Robin Schone by Gabriel's Woman (10 ebook reader TXT) 📕

at his head.

There was no need for Gabriel to lie. “As long as you stay away, mon vieux, I will survive.”

And so would Michael.

Neither man blinked, breathed, moved.

The heat of Michael’s body and the scent of his chocolate-scented breath washed over Gabriel. If he did

not step back . . .

Gabriel balanced the hilt of the knife in his left hand, ivory warming to his flesh, conforming to his needs

—

Between one heartbeat and the next, Michael stepped back.

Gabriel breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of freshly brewed tea and wood smoke instead of chocolate.

“Is that why I did not receive an invitation?” Michael asked tersely.

“Perhaps.”

Perhaps Gabriel had not been able to pen an invitation requesting Michael attend the opening night of the

House of Gabriel, knowing the consequences of his actions. Or perhaps he had known that Michael would

be far more suspicious by not receiving an invitation than by receiving one.

Perhaps by not sending him an invitation, he had more surely secured Michael’s role in this play of which

he had no knowledge.

“Did you restrain the woman?”

Victoria had desired Gabriel, but she did not trust him.

She had thought he would kill her.

And so he should.

“No. I did not restrain her.”

Was she even now searching his bedchamber for a weapon to protect herself with?

Gabriel had removed the most obvious ones , but any object could become a weapon. A toothbrush. An

urn. A necktie.

He remembered the cane in his armoire. When twisted, the silver knob became the hilt of a short sword.

Michael had a cane with a gold knob instead of silver: both had been custom designed by the same man

with the sole purpose of killing.

Falsely, politely, wondering what he would do if Michael accepted, Gabriel invited, “Would you like to

meet her?”

Michael saw through Gabriel’s pretense. And accepted it. As he had always accepted Gabriel.

His past. His choices . ..

The thirteen-year-old boy he had been; the forty-year-old man he had become.

“I won’t let you die, Gabriel,” Michael said simply. “Remember that.”

Whereas Gabriel had all too willingly endangered Michael’s life.

Before Gabriel could respond—with a half-truth or a half lie— Michael turned. He paused at the desk.

His right elbow bent; at the same time his black dress coat strained across the width of his shoulders.

He could be reaching for a weapon.

Gabriel forced himself not to raise his derringer to fire off the first shot. Knowing he was too close to the

edge.

Michael was the only goodness that Gabriel had ever possessed.

A white envelope sliced through the air, landed beside the silver tray on the black marble desktop.

“It’s an invitation, Gabriel.” Michael did not turn around. He knew the danger that he was in. “Anne and

I are getting married.”

Michael. Anne.

Married.

For a second, Gabriel could not breathe.

“And what name shall you give her, Michael?” he lashed out. “Shall she be known as Madame des

Anges, or Lady Anne Sturges Bourne? Will she be the wife of a whore, or countess to the earl of

Granville?”

It was too late to take back the hurtful words.

Michael had not claimed the title that was his by law upon the death of his uncle. He did not deserve

Gabriel’s vindictiveness.

The words accomplished what Gabriel had earlier been unable to do: they drove Michael from Gabriel’s

office. Gabriel’s house.

Gabriel’s life.

The scent and the taste of chocolate lingered in his nostrils and on his tongue.

Michael would survive without Gabriel, but could Gabriel survive without Michael?

His gaze settled on the ragged wool reticule cradled by pale blue leather.

A street person would not bother stealing it. It would be worthless even on St. Giles Street, where the

meanest rags were picked apart for salable threads.

There was hunger in Victoria, but there was also pride.

It had taken care and patience to reduce her to the point where she would sell her virginity.

The dismissal from her post could have been engineered by the first man. Or it could have been

engineered by the second man.

When she had denied the possibility of a stranger orchestrating the auction of her hymen, the protest had

lodged inside her throat.

Her letters would determine if Victoria lied or told the truth.

They would let Gabriel know what to expect when he opened his bedroom door: an actress. Or an

assassin.

A woman who would love a male whore. Or a woman who would kill to escape poverty.

They would let him know whether she would live or she would die.

Chapter

6

Victoria did not know what she looked for, she only knew she had to find something: a means to aid in

her escape; a weapon to protect herself with.

A key with which to lock the bedroom door.

Gabriel would not leave her alone much longer. Each breath, each heartbeat measured the passing

minutes.

Each breath, each heartbeat reminded her that at any moment he would catch her. And there was

nothing she could do.

Victoria jerked open the bottom drawer in the satinwood chest.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled with sudden awareness.

“ ‘I know you, Victoria Childers.’ ”

Victoria froze.

“ ‘You want what every woman secretly yearns for.’ ”

The letters.

He had read them.

“ ‘You want to be kissed and caressed.’ ” Victoria scooted round, wool-protected knees sliding on

polished wood. She slapped her palms onto the floor to keep from falling; her hair swung on either side of

her head