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

stockings, the dimity bustle .. . The garter clasps

snapped over the top of the stockings.

The kid slippers, dyed to match the wine-colored garniture on her gown, fit her feet like a glove. Forcibly

she thrust aside the cost of such luxury.

Globular stains darkened the edge of the sheet where Gabriel had ejaculated.

She lightly touched the largest stain. It was still damp.

The taste of Gabriel lingered underneath the bite of tooth powder.

Victoria swung open the bedchamber door, silk rustling, air swooshing.

The study was empty.

Like Victoria’s body.

The overhead chandelier battled the coming sunset.

Or perhaps the sun had already set. In the winter months it was difficult to tell when foggy day became

foggy night.

Gabriel had promised he would die in order to save her life. But Victoria didn’t want him to die.

She didn’t want fear to diminish the pleasure that still pulsated throughout her entire body.

A silver tray sat on the black-marble-topped desk. Victoria smelled—she picked up the lid—sausage and

egg omelet. She did not recognize the thick, meaty slices of fruit in the small, translucent china bowl. She

did not need to.

Tears clogged her nose.

Victoria had said she had not tasted pineapple. Gabriel now provided her with the opportunity.

She picked up a yellow slice of the exotic fruit between her thumb and forefinger, juice dripping.

It was tart yet sweet. Exactly as Gabriel had described pineapple.

She licked her fingers.

Drowning in silk and satin—how quickly she had become accustomed to nakedness—she sat down in

Gabriel’s chair.

Victoria remembered the taste of his kiss; she licked a drop of pineapple juice off her lips, and tasted

Gabriel. She held up the sausage—it was far smaller than Gabriel—and bit off the end.

Abruptly her appetite perished.

Victoria could die; Gabriel could die.

She pushed away from the desk—she had to grab the edge of the marble top to keep from catapulting

into the wall. Gabriel’s chair had wheels. Shakily she stood up.

Was Gabriel inside his house, attending business?

A different man guarded the door. He had thick auburn hair that flowed down his back.

Victoria was momentarily taken aback at his exotic beauty.

Was he a prostitute?

Stoically he returned her stare. “May I be of help, ma’am?”

There was no question of his origin: he was English through and through.

Victoria had never before seen anyone like him in England.

She wondered if Mr.— Monsieur Gaston had apprised him of the jar of cream she had requested.

Victoria did not doubt for one second that the emerald-eyed man before her was aware of the many

purposes for which it could be used.

She squared her shoulders. “I would like to see Mr.”—she would not be a hypocrite, no doubt every

person inside the House of Gabriel knew of her relationship with its proprietor—”I would like to see

Gabriel, please.”

There was neither approval nor condemnation inside his green eyes. “Mr. Gabriel is not here.”

Victoria’s stomach clenched.

He would come back.

The house was Gabriel’s home, whether he wanted to accept it or not. And the man before her was a

part of Gabriel’s family.

Victoria suddenly wanted to see Gabriel’s home and visit his family. “The House of Gabriel is very

beautiful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I would enjoy seeing more of it.”

The guard’s expression did not alter. “That isn’t possible, ma’am.”

Victoria refused to be intimidated. “Why not?”

Men and women of wealth visited it every night.

“My instructions are to guard this door.”

“Your instructions are to protect me,” Victoria said firmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The knowledge of what had happened to one unprotected woman was foremost in both of their thoughts.

Victoria forcefully pushed aside the picture of crimson-stained gloves.

She tilted her chin in challenge. “Which are you instructed to do, sir, to guard this door or to guard me?”

“Both,” the auburn-haired guard said flatly.

The streets lurked inside his emerald-green eyes.

Family, Gaston had said.

Whores. Thieves. Cutthroats.

While she had not engaged in the two latter activities, Victoria had certainly embarked on the first

profession.

“What is your name?” she asked politely.

The guard did not so much as blink at Victoria’s question. “Julien, ma’am.”

“Are there guests downstairs?”

“No, ma’am. The House of Gabriel doesn’t open its doors until nine o’clock.”

Victoria tucked away the knowledge that Gabriel’s house had been open only three hours when he had

purchased her virginity.

“Monsieur Gaston said you are family,” Victoria said impulsively.

The guard blinked. She had surprised him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a voice that said nothing at all.

“My family and I are . . . estranged.” Victoria fleetingly thought of her father and her mother, both

members of the untitled aristocracy. Your mother left your father, just as you did, Gabriel had told her.

Just as he forced your brother to leave. “You are very fortunate to be surrounded by people who care

about you.”

The emerald-green eyes remained distant. “I cannot let you leave this room, ma’am.”

“Do you not trust your family, sir?”

Victoria had trusted her family—once.

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard said reluctantly, “I trust them.”

Victoria pounced on Julien’s admission. “Then there is no danger if I leave this suite, is there?”

“That isn’t for me to determine, ma’am.”

Victoria glanced at his shoulder. He did not openly carry a pistol; he must wear it in a shoulder holster

underneath his coat, as did Gabriel.

He would not shoot her; but she was certain that he could stop her.

She remembered the strength of the man who had grabbed her on the street.

The man who would kill her.

“I am aware that I am in danger, sir.”

The guard’s expression remained impassive. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I do not wish to put