by Amanda Quick
“How nice,” she said politely.
Time was running out. A sense of desperation gripped her. Gabriel might feel some desire for her, but he appeared to be too much of a gentleman to act on it.
Her plans for at least one night of illicit passion appeared to be evaporating before her very eyes. She had to act.
Recklessly she tossed back the last of the brandy. It burned all the way down but the fire gave her the courage she needed to rise to her feet.
She set the glass aside with such determination that it made a decided clink when it hit the table.
It was now or never. Would he be appalled if she simply threw herself into his arms? Most certainly. Any true gentleman would be utterly shocked by such unseemly behavior. She was rather appalled at the thought herself. What if he rejected her? The humiliation would be unbearable.
This situation called for subtlety.
She groped for inspiration. Outside, moonlight streamed down onto the terrace. It cast a very romantic spell, she thought.
“Speaking of atmospheric conditions,” she said, striving for a light tone, “it has become a trifle warm in here, has it not? I believe I shall take some fresh air before retiring. Will you join me, sir?”
She moved toward the glass-paned doors that opened onto the terrace in what she hoped was a suitably sultry, inviting manner.
“Yes, of course,” Gabriel said.
Her spirits soared. This just might work.
He followed her to the door and opened it for her. When she stepped out onto the stone terrace the chill night air struck her with unexpected force. Her optimism failed abruptly.
So much for her brilliant ploy, she thought. This brisk temperature was hardly likely to incline Gabriel toward a state of heated passion.
“I should have brought a wrap,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts to warm herself.
Gabriel braced one booted foot on the low stone wall that surrounded the terrace and examined the starry night sky with an assessing expression.
“The crisp, clear weather tonight is another indication that we will, indeed, enjoy ample sunlight tomorrow,” he said.
“Wonderful.”
He glanced at her. In the moonlight she could see that he was smiling his cryptic smile.
Good grief, was he amused by her poor attempt at seduction? That was an even more distressing thought than the fear that he might reject her.
She hugged herself more tightly and imagined the photographic portrait she would have made of Gabriel if he had given her the opportunity. There would have been areas of intense, powerful shadow in the final image, she thought, reflections of the invisible dark energy that emanated from him.
That knowledge did not alarm her. She knew that the metaphysical darkness that flared around Gabriel was evidence of his strong will and self-mastery. It was not the sort of disturbing energy that emanated from a fevered brain. She had glimpsed those peculiar, dreadful hues occasionally among some who sat for their portraits. The chilling experiences never failed to leave her with a sick sense of revulsion and fear.
Gabriel Jones was very, very different.
She pondered the night and her failed attempt at seduction. There was nothing to be gained standing out here shivering. She might as well admit defeat and retreat back into the warmth of the library.
“You’re feeling the cold,” Gabriel said. “Allow me.”
To her amazement, he unfastened his elegantly cut coat and peeled it off with fluid masculine grace. The next thing she knew, he was draping the heavy garment around her shoulders.
The fine wool carried the residual heat of his body, warming her instantly. She inhaled and caught the trace of his scent.
Do not read too much into this bit of gallantry, she thought. He was merely playing the gentleman.
Nevertheless, the intimacy of the situation was incredibly exhilarating. She wanted to cling to the coat and never let go.
“I must tell you that I have found this photography commission quite interesting,” she said, huddling deeper into his coat. “From both an artistic and an educational point of view. I had no idea that the Arcane Society even existed before I arrived here.”
“As a general policy the members of the society shun any sort of public notice.”
“You have made that clear,” she said. “I know it is none of my affair, but I cannot help but wonder why the society is so intent on maintaining a cloak of secrecy.”
“Blame it on tradition.” Gabriel smiled again. “The society was founded some two hundred years ago by an alchemist who was obsessed with secrecy. Throughout the years, the members have maintained the same attitude.”
“Yes, but this is the modern age. No one takes alchemy seriously these days. Even in the late sixteen hundreds it was considered to be one of the dark arts, not a genuine science.”
“Science has always been dark at its edges, Miss Milton. The border between the known and the unknown is extremely murky, to say the least. Today, those who explore those obscure fringes call what they do psychical or metaphysical research. But in truth, they are merely modern-day alchemists sailing under a new flag.”
“The Arcane Society is engaged in psychical research?” she asked, startled.
For a moment she thought he might not answer the question. But then he inclined his head, once.
“That is correct,” he said.
Venetia frowned. “Forgive me, but in that case, the obsession with secrecy seems very odd, indeed. After all, psychical research is a perfectly respectable field of study these days. Why, they say that in London one can attend a séance any night of the week. And there are a vast number of learned journals dealing with psychical investigations published each month.”
“The members of the Arcane Society view the majority of those who claim to possess psychical powers as frauds, charlatans and tricksters.”
“I see.”
“Arcane Society investigators and researchers take their work very seriously,” Gabriel added. “They do not wish to be associated with impostors and deceivers.”
It was clear from the tone of his voice that he held similar strong views, she thought. This was certainly not the time to announce that she could see auras.
She tugged the edges of his coat more snugly around herself and retreated into the safety and privacy of her own secrets. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her fantasy lover with the impression that she was a charlatan or a fraud. Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to drop the subject without some small protest.
“Personally,” she said, “I prefer to keep an open mind. I certainly do not believe that all who claim to possess paranormal senses are liars and frauds.”
He turned his head to look at her. “You misunderstand me, Miss Milton. The members of the society are more than willing to allow for the possibility that some individuals do possess paranormal senses and abilities. That possibility is the reason the Arcane Society is still in existence.”
“If the society’s focus is psychical in nature, why has it acquired the rather strange artifacts in the museum here at Arcane House?”
“The antiquities in the collection are all believed to have some metaphysical importance, either real or imaginary.” He shrugged. “I think it is safe to say that in the majority of instances, the latter is the case. Either way, each relic has research and historical significance as far as the society is concerned.”
“I must tell you that I found many of the artifacts exceedingly unpleasant, even disturbing in some manner.”
“Did you, indeed, Miss Milton?” he asked very softly.
“My apologies, sir,” she said hastily. “I did not mean to offend your taste or that of the other members of the society.”
He was amused. “Never fear, Miss Milton; I am not so easily offended. As it happens you are a very perceptive woman. The artifacts here at Arcane House were not collected with a view toward preserving the elegant or the artistic. Each was brought here for purposes of scient
ific study.”
“Why did the society decide to have the collection photographed?”
“There are many members throughout Britain and in other parts of the world who wish to examine the relics but are unable to make the journey to Arcane House. The Master of the society decreed that a photographer be employed to record the relics so that those who cannot view them in person will be able to study the pictures.”
“The society plans to issue the photographs in the form of albums that can be dispersed to the members?”
“That is the intent, yes,” he said. “But the society does not want the pictures made available to curiosity seekers and the general public. That is why, by the terms of our agreement, I will take possession of the negatives. That way the number of prints produced can be strictly controlled.”
“You do understand that our arrangement is most unusual. Until this commission, it has been my practice to retain possession of every negative that I create.”
“I appreciate your reluctance to alter your customary mode of business.” His brows rose slightly. “But I believe the society did make it worth your while in this instance.”
She blushed. “Yes.”
He shifted slightly in the shadows, taking his foot down off the low wall. It was the most casual of motions but it somehow closed the space between them, heightening the sense of intimacy in a way that made her pulse race.
He reached out with one hand and lightly gripped the lapel of the coat she wore. “I am pleased that you are satisfied with our financial arrangements.”
She went very still, startlingly aware of his strong fingers so tantalizingly close to her throat. This was definitely not a casual sort of touch, she thought.
“I hope you will be equally satisfied with my work,” she said.
“I have seen enough in the past few days to know that you are an excellent photographer, Miss Milton. The pictures you created are remarkably clear and detailed in every respect.”
She swallowed hard, striving to project a woman-of-the-world image. “You did say that you wanted to be able to see every inscription and line of engraving on every artifact.”
“Detail and clarity are critical.”
He gripped both lapels of the coat and drew her closer. She did not even attempt to resist. This was what she had been yearning for these past few days and nights, she reminded herself. She was not about to lose her nerve at this juncture.
“I have found my work here quite…stimulating,” she whispered, staring at his mouth.
“Did you?”
“Oh, yes.” She could hardly breathe now.
He tugged her a little closer.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to conclude that you find me somewhat interesting, too?” he asked. “Or have I misread the situation between us?”
Excitement shot through her, brighter than the glare of the magnesium ribbons she occasionally used to light her subjects. Her mouth went dry.
“I find you quite riveting, Mr. Jones.”
She leaned closer, parting her lips a little, inviting him to kiss her.
He responded at last. His mouth closed on hers, slow and searching. She heard herself make a soft, urgent little sound and then, greatly emboldened, she put her arms around his neck, clinging as though for dear life.
The warm coat slid off her shoulders but she paid no attention. She no longer needed the garment. Gabriel was holding her tightly against him. The heat of his body and the invisible energy of his aura enveloped her.
The kiss was beyond her wildest dreams and fantasies. There was much about Gabriel that remained an enigma, but she knew at last that his desire for her was very real.
Her seduction plan was a blazing success.
“I think,” Gabriel said against her throat, “that it is time to go back inside.”
He picked her up in his arms as though she were weightless and carried her back through the open door into the inviting warmth of the fire-lit library.
2
HE SET HER DOWN on her feet in front of the fire. Holding her mouth captive with his own, he went to work unfastening the hooks at the front of the stiff bodice of her gown. She shivered again in spite of the warmth of the flames on the hearth and was suddenly very glad that she numbered herself among the many women who considered corsets unhealthful as well as uncomfortable. It would have been awkward, indeed, to stand here while Gabriel unlaced her, she thought.
Oddly disoriented and a little unsteady, she instinctively braced her hands against his shoulders. When she felt the sleek muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, an unfamiliar heat swirled inside her.
Impulsively she flexed her hands, sinking her nails into him.
Gabriel smiled slowly. “Ah, my sweet Miss Milton, I do believe that you will drive me mad tonight.”
The heavy gown fell away before she even realized that he had gotten it open. The dark crimson skirts pooled at her feet. She drew a sharp, unsteady breath when his hand cupped her breast. Through the fine linen of her underclothes she was intensely aware of his fingers moving gently, coaxingly across her nipple.
The next thing she knew her hair was tumbling down around her bare shoulders. He had removed the pins, she thought.
It dawned on her that in spite of the fact that this was her seduction, he was doing all the work now. Surely as a woman of the world she should be doing something more assertive.
She caught one end of his bow tie and yanked hard.
A little too hard.
Gabriel gave a husky laugh. “Do you mean to strangle me before we have concluded this business, Miss Milton?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, horrified.
“Allow me.”
He deftly unknotted the tie. It dangled briefly from his fingers and then, to her astonishment, he draped it lightly around her throat. In the firelight, his eyes darkened with an emotion she knew was desire.
In a matter of a few more moments, the length of black silk was all that she wore. She closed her eyes against the realization that she was nude in front of her dream lover.
“You are very beautiful,” he said against her throat.
She knew that was somewhat short of the truth but she suddenly felt quite lovely, such was the power of his voice and the atmosphere of the room.
“So are you,” she blurted, enthralled.
He laughed softly, picked her up and settled her on the velvet cushions of the sofa. Dazed from the waves of excitement and sensation pulsing through her, she closed her eyes. The end of the sofa gave beneath his weight. She heard one of his boots hit the floor and then the other.
He rose from the sofa. She opened her eyes in time to watch him strip off his shirt. In the golden light of the fire she could see that he was sleekly, powerfully made.
He stepped out of his trousers and tossed them aside.
When he turned back to her she froze at the sight of his aroused body.
He, too, went still.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she managed. She could hardly tell him that this was the first time she had ever seen an adult man naked and erect. A woman of the world would be familiar with a sight like this, she reminded herself.
“Do you find the sight of me displeasing?” he asked, still not moving.
She drew a deep, steadying breath and gave him a tremulous smile.
“I find the sight of you very…stimulating,” she whispered.
“Stimulating.” He sounded as though he did not know what to make of that. Then he smiled his mysterious smile. “I believe you used that term to describe your work here at Arcane House. Does that mean that you would like to set up your camera before we proceed?”
“Mr. Jones.”
He came to her in a low roar of masculine laughter. Lowering himself down on top of her, he slid one muscled thigh between her legs.
He breathed hot, seductive, shockingly wicked words against the bare skin of her breast. She responded impulsively, not with word
s because she could no longer speak, but with her body. She twisted and arched beneath his weight, clutching at him.
Very soon he ceased talking to her. His breathing became harsher. She could feel his muscles tightening beneath her hands. The dark thrills flashing through her were so intense that she could not even spare a second to be shocked anew when he reached down between them and caressed her sex.
She needed him to touch her like that. In fact, she needed more; much more.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Please, yes.”
“Anything,” he got out hoarsely. “Anything you want. You have only to ask.”
He stroked her until she pleaded with him for a release she could not describe, until she was clenched with need. When he slipped a finger inside her the sense of urgency became unbearable.
She realized that a similar sensation was riding him, too. He groaned, as though he ached somewhere deep inside. He was no longer touching her with the exquisite tenderness of a gentlemanly lover. Instead he was fighting her for the embrace, tormenting her, challenging her. She fought back, glorying in the sensual battle.
“You were made for me,” he said suddenly, as though the words had been ripped from him. “You are mine.”
It was a statement, not an endearment. A declaration of indisputable fact.
He caught her face between his hands. “Say it. Say that you are mine.”
“I am yours.” For tonight, she added silently. She raked her nails across his back.
Energy swirled around them. Her aura, she thought in some distant part of her mind, somehow it had infused with his to create an invisible metaphysical storm that engulfed them both.
When she narrowed her eyes slightly she realized that her paranormal vision was flashing in and out of focus. Light and shadow reversed and reversed again.
Gabriel used one hand to fit himself to her. He probed once and then he drove deep with a single, relentless thrust.
Pain snapped through her, shattering the sensual trance.
Gabriel froze, every muscle rock solid.
“Sweet hell,” he muttered. He raised his head and looked down at her with eyes that were as dangerous as his dark aura. “Why didn’t you tell me?”