Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy) (8 page)

Chapter Nine

A
fter breakfast in Magdalen’s dining room, Gabriel insisted that they take a taxi to St. Anne’s, the venue for the conference. He was worried that Julia (and her high heels) wouldn’t survive the walk, and there was no way in hell he was asking her to change shoes.

“This is a dream come true,” Julia murmured, as they drove through Oxford. “I never imagined being able to visit here, let alone being able to present my research. I can’t believe it.”

“You’ve worked very hard.” He brought her hand to his lips. “This is your reward.”

Julia was silent, as she felt the weight of expectations on her shoulders.

When they passed the Ashmolean Museum, Gabriel’s eyes suddenly grew alight.

“I wonder what kind of trouble we can get into in there.” He pointed to the museum. “As I recall, there are ample locations for a tryst or two.”

Julia blushed and he pulled her into his side, chuckling.

He still had the ability to make her blush, a feat in which he took no little pride. And he’d done more than make her blush a few days previous when they’d tangoed against a wall in the British Museum.

(The Elgin Marbles had yet to recover from their shock.)

The Emersons arrived at St. Anne’s College just prior to the beginning of the first session. Inside, a group of fifty academics were milling about the refreshment tables, sipping tea and enjoying cookies while chatting about the extraordinary world of Dante studies.

(For indeed, that world was much more interesting than it appeared to outsiders.)

Gabriel poured Julia some tea before helping himself to coffee. He introduced her to two prominent Oxford professors of his acquaintance as they sipped their drinks.

When it was time to enter the lecture theater, Gabriel placed his hand at the small of Julia’s back, urging her forward. She took two steps before she stopped.

A familiar and careless laugh filled her ears, the source of the laughter visible a few feet away. In the center of a group of old and young men dressed primarily in tweed was a raven-haired beauty, holding court. She was tall and lithe, her attractive form clad in a fitted black jacket and skirt. Four-inch heels made her long legs even longer.

(For once in his life, the Professor regarded a pair of elegant designer shoes with something other than appreciation.)

The woman’s laugh was curtailed when a man with black hair and very tanned skin began whispering something in her ear, his eyes focusing on the Emersons.

“
Fuck
,” said Gabriel, under his breath.

He offered Christa Peterson and Professor Giuseppe Pacciani a thunderous look, while Julia catalogued the reactions of the men who stood nearby. As her eyes drifted from one to the next, a terrible and sinking feeling washed over her.

More than one man stared back at her, their eyes resting longer than was appropriate on her breasts and hips. She released Gabriel’s hand and buttoned up her suit jacket so that it covered more of her chest.

A look of visible disappointment marked several of the men’s appraisals. Clearly Julia didn’t live up to their expectations of a young and delectable graduate student, a woman who’d slept with her professor and become enmeshed in a scandal.

“I’m settling this once and for all.” Gabriel surged forward, but Julia dug her fingers into his arm, pressing into the wool of his suit as well as his flesh.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she whispered.

“After.”

“You can’t,” Julia hissed. “Not here.”

“Trouble in Paradise?” Christa’s smug voice reverberated in the room. “I guess the honeymoon didn’t last very long.”

She fixed her eyes, catlike, on Julia, her attractive mouth curling into a sneer. “Not that I’m surprised.”

Julia tried to pull Gabriel away, but he stood his ground, his body vibrating with anger.

“I’d like a word, Miss Peterson.”

Christa inched closer to Professor Pacciani. She made a show of appearing to be intimidated by Gabriel.

“Not after what happened in Toronto. If you have something to say you’ll have to say it in front of witnesses.”

From the safety of Pacciani’s side, she leaned forward, dropping her voice. “It isn’t in your interest to make a scene, Gabriel. I found out a few things after you resigned, such as your involvement in BDSM. I didn’t know that Professor Ann Singer was your Domme.”

A hush fell over those closest to the antagonists, their eyes shifting from Christa to Gabriel.

Julia took his hand in hers and tugged. “Let’s go.
Please.
”

Despite Gabriel’s fury he was conscious, all too conscious, of the now rapt attention of his peers. Still, it took every ounce of his self-control not to lunge forward and seize Christa by the throat.

Stifling a curse, he turned abruptly and took a single step away from his former student.

“I’m looking forward to your paper, Julianne.” Christa lifted her voice so more people could hear. “It’s unusual for a first-year student to be included in such an important conference. However did you manage it?”

Julia paused, looking at Christa over her shoulder.

“Professor Picton invited me.”

“Really?” Christa appeared puzzled. “Wouldn’t it have been better to invite Gabriel to speak? I mean, you’re probably repeating things you learned from him. Or maybe he simply wrote your paper for you.”

“I do my own research.” Julia’s voice was quiet but steely.

“I’m sure you do.” Christa made a point of glancing at Gabriel’s back. “But your ‘research’ can’t help you write a lecture. Unless you’re planning to tell us about all the professors you slept with in order to get into Harvard.”

Gabriel swore and released Julia’s hand. He turned around, casting furious eyes in Christa’s direction.

“That’s enough. You don’t speak to my wife. Do you understand?”

“Temper, temper, Gabriel.” Christa’s dark eyes shone with perverse amusement.

“It’s
Professor
Emerson,” he snapped.

Julia blocked his path with her body.

“Let’s go.” She placed a light hand on his chest, just under his bow tie.

“Get out of my way.” He looked like a dragon preparing to breathe fire.

“
For me
,” she begged, her expression pleading.

Before Gabriel could open his mouth, an authoritative voice sounded at his elbow.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Katherine Picton stood to his right, her white hair short and impeccably styled, her gray-blue eyes flashing behind her glasses. She eyed Professor Pacciani with distaste before turning her attention to Christa.

“Who are you?”

Christa’s posture shifted from defensive to ingratiating. She extended her hand.

“I’m Christa Peterson, from Columbia. We met at the University of Toronto.”

Katherine ignored the proffered hand. “I’m familiar with the faculty at Columbia. You aren’t one of them.”

Christa reddened, withdrawing her hand. “I’m a graduate student.”

“Then don’t present yourself as anything else,” Katherine snapped. “You aren’t
from
Columbia. You
attend
Columbia. I repeat, why are you here?”

When Christa didn’t respond, Professor Picton stepped closer, raising her voice.

“Are you hard of hearing? I asked you a question. What are you doing at my conference, insulting my guests?”

Christa almost faltered, feeling the energy in the room shift under Professor Picton’s antipathy. Even Professor Pacciani took a step back.

“I’m here to attend your lecture, like everyone else.”

Katherine straightened to her full five feet and looked up at the much taller and half-century younger graduate student.

“Your name isn’t on the guest list. I certainly didn’t invite you.”

“Professor Picton, excuse me. The young lady is a friend.” Professor Pacciani smoothly interceded. He bowed and moved to kiss Professor Picton’s hand, but she waved at him dismissively.

“As a companion of yours, Giuseppe, her attendance might be excusable. But barely.” She glared at him. “You need to teach her some manners.”

Katherine turned to address Christa directly.

“I know the havoc you wreaked in Toronto. Your lies almost destroyed my department. You’ll follow the rules of decorum here, or I’ll have you removed. Do you understand?”

Without waiting for a response, Katherine began scolding Pacciani in fluid Italian, pointing out in no uncertain terms that if his friend made her guests’ visit unpleasant in any way, she would hold him personally responsible.

She added that she had a perfect and unforgiving memory.

(It should be mentioned that she was correct.)

“Capisce?”
She glared at him through her glasses.

“
Certo
, Professor.” He bowed, his face drawn and angry.

“I’m the injured party,” Christa protested. “When I was in Toronto, Gabriel—”

“Codswallop,” Katherine spat. “I’m old, not senile. I recognize a woman scorned when I see one. And so should everyone else.” At this, Katherine directed her scathing expression to the men who had surrounded Christa, eager to give ear to her gossip.

“What’s more, inviting yourself to an invitation-only event is unprofessional in the extreme. This isn’t a fraternity party.”

Professor Picton looked around the room once more, pausing as if to challenge anyone to contradict her. Under her withering stare, the prurient onlookers began shuffling their feet and backing away.

Seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention back to Miss Peterson and lifted her chin. “I believe I’m quite finished.”

With that, she favored Christa with her back. The other occupants of the room stood by, somewhat shell-shocked by just having witnessed the academic equivalent of a mud-wrestling match, handily won by a small (but feisty) septuagenarian.

“My dear friends, it’s good to see you. How was your flight?” Katherine placed her arm around Julia’s stiff shoulders, giving her a fraternal squeeze, before shaking Gabriel’s hand.

“The flight was fine. We spent a few days in London before arriving by train.” Gabriel kissed Professor Picton’s cheek. He tried to force a smile but failed.

“I’m not impressed with the fact that they’ve admitted riffraff.” Katherine sniffed. “I must speak to the conference organizers. It’s bad enough that you young people should be subjected to such a person, but to have to endure her in public. What a ridiculous girl.”

Professor Picton’s aged eyes quickly took in Julia’s expression of distress, and her demeanor softened.

“I’ll buy you a drink this evening, Julianne. I think it’s time for us to have a little chat.”

The professor’s words jarred Julia out of her quietude. A thinly veiled expression of terror flashed across her features.

Gabriel grasped her around the waist. “That’s very generous, Katherine, but why don’t you join us for dinner, instead?”

“Thank you, I’d enjoy that. But I’ll speak to Julianne first.” She turned to her former student, her expression kind. “Come and find me after the last lecture and we’ll walk to The Bird and Baby.”

Professor Picton took her leave and was immediately surrounded by several academic admirers.

It took a moment for Julia to regain her composure, but when she did, she leaned against Gabriel.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry Katherine interrupted when she did. I would have liked to say a few words.”

Julia began wringing her hands. “I never should have answered Christa. We should have walked away.”

Gabriel’s expression tightened. He looked around, then brought his mouth close to her ear. “You stood up for yourself, which was the right thing to do. And I’m not going to stand there and let her call you a whore.”

“If we’d walked away, she wouldn’t have gotten that far.”

“Bullshit. She’s already slandering us. You said so yourself.”

Julia’s face was marked by disappointment. “I asked you to stop.”

“And I explained that I wasn’t about to let her speak to you that way.” He clenched his jaw and released it. “Let’s not fight because of that bitch. That’s precisely what she wants.”

“She was spoiling for a fight. And you gave it to her.” Julia glanced around the rapidly emptying room. “Tomorrow I have to stand up in front of everyone, knowing that they witnessed that embarrassing scene.”

“If I’d said nothing, if I’d done nothing, then it would look like I agreed with her.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled, low in his throat.

“I asked you to stop, and you brushed me off.” She gave him a wounded look. “I’m your wife. Not a speed bump.”

She clutched her old Fendi messenger bag and followed the crowd into the lecture theater.

Chapter Ten

P
rofessor Emerson seethed with anger as he watched his wife walk away. He wanted to drag Christa Peterson outside by her hair and teach her a lesson. Unfortunately, based on her seductive behavior when she was his student, she’d probably enjoy it.

(And take photographs for her scrapbook.)

It was not like him to want to strike a woman.

Or perhaps it was. Perhaps it was precisely like him to want to strike a woman. Anger and violence were written in the bone, the product of DNA. Perhaps Gabriel was just like his father.

He closed his eyes. As quickly as the thought emerged, he tamped it down. Now was not the time to think of what he did and did not know about his biological parents.

Gabriel knew he had a temper. He tried to control it but frequently failed. On one such occasion, to his shame, he’d struck a woman.

He was teaching in Toronto. The women were beautiful and sexy; the city was ripe with diversions of music and art. Yet he’d been depressed. Paulina had been to see him and they’d resumed their sexual relationship—again. After every encounter, he’d swear it would be the last time. But every time she put her hands on him, he gave in.

He knew it was wrong. His continued involvement with her was damaging to both of them. But his spirit, although willing, was tied to flesh that was very, very weak.

After she went back to Boston, he began drinking heavily. He became a VIP at Lobby and fucked a different woman every night. Sometimes fucking more than one in a single Scotch-soaked evening. Sometimes fucking more than one at the same time.

Nothing helped. Haunted by his past, made all the more recent by his few days with Paulina, he felt as if he were one careless moment away from resuming his cocaine habit.

Then he met Ann. They shared an enthusiasm for fencing and fenced a few times at their club, only to retire to a darkened room on the last occasion for a brief but explosive sexual encounter.

Ann Singer promised new, tantalizing diversions. She whispered words of raw, intense pleasure the likes of which he’d never experienced.

He was intrigued. She had the power to drag his mind into his body and keep it there, unable to think or worry. And that was how he found himself in the basement of her town house in Toronto, naked, restrained, and on his knees.

She confused his senses by both pleasing and punishing him. With every strike, all his emotional pain seemed to bleed away. His single errant thought was why had he waited so long to use physical pain to alleviate his mental suffering. But even that thought was soon forgotten.

Then came the humiliation. Ann’s dominance was over the mind, as well as the body. As she bruised his flesh, she sought to break his will.

Gabriel realized what she was doing, and his psyche bristled. He desired physical pain and accepted it, but not psychological manipulation. His mind was fucked up enough thanks to his past.

He began to resist.

She accused him of attempting to top from the bottom and redoubled her efforts. She retold his life story, spinning a speculative myth based solely on her own armchair analysis. Some of it came perilously close to the truth. And the rest of it . . .

Without warning, something inside him snapped.

Standing in St. Anne’s College, Gabriel couldn’t recall exactly what Professor Singer said that set him off. He couldn’t remember how long the encounter lasted. He only remembered white-hot, blinding fury.

In one swift motion, he broke the restraint on his right wrist (a considerable feat) and backhanded her across the face. Her diminutive form crumpled to the tiled floor.

He stumbled to his feet and stood over her, breathing heavily. She didn’t move.

A door flew open and Gabriel found himself boxing one-handed with her bodyguard, who’d rushed to her defense. Bruised and bloodied, Gabriel was flung outside into the snow, his clothes scattered behind him.

That was his last sexual encounter with Ann and his final experience with BDSM. He was revolted by the fact that he’d lost control and hit her, and he was determined never to strike a woman again. Even now, the shame washed over him.

Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He’d never explained the entirety of what happened with Professor Singer to Julianne. He wasn’t about to do so now. Some things were better left unsaid.

He mentally catalogued the eminent Dante specialists who’d overheard Christa’s remarks about his past. It was embarrassing, to be sure. But he was tenured and full professor. They could go to hell.

(And study Dante’s
Inferno
in person.)

But he needed to neutralize Christa before she damaged Julianne’s reputation any further. She’d all but called Julia a whore, suggesting her academic success was won on her knees.

With that thought twisting in his mind, he straightened his bow tie, smoothed his suit jacket, and entered the lecture theater.

Julia watched as her husband approached, his eyes averted, his visage grim.

He glowered at Christa, who sat with Professor Pacciani, before taking the seat between Julia and Professor Picton. Gabriel didn’t speak as he pulled his Meisterstück 149 fountain pen and a notepad out of his leather briefcase. His body language was decidedly cross.

Julia tried to concentrate on the lecture, which was on the use of the number three in Dante’s
Divine Comedy
. The subject matter and delivery of the presentation could only be described as contravening the Geneva Conventions on cruel and unusual punishment. Worse still was being next to Gabriel and feeling his anger radiating through his handsome three-piece suit.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was taking copious notes, his elegant script uncharacteristically forceful and angular. There was tension around his mouth and a familiar crease between his dark brows, behind his glasses.

Julia was disappointed in him, but she wasn’t angry. She knew it was consonant with his character to be the avenging angel. There had been times when she welcomed that aspect of his personality, such as when he’d beaten Simon senseless after he’d attacked her.

But she didn’t like fighting with him, especially in public. She certainly didn’t enjoy the sight of him losing his temper and causing a scene in front of so many important people, even if Katherine defended him.

She sighed quietly. His love for her and his desire that she succeed likely fueled his anger.

You’re his first serious and committed relationship. You should cut the guy some slack.

She wanted to touch him but was wary of how she might be received. Certainly, she didn’t wish to interrupt him. She imagined him peering at her over the rims of his glasses, his expression censorious. Such a reaction would cut her deeply.

It had been a long time since she’d seen him truly angry. Julia thought back to their explosive interactions in his Dante seminar, when she’d challenged him about Paulina. He’d been furious until his anger shifted to passion.

She uncrossed and crossed her legs. Now was not the time to think about passion. She’d wait until they were back in their room at Magdalen before she reached out to him. Otherwise, he might decide to make up with her and drag her into a corner for
conference sex
.

(Conference sex was a peculiar compunction of certain academics. It should be avoided at all costs.)

The next lecture was as torturous as the first. Julia feigned interest while her thoughts fixated on one point. If Gabriel had listened to her, Christa would have been forced to spin her web of slander without a large, focused audience. Now Julia would have to mingle with the other attendees knowing they’d witnessed the embarrassing display. She was shy to begin with. Christa had magnified her unease a hundredfold.

Despite their falling out, Julia would have preferred to spend the day at his side, especially during lunch and the frequent tea and coffee breaks. But they’d agreed the night before to circulate among the conferencegoers, giving Julia the opportunity to network.

She forced herself to make small talk, allowing Professors Marinelli and Picton to introduce her to their old friends, while Gabriel mingled on the other side of the room. He was obviously on a charm offensive—trying to speak to as many conferencegoers as possible. From the glances Julia received, it was clear he was speaking about her.

Women flocked to him. No matter where he was, there were always one or two women standing near him. To his credit, he suffered their attentions patiently without encouraging them.

Julia focused on her own interactions, but she couldn’t help but keep apprised of where he was situated and with whom. She also marked Christa’s position, but she was never far from Professor Pacciani.

Julia found the fact curious.

Pacciani’s eyes seemed to follow her and on one occasion, she was certain he winked. But he made no attempt to approach or speak with her. He seemed content to remain at Christa’s side, despite her occasionally flirtatious behavior with other men.

Julia sipped her tea as she listened to professor after professor regale her with tales of their latest research projects, longing for the end of the day.

During the final lecture, Gabriel noticed Julia squirming in her seat. She’d been doing so for an hour, as if she were in desperate need of the ladies’ room.

Gabriel had been nursing his irritation with Christa for hours, fanning the embers with myriad justifications for his words and actions. He was in the middle of composing a self-righteous speech that he intended to deliver to Julia when they were back at Magdalen, when she stunned him by passing a note.

I don’t want to fight.

I’m sorry.

Thank you for defending me.

I’m sorry she mentioned Professor Pain.

Gabriel reread the note twice.

The sight of Julia’s contrition in black and white made his heart constrict. She’d said that she was sorry, even though she’d done almost nothing.

He would have appreciated more support from her. He coveted her compassion—compassion for a plight brought about because of his strong desire to protect her. But he hadn’t expected an apology.

Their eyes met and she gave him a tentative smile. The smile, perhaps even more than the note, undid him.

His irritation cooled, under the frigid waters of remorse.

Without delay, he turned her note over and wrote,

Emerson was an ass.

But he hopes you’ll forgive him.

It took an instant for her to read it. And when she did, she restrained a laugh, resulting in a strangled snort.

The sound echoed around the room and the lecturer looked up from his notes, wondering how a wild pig had managed to wander into St. Anne’s College in order to attend his paper.

Blushing furiously, Julia feigned a coughing fit, while Gabriel patted her back. When the lecture eventually continued, he added to his missive,

I’m sorry I embarrassed you.

I promise I’ll do better.

You are not a speed bump.

You’re my Beatrice.

Julia’s delicate features lightened, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed.

Hesitantly, she reached out her baby finger and linked it with his own. This was her way of holding his hand without others seeing.

He curved his pinky around hers, looking at her from out of the corner of his eye.

Yes, Professor Emerson could be an ass, on occasion. But at least he was sorry.