Robin Schone (44 page)

Victoria remembered the corrosive sublimate tablets Dolly had pressed upon her. Surely Anne Aimes did

not—

“It is called a diaphragm,” Anne said, no knowledge inside her eyes of a prophylactic that killed. “It is a

rubber cap that fits over a woman’s cervix.” Pale pink tinted her cheeks; her gaze did not falter. “

Diaphragms are more enjoyable for both a man and a woman, as it allows for maximum stimulation, but

they are available by prescription only. I can give you the name of a gynecologist, if you like.”

Victoria imagined what Gabriel would feel like without rubber sheathing his manhood. Wet flesh sliding

into wet flesh.

The heat coloring Anne’s cheeks leaped into her own. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Victoria remembered the tin of mints Julien had urged her to take from the nightstand. It had not been

replaced.

Impulsively she opened the top drawer, wanting to share the wonders of the House of Gabriel with this

woman who had possessed the courage to pursue her passion rather than be victimized by it.

Anne stared down at the row of artificial phalluses for long seconds.

“They are called
godemichés”
Victoria said evenly.

Lightly Anne touched the smallest. . . “And Goldilocks said this one is too small ...” Anne touched a

second
godemiché,
“And this one is too big. ..” Anne did not touch the third
godemiché,
“And this one is

just right.”

Victoria raised startled eyes to Anne’s.

Laughter danced inside the pale blue eyes.

A giggle rose up inside Victoria’s chest; it was stalled by the memory of Gabriel’s face. His eyes had

been dull gray instead of glittering silver. “I have to go.”

Compassion shouldn’t hurt; it ripped Victoria apart, seeing it in Anne’s eyes. “We all need to be loved,

Victoria.”

We all need physical intimacy . . .We all need to be loved.

It was little wonder Gabriel liked Anne Aimes. Victoria liked her, too.

She swallowed. “I don’t know where he is.”

There was no need for Anne to say Gabriel’s name; he was foremost in both of their minds.

“He’s in the adjoining room.”

Victoria wanted to hug Anne; hugging had not been a part of her curriculum. Gabriel was the only adult

she had ever expressed affection to. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

For not judging Victoria. For not judging Gabriel.

For loving an angel.

Gabriel lay on top of a blue silk spread, left arm thrown over his face.

There was dried blood on his shirtsleeve; it crusted the front of his shirt, brown instead of crimson.

Victoria leaned against the oak door, heart inside her throat.

Gabriel was not asleep; tension corded his every muscle.

“You didn’t lock the door,” she said. And turned the lock, a quiet click of finality.

Gabriel didn’t remove his arm, his voice was muffled. “You know what I am, Victoria.”

Tension danced in the air.

Gabriel was wounded.

Gabriel was dangerous.

She pushed away from the door and reached for the tiny eyelet hooks fastening her dress. “I know what

you are, Gabriel, and I will never forget.”

The tiny report of metal hooks unsnapping charged the air, each release a miniature gunshot.

One second she stared at a bloodstained sleeve; the next she stared into dull gray eyes. “I’m not an

angel.”

Cool air gushed inside the widening vent of corded silk. “I think, Gabriel, that angels aren’t who we think

they are.”

A muscle beside the left corner of his mouth pulsed in time to her heartbeat.

“I think angels must know hunger, or they couldn’t be an angel.” Victoria shrugged out of her dress.

Padded silk slid over the satin corset, briefly caught on the ruffled bustle, slithered over silk petticoats. “I

think angels must know desire, or they could not know love.”

The heavy silk dress puddled around her feet, a far cry from the worn wool gown she had previously

shed for him.
She
was a far cry from the Victoria Childers who had previously undressed for him.

Victoria was a woman now, and she would not deny her needs.

Gabriel’s nostrils flared, recognizing the transformation.

Victoria reached for the laces tying the dimity bustle.

Gabriel’s face hardened. “Ask me, Victoria.”

The ruffled, apronlike bustle dropped to the floor, a muted swish.

Victoria reached for the laces of a petticoat. “Ask you what, Gabriel?”

“Ask me if I desire Michael.”

A white silk petticoat frothed over the golden brown dress. She reached for the lace of the second

petticoat. “Do you?”

Unforgiving electric light danced on Gabriel’s hair; darkness danced inside his eyes, still no silver. “What

if I said I did?”

White silk puddled atop more white silk.

Gabriel instinctively followed the fall of the petticoat, stared at the silk drawers that clung to her hips.

Immediately his head snapped up, gaze snagging hers. “I don’t know.”

The cry of an angel.

The pain in Gabriel’s voice crushed Victoria’s heart. She unbuttoned the two small ivory buttons

fastening the band of her drawers, gaze holding his. “Michael kissed you.”

Gabriel audibly sucked in air.

“Did you desire him then, Gabriel?” Victoria pursued.

The drawers slipped over her hips, down her thighs, dropped onto a mound of silk.

Gabriel’s body was rigid with hurt. Hurt that
she
had inflicted,
but she didn’t want to hurt him.
“Why

don’t you tell me, Victoria,” he said rawly.

The pile of silk was perilously high; the pale blue carpeting dangerously thick. Victoria carefully crossed

the divide that separated them, bare thighs rubbing, silk stockings swishing, no longer a virgin but a woman

who knew well the pain and the pleasure of loving an angel. “I can tell you, Gabriel, that I am just as guilty

of Julien’s death as you are.”

Gabriel mutely stared up at her. His pain fisted inside her stomach.

She had told Julien she would not tell Gabriel that he had allowed her out of the room; Victoria didn’t

think Julien would mind that she rescinded on her promise.

“I told Julien I wanted to visit a guest room in the hope that I would find something there to give you

pleasure. I saw a man with dark hair in the mirror, or I thought I saw a man. But he was gone so quickly I

thought it was my imagination. Gaston let me back into your suite. I didn’t tell either Julien or Gaston what I

saw. If I had, Julien might still be alive.”

Denial flashed inside his eyes, a hint of silver. “He would have investigated the corridor. He would have

died there.”

Surrounded by mirrors that were not mirrors instead of the wooden confines of a stair landing.

“Perhaps,” Victoria agreed. “But I will never know, will I? I will never know if my silence killed him.”

Her pain shone inside his eyes. “Don’t.”

“But I have to, Gabriel.” Victoria reached down to unfasten his blood-encrusted shirt, to free him from

the past. “I have to touch you.”

Hard hands cuffed her wrists. “If you touch me, Victoria, I will take you.”

Victoria did not flinch from the strength of Gabriel’s hold. She would have bruises come the morrow. “

That is the idea, sir.”

He wanted her to reject him; he wanted her to hold him.

His two disparate needs were ripping him apart.

She would not let him hurt anymore.

“You know what I am,” Gabriel said starkly.

“You are Gabriel,” Victoria steadily returned.

A man who made it possible for others to survive.

Puzzled frustration shone in his eyes, still more gray than silver. “You’ve never held my past against me.

”

Ten fingers pulsed against Victoria’s skin; she counted them one by one, five around her left wrist, five

around her right wrist. . .

“I’m selfish, Gabriel.”

The truth popped out of Victoria’s mouth unbidden.

It wasn’t the response Gabriel expected.

“You said you wouldn’t change the past; neither would I. I met Anne Aimes. She said that she paid

Michael to take her virginity. I wish I had possessed the money and the courage to come to your house and

proposition you.”

He wanted to believe her; he was afraid to believe her.

“Anne prefers violet eyes.”

The eyes of a man who had been born with the name of an angel.

“I prefer silver ones.” The eyes of a man who had wanted to be an angel. She locked her knees to

prevent them from buckling, asking the question that must be asked. “Whose do your prefer? Pale blue

eyes or darker blue eyes?”

Gabriel did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Yours, Victoria.”

Locked, her knees still almost collapsed with relief.

“I’m hungry,
Victoire,”
Gabriel said deliberately. “Can you feed me?”

Two words simultaneously registered with Victoria. Her French name
Victoire,
and
hungry.

Her pupils dilated with sudden recall.

How to seduce a man .. .

When he’s hungry, feed him.

But she hadn’t brought up any food.

She looked down into Gabriel’s eyes and realized it wasn’t food he desired.

“I only have . ..
ananas,
I’m afraid.”

Pineapples. A French term for a woman’s breasts.

Gabriel released her wrists and sat up, mattress shifting, springs squeaking, knees bumping her thighs,

wool-trousered legs spreading, gripping her. “Feed me.”

Hands shaking with sudden need, Victoria reached into the plunging black satin corset and lifted her

breast. Her nipple was hard.

Leaning over, she offered it to Gabriel, her breast, her nipple, her passion rather than her virtue.

Dark lashes shielding his eyes, Gabriel nuzzled her, cheeks slightly prickly, hair softer than silk.

Every time Victoria orgasmed, she created another memory for him, he had said. Victoria would always

remember the texture and the scent and the taste of the man who had named himself after an angel.

A tongue licked her, tasted her, texture wet and scratchy.

Victoria shuddered at the near-painful sensation that stabbed through her womb. She could not help

herself—she cupped the back of his head with her left hand, her breast heavy in her right hand, his hair

clinging to her fingers. And hoped that Gabriel would not pull away.

He did not.

Hands grasping the tops of Victoria’s thighs, Gabriel pulled her closer and took her breast into his mouth

and suckled her as if he fed on her flesh instead of her desire.

It took Victoria long seconds to realize that his fingers worked against her thighs to unfasten the garter

clasps on her corset even as his mouth and tongue and teeth worked against her breast.

No sooner did Victoria’s stockings slip down her thighs than Gabriel tackled her corset, fingers tugging,

mouth tugging. A familiar pressure tugged at her womb.

Victoria’s corset slipped over her shoulders ...

Gabriel freed her nipple with a slight slurping sound. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth wet. The gaze

looking up at hers was silver with need. “Tell me about angels, Victoria.”

When he hurts, offer him hope.

But she didn’t know about angels, she only knew about Gabriel. She didn’t know the words to give him

hope.

The story her mother had read to Victoria the child reverberated inside her ears. And suddenly she did

know the words to give Gabriel hope.

I k now it because... I k now my own flower well.

“Whenever a good child dies,” Victoria the woman stepped back and slid the corset over her arms; her

stockings pooled around her ankles, “an angel comes down from heaven and takes the child into his arms.”

Gabriel reached for the top button on his bloodstained shirt, a man, not a child. His silver gaze clung to

her every word.

Wanting to hope. Wanting to be loved.

“The angel spreads out great white wings,” Victoria dropped the corset, a soft swish of satin impacting

wool carpet, “and flies the child over all the places he loved during his life.”

With a quick jerk, mattress squeaking, Gabriel pulled his shirt over his head. Dark blond hair curled

around a dark pap.

Gabriel’s nipples were hard, as Victoria’s nipples were hard.

She reached out and lightly touched him.

Gabriel flinched, but did not jerk away.

Victoria straightened, breath coming more quickly. She drew upon all the discipline it had required

teaching other women’s children, hoping it would be enough to get her through the coming minutes, hours,

lifetime . ..

“The angel explains to the child as he flies him about that he gathers up flowers to take to heaven so that

they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on earth.”

Gabriel stood up and unfastened his trouser buttons.

He did not wear drawers.

Victoria licked lips that suddenly felt thicker, fuller. “ ‘The Almighty,’ he says,” Victoria said, “ ‘presses

the flowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a voice, and is able

to join the song of the chorus of bliss .. .’ ”

Dark blond hair filled the widening vent.

Victoria jerked her head up. Only to stare at the top of Gabriel’s bowed head as he jerked his trousers

down.

“ ‘These words were spoken by the angel, as he carried the child up to heaven ...”