by Judith James
That surprised him. She noted it in the sudden clenching of his hands and a slight flush to his cheeks. She really must stop staring at the man! It was unforgivably rude. "We could force the issue, of course," she continued, "but I am certain you can understand why we are loath to do so." She moved closer to him, her voice becoming husky, soft and pleading. "Surely, monsieur, as someone who's taken Jamie's interests to heart, someone who has sheltered and protected him, you would consider coming with us, at least to help him through this transition "
Gabriel's breath stilled in his chest. Miraculously, he was being offered another chance, and despite his best efforts to strangle it, hope was born again. He knew he shouldn't trust it. Vile temptress, she betrayed him every time, leaving him weak and wounded in ways too cruel to endure without the familiar palliatives of brandy and blood. He also knew, deep in his soul, if he refused her now, the offer would not come again.
He met her gaze directly, his eyes intense, uncertain, and in that moment Sarah saw past kohl, artifice, and carefully constructed defenses, to a heartbreaking vulnerability. Careful not to show it, she struggled to give him what he needed, something he could trust.
"We would pay you, of course," she said brightly.
His eyes sparked with sudden interest. Leaning toward her, he murmured in a sinful whisper, "And what are my services worth to you, ma belle?"
"Eh!" Ross started.
"Ten thousand pounds, monsieur," she responded, taking a step back. The man's sensuality was a potent force!
"Indeed," Ross grunted, deciding he'd best take command now, before the situation got worse. Ten thousand pounds, to a glittering catamite, an accomplished whore, because Sarah and James wished it. On top of that, Sarah meant to take him home, make him part of the motley gathering of rogues and eccentrics she called family. Well the man had placed himself between James and those who would have devoured him. Sarah was seldom wrong about people, he acknowledged, and the man was owed that much and more. It was a small price to pay for his guardianship, however unconventional, of young James over the past five years.
The creature was studying him, eyes hooded, lips curled in a cynical smile, anticipating his outrage and refusal. Insolent pup! He had a good deal to learn. "Ten thousand pounds for a year's employment, half now, the rest upon termination in one year's time. You will be employed as James's companion and treated as a gentleman in my home, as long as you comport yourself as one. I will expect from you, at minimum, the respect and deference a guest should show his host."
Gabriel hesitated. It was a considerable sum. Enough to buy a comfortable home, to travel to all the places he'd read about, to leave his life at Madame's and never return. "Am I not a little old and... experienced, my lord, to be companion to a ten-year-old boy?"
"You are, indeed," Ross said. "As my sister has explained to you, monsieur, we are mostly concerned with sparing James any unnecessary worry or fear after all he's been through. He feels safe with you. Your presence will reassure him as he adjusts to being home. We require nothing more from you than that."
"And this agreement, Lord Huntington, it will be in writing, signed and witnessed?"
"Yes, of course." As Ross spoke, Monsieur Henri arrived with Jamie and Mr. Smythe.
"Gabriel!" Jamie hurtled into the room, oblivious to his new brother and sister, chattering excitedly about Bow Street runners, Mr. Smythe, and oh, yes, his new family, which had come to take him home. Sarah and Ross watched in amazement as the elegant, cynical, debauchee they had just invited into their home transformed before them.
A genuine, sweet smile lit his features as he crouched down to the boys level and ruffled his hair, saying with a gentle laugh, "Calm yourself mon vieux. It is generally useful to the art of conversation to take a breath now and then, non?”
Obediently Jamie drew a deep breath before rattling on, "I told my brother, that's him there, and that's my sister, Sarah, and he's a my lord and she's a my lady, I told them you have to come, too, Gabriel, so you'll be coming with us." He looked expectantly at Ross and
Sarah. "He is coming with us, isn't he? Gabriel, you will come?"
Sighing, Gabriel straightened and rose, squeezing Jamie's shoulder with a graceful finefingered hand. He looked past the boy to meet Ross's gaze, his own somewhat amused, and slightly defiant. "Why, yes, Jamie. I suppose I will. It should prove to be an adventure."
Chapter
3
They came to pick Gabriel up the next morning. Sarah was relieved he hadn't changed his mind. She'd been almost certain that he would. Ross was relieved at his appearance. His unadorned suit was elegant, but simple. The kohl and the extravagant profusion of lace were gone, and his hair was tied neatly in a queue.
Jamie, energized and excited, had been to a restaurant, breakfasted in a cafe, stayed in a hotel, and tried lemonade and hot chocolate for the very first time. Thrilled at the idea of setting out to sea, he insisted on regaling Gabriel with all the details and observations he could manage, as Ross produced a contract and laid it on the desk.
"I apologize, monsieur. I neglected to inquire as to your surname. If you will provide it, I will enter it into our contract now."
"St. Croix will do as well as any, Huntington," Gabriel said with a shrug. He grinned, equal parts mischief and malice. "It is the name of the street on which I was abandoned as a child."
"St. Croix, it is, then." Ross added the name and affixed his signature, passing the pen to Gabriel, who signed it with a flourish. Mr. Smythe and Mr. Giles, who would be accompanying them on horseback and taking passage aboard his lordship's schooner, were pressed into service as witnesses. If they saw anything strange in their patron bringing home a denizen of a notorious Paris brothel as the young lord's paid companion, they were careful not to show it.
The journey to Calais took most of the day. It was dusty and hot, and after the initial jostling for seats, there was little to say. Gabriel's presence was not an easy one. Brooding and magnetic, his attempt to subdue his appearance only made him more attractive, as his cheekbones and full mouth appeared more pronounced with his hair tied back off his face. Sarah found herself unaccustomedly selfconscious. She tried to think of something to say, but there appeared to be little in common between them except for Jamie, and the circumstances of the last five years was hardly a topic for light conversation. Her attempts at discussing the weather or their destination met with a polite but unenthusiastic response. She wondered if he was having second thoughts, and tried to imagine how she would feel in a similar situation. Like an outsider she thought, awkward, defensive, and decidedly uncomfortable.
For much of the journey he appeared to be sleeping, or at least trying. Jamie had elected to sit beside him, elbowing him frequently as he clambered over him trying to see out the window, and constantly jostling him awake. Always patient and good humored with the boy, he would retreat as soon as he was able into a private space of his own. If not for Jamie's constant observations and questions to the three of them there would have been no conversation at all.
It was a relief for everyone when they arrived in Calais and could extricate themselves from quarters grown suffocatingly close. Once on board, the irrepressible Jamie begged to be shown the workings of the ship. Gabriel accompanied him as they toured the vessel, paying close attention to the answers the boy received from the captain and crew as he peppered them with questions. For the next couple of days, he appeared to be as fascinated as Jamie was by the sprightly little schooner.
Gabriel took to the sea as if he were born to it. He had no trouble keeping his footing, or the contents of his stomach as the ship rolled and pitched beneath him. When rough weather approached, he found his way up on deck, turning his face into the wind as it whipped spray over the bulwark and onto the deck, soaking his clothes and hair and splashing his hands and face. The wind was sweet as music to him, making the little ship sing as it whistled and shrieked through the rigging, setting off a wild staccato of flags and pennants flapping m
adly overhead. He felt at home, in his element. The ocean called to him, and something resonated deep inside.
Turning around, he was taken aback to find Sarah on deck, clutching the rail. As soon as he saw her, he turned to leave.
"Please don't go on my account, monsieur. I would enjoy the company. It's magnificent, is it not?" she asked with a brilliant smile, almost shouting, straining to be heard over the din. "I feel so alive when it's like this, as if I'm a part of it. I feel like I could fly."
"I am surprised, mademoiselle, that your brother, or the captain, allow it," he said sourly.
She grinned and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "Oh, Ross knows better than to forbid me, and I'm well acquainted with the ocean. Is this your first time at sea?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," he allowed.
"Please, call me Sarah."
"No, mademoiselle."
"Well, stop calling me mademoiselle at any rate,
Gabriel, because I am, in fact, a widow."
"I am sorry, madam," he said with a courtly bow, impressive given the pitching deck. "Might I remark that you seem a rather merry type of widow to me?"
"Well," she said, "in truth I didn't care for Lord Munroe very much, and although I didn't wish him dead, I would be a hypocrite to say it causes me any undue sorrow." Leaning into the rail, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the spray.
He couldn't help but notice that the damp was making her dress cling in an interesting fashion. It fueled a flicker of hunger that alarmed him. It would not do to allow any interest. Used to controlling his responses, he took a deep breath and suppressed it. If she really was a lady, she would not appreciate or reciprocate the attentions of a prostitute. If she wasn't, she would find that he'd not left Madame Etienne's to be a whore, for her, or for anyone else. "I believe I was brought here to entertain your brother, madam, not you. If you will excuse me, I am done with taking the air." Turning on his heel, he left.
"Well!'' Sarah said to herself with a snort and a blink, momentarily annoyed by his rudeness. Nevertheless, it really was a magnificent day and as the storm whipped, howled, and tugged at her hair, she forgot the annoying Monsieur St. Croix. Letting her head fall back, she laughed into the wind.
Turning for a last look, Gabriel stood riveted. He'd thought her handsome, rather than beautiful, but at that moment she appeared elemental, like some ancient goddess of the sea, and he felt something dangerous stir within.
***
With the storm, the journey from Paris to Falmouth took a little over five days. As Gabriel approached his new home, he felt a growing sense of wonder. The large, twostory manor house stood on a bluff, nestled along a wild stretch of coast above cliffs that fell sheer to the pale sands and rocky shore below. It looked out across the channel, with banks of windows throughout to capture the ocean vista and the rising and setting of the sun. It took full advantage of its aspect, with terraces and gardens surrounding the house, and broad balconies abutting the second floor. He noted numerous wellworn paths along the cliff edge leading down to the wild beach. Creamyflowered magnolia trees and the tangy musk of pine and sea joined in a heady fragrance that reminded him, somehow, of Lady Munroe. He supposed he was as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get.
He was given a wellappointed room next to Jamie's, and introduced as "Monsieur St Croix, a friend of the family from France." Jamie came to the rescue again as they toured the house, acting as a much needed buffer, pulling Gabriel along by the hand, chattering excitedly about his room and asking questions of all three of them. It was a warm and comfortable house. The main floor had an airy open design consisting of a long gallery with interconnecting rooms. With the doors open, one could move freely from music room to library to salon. The furnishings were sturdy and inviting, made for relaxation and set in conversational groupings to provide a quiet refuge and placed to enjoy the view. The overall effect was open, eclectic, and unusual, not unlike its inhabitants.
Sarah found herself watching Gabriel curiously, trying to gauge his reactions, indeed she had made somewhat of a game of it. He had blinked several times during Ross's lecture on plumbing and indoor heating, signaling she thought, a keen interest. He seemed to have little interest in the music room, looking polite and bored as she showed them the various instruments, but when she bent to help Jamie return a violin to its case, she saw him from the corner of her eye, his fingers poised over the keyboard with what might have been a wistful look.
Caught up in her study of their enigmatic new friend, Sarah was finally rewarded in the library. Gabriel walked slowly along the shelves of books, his index finger tracing covers and spines as he searched the titles, interest sparking, then flaring in his eyes. She watched as his face relaxed into a slight smile, and ventured to address him. "It's an impressive collection is it not?"
He turned to her with an excited smile that made her heart flutter. "It is indeed mademoiselle. I am permitted to make use of it?"
"But of course! This is your home now. You are welcome to use the library whenever you wish. Perhaps you'd like to take some books to keep in your room."
His smile widened into a grin that pierced her to the quick. "Thank you, mademoiselle, I should be delighted.''
She decided not to correct him. If he wished to smile at her, he could call her madam, or mademoiselle, or whatever he damned well pleased.
Sarah's hopes that their conversation in the library signaled a more comfortable relation between them were quickly dashed. Jamie grew in size and confidence as spring changed decisively to summer. He was a delightful child, quick of wit and curious, and the combination of good clean air, plentiful food, exercise, and safety, helped him adapt quickly to his new surroundings. He showed little visible effect from the years he'd been away, his recuperative powers astonishing, but Gabriel struggled to adjust.
He had no complaint about his treatment. Sarah seemed to harbor no animosity in regard to his rudeness aboard ship. Her smile was friendly, and she continued to make efforts to include him in conversation. He found himself watching her when she didn't know he was looking, noting with some degree of surprise that she often wore men's clothing, and sometimes went barefoot. No one seemed to remark upon it, not even her brother.
He remained a solitary character, avoiding company, though Jamie often sought his. He was generous with his time with the boy. They went exploring together, learning to fish, climbing cliffs, and exploring the many caves that dotted the shoreline, but he ate alone in his room unless Ross insisted he join them. His manners were impeccable, but he remained withdrawn and ventured nothing in conversation. When asked a direct question, his responses were cold and clipped, and though he had a clever wit, he used it to distance rather than endear himself.
The truth was that, at Madame's, he rarely spoke unless spoken to. He hadn't been paid to give his opinion, and except for the boy, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. His social interactions had revolved around the rites of seduction and the negotiation of payment. They had not prepared him for dinner hour with the Huntingtons and he was finding it difficult to relate to the relaxed banter and lighthearted discussion they indulged in at meals. The more he was surrounded by this unaccustomed wholesomeness, the more lost and angry he became, until he was barely civil to anyone but Jamie. There were moments he felt despair equal to his worst nights at Madame s as he realized that he didn't belong anywhere, anymore.
Over the next several weeks the rhythm of the house became familiar to him. He knew the minute the lights would come on, and when the fire would be lit. Huntington and his sister settled in the library most evenings to talk and compare their days and some nights, bored and lonely, unable to sleep, he would sit on the wide veranda, watching the sky and hugging himself against the cool night air as he listened to the buzz and hum of distant conversation. They'd invited him to join them, of course, several times; they were nothing if not polite, but he had no desire to perch, awkward and sullen, an ugly cuckoo soiling their nest, spoiling the intim
acy of their evening. He much preferred sitting in the dark, listening to the soft murmur of voices and laughter. It warmed him somehow, like sitting by a fire on a cold night. Long after they left, long after the last embers had died in the fire, he remained, rocking silently back and forth in the darkness, cold as stone.
Chapter
4
Ross and Sarah sat in the library, enjoying an aged brandy and talking companionably over the chessboard. "Jamie is doing remarkably well, don't you think, my dear?"
"Oh, yes, Ross! I swear he's grown three inches since he's been home. He's a delightful boy, curious, eager, and full of energy and good humor. I wish Mother and Father could see him."
Ross flinched, uncomfortable with the topic. "Who knows, Sarah? Perhaps they can. I hope, at least, they may rest easy, knowing he's returned home."
Sarah smiled. "Having him back is a blessing and a miracle. Seeing him whole and happy is...Oh, Ross, we owe Gabriel so much!"
Ross grunted at that, but didn't deny it. "He is not behaving as I expected. Indeed, I suppose I had no idea what to expect."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing, it appears he's not tumbling the maids... or the stable boys."
"Good God, Ross! That was cruel and uncalled for! You might be speaking of Jamie, if not for him!"
"I'm sorry, my dear," Ross said, somewhat chagrined. "He's so surly with me I act like an ass at times. Still one didn't expect him to become a monk, or a recluse. It's been over three months, Sarah. He doesn't seem happy here. One cannot say he's adjusting. What do you make of him?"