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

their servant. She had tended their children as their governess.

A downstairs window dimmed, was swallowed by the yellow mist. Another missing piece.

Fear.

He didn’t choose me because of my eyes . . . He chose me because I was afraid. And because you

were afraid. Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac.

An upstairs window suddenly lit up the fog, a revelation.

Victoria did not want to desire a man’s touch. Yet she did.

Gabriel did not want to desire a woman’s touch. Yet he did.

It was his desire that warranted Victoria’s death, not hers.

The golden eye that was the porch light dimmed, died.

Gabriel motionlessly watched the upstairs window. Time crawled on its belly.

Was Victoria asleep? Gabriel wondered. Was she warm?

Did she still desire to be touched by an angel?

Why were the Thorntons still alive?

The upstairs window dimmed, disappeared into the fog and the night. The last member of the Thornton

household had retired.

Gabriel waited until Big Ben pealed twelve times. Silently he crossed the street to the Thornton town

house.

The front door opened soundlessly.

Thornton had upheld his part of the bargain.

In the end it had not been violence that had persuaded Peter Thornton to assist Gabriel; it had been the

fear of scandal. He had threatened to send the information about the governesses to The London Times.

Gabriel allowed his eyes time to adjust to the darkness inside the town house. Furniture loomed like silent

sentries: a table, a chair... There was a doorway on the right; on the left... there were the stairs . . .

A step sharply creaked.

Yellow-tinged darkness yawned before him.

Gabriel froze, breath arrested, left hand gripping the knob of his cane.

He did not want to kill, but he would.

He did not want to take Victoria, and he knew he would do that, too.

No one stirred.

More carefully, Gabriel stole up the remaining steps. He turned left into more darkness.

A wool runner muffled his footsteps.

He could feel Thornton in his bedchamber at the end of the hallway; the man tensely wondered when

Gabriel would enter. He did not realize that Gabriel was only thirty feet away.

Gabriel could feel nothing from Mary Thornton—no fear, no challenge.

No awareness.

Silently he opened a wooden door blackened by night.

The room smelled of coal smoke and a woman’s expensive perfume. Red embers glowed inside a white

marble fireplace; white and blue flames danced over ash-whitened coals.

Thornton’s wife slept undisturbed inside a canopied bed.

A brass lamp gleamed on the nightstand; beside it, liquid sparkled inside a crystal carafe. A small bottle,

more shadow than substance, sat beside an empty water glass.

Gabriel silently cursed.

The woman’s sleep was laudanum-induced. Had Thornton warned her?...

Gabriel remembered the man’s eager betrayal and the ammonia smell of urine.

Peter Thornton cared more for his reputation than his family. He would not have warned his wife.

He gently closed the door behind him; a soft click sounded over the hungry snap of burning coals.

Mary Thornton slept in a silk and lace negligee. Shadow-darkened blond hair trailed across a stark white

pillowcase.

The darkness did not hide the fact that Mary Thornton was an attractive woman. Gabriel was not

attracted to her.

Slowly he pulled the bedcovers up to her shoulders and stealthily tucked the sides underneath the

mattress. He followed the bed rail along the side, the foot. Soundlessly padding around the bed, he pulled

the covers up to the height of the pillow and tucked them tightly underneath the mattress from head to foot.

Pulling off his wool knitted cap, he stuffed it into his coat pocket. Twisting the silver knob on his cane, he

pulled out the short sword.

Razor sharp steel glinted in the firelight.

Kneeling by the bed beside the head of Thornton’s wife, Gabriel gently laid the scabbard on the floor to

free his right hand.

“Mary,” he whispered seductively. “Mary, wake up.”

Strawberry red highlights glinted off her blond hair. She did not respond.

It would take more than whispers to wake her.

Gabriel raised his right hand to his mouth; teeth sinking into his leather glove, he slid his hand free and

pocketed the glove. Standing, he picked up the crystal carafe off the nightstand and poured water into the

empty glass. Sitting down on the bed, thigh securing the covers holding down her shoulders, he dipped his

fingers into the glass. Slowly he dribbled water onto her face.

“Mary,” he crooned. “Wake up, Mary.”

She turned her face away from him to escape the dripping water. “Hmm ...”

Gabriel once again dipped his fingers into the glass.

“Mary, wake up.” A silver drop of water splattered her cheek; she instinctively turned back toward him.

Gently he positioned the edge of the blade against her throat while he continued to dribble water onto her

face. “Wake up, Mary ...”

Delicate eyelids fluttered open.

Mary stared blankly up at him.

Gabriel knew what she saw: she saw an angel with a halo of silver hair.

She saw an assassin.

He pressed the sword edge so that she could feel the prick of cold steel.

Her eyes widened. Realization glittered inside them.

Her body was trapped beneath the covers; she could not move. She opened her mouth to scream.

Gabriel grabbed the pillow beside her.

He could stifle her screams. Or he could suffocate her.

And there was nothing she could do.

Mary knew it. Gabriel knew it.

“I know what you’ve done, Mary,” he murmured softly. “Do you think it’s wise to scream?”

For long seconds she stared up at him, mouth open. Her jaw audibly clamped shut.

“Who are you?” she snapped.

There was no recognition in her eyes. No knowledge of the untouchable angel.

“I am a man who can slit your throat and leave you to die.” He allowed the truth of his words to sink

into her consciousness. “Or I can let you live.”

Anger. Fear.

Gabriel waited to see which emotion was