Tempt Me Twice

by Olivia Drake

  Regrets battered her. If only she hadn’t rejected Gabriel’s offer of marriage. If only she could have a second chance to tell him how much he meant to her. If only she’d cherished Gabriel as he was...a charming adventurer whom she loved beyond reason. A strong, caring man who hid vulnerabilities just as she did.

  But now it was too late.

  Raising his arms, Sir Charles said in a booming voice, “Silence, brethren. All is well. There is no cause for alarm. Sit down, and we’ll begin our ceremony without delay by passing the unholy chalice of wine—”

  He faltered suddenly. There were shouts. Another gunshot.

  Kate blinked, realizing that the hooded men weren’t settling down on the stone benches. They scattered in all directions, disappearing into the many tunnels that led off from the cave. In the center of the chamber, Ashraf and Bickell grappled with several of the men.

  Sir Charles stepped to the edge of the dais and shouted in a vain attempt to stop the mass exodus.

  In the confusion, one of the demons surged up to the altar. Tall and menacing, he loomed over Kate. In his hand glinted a knife.

  A scream gathered in her throat. Then the torchlight penetrated the shadows of the hood, and she saw his ice-gray eyes and the scar that drew up one corner of his mouth. With a few flicks of the blade, Lord Faversham sliced through her bonds, then did the same for her sister.

  “Next time,” he growled, “you’ll heed my advice.” Spinning around, he melted back into the melee.

  Kate lost no time in sliding off the altar. When her bare feet met the stone floor, she grabbed at the stone slab to steady herself. The blood tingled through her icy, half-numb feet.

  She shook her sister’s shoulders. “Meg. Wake up.”

  Her sister moaned. Her eyelids fluttered, but remained shut. Kate lightly slapped Meg’s cheek. To no avail.

  She glanced wildly around for help. Ashraf and Bickell were still fighting a group of robed men. Then she saw a sight that chilled her blood.

  His face grisly with anger, Sir Charles headed straight for her.

  Keeping to the shelter of a boulder, Gabe pulled himself out of the frigid water. Violent shivers gripped him. At least the cold dulled the pain in his side where the bullet had creased his flesh.

  In the split second of being hit, he’d acted on instinct. He’d fallen into the lake on purpose, letting Damson believe him dead.

  Now, the shouts and noises confirmed that Ashraf and Bickell had routed the bastards. Gabe had to find Damson. To make him pay for touching Kate. And for killing her father.

  He stepped out from behind the boulder. Blood trickled down his side, liquid fire on his cold flesh. In a glance, he took in the scuffle in the center of the cavern. Ashraf had brought down two of the villains. Bickell had another in a headlock.

  Then Gabe spied Kate by the altar, bending over her sister. Sir Charles was heading straight toward them.

  A white-hot fury consumed Gabe. His gaze focused on Kate, he set out at a run. A blur streaked out from behind a rock, crashing into him. He went down hard onto his injured side, agony shooting through his chest and emptying his lungs. Fists pummeled him, and a sharp undercut to the jaw rattled his teeth.

  “Ye shouldn’ta hit me this mornin’,” Figgins snarled. “Ye’ll die fer that.”

  Gabe surged upward, driving his shoulder into the man’s gut, using momentum to throw him over onto the stone floor. Figgins fought back with a wiry strength, his fingers tearing viciously at Gabe’s wound.

  The searing pain temporarily disabled Gabe.

  Figgins took advantage, his thumbs seeking to gouge out Gabe’s eyes. But Gabe hadn’t trekked through the wilds of Nubia and Abyssinia without learning some dirty tricks of his own. Trapping Figgins to the ground, he shoved his forearm against that scrawny throat in a chokehold that had Figgins gasping for air.

  A robed man appeared beside them. His muscles bunched, Gabe eased up on Figgins, ready to face the new threat. But it was Brand Villiers who crouched down beside him.

  A knife lay in his outstretched palm, the torchlight glinting off its razor edge. “Will you do the honors, or shall I?” he asked.

  “I will.” Snatching the weapon, Gabe slit Figgins’s throat.

  Blood spurted, and Gabe leapt back. Figgins made a gurgling sound, his hands clawing at his neck before he went still. Without another word, Brand strolled toward one of the tunnels that led out of the cavern.

  Staggering to his feet, Gabe ignored the throbbing in his side as he searched the pandemonium. Meg lay on the stone altar. But Kate was gone.

  Then he spied her retreating toward the underground lake. Stalked by Damson.

  Kate clutched the heavy statue of the goddess to her bosom. As she inched her way backward, she kept her gaze trained on the baron. In a last-ditch attempt to protect her sister, she had seized the goddess from the niche and lured Sir Charles away from the altar.

  “Give the goddess to me,” he demanded. “It’s mine.”

  She shook her head. “The statue belongs to Papa.”

  And to Gabriel. A salvo of sorrow threatened to cripple her. She took a steadying breath and forced herself to think, to find a path across the rocky terrain. If she could only distract Sir Charles for a few more minutes, surely Ashraf or Bickell would come to Meg’s aid.

  Then her bare feet sloshed into icy water.

  “Take care,” Sir Charles called out. “Don’t venture any farther.”

  Kate slid a little on the smooth rock edging the lake. Hugging the goddess, she caught her balance, her heart thudding.

  Sir Charles scooped up a rock and surged toward her.

  She hefted the statue over her head. “Stop,” she warned. “Lest I drop the goddess in the water.”

  He halted. All the color leached from his face. “By the devil! The goddess is sacred. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Kate took another step backward. Water lapped at her calves, numbing her feet and wetting the hem of her chemise. “I’m bartering for my sister’s freedom. And mine.”

  “You have it,” Sir Charles said instantly. “Just give the goddess to me.”

  Kate let him think she was considering it. Her arms shook under the weight of the statue and the bone-deep chill of the water. She knew that handing him the artifact wouldn’t ensure her safety or Meg’s. Given half a chance, he would smash in her skull with that rock.

  “Do as he says, Kate.”

  That gritty male voice stunned her. Looking beyond Sir Charles, she saw Gabriel advancing on them.

  A disbelieving joy lit her heart. His dark hair was plastered to his head, his clothing was soaked, his linen shirt stained with blood. He was hurt. But oh, praise God, he was alive.

  Eyeing Gabriel, the baron tightened his fingers around the rock.

  On instinct, Kate called out, “Sir Charles, help me. I’m slipping.” Swaying, she held out the statue as an enticement.

  His eyes avid, he veered toward her, gripping the rock, his robe floating in the water around his ankles. “Hand me the goddess. Quickly!”

  “Fetch it yourself.” With all her might, she flung the figurine out over the water.

  At the same instant, Gabriel hurled something. Steel flashed. The knife blade caught the baron in the neck just as he leapt after the statue.

  Loosing a strangled cry, Sir Charles plunged into the lake, his outstretched fingers grappling for the golden goddess. Thrashing madly, he went under, the statue in his grip.

  Kate’s Decision

  Kate stood there, shuddering, unable to believe it was over.

  Gabriel splashed into the shallows and gathered her in a fierce embrace. He brushed back her hair and moved his lips over her face, murmuring, “Kate. My love. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, uncaring that his soggy clothes were soaking her chemise, that her limbs trembled, that she stood in several inches of icy water. The shock of it all resonated in her. “Sir Charles...”

  Gabriel gently touched he
r cheek. “He’s dead.”

  “God forgive him,” she whispered. Burying her face in his wet shirt, she let Gabriel hold her until the queasiness inside her settled and her legs regained a measure of strength. “We lost the goddess.”

  “We’ll recover it. The lake can’t be more than ten feet deep.”

  But she didn’t care about the statue anymore. Only Gabriel mattered to her now. Her heart brimmed with a giddy thankfulness. Unthinkingly, she tightened her arms around his solid form, and he flinched.

  Kate drew back, lifting his shirt to see an ugly, oozing gash along the side of his ribs. Her insides clenched. “Dear heavens, you’re bleeding. And here I am clinging like a ninny.”

  With a hint of masculine appreciation, he eyed her dampened chemise. “That isn’t all that’s clinging.”

  “Hush. You need a doctor.” Sliding her arm around his waist, she urged him toward Ashraf and Bickell who waited across the cavern with a few prisoners. “I’ll find something to dress your wound.”

  Drawing her close, he nuzzled her neck. “I’d rather you undress me.”

  “Gabriel, please,” she said, though her heart beat faster. “You mustn’t strain yourself. Enough has happened already—”

  “More than enough.” His expression serious again, Gabriel tilted up her chin. In the flickering torchlight, his face revealed an unguarded regret. “I’m sorry, Kate. If only I’d been there that night in Cairo, none of this would have happened. I can recover the goddess for you. But I can’t ever replace your father.”

  A miraculous perception bubbled up in her, bursting forth in a joyous laugh. “You don’t know, Gabriel. Papa is alive. I saw him myself.”

  Gabriel regarded her as if she’d gone mad.

  She laughed again. “It’s true. Sir Charles was holding Papa prisoner. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you while I’m tending your wound. We’ll send Ashraf to find the ring of keys that I dropped.”

  To her delight, that wasn’t necessary. The sound of voices echoed in one of the tunnels as a small party marched into the cavern.

  Jabbar and Papa were in the lead. Then came Lady Stokeford, Uncle Nathaniel, and Lady Enid. Bringing up the rear was Lady Faversham, one hand gripping her cane, the other pulling her tall grandson along by his ear.

  “Let go, Grandmama,” the earl said testily. “I shan’t ran away.”

  “You were running a moment ago,” she snapped. “Fleeing like a fool from his own shadow. Look at you, dressed in robes with those silly horns.” Lady Faversham released him only to smack his legs with her cane.

  Muttering a curse, he removed the horns and flung them into the gloom. “But I did leave. You should be glad of that.”

  “I’ll be glad when you finally marry and have a wife to take over the task of scolding you.”

  The others hastened to the altar to see to Meg, who made a wobbly attempt to sit up. Papa removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders. Meg blinked in confusion, gave a cry of wonderment, and fell into his arms. The sight of their happy reunion brought a lump to Kate’s throat.

  As if seeing a ghost, Gabriel stared at Henry Talisford. “My God. It isn’t possible...”

  “It is.” Mindful of his wound, Kate gently drew him forward. “Come, you’ll want to greet Papa.”

  The two men embraced, and Kate swore she saw the sheen of tears in Gabriel’s eyes. Their camaraderie touched a place deep inside her, making her aware that their years together had forged a bond as close as father and son.

  Then Lady Stokeford scurried forward, her mouth dropping open in horror. “Good gracious! You’re bleeding, Gabriel. You and Kate.”

  Kate looked down in surprise at a damp red smear where she’d leaned against him. And embarrassment, for as Gabriel had pointed out, the wet chemise adhered to her curves. Lady Enid kindly tucked her voluminous mantle around Kate.

  She accepted its warmth gratefully. “I’m not hurt, it’s Gabriel. He’s been shot.”

  “Shot!” the Rosebuds said in unison, and they surrounded him, clucking questions and offering advice. “How badly?”

  “You must lie down.”

  “Someone fetch a doctor.”

  “It’s merely a scratch,” Gabriel insisted.

  But when Lady Stokeford folded her fine cashmere shawl, and Kate used it as a compress to cover the wound, his face went pale and he sucked in a breath between his teeth. The dowager made him sit down, Uncle Nathaniel seconding the order.

  Wrapped in the vast mantle, Kate joined Meg and her father. Meg leaned against him, her eyelids heavy from the aftereffects of the drugged wine. When she saw Kate, her face lost its smile and her lips quivered. “I was so foolish, Katie. I should have listened to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Always. I love you, dearest.” Teary-eyed, Kate kissed her sister’s smooth cheek. “Besides, I’ve been foolish, too, in my time.”

  Turning to her father, Kate put her arms around him for the first time in four years. She pressed her face to his whiskered cheek and breathed in his scent of pipe tobacco and ink. Her voice raw, she murmured, “I never said goodbye to you, Papa, all those years ago. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

  “’Tis I who erred.” Behind his spectacles, moisture glinted in the blue eyes that were so like her sister’s. “I shouldn’t have gone off and left my family. I mustn’t ever do so again.”

  “You’re back now, and that’s all that matters. We’ll let the future take care of itself.”

  Kate knew that clearly now. She wanted to enjoy the glorious present, to treasure the gifts that had been given to her. She wanted Gabriel.

  Her gaze veered to him. Lady Stokeford had secured the shawl around his broad chest in a makeshift bandage. As everyone prepared to leave the cavern, Uncle Nathaniel and Lord Faversham stationed themselves on either side of Gabriel, helping him despite his protests. In his sodden clothes, his hair mussed, he looked surly and irritated and so utterly adorable that her heart swelled with yearning.

  But she also saw pain in the lines around his mouth, in the way he favored his left side. He’d lost blood and he needed time to recover his strength. A few days at the very least.

  Then, and only then, would she tell him her decision.

  The Goddess

  The following afternoon, Gabe leaned against the doorjamb of the conservatory and watched Kate.

  His maternal grandparents had created a tropical paradise inside the domed, glass-walled chamber. The lush vegetation included acacias, orange trees, and date palms. Eucalyptus scented the air, along with the damp richness of earth and humus. Whenever he’d visited Fairfield Park as a child, he and his brothers had frolicked here among the lush foliage. Michael and Joshua had played knights on crusade, while as the youngest, he’d been coerced into acting the heathen infidel. Perhaps that had fed his spirit of adventure. The desire to visit exotic lands, to see all their wonders.

  Now he desired only Kate.

  On a stone bench in the center of the conservatory, she and Meg sat on either side of Henry Talisford, the three of them laughing at the antics of Jabbar, who had shinnied up the trunk of a palm. Perched among the leaves, the chimpanzee hooted, clearly enjoying his freedom.

  Kate’s face glowed as she spoke to her father. She touched Henry’s hand and adjusted the blanket over his legs. Something ached inside Gabe. Something that had nothing to do with his bandaged side or his disgruntled mood.

  Kate had her father back now. She didn’t need a guardian anymore. And she certainly didn’t want a husband. She had made that fact perfectly clear. The hell of it was, now Gabe wanted to wed her. Wanted it with his whole heart and soul.

  With a searing pain, Gabe didn’t know if he belonged in their family group. He was the outsider, the footloose adventurer who now craved roots. But he had yet to convince Kate of his reformation. Or to find out if it would even matter to her.

  It had been well after midnight when they’d returned from the castle. Grandmama had sent ahead for the doct
or, and between the fussing of the physician and the Rosebuds, he hadn’t had a moment alone with Kate. He’d have borne any agony to feel the soft touch of her hands. But she’d remained with her father and sister, and Gabe had faced the daunting realization that he no longer had any rights to her.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Grandmama demanded.

  He turned to see her sailing toward him down the corridor, Nathaniel Babcock sauntering at her side. The dowager had that scolding look about her, her lips compressed and blue eyes flashing.

  “I feel perfectly fine,” he lied. He felt dispirited and out of sorts, but she needn’t know that.

  “This is no time for male bravado,” she chided. “You’ve suffered a terrible injury. You need to conserve your strength.”

  “Give up,” Uncle Nathaniel said, winking broadly. “What Lucy wants, Lucy gets.”

  Grandmama gave him an intent stare that hinted at hidden meanings. “I’m pleased you realize that. Now come, Gabriel. You’ll lie down on the chaise in the drawing room.”

  Gabriel cast a frustrated glance back at the conservatory. The sound of their voices must have carried to Kate, for she looked up, straight at him.

  For a brief, sizzling moment, their gazes held, her eyes widening slightly, conveying an unmistakable ardor for him. His knees weakened under the heat of that look. Then she lowered her eyes before glancing back at her father.

  Shaken by a firmness of purpose, Gabe didn’t object when Grandmama led him away. Kate felt a strong physical desire for him. It wasn’t love, but it was a foundation nonetheless.

  And by damn, he would use it to win her heart.

  After dinner that evening, Kate stood in the dim-lit corridor outside Gabriel’s door.

  It was a tall panel of solid oak with wrought-iron fittings. She had ventured inside his chambers the previous night. Drawn and weary, he’d lain in the master bed with its blue satin hangings while the Rosebuds fluttered about him, chattering like magpies, firing questions at the bleary-eyed doctor. Kate had yearned to stay, yet she’d been keenly aware that she lacked the rights of a wife. So she had left, resolving to visit Gabriel in the morning.