Robin Schone (23 page)

it could just as easily have been Mademoiselle Childers’s head if we had not protected her.”

Gaston came just as Evan left with the first load of boxes.

“What is wrong, monsieur?” he asked, puzzled. “Did not mademoiselle care for the clothes?”

Gabriel held out the glove box.

Gaston’s olive-brown face turned gray.

“When did the clothes arrive, Gaston?” Gabriel asked calmly.

“They arrived just before you did, monsieur.”

“Who delivered them?”

“
Je ne sais pas.
A man. Just”—horror momentarily creased his face—”the boxes were from Madame

René. I did not know, monsieur.”

Gabriel believed him.

He could warn Gaston to check any more boxes that were delivered to the house. There was no need

to.

The second man would not repeat a trick.

He wanted to tell Gaston what to look out for in the future. But Gabriel did not know what the second

man would do next.

He did not know who he would kill next: a man or a woman.

A friend or a foe.

“Give this to Evan,” Gabriel said instead. “And have Julien guard the door in Evan’s place.”

“Très bein,
monsieur.” Gaston turned around.

“And Gaston.”

Gaston paused.

Gabriel glanced at the pale blue silk spread lying across the carpet where it had slid off of Victoria’s

body.

“Take the silk bedcover with you.”

Gabriel silently padded across his office, his bedroom, halted in front of the massive armoire. Opening the

door, he rifled through coats, trousers .. . He grabbed a royal blue silk robe. It clung to his fingers like a

woman’s hair.

Victoria sat on the cold tile in front of the toilet, spine erect, face drained of color. Her hair fell over her

right shoulder.

She had dark brunette hair that shimmered with red and copper highlights.

Beautiful hair.

“Her name was Dolly,” Victoria said dully.

Gabriel’s hand fisted the silk robe.

There was nothing he could do to comfort her. But he wanted to.

The anger inside him kicked up another notch.

The second man had planned everything. And there was nothing he could do to halt the game.

But he wanted to.

“Three months ago a man tried to rape me,” Victoria continued in the same shock-dulled voice. “It was

raining. Dolly helped me. Everyone else just walked by, umbrellas lowered so they wouldn’t see what was

happening.”

Gabriel tensed; a pulse suddenly pounded inside his left temple.

He knew who had accosted Victoria—he knew everything about him save his name and the extent he

would go to fulfill a dead man’s will.

“What did the man look like?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

Victoria was not deceived. Realization flowed across her drawn features.

“The man you are looking for,” she visibly swallowed, “he paid Dolly to save me that night.”

And then he had killed Dolly. Just as he would kill Victoria.

She read the truth in Gabriel’s eyes.

“I found the first letter underneath my door the next morning,” Victoria said convulsively.

Gabriel waited for her to piece together the puzzle.

Comprehension sparked inside her shock-dulled eyes; the spark left, leaving behind the comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” she said with the calm that only comes after witnessing violent death. There was no hunger

inside her eyes, no desire for an angel’s touch. “He grabbed me from behind. I never saw his face. But it

doesn’t matter, does it? He will kill me. That is why he gave Dolly the tablets for me to use, is it not? He

will kill anyone who comes into contact with him. Won’t he?”

Gabriel wouldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“You talked to Mr. Thornton today.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel’s muscles coiled tighter, knowing the course of her thoughts, knowing there was only one

conclusion she could draw.

“Mr. Thornton was alive.”

Victoria voiced Gabriel’s fears.

“But if he or his wife were associated with this man you are seeking, they would be dead, wouldn’t

they?”

But if they weren’t associated with the second man, then Victoria was being pursued by two men, her

eyes said.

The second man wanted to kill her. What did the other man want?

“Fear,” Victoria whispered.

Gabriel strained to hear her, to comfort her. “What?”

“You said he sent me to you because of my eyes.”

Hungry eyes.

Sharp pain twisted inside Gabriel’s gut. “Yes.”

“No.” Victoria stared down into the porcelain bowl; Gabriel stared down at her bowed head. “He didn’t

choose me because of my eyes.”

Gabriel fought to distance himself.

You don’t k now me,
Victoria had accused him.

But he did know her. He knew her, and he wanted her.

“Then why do you think he chose you?” Gabriel asked, voice strained.

Victoria raised her head and met his gaze. “He chose me because I was afraid. And because you were

afraid.”

They were still afraid.

Awareness glimmered underneath the fear and the shock inside Victoria’s eyes. “You said fear is a

powerful aphrodisiac.”

The wire inside Gabriel coiled tighter.

Sex. Murder.

Fear
was
an aphrodisiac. Through sex, men and women had the power to create new life. A final

victory over death.

“I’m cold,” Victoria said suddenly.

Her breasts quivered.

She was trembling.

Thornton had trembled in his fear; Gabriel had felt only contempt. Victoria trembled in her fear; Gabriel

wanted to weep for the pain he had brought her.

He did not weep.

Angels didn’t cry.

Her bottom lip quavered. “I don’t think I will ever be warm again.”

Gabriel had the power to warm her.

Knees trembling, he entered the bathroom.

Copper gleamed; the mirror sparkled.

The walls closed around him.

Victoria stared up at him. Not expecting warmth. Comfort.

Gabriel stepped behind her, unable to look into her eyes.

Victoria didn’t blame him for the whore he had been. The danger he had placed her in. The carnal

comfort he didn’t give her.

Gabriel wished that she did blame him.

He hunkered down, knees spread wide on either side of her back; her hair glistened like a dark waterfall.

Slowly, carefully, he draped the silk robe over her shoulders. Feeling her warmth and fragility; inhaling her

femininity and her vulnerability.

Almost touching, not quite daring.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he murmured.

They both knew he lied.

Gabriel couldn’t stop the second man. All he could do was try to find the second man before he found a

way to get Victoria.

Yellow fog embraced London like the arms of a possessive lover. A hansom cab cautiously

maneuvered through the coal smoke-induced haze that was the price of human life.

They would be dead, wouldn’t they?
the horse’s hooves clacked.
They would be dead, wouldn‘t

they?

And they would be dead,
if
they were associated with the second man.

But the Thorntons weren’t dead.

And Gabriel didn’t know why.

Dull light shone through the sulfur-laden night like warning beacons.

Gabriel had not needed Victoria to describe the interior layout of the Thornton house; Peter Thornton had

done so in great detail. What Gabriel had needed to know was if he could trust Victoria.

She could be trusted, unlike Gabriel.

He leaned against the metal park gate, watching the town house windows that were brighter than the

fog. And thought of Victoria.

She had lived with the Thorntons as 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?”