Finding Gabriel (24 page)

Gabriel stood before the hearth as he absorbed its heat. The satchel hung listlessly from his shoulder. Wavering flames danced across its worn leather surface, warming it from the outside in. He gripped the mantel and contemplated the afternoon in the Tuileries Garden. It had been an astonishing feat. He’d shared the darkest part of himself with Ariah, leaving nothing back. Afterward, he, Ariah, and Emmaline had remained in the garden until dusk had broken. Side by side, they’d watched in comfortable silence while the sky pinkened and the sun descended into a limitless horizon. As the patrons had returned to their homes and the first stars appeared, an overwhelming sense of
belonging
had swept through Gabriel.

It was an impossible, surreal feeling – and one that shattered his entire view of the world.

“Oh … my a-apologies, monsieur. I didn’t know you were in h-h-here.”

Jarred from his thoughts, Gabriel turned toward the hushed voice. Miriam lurked beneath the threshold, mute and wide-eyed. She was frightened by him, he knew well. And he didn’t blame her. Although she appeared kind enough, she sorely lacked Ariah’s bravery and determination.

What precisely had Ariah told her? The question rang inside Gabriel’s mind with the audacity of Notre Dame’s ancient bells. “No needs for apologies, mademoiselle. After all, this is your home. I’m a mere guest.” Or rather an intruder, he very well imagined. And one who’d outstayed his welcome.

The whisper of feet against wooden planks resonated as she scuffled closer. She gathered the material of her skirts between her fingers and nervously twisted the cloth. Then a smile crept to her lips while she carefully studied his bandaged features.

“Your p-presence is good for them, y-you know. Emmaline and Ariah, I m-mean.”

Gabriel turned back toward the flames and mutely nodded, taken aback by her kind words. Embers crackled and flamed to life as they volleyed into the black abyss like shooting stars. He eased his grip on the mantel and ran shaky fingers through his hairline.

“Honestly, monsieur, it’s r-remarkable. Emmaline is like a whole new little g-g-girl. Never has she smiled in such a way. And Ariah … well, I haven’t seen her so c-content since Jacques left.”

He sighed and nodded to himself. “They deserve contentment. Both of them.”

Miriam stood beside him, her figure pressed against the mantel. Gabriel grazed his palm over the satchel as he took in her wary features. For the first time, he noticed the texture of her hair was quite similar to Ariah’s, though the curls were a rich chocolate rather than golden blond. Firelight reflected off the flowing strands and lightened them to an unusual coppery tone. Her eyes, too, were tilted at the corners and framed by a lush hood of lashes.

“I guess … I … I wanted to thank y-y-you. For the joy you’ve b-brought the both of them. So thank you.” A comfortable silence filled the room. Then she set a delicate hand on his shoulder and locked onto his gaze. “I know I’ve b-been w-withdrawn and s-somewhat cold. See, I wasn’t e-exactly blessed with Ariah’s spirit.” Without another word, she surrendered to a nervous laugh, dropped her hand, and pushed away from the mantel. “Well. I ought to t-turn in for the night.
Bonsoir,
Gabriel.”

A small smile tipped his mouth as he watched her vanish into the back chambers. Then he eased the satchel’s grip, allowing it to slide down his shoulder. He turned from the hearth and deftly placed the bag atop the rocking chair. Manipulated by the satchel’s weight, the chair sank into a ghostlike sway. Heart pounding, Gabriel stilled it with his palm. Then he held his breath, unfastened the bag, and peered inside.

Willing himself not to tremble, he withdrew Lisette’s beloved musical box. Bloody fingerprints stained its base. Gabriel inhaled deeply and wiped the dried blood away with his sleeve. Overwhelmed with emotion, he laid the satchel on the floor and lowered himself into the rocking chair. He cradled the musical box like one might hold a newborn babe, staring into the blazing hearth, remembering … reliving. Beyond shut eyes, he summoned her face, the melodic sound of her voice, the animated cadence of her laughter. The musical box felt heavy in his hands, weighed down with wood, porcelain, mechanized springs, gears, and years of memories.

Relief and relaxation swelled his entire being. He’d grown weary of running away from the memories … weary of running from himself. And so he allowed himself to embrace Lisette’s beloved keepsake with open arms and an open heart.

He ran his palm over the smooth surface, caressing the memories. Every wooden grain heaved with sentiment, causing a knot to gather inside his throat. The golden turnkey luminously glowed as it absorbed the nearby flames.
Lisette
had been etched into the wood; Gabriel traced the sweeping calligraphy with great care and tenderness.

Burdened by time, the hinges emitted a subtle creak as he propped open the lid. A ballerina figurine waited within, silent and still. Smiling, he grazed her delicate porcelain features. As if placed by the whim of some forest nymph, a cluster of freckles decorated the bridge of her nose. The stiff material of her gown was faded and yellowed in spots. Staring down at the ballerina’s smiling face, Gabriel gripped the turnkey between two fingertips –

The warmth of Ariah’s body pressed against the rocking chair. Fairly holding his breath, he lifted his chin and met the mesmerizing depths of her eyes.

•

Ariah’s heart stirred. She slid her palm across the generous length of Gabriel’s back, moving her hand from one shoulder to the other. With each caress, she felt the tension ease beneath her touch. Exhaling a heavy sigh, his strong body sank deeper into the chair. He lolled his head against the backrest and swallowed. Then both hands gripped the armrests as he stared into her eyes. Ariah could hardly bring herself to breathe.

She grasped onto her skirts while her palms grew hot and clammy. She felt a searing blush rise up her neck. Emotions swirled within his eyes, drawing her in. There was sadness, of course … but it was accompanied by a much stronger emotion:
love.

Love for whom? His daughter, she was sure. Regardless, her pulse quickened.

Then Gabriel bowed his face, his attention riveted on the ornate musical box. “It belonged to Lisette,” he explained, crushing the silence. “I gave it to her for her fourth birthday. She used to play with it every night before bed. It was one of her favorite things.” He chuckled and surrendered to a lopsided grin. “I think she fancied it more than she fancied me.”

Ariah smiled. Sliding to the floor, she knelt beside his seated form. Sharing in the memories, she reached forward and stroked the ballerina’s painted, flushed cheek. Her fingertip grazed the little silk dress, touching each of the sequins with reverence. She’d never seen such finery. The musical box was expertly crafted – a true dream gift for any young lady. Ariah’s movements ceased as Gabriel’s palm covered the back of her hand.

Uniting their grips, he extended his fingers and laced them with hers. Ariah’s cheek brushed against his greatcoat as she laid her head across his thigh. The labored sound of his breathing echoed in the small space, filling the room to its rafters. Then his palm passed over her hair in a deft, experimental touch.

Old fears rose inside her chest, battling for attention. Ariah inhaled a deep breath, mustered her courage, and shoved them from her thoughts. Concentrating only on the moment, she rolled onto the balls of her feet and peeled the bandage from Gabriel’s skin.

Ariah saw past the scabby, marred flesh with ease – perceiving Gabriel as beautiful, pure, and whole. Grasping the linen between her fingertips, she brought her lips to the ruined half of his face.

A choked sound emerged from his throat. His eyes snapped open as he turned to her, aligning their lips. Their mouths brushed together in the simplest of touches. Overwhelmed with emotion, Ariah lifted her chin and breathed deeply. Gabriel took the opportunity to press a kiss on her hairline.

Her heartbeat reached a fierce crescendo. The room seemed to spin around her, lifting her senses into a thrilling and surreal daze. With an ever-growing smile, she climbed onto her feet, approached the hearth, and tossed the dressing into the flames. Then she stood beside the rocking chair and watched as the linen curled and disintegrated into ashes.

She briefly thought of the gentleman Geoffrey had murdered, as well as his shattered bottle.
It’s as though it had never existed.

“Maman? Why’d you leave?” Ariah rotated on her heels and turned toward her daughter’s voice.

“Oh … I’m sorry, darling. I heard a noise out here and wanted to check on things.”

Emmaline yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she shuffled forward, her little feet whispering against the planks. Tearful eyes drew to the hearth – Oliver’s beloved resting spot. Ariah’s heart stirred, though she decided not to acknowledge her daughter’s pain. Indeed, Emmaline needed to come to terms with the notion of death in her own time, and in her own way.

Emmaline inched forward, her steps wary, and examined Gabriel’s disfigurement. Her forehead scrunched in thought, displaying keen interest rather than horror. “Does it hurt, monsieur?”

Gabriel grinned and shook his head. “
Non.
Not so much anymore.”

“Oh.” She wrung her hands in the material of her dressing gown as a faint blush lightened her cheeks. “I’m glad you’re not in pain no more.”

“I’m glad you’re not in pain anymore, too.”

“Maman said whoever hurt you wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t see the beauty before his eyes.” Ariah’s heart clenched at the statement. All innocence and wide eyes, Emmaline twisted a ringlet between her fingers and examined Gabriel’s features. “Are you mad at him? The man who hurt you?”

Tense silence occupied the air. Gabriel’s throat worked as he swallowed deeply. “I was. Very much so. But I’m just starting to forgive him.”

Emmaline’s sapphire eyes widened at the sight of the musical box. Gabriel shared a grin with Ariah before lifting it up. Emmaline came into step directly before him, her gaze bursting with unbridled admiration. Fairly swooning off her heels, she brushed a fingertip over the ballerina’s placid features.

“She’s mighty pretty!”

“Would you like to see her dance?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur!”

He gestured to the golden turnkey with a nod. “You only have to wind it up,
chérie
.”

Emmaline shot Ariah a questioning glance, mindful of meddling with other’s possessions. “It’s all right, darling. Go on.”

Needing no further encouragement, Emmaline twisted the turnkey and watched as the ballerina resurrected. The melody that accompanied her movements coiled around Ariah’s heart with the force of a vise. Hoarse from disuse, the music sounded somewhat rusty – though such a thing equipped it with a haunting quality.

Indeed, as if from a faraway dream, mystery, romance, and magic infused each note. Illuminated by moonlight and the hearth’s flames, the ballerina spun in time to the song. She appeared to shine within the darkened room, her porcelain features brightly aglow.

Emmaline giggled and ran a fingertip over the ballerina’s gown. In response, the rugged lines of Gabriel’s face warmed and softened, adopting a boyish quality. His auburn gaze lightened, reminding her of brandy on a cold winter’s night.

How can a musical box possess such power, such magic?
The melody echoed her heartbeat and resonated deep within. Then Gabriel rewound the turnkey, jackknifed to his feet, and set the musical box on the mantel. Smoothing down his greatcoat, he rotated to Emmaline with an extended hand and courtly bow.

“Care to dance, mademoiselle?”

Emmaline glanced at Ariah, seeking her mother’s approval. “One dance. Then it’s back to bed.”

Nothing in the world could have wiped the grin from Emmaline’s features. She rivaled his bow with a curtsy and grasped his hand. Unable to tear her eyes from the sight, Ariah breathlessly sank into the rocking chair. Her daughter appeared impossibly small beside Gabriel’s strong body. The contrast between the two of them was both jarring and beautiful. Wavering flames warmed the planks and illuminated their entwined bodies. Gabriel bent his knees to better reach Emmaline’s height. Positioning her for the waltz, he splayed one hand behind her waist while the other lifted her arm into a high slant.

“Step onto my toes,
chérie
,” he instructed.

She obeyed with a playful laugh, climbing onto his large feet. The difference in their statures was almost comical. Gabriel whisked Emmaline to the side while he hummed along to the music. Childish giggles mingled with Gabriel’s rich laughter, swelling Ariah’s chest. She struggled to envision Jacques in Gabriel’s shoes – and failed miserably.

The white nightdress ballooned as he spun Emmaline full circle. Then the musical box’s melody slowed like a dying heartbeat. Grinning widely, he stepped backward and awarded Emmaline with a gallant, sweeping bow. After a moment of silence, she leapt forward and looped her slender arms around his neck. Kissing his scarred cheek, she said, “Good night, monsieur!” And a moment later, Emmaline departed for her room in an energized flurry.

The walls seemed to close in as Ariah and Gabriel were left alone. She rose from the chair and inched near to his body, drawn to everything that was Gabriel de Laurent. He gazed down at her, warmth in his eyes as the firelight bathed his features. The gun wound was more or less healed, appearing as a scabby, twisted mass of flesh.

“That was very kind of you. I – ”

With a seductive, crooked grin, Gabriel smothered her words. His fingertip touched her lips in a sensual caress. Then he took a deft step backward and outstretched his hand. Feeling like a young girl in the midst of her first ball, Ariah accepted the invitation and abandoned her palm within his own. Strength flowed through his tanned fingers, sending chords of awareness through every centimeter of her body.