Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  He drummed his fingers lightly on the desk top. “Since Charles is now going to be at home until June, I cannot take the chance of his finding out about all this. Charles’ devotion to Napoleon and the Empire is such that I know he could not condone my action no matter what the profits were.” Alexandre looked with a sudden sharpness at the girl. “I do not understand Charles’ reaction toward you, Gabrielle. You are poised, charming, and very beautiful. In fact, you remind me a little of Charles’ mother. Helene had hair almost the color of yours and the same sense of vitality that you carry with you.”

  “Perhaps Charles did not love his mother as much as you seem to think,” Gabrielle suggested quietly.

  Alexandre shook his head. “He worshipped her. Unfortunately, she would not, or perhaps she could not, return his love. Her life was too full of the court and the gay whirl of social activities—I hardly saw her myself. When she died, she had become almost a stranger to me.”

  They were both quiet for some moments, until Alexandre stood up.

  “I am going now to talk with your aunt. I will tell her the truth,” he added. “I believe she is strong enough to accept it.”

  “Will you tell her about the—the smuggling?”

  “No, she did not know what the money was going to be used for when she signed the documents. There is no need to tell her now.”

  As Gabrielle watched Alexandre leave the room and make his way up the stairs, she thought of Charles’ satisfaction at the news, and her hatred of him grew.

  Chapter Six

  It was late afternoon of the following day when Isabel decided to make a surprise visit to her friend. She swept confidently into the main hall of the Hotel Chevalier, bursting with energy and eager to swap confidences with Gabrielle.

  To her surprise, she found Gabrielle in the sitting room, her eyes tearful as she dabbed abstractedly at them with a linen handkerchief.

  “Good God! What has happened, chérie?’ She sat down sympathetically, prepared to listen to a recounting of some distressing episode that could be easily solved.

  “Aunt Louise is—is leaving today.” The words tumbled out as Gabrielle continued trying to stop the flow of moisture onto her cheeks.

  “Leaving? But then, where is she going?” Isabel prompted, studying her fingernail speculatively.

  “She is leaving for the Convent of St.-Agnes in Lyons.”

  “A convent!” and Isabel raised her brows in mock dismay. “Why ever would she want to do that?”

  Gabrielle revealed that Alexandre had called off any plans of marriage.

  “You mean, she’s going to shut herself off from the world because of a little disappointment like that?” Isabel scoffed practically. “If she’d start eating again and take a little more time with her looks, she could get another man quite easily—I’m sure of it.”

  Gabrielle attempted a forlorn smile. “But she really cared for him, Isabel. I think she had been expecting this blow for some time, but it was still a shock to her, especially since Alexandre was the first man she really believed in.”

  “But is she really going to stay there for the rest of her life?”

  Gabrielle shrugged. “She vows she will. She says she doesn’t want anything more to do with Paris or men.” Isabel laughed shortly. “I’m sure we could all say that at some time or another.” She stood up, waving her hand airily. “In any case, she is to leave today, and you will be alone with Charles and his father—a rather scandalous arrangement, don’t you think?” she inquired, her face anything but innocent.

  Gabrielle laughed. “Of course, Isabel. I shall be hard put to keep up with both of them hopping in and out of my bedroom, won’t I?” she answered, meeting her friend’s challenge with bravado. She smiled to herself. “You do have a way of lifting me out of my despair, Isabel my friend. Do you ever take life seriously?”

  Isabel sighed and gave Gabrielle an uncompromising look. “I understand more than you think, Gabrielle. And if you ever feel that the cards are stacked too high against you, just send me a message and I’ll be over to rescue you in an instant.”

  Gabrielle thanked her friend and, after seeing her to the door, walked slowly up the staircase, dreading these last moments with her aunt. How should she possibly comfort her? What could she say?

  At her knock, Aunt Louise’s voice called out for her to come in. “I’m just finishing with my packing, Gabrielle,” she informed her, looking up from the depths of a deep trunk. Seeing her niece’s tear-stained face, she said kindly, “Don’t worry about me, my dear. Alexandre and I had a very long discussion, and I think he was honest with me. I can forgive him now to some degree. He made me see that what I truly desired was human affection and companionship and, perhaps, I could find it elsewhere. That is why I have decided to go to the Convent of St.-Agnes. The good sisters help to run the hospital there, and I think my energies will not be wasted.”

  “But are you going to take the vows of sisterhood then, Aunt Louise?”

  The woman shrugged. “I cannot say. It is enough for now that I am leaving here. I hope that you will be well cared for, my dear, and I will pray for you.”

  “Charles is a strange man, Aunt Louise. I do not know how he will act after you are gone, but Isabel has told me that I can stay with her if ever the need arises.”

  The older woman turned to the girl and gave her a long, steady look. “Do not run from friend to friend, my dear, as I have done all my life. It seems I have always lived on someone else’s charity. I was either the spinster aunt or the unmarried sister. It is not a life I would wish for you, Gabrielle.”

  Later that evening, Alexandre arrived to escort Aunt Louise to an inn where she would catch the post chaise that would take her to Lyons. He had confided to Gabrielle that afterwards he planned to go into the city for a business meeting, with an associate, and she wondered if this were the meeting in which he would tell the man that he was withdrawing from the smuggling venture.

  After they had gone and all the farewells were said, Gabrielle went back into the house, pausing to enter the library in order to select a good book for an evening’s reading. Upon entering, she stopped short to observe Charles seated in a chair, a cheroot in his mouth.

  “Good evening, Gabrielle.”

  “Good evening, Charles,” she replied lightly.

  “Your aunt has left, I believe?”

  Gabrielle nodded, feeling the lump begin to form in her throat. “Yes, she has gone. I—I suppose you’re satisfied now,” she murmured bitterly, walking past him to select a book from the shelf.

  He laughed shortly. “If it wasn’t for this damnable headache, I would have escorted her to the station myself.”

  “I’m sure she was most fortunate, then,” Gabrielle returned acidly. She sensed rather than heard him rise from the chair and move closer to her.

  “I suppose you and I will be alone tonight,” he said easily, laying a hand casually on the shelf above her head as he stood in front of her.

  Gabrielle did not deign to answer, wondering what sort of cat-and-mouse game he was playing with her now. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Gabrielle?”

  “Afraid of you, Charles? That’s absurd. I feel only loathing towards you.”

  His hand on her arm, turning her towards him violently, caught her by surprise and she found herself gazing up into his face, which had turned a dull red.

  “I think, Gabrielle, that we should be truthful with each other. You are a guest in my house, a person who, if I had my way, would be put out immediately. Unfortunately, my father feels some responsibility for you, but I can assure you that I will not miss a chance to make life miserable for you. I’m quite sure that after some time you will think it a wise idea to follow your aunt to her haven in the arms of religion.”

  Gabrielle attempted to take her arm from his grasp, but it was as though a vise had clamped painfully down on it. His face was threateningly close to hers, and she shrank away from the hurting mouth that she so clearly remembered
. But he did not kiss her, and after a few more minutes, he released her arm. Gabrielle left the room without a backward glance.

  The rest of the evening passed without incident, and Gabrielle hoped that Charles had gone out for the night. She went to bed but found sleeping fitful.

  It was very late when she was awakened by a clamor outside. Loud voices reached her through the open windows, and one of them sounded very much like Charles, obviously very drunk. Her contempt for him increased. He was not even gentleman enough to hold his liquor. She listened idly for a moment, her ear catching the sound of another voice with a slightly foreign drawl.

  “No need to wake up the whole neighborhood, Chevalier. The wound’s just a scratch.”

  Wound? Gabrielle quickly rose from her bed and slipped a nightrobe over her gown. Good God! What had Charles done now?

  She hurried down the upstairs hall and paused for a moment at the landing to look down in the hallway just as the two men came inside. There were only a few candles still lit, and it was hard to make out the face of the man with Charles. She could tell he was tall, but the brim of his hat shielded his features even as she saw him look up at her.

  “You there, move your legs, girl, and tell me where to put this man. He’s been stabbed in the shoulder.”

  Gabrielle smothered a gasp and, without thinking, obeyed the man and swiftly descended the steps, guiding him to the downstairs study where he laid Charles on the couch. Gabrielle flew about the room lighting the candles until a fairly bright blaze of light illuminated the room. Her eyes went first to the spot on Charles’ coat, a dark brown mark with a center of bright red.

  “What—what happened?” she questioned breathlessly as she struggled to pull the fabric back from the wound.

  “A young lady of the evening stabbed him. She said he was trying to kill her.” The words were uttered matter-of-factly.

  “Was she arrested?” Gabrielle asked, hoping the stranger could not see her flaming cheeks.

  She could feel the man’s shrug. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want the publicity, miss.”

  Gabrielle continued fumbling at the coat, her fingers somehow nervelessly ineffectual. She saw the strong, brown hand close for an instant over hers.

  “I’ll get it. You go bring water and a cloth to wash it out.”

  She hurried to fetch the needed articles from the kitchen, and when she returned she found the man had taken off Charles’ coat and shirt, leaving his upper torso bare. She could see the ugly, puckered flesh at the shoulder, steadily oozing blood.

  She thought that she was going to gag but forced herself to remain calm, wrinkling her nose as she passed the bowl of water wordlessly to the other man. He had not taken off his hat or coat, and Gabrielle was too busy sponging the wound to look at him.

  “Mon dieu! What has happened?”

  Gabrielle turned with a sigh of thanks to see Pauline hurrying to the settee, where she took over the washing of the wound.

  “You go to bed, ma’m’selle. I will see to this.”

  By now a small knot of servants were looking in on the room curiously, and Gabrielle hurriedly shooed them away, explaining that M’sieur Charles had had an accident and that they need not worry.

  “Gabrielle! What’s wrong? Charles!” Alexandre pushed past her and gasped at seeing his son stretched out on the couch, his face blanched and perspiring. “I will send for a doctor,” he muttered and turned to go when his eyes fell on the other man, who was leaning indolently against the back of the couch now, watching the events with an unhurried gaze. “Savage! What—what are you doing here—with Charles?”

  Gabrielle turned from the doorway and met the shock of those cool green eyes that seemed to pierce her completely.

  “Your son, Alexandre, seems to have gotten himself into a scrape over some prostitute down on the quai. She ran out screaming that he had tried to strangle her.” He shrugged casually, his voice indifferently amused. “Rather messy business, but as I happened to be in the same locale, I took it upon myself to see him home.”

  “But—what was he doing there?” Alexandre questioned him dazedly.

  The man cocked a darkly arched brow, and his smile could only be called mocking. Alexandre turned red, but further explanations were cut short by a long moan from Charles as he tossed restlessly under Pauline’s administering hands.

  Alexandre bent over his son, the concern on his face easily evident. He called to the sleepy-eyed majordomo and ordered him to send immediately for a physician.

  Gabrielle, a little apart from the rest of the group, turned away. She felt no real pity for Charles, but she hated to see anyone in pain and hoped the doctor would arrive soon. She felt too tired to try to explain to herself that Alexandre seemed to be acquainted with the man he had called Savage—the very same man she remembered from the time she and Isabel had visited the coffee house, La Petite Fleur. She recalled someone calling him a pirate then, and the murderous gleam in his dark eyes had seemed to confirm the opinion.

  She had forgotten the impropriety of her attire and was unaware of the stranger’s eyes appraising her through the thin silk of her gown. The half-hour had chimed before the doctor made his arrival, coming in briskly with an air of confidence that immediately eased the tension in the room.

  “Thank God, you’ve arrived, Clary! My son has been stabbed.”

  The doctor impatiently brushed Alexandre’s hands away. “I think it would be better if you had him moved to his own rooms so that he can rest more easily. I will make my examination of him there.”

  Alexandre signalled two footmen to carry Charles up the stairs to his bedroom. The doctor followed with an easy tread. Alexandre accompanied him up the stairs, and, one by one, the servants went back to their beds, grumbling over their young master’s thoughtless actions.

  Gabrielle remained in her chair, leaning her head back, her eyes closed. She would have thought she was alone except for the feeling of someone’s eyes on her, and she opened hers to meet those of the man called Savage.

  In that first moment of surprise, she noted his tall, lithe figure, the wide shoulders, and powerful thigh muscles that strained against his fashionable tight breeches. His face was brown from the sun, and the lips were firm and sensual, curving now in a slightly insolent grin as he surveyed her. Gabrielle blushed at her own impolite scrutiny and stood up, preparing to go back to her bedroom.

  “Don’t leave me yet, kitten,” he said quietly, the tone of his voice almost caressing.

  She turned towards him, her eyes questioning. “I’m sorry. I suppose someone should thank you for what you did tonight,” she murmured softly. “I’m sure Alexandre will want to thank you himself in the morning, but as you can see, he is most anxious for his son’s health.”

  His smile deepened, and he strode towards her with a soft, pantherlike stride as though he were barely holding himself back from springing at her. The force of his masculinity struck Gabrielle with a sudden awareness of her clinging gown.

  “Please forgive my attire,” she began, the pink of her cheeks deepening.

  “On the contrary,” he answered her with sarcasm in his voice, “I approve. I only wish I had been introduced at the cafe.”

  A blush suffused her face at his mention of La Petite Fleur, for she remembered that at the cafe he had thought her a lady of the streets. “I—I am Gabrielle de Beauvoir, M’sieur de Chevalier’s ward. And you, m’sieur?”

  He bowed negligently. “Captain Rafe Savage, miss.”

  “I am sure, captain, that you must be very tired. Let me show you to the door.”

  “Why, kitten, you’re not going to run away from me, are you?” He moved still closer to her, and Gabrielle felt as though she couldn’t move away from the look he gave her, an indecent look that spoke confidently of his virility. “I seem to recall your interest that day at the coffee house.”

  “Please, captain, do not bring that up. I—I am sorry for staring so rudely at you that day.”

  “I don�
��t mind in the least being stared at by eyes the color of yours, kitten. Beautiful eyes,” he commented and came close enough to touch her.

  Gabrielle’s mind was screaming for her feet to move, to run away from this man and the strange attraction he seemed to hold for her, but she could only look at him helplessly.

  Suddenly, with a fluid movement, he pounced on her, his arms holding her in a powerful grasp as he bent her backwards against him, his mouth closing on hers with the expertise of a master. His swiftness left her numb with shock, and she was helpless to resist the onslaught. His kiss went deeper, and it seemed to last forever as he forced her lips apart and took possession of her tongue. Her breasts were crushed against the hard steel of his chest, and she felt dimly the motion of his hand as it crept upward to tug at the material of her gown. I cannot breathe, she thought, feeling dizzy and trembling at the same time. He took his mouth away from hers only to bend downward, his lips making heated imprints on the flesh of her throat. His hands had pulled the gown from her shoulders, and with a sense of shock, Gabrielle saw her naked bosom. He was murmuring something against her flesh, and she struggled with the sense of unreality that was enveloping her.

  “You must forgive my impetuousness, kitten. But, unfortunately, I was interrupted in my own expectation of pleasure this night by the accident caused to your patron’s son. It seems, though, that you will do very well, very well indeed.”

  His laugh mocked her, and Gabrielle felt as though an icy bucket of water had been thrown over her. She struggled in earnest against his encroaching mouth and arms.

  “You—you uncouth villain!” she managed breathlessly, pushing against his chest with all the force she could summon. “You compare me to those filthy sluts who take money for their pleasure. Let me go, you pirate!”

  He caught her arms easily enough, and she could see the hateful amusement in his eyes. “Without your perfumed hair and clean clothes, sweetheart, I swear I would not have known the difference when you let me kiss you just now. Tell me, kitten, are you angry because I took you like a whore, or because you acted like one.”