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

Wealth simply cannot compare. I derived tremendous

satisfaction from you, Gabriel, far more than I did from the money my father paid me. I knew that the

desire I made you feel would eat at you, you who had never really felt desire. You have always been so

untouchable, mon ange, yet I touched you. And now this woman has touched you.

“What would it be like, I wonder, if Michael touched you? Would you grow hard, like you grew hard with

me? Would you cry out, like you cried out with me?

“You want to know why I’m giving you a choice, Gabriel? I’ll tell you why. There is a core inside you

that has never been touched, not by me, not by Michael, not by Mademoiselle Childers. I want to see what

it will take to break into that core. I want to see it now.

“The choice is yours, Gabriel. If you do not make a decision by the time I count to three, I will decide for

you. One ...”

Gabriel could sense movement; he couldn’t take his gaze off of Victoria and the end he had brought her

to.

“Two...”

She didn’t deserve to die for touching an angel.

He hadn’t deserved being raped because of his love for a violet-eyed boy.

Michael hadn’t deserved the uncle who had killed everyone he had ever loved.

“Three...”

Gabriel felt rather than saw Michael step toward him.

He stood beside Gabriel, as he had always stood beside him.

A half-starved thirteen-year-old boy who had shared his loaf of bread.

A twenty-six-year-old man who had refused to let him die.

A forty-year-old man who did not judge him, knowing what he was.

Violet eyes replaced blue eyes clouded with the knowledge of death.

Michael stood in front of him. He had made the decision that Gabriel could not.

“Gabriel, mon ami’’ Michael said gently, brandy-scented breath a warm caress.

Scarred fingers cupped Gabriel’s cheeks; burned thumbs smeared scalding liquid from underneath

Gabriel’s eyes.

A dead man’s eyes.

But dead men didn’t cry.

“Il est bien, Gabriel,” Michael whispered, brandy-scented breath stoppering his lungs. “It’s all right, my

friend.”

Emotion nickered in Michael’s violet eyes: regret for the woman he would marry in two days’ time;

compassion for Gabriel and the choice he could not make: the love of a friend or the love of a woman.

A miniature face obliterated the regret, the compassion, the love.

Gabriel’s face. Michael’s eyes.

Petal-soft lips touched petal-soft lips.

The kiss of an angel.

Chapter

25

Pain. Fear. Anger.

Sorrow.

The conflicting emotions welled up inside Victoria until there was no room for anything but rage.

She would not let that monster destroy Gabriel.

She would not let Gabriel die.

And he would die.

If Michael did to him what the second man—Yves—had done to him, he would die.

And there would be no way of ever again reaching the boy who had wanted to be an angel.

“No!” The scarf ate her protest.

Victoria threw her head back and slammed into the face of the man who held her. Bone impacting bone

cracked the air. At the same time Gabriel catapulted across the study and crashed into a pale blue

enameled wall.

Sharp pain sliced across Victoria’s cheek and exploded inside her head; “Michael!” filled her ears,

Gabriel’s cry.

It was filled with pain. Fear. Rage.

Desperation.

Michael turned, right hand raised; a revolver protruded from the fingers that were covered in angry red

welts.

The second man was not prepared for Michael. He reflexively raised his own revolver.

Victoria staggered, crashed forward in a puddle of silk, scarf-bound hands automatically reaching out to

catch herself.

Like dominoes the second man tumbled backward over the desk, black coattails flying; his fall was

punctuated by the sharp report of Michael’s pistol.

Michael lurched, as if he had been kicked in the chest. A second shot exploded Gabriel’s world.

Victoria saw the crimson rose blossom on the white waistcoat of the man who was known as Michel des

Anges.

Michael, the dark-haired angel, had taken a bullet for Gabriel, the fair-haired angel.

Victoria, as if caught inside a magic lantern that moved one frame at a time, lifted herself up off the

maroon carpet.

Gabriel, too, was caught inside the magic lantern. He ran, one foot at a time, feet dragging through the

plush wool bog that sucked at Victoria’s body. And then he was catching Michael. Holding Michael. Falling

beneath the weight of Michael’s body. Calling out Michael’s name while bright crimson red blood dyed

Michael’s white silk waistcoat and shirt.

Michael did not respond.

Rage overwhelmed Victoria.

It could not end this way. She would not let it end this way.

Victoria fought silk and more silk to stand up. Her bound hands would not turn. Using the thumb and

forefinger of her right hand, chin stabbing her left wrist, she dug the silk scarf out of her mouth.

There was no time to savor the flow of saliva that soothed her parched mouth. The blood that dribbled

down her cheek was a vivid reminder of what could still happen if the man—Yves—lived.

Victoria darted around the desk. The drawer that he had earlier forced open yielded Gabriel’s derringer.

She would kill him. If he was not dead she would kill him.

She would kill him for the love Michael had borne a silver-haired angel.

She would kill him for the grief that had felled Gabriel