The sheer detail and scope was beyond anything he’d seen before. Granted, he’d witnessed finer artistry over the years – though he’d never beheld such spirit. Such humanity and vulnerability. Every brushstroke represented a remnant of Ariah’s soul. And he understood her pain. Painting was her outlet, her confidant, her guiding light.
Within that weightless moment, Gabriel saw the entire world through her eyes. And a small part of himself yearned to share it with her.
“At first, painting had been a way to simply waste the hours. But it became so much more than that. So much more than a young girl’s hobby.” Overflowing with raw emotion, her voice was nearly as soft as the flickering candle. In the back of his mind, Gabriel heard the refrains of her lullaby – the words she’d sung during his hours of darkness …
Now you are come all my grief has gone,
Let us forget those nights that never dawned.
“It became an escape for me, a secretive sanctuary,” she resumed. “A way to find beauty within the darkness.” He edged closer, not daring to miss a word. Securing the shawl, she wrapped both arms around her body and glanced away from the paintings. She paced the floorboards while a haunted, faraway look surfaced in her eyes. “I suppose I sound like a madwoman,” she whispered to no one in particular.
Gabriel shook his head, at a total loss for words, and returned the canvas to the floor.
Stilling her with a tentative touch, he stepped clean in front of her body. She froze in her tracks and met his steady gaze. They stood intimately close. Every muscle stiffened beneath his hand. A breath hitched in her throat, emerging in a shallow puff of air. Barely thinking, Gabriel reached for the tender curves of her face. The heat of her skin beckoned his caress. In an unsteady motion, he brushed away a rebellious curl and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her skin, unwilling to part from her, savoring the warm softness she offered.
“No. Not at all,” he finally said. Then he surprised himself with a wry smile and added, “And even if you were – well … madness is something I’m intimately acquainted with.”
She outright blushed at the not-so-secretive innuendo. He ached to sweep Ariah into his arms, to seal her mouth with a sweltering kiss, to feel the delectable weight of her derriere in his clenched hands, to join their bodies in the most intimate ways … to wade through the darkness with her at his side …
“In your eyes, I can see it,” she whispered. “You have been there. You understand.”
Saying nothing, he lifted the third and final canvas from the wall, flipping it face-up.
It was a dark and dreary sketching. The harsh, angular lines made it quite difficult to decipher – but it depicted the interior of a cluttered home. The shadows were deep and elongated. Several children were pictured lying across the floorboards, their faces etched with collective sadness. Gabriel’s heart clenched as he sought to uncover the hidden significance.
Ariah laid her hand over his own and lowered the canvas to the floor. It screeched against the planks as it was returned to its customary position. Tears glistened in her eyes, though she refused to shed them. Her chin remained cocked at a prominent angle, and her stare never wavered.
“Like I said – these pictures depict the past. And the past brings me pain.” She regained her composure and cleared her throat. A shallow sigh escaped her lips as she wrestled with her wayward curls. “And now, no matter how hard I try, whenever I look at those canvases … all I can see is the darkness. They are no longer an escape. They are a prison.”
An acute prickling sensation ran up and down Gabriel’s spine. He understood those words far more than he dared admit. The connection he’d previously felt in her presence expanded, engulfing him whole. With a trembling hand, he fetched the candle and brought the flame dangerously close to his face. Wavering heat warmed the linen bandages and drew beads of sweat to his brow. Seduced by the nearby fire, Ariah’s pupils shrank into two tiny orbs while the sapphire hue shimmered like twin diamonds. They tugged at his insides and kindled a fire deep within.
“When you look at me – into my eyes,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that what you see? Only darkness and pain?”
She cradled his chin and raised his eyes to her own. Her gaze – so thoughtful and limitless – ensnared his attention and held him spellbound. “Well, let’s see, shall we?” Gabriel’s pulse raced. She studied the depths of his eyes with unsettling intensity – as if searching for answers and hidden secrets. Then that smile he’d come to admire so much spread across her lips, and he forgot to breathe entirely.
“Yes. I see much pain and darkness. But more than that, I see an internal war: strength and vulnerability … love and hatred … tender memories mixed with sadness. And beneath those conflicting emotions I see something much greater: hope.”
•
Gabriel stood in front of the vanity’s mirror and numbly stared at his reflection. Beyond the window, moonlight seethed through the draperies and set his placid expression aglow. For the first time, he yearned to look beneath the bandages … to unmask the full extent of what he’d become.
But do I dare?
As a commander, he’d seen more than his proper share of victims and grotesques. Amputated limbs and gunshot wounds – much like the ones lurking beneath his greatcoat – were an unfortunate necessity of the war. And he’d never been one to care much for appearances. But everything had changed.
Hope. She’d found hope within his eyes.
Gabriel observed the smooth curve of his jawline. That afternoon, she’d insisted that his “wretched” beard be shaved off. A teasing, challenging look had crossed her eyes as she aligned the flat blade to his skin. Tension permeated the air with every swipe. The grating sound of the razor was deafening as the slick metal slid across the column of his neck. Scented with rose petals, the blade sensually slithered from his cheek to the hollow of his throat. Her eyes locked onto his own, arresting him with their hypnotic depths. Then she adjusted the blade, directing it across his jugular, and continued shaving the right side of his face. “Indeed, you know how to wield a blade remarkably well. Why aren’t I surprised by that fact?” She’d responded with a playful nudge and cocked brow. Then both of his eyes had fastened shut as she’d edged closer and inadvertently pressed the curves of her breasts against his shoulder. Drinking in the warmth of her body, the wet slide of the blade, the sweet aroma of soap and rosewater … his senses had soared indefinitely.
He’d felt alive.
Gabriel shook away the memory and anchored himself in the present. Inhaling a deep breath, he rested two fingertips on the edge of the dressing. His hand trembled as he teased the opening. Uttering a curse, he squeezed both eyes shut and swallowed, then wedged an index finger below the linen and probed at the hidden flesh. He winced at the contact; indeed, the skin was painfully tender and still inflamed.
Summoning his noble courage, his eyes opened as he pried the bandage aside –
Oliver bumped into Gabriel’s hip and jolted him from the task. More than a bit grateful for the interruption, he lowered to his knees and awarded the beast with a solid rubdown. Oliver’s back leg rhythmically thumped up and down. Then his tongue lashed out with the force of a whip and grazed his chin. Gabriel twisted his face, maneuvering out of reach of the licks. Surrendering to a hardy chuckle, he scratched the mutt behind each ear.
The door had been pushed open slightly from Oliver’s entrance. A soft humming seeped from the drawing room and wafted inside the bedchamber. The song was sorrowful … sweeter than a lullaby. “Later, boy,” Gabriel mumbled, pushing Oliver away. With shaking hands, he returned to an upright position, smoothed down the bandage, and secured it in place. Gazing at his reflection a final time, he hesitantly departed from the bedchamber.
Inside the drawing room, the child was huddled near the hearth, her soft humming reaching every corner of the room. The rocking chair and end table stood parallel to one another and were situated several meters
apart; a bed sheet had been draped over them, creating a makeshift fort. The flames set the thin material aglow and transformed Emmaline into a ghostly silhouette. She paid no heed to his entrance, completely absorbed in her task. She remained hunched over a storybook and nimbly flipped through its pages.
Cloaked in dense shadow, Gabriel watched from the opposite side of the room. Oliver plopped beside his heels as if watching the scene along with him. A rare comfort overcame Gabriel as he leaned against the doorjamb and shared in the child’s tranquility.
Without warning, tender images from his youth bombarded his mind –
Reading the classics to his governess. Wading through Le Havre’s pristine waters with Captain, his beloved hound. Racing his sister through the chateau’s winding corridors. Tickling her until tears stream down her face.
A giggle jolted Gabriel from his thoughts. Through the coverlet’s thin material, he observed as Emmaline lingered on a page. Then she exhaled a tired sigh, continued her humming, and read on.
A low whine shattered the moment. Oliver shoved at Gabriel’s dangling hand and demanded his attention. In response, the humming came to an abrupt halt as Emmaline’s head jerked up from the pages.
The following silence was deafening.
Gabriel cursed and stepped out from his hiding spot. Emmaline remained mute and motionless inside the security of her fort. After a lengthy silence, she raised the sheet and poked her face out from the material. Her blue gaze grew wide and attentive as she grasped onto the coverlet.
“I was – ”
She pressed an index finger against her lips, imploring his silence. “Maman and Aunt Miriam are sleeping.” Gabriel gave a sharp nod. “What are you doin’, monsieur?”
Gabriel glanced away and swept his fingertips through his hair. When he spoke, he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “I, uh, I thought Oliver here might need to relieve himself. I didn’t mean to disturb you from your reading.”
She examined him from head to toe, wary of his presence. Smart little girl, he acknowledged. She was wise not to trust him, though brave enough to have her curiosity piqued. Indeed, she seemed to be fighting some inward battle. Backing into the tent a full meter, she at length whispered, “It’s okay, monsieur.” Then she shrugged her willowy shoulders and glanced down at the storybook. “I can’t understand the letters. But I like to look at the pictures!” she said with sudden exuberance, lifting the book from the ground and dangling it midair. “See? Aren’t they mighty pretty?”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes as he fought the surrounding shadows. The room was eerily dark, only the hearth alleviating the blackness. He hesitantly inched forward until he stood less than a meter away from the child. Visibly uneasy, she arched her neck backward and met his eyes. She tensed, as if she’d unearthed something profound within their depths. Gabriel forced a weak smile and knelt upon one knee, not wishing to spook the poor girl.
“There’s no reason to be afraid, chérie.” Cocking his head, he examined the drawings with a nod of approval. “And indeed they are quite lovely.”
The fear eased from her limbs and she relaxed. Then a chain of giggles vibrated her body. Her hand shot out, and she pinched his chin between two fingertips. “You’re not all scruffy anymore!”
Gabriel grinned at the comment and unconsciously ran a palm over the smooth flesh.
Then the child lifted the book in front of her body like it was a shield and pointed to the drawings one by one. Gabriel took the book’s corner in his hand, studying the picture with a keen interest. It depicted a beautiful golden-haired maiden slumbering upon a lush chaise. In spite of himself, his mind wandered to another exquisite golden-haired madame only a room away.
“I like to look at the pictures and make up stories for them, see,” she passionately explained.
“Ah. That’s highly imaginative of you. I’m most impressed.”
Gabriel couldn’t contain a chuckle as she outright preened at the praise. Then his thoughts returned to Ariah again – and he realized that she and her daughter were one and the same. Whether painting Paris’s star-speckled skyline or assigning stories to pictures, they both sought escape.
Gabriel urged the book from her grasp and examined the faded pages. He flipped the cover shut and silently read the cursive title: Les Contes de ma Mère l’Oye de Charles Perrault. He was surprised by the author’s name; the volume appeared to be quite ancient – perhaps even a first edition – and Perrault’s fairy tales were typically reserved for aristocrats and the bourgeoisie. He nodded in approval and felt the corner of his lip crease in a smile.
“Ah, yes. I used to devour these tales when I was a boy.” My daughter loved them as well, he almost interjected. Suppressing his emotions, he returned to the slumbering maiden, backtracked several pages, and read the title aloud: “La Belle au Bois Dormant. Would you like me to read it to you, chérie?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” An abundance of curls sprang about her shoulders as she nodded enthusiastically. She eased back into the fort, held up the coverlet, and gestured him forward. Unable to contain her excitement, those sapphire eyes beamed with suspenseful anticipation.
“How kind of you to invite me inside,” he said with a courtly bow. He crouched to Emmaline’s level and crawled into the small space. And small it was; there was barely enough room to breathe, let alone comfortably sit. The top of the bed sheet scraped against his skull, his shoulders nearly filled the entire expanse – and yet contentment flooded his spirit. Beyond the sheet, the flames flickered, crackled, and popped, infusing the drawing room with an eerie ambiance.
His heart grew heavy with nostalgia, sorrow, and fond memories. As he examined Emmaline’s delicate features, his mind reverted to a different time … a different place …
“Well, are you gonna read it or aren’t you?”
The question jarred Gabriel from his thoughts. Emmaline hooked both arms around her knees, stared at him with saucer-like eyes, and patiently waited.
Rewarding her with a conspicuous wink, he cleared his throat and recited the fairy tale from memory: “Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were grieved, more grieved than words can tell, because they had no children. They tried the waters of every country, made vows and pilgrimages, and did everything that could be done, but without result. At last, however, the queen found that her wishes were fulfilled, and in due course she gave birth to a daughter …”
•
Ariah lay in bed, consumed by a poignant, thoughtful silence. Beyond the window, the moon shifted in the sky as it emerged from a blanket of clouds. The drapes fluttered, manipulated by the wind’s breath. The mild breeze whispered across Ariah’s cheeks in a pleasant and transient caress. She inhaled the frosty scent and sagged deeper against the mattress. It creaked in objection before accommodating her subtle movement.
Thoughts of Gabriel filled her mind. An undeniable connection wallowed between them. It was a powerful force – one that quite stole her breath away. They both craved compassion, someone to reach out and touch … and yet they remained imprisoned by their pasts.
Ariah could no longer deny it. She was developing genuine feelings for Gabriel.
Guilt speared through her. She fisted a handful of coverlet between her fingertips and sagged deeper into the pillow. What would Jacques think of such a thing? How would he react – discovering a strange man inside his home, inside his bed, inside his wife’s thoughts?
Muffled talking snared her attention. Ariah lifted her head from the pillow and wrestled to make out the words. Who was Emmaline speaking to? She’d inconspicuously slipped out of bed several hours ago. Ariah had feigned sleep with an inward smile; to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night … Emmaline must have been feeling better indeed.
More talking resounded.
Worry furrowed Ariah’s heart. She climbed onto her feet and wrapped herself in a loose night shift. The rough material fell around her bare ankles in thick folds, shielding her from winter’s chilly breath. She
crossed the room in quick strides, the pads of her feet whispering against the planks.
Ariah entered the drawing room and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Emmaline had built a fort beside the hearth. Two silhouettes cast shadows against the thin material – one large and one small. She swallowed as she realized Gabriel sat inside the fort with her child.
Her immediate reaction was grave concern; he was still a stranger – and one who’d attempted to take his own life. She didn’t truly know him nor what he was capable of. But her fear slowly ebbed away as it was replaced with a mixture of relief and gratitude.
The low, soothing rumble of his voice lulled her forward. He was reading to Emmaline. Indeed, every so often, lighthearted giggles and quirky remarks mingled with his words. A blast of rich laughter followed after – and then he resumed reading once more.
“‘You would have thought her an angel, so fair was she to behold. The trance had not spirited away the lovely color of her complexion. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, her lips like coral. Her eyes indeed were closed, but her gentle breathing could be heard, and it was therefore plain that she was not dead. The king commanded that she should be left to sleep in peace until the hour of her awakening should come …’”
The tone of his voice elevated to a shrill falsetto as he attempted to replicate a female character. And it was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard. Smothering laughter with her palm, Ariah leaned against the doorjamb and mutely shook her head. It was so strange. So strange yet so beautiful. Happiness sent her emotions spinning. She found it difficult to breathe, impossible to stand upright. Sagging against the archway, she squeezed both eyes shut and absorbed the sultry music of Gabriel’s words. The steady cadence of his voice palpitated through her mind and body – and each syllable echoed her frantic heartbeat.
Finding Gabriel Page 13
