Each movement was clumsy, and it took several attempts before the buttons came undone. Eyes never abandoning his own, she peeled the material aside in an achingly slow motion. He arched his shoulders – one and then the other – allowing the shirt to slide down his arms. A cold blast of air hit his bare chest and helped temper his flaming desire. Her fingertips rested on the scar that branded his bicep – the scar he’d received that fateful, long-ago night. She traced it carefully, her gaze heavy with emotion and shared pain. Then she arched her back, lifted her body from the unfurled greatcoat, and pressed her lips against the rigid, raised flesh. In the same breath, her hands slithered down his nude chest – down, down, down – and dipped below his trousers’ sweaty waistline. He inhaled a rigid breath as her touch stoked a roaring inner fire.
Emotion swelled his heart and overwhelmed his senses. He blinked away the beads of sweat and breathed in her unique essence. Rosewater and nectar swirled around his consciousness and flooded his soul. Her other hand worked the clasps of his trousers. Groaning, he leaned onto his haunches and shoved the material down his thighs. His erection sprang free – and Ariah wasted no time before reclaiming him. Crisp night air brushed against his skin with the force of a lover’s breath. Apprehension surfaced in her eyes while she examined him entirely in the nude.
“Ariah …” he managed to choke out. Each breath was rasped and guttural. “If it’s too much … if you are not ready – I understand. I shall wait. We – ”
“I am ready.” Swallowing deeply, her throat visibly constricted. “Because of you, I am ready.”
Moans vibrated through his body. The constellations burst into flames. His blood caught fire as tentative fingers coiled around his aching shaft. Staring into her hooded eyes, he blew out a rasped breath and surrendered to the mind-bending sensation. Her warm palm engulfed him whole … moved up and down the turgid length in an experimental touch. He arched into her hand in silent demand; as if reading his mind, she increased her pressure and tempo. Streams of acute pleasure wound about his spine, flowed through his very veins, and unfurled inside his chest. He bowed his head, pressed their foreheads together, then claimed her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.
After a moment, he moved backward and met her eyes. Long lashes cast shadows upon high, artfully sculpted cheekbones. She was breathtaking. And she was his. Missing nothing, that mesmerizing sapphire gaze ran over him. Her eyes remained serene and glazed with desire as they continued their perusal. It was as though the torn half of his face was no different than the rest of him … as if she perceived him as whole … as if she saw beyond his past, beyond his wrecked exterior, and found the lost man within.
“I am not beautiful, Ariah.”
“But you are …” An abundance of curls cascaded down and over her shoulders as she shook her head. “And you mustn’t say such things.” One of her hands settled across the uneven beat of his heart. “You are beautiful to me.”
Gabriel cursed himself while he felt tears resurface. And in that suspended moment, he reclaimed his identity again. He was Gabriel de Laurent, his father’s beloved son and heir … a proud, loyal, strong, and compassionate individual who’d lost his way in the darkness. And now he’d been found.
Ariah massaged his staff from tip to base with agonizing strokes. Mounting pleasure exploded within, washing away any self-deprecating thoughts. Unable to control his desire, he bucked against her palms as his breaths shortened. One hand ventured lower. She ran her fingertips down the inside of his thighs before claiming her prize. She teased his scrotum with the heel of her palm while her opposite hand continued its exquisite movements. Barely able to see straight, he glanced down and admired the delicate contour of her breasts. Kissed by streams of moonlight, they trembled with each motion. Then, God’s teeth, she leaned forward, pressed her swollen mouth to the tip of his erection, and wrapped her lips –
It was too much. With a choked groan, he jerked out of her touch and moved backward several centimeters.
“Gabriel? I – ”
He swallowed the inquiry with his mouth. Then he flipped Ariah onto her back and aligned their quivering bodies. Her warmth radiated – soft, sweet, and full of promise.
When his breathing finally turned steady, he gazed into her eyes and forced the confession. “I won’t pretend that I deserve you. I am faithless. I have done unforgivable things. And I am broken.” He gestured to his face and body with trembling hands. “I know you see past these things when you look at me … but I hope I can be enough for you.”
“What? Enough for me? Gabriel, you are everything.” She lightly scoffed and shook her head. “Have you forgotten? I am also broken. And yet when I’m in your arms, I feel complete and unafraid.”
It was all the encouragement he needed. He slowly parted her velvet folds and slid inside her body. Then, in a fluid motion, they were united as one.
Now, tomorrow, and always.
She clung to his back, holding onto him like a lifeline, and Gabriel knew he would cease to exist apart from her. He maneuvered in and out of her slick walls, allowing her to grow accustomed to the sensation. Then he increased his speed and pressure with a hoarse grunt of effort. With each thrust, her body gripped onto his own in an unyielding clasp, forcing them back as one. Gabriel curled his face against her neck and held her tight. Their heartbeats slammed together, connecting their spirits in a profound and inseparable way.
Gabriel felt jolts of pleasure overcome every pore, every nerve, every fiber of her being. She shivered and quaked beneath him. Joining in her release, he sheathed himself deep inside her body and threw his head back with a wild roar. Climax conquered him in a sweet, sweeping rush. Pulse racing, he held her soundly against his chest and abandoned himself to the perfect feeling of oneness.
As the stars shifted and twinkled overheard, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, hearts and bodies still entwined.
And yet when I’m in your arms, I feel complete and unafraid.
Truer words were never spoken.
Chapter Twenty-three
March 1815, two weeks later
Luminous shades of orange and red set the horizon ablaze while the sun made its sluggish descent. Despite the late hour, a vibrant energy permeated the air. Paris’s walkways buzzed with excitement, overlapping chatter, and hurried movement. Geoffrey paced through the congested boulevard and wiped the sweat from his brow. When he lowered his hand, dirt, perspiration, and blood saturated his callused knuckles. Indeed, he’d spent the entire day slaughtering cattle, and his unsavory appearance showed it well.
Clashing odors assaulted him as he advanced through the bustling shops: fresh-cut blooms, cigar smoke, and exotic perfumes from distant lands he’d never hope to see. Dazed and lightheaded, he adjusted his satchel and observed the surrounding commotion. The atmosphere was a melting pot of curses and sporadic cheers. Immersed in heated conversations, men, women, and children passed newspapers back and forth. An image of Napoleon Bonaparte perched on a magnificent white horse graced his vision. God’s teeth, what the hell had happened? Frustration streamed through Geoffrey’s veins as he fought to decipher the letters. Damn it all. It was no use. He eased the satchel’s grip and lowered it to the cracked cobblestones. Then he observed the manic hustle and bustle, struggling to make sense of the excitement.
A pair of gendarmes caught Geoffrey’s eye. Their navy, scarlet, and yellow uniforms stuck out like a sore thumb. He crossed the wide boulevard, and a hackney cab nearly ran him into the pavement. Cursing the driver, Geoffrey staggered over to the gendarmes and hastily yelled out, “Messieurs – what’s all the excitement ’bout? Christ’s teeth, what’s happened here?”
Smiling grimly, one of the gendarmes adjusted his curved hat and turned to Geoffrey. Unmasked disdain glimmered in his narrowed eyes as he took in Geoffrey’s bloodied, moth-eaten coat. “Couldn’t read the morning’s headlines, I reckon?” The gendarme gave a bark of laughter and slid a telling glance at his companion. Pulsating with hostility �
�� angry with the world at large – Geoffrey fought to stand a little straighter and refused to incline his chin. “The emperor has escaped Elba,” the gendarme finally muttered, throwing Geoffrey a pointed glare. “He’s marching on Paris now.”
•
The news of Napoleon’s escape spread through Paris like a wildfire. Louis XVII had demanded that it was every soldier’s duty to shoot the false emperor on sight – and he ordered his commanders to bring Napoleon to the Tuileries Palace in an iron cage.
But things hadn’t gone according to plan.
Near the village of Laffrey, the government troops held Napoleon and his band of followers at musket point. Graceful and decisive, the emperor approached the king’s army and allowed his words to float through the narrow passageway: “If there stands a soldier among you who would kill his emperor, let him do so. Step forward and make your mark.” He surged in front of his Grande Armée, planting his body within easy firing range. Sweeping open his greatcoat, he welcomed the shots. It was a majestic gesture and a testament to his unwavering self-faith. Then his voice escalated to a resounding shout, as clear and as powerful as Notre Dame’s eternal bells. “Soldiers, I am your loyal emperor! Know me, stand at my side! I have come to restore us to victory. We have bled enough! Let the people unite beneath my wing once more. Vive la France!”
The troops ignored their general’s order to shoot; instead, the six thousand men broke into tears, tore away their royalist cockades, and echoed the emperor’s cry in a unified voice: “Vive l’empereur! Vive l’empereur! Vive l’empereur!” Many of the soldiers withdrew their old tricolor cockades, which had been hidden inside their caps ever since Napoleon’s exile. Weeping, Louis XVII’s army encircled their hero in a protective ring. They reached out to touch their leader as if he were the second coming of Christ. The general bent the knee, bowed his head, and offered his sword to Napoleon. He mutely resigned to his fate – prepared for his sure execution. Instead, the emperor pulled the general onto his feet and embraced him.
A week later, Paris’s cloistered walkways buzzed with movement: the resounding clap of hooves, creaking carriage wheels, and excited chatter consummated in a cacophonous drone. It appeared Napoleon wouldn’t be returning to the Tuileries Palace in an iron cage after all; instead, he was marching on Paris with an army a hundred thousand strong. Tails tucked between their legs, Louis XVII and his men had fled the palace in a panic. Now commotion flooded the streets, mixed cries echoed from the rooftops, and everyone awaited the emperor’s homecoming.
Everyone except Colonel de Laurent. For Gabriel, the war was nothing greater than a distant memory. All that existed now was Ariah, Emmaline, and Miriam.
Ignoring the surrounding excitement, Gabriel relaxed at the end of a small rowboat as it crept down the River Seine. Gabriella stirred in sleep, her tiny body draped across his lap. For the first time, Gabriel wore no bandage in public. The disfigurement drew stares and whispered gossip aplenty – and Gabriel paid little heed.
His raven hair danced freely in the wind’s breath and skimmed the expanse of his shoulders. Condensation curled the dark tips and sparkled like teardrops, dampening the forelock to his brow. His cotton dress shirt fluttered in the breeze, whipping with the audacity of a high-flying flag. A sense of relief filled his mind and body. He reveled beneath the sun’s warm caress … inhaled the crisp, cool air, welcoming it inside his lungs.
He’d never felt more content or free.
Emmaline sat at the head of the rowboat, fishing pole in hand and a wide smile stretched across her lips. Gabriel had planned this outing several days ago. He’d woken Emmaline a few minutes before dawn broke, packed a basket of food, left Ariah and Miriam a note, and paid a fisherman a generous amount of francs for the use of his rowboat.
Gabriel had spent the last several hours demonstrating how to angle the pole just right. Clever and determined, Emmaline had caught on quickly, absorbing every word. And after reeling in her first catch, his heart had warmed at the eagerness in her eyes.
“I did it! I really, truly did it, monsieur!” she’d exclaimed, simultaneously displaying her fish. That bright blue gaze, so much like her mother’s, widened to impossible limits. Gabriel’s heart stirred as he thought of Ariah.
His Ariah.
A rather sorry-looking salmon dangled from the line. It wriggled in midair as Emmaline proudly examined her prize and held it against the afternoon light.
“Ah, yes. Very good, chérie. You are quite the little student. And he’s a real beauty.” Gabriel steadied the salmon with two fingers. “Here – allow me.” Not wanting Emmaline to harm herself, he swiftly dislodged the curved hook. Emmaline winced. Registering the dismay in her eyes, he grinned and tossed the salmon back into the river. It slid beneath the glassy surface and darted off to freedom.
His thoughts darkened while the boat passed beneath a stone bridge. The sun was momentarily blotted out, and a responding chill whirled through his veins. This is where Ariah had found him – lying beside the Seine River, lost in despair, far more dead than alive. It was where he’d attempted to end his life – and, ironically, it was where he was reborn.
Gabriel sighed and gazed at the gilded horizon. Shafts of light reflected across the polished surface and set the water aglow. Numerous barges and boats passed by as they made their daily rounds, each one brimming with hay, corn, wood, wine, and various other commodities.
The afternoon would soon melt into the evening – and Gabriel missed Ariah with an alarming ache. He stirred the puppy awake with a gentle pat. She woke with a yawn and stretched her tiny legs. The rowboat erratically teetered as Gabriel climbed to his feet, brushed off his linen shirt, and approached Emmaline. The puppy clung to his heels at every step, wide-eyed and utterly trusting.
Gabriel knelt beside Emmaline, placed a hand on her back, and gazed at the Seine’s sparkling water. His reflection stared up at him – half-deformed and twisted. And yet contentment settled in his entire being.
“Any luck, chérie?” he asked, removing his hand from her back.
Shaking her head, Emmaline lowered the fishing pole and turned toward his voice. An unyielding smile was plastered to her lips. She lunged forward in an unexpected movement and threw her arms around his neck. Despite her tiny form, Gabriel nearly had the wind knocked from his lungs, so affected he was by the gesture. Emmaline giggled and nuzzled against his chest for several moments. Then she stepped back and awarded his chin a massive kiss.
Fighting back emotion, Gabriel cleared his throat and collected the wooden oar. “I suppose it’s about time we head back, eh?”
Emmaline nodded. Then she plopped onto her bottom and reeled the puppy into her arms. Her eyelids grew heavy and gradually drew shut. “Thank you, monsieur,” she whispered. “This has been the greatest day ever. I shall never, ever forget it!”
Gabriel felt a smile curve his lips and warmth spread through his body. “Neither shall I.” The oar sliced through the surface in repetitive strokes, driving the rowboat toward its destination. Indeed, Gabriel de Laurent was eager to return home.
•
Gabriel slowed his steps as the house came into sight. A premonition bloomed inside his gut. Every one of his soldier’s instincts stood at full attention. A sense of foreboding saturated the atmosphere. The air felt ominous and heavy with tension. Even the wind held its breath.
Emmaline, however, remained oblivious to the thickening mood. Brimming with youthful impatience, she tugged on his hand and urged him to keep up pace. When he remained rooted to the spot, she peered at him with inquisitive eyes.
“What is it? Somethin’ the matter, Monsieur Gabriel?”
“Non, not at all. Why don’t you go on ahead, ma chérie? I shall be right behind you.”
Emmaline nodded and released his hand. Hiking up her skirts, she raced down the remainder of the walkway, the puppy at her heels.
Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair while the feeling of unease mounted. Then the wooden door swung
open – revealing Ariah’s chalk-white expression. Her eyes were vacant and glassy, rid of their customary light.
Alas, she appeared to have seen a ghost.
Ariah locked onto his gaze, unblinking and unmoving. Time stood still. A thousand unspoken words transpired between them … words as concrete as they very air they breathed. She looked as beautiful as a porcelain statue – cold, unreadable, and timeless.
The puppy released a loud yip, sufficiently yanking Ariah from her inward haze. She offered Gabriel a dejected smile before returning to the drawing room.
Then his heart plummeted as Emmaline’s voice, so energetic and bursting with enthusiasm, graced his ears: “Papa! Oh, Papa, how I missed you!”
Chapter Twenty-four
Her husband had returned home. Ariah should have been positively ecstatic at the revelation. Instead, she felt as though her heart and future had been torn asunder.
Streams of guilt coiled around her gut and blackened her insides. The complexity of her emotions jarred her. She was beyond happy to see Jacques alive and well, of course – yet a sense of doom fogged her thoughts and caused her heart to ache. A little more than a month ago, she would have crumpled into a heap of tears at the very sight of him. He’d once represented everything she’d come to value most: dependability, security, and ritual.
But everything had changed since that time. And this reunion could only lead to an inevitable goodbye.
Ariah paced the drawing room as her heart banged against her ribs. Despair closed around her heart like a steel fist. She felt entombed – unable to breathe and with nowhere to turn.
Jacques reclined in the rocking chair, a walking stick positioned across his lap. When she’d seen him minutes before, the first thing she’d noticed was his severe limp. Firelight danced across those windswept features and reflected in his haunted stare. In both spirit and form, he appeared quite darker. Indeed, the entire weight of the war seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.
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