Finding Gabriel (12 page)

Without warning, tender images from his youth bombarded his mind –

Reading the classics to his governess. Wading through Le Havre’s pristine waters with Captain, his beloved hound. Racing his sister through the chateau’s winding corridors. Tickling her until tears stream down her face.

A giggle jolted Gabriel from his thoughts. Through the coverlet’s thin material, he observed as Emmaline lingered on a page. Then she exhaled a tired sigh, continued her humming, and read on.

A low whine shattered the moment. Oliver shoved at Gabriel’s dangling hand and demanded his attention. In response, the humming came to an abrupt halt as Emmaline’s head jerked up from the pages.

The following silence was deafening.

Gabriel cursed and stepped out from his hiding spot. Emmaline remained mute and motionless inside the security of her fort. After a lengthy silence, she raised the sheet and poked her face out from the material. Her blue gaze grew wide and attentive as she grasped onto the coverlet.

“I was – ”

She pressed an index finger against her lips, imploring his silence. “Maman and Aunt Miriam are sleeping.” Gabriel gave a sharp nod. “What are you doin’, monsieur?”

Gabriel glanced away and swept his fingertips through his hair. When he spoke, he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “I, uh, I thought Oliver here might need to relieve himself. I didn’t mean to disturb you from your reading.”

She examined him from head to toe, wary of his presence.
Smart little girl,
he acknowledged. She was wise not to trust him, though brave enough to have her curiosity piqued. Indeed, she seemed to be fighting some inward battle. Backing into the tent a full meter, she at length whispered, “It’s okay, monsieur.” Then she shrugged her willowy shoulders and glanced down at the storybook. “I can’t understand the letters. But I like to look at the pictures!” she said with sudden exuberance, lifting the book from the ground and dangling it midair. “See? Aren’t they mighty pretty?”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes as he fought the surrounding shadows. The room was eerily dark, only the hearth alleviating the blackness. He hesitantly inched forward until he stood less than a meter away from the child. Visibly uneasy, she arched her neck backward and met his eyes. She tensed, as if she’d unearthed something profound within their depths. Gabriel forced a weak smile and knelt upon one knee, not wishing to spook the poor girl.

“There’s no reason to be afraid,
chérie
.” Cocking his head, he examined the drawings with a nod of approval. “And indeed they are quite lovely.”

The fear eased from her limbs and she relaxed. Then a chain of giggles vibrated her body. Her hand shot out, and she pinched his chin between two fingertips. “You’re not all scruffy anymore!”

Gabriel grinned at the comment and unconsciously ran a palm over the smooth flesh.

Then the child lifted the book in front of her body like it was a shield and pointed to the drawings one by one. Gabriel took the book’s corner in his hand, studying the picture with a keen interest. It depicted a beautiful golden-haired maiden slumbering upon a lush chaise. In spite of himself, his mind wandered to another exquisite golden-haired madame only a room away.

“I like to look at the pictures and make up stories for them, see,” she passionately explained.

“Ah. That’s highly imaginative of you. I’m most impressed.”

Gabriel couldn’t contain a chuckle as she outright preened at the praise. Then his thoughts returned to Ariah again – and he realized that she and her daughter were one and the same. Whether painting Paris’s star-speckled skyline or assigning stories to pictures, they both sought escape.

Gabriel urged the book from her grasp and examined the faded pages. He flipped the cover shut and silently read the cursive title:
Les Contes de ma Mère l’Oye de Charles Perrault.
He was surprised by the author’s name; the volume appeared to be quite ancient – perhaps even a first edition – and Perrault’s fairy tales were typically reserved for aristocrats and the bourgeoisie. He nodded in approval and felt the corner of his lip crease in a smile.

“Ah, yes. I used to devour these tales when I was a boy.”
My daughter loved them as well,
he almost interjected. Suppressing his emotions, he returned to the slumbering maiden, backtracked several pages, and read the title aloud: “
La Belle au Bois Dormant.
Would you like me to read it to you,
chérie
?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” An abundance of curls sprang about her shoulders as she nodded enthusiastically. She eased back into the fort, held up the coverlet, and gestured him forward. Unable to contain her excitement, those sapphire eyes beamed with suspenseful anticipation.

“How kind of you to invite me inside,” he said with a courtly bow. He crouched to Emmaline’s level and crawled into the small space. And small it was; there was barely enough room to breathe, let alone comfortably sit. The top of the bed sheet scraped against his skull, his shoulders nearly filled the entire expanse – and yet contentment flooded his spirit. Beyond the sheet, the flames flickered, crackled, and popped, infusing the drawing room with an eerie ambiance.

His heart grew heavy with nostalgia, sorrow, and fond memories. As he examined Emmaline’s delicate features, his mind reverted to a different time … a different place …

“Well, are you gonna read it or aren’t you?”

The question jarred Gabriel from his thoughts. Emmaline hooked both arms around her knees, stared at him with saucer-like eyes, and patiently waited.

Rewarding her with a conspicuous wink, he cleared his throat and recited the fairy tale from memory: “Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were grieved, more grieved than words can tell, because they had no children. They tried the waters of every country, made vows and pilgrimages, and did everything that could be done, but without result. At last, however, the queen found that her wishes were fulfilled, and in due course she gave birth to a daughter …”

•

Ariah lay in bed, consumed by a poignant, thoughtful silence. Beyond the window, the moon shifted in the sky as it emerged from a blanket of clouds. The drapes fluttered, manipulated by the wind’s breath. The mild breeze whispered across Ariah’s cheeks in a pleasant and transient caress. She inhaled the frosty scent and sagged deeper against the mattress. It creaked in objection before accommodating her subtle movement.

Thoughts of Gabriel filled her mind. An undeniable connection wallowed between them. It was a powerful force – one that quite stole her breath away. They both craved compassion, someone to reach out and touch … and yet they remained imprisoned by their pasts.

Ariah could no longer deny it. She was developing genuine feelings for Gabriel.

Guilt speared through her. She fisted a handful of coverlet between her fingertips and sagged deeper into the pillow. What would Jacques think of such a thing? How would he react – discovering a strange man inside his home, inside his bed, inside his wife’s thoughts?

Muffled talking snared her attention. Ariah lifted her head from the pillow and wrestled to make out the words. Who was Emmaline speaking to? She’d inconspicuously slipped out of bed several hours ago. Ariah had feigned sleep with an inward smile; to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night … Emmaline must have been feeling better indeed.

More talking resounded.

Worry furrowed Ariah’s heart. She climbed onto her feet and wrapped herself in a loose night shift. The rough material fell around her bare ankles in thick folds, shielding her from winter’s chilly breath. She crossed the room in quick strides, the pads of her feet whispering against the planks.

Ariah entered the drawing room and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Emmaline had built a fort beside the hearth. Two silhouettes cast shadows against the thin material – one large and one small. She swallowed as she realized Gabriel sat inside the fort with her child.

Her immediate reaction was grave concern; he was still a stranger – and one who’d attempted to take his own life. She didn’t truly know him nor what he was capable of. But her fear slowly ebbed away as it was replaced with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

The low, soothing rumble of his voice lulled her forward. He was reading to Emmaline. Indeed, every so often, lighthearted giggles and quirky remarks mingled with his words. A blast of rich laughter followed after – and then he resumed reading once more.

“‘You would have thought her an angel, so fair was she to behold. The trance had not spirited away the lovely color of her complexion. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, her lips like coral. Her eyes indeed were closed, but her gentle breathing could be heard, and it was therefore plain that she was not dead. The king commanded that she should be left to sleep in peace until the hour of her awakening should come …’”

The tone of his voice elevated to a shrill falsetto as he attempted to replicate a female character. And it was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard. Smothering laughter with her palm, Ariah leaned against the doorjamb and mutely shook her head. It was so strange. So strange yet so beautiful. Happiness sent her emotions spinning. She found it difficult to breathe, impossible to stand upright. Sagging against the archway, she squeezed both eyes shut and absorbed the sultry music of Gabriel’s words. The steady cadence of his voice palpitated through her mind and body – and each syllable echoed her frantic heartbeat.

Her spirit soared. Her pulse raced. Both palms grew hot and clammy.

Mon Dieu.

Oliver plopped down on his haunches and gave a loud whine. Jolted from her thoughts, she gently hushed him and held his muzzle shut – taking care he wouldn’t disrupt the moment.

“Come along, Oliver,” she whispered, stroking his bony skull. He responded with a low groan and staggered onto his paws.

Leaving Gabriel and her daughter in peace, she turned away and silently returned to bed.

•

She came to him that night, a comforting presence within the darkness. The door creaked open, and a narrow shaft of light pierced the floorboards. The melody of her breathing resonated as she eased inside. The steady drum of approaching footsteps followed after.

“Ariah? What – ”

“Shh. You mustn’t speak.”

Gabriel sat up and fumbled with the oil lamp. Fingers trembling in time with his heart, he turned the knob and set the room aglow.
Mon Dieu.
Ariah Larochelle made a captivating image. Her curls were tied back in a loose coiffure and set on fire by the lamp’s illumination. She reached for her hair and undid the ribbon in a wildly provocative movement. Luscious curls spilled over her body like molten lava. He was unable to tear his eyes from the vision … unable to hardly believe what was happening.

Gabriel felt his heartbeat pick up pace as she edged nearer. Her hair glowed with the brilliance of a halo, pouring down and over the slim curves of her shoulders. She wore a thin chemise and not a thread more. The lamp illuminated her body, making the material nearly transparent. His eyes tracked every curve, every contour, every bend. Her lips were turned up in a wicked grin that promised hours of reckless passion.

Her eyes sparkled as they ran over his face without missing a detail. She perched on the edge of the mattress. Moonlight slanted through the window and cascaded over her delicate features. Then a deep breath inflated his lungs as she reached forward and cupped his cheeks within her palms. Her simple touch inflamed his mind and body in a fierce wildfire. She tracked the smooth curve of his chin, caressing him with delicate, thoughtful strokes. Her fingertips were achingly gentle and smoother than silk. Without warning, she stripped away the bandages, then ran her fingertips over his destroyed skin.

His heart pounded against his rib cage. Both palms grew damp, drenched in a sheen of perspiration. Was she truly not disgusted by his disfigurement? And how long had it been since he’d experienced such softness, such breathtaking affection? Granted, he’d had his fill of camp followers while at war – but never had he been genuinely touched. Not like this. Not with such sincerity and compassion.

His head swam. Desire swept through every centimeter of his body. He trembled with the need to surrender himself.
Mon Dieu,
he ached to make love to her like he had never made love to anyone. She seemed to see into his soul – to find a part of himself that he was sure no one else could see.

But did he dare believe?

Did he dare have hope?

Then he ceased to breathe as she slowly slid forward … centimeter by painful centimeter. A sweet, heady scent rose from her body and elevated Gabriel’s senses. She smelled delicious. Exhilarating. Hot, succulent breaths wafted against his nude cheeks and melted his resolve. From head to toe, he grew coarser than stone, behaving like a randy lad ravenous with lust. The room transformed into a nauseating blur. The temptation to sink into her arms, to accept the comfort she offered, was nearly too great. But she was acting out of misplaced pity, he knew. Nothing more.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice little more than a whisper. “Why?”

Long, slender fingers curled in his greatcoat and gently urged him forward. The lush flesh of her lips touched the corner of his mouth … then moved a few centimeters, tracking toward the base of his throat. After a moment, she continued with an upward quest and pressed her lips against his ear. They felt unbelievably soft … like warm, liquid velvet. He surrendered to a fierce shiver as she whispered. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t see past the pain …” Intimate silence pressed between them. Swirling across his skin, her tongue traced the rim of his ear as she spoke. “Take away some of my pain.
Take me
…”

Surely she was nothing more than a mirage – a projection of his innermost desires. He would wake once more, alone before the Seine, the pistol in his hand, a hole inside his heart.

But he felt her touch. He smelled her sweet essence, could hear the sweet tone of her voice. Within this moment, on this winter’s night, she was real.

“You know what else I saw in your eyes, Gabriel? Desire. Hunger.”