A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (23 page)

Thinking about what activities Michael and Madame might have been involved in before their arrival, Gabby refused to sit on the settee.

“Darling, would you be willing to serve the ladies champagne?” Madame asked Michael.

Gwyneth’s eyebrows shot up with the endearment.

“Of course, Madame.” Michael walked to a table, near the costume closet. He avoided eye contact with anyone.

Seated on the chair next to the settee, Gabby noticed the open music score for the Bach cantata on a side table. “May I look at your music?”

“Of course, mademoiselle. You must play this cantata for me. You have promised me. I have a feeling your interpretation will inspire me.”

“When are you going to perform this wonderful piece?” Gabby asked.

“I’m preparing it…I’m not supposed to speak of it yet. But I’ve been asked to sing for His Royal Highness. He has requested this specific sacred cantata.”

Amelia, unseen by Madame, whipped around and raised her eyebrows in question at Gwyneth and Gabby.

Gabby sat staring at the sheet. More handwritten notes, in the same scrawl as in Madame’s townhouse, were made throughout the music. The scrawl suggested changes altering the timing of the trumpet, which musically made absolutely no sense.

“Your notes suggest rather radical changes to the music,” Gabby commented.

“Those are my husband’s notes. He still likes to feel he is part of my music.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He resents my brother Jacques’s involvement.”

Michael walked toward Gabby. “May I see the music? I’m familiar with Bach’s compositions.”

“You’re interested in sacred cantatas, Lord Kendal? With your reputation, I was led to believe your interests lay elsewhere,” Madame flirted.

“Madame, please, there are ladies present.” Michael voice sounded strained.

Madame gave her husky laugh. “And I’m not?”

Seeing the singer’s eyes darken and her lips part, Gabby looked back at the music, unable to watch the obvious dalliance between the singer and Michael. Gabby felt unsophisticated and naive by the way Madame Abney licked her lips and gazed at Michael as if she could devour him.

Gwyneth interrupted. “You mentioned that your brother is a very skilled musician.”

“Yes, Jacques is gifted and Francois is jealous of my brother’s talent. My husband trained, but was never accomplished.”

Michael leaned over Gabby. He smelled of the out-of-doors, fresh and clean, and of Michael. His hands wrapped around her fingers and lingered briefly before he took the music.

She glanced up and was captured in the longing and tenderness in his expressive eyes. This was the man she had fallen in love with, the open, caring man. But she didn’t recognize or understand the posturing rake who dallied with experienced women.

She lowered her eyes, afraid to betray her insecure and hurt feelings. She wasn’t sophisticated enough to play these flirty games.

But why was he playing this part with Madame when he had sworn he was innocent of any wrongdoing? Did he also think Madame was a threat? He had promised Gabby that the situation wasn’t as it appeared.

Madame rolled her head back and forth to loosen her neck, allowing her dressing gown to fall further down her shoulder. “How did we get on such a dreary conversation? Let’s talk about new romance. I want Jacques to meet Mademoiselle Gabrielle.” Madame turned her head and gestured with her hands. “Ooh, la la! What great music you’ll make together.”

Bete said in a quiet voice, “Please, Madame, you must not move.”

Madame looked at Gabby in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve arranged for us to have a late supper with my brother. He wanted to meet you before the performance, but he must warm up. I told him it must be fate that brought you two together.”

Michael’s face contorted by how tightly he clenched his jaw. Gabby had never seen such an aggrieved look on his face. “I’m sure Lord Ashworth plans for the ladies to return home after the opera.”

Gwyneth tittered. “No, Ash is out at one of his clubs for dinner and then I believe he plans to go gambling. Miss Amelia, Mademoiselle Gabby, and I are unencumbered tonight. And I do believe mademoiselle was looking forward to sharing her experiences with the gentlemen about her beloved mentor.”

Michael now gave Gwyneth the same black look, his eyes narrowed while his fingers drummed at his side.

“What a disappointment, Madame.” He turned and looked at Madame in the mirror. He spoke in a silky smooth voice Gabby had never before heard. “I thought you and I were having dinner together.”

Madame Abney’s hands fluttered to her chest. Her voice became deep and sultry and made promises that Gabby didn’t want to imagine. “After,
ma
chère
…after we all dine together.”

Gwyneth shot Michael a look that could cause unsuspecting people to wilt and then used her haughty, cold voice. “We wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans with Lord Kendal, Madame.”

“No, Lord Kendal will indulge me, won’t you,
ma chère
? Can you blame me for wanting to matchmaker for my brother? Have you seen a lovelier French creature, and also a gifted musician who also studied with Monsieur la Toure? It is fate.”

Michael shifted his weight back forth while he pulled on his cravat. “As you wish, Madame. We will all dine together.”

“Now, I must warm up. Bete will escort all of you to the wings.”

Gabby and Gwyneth stood. “Thank you, Madame. We are looking forward to watching your performance.”

Gwyneth walked to the closet. “Come along, Amelia. We must leave Madame to prepare.”

Amelia stopped in front of Madame. “Seeing your costumes tonight has already made the evening extraordinary. I will look forward to your performance.”

Gwyneth and Amelia followed Bete out the door.

Michael took hold of Gabby’s elbow and held tightly. “Allow me to escort you, mademoiselle.”

He walked slowly, allowing Gwyneth and Amelia to move out of earshot.

He whispered. “Are you insane? Do you know what you’ve stumbled into?”

Gabby took umbrage at his angry condescending tone. “Why do you have to treat me as if I’m an infant?”

She tried to free her arm, but his grip was tight. “I’ve never thought of you as an infant. Not since I discovered you weren’t a boy in those breeches.” His voice sounded different as if he were strangling.

“I can’t be this near to you without…” His breathing accelerated, his words rushed. “My God, what am I doing?” His thumb rubbed along the sensitive skin above her glove. “Gabby, you and the ladies need to leave. It’s not safe.”

A shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine with his warning.

Bete waited in the middle of the stage, preventing any further discussion.

Amelia gasped at the first backdrop painted with the Greek Parthenon, and Greek columns. “They are wonderful. I feel as if I’m walking in ancient Athens.”

Gwyneth groaned. “I feel another toga obsession blossoming.”

Amelia took Gwyneth’s arm. “You told me my togas were inspired. And Bete, is it permissible to examine the back drop more closely?” Amelia was already dragging Gwyneth toward the painted scenery.

“Of course, my ladies.”

Gabby didn’t follow the ladies, but remained close to Michael for a reason she didn’t want to examine.

Bete spoke in a serious manner, aware of the honor to be presenting to the fine lady and gentleman. “The opera has artists who paint the backcloths and flats. The men change the scenery by a system of ropes and pulleys.” Bete pointed to two workmen who stood ten feet above them on elaborate wood scaffolding.

“It is best if you stand close to the curtain, away from where the men are working during the performance or…”

Bete stopped midsentence when she noticed Crawford standing near the heavy forest-green velvet curtain. The man sauntered toward Bete.

“Excuse me for a moment, my lady and my lord.” Bete curtsied.

A violent tremor went through Gabby when one of the stagehands, in cap pulled down over his eyes, stopped working to watch her.

She stood still, like a deer trapped in the hunter’s stare.

She heard a voice shout and then a whirl of motion. It all unfolded slowly. Michael jumping toward her. The rush of cold air before Michael threw her to the ground. Shouts and screams bombarding her while she flew through the air. An explosion of stars and bright lights burst in front of her eyes when she hit the hard floor. And then nothing.

Chapter Twenty-eight

It was pure instinct.

One minute Michael was admiring the realistic painted scenery, the next he sensed imminent danger.

He had time for only one reaction.

He had looked up at the moment before the workmen released the heavy metal pulley aimed to swing down and fall dead center where Gabby stood.

Michael leapt through the air, unaware of the shouts and screams, tackling Gabby to move her out of the path of destruction.

He shoved her hard. Not judging his strength and speed, fear fueling his momentum, he pushed her right off her feet.

Shocked, she teetered back and forth, unable to regain her balance.

He reached for her, but was unable to grab her before she slammed onto the floor, hitting her head against a wooden prop box.

With the loud crash of the pulley splintering the wood floor inches away from them, Michael threw himself on top of Gabby to protect her.

His hands shook and his heart leapt, trying to escape his chest.

Gabby lay still beneath him.

He levered himself on his arms to look at her. “Gabby?” Icy fear consumed him. She was unresponsive. Her face and lips without color. “Gabby, darling, wake up.”

The saucy feathers she wore in her hair were smashed and lying on the ground next to her. He gingerly lifted her head and felt the cold stickiness of her blood.

Gabby’s blood. Gross and ugly terror coiled around his heart. He refused to think about the possibilities. She needed a doctor. He jumped to his feet to shout for help. Amelia was kneeling down beside Gabby. Seeing the blood on his hand, Amelia had taken out her handkerchief and carefully lifted Gabby’s head, putting pressure on the wound.

Amelia spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. “She’s going to be fine.”

“There is so much blood.”

“Head wounds always bleed profusely.”

Michael finally became aware of the chaos around them. The workman had swung by a rope to drop to the ground. He now sprinted across the stage and jumped into the empty auditorium.

Ashworth and Chalmers and Fenton raced across the stage after him. Why were Chalmers and Fenton helping Ashworth? Was no one in London truly who they were supposed to be?

Ashworth shouted to someone in the wings. “Cut him off at the front door.”

Michael bent down and lifted Gabby into his arms. “We need to get her away from here.” She was a wee little thing, weighing practically nothing. Although he was careful, she moaned with the sudden movement. Grateful to hear a sound from her, Michael spoke soothingly. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“The man…” she sucked in a painful breath. “A ghost.”

“Hush, darling. He’ll never hurt you again. Ashworth will get him.” And Michael didn’t add that if Ashworth didn’t get the bastard, he would kill him with his own bare hands. Michael loosened his tight protective hold on her slight body when she whimpered.

Amelia handed him the handkerchief. “Keep the pressure on the wound. I’ll summon a carriage and send a messenger for the doctor.”

“Thank you.” His voice was rusty and rough with emotion.

Michael walked slowly and carefully around the stage to the backstage exit. He gazed down at Gabby’s fluttering flaxen eyelashes, the only color on her pale face. He shifted her in his arms to descend the steps down from the stage. She moaned in French and then opened her unfocused eyes, a fathomless pool of blue. “My head aches.”

“I’m sure it does, darling. I knocked you into a prop box.”

She winced in pain. “Not your fault.”

It
was
his fault. All of the bloody mess. He had failed to protect her when she was standing right next to him. Despite being well-guarded, the bastard had gotten to her. How could he protect her when he didn’t know why the French would want to harm her? Had Napoleon decided he didn’t need her alive to get her fortune?

He spoke quietly. “Don’t talk. Rest. We’ll get you in bed soon.”

“Don’t want to rest. Want to hear the opera.”

Michael squeezed her gently. “I’m not sure with your headache you want to listen to a lot of caterwauling.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile before he lifted her into the waiting carriage.

Chapter Twenty-nine

“Lose them.” Anatole jumped into the carriage, which had been waiting around the corner from the opera house. Tearing off his workman’s disguise as they bounced along Floral Street, he donned the waistcoat and top hat of an English fop. He’d disappear into the bowels of London’s East Side, among the gambling and prostitution holes, looking like any other indolent gentleman, seeking the next thrill.