A willowy, lean man with blond curls similar to her own stood at the back of the grotto waiting. The way he jutted his hip to one side in an arrogant fashion was familiar. With only lanterns illuminating the grotto, the light must be playing tricks on her vision. For a minute she thought… No, it couldn’t be possible. She stopped and stared.
“Gabrielle, my dear.”
No, this couldn’t be. Her brother was dead. The killer was playing a trick on her, trying to confuse her. But that voice, with the same arrogant tone, was the voice of Lucien.
She stood frozen. “Lucien?” Her whisper resounded in the grotto. “Is it really you?”
“Come here, my dear.” He opened his arms. “Oh, little one, it is good to see my sister.”
And she ran to him as if in a dream of the past, when he was her laughing, happy older brother. He moved toward her, favoring his left leg, and wrapped her in his strong arms, squeezing her tightly. “This will all be over in a minute.”
“What will be over? And why must we meet here in such a mysterious fashion?”
“Gabrielle, get behind me and don’t move until I say you can,” Lucien commanded in a sharp voice.
“You can come out, Anatole.” Lucien pulled out a gun that was tucked into the back of his breeches.
Gabby peeked around Lucien’s back. A heavyset man with rough, broad features, and with a pistol in his hand, stepped out from one side of the grotto. “You bastard, Valmont. I thought it was you on the scaffolding. You were supposed to die.”
“I was left for dead after you shot me in the back, you coward.”
This was the man who had tried to kill her last night. He had shot her brother? Nothing made sense. Someone wanted to wipe out the Valmonts.
“For trying to kill my sister, you will suffer death a hundred times over, just as I did, lying in a coma, wanting to die.”
Anatole shrugged insolently as if the threat against him was of no consequence. “But before you shoot me, I’ll get one shot off. And once you’re gone…I will finish my mission.”
Anatole was going to shoot Lucien and then kill her. Should she step out and prevent him from shooting Lucien? Where was Michael? And all the men guarding her?
Lucien stiffened and widened his stance, his pistol directly pointed at the man. “You assume you’ll be able to hit your mark when you’ve already failed too many times to count. What an assassin you’ve turned out to be.” Lucien laughed, a dark black laugh that sent chills down Gabby’s spine. “If you survive today, Fouché will rid himself of his inept assassin.”
Anatole stepped closer to Lucien. “You always were a cool bastard.”
“Before I kill you, tell me what other subversive plots Fouché is behind against Talleyrand. This newest plot against the king smells of Fouché’s treason.”
“Go to hell.”
“So that is a yes?”
Anatole started to raise his gun when Gabby heard Michael’s voice.
“Gabby.”
Oh no, Anatole would kill Michael. Gabby screamed, “He’s got a gun.”
Anatole turned halfway toward Michael. A blast rang out. Lucien had fired at Anatole, hitting the man in the back. Lucien muttered as the man fell forward to the ground. “A coward deserves to die a coward’s death.”
Gabby ran out from behind Lucien to go to Michael, but Lucien grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to his side. “Wait. Anatole still has his gun.”
Anatole lay on the floor of the grotto, writhing and moaning while his life blood poured out, saturating the cold, hard floor.
Michael stepped over to Anatole and kicked the gun out of his hand, keeping his gun pointed at Lucien.
“Release her or I’ll shoot you,” Michael commanded.
“Michael, stop. He’s my brother.”
“Your brother is dead,” Michael instructed her as if she had forgotten.
Gabby tried to pry loose to go to Michael, but Lucien kept his arm tightly around her shoulder.
Gabby smiled at Michael. “It seems not. Michael, meet my brother Monsieur Lucien de Valmont.”
Lucien tucked his sister next to his side. “I don’t like him.”
For some inexplicable reason, probably because it was exactly like her brother to make a quick and contrary judgement, Gabby started to laugh and couldn’t stop. The overwhelming fears, the violence, and the relief combusted together into joyous, almost hysterical laughter.
Lucien looked down at her in a mixture of disbelief and shock. “This has been too much for you.”
Gabby hugged her brother and broke free of his hold. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”
And then she walked into Michael’s waiting arms. She turned back toward Lucien. “You will have to like him. I love him. And plan to marry him.”
Lucien said in his typical condescending voice, “But he’s English.”
In the meantime, men stormed the grotto, with Lord Rathbourne leading the way. “Valmont?”
Lucien tucked his gun into his breeches and sauntered nonchalantly toward Rathbourne.
“It took your men long enough to find us. I was waiting for you to distract Anatole so I could shoot him. But this impetuous fool came instead.” Lucien nodded toward Michael.
“We had you covered and were waiting to see if he would give up any more useful information. But one gentleman, like his sister, rushes into situations against orders, obviously risking all for love.” Rathbourne smiled at Gabby.
Bending over the fallen Anatole, Rathbourne asked Lucien. “Who is he?”
“Anatole.”
“Anatole Roache? Fouché’s assassin?” Rathbourne stared at the bleeding man. “Get the man a doctor.” Like her brother, Rathbourne was in control of the situation and the men around him.
“Why did Fouché want you and your sister killed?” Rathbourne demanded.
“Anatole was to kill me to prevent Napoleon from discovering that Fouché was blackmailing me to do his dirty work in England. Fouché threated to kill Gabrielle if I didn’t cooperate.”
Gabby wanted to rush back to her brother when she heard that her brother had been shot protecting her. Michael tightened his hold, tucking her next to his side.
“I had her hidden in a convent. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before Fouché found her. I asked Mother Therese to get her out of France.”
“But you told me that I was there to be out of the reach of Napoleon,” Gabby said.
“I did hide you from Napoleon, but Fouché was the more immediate and deadly threat.”
“Lucien, it was Michael who got me out of France.” Gabby smiled at her brother’s scowl.
Lucien glared at Michael while speaking to Gabby. “We will discuss Kendal later.”
Michael released Gabby and walked toward her brother. “I will call on you tomorrow to discuss Gabby and my wedding plans, Monsieur de Valmont.”
“But, Michael.” Gabby followed him.
“Your brother only cares about your happiness. And I will convince him that there is no one who will make you happier.”
Gabby couldn’t stop a wide grin of love spreading across her face. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Michael winked at Gabby then turned to her brother. “Will they stop coming after Gabby?”
“When I make a deal with Talleyrand to spy for him in exchange for my sister’s safety and marriage of my choice.” Lucien glared back at Michael.
After seeing to the body of the assassin, Rathbourne came and stood with the group. “I will look forward to working with you, Valmont, instead of against you.” Rathbourne shook Lucien’s hand. “By surviving, you have made your sister very happy. And your skills as a double agent will help us immensely.”
“But what about Gwyneth?” Gabby interrupted having forgot about her dear friend in the shocking appearance of her brother. “Is she all right? Did they get the poison out of her system?”
“She wasn’t poisoned. And she is sleeping soundly. Weston pu
t a sleeping draught in her champagne to divert our attention. We’ve got Weston. But I have a feeling Weston wasn’t clever enough to come up with the classic spy trick of divert and distract.” Rathbourne tilted his head toward Lucien.
Lucien shrugged his shoulders. “Please tell your sister she owes me after the chase she gave me with her drawn pistol at the opera house.”
Rathbourne grimaced. “She is going to be mad as a hornet to have missed out on all the excitement.”
“Maybe Ashworth should consider sedating his wife more often.” Lucien chuckled.
Gabby was outraged at Lucien’s cavalier attitude. “Lucien, what a terrible thing to say. She has been a wonderful friend to me, and you are going to like her a lot.”
“Dearest sister, although Rathbourne and I’ve come to an agreement that is mutually beneficial, you and I will not be socializing with them.” Lucien emphasized the “them” to make clear how distasteful he found the English.
“But dearest brother, Lord Rathbourne is married to my fiancée’s sister. He and Lady Gwyneth will be family.”
Lucien growled, “Another reason I’ll never agree to this wedding.”
Rathbourne laughed out loud. “I could never have the foresight to envision you as my relative.”
“I want you to know that the Valmonts are one of the oldest and most esteemed aristocratic families in France.” Lucien raised his strong chin, in the manner of one from a long lineage of French aristocrats and walked away.
Chapter Thirty-six
Michael felt like an explosion had gone off inside his head. He saw double—double fury and double murderous rage. He gripped the heavy paper with white-knuckled fists and reread the message signed with a heavy “R.” Of all the nerve! The outrageous gall of his brother-in-law.
Today of all days, Rathbourne wanted him to compose a coded message to the French spy ring operating out of the opera house. On his wedding night, he was to forego making Gabby his wife in every way a man considered making a woman his wife, to bait the French spies.
He stormed down the hall to his library, struggling to regain his composure, to find his logical, analytic side. But the male brain was not logical when clouded with white-hot lust. Like a typical male, his physical needs were divorced from his intellect. His reasonable side recognized that he was the only one in England who could bait the mastermind behind the plot to poison the king.
Only a few minutes ago, he had been happy and grateful that he and Gabby could finally escape the elaborate and endless wedding luncheon at Rathbourne House. Trying to dispel the images of Gabby preparing for bed, changing into her nightclothes, only made the images more graphic and made him more desperate.
Gabby had been the perfect, blushing bride in her ivory dress created by Amelia. The simple wedding gown clung to her magnificent soft curves, emphasizing her innocent sensuality.
After two weeks of waiting for the wedding night, his muscles clenched in anticipation, heat pooled and pulsated through his body. The images of a naked Gabby awaiting him was emblazoned on his brain. Frozen, he stood in the hallway, unable to act.
Should he go upstairs and explain the delay to Gabby? But if he saw Gabby in her nightclothes in their bedroom, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave. He calculated that writing the coded message would take no more than forty minutes, an hour at the latest. It wasn’t a difficult task, but took longer because of the tedious, two-step process.
Pushed beyond his limits, he envisioned his hands around his brother-in-law’s throat. The idea of strangling Rathbourne, watching the authoritative man beg, gave him a moment of satisfaction.
Clinging to the vengeful thought of doing violence to the man who was both his brother-in-law and superior, Michael walked down the hallway. He finally reasoned that the sooner he finished the task, the sooner he be able to join Gabby. His already tightly clenched body clenched tighter with the idea of literally joining with Gabby. He took a shuddering breath and opened the door to his library.
Gabby, in a low-cut, clinging negligee, was seated at the grand piano, her fingers flying over the keys. She played the Mozart aria that Madame Abney had sung at the wedding. And all he could think about was how he wanted her slender fingers to play him in the same passionate way.
She looked up and gave him an impish grin. “Darling, what has you scowling on the happiest day of our lives?” She ran her hand along the front of the piano. “I still can’t believe you convinced Madame Abney…I mean…Jeanne to sell her grand.”
Michael tried to keep his eyes on his wife’s face and not the tight-fitting nightgown that hugged her full breasts and opened so far down the front to her… But all he could do was stare hungrily at the white flesh framed by the flimsy material.
Gabby raised her perfectly arched eyebrows, her eyes dancing mischievously. The imp knew the wicked effect she was having on him. “You must have been very persuasive.”
He jerked his head up. His voice sounded rusty. “It was a straight business interaction, nothing else—one grand piano for you to be her piano mentor. She also was grateful that I vouched she wasn’t involved with her husband in the spy ring.”
Gabby laughed, drawing Michael’s eyes to her expanding chest. “I think she was relieved to have her husband taken away. What a despicable man to use his wife’s position in such a vile way.”
It took all of Michael’s self-restraint to carry on a normal conversation and not fall on his wife. His words came out rushed. “He is somewhat redeeming himself by keeping the messages going between the spies.”
Gabby stood and sauntered toward him in a way he had never seen her walk or imagined in his deepest fantasies—a siren, with her hips swaying and her lush lips parted. The delicate negligee hid nothing from his close inspection, rose-crested breasts, womanly curves and valleys, all her femininity veiled in a golden shadow.
His breathing deepened to hungry surges. The pulsating blood expanded and extended all the pulse points in his body. “Gabby, you look…”
Stalking him, she moved like a cat ready to pounce on a poor creature. And he was that poor creature, ready for whatever she wanted to do to him.
“Lord Rathbourne asked a favor of me before we left his house today,” she confided in a hush tone.
His feet were stuck to the floor. His heart drove sharp blows against his chest.
Did she have any idea what fantasies were racing through his mind at this moment? If she did, she would be running out of the room.
He was transfixed by the sight of Gabby’s long legs, outlined in the see-through material, and the way, with each step, the fabric clung to her round thighs. The candlelight gilded her skin like glistening honey.
His breath hitched. “A favor?”
Gabby stopped in front of him and lifted her long, sooty eyelashes to gaze up at him. Michael mustered all of his discipline to not grab her.
“He explained that he needed you to compose a message because the king refuses to cancel tomorrow night’s concert. Lord Rathbourne must now close down the whole operation. He was quite frustrated that they can’t maintain the ruse to see what other plots the mastermind is hatching.”
Rathbourne was frustrated! What a bloody joke. And now, Michael couldn’t even blame Rathbourne. He had to blame the king himself for ruining his wedding night.
“Rathbourne told you the message?” Michael was impressed he could follow the conversation with Gabby this closely, while all he could think about was how he wanted to tear back the fabric clinging to her burnished skin and unwrap her like a Christmas present. She was soon to be his. Only his.
“Lord Rathbourne warned me about his request. He was afraid you might try to kill him on the spot if he told you at the luncheon. And he didn’t want Henrietta upset.”
Gabby’s scent of wild flowers filled his nostrils. She smelled of honeysuckle and wild flowers, and the scent of Gabby.
“He asked me to forgive him for imposing on us on our special day.” She toyed with the button on
his jacket. “He hoped that I’d find a way to make your problem not so onerous.”
“Darling, you and your glorious body in that…is not helping my onerous problem.” He traced the edge of the material cradling her breasts. “Your…nightclothes are a part of the problem.”
“They are?” Her voice lowered and her skin flushed. “Amelia guaranteed you wouldn’t be able to resist me in this nightgown. But what’s the other part of your ‘problem?’”
Michael hesitated. Could he tell his virgin wife about his rampant erection that was drawing all the blood and thought out of his brain to his body? She stood on her toes and reached up, putting her luscious breasts against him to run her fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe I can do this, touch you whenever I want.”
No sane man could resist such a temptation and at this moment he didn’t feel sane. “Gabby, you’re playing with fire here.”
“I’m not sure what Lord Rathbourne was suggesting by assisting you with your ‘problem,’ but I’ve decided I’m going to take the ‘problem’ into my own hands.” Her slender fingers tentatively touched his hard length.
Her full lower lip was caught between her teeth. Her lustrous wide eyes watched his face, gauging his reaction while her fingers explored, getting the feel of him.
His erection swelled at her touch. He was lost in the sensation, aroused to the point of pain. His heart pumped hard and fast.
“Do you like it like this?” And she wrapped both hands around him, inflaming him to the point that all he could do was nod. She squeezed him tight and pushed him out of control.
“That’s it, Gabby.”
He clamped his arms around her and crushed her mouth beneath his, showing her what he wanted to do to her. A moment later, they broke apart, stunned by the ferocity of the kiss. Her eyes were wildly dilated, her chest was heaving. They stared at each other then grabbed each other as though they were locked in a fight to the death.
He yanked her negligee apart to get to her breasts and lifted one to his mouth. He had to taste her. He had spent last night dreaming of her breasts just like this in his hands, in his mouth.
A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Page 22