•
Approaching footsteps jar me awake. A dark premonition blooms inside my gut. Heart pounding, my eyes snap open and draw to the wooden door.
How long have I been sleeping? Several hours, at the very least. Indeed, the candlestick has burned low, and beyond the window the sun is just making its ascent.
Rattling and scratching resonate as the key is inserted without finesse. A slew of muttered curses follow after. I struggle to sit up as the door creaks open. A long shaft of light splits the room in half, and Geoffrey stumbles across the threshold. The door slams behind him, shutting out the muffled laughter and chatter from the downstairs taproom. Unable to support his weight, he leans his body against the panels and squeezes both eyes shut.
“Geoffrey? You … you were gone a long while.”
Hazy, dull eyes snap up and lock onto mine. Clearly deep in his cups, he stumbles from the door and crosses the room with dragging, clumsy steps. “Worrying for me, were you … me … my sweetling?”
I reel backward, recoiling on the mattress until I bump into the copper rails. A distinct blend of alcohol and cigar smoke wafts from his body and assaults my senses. The stench is unbearable. Bile rises inside my throat, hot, painful, and churning.
“Geoffrey, please … we need to talk.”
“Talk, talk, talk. All you women ever wanna do is talk your pretty brains out.” A husky chuckle resonates as he crawls onto the bed. A sheen of sweat covers his handsome features and seeps through the material of his shirt. He creeps toward me, stalking me as a lion stalks its cornered prey. “Bit scared of me, are you now? Silly li’l thing.” His speech is slurred and guttural, his breaths rancid, and each word is half-drowned in alcohol. Now within touching distance, he reaches forward and strokes his palm over my curls. I shudder as they slip through his grimy fingertips one by one.
“My pet. Yes, that’s what you are, you know – my pet. Yes, you already know it. Mmm. Look at you. Hair like the sun. Eyes like the summer sky. A blossomin’ bud waitin’ … just waitin’ to bloom.” Then, in a slow and suggestive pursuit, his gaze slithers down and over my heaving chest. He visibly drinks me in, undressing me with those cloudy eyes. I feel consumed, vulnerable, helpless. Fear seizes my beating heart with the force of a steel fist.
“You, Ari, are ripe for the pluckin’.” Musky, hot breaths scorch my cheeks as he scoots intimately close. Unable to speak, I mutter incoherently, press a hand against his chest, and attempt to shove him away. He merely laughs off my resistance and shakes his head. His palm slides down my shoulder, trailing over the humble curve of my bosom. “Tell me, love … why haven’t we fucked before?”
I whack his hand away with equal parts fear and anger. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
He recoils at the harsh statement. Genuine confusion creases his brow, and for a moment, he resembles a naughty little boy who’s been caught stealing sweets before suppertime.
“Ah, you mustn’t be frightened, pet. I’ll guide you – just like I always do.” His hand shoots forward and grasps my breast in a viselike grip. Tears of betrayal spring to my eyes. How could I have been so blinded? It was my own doing. The signs had been there – yet I had chosen not to see. Anger devours me as I strike him square across the jaw. The sickening crack of flesh against flesh sounds unnaturally loud within the quiet room. Geoffrey mutely stares me down, silent and still. Blood seeps from the corner of his mouth. The flowing, scarlet ribbon reaches his chin and splatters onto his grimy shirt. Not speaking a word, he laughs and licks up the blood with his tongue.
Once he’d been my only friend. My protector, confidant, and guiding light.
Now he is a monster.
I seize the opportunity for escape. I leap from the bed at lightning speed and spring for the door. Despite his drunken stupor, Geoffrey is worlds faster, more practiced, and stronger. He catches my wrists, flings me onto the hard mattress, and pins both arms above my head.
Oh, Dieu. Help me, Father, help. I silently chant for him, but no one hears.
“Just let me go. Please, Geoffrey …” Trapped beneath the crushing weight of his torso, I squirm, kick, and knee him, grappling to break free. Geoffrey chuckles, amused by the great show of defiance. Each word emerges from my throat between bitter, choked sobs. “If you care for me at all, if you still have any compassion for me, you will let me go. Now.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
The words seem to momentarily sober him. Then his eyes darken. His hold tightens on my wrists until I’m sure they’ll snap in two. I cry out as jolts of pain shoot through my immobilized arms. “Leave? You spoiled, rotten, li’l bitch! You would dare leave me alone? After all I’ve done? After I’ve risked my life for your precious hide, night after fuckin’ night?”
He hovers above me, all torn emotion and vulnerability. Auburn hair falls to his collar in a tangle of unkempt waves. A strain of saliva drips from his mouth and splatters onto my forehead. I close both eyes and murmur a silent prayer, shutting out the reality of the moment. My limbs rattle beneath his fingertips as Geoffrey shakes me like a rag doll. Indeed, he handles me like a toy. Like his plaything.
“Look at me! Ungrateful bitch! That’s how you repay me, is it? With abandonment? You, my mother, who discarded me to a fuckin’ hospice, never to look back – all you selfish whores are one and the same.”
My eyes blink open. I swallow hard and inhale a choked breath. Hatred and resentment radiate from every part of his body, palpable as the very air we share. He wants me to suffer for his mother’s sins. Any hope for escape slips from my grasp, and I descend face-first into blackness. I battle to keep my voice steady, but the tremor betrays me. “I … I am sorry, Geoffrey. Really I am. I shall never forget your kindnesses. But … but I must go. Try to understand. I must try to find my family. My sister – Miriam. She – ”
“I’m your family! Me! I’m the one who’s been there! I’m the one who’s protected you, who’s made sure you don’t fall asleep hungry each night!” His speech still embraces a slight stammer, though each syllable sounds more coherent than the one before it. “Your family threw you onto the street! Or have you forgotten? They were the ones who hurt you! Your father, who abandoned you … his whore, who dumped you at the first home she could find!”
“And now you are hurting me.” My voice sounds strangely calm and detached … no longer childish. I hardly recognize it as my own.
“Non,” he retorts, “you are hurting me.” A cold stillness descends upon the both of us. Geoffrey bows his head, possibly in a rush of shame, and a strained curse falls from his lips.
I grab hold of his vulnerability. “I beg you. Let me go. I am suffocating.”
His hands tighten once more, and he spears me with narrowed eyes. “I fuckin’ killed a man for you. I sacrificed everything. Everything. And what’s my payment?” I tremble while his gaze bores deeply into my own, unblinking and calculating. All tenderness vanishes from his stare, and with it, the very last of my hope. “Both our hands are stained with blood. And yet you think you’re so much greater than me, don’t you, my pet?” Air gushes from my lungs as he unclasps the first few buttons of my dirty blouse. Nestled against my chest, the small, silver cross gleams in the moonlight. Indeed, I have kept it hidden away; for as long as I’ve known Geoffrey, he’s held a fierce hatred for religion. And now I feel his scorn, his resentment and hostility, like a tangible force.
He transfers my right wrist to his other hand, holding them both in place. Lips spread into a mocking smile, he brushes his thumb over the emblem. Then his hands settle upon the clasps. I squirm beneath the weight of his body as he unfastens the remaining buttons at a leisurely pace. Tears continue to coat my cheeks. I can’t stop them. He hesitates for a moment and shoots a contemplative gaze in my direction. “You’ve never even been kissed before, have you?” Then he leans forward and slides his dry lips over my collarbone, branding me forever.
Oh, Dieu …
His erection strains against his trous
ers with each movement. I struggle, jerk, and plead – but nothing seems to reach him.
We are both lost.
“Please, Geoffrey. I beg you. Please, don’t do this. I … I have trusted you. You won’t hurt me. I know it.”
“It’s already done. You are mine, Ari. Mine to protect. Mine to take. Mine to do with as I see fit.”
It’s too late.
Geoffrey mutters incoherently against my neck. His movements roughen. Those rancid breaths shorten. He releases my wrists, allowing both hands to ride over my breasts … down the slope of my hips … inching below the material of my tangled skirts …
Everything transforms into a nauseating blur. There is no way out of this. My tears dry as I’m forced to accept the inevitable fate.
It’s already done.
Those words were spoken with such finality, such desperation and urgency.
Geoffrey’s hands are clumsy and lack all gentleness as he urges my skirts up my thighs. He fumbles for the pantalettes’ split, ripping the material wide open. Numb and detached, I stare at the plastered ceiling with unwavering intensity. I concentrate on the sound of my own breathing rather than the sound of erratic panting and rustling clothes. I lose myself within the memories of my childhood, within Father’s laughter, within the melody of his weeping violin, within those warm summer afternoons. A silent prayer rings inside my ears while a stab of pain twists through my body. Geoffrey grumbles a slurred apology and brings his lips against my cheek. Unable to bear the hypocritical show of affection, I turn my face to the side. The pain escalates while Geoffrey increases his momentum. I fight to detach mind from body – to numb my senses and find an inner sanctuary.
But the pain tears through me like a thousand knives. Indeed, I feel everything with vivid intensity: the blinding pressure of Geoffrey’s thrusts, the grate of the rock-hard mattress against my back, the biting chill against my bared flesh. Sobs rack my entire body and blur my vision. I glare at his hovering face. Searing hatred builds within my heart.
Even more, I hate myself for being so blinded. My tears drench the coverlet with each thrust. And then, as quickly as it began, the nightmare reaches its crescendo.
A loud moan resonates as Geoffrey crashes on top of my body. He is a rather large man – and the pressure of his form purges the last breaths from my lungs. For several moments, I fear I’ve blacked out.
I gather my shattered senses and right myself.
I wriggle out from beneath Geoffrey. Sore, trembling, and aching, I adjust my bloodstained skirts and roll off the mattress. Then I scan the room for Geoffrey’s knapsack. Limping over to the bag, I withdraw the dagger and secure the strap across my shoulder.
Just as I’m about to flee, I stop dead in my tracks. A haunting melody of choked sobs and laughter echoes off the walls. It’s bone-chilling. A thing of nightmares. A sound I’ll always remember within the darkness.
Mon Dieu. Geoffrey has gone mad.
He flips onto his back and slowly climbs into a sitting position. Between sobs and chuckles, he says, “Don’t you see? You are worth nothin’ now. Nothin’! You might as well stay with me, sweetling. No man will have you. Not once he learns the truth. You are ruined. Fuckin’ sullied goods. Now we truly are one and the same. You are gutter trash like me.” He crashes to the floor as he attempts to stand. Eyes wide with horror, I ease backward. He crawls across the floorboards like some wounded snake. Vomit bubbles from his lips and sputters against the scarred planks. Muttering drunken nonsense, he reaches for my ankle with icy fingertips. I leap from his touch, my body slamming into the door. Breathing heavily, he clutches onto the hem of my skirts in a vain attempt to retain balance.
Red-hot anger consumes me. I grasp the dagger’s hilt and swing the weapon in a deft arch. It slices through his forearm, summoning a slew of blasphemous curses.
Glaring at me through eyes I once thought beautiful, he hisses, “Putain! Leave and you shall fuckin’ rot to death. You won’t survive a day without me at your side. You hear me?”
Ignoring my soreness, muddled thoughts, and sticky thighs, I kick him in the side with every bit of strength I possess. Choked breaths rush from his lungs. Good – let him know pain and degradation.
Howling, he clutches at his chest, his entire body racked in a fit of strangled coughs and oozing vomit. Whatever remaining compassion I hold for Geoffrey mutates into blinding hatred. My hand madly shakes as I angle the dagger in front of my body. Blood coats the blade, clinging to the metal like flesh on bone. “I trusted you, Geoffrey! I might have even loved you!” The tears come once more; tears of anger, despair, betrayal. They cascade in harsh streams, blinding me with their intensity. “Now I would rather rot in the sewer than live by your side,” I spit, my voice surprisingly cold and steady. “And mark my words – touch me again and I’ll gut whatever heart you have left.”
Never looking back, I collect both knapsacks, tuck the dagger inside my pocket, and race down the inn’s stairwell. Drunken laughter floods the first floor and assaults me in a suffocating blur. Needing to breathe, craving freedom, I burst through the front door and slip into the budding dawn. The cold blast of wind clears my thoughts and solidifies my resolve.
I am a survivor.
•
Tense silence permeated the drawing room. The hearth burned low, casting everything in transient shadows. Gabriel fought to contain his emotions as he absorbed what Ariah had shared with him. He’d admired her before – now he was struck dumb with awe and disbelief.
The horrors she’d endured would have broken almost any girl of fifteen years. Yet she’d risen from the ruins of her past and emerged stronger than before. She harbored fears borne from the tragedy, of course – yet never allowed them to stifle her fire.
She’d raised her daughter in spite of the world’s oppositions. She’d pulled a wounded man from the Seine’s oily depths. She’d pushed aside her fears and sheltered a stranger beneath her family’s roof.
She’d gifted him hope when only despair had remained.
Suddenly everything clicked into place – all the mysterious nuances she held, her blatant fear of intimacy, her refusal to speak directly of Emmaline’s father … they all fit together like the erratic pieces of a puzzle. Only one mystery remained: How did Jacques come to be her husband? And how much had he known of her past?
Geoffrey. Emmaline’s real father. And a man Gabriel ached to kill. Anger speared his mind and body while his fingers clenched into two unyielding fists.
He would kill this Geoffrey.
Ariah turned away and faced the dying hearth. Heart racing, he observed as she wrapped both arms around her torso, willing away an inner coldness. Gabriel tentatively stepped behind her and ran his fingers through the golden waves of her hair. He enveloped her slender body with his arms and secured her against his chest. She tensed, then slowly relaxed in the circle of his arms. A sigh resonated as her neck grew limp and fell to the side. He reached over and played with one of her curls, his fingertips brushing against her in featherlight caresses. His senses soared to life as he inhaled her unique essence.
“Ariah, I would never hurt you,” he whispered into hair. “I would never cause you, Emmaline, or Miriam any pain.” He grasped her tighter, attempting to absorb some of her agony. “You know this?” She shuddered against him and nodded. He felt her slender chest expand and deflate with labored breaths. He kneaded the strain in her spine, gently tracking his fingertips up and down her back. “My heart is on the ground for you, chérie.”
She turned, ever so slowly, and met the depths of his eyes. Then she lifted both hands and cupped his face. Tears shimmered in her beautiful gaze, setting those sapphire depths aglow. “As is mine.” She inclined her chin as a thoughtful smile graced her lips. “We are not so different, you and I.”
“Ariah … I would never hurt you,” he repeated, needing her to believe the words.
“I know. There is a sensitivity in you, a gentleness that Geoffrey never possessed. That one nigh
t – when you woke from a nightmare – I wasn’t lying then, and I’m not lying now. I see into you.” Gabriel’s body shook while her fingertips feathered across the torn side of his face. “You remind me of Jacques in many ways.”
He felt the color drain from his skin. Mind racing, he averted his eyes and absently fiddled with the signet ring. “Your husband?”
Ariah sighed as both hands slid from his cheeks.
“Tell me about him.”
“Gentle, intelligent, soft-spoken, infinitely kind, though rather withdrawn. I was eight years old when Jacques first came to the shop. I still remember how handsome he’d looked. He worked as an apprentice for my father when we were children. My father was a master carpenter, see. A rather talented musician, too. He was fortunate enough to own a little shop in the center of town. We lived above it, just upstairs.” A thoughtful grin curved her lips. “He acquired a violin through a lucky trade. I remember his expression. He was completely enamored by the instrument’s ancient beauty and couldn’t bring himself to place it in the shop. He took to the violin like an old friend. Taught himself to play by ear. Our lives were simple enough – rich with laughter, music, and memories. Even when I was a girl, Father always ensured that I could be on my own and care for myself. He taught me to read, to write, how to organize and run the shop. Those are some of my most cherished memories.”
She swallowed, stared into the hearth, and shook her downcast head. “Jacques and I reunited years later, after Father’s death, after the foster home and Geoffrey. He taught me how to trust again – at least a little. Dieu. Jacques sacrificed so much for me and my family … for the love he held for my father. And when he learned I was with child …” The words died on her tongue.
The urge to tell Ariah the truth – that Jacques had died on board a ship alongside countless others … that she was a widow … that she no longer had to be alone … that they could be together – was nearly too great to resist. With each passing day, he was coming to realize that as long as she held hope for Jacques’s return, she could never truly be his. But then she turned to him – and the truth surfaced in her eyes.
Finding Gabriel Page 25