Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  “Ask Tolkien. He was Catholic.”

  “I could ask Dante to pray for me.”

  “Dante is already praying for you.” He spoke against her hair.

  Julia closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. She always found its rhythm comforting.

  “What if people ask why you left Toronto?”

  “We’ll say what we always say—I wanted to be in Boston because you were going to Harvard and we were getting married.”

  “Christa Peterson has been telling a different story.”

  The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “Forget about her. We don’t need to worry about her at this conference.”

  “Promise me you won’t lose your temper if you hear something—unsavory.”

  “Give me a little credit.” He sounded exasperated. “We’ve had to deal with gossip at BU and Harvard and I haven’t lost my temper.”

  “Of course.” She kissed his chest. “But academics get bored and like to talk. Nothing is more exciting than a sex scandal.”

  “I beg to differ, Mrs. Emerson.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sex with you is more exciting than a scandal.”

  He flipped her to her back and proceeded to kiss her neck.

  Before the sun peeked over the horizon, Julia crept back into the room. A shaft of light from the window partially illuminated the naked man in her bed. He was lying on his stomach, his dark hair mussed. The sheet was slung dangerously low, exposing his lower back, his dimples, and the top of his backside.

  Julia gazed at him appreciatively, her eyes resting a beat longer than necessary on his muscular back and gluteus maximus. He was beautiful, he was sexy, and he was hers.

  She removed her yoga pants and T-shirt, placing her clothes and underthings on an obliging chair. Since they’d been married, she almost always slept naked. She preferred it that way—to sleep skin against skin with her beloved.

  Gabriel stirred when he felt the mattress move. He accepted her into his arms immediately, but it took a few moments for him to awake.

  “Where did you go?” He began to run his fingers up and down her arm.

  “I went to see the stone figures in the quadrangle.”

  Gabriel’s eyes opened. “Why?”

  “I read the Narnia books. They were special to me.”

  He cupped her face.

  “So you wanted to stay here because of Lewis?”

  “And because of you. I know that Paulina lived here when you did, and I . . .” She stopped, regretting the fact that she’d mentioned someone they were both trying to forget.

  “That was before we were involved. I spent very little time with her here.” He wrapped Julia in his arms. “I wouldn’t have tried to take you to the Randolph tonight, if I’d known your reasons. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you’d think my attachment to the Narnia books was juvenile.”

  “Anything important to you can’t be juvenile.”

  He thought for a moment as he considered what she’d said.

  “I read those books, too. There was a closet in my mother’s apartment back in New York that I was convinced would open into Narnia if I was a good boy. Clearly, I wasn’t.”

  He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t.

  “I know what it’s like to be willing to do anything to make the stories real,” she whispered.

  Gabriel’s hold on her tightened. “If you want to see where Lewis lived, I’ll take you to The Kilns, his house. Then we’ll go to The Bird and Baby, where the Inklings met.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He brushed a kiss against her hair. “I said once that you were not my equal, but my better. I’m afraid you didn’t believe me.”

  “It’s difficult to believe that you think that, sometimes.”

  He winced.

  “I need to do a better job of showing you,” he whispered. “But I’m not sure how.”

  Chapter Nine

  After breakfast in Magdalen’s dining room, Gabriel insisted that they take a taxi to St. Anne’s, the venue for the conference. He was worried that Julia (and her high heels) wouldn’t survive the walk, and there was no way in hell he was asking her to change shoes.

  “This is a dream come true,” Julia murmured, as they drove through Oxford. “I never imagined being able to visit here, let alone being able to present my research. I can’t believe it.”

  “You’ve worked very hard.” He brought her hand to his lips. “This is your reward.”

  Julia was silent, as she felt the weight of expectations on her shoulders.

  When they passed the Ashmolean Museum, Gabriel’s eyes suddenly grew alight.

  “I wonder what kind of trouble we can get into in there.” He pointed to the museum. “As I recall, there are ample locations for a tryst or two.”

  Julia blushed and he pulled her into his side, chuckling.

  He still had the ability to make her blush, a feat in which he took no little pride. And he’d done more than make her blush a few days previous when they’d tangoed against a wall in the British Museum.

  (The Elgin Marbles had yet to recover from their shock.)

  The Emersons arrived at St. Anne’s College just prior to the beginning of the first session. Inside, a group of fifty academics were milling about the refreshment tables, sipping tea and enjoying cookies while chatting about the extraordinary world of Dante studies.

  (For indeed, that world was much more interesting than it appeared to outsiders.)

  Gabriel poured Julia some tea before helping himself to coffee. He introduced her to two prominent Oxford professors of his acquaintance as they sipped their drinks.

  When it was time to enter the lecture theater, Gabriel placed his hand at the small of Julia’s back, urging her forward. She took two steps before she stopped.

  A familiar and careless laugh filled her ears, the source of the laughter visible a few feet away. In the center of a group of old and young men dressed primarily in tweed was a raven-haired beauty, holding court. She was tall and lithe, her attractive form clad in a fitted black jacket and skirt. Four-inch heels made her long legs even longer.

  (For once in his life, the Professor regarded a pair of elegant designer shoes with something other than appreciation.)

  The woman’s laugh was curtailed when a man with black hair and very tanned skin began whispering something in her ear, his eyes focusing on the Emersons.

  “Fuck,” said Gabriel, under his breath.

  He offered Christa Peterson and Professor Giuseppe Pacciani a thunderous look, while Julia catalogued the reactions of the men who stood nearby. As her eyes drifted from one to the next, a terrible and sinking feeling washed over her.

  More than one man stared back at her, their eyes resting longer than was appropriate on her breasts and hips. She released Gabriel’s hand and buttoned up her suit jacket so that it covered more of her chest.

  A look of visible disappointment marked several of the men’s appraisals. Clearly Julia didn’t live up to their expectations of a young and delectable graduate student, a woman who’d slept with her professor and become enmeshed in a scandal.

  “I’m settling this once and for all.” Gabriel surged forward, but Julia dug her fingers into his arm, pressing into the wool of his suit as well as his flesh.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she whispered.

  “After.”

  “You can’t,” Julia hissed. “Not here.”

  “Trouble in Paradise?” Christa’s smug voice reverberated in the room. “I guess the honeymoon didn’t last very long.”

  She fixed her eyes, catlike, on Julia, her attractive mouth curling into a sneer. “Not that I’m surprised.”

  Julia tried to pull Gabriel away, but he stood his ground
, his body vibrating with anger.

  “I’d like a word, Miss Peterson.”

  Christa inched closer to Professor Pacciani. She made a show of appearing to be intimidated by Gabriel.

  “Not after what happened in Toronto. If you have something to say you’ll have to say it in front of witnesses.”

  From the safety of Pacciani’s side, she leaned forward, dropping her voice. “It isn’t in your interest to make a scene, Gabriel. I found out a few things after you resigned, such as your involvement in BDSM. I didn’t know that Professor Ann Singer was your Domme.”

  A hush fell over those closest to the antagonists, their eyes shifting from Christa to Gabriel.

  Julia took his hand in hers and tugged. “Let’s go. Please.”

  Despite Gabriel’s fury he was conscious, all too conscious, of the now rapt attention of his peers. Still, it took every ounce of his self-control not to lunge forward and seize Christa by the throat.

  Stifling a curse, he turned abruptly and took a single step away from his former student.

  “I’m looking forward to your paper, Julianne.” Christa lifted her voice so more people could hear. “It’s unusual for a first-year student to be included in such an important conference. However did you manage it?”

  Julia paused, looking at Christa over her shoulder.

  “Professor Picton invited me.”

  “Really?” Christa appeared puzzled. “Wouldn’t it have been better to invite Gabriel to speak? I mean, you’re probably repeating things you learned from him. Or maybe he simply wrote your paper for you.”

  “I do my own research.” Julia’s voice was quiet but steely.

  “I’m sure you do.” Christa made a point of glancing at Gabriel’s back. “But your ‘research’ can’t help you write a lecture. Unless you’re planning to tell us about all the professors you slept with in order to get into Harvard.”

  Gabriel swore and released Julia’s hand. He turned around, casting furious eyes in Christa’s direction.

  “That’s enough. You don’t speak to my wife. Do you understand?”

  “Temper, temper, Gabriel.” Christa’s dark eyes shone with perverse amusement.

  “It’s Professor Emerson,” he snapped.

  Julia blocked his path with her body.

  “Let’s go.” She placed a light hand on his chest, just under his bow tie.

  “Get out of my way.” He looked like a dragon preparing to breathe fire.

  “For me,” she begged, her expression pleading.

  Before Gabriel could open his mouth, an authoritative voice sounded at his elbow.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Katherine Picton stood to his right, her white hair short and impeccably styled, her gray-blue eyes flashing behind her glasses. She eyed Professor Pacciani with distaste before turning her attention to Christa.

  “Who are you?”

  Christa’s posture shifted from defensive to ingratiating. She extended her hand.

  “I’m Christa Peterson, from Columbia. We met at the University of Toronto.”

  Katherine ignored the proffered hand. “I’m familiar with the faculty at Columbia. You aren’t one of them.”

  Christa reddened, withdrawing her hand. “I’m a graduate student.”

  “Then don’t present yourself as anything else,” Katherine snapped. “You aren’t from Columbia. You attend Columbia. I repeat, why are you here?”

  When Christa didn’t respond, Professor Picton stepped closer, raising her voice.

  “Are you hard of hearing? I asked you a question. What are you doing at my conference, insulting my guests?”

  Christa almost faltered, feeling the energy in the room shift under Professor Picton’s antipathy. Even Professor Pacciani took a step back.

  “I’m here to attend your lecture, like everyone else.”

  Katherine straightened to her full five feet and looked up at the much taller and half-century younger graduate student.

  “Your name isn’t on the guest list. I certainly didn’t invite you.”

  “Professor Picton, excuse me. The young lady is a friend.” Professor Pacciani smoothly interceded. He bowed and moved to kiss Professor Picton’s hand, but she waved at him dismissively.

  “As a companion of yours, Giuseppe, her attendance might be excusable. But barely.” She glared at him. “You need to teach her some manners.”

  Katherine turned to address Christa directly.

  “I know the havoc you wreaked in Toronto. Your lies almost destroyed my department. You’ll follow the rules of decorum here, or I’ll have you removed. Do you understand?”

  Without waiting for a response, Katherine began scolding Pacciani in fluid Italian, pointing out in no uncertain terms that if his friend made her guests’ visit unpleasant in any way, she would hold him personally responsible.

  She added that she had a perfect and unforgiving memory.

  (It should be mentioned that she was correct.)

  “Capisce?” She glared at him through her glasses.

  “Certo, Professor.” He bowed, his face drawn and angry.

  “I’m the injured party,” Christa protested. “When I was in Toronto, Gabriel—”

  “Codswallop,” Katherine spat. “I’m old, not senile. I recognize a woman scorned when I see one. And so should everyone else.” At this, Katherine directed her scathing expression to the men who had surrounded Christa, eager to give ear to her gossip.

  “What’s more, inviting yourself to an invitation-only event is unprofessional in the extreme. This isn’t a fraternity party.”

  Professor Picton looked around the room once more, pausing as if to challenge anyone to contradict her. Under her withering stare, the prurient onlookers began shuffling their feet and backing away.

  Seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention back to Miss Peterson and lifted her chin. “I believe I’m quite finished.”

  With that, she favored Christa with her back. The other occupants of the room stood by, somewhat shell-shocked by just having witnessed the academic equivalent of a mud-wrestling match, handily won by a small (but feisty) septuagenarian.

  “My dear friends, it’s good to see you. How was your flight?” Katherine placed her arm around Julia’s stiff shoulders, giving her a fraternal squeeze, before shaking Gabriel’s hand.

  “The flight was fine. We spent a few days in London before arriving by train.” Gabriel kissed Professor Picton’s cheek. He tried to force a smile but failed.

  “I’m not impressed with the fact that they’ve admitted riffraff.” Katherine sniffed. “I must speak to the conference organizers. It’s bad enough that you young people should be subjected to such a person, but to have to endure her in public. What a ridiculous girl.”

  Professor Picton’s aged eyes quickly took in Julia’s expression of distress, and her demeanor softened.

  “I’ll buy you a drink this evening, Julianne. I think it’s time for us to have a little chat.”

  The professor’s words jarred Julia out of her quietude. A thinly veiled expression of terror flashed across her features.

  Gabriel grasped her around the waist. “That’s very generous, Katherine, but why don’t you join us for dinner, instead?”

  “Thank you, I’d enjoy that. But I’ll speak to Julianne first.” She turned to her former student, her expression kind. “Come and find me after the last lecture and we’ll walk to The Bird and Baby.”

  Professor Picton took her leave and was immediately surrounded by several academic admirers.

  It took a moment for Julia to regain her composure, but when she did, she leaned against Gabriel.

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “I’m sorry Katherine interrupted when she did. I would have liked to say a few words.”

  Julia began w
ringing her hands. “I never should have answered Christa. We should have walked away.”

  Gabriel’s expression tightened. He looked around, then brought his mouth close to her ear. “You stood up for yourself, which was the right thing to do. And I’m not going to stand there and let her call you a whore.”

  “If we’d walked away, she wouldn’t have gotten that far.”

  “Bullshit. She’s already slandering us. You said so yourself.”

  Julia’s face was marked by disappointment. “I asked you to stop.”

  “And I explained that I wasn’t about to let her speak to you that way.” He clenched his jaw and released it. “Let’s not fight because of that bitch. That’s precisely what she wants.”

  “She was spoiling for a fight. And you gave it to her.” Julia glanced around the rapidly emptying room. “Tomorrow I have to stand up in front of everyone, knowing that they witnessed that embarrassing scene.”

  “If I’d said nothing, if I’d done nothing, then it would look like I agreed with her.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled, low in his throat.

  “I asked you to stop, and you brushed me off.” She gave him a wounded look. “I’m your wife. Not a speed bump.”

  She clutched her old Fendi messenger bag and followed the crowd into the lecture theater.

  Chapter Ten

  Professor Emerson seethed with anger as he watched his wife walk away. He wanted to drag Christa Peterson outside by her hair and teach her a lesson. Unfortunately, based on her seductive behavior when she was his student, she’d probably enjoy it.

  (And take photographs for her scrapbook.)

  It was not like him to want to strike a woman.

  Or perhaps it was. Perhaps it was precisely like him to want to strike a woman. Anger and violence were written in the bone, the product of DNA. Perhaps Gabriel was just like his father.

  He closed his eyes. As quickly as the thought emerged, he tamped it down. Now was not the time to think of what he did and did not know about his biological parents.

  Gabriel knew he had a temper. He tried to control it but frequently failed. On one such occasion, to his shame, he’d struck a woman.