Gabriel's Fate

by Craig, Emma

  When Tybalt, sitting on the bench beside her and apparently starved for affection, nudged the volume out of her hand, she gave up even pretending to read. The book slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. With a muffled sigh, she bent to pick it up—and discovered herself nose to nose with Mr. Gabriel Caine, who had stooped to perform the same task.

  His grin was the most wicked she’d seen yet on his devilishly handsome face. Sophie felt heat flush across her shoulders, up the back of her neck, and creep into her cheeks. She jerked upright again and began petting Tybalt in a flurry of discomposure. Tybalt didn’t care what emotion motivated her. He sank his head onto her lap with a rhapsodic snore of contentment.

  Gabriel sat up more slowly, with the book clutched in his fingers. He undressed her with his eyes, and Sophie’s color deepened. She reached for the book, and he drew it away from her. She snatched her hand back and cursed herself for allowing him to play with her. He made a show of examining the book.

  “The Lady or the Tiger?” He winked at her. “Now what could this be about, Miss Sophie? You gathering tips for your next big-game-hunting trip into the heart of Africa?”

  “Tigers live in India, Mr. Caine, not Africa.”

  His grin widened. “That so?”

  Juniper giggled.

  “Yes. It’s so.” Sophie reached out again. This time he allowed her to yank the book from his fingers, and she felt as though it were she who was behaving childishly rather than he who was being cheeky.

  “Actually,” said she repressively, thinking that maybe she didn’t regret her prediction about him after all, “this volume tells the story of a young man who falls in love with a princess. He is imprisoned by her father for daring to set his sights higher than his station.” She gave him a significant look, which only provoked another sly wink. Sophie wished she’d not bothered to try to shame him into behaving with propriety. He wouldn’t recognize propriety if it bit him on the butt.

  “Poor fellow,” said Gabriel with spurious sympathy. “What happened to him?”

  It was Sophie’s turn to bestow a catlike grin upon him.”That decision is left to the princess, actually, Mr. Caine. She is given the choice between two doors. She is to direct her lover to one of them. Behind one door is a man-eating tiger.

  Behind the other is a beautiful woman. She gets to decide whether to feed him to the tiger or give him to the lady.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes open wide. She wasn’t sure if his reaction was one of surprise or premonition but she supposed either would do, although his reaction wasn’t anywhere near victory for her. His eyes were as dark as chocolate and meltingly beautiful, and Sophie could have stared at them forever if they’d been in the face of a decent human being. They were framed by lush black lashes, too, a circumstance Sophie deplored as obscenely wasteful of God, who should have given them to a woman. Not that God seemed to care much about waste, as she already knew to her everlasting sorrow.

  “So—er—which door does she choose?”

  Sophie wondered if her grin would split her cheeks. This was more fun than she’d had in, literally, years. “The author doesn’t tell us, Mr. Caine. Each reader gets to choose his—or her—own ending to the story.”

  “My goodness,” said Gabriel, swallowing. He recovered his composure almost immediately, drat him, “I wouldn’t give the poor fellow odds, then. In my experience, most ladies would rather see a man die than go off with another woman.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Mr. Caine, although I was considering the poor woman upon whom the man was to have been inflicted. If the princess has a shred of mercy in her soul, she’ll feed him to the tiger and spare both herself and that other poor woman from his villainies.”

  Gabriel looked astonished for perhaps three seconds. “My goodness, Miss Sophie. You are a bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you? First you predict my death, and now you’re killing off that poor fellow in the book.”

  Sophie only stared at him, pouring meaning after meaning into her look and trying not to feel guilty about her prediction.

  Then he grinned again. “No offense, ma’am, but I can only be glad my life isn’t in your hands.”

  “Ah, but perhaps it is.” She showed her teeth in a glittering smile she’d practiced in front of a mirror. It generally sent men scurrying off, their tails between their legs—if that thing between their legs could be likened to a tail. This time it only succeeded in making Gabriel’s grin get bigger. She should have expected it but hadn’t, and she found his reaction to her best evil smile very annoying. She didn’t dare lower her gaze or stop smiling, however, because then he’d have won.

  “Now Miss Juniper here—” Gabriel gave Juniper one of his brilliant, beaming smiles. “I’d trust my fate to Miss Juniper’s hands any old day.”

  And he could, too, curse him. “Yes,” said Sophie. “Aunt Juniper is ever so much more kind-hearted than I.”

  He acknowledged the justice of her statement with a brief nod. “Yes, ma’am, I do believe you might be right there.”

  Juniper giggled again.

  Sophie wanted to smack them both. “And she’s always had a particular fondness for rapscallions,” she added sweetly.

  “Now Sophie, that’s not true.” Juniper turned to Gabriel.”She’s talking about our family again, Mr. Caine, and they weren’t rapscallions. They weren’t.” She looked at Sophie once more. “They weren’t.”

  How her Aunt Juniper could make her feel so guilty with just a look never ceased to amaze—and provoke—Sophie. It had something to do with Juniper’s eyes, she decided. They were as blue as a robin’s egg in spite of Juniper’s more than fifty years, and they generally sparkled, albeit somewhat vaguely, with merriment and perfect innocence.

  When Sophie said nasty things about the family, Juniper’s eyes went as bleak as a frozen pond. Every time it happened Sophie felt ashamed of herself, no matter how wrong Juniper was about their family. They were carnival show hacks, is what they were. Juniper was the only one in the whole lot of them who truly believed in what they did. She couldn’t be made to admit it, though.

  Sophie vowed she wouldn’t apologize. At least not in front of Gabriel Caine.

  He stroked his wicked black mustache; the one Sophie itched to feel to see if it was soft or wiry or prickly or—

  She couldn’t stand it.

  “Well, now, ma’am, you might be more right than you suspect about my relative rascality.”

  Sophie felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. Her mouth fell open and stayed open for several moments before she found the wit to say, “You mean you admit to being a scoundrel, Mr. Caine?”

  He inclined his head to one side as if modesty compelled him. Sophie pinched her lips together. He was a scoundrel, whether he planned to admit it or not.

  “As to that, Miss Sophie, I don’t believe I’m the best judge. However, while you might have been born into a family of occultists, I—” He splayed a hand over a portion of his anatomy that would have housed his heart if he’d been a person with a moral or two to rub together. Sophie hated it when she felt the urge to grab that hand and study its palm and see if Juniper’s assessment of it had been correct. “Well, ma’am, I was born in a revivalist’s tent.”

  She blinked, astonished. Then she had to fight a grin when she realized he considered revivalists in the same light as she considered clairvoyants. If, of course, he was telling the truth. She couldn’t tell. And, since she still didn’t trust him, she assumed his story to be unlikely. He’d probably just said it because he knew she’d be taken aback.

  “Oh, Mr. Caine!”

  Juniper’s happy cry startled them both, and they turned to look at her. With her hands clasped to her bosom, Juniper smiled at Gabriel as if he’d just performed a holy miracle. He appeared confounded for a moment before he smiled a question at Juniper. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I just knew you weren’t what Sophie called you. Why, you’re as firmly rooted in the spiritual life as we are
!”

  Sophie felt her lips twitch as she endeavored to keep sardonic amusement from showing. Mr. Caine hadn’t expected this; she’d bet money on it. He’d meant to scandalize them, and now Juniper was rewarding him with praise. Sophie hoped he’d choke on his embarrassment.

  Fat chance. He recovered his composure at once. In fact, if Sophie hadn’t been watching him like a hawk, she’d never have known he’d lost it. The blasted man really should have been born into her family; he’d have fit right in.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said to Aunt Juniper, his face masterpiece of piety. “Why, ma’am, I was saving souls by the time I was six years old.”

  Juniper beamed at him and sighed her pleasure. Sophie shook her head and took comfort in her dog. Dogs were infinitely superior to human beings; they were uncomplicated and sincere and never, ever lied.

  Tybalt never once came to her for the pleasure of her caresses and called it love. He never claimed to cherish her when he only wanted food or the sensual pleasure of a good back scratch. Yet Tybalt was the only being on earth in whose affection Sophie trusted. Tybalt and Aunt Juniper. She’d never considered the connection until today, and almost giggled like her aunt had been doing ever since she’d taken up association with Gabriel Caine.

  Her near lapse brought her up short, and she frowned to make up for it. Unfortunately, Gabriel saw the change in her demeanor.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Sophie? I’ll wager you were hoping I’d been born the son of a black-hearted gambling man and a—lady of easy virtue.”

  “Oh, no. Not at all.” She gave him a sugar-wouldn’t-melt in-

  her-mouth smile. “I’m sure being a tent-show revivalist suits you equally.”

  He acknowledged her hit with another grin. “You’re right as rain, Miss Sophie. Right as rain. As usual.”

  “You know, Mr. Caine, although most people don’t realize it, the study of the occult is deeply rooted in a belief in God’s infinite mercy and love. I never begin the day or end it without prayers of gratitude to our dear Heavenly Father for honoring me with my humble gifts.” Honesty oozed from every syllable that tumbled from Juniper’s lips. Her cheeks were as red as ripe apples, and her hands clutched spasmodically at the cameo brooch pinned to her bosom.

  Sophie sighed.

  “Is that so, ma’am?” Gabriel looked at Juniper cordially.

  “It’s so,” Sophie said. She hadn’t meant to sound so tart, although her aunt didn’t seem to notice. Juniper merely nodded and smiled, evidently happy that Sophie was agreeing with her for a change.

  Gabriel stroked his black mustache again. Sophie tried to look away and couldn’t. The man she’d been in love with all those years ago had worn a mustache. He hadn’t been nearly as handsome as Gabriel Caine, although Sophie’d believed him to be the most handsome man in the universe at the time. Which just went to show how little she’d known him—and, more to the point, how much meaning good looks had if they were on the face of a rogue.

  “I must admit, ladies, that I’d never connected religion and the occult before in my own mind.”

  Sophie had to hand it to him: He didn’t even sound ironic.

  “Oh, there’s every connection, Mr. Caine. I belong to the Transcendentalist church myself, because I’m certain that God is the Universal Mind and can be found in all religions, but it’s often difficult to find Transcendentalist churches unless one visits big cities.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Aunt Juniper always makes do with what’s available, though.” Sophie smiled at her aunt and hoped Juniper wouldn’t realize she was being sarcastic.

  “Yes indeed,” confirmed Juniper. “Why, as long as one is able to meditate upon God’s great gifts—”

  Sophie barely managed to stifle a rude comment.

  “—and His love for us all, then I’m sure He doesn’t care in what house of worship we choose to praise Him. That’s why I like to think of God as the Universal Mind, don’t you know. I find most churches very restful, Mr. Caine. Very restful indeed. Particularly when they use wax candles in their services. There’s something so soothing about wax candles. Don’t you think so?”

  Juniper smiled brightly, and Gabriel gazed at her for a moment, apparently speechless. Sophie felt her lips twitch and had to fight another grin.

  “Er, yes, ma’am. Yes, I certainly do. Wax candles. Sure.”

  Bestowing what looked to Sophie like an almost transcendental smile upon Gabriel, Juniper heaved a happy sigh and said, “Let’s get back to your palm, shall we, Mr. Caine? We’re discovering some excessively interesting features there.”

  “Er, yes. Yes, ma’am, we are indeed.”

  Sophie choked on her laughter, drawing his gaze. He gave her a grin and a wink that left her weak in the knees and made her glad she was seated before he turned his attention back to Aunt Juniper.

  Against her will, Sophie raised her hand to the pulse at the base of her throat. It was hammering like a kettledrum.

  * * * *

  The air was hot enough to cook an egg in its shell and as dry as an old maid’s kiss. As soon as the porter opened the train door, heat hit Gabriel’s face like a blast from hell.

  He leaned out the door, glanced around, and shook his head. Great God Almighty, but Ivo Hardwick had chosen to go to ground in a mortally unpleasant place if this was any indication.

  He looked down the tracks and saw several people wilting under parasols and light-colored hats as they waited for passengers to disembark from the train. Men leaned against walls and sprawled on benches as if they were too enervated by the insufferable weather to move.

  The level of noise in Tucson surprised him. It was so damned hot, he couldn’t figure out how anything had energy enough to make noise. Yet dogs barked, people hollered, he heard the rumble of traffic some ways off, and even some gunshots in the distance.

  Peering over the station’s low-pitched roof, he saw what looked like a forest of windmills, and shook his head again. A booming little place, Tucson. And rough. It looked perniciously rough. He began to worry about the Madrigals.

  Even though Sophie’s prediction still bothered him more than he’d ever admit to anyone, he still didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. Dmitri, for all his undoubted loyalty, probably wouldn’t be of much help to the ladies in a crisis, unless he was good with a gun. Thus far, Gabriel hadn’t seen Dmitri with any weapon at all. In fact, he’d scarcely seen Dmitri at all, since he preferred to hide out in the baggage car.

  He hoped the weather cooled off at night here, or he might just have to buy one of those buff-colored hats to wear, and that would ruin his image. Hell, Miss Sophie might not even hate him any longer if he weren’t clad all in black. He also hoped this job of his wouldn’t take long.

  The two Madrigal ladies had lined up behind him. He turned around and held out his hand to take Tybalt’s wicker basket from Sophie’s hands. After hesitating long enough to let him know she didn’t trust him—as if he’d harbored any doubts on the matter—Sophie relinquished it. He gave her one of his best grins to disconcert her. Of course she didn’t demonstrate her discomposure in any way. God, Gabriel admired the woman—he also wanted to paddle her luscious rump for being so damned difficult.

  Refusing to give Sophie a chance to reject his offer of help, he held his arm out for Juniper, who took it gladly. He assisted Juniper down from the train, then aimed what he hoped like hell was a lady-slaying grin on Sophie, who eyed him back glacially.

  “Where are you ladies staying, Miss Sophie? May I see you to your destination?”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Caine. Dmitri will seek lodgings for us. That’s one of his functions.”

  She gave him a faint smile. It had never taken him this long to sunder a female’s defenses in his life. Hell, he’d even gone so far as to tell the truth about his background, and it hadn’t softened Sophie Madrigal’s cold heart one iota. He’d never done such a thing before. It had shocked him damned near as much as her prediction.


  “I’ll just wait with you until he does it, then. I understand Tucson can be a pretty inhospitable place.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Caine. It’s so kind of you to offer.” Juniper smiled at him as if he’d offered her a diamond necklace. The cynical side of his nature smirked; the side that had confessed to his embarrassing beginnings felt humbled. Damn, but Juniper Madrigal was a nice lady.

  Sophie withdrew a handkerchief from her silly little beaded handbag and patted at her brow with it. Her skin glowed like a pearl in the blistering heat, and she was gorgeous. She looked like a rather large fairy-tale princess who’d been yanked out of her own lace-and-satin story and dumped into the middle of a rattlesnake-and-leather dime novel. Gabriel had a mental vision of him and Sophie cooling off in a clear mountain spring in those mountains hovering around Tucson. He shook his head, tickled by his own fanciful thoughts. As if. If they ever ended up in a clear mountain spring together, she’d more likely try to drown him.

  “And I’d take it as a pure kindness if the two of you would be my guests at dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, Mr. Caine!”

  Every time Miss Juniper fluttered like that, she reminded Gabriel of a pretty little bird. Miss Sophie, on the other hand, reminded him of an eagle about to swoop down and peck his eyes out. She retrieved Tybalt’s basket from him with a jerk hard enough to interrupt one of Tybalt’s more prodigious snores, and said, “Thank you.”

  “Oh, look, Sophie dear. There’s Dmitri. I’ll be right back.”

  Juniper tripped off as if it weren’t a hundred and ten in the shade, leaving Gabriel and Sophie to stare after her. Dmitri appeared out of the heat ripples like an apparition, wearing the same overalls and cloth cap he’d had on when Gabriel first saw him. He noticed Sophie frowning after her aunt and knew she wanted to be the one talking to Dmitri. An itch to rib her, with which he had become familiar during their trip from Laredo, assailed him.

  “Come on, Miss Sophie, taking a meal with me won’t be so bad. I don’t really bite, you know.”