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She’d changed her hairstyle, but a single blonde curl had escaped to lie against her cheek, just as he remembered it. Her skin was soft and smooth, unlined by the passing of time. Her eyes were still an entrancing blue. The colour of cornflowers, he’d once claimed in a foolish poem. Her lips were full, her mouth a little wider than true beauty required. But there had been a time when he’s sworn her lips had been created for laughter—and for his worshipful kisses.
His gaze was drawn irresistibly lower. He’d once thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her waist was still as trim as he recalled. How he’d longed for the moment when he would remove her boned bodice and touch her warm, yielding flesh. Today she wore a simple blue gown with an elegance few other women could match. The full silk sleeves of her bodice ended at her elbows, but the soft white cambric sleeves of her chemise extended an inch or two further and were trimmed with a graceful fall of lace that reached almost to her wrists. Matching lace decorated the neckline of her bodice and the hem of her skirt.
He could see the merest hint of the soft swell of her creamy breasts above her bodice. His eyes locked on to that small part of her anatomy. The place he had seen another man kiss her on the very day planned for their own wedding.
For a few seconds he was back in the bawdy house, watching in agonised disbelief as she turned willingly into her lover’s arms. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He heard again her mocking laughter as he sank into the painful oblivion of unconsciousness.
The slow chug of shock exploded into boiling rage. His lip curled into a snarl. Every muscle in his body tensed. Coiled to spring.
‘…and please allow me to introduce you to Lord Halross.’ Gabriel heard the Ambassador’s voice as if it came from a great distance. ‘As I mentioned to you last night, he intends to return to England in one of his own ships. I’m sure he can provide you with a safe passage home.’
Frances opened her mouth, but no words emerged. It was clear she had not expected to see him. Her lips were pinched and pale. Gabriel wondered if she was about to faint and thought savagely that it would be poor justice compared to his own humiliating fate eight years ago. He’d woken in darkness to find he’d been left lying in a stinking ditch outside the City walls. It was only by luck and God’s good grace he hadn’t been stripped of his clothes, and perhaps even his life, while he was unconscious.
And Frances had given the order for his degradation. She had laughed at the prospect of it.
His muscles twitched. Power surged through his body, but he didn’t move an inch. He had made a fool of himself once over this woman. He would not do so again. He drew in a deep breath. His lungs burned. It felt like the first breath he’d ever taken. He took another breath. Air seared through his throat like fire, but when he spoke his voice was harsh and cold as hoar frost. ‘Is it my protection you crave, madam? Or my indulgence? I—’
‘Neither!’ Frances’s chin snapped up. Hot colour suddenly burned in her pale cheeks. ‘I ask nothing of you, my lord. I am sorry to have intruded upon you.’
She whirled about in an angry swish of skirts, clearly intending to leave the balcony.
Fury speared through Gabriel when he saw the disdainful way in which she turned her back upon him. He would not allow her to dismiss him so lightly a second time. He took two long strides towards her, then reached out to seize her arm—
But he was thwarted in his intentions by the sudden appearance on the balcony of the Ambassador’s secretary. Roger Minshull stepped between Gabriel and Frances. He uttered appropriate greetings to Gabriel and Sir Walter but, to Gabriel’s disgust, it was Frances who occupied his attention.
‘Mrs Quenell, if you have rested sufficiently from your journey, I would be honoured to show you the sights of Venice,’ Minshull said, bowing ingratiatingly.
Athena hardly noticed when the secretary took her hand. She saw only Gabriel. Heard only Gabriel. Even when she turned her back on him, every fibre of her body was attuned to every movement he made.
Gabriel.
Lord Halross, the Ambassador had told her yesterday. She’d been prepared to encounter Gabriel’s brother this morning. She’d fretted over it all night. She didn’t want to meet any member of Gabriel’s family. But she’d calmed herself with the thought that she’d never met either of his older brothers. There was no reason for Lord Halross to know that she’d ever had an association with his younger brother.
But it was Gabriel who turned his head to look at her when she walked out on to the balcony. Shock seized her, paralysing her mind and body. But she’d been thinking about Gabriel all night. Wondering how to present herself to one of his brothers. It was a devastating but short step to understand that it was Gabriel himself who stood before her. In some distant corner of her mind she realised his brothers must be dead. There was no other way he could have inherited his father’s title. But that wasn’t important now. The only thing that mattered was that Gabriel was here—standing only a few feet away from her. She stared at him, hungry to look at the man for whom she had sacrificed so much.
He was as tall as she remembered. Perhaps even taller. She did not remember him as this grand, imposing figure. Eight years ago he had dressed soberly, as befitted his status and the austerity of Cromwell’s London. And in her memories he was much younger. A man certainly, but flushed with the fresh enthusiasm of youth.
The Gabriel who confronted her today was a male in the prime of his power. Sure of his authority and his strength. Arrayed in all the magnificence of a wealthy nobleman. His coat of burgundy velvet was edged with gold lace at the cuffs and on the front facings. His coat sleeves ended at the elbow to reveal a contrasting cascade of white lace that extended almost to his wrists. His cravat was edged in a deep band of heavy Venetian lace. His dark brown hair fell in rippling waves around his shoulders. The early morning sunlight gilded a few shining strands with an aura of gold, so that he seemed to be clad from head to toe in extravagant riches.
But the fine clothes could not conceal his raw masculine power. The man who wore the soft velvet was lean and hard-muscled. The fine lace beneath his chin emphasised the unyielding line of his square jaw. Hatred and fury burned in his amber eyes.
His hostile gaze sliced through her, deadly as a sword to the heart. Her very soul reeled beneath his silent assault upon her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She saw his body coil with furious intent and still she was held prisoner by the scalding fire in his eyes.
When he spoke, his voice was so laden with contempt she hardly recognised it.
She didn’t understand his anger or the significance of his question—he’d not cared enough to turn up at the church, so why was he angry now? Her first shock receded. Pride came to her rescue. She lifted her chin, found the words to answer him, and turned to leave.
She felt Gabriel’s sudden movement towards her, but then the Ambassador’s secretary stepped between them. She barely noticed the secretary take her hand. All her senses were attuned to Gabriel behind her.
‘Mrs Quenell?’
She jumped and looked at the secretary in confusion, then realised he had asked her a question and was waiting for her answer. She replayed his last few words in her mind.
‘I would be honoured to show you the sights of Venice.’
‘Oh. That is very kind of you…’ She couldn’t remember his name. Somehow she managed a semblance of a smile instead. ‘Sir, but I…if you don’t mind, I think I may…’
‘I’ll show you.’ Gabriel’s hand closed around her arm, just above her elbow.
Her heart jolted at the sudden contact. The anger thrumming through his powerful body almost overwhelmed her senses, splintering her thoughts. It was quite beyond her to frame a coherent response to the secretary or to Gabriel.
She saw the secretary’s eyes widen in surprise. Heard the Ambassador say something but didn’t catch his words. Then Gabriel compelled her to leave the balcony. He strode the length of the portego, his hold on her arm unrelenting.
Athena had no choice but to go with him. Her legs were unsteady with shock and she nearly stumbled. Gabriel hauled her mercilessly upright. He didn’t slow his pace and she was forced into a scrambling run to keep up with his long stride.
He propelled her out of the portego and onto the outside staircase. She tripped. If not for his iron grip on her elbow, she would have pitched headlong down the flight of stone steps.
Muttering furiously under his breath he clamped his arm around her waist and carried her unceremoniously down to the courtyard. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she was too confused and shaken to be angry at his astounding behaviour.
She could feel the barely controlled rage within him. This was not the Gabriel who had courted her so tenderly eight years ago. She didn’t know this man who threatened to erupt with fury at any moment.
He set her on her feet and hauled her through the ground floor hall.
Athena dug her heels in, her feet slipping on the smooth stone paving. ‘Let me go!’ She tried to wrench her arm out of his hold.
Without a word he picked her up and carried her through the watergate. ‘Get in,’ he ordered.
There were several gondolas floating in front of the palazzo. The one he directed her into was painted the customary black, but seemed far more luxurious than the vessel Pieter Breydel had hired yesterday to bring the small party to the Embassy. It possessed a cabin-like structure, which could be enclosed to protect the occupants from the weather—or to provide them with privacy. When she stepped into the cabin she saw it was furnished with a fine carpet and curtains. And the reclining seats were covered with black velvet.
She stopped short at the sight of those couch-like seats, her overstretched nerves jangling at the prospect of almost lying beside Gabriel in his present mood.
‘Sit down,’ he said in her ear.
She trembled at his proximity and did as he commanded, perching upright on the very front of the velvet cushion. The gondola rocked gently as Gabriel stepped into it.
‘Where are you taking me?’ She watched nervously as he sat down beside her.
‘To see Venice.’ His smile was all predator.
‘Halross? What are you about, man?’ Sir Walter shouted.
The Ambassador’s voice seemed to come from above. Startled, Athena looked up. The roof of the cabin hindered her view, but after a moment’s confusion she realised Sir Walter must have seen Gabriel’s gondola from the balcony.
Gabriel leant out of the cabin to reply. ‘Showing your guest the sights of the city. You will allow I am better qualified than any member of your household to do so.’
‘Humph. Oh. Yes. Your advice has been invaluable,’ Sir Walter acknowledged, disgruntled. ‘But is Mrs Quenell warm enough? Surely a moment to prepare herself before you carry her—’
‘She will be warm enough.’ Gabriel settled back on to his seat, clearly considering the exchange at an end. Already the swift-moving gondola was beyond comfortable shouting distance from the palazzo.
There was a gondolier standing at the back of the gondola and another one in front of the cabin, but Athena knew she could expect no help from the two men. She’d heard Gabriel give them curt orders in Italian. They were in his pay, they would do whatever he said.
He leant back in the seat, stretching out his legs in a semblance of relaxation. Athena sat upright, staring straight ahead, her hands gripped together on her knees. Gabriel’s casual posture didn’t fool her. She could feel the fierce emotion vibrating through his body, sense his angry gaze burning the back of her neck. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. Instead she glanced down and a little sideways. She saw his hand lying on his thigh. It was a large hand, with long, strong fingers. The last time she’d seen Gabriel’s hand he had stroked a finger tenderly across her cheek. As she watched, it clenched into a fist.
In the years since she’d discovered he hadn’t turned up at the church for their wedding she’d taught herself to accept he hadn’t loved her as she’d loved him. She’d forced herself to face the fact that, if they ever met again, he would treat her with indifference. Perhaps wouldn’t even remember her.
She’d never anticipated this hostility.
She waited for him to speak. He didn’t say anything. She took a breath. Her ribs felt as if an iron band had been placed around them and she had to force her chest to expand when she inhaled.
When she heard him take a harsh breath, she wondered dizzily if he had the same problem with his ribs.
She stared at his hand on his leg. Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel’s leg. The fine cloth of his breeches touched her petticoats. He was only inches away from her. And more distant than she’d ever imagined.
She knew he was watching her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze. Like a deer caged with a hunting lion she felt compelled to look at him. His eyes burned into hers. His visual assault was so devastating her body went slack with shock.
Athena swayed. The world swirled about her.
He caught her arm and pulled her back on to the seat beside him. A second later he loomed over her, his large body half-covering hers, pinning her in place.
‘Gabriel,’ she whispered. She lifted a trembling hand to touch his cheek.
He was real. The weight of his body on hers was real. The slight rasp of stubble on his smooth-shaven jaw was real.
‘Gabriel.’ Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. She touched his face with quick, fluttering gestures, hungry for more assurance of his reality. Stroked his hair, traced his dark eyebrow. ‘I wanted you so much.’ Her voice caught on a sob and she flung her arms around his neck, clinging desperately to him.
She buried her face in his shoulder, momentarily forgetting his hostility in the miracle of being once more able to touch him. But his hard body was unyielding as oak in her embrace.
She became aware of his silent rejection and began to pull away, shaken anew by his inexplicable anger.
He growled low in his chest, moving suddenly, forcing her back against the velvet upholstery. His action triggered memories of another man who’d used force against her.
‘No!’ Panic shot through her. She struggled wildly, pounding at Gabriel’s shoulders with her fists. Water slapped against the sides of the rocking gondola.
‘My God!’ He lifted his head a few inches.
‘No!’ she panted, twisting her face away from him, thrusting at his chest in an unavailing effort to shove him away from her.
His curse emerged as little more than a snarl.
‘How much will it cost to make you say yes?’ he demanded.
‘What?’
‘You thought you could play your tricks on some poor bastard who’d be fooled by your innocent face,’ he said savagely. ‘It must have been a shock to discover this particular pigeon has already been plucked.’
Athena stared up at him, bewildered by his accusation. ‘What? What pigeon?’
He laughed harshly and lifted himself away from her. ‘Save your breath, madam. I’ve seen you unmasked. I’ll not be duped again.’ He flung a curt order at the gondoliers. ‘I might have guessed you’d one day find your way to Venice,’ he said bitterly. ‘A whore belongs in the city of whores. You’ll fit in very well.’
The gondola stopped at a landing stage. In one lithe movement Gabriel sprang out. He issued another incomprehensible order to the gondoliers and turned to stride away across a large square.
‘Wait…’ Athena’s voice faded. Gabriel had already disappeared into the crowds. The gondola was once more gliding through the waters of the grand canal. Life continued all around her as if nothing of moment had happened.
She swallowed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear with shaking fingers. Emotion suddenly threatened to overcome her. She propped her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her trembling hands.
Chapter Two
‘M y lord, the banquet is about to start!’ The young page bounced on his toes as he waited for Gabriel to pay off the hired gondola.
‘Banquet?’ Gabriel frowned. This was the first he’d heard of any banquet.
‘In honour of Mrs Beresford and Mrs Quenell,’ the page explained eagerly. ‘Come, my lord. Sir Walter sent me down to wait for your return. You are the most important guest!’
Gabriel bit off a curse. He had no desire to raise a glass in honour of Frances—but the meal would be over soon enough.
‘I’m likely the only guest,’ he said drily, striding beside the page through the andron, the ground-floor hallway that corresponded to the portego on the floor above.
Venetian citizens such as Filippo Correr were permitted to deal directly with foreigners, but the nobility refused to mingle with visitors to their city. The Ambassador was only able to meet with the Doge and other important patricians in the most restricted and formal of circumstances. Usually the embassy household had to rely on each other for companionship—though not necessarily for entertainment. Venice had many attractions for men in search of diversion. But it wasn’t surprising Sir Walter had seized on this excuse for a grand dinner.
‘Yes, my lord. But you are a very important guest,’ said the page.
True to his usual habit, Gabriel took the steps two at a time, arriving in the portego before the breathless servant. He paused just inside the door. The long chamber was crowded with members of the Ambassador’s staff. Roger Minshull, the Ambassador’s chief secretary, the two undersecretaries, one of whom was Edward Beresford, the chaplain, various young gentlemen who were supposedly being trained in the art of diplomacy…
Frances.
Gabriel’s eyes locked on to her immediately. But that meant nothing. She was one of only two women present. Naturally she drew his attention.
‘Halross! Splendid!’ Sir Walter spotted him. ‘In good time! We are having a banquet in honour of our gallant new arrivals.’
‘So I see.’ In Gabriel’s absence the portego had been transformed into a dining chamber with the addition of a large, magnificently laid table and finely carved chairs. ‘Most impressive.’
‘Yes. Yes. Come, my lord. You must sit on my right. Mrs Beresford on my left…’ The Ambassador immediately began to arrange his most important guests.
Gabriel saw that he was to sit almost opposite to Frances. He would be able to see her every move throughout the meal. She glanced at him, then looked quickly away. Her fingers fidgeted briefly with her closed fan, then her grip on the ivory sticks relaxed. She turned to smile at Roger Minshull who was sitting on her left. Minshull spoke to her and she replied in a light, untroubled tone. Gabriel saw that the ferret-faced secretary was already halfway to being besotted by his beautiful companion.
Frances’s composure grated on Gabriel’s temper. If she had any shame or conscience she would be begging him not to disclose her treacherous behaviour eight years ago. She must know it would take only one word from him to destroy her credibility with the Ambassador. For a few seconds Gabriel almost felt a grudging admiration for her obvious determination to brazen out the situation. There must be a backbone of steel concealed within her graceful feminine curves. Then his painfully acquired cynicism reasserted itself. In truth, it required no great courage for Frances to continue her masquerade. She was undoubtedly relying on his reluctance to reveal his youthful folly to the world. And she was right. He had no intention of providing any further entertainment for the embassy household. From now on he would treat her with the indifference she deserved.
‘It is a testament to the power of love,’ said the chaplain.
‘What?’ Gabriel’s head snapped around.
‘Mrs Beresford’s epic journey to rejoin her husband, my lord,’ the chaplain replied. ‘I have never seen two young people more truly matched. True love can overcome the greatest obstacles.’ He looked at Rachel Beresford with sentimental admiration. Gabriel followed the direction of the chaplain’s gaze.
Rachel noticed their attention was fixed upon her and blushed. ‘I could never have managed without Mrs Quenell’s help,’ she said. ‘I was so overset by the time I reached Bruges that I don’t know what I would have done if the innkeeper hadn’t taken me to the convent. After that Mrs Quenell took care of everything. I will never be able to repay her for what she has done for me.’
‘Nor I,’ Edward Beresford interjected. ‘I will always be in your debt, madam. It gives me nightmares, imagining what could have happened to my poor Rachel without your protection. And that of Mr Breydel as well, of course,’ he added. ‘I am sorry he was not able to attend this banquet.’
Gabriel hid his opinion beneath an impassive expression. The others might believe Frances’s story that she’d been a guest at the convent for a considerable time, but Gabriel knew better. She’d lied to him eight years ago, and it seemed she hadn’t lost her talent for telling plausible untruths. Frances had certainly been serving her own ends when she adopted the role of guardian angel to Rachel Beresford. No doubt she was between patrons and, just like Rachel, had taken temporary refuge in the convent. Now she was on the lookout for a new protector. The Ambassador must have told her he had a noble guest without mentioning Gabriel’s name. What a shock Frances must have had when she discovered the wealthy man she’d selected as her next victim was someone she’d duped already. Gabriel had no intention of playing her fool again.
