as if she’d revealed too much. “Well, Gabriel … sometimes we must give people the chance to surprise us.”
Gabriel set the painting down and carefully propped it against the wall. He arranged it so Emmaline’s likeness faced the room. Ariah came into step beside him and attempted to rotate the canvas. Gabriel’s hand shot forward and ensnared her slender wrist. She stiffened and tried to move away. He increased his pressure, locked onto her gaze, and secured her in place. Her skin was hot beneath his touch – hot, tingling, and smoother than silk. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Why hide it?” Then, almost to himself, “What are you hiding from, Ariah? What happened to you?”
Her eyes widened, though she ignored the last statement. Swallowing deeply, curls framed her delicate shoulders while she shook her head. “It’s just … well, they depict the past. And the past brings me pain. I just can’t bear to relive those memories each day … every time I look upon them.” She wiggled free of his clutch and took two generous steps backward. Gabriel said nothing, urging her to continue with his eyes. When she resorted to silence, he rotated the second canvas from the wall.
Gabriel nearly lost his breath. It was a sweeping landscape of Paris at sundown. Luminous shafts of orange and red illuminated a limitless horizon. A blue skyline was halfway hidden behind a blanket of lush, swirling clouds. Indeed, the world was no more than an artistic canvas, and God had painted a masterpiece. And yet, the colors were oddly subdued – as if reflecting some inner torment and despair.
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