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

the stronger in Mary Thornton.

“How did you get inside?” she whispered angrily.

“Your husband let me in.” There was no need to lie. “It was easier that way.”

Mary Thornton did not seem surprised at her husband’s betrayal. “What do you want?”

“I want,” Gabriel murmured provocatively, “your blood”—he nicked her slender white throat; liquid

black shadows beaded in the firelight—”but I will settle for information. Who do you pander for, Mary?”

Mary did not move. Her very stillness screamed her guilt.

“If you hurt me, my husband will go to the police.”

“Then I will kill him, too,” Gabriel said playfully. The fear and the anger crowding him grew.

Mary Thornton was alive.

But she shouldn’t be alive.

“I do not pander for anyone,” Mary denied.

Unlike Peter Thornton, she would not beg.

Unlike Victoria Childers, her bravado did not inspire Gabriel’s admiration.

Mary Thornton was a society whore who preyed on the weaknesses of those less fortunate than herself.

She had preyed on Victoria Childers.

“Tell me who wrote the letters, Mary.”

“I don’t know.” Mary Thornton convulsively wriggled to break free of the imprisoning covers; she

couldn’t. “Let me up this instant!”

“I know you’re lying, Mary.” Gabriel’s eyes were cold and deadly; his voice was deceptively seductive.

“Tell me who wrote the letters and I’ll let you up. Was it a lover?”

Mary stilled. “I do not have a lover.”

“My condolences,” Gabriel said sympathetically.

Mary was not fooled either by his seductiveness or his sympathy. “Why are you here?”

“You have been careless, madame. You shouldn’t have hired so many governesses through West

Employment Agency.”

The lingering horror of waking at knifepoint mutated to genuine fear.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mary lied.

Women like Mary Thornton played with death, but there were worse things than death to women like

Mary Thornton.

“Imagine if there were an investigation,” Gabriel said lightly. “So many governesses for so few children.

What would the investigation yield, I wonder? Pandering. Prostitution. Murder .. .”

“We did not murder. . .”

Mary realized her mistake the moment the words were out of her mouth.

Gabriel smiled. There was no pleasure in it.

Had Victoria known how much pleasure he had derived from her unabashed eagerness over the new

clothing?

Had she known that he had ached for her innocence, that she could still be horrified by death?

“Who is we, Mary?” Gabriel asked caressingly. “A lover?”

“We have hurt no one,” Mary Thornton said angrily.

“I’m sure others would feel differently. Take Victoria Childers, for example. She feels that she has been

hurt. . .”

“We did not hurt her,” the woman repeated stubbornly.

But she would have.

“Who do you pander for, Mary?” The man who wrote the letters? The second man? “I think seeing

your name in The Times would hurt you more than if I slit your throat. Shall I go to the papers?”

Mary’s ruination flashed through her eyes.

Society would shun her. Friends would snub her. Banks could foreclose on mortgages. Business

acquaintances could call in IOUs.

“Will your lover help you, Mary?” Gabriel crooned.

In the end her husband would have no choice but to divorce her.

“Will your husband keep you?”

No and no, her eyes said.

She would lose her lover.

She would lose her reputation.

Mary Thornton would lose everything that made life worthwhile to a woman such as her.

“What is worth more, Mary? This”—he rubbed the silk pillow against her cheek—”or your lover?”

He was not surprised at the answer in her eyes.

Gabriel had fucked women like Mary. She was loyal to herself alone.

He had never fucked a woman like Victoria. She had protected a prostitute who would have killed her, a

father who had emotionally abused her, and a brother who had abandoned her.

Defeat danced in Mary Thornton’s eyes like flame skimming over burning coals.

“His name is Mitchell,” she said bitterly. “Mitchell Delaney.”

Gabriel had never heard of the man. But he knew the type.

Some men preyed on fear. Some men preyed on innocence.

Some men hunted to kill. Some men hunted to fuck.

Men like the second man preyed on both fear and innocence; hunted to kill and to fuck. Did Mitchell

Delaney?

A picture of Victoria Childers flashed through his mind’s eye.

She was alone. She was afraid.

Victoria was not an idle woman. She would seek distraction.

Mary Thornton’s expensive perfume engulfed him.

Gabriel suddenly knew where Victoria would seek distraction. And he knew that she would find it.

She would find the transparent mirrors.

Sex. Murder.

Act two was about to be played out.

Fear accelerated Gabriel’s heartbeat. It was not fear that hardened his body.

He stared down at Mary Thornton and the steel that caressed her throat.

She saw the rage. She saw the desire.

Her eyes widened until they were twin pools of white terror.

Victoria stared at the ceiling. Crimson blood superimposed the white enamel paint.

She closed her eyelids.

Crimson blood stained the darkness behind her lids. It was punctuated with dialogue.

You won’ t see the man who has a gun trained on you ... Perhaps you’ll see a flash of light when

he releases the trigger, perhaps not. One thing is for certain— you won’t hear the gunshot: you’ll be

dead.

Victoria’s eyelids flew open.

She did not want to die.

The scent of Gabriel engulfed her. It came from his sheets, his robe.

I will not be a victim.

You already are.

An image of the silk napkin slashed with bold black ink flashed before her eyes.

. . . I bring you a woman.

A leading actress for a man who avoided men, women, love, pleasure.

I learned to read English. Someday I hope to be equally proficient in French.