Ariah smiled. Sliding to the floor, she knelt beside his seated form. Sharing in the memories, she reached forward and stroked the ballerina’s painted, flushed cheek. Her fingertip grazed the little silk dress, touching each of the sequins with reverence. She’d never seen such finery. The musical box was expertly crafted – a true dream gift for any young lady. Ariah’s movements ceased as Gabriel’s palm covered the back of her hand.
Uniting their grips, he extended his fingers and laced them with hers. Ariah’s cheek brushed against his greatcoat as she laid her head across his thigh. The labored sound of his breathing echoed in the small space, filling the room to its rafters. Then his palm passed over her hair in a deft, experimental touch.
Old fears rose inside her chest, battling for attention. Ariah inhaled a deep breath, mustered her courage, and shoved them from her thoughts. Concentrating only on the moment, she rolled onto the balls of her feet and peeled the bandage from Gabriel’s skin.
Ariah saw past the scabby, marred flesh with ease – perceiving Gabriel as beautiful, pure, and whole. Grasping the linen between her fingertips, she brought her lips to the ruined half of his face.
A choked sound emerged from his throat. His eyes snapped open as he turned to her, aligning their lips. Their mouths brushed together in the simplest of touches. Overwhelmed with emotion, Ariah lifted her chin and breathed deeply. Gabriel took the opportunity to press a kiss on her hairline.
Her heartbeat reached a fierce crescendo. The room seemed to spin around her, lifting her senses into a thrilling and surreal daze. With an ever-growing smile, she climbed onto her feet, approached the hearth, and tossed the dressing into the flames. Then she stood beside the rocking chair and watched as the linen curled and disintegrated into ashes.
She briefly thought of the gentleman Geoffrey had murdered, as well as his shattered bottle. It’s as though it had never existed.
“Maman? Why’d you leave?” Ariah rotated on her heels and turned toward her daughter’s voice.
“Oh … I’m sorry, darling. I heard a noise out here and wanted to check on things.”
Emmaline yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she shuffled forward, her little feet whispering against the planks. Tearful eyes drew to the hearth – Oliver’s beloved resting spot. Ariah’s heart stirred, though she decided not to acknowledge her daughter’s pain. Indeed, Emmaline needed to come to terms with the notion of death in her own time, and in her own way.
Emmaline inched forward, her steps wary, and examined Gabriel’s disfigurement. Her forehead scrunched in thought, displaying keen interest rather than horror. “Does it hurt, monsieur?”
Gabriel grinned and shook his head. “Non. Not so much anymore.”
“Oh.” She wrung her hands in the material of her dressing gown as a faint blush lightened her cheeks. “I’m glad you’re not in pain no more.”
“I’m glad you’re not in pain anymore, too.”
“Maman said whoever hurt you wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t see the beauty before his eyes.” Ariah’s heart clenched at the statement. All innocence and wide eyes, Emmaline twisted a ringlet between her fingers and examined Gabriel’s features. “Are you mad at him? The man who hurt you?”
Tense silence occupied the air. Gabriel’s throat worked as he swallowed deeply. “I was. Very much so. But I’m just starting to forgive him.”
Emmaline’s sapphire eyes widened at the sight of the musical box. Gabriel shared a grin with Ariah before lifting it up. Emmaline came into step directly before him, her gaze bursting with unbridled admiration. Fairly swooning off her heels, she brushed a fingertip over the ballerina’s placid features.
“She’s mighty pretty!”
“Would you like to see her dance?”
“Oh, yes, monsieur!”
He gestured to the golden turnkey with a nod. “You only have to wind it up, chérie.”
Emmaline shot Ariah a questioning glance, mindful of meddling with other’s possessions. “It’s all right, darling. Go on.”
Needing no further encouragement, Emmaline twisted the turnkey and watched as the ballerina resurrected. The melody that accompanied her movements coiled around Ariah’s heart with the force of a vise. Hoarse from disuse, the music sounded somewhat rusty – though such a thing equipped it with a haunting quality.
Indeed, as if from a faraway dream, mystery, romance, and magic infused each note. Illuminated by moonlight and the hearth’s flames, the ballerina spun in time to the song. She appeared to shine within the darkened room, her porcelain features brightly aglow.
Emmaline giggled and ran a fingertip over the ballerina’s gown. In response, the rugged lines of Gabriel’s face warmed and softened, adopting a boyish quality. His auburn gaze lightened, reminding her of brandy on a cold winter’s night.
How can a musical box possess such power, such magic? The melody echoed her heartbeat and resonated deep within. Then Gabriel rewound the turnkey, jackknifed to his feet, and set the musical box on the mantel. Smoothing down his greatcoat, he rotated to Emmaline with an extended hand and courtly bow.
“Care to dance, mademoiselle?”
Emmaline glanced at Ariah, seeking her mother’s approval. “One dance. Then it’s back to bed.”
Nothing in the world could have wiped the grin from Emmaline’s features. She rivaled his bow with a curtsy and grasped his hand. Unable to tear her eyes from the sight, Ariah breathlessly sank into the rocking chair. Her daughter appeared impossibly small beside Gabriel’s strong body. The contrast between the two of them was both jarring and beautiful. Wavering flames warmed the planks and illuminated their entwined bodies. Gabriel bent his knees to better reach Emmaline’s height. Positioning her for the waltz, he splayed one hand behind her waist while the other lifted her arm into a high slant.
“Step onto my toes, chérie,” he instructed.
She obeyed with a playful laugh, climbing onto his large feet. The difference in their statures was almost comical. Gabriel whisked Emmaline to the side while he hummed along to the music. Childish giggles mingled with Gabriel’s rich laughter, swelling Ariah’s chest. She struggled to envision Jacques in Gabriel’s shoes – and failed miserably.
The white nightdress ballooned as he spun Emmaline full circle. Then the musical box’s melody slowed like a dying heartbeat. Grinning widely, he stepped backward and awarded Emmaline with a gallant, sweeping bow. After a moment of silence, she leapt forward and looped her slender arms around his neck. Kissing his scarred cheek, she said, “Good night, monsieur!” And a moment later, Emmaline departed for her room in an energized flurry.
The walls seemed to close in as Ariah and Gabriel were left alone. She rose from the chair and inched near to his body, drawn to everything that was Gabriel de Laurent. He gazed down at her, warmth in his eyes as the firelight bathed his features. The gun wound was more or less healed, appearing as a scabby, twisted mass of flesh.
“That was very kind of you. I – ”
With a seductive, crooked grin, Gabriel smothered her words. His fingertip touched her lips in a sensual caress. Then he took a deft step backward and outstretched his hand. Feeling like a young girl in the midst of her first ball, Ariah accepted the invitation and abandoned her palm within his own. Strength flowed through his tanned fingers, sending chords of awareness through every centimeter of her body.
Was she dreaming? If so, then she yearned to sleep forever.
A muscled arm snaked around her torso and tugged her intimately close. Everything seemed to fade away. The heat of their bodies mingled as one. Her heart banged against her rib cage as she sought the depths of his eyes. At this range, flecks of gold contrasted against his auburn irises. Some of the darkness seemed to have vanished, leaving that transient hope in its wake. The right side of his face was devastatingly handsome, his hair so black it absorbed the nearby firelight.
Her face reached the height of his shoulder and not a centimeter more. She curled her head against the security of his c
hest and inhaled his essence with a reverent breath. A tangle of emotions welled in her gut, blurring everything but the moment. Everything but the exquisite feeling of being held.
Gabriel shifted back and forth in a tantalizing rocking motion, slowly dancing to a melody that only he could hear. As she melted into his embrace, the hearth crackled, accompanying each of their steps. Then he bowed his face and hummed a beautiful tune against her forehead. It sounded achingly sweet, like a tender lullaby from the depths of a dream world. The force of his vocals resonated deep inside, massaging Ariah’s body with delicious caresses. Her heart resembled a drum – and her entire body trembled in time with its beat. That immaculate baritone stoked her imagination, igniting an inferno within her soul.
Closing her eyes, she rubbed her cheek against the greatcoat’s rugged material, abandoning herself to the rhythmic sway and husky baritone. His voice surrounded her like liquid velvet. His palm swept up the length of her back, down and up, tickling her spine with each movement. Heated breaths wafted against her hairline and stirred curls about her shoulders. Every movement was infinitely gentle and executed with grace. Ariah had to remind herself to breathe, lest she faint from the sheer pleasure of it all.
What sort of person was she? She was betraying Jacques – and after all he’d sacrificed for her family. She gradually regained her wits and began to pull away.
“Ariah …” he whispered each syllable like a sacred prayer. All resistance vanished as her resolve deteriorated, crumbling into ashes. “Sometimes I can hardly believe you are real. That you are truly here and not a phantom carved from my mind.” Unsteady hands rose from her sides in a tremulous movement. Cupping her cheeks, he lifted her chin and aligned her gaze with his intense stare. She shuddered against him while a euphoric cloud gathered overhead.
“I am real,” she whispered into the depths of his eyes. Hardly thinking, she reached out and laid a hand over his chest. The rhythm of his heart quickened beneath her touch. “And I am here.”
A choked sound caught in his throat. Her skin tingled, ignited wherever his eyes landed – the bridge of her nose, cheeks, forehead, lips. He drew invisible circles along her flesh, worshiping her with deft touches, tracing down the smooth bend of each cheek and back up again.
A rare sliver of peace filled Ariah’s entire being. She felt safe, secure, and at last, complete. Her fears, those haunting memories from that long ago night, ebbed from her consciousness.
Will he kiss me? Mon Dieu, she prayed he would.
Everything shifted. Ariah felt Gabriel’s resolve slip away to be replaced by an all-consuming longing … a molten desire that would not be denied. His breathing grew strained and irregular, as if caught in the midst of a heated session of lovemaking. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and those enticing eyes flashed like an inferno. He battled his passion, fought to drive it away. She could see it etched in every line of his face … could sense it in every sinew, every muscle, every fiber of his body. But over a decade of loneliness and emotional exile won out, and he stood entirely defeated.
Gabriel rotated her body and half pinned her against the mantel. She felt him grow taut with pent-up desire. His lips descended on her throat in a movement he seemed unable to control. His tongue teased her pulse, swept up and down the column of her throat, and traced the fine architecture of her collarbone.
The uneven texture of his lips ground against her flesh in a tantalizing caress. His tongue explored the crook of her neck and slid across her sensitive skin. She attempted to step away – but his grasp possessively tightened … strong, marred hands slid up and down her back.
She tensed as his palm slipped toward her nightdress’s modest neckline. Then his fingers clenched against her, itching to touch her breasts – though he dared not give in.
As she’d feared, her mind and body betrayed her heart. Her survival instinct kicked in at full force – and the need to fight or flee took hold. Her stomach became a quivering mass. The force of his clutch wedged her hand against his chest at an awkward angle. She wiggled her arm and struggled to free herself. Conflicting emotions quarreled inside her mind and body. He was immensely powerful – he’d killed two men with his bare hands. Fear and desire blended together in a dizzying tango. And she hated herself – she loathed herself – for becoming a victim once again.
Unable to speak, she closed her eyes and muttered a weak protest. All words died on her tongue. She felt the grind of coarse trousers against her thighs, saw flashes of that night behind her eyelids …
Ariah vainly fought to shove the memories away – to live in the moment, to lose herself in Gabriel’s caresses. But alas, she could not. The weight of those memories was far too crushing, and Ariah found it impossible to breathe under the pressure. She reluctantly pushed against his chest, erecting a barrier between their impassioned bodies. “Please. Please, stop. Too much. It’s too much.”
Panting, his head snapped up in response to her plea. His eyes were glazed with desire and compassion. He cursed himself and shoved his fingers through his glossy hair. “Forgive me. I should have known better. I should have never acted.”
“No. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s me. I …” Her throat tensed, strangling the last of her words.
She fought to drive the tears away – but it was too late. Gabriel wrapped a hand around either side of her cheeks, reeled her face closer still, and wiped away her tears. “I cannot bear to see you weep, ma chérie.”
Holding her near, Gabriel laid his temple against her own and inhaled deeply. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
“Tell me. Who hurt you?” The firm sound of his voice chased away her fears. Warm, damp lips lingered on her brow, soothing her. Her eyes fell shut while his fingers brushed across the slope of her chin. Both hands swept down her throat. Then he smoothed her curls forward, arranging her hair over one shoulder. “Ever since our first meeting, I’ve seen a certain darkness in your eyes. What happened? Open yourself to me. I am here,” he said, echoing her words from minutes ago. “Who caused you such pain?”
Ariah exhaled a withheld breath. Timed seemed to stand still. Beyond the walls, a gust of wind ominously rattled the home. The chime burst into song and helped fortify her resolve.
The only journey worth traveling starts from within.
“Who caused you such pain?” he repeated, those beautiful eyes filled with equal parts anger and sympathy.
She lifted her chin, met Gabriel’s stare, and whispered the confession: “Emmaline’s father.”
Chapter Eighteen
January 1808
Geoffrey carries me through Paris’s winding alleyways, maneuvering past the shadows with practiced ease. The gendarmes’ shouts echo the street, each one amplified by the surrounding stonework.
Teetering within Geoffrey’s arms, I groan and take in the dreary atmosphere. Mist tumbles down the dank walkways and closes around us, cool against my cheeks.
Neither of us have uttered a word since our hasty departure from the gendarmes. Tense silence hangs in the air, relieved by Geoffrey’s melodic footfall.
Mon Dieu. What have we done? And what would Father think of me now? Tears sting my eyes with the force of a thousand daggers. I fight to harness them back, burying my face in the crook of Geoffrey’s arm. My tears would only anger him.
Flashes of the man we left to die echo in my mind. His pallid features, the sound of his voice … they shall forever be tattooed upon my memory. My limbs ache with fatigue and sorrow. The imposing buildings of the city seem to float above me as Geoffrey hastens his speed. Echoing my heartbeat, his worn boots rap against the cobblestones in rhythmic song.
My eyelids grow heavy, weighed down with tumultuous emotions as Paris slithers by in a nauseating blur. I want out of his arms, yet I can’t bring myself to fight him. I haven’t had a proper meal for days, and the toll of recent events is becoming too much to stomach.
Where is he taking me? It is cold. So cold and empty.
He br
ushes a stray curl from my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. Icy fingertips run up and down my spine. It’s a gesture I assume is supposed to be comforting – and one that only sickens me. Goosebumps tighten my skin, and the tiny hairs on my nape stand erect.
As if reading my thoughts, he leans forward and mutters, “We’ll lodge at the inn for the night. We have enough francs now, and it’s too damn cold out-of-doors.”
Geoffrey’s voice sounds smooth and sure – yet something lingers in his tone … something that suggests killing a man has changed him forever.
•
The inn’s room is frightfully dark, save for streams of moonlight and a twitching tallow candle. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring forward though perceiving nothing. Everything has been reduced to a dull numbness. I am cold and entirely alone. Barely speaking a word, Geoffrey left the room an hour earlier. Despite the hunger pains that have plagued me for days, my appetite has all but vanished. Now a sickening emptiness fills me … a gut-wrenching realization and despair.
With all the time in the word, the reality of what transpired this evening closes in on my conscious. I bring both legs against my chest and hide my face in my knees. A rush of exhaustion overpowers me. I give in to the weariness and lie across the mattress in a fetal position.
How I yearn for Father’s comfort … to hear the soothing lull of his voice one more time. I miss him so deeply that it often seems my heart is being torn wide open. I miss his teasing. I miss his warm smiles and even warmer laughter. I miss how I always felt safe, secure, and special in his arms. He taught me the alphabet. He taught me the ways of our little store. And he was stolen in the span of a heartbeat.
What would Father think of me now? And what has become of Miriam? Though she’s merely a half sister, for the brief time we’d been acquainted she became family in all ways that mattered.
Cursing my weakness, I blink away the tears blurring my vision. I fight to keep my upper lip stiff and proud – just as Father always said I should. Thoughts of my childhood bring a frail sense of peace to my spirit. Losing myself in the tender memories, remembering the melancholy sound of Father’s violin, I sag against the mattress and abandon myself to sleep.
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