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

know that.”

Then why did he keep questioning her?

“I don’t know who wrote the letters.”

Cinnamon burst over her cheek and her lips. “Then tell me something that you do know, mademoiselle.”

Victoria did not know how to love a man. She did not know how to seduce a man.

“I cannot imagine knowing anything that would be of interest to you, sir,” she said. “I am a governess,

not a—a—”

Victoria floundered.

“Whore?” Gabriel supplied cynically.

“I did not say that,” she retorted.

“You defended me to Madame René,” he said unexpectedly. Wariness tinged his voice, shadowed his

eyes. “Why?”

Why had Victoria defended a man who had by turns seduced her and threatened her?

“Because you want,” Victoria said.

Despite his past. Or because of it.

Gabriel did not deny his wants.

Regret glimmered inside his eyes. “If you could, mademoiselle, would you help me?”

Help an untouchable angel...

“Yes.”

Victoria would help him.

“You have information that I need.”

There he went again—

Victoria opened her mouth.

“I want to know the interior layout of the Thornton house,” Gabriel said.

Her mouth snapped shut. “What?”

“I want to know what room Mrs. Peter Thornton sleeps in,” he said, as if it were the most common thing

in the world for a man to ask a woman whom he had praised for courage and loyalty to give him

information about another woman’s sleeping quarters. “Regardless of whether you give me that information

or not, I will seek her out. With that information, however, I will be less likely to accidentally surprise

someone.”

And k ill them.

“Did you ... injure Mr. Thornton?” Victoria asked compulsively.

“He is alive, mademoiselle.”

For now.

Seduction.

The illusion of trust.

Victoria’s mouth tightened. “You are seducing me into providing you private information.”

“No, mademoiselle, I am asking you to trust me. As I trust you.”

Every breath Victoria drew was warmed by Gabriel’s breath.

“Why do you wish to visit Mrs. Thornton in her bedchamber? Why not take tea with her?” Victoria

reasoned. “I’m certain she would find you quite charming.”

Victoria was horrified to hear the jealousy in her voice.

Mrs. Thornton was a beautiful woman. Her pale blond hair was glossy with health, her lips and her

hands were not chapped from cold or exposure.

“She employed you,” Gabriel said enigmatically.

“Yes,” Victoria said curtly. “It is not unusual for the woman of the house to oversee the employment of

”—Victoria had long ago become used to referring to herself as a servant, so why did she balk now?—“

servants.”

“What is the average stay for a governess?”

Victoria frowned. “That depends upon the needs of a household and the competence of a governess.”

“Mrs. Thornton employs—and discharges—two and three governesses a year.” Gabriel paused,

monitoring her reaction. “Every year.”

Two and three governesses ... Every year.

Gabriel could not be suggesting what Victoria thought he was.

“That’s ... Her children are spoiled.” Penelope, the eldest, loved to tattle; no doubt it had cost many

servants their position. “Governesses often seek other employment.”

Gabriel’s gaze was relentless; his breath was warmly enticing. “You did not seek other employment,

mademoiselle.”

And how did he know that?

“I was making inquiries.”

The truth.

“Did Mrs. Thornton know that you were making inquiries?”

“I...” Victoria remembered Mrs. Thornton barging into her bedroom unannounced one evening shortly

before dismissing her. Victoria had been poring over a newspaper. “Perhaps.”

“Many governesses do not have homes or family.”

There could be no mistaking Gabriel’s implications.

“And because many of us are homeless, you think that Mrs. Thornton is employing—and discharging—

governesses for some nefarious purpose?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, watching her ...

“You think that those other governesses were subjected to the same treatment that I received?”

“It is possible,” Gabriel said.

But if that was the case .. .

“You think that the man who wrote the letters to me also wrote letters to the other governesses.”

Gabriel did not respond.

He did not have to respond. The answer was in his silver eyes.

Victoria’s skin felt like it was trying to independently crawl away.

“You think those other governesses are dead,” she said in dawning horror.

While Victoria was still alive. Saved by stubborn independence.

He unwaveringly gauged her reactions; his body heat did not warm her.

“Surely Mr. Thornton would know if his wife were an accessory to”—Victoria fought down her panic

—“to murder.”

“It pleases him to believe his wife is a jealous woman.”

Victoria had never seen Mrs. Thornton display any signs of jealousy.

“Why would she . . . What pleasure would a woman gain in—I have seen Mrs. Thornton’s handwriting.

” Victoria’s floundering voice found reason. “It was not she who wrote those notes.”

Warm cinnamon breath licked her face. “Then we must discover who did write them.”

Victoria could trust Gabriel. Or she could distrust him.

Her choice . . .

“How do I know the writing on the cuff isn’t your handwriting?”

“That is easily proven.”

As was Mrs. Thornton’s involvement with the man who waited for Victoria to come to him for food.

Shelter. Pleasure.

“You will not hurt Mrs. Thornton,” Victoria said. But to convince whom?

“I will not kill her,” Gabriel agreed.

“How did you ... persuade Mr. Thornton to meet with you?”

“I met him in the park outside his home.”

Yes, the park shrouded in fog would be private.

“Mrs. Thornton shops in the mornings,” Victoria hurriedly suggested. “Perhaps you could catch her then

...”

“I saw the governess they replaced you with, mademoiselle,” Gabriel said