Anne slowly circled the table before going to stand behind one of the two empty chairs remaining. “Welcome gentlemen. Tonight Holland’s League is closed to all visitors except those of you seated at this table. I will —”
Gabriel’s raised voice triggered a flash of irritation she concealed before signaling Ishmael, who went to the door. Torn between laughter and a curse, she watched her life mate swagger into the dining room. His dark blue eyes alight with laughter and the promise of retribution, he swept her an outrageous bow. “Forgive me, Mistress Holland. I was unavoidably detained by an unexpected headache.”
She swallowed nervously as he approached, air lodging in her throat with each step he took. Gabriel put the other lords to shame for the elegance of his clothes. Attired in black except for the white shirt beneath his waistcoat, his masculine beauty stole her breath with swiftness of a Parisian pickpocket. He paused to strip off his gloves and the sight of his hands triggered an immediate response between her thighs. The memory of his fingers and the magic they wielded silenced any objections she had to his rudeness.
A lock of silver-blond hair flirted with his squared jaw. The rest was drawn away from his face and tied with a black silk ribbon. Her eyes lingered on the face that promised so much pleasure. If he weren’t already her life mate, she would find a way to enjoy his bed until her life mate appeared. None of her thoughts were evident as she curtsied.
“Welcome Lord Elstone.”
She glided the chair she stood behind away from the table and stepped to one side. “Please sit.”
Once he was seated, she inclined her head to the other men in the room. “Tonight there are no titles, no ranks, and no divisions. This night your only purpose is pleasure. Your chosen lady will see to all your needs, you have only to ask. Food, drink, whatever your heart desires will be yours.”
She moved from Gabriel’s chair and her gaze went to each man’s face. “There is only one rule. Physical abuse of Holland’s League courtesans will not be tolerated. Should your desire incline in that direction, please speak and I will happily arrange for a chair to convey you to a house that will gratify your needs. A single complaint will forever bar the doors of Holland’s League to you.”
She glanced at the other women and, nun-like, they walked as one to a long side table. Anne smiled her satisfaction when she saw the meal laid out. Emile and his assistants had exceeded last year’s magnificence. Several types of meat, beef, duck, fish, and rabbit basking in savory wine sauces and gravies, would tempt even the most particular palate. Roasted potatoes, breads, Italian beans, and asparagus accompanied the meats. Her cook’s greatest pride was in the variety of delicate pastries, cakes and sweets he offered her guests.
Each courtesan prepared a plate and returned to the table to set it before the man she would entertain for the night. Once the men were served, one by one the women prepared their plates and took their seats. Anne looked down the long table to where Gabriel sat. Lifting her glass, she inclined her head and said, “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.”
11
Gabriel watched Anne engage the attention of the young lord seated to her right. In a matter of minutes, the nobleman’s reticence faded beneath her engaging wit and smile. Although Lord Shelby was matched with Eleanor, he was clearly smitten with Anne. As if aware of his regard, Gabriel watched her lift her wine glass in his direction and gift him with a hint of a smile before returning her attention to Shelby. A quick surge of jealousy rose and died inside him. He reminded himself he was Anne’s life mate; she belonged to him.
A slow sip of his wine eased the peculiar feeling and Gabriel pondered his growing fascination with Anne Willoughby. It was a complicated state of being. He resented the bond with her, even though he recognized her innocence in the matter. She no more wanted to be mated to him than he to her. The difference — she accepted what he refused.
To distract his thoughts from Anne, he glanced around the dining room. He hadn’t expected the evening to unfold as it did. Like the other men at the table, he was surprised by the formal elegance that surrounded him. He rarely dined at Holland’s League so the supper was quite a surprise. The meal offered some of the finest dishes and wines he had tasted. It was little wonder an invitation to Holland’s League’s auction was so highly prized.
His gaze drifted back to the woman responsible. Anne had created an enticing, magical evening no man would ever forget. She was also very rich off the single night’s efforts.
“A prize in itself, don’t you think, my lord?”
“She is.” Gabriel caught his error and turned to the woman who spoke to him. Bella. “Given the exorbitant fee, I’m sure any of the men here would agree with you.”
Bella’s soft laughter mocked him. She flicked a quick glance at Anne. “No matter what she wears, the Tamahaq is beautiful.”
His eyes followed the direction of Bella’s gaze. His life mate chose that moment to laugh and the sound went through him like a slow moving brook across a meadow. Just her laughter alone was enough to inspire his cock to rise. “Anne Holland is beautiful in her own way, but yes I prefer the Tamahaq.”
Realizing he’d been trapped, he chuckled and switched to the same language Bella had used, Arabic. “Bella, isn’t it?”
She smiled. “My thanks for the service you rendered Holland’s League. Rats are not easily exterminated.”
Gabriel switched to English. “No thanks are necessary. A gentleman does what must be done to aid a lady. Tell me about yourself. You’re obviously not native to England.”
Her eyes twinkled at the deft change of subject. “I was born in Morocco, although my father is Imohag.”
“Imohag? I’ve not heard of them. Are they Libyans? Moors?”
Bella shook her head and laughed. “If he lived, my father would cut your throat for such an insult. So would your life mate. Our people are native to Algiers, though there are Imohag who live in Morocco or Mali. They are guides for the caravans that cross the Sahara.”
“How did you end up in London, in a brothel?”
“I was captured and enslaved.” Her brown eyes darkened before she lowered them. Her lips moved silently, as if she prayed. “I was more fortunate than most African women on the slaving ships. The captain chose not to share me with his men and I didn’t suffer the cruelty the other women endured. Many of them died by their own hands.”
Her gaze hard, Bella stared at him. “The captain sold me when he reached the port of Bridgetown on Barbados.”
Gabriel heard the anger and a second emotion in her tone. It took a moment to identify the bitterness in her voice. It was guilt. Guilt she survived. “How did you come to be in London?”
Bella lifted the goblet before her and drank. Gabriel knew it was water. In fact, all of the women drank water except for Anne. When Bella answered it was in Arabic.
“The marks you see on my cheeks were done because I ran away. A kind soul offered the enslaver twenty-five pounds for me. The planter refused, knowing there are no enslaved people on Willoughby plantation and wanting me to accept what he deemed my place in life. When I fled a third time, my savior knew the planter would kill me so he arranged for me to accompany his sister to England.”
She peered at Gabriel. “In England I am a free woman but an unmarried woman has few resources to support herself. If she is a black woman?” Bella shrugged. “Holland’s League gives me sanctuary and the means to survive. Does your life mate know you speak Arabic?”
Gabriel said nothing.
Bella’s amusement burst forth. “I will permit you that small victory, Demon Gabriel. Just be warned, the Tamahaq is not your typical Englishwoman. Is there more you wish to know about me?”
He knew there was more to Bella’s story but now wasn’t the time. He shook his head and raised his glass to his lips. Like Anne, Bella would reveal only so much. That she was a powerful witch didn’t surprise him since she and Anne had created Holland’s League and most likely protected it together. She also knew Anne
Willoughby’s true nature and that Anne was the reason these women survived. What he didn’t understand was how she and the women fit into the elaborate puzzle of angelic prophecy.
He really hated puzzles.
Gabriel focused his gaze on his life mate. Were I hungry for more than you or your cook’s excellent dishes, the succulent morsels in this room would be a gift from the gods.
Anne’s head jerked in his direction. Her startled look disappeared as quickly as it came. Her smile was discreet but there when she answered. I do hope you satisfied that particular craving before arriving. I would hate to explain to the constables, and the king, why five of his majesty’s subjects all disappeared after a night at Holland’s League.
She lifted her glass to her lips. However, if you must attend to your hunger, I ask that you wait until they are sated and have departed from Holland’s League before you partake of dessert.
With an amused wink, she rose from her chair. Conversations abruptly halted. Her blue-eyed gaze on him, she walked to where he sat. Like most of the men at the table Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes from her. She walked with the grace of a Moroccan dancer who had performed for the English court during a visitation from the Moorish ambassador. Despite being dressed in the English manner, Anne wore an emerald gown the way the dancer had worn her silk trousers. The cloth caressed voluptuous curves, inviting a man’s eyes to wonder what lay beneath.
Gabriel frowned. The color didn’t suit Anne Holland and it grated on his senses to see a white woman in a color better suited to a woman whose skin was the color of dark honey. Not a woman whose hair fell in blond ringlets about her exposed shoulders, several long curls seeking shelter in her ample bosom, and her face artfully painted with cosmetics. Her mouth and cheeks red splashes against the pale whiteness of her flesh. She looked exactly the way the men in the room wanted to see her —a desirable courtesan and the owner of the most exclusive brothel in London. A woman priced beyond their reach.
Frustration scratched at Gabriel. Anne Holland was a fraud, an impostor. If he were an honorable man, he would expose her as such. Were he a dishonorable man, he’d use the knowledge to his advantage and then betray her. However, he mused, as she came to stand beside him, to be honorable or dishonorable one had to have a sense of morality or duty or a conscience. He possessed neither one.
It galled him to know his life mate was concealed in the white skin of Anne Holland. He wanted to see Anne Willoughby’s brown body clad in the striking green silk. Her silken flesh was the siren’s call to his lust, an enticement to swim closer and risk the dangerous shoals. The depths of his desire for her scared him. A fear that should have been laughable because of who he was. But never one to lie to himself, Gabriel admitted she frightened him. She triggered in him a dread no other living creature had, not even the one who sired him.
In a move so intoxicating it left him breathless, Anne sank into a deep curtsy next to his chair. He turned to look at her when she reached for his hand and interlocked their fingers. The air around their entwined hands vibrated and he glanced at them. For a fraction of a second, brown fingers were laced with pale white ones. His gaze jerked to her face and he found himself staring into a pair of hazel eyes. As abruptly as it appeared, the vision vanished.
“I am yours for the night, Lord Elstone, at the behest of the one who won the bid and owes you a debt. I shall see to your pleasures and mine, wherever they may lead. I won’t be used like an animal if your inclinations are to violence or the unnatural. There is no joy when harm is done in the name of desire. Do I have your consent?”
“I consent.” He squeezed her fingers lightly and murmured, “There can be pleasure in pain. Perhaps, one day you will permit me to demonstrate.”
She withdrew her hand and rose to stand beside him once more. Her eyes twinkled a brighter shade of blue knowing he baited her. “I fear that way leads to corruption, and mischief. Will you follow me?”
Gabriel pushed away from the table and rose from his chair. She took his hand. He noticed the other women had followed her lead and the men had given their consent to the brothel’s rules of conduct. Anne signed to the courtesans who led the men from the dining room. He thought it ironic that their departure evoked a church processional. He turned to Anne. “What now, Mistress Holland?”
“Now I teach you manners, Demon Gabriel.”
He snorted. “My manners are impeccable. You never said a life mate needed to knock.”
She peered at him then burst into laughter. “You are incorrigible. For your health, please seek my consent before you sneak into my mind. There will be less pain for both of us.”
“What is the point of being a thief if I give warning?”
Anne shook her head and guided him in the opposite direction of the other couples. Her fingers still entwined with his, they strolled down a dimly lit hall before climbing several steps into an alcove. She reached up and placed her hand on the base of an unlit sconce on the wall. The stone wall shimmered then separated into a doorway. With a wave of her hand, she invited him to enter the room.
12
Gabriel entered the chamber, intrigued and impressed by the number of secret passages and rooms contained in Holland’s League. The opening closed behind him and light flared into existence. The scent of roses and frangipane greeted him as he studied the room. The walls were lime-washed and the color of sand. Two small grilled windows allowed moonlight to trickle in. What surprised him was the absence of the ornate wood furniture found in the brothel’s other rooms. Large silk cushions were the only form of seating. A bathing fountain occupied one of the corners and a solitary table was tucked in the opposite one.
He was certain no male had set foot inside this room and that fact pleased him. He turned his gaze to Anne. “I do not want Anne Holland tonight. Give me my life mate,” he demanded. “Rid yourself of that ugliness you wear.”
Anne clucked her tongue. “You didn’t find Mistress Holland ugly before I revealed myself. If anything, your friend hiding in your breeches seemed quite enamored of her charms.”
She ran her hands seductively over her silk-clad breasts, her fingers stopping to pinch her nipples before squeezing the large firm mounds. “These are the breasts you wanted to touch. I sensed your desire, Demon Gabriel. And now you cry them ugly? I believe you are a hypocrite.”
He grabbed her wrist. “I don’t care what you believe, become yourself.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Gabriel’s frustrated sound echoed in the room before she finally began to shed her whiteness. Watching her shape-change was magical and erotic, and unsettling. She began with her hair, the blond strands singly vanishing to be replaced by dark brown curls. Anne’s hair required no pipe-clay wands to achieve a fashionable look; her curls were natural waves that fell past her shoulders and framed a no longer white face. Her mouth and nose became less thin, her lips more full and shapely. What held his gaze was the single braid that fell along her jawline.
He sucked in a harsh breath when her gown vanished and she stood naked before him. The stark contrast between her brown face and pale body was disturbing.
“Finish,” he hissed.
Her husky chuckle accompanied the gradual shift of her skin from white to brown. When her natural hue was fully restored, Gabriel released the breath he’d been holding. He watched her breasts shrink to their normal size, her hips lose their fullness, and her height increase. It struck him that any human being who witnessed this transformation would most likely go mad.
“Does it bother you to keep Anne Holland’s shape for long periods of time?”
“I don’t,” she confessed, re-clothing herself. “When I am alone, I am myself.” She glanced away and then back to him. “To tell a truth, I abhor the idea of Anne Holland. Not because of the brothel and its purpose. I dislike that I am forced to conceal myself to protect someone I love.”
Gabriel heard the vulnerability in her voice. Whoever evoked that emotion in Anne had to be a man. L
ike a drop of oil on an open flame jealousy ignited inside him. Had she left more than her clandestine activities behind on Barbados? Had some man captured her heart? He frowned when she closed her eyes. For several moments she stood there, her face an expressionless mask. When she raised her eyelashes the woman who stood before him had shuttered her vulnerability and the owner of a London brothel resumed control.
The two sides of Anne were at odds with each other Gabriel realized as his gaze swept her slender form. She seemed at ease in the loose silken trousers she wore. Her feet were bare, her ankles adorned with thin silver chains. What covered her from the waist to her shoulders could only be described as scandalous. The sheer silk shirt bore little resemblance to a bodice since it hid nothing from his eyes.
He closed the distance between them and his thumb and index finger reached out to lift the solitary braid from her cheek. “What is the meaning of this braid? This is the second time you’ve worn it when you change.”
“It is the mark of the first Tamahaq, my ancestress Lilith. All Tamahaq descended from the archangel wear the braid,” Anne said. “It means I am a warrior and mother of my people.”
She moved to the large cushion. “Will you sit, Gabriel?”
Once he was comfortably settled on the cushion, he asked, “What do I have to look forward to tonight?”
“Whatever you want.”
Her bluntness surprised him and he stared at her for a second. “What I want is an end to this connection you’ve forced on me.”
She pushed herself to her feet and walked away. “I’m weary of your stupidity. You have a choice tonight, my lord. Either seek your pleasures in my bed or go home.”
“We will have our pleasures once you undo this spell. If not, you will find me unpleasant company for all of eternity.”
Anne stared at Gabriel before she lowered her eyelashes and sighed. Raphael.
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