Dear Impostor (51 page)

          But the faint lift of her spirits soon faded;
it would be a long night, she thought, pulling back the bedcovers. Tomorrow,
she would be more than happy to leave this place. She removed her gown and put
on the old-fashioned white nightdress the housekeeper had left for her, then
took down her hair, shaking it to release the last of the borrowed pins. Taking
the comb from the bureau, she threaded it through her hair slowly. When the
golden tresses were as smooth and soft as she could make them, she washed her
face in the tepid water from the pitcher. Then she could put it off no longer;
she had to climb into the high bed and pull the covers up to her chin.

          She was lonely. Was that what Gabriel’s
lovemaking had done to her? Not only did her body yearn for new-found
sensations, long for his further instruction, not only did she ache to lay her
cheek against his firm chest, but the bed was so empty without his presence
that she could almost have wept.

          There was nothing to be done about it; she
knew that Gabriel would not come to her in his father’s house; it would seem to
confirm his father’s distrust of his character, reinforce the slanderous gossip
that the Marquis, the real Marquis, had chosen to believe too easily and too
quickly. What a sad thing to grow up with that bitter man for a father.

          She remembered her own father, her mother, the
laughter and the camaraderie that had filled their household. She and Circe had
delighted in it and had thought it only normal. But compared to this bleak and
unhappy house, Psyche saw for the first time just how richly she had been
blessed. What’s more, she had grown to girlhood witnessing the mutual respect
and appreciation that her mother and father had held for each other. She had
that example to draw from, had seen what a marriage could be between a man and
a woman.

          Her father had loved her, believed in her, as
had her mother. They had never distrusted her; they had always taken her
actions and her statements on faith. She had never had the burning need to
prove herself that seemed to have helped form Gabriel’s mind and heart.

          No wonder the neglected house and overgrown
property had been such a blow to him. Gabriel had planned to emerge from its
new-found acreage like a phoenix from the ashes of its sacrificial fire. He had
to prove to his father, and to himself, that he was a man who counted, a man
who could be proud of who he was. And until Gabriel learned that, believed it
in his heart of hearts, he would never be content, she thought. No woman’s love
would hold him, not until he could trust himself.

          Sighing, she shut her eyes, trying to will
herself to sleep and thus pass the long hours till dawn. She hoped they would
make an early start. The fire burned low, and the air became cooler. She
snuggled deeper beneath the blankets and still could not capture the slumber
that eluded her.

          So when a faint cry sounded from down the
hallway, Psyche heard it at once. She listened, wondering if her ears were
playing tricks, then it came again. Psyche pushed back the bedcovers and sat
up, her whole body tense. Who had cried out in such alarm?

          She scrambled out of bed and relit her candle.
Pulling a knitted wrap about her thin nightdress, she lifted the candlestick
and headed for the hallway. With no thought of danger to herself, she unlocked
the bedroom door and pulled it open just a little, peering into the hall.

          She saw nothing but shadows, yet the cry came
again. Psyche slipped out into the hallway, shivering with nervousness. Who was
in distress?

          The sounds came from next door. Gabriel? Who
had dared to assault him in this house of ill memory? She tried to turn the
doorknob; at first she thought the door was locked, but then it moved beneath
her palm. “Gabriel?” She looked inside the darkened room, keeping her voice
low. “Are you there?”

          An inarticulate cry was her only answer. She
slipped inside and shut the door behind her, then held the candle higher. Its
faint light threw wavering shadows on the bed sheets, which heaved with the
movements of the body beneath them.

          “Gabriel, are you ill?”

          She set the candle down on the nearest bureau
and hurried to his side. Gabriel’s eyes were closed, but he moved restlessly. She
put out on hand, and he grasped it as if he were a drowning man. The strength
of his grip made her gasp.

          “Gabriel, it’s Psyche!”

          At last, to her relief, he opened his eyes. He
seemed dazed, and he blinked at her in the flickering light. “Psyche?”

          “Yes, my dear, you were having a nightmare.” She
touched his cheek gently, and he shivered.

          “I dreamed my father had locked me in my room,
and I could not get out.”

          This house evoked bad recollections, she
thought. No wonder he had not locked the door of his bedchamber.

          “In my dream, I was a child again,” he
explained, as if afraid she would laugh. Psyche touched his cheek.

          “But you are not a child,” she reminded him. “And
you have proven you are no longer in your father’s power.”

          For a moment, she remembered the scene at the
dinner table, and wondered if she should have reminded him of that painful
incident. But to her surprise, Gabriel laughed softly. “No, indeed I am not. Not
a child, because a child would not be thinking what I am thinking when I look
at you in such lovely disarray. And not in my father’s power, thank God, never
again.”

          She felt self-conscious for a moment, then
became aware that indeed, her bare feet were cold and she had a tendency to
shiver.

          “Then take me into bed with you,” she
suggested. “Because the rug is thin and the floor is cold, and so are my feet.”
Psyche gave him a comically-coquettish flutter of lashes. “As a matter of
health only, of course.”

          He grinned, looking much more like his usual
self, and pulled back the covers. “Anything less would be inhumane, indeed, my
dear Miss Hill.”

          She climbed in beside him, content now that
she could lean her cheek against his bare chest, be pulled even closer beneath
the warm coverlet. His body was hard and firm, and not the least childish.

          He leaned down and kissed her, then ran his
hand down the outline of her back. This was how marriage would be, she thought
wistfully. A real bed, a quiet room, no one to disturb them. This bliss, this
close companionship, every night if they wished. The delightful thrill of his
touch–

          Then he kissed her again, and Psyche happily
surrendered all thought to his heated caress.

          He hadn’t meant to make love to her tonight,
in this bleak house of bitter memories. But the warmth of her skin affected him
like dry wood on a kindling flame. Desire leaped; all his senses seemed
intensified, and he wasn’t sure he could manage his next breath.

          Her lips parted in answer to his kiss, and he
saw the warmth of complete trust in her blue eyes–how had he ever thought her
cold? Ice maiden, indeed. She was everything that was good and lovely and pure.

          Damn. He should try–swallowing hard, he pulled
away. “Psyche, it would probably be better if I took you back to your room.”

          “My bed is bigger?” Her blue eyes twinkled.

          “No, you vixen!” Gabriel told her in mock
censure. “You know that I should leave you to sleep alone. I will–I can endure
alone the hell of old memories that this house holds for me; I am learning my
own strengths, thanks to you.”

          She took away one of her hands–good, she was
listening after all–but then he felt it touch his cheek gently. “Gabriel, I
have no doubt that you can. But the point is that you don’t have to suffer
alone. I am here for you. Heaven or hell, I want to share it with you.”

          He could feel the whirlpool of his desire
pulling him deeper and deeper into its yawning maw. Longing grew inside him,
pulling on his limbs like treacle. He tried to be logical.

          “You certainly aren’t fit for hell. I, on the
other hand, have been familiar with the nether regions–and my haunted memories–for
years.”

          “It would be hell if you left me.” Her voice
was soft, and she still held her hand against his cheek.

          “You are made for Paradise, my dear.”

          “Then take me there again,” she whispered.

          She leaned into him. He felt the blood
pounding in his veins, and the last of his self-control washed away with its
pulsating tide.

          Swiftly, he reached beneath the heavy covers
and pulled her long gown up and over her head. Psyche raised her arms to help
shed the nightdress, then pressed her soft, full breasts against his chest. Unable
to resist, he lifted and shaped them with his hands while she nibbled
delicately on his jaw and neck.

          Psyche threw a long, silky leg over him and
then pulled back in surprise at the feel of fabric.

          “I thought you were as bare as I beneath these
covers,” she said with such blatant disappointment that he did not try to
stifle his laugh.

          “Habit, love. It’s best not to be completely
naked when you might need to leap out a window at any moment.”

          Her beautiful eyes narrowed in suspicious
disapproval. “Jealous lovers?”

          His lips twitched, but he managed not to give
in to the grin. “Poor losers.”

          “Hmm,” she considered. “A perfect non-answer. One
could infer that by poor losers you meant card-players or that the jealous
lovers were the poor losers. Knowing you, however, I– umhhf . . .”

          The rest of her words were muffled by
Gabriel’s laughing lips. But Psyche did not mind. Instead, she used her
energies more pleasurably by pushing back the bedcovers, then ridding Gabriel
of his breeches and tossing them to lie with her gown on the cold floor. Turning,
she rose on her hands and knees and crawled on top of Gabriel’s outstretched
body.

          “Tonight, I wish to see all of you, feel all
of you.” She sighed against his chest. With seeking lips, she discovered all
the new and different textures of his skin. Silky flat nipples, tickly swirls
of hair, sweetly hot skin over hard curves of muscle.

          Her curious fingers trailed down his tightly
ridged stomach until she grasped him in her hand, squeezing softly, then
firmly.

          Shuddering with enjoyment, Gabriel silently
blessed Psyche’s distinctive take-charge attitude. He lay in pleasurable
acquiescence beneath her for as long as he possibly could. But her naive
touches—sometimes hesitant, sometimes bold–made it impossible for him to remain
inactive for long.

          Inflamed by her awakening desire, he could not
remain just a participant. Reaching down, he grasped the back of her thighs and
spread them so she was straddling his hips. Psyche sighed with pleasure at the
feel of his rigid length pressing against her. Raising her head, she sought his
mouth with her own. Before she could fall completely into the kiss, Gabriel
pushed her up into a sitting position and with a slight readjustment of his
hips slid deep inside her waiting warmth.

          “Ohh,” she breathed in wonder, throwing her
head back at the glorious sensation. This time there was no stretching
tightness, only undiluted pleasure. She gripped his hips firmly with her thighs
as he rolled and thrust beneath her. Psyche gave herself up, following his lead
in this most sensuous of dances.

          She lifted her body a bit to change her position
but stopped in delight at the sweet friction her movement caused and Gabriel’s
resulting groan of pleasure. Experimentally, she rose to the tip of his
hardness and then sank down suddenly. Gabriel’s eyes, which had been
half-lowered and slumberous, flew open with heightened arousal.

         
Oh this is heady stuff, indeed
, she
thought.

          She granted him no mercy as she raised and
lowered herself by teasing increments, only giving in to his hoarse pleas when
he grabbed her hips.

          “Goddess,
please
,” he groaned, trying
to end the sublime torture.

          Smiling the wicked smile of a woman reveling
in her newfound dominion, she evaded his hands. But she had underestimated
Gabriel’s own power.

          Eyes ardent with fevered passion, face tense
with impending release, he touched the pad of his thumb against her swollen,
tender bud just above their joined bodies. He fondled her once, twice, a third
time, and she was plummeting over the edge of ecstasy into completion and
Gabriel’s grasping arms. Her body’s clenching tremors sent Gabriel into his own
magnificent release; he slipped out of her just in time.

          They lay still entwined. Gabriel drew
shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs. He could feel Psyche’s heart
pounding against his, and nothing had ever felt so right. She raised
passion-dazed eyes to his and smiled with such love, such trust.