Absolute Pleasure (24 page)

"I'm having my portrait done," she said again.

"How nice for you."

"It's been an amusing diversion."

"And when am I to view this superb masterpiece?"

"I don't know the artist's schedule. He's extremely busy, so I'd guess in a few more weeks."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"As am I," she said. "Good-bye," and she waltzed off.

A telling hush descended. The earl reverted to his reading. The servant left for the kitchens.

Charlotte glared at her plate, an unanticipated surge of tears flooding her eyes.

She hated her husband! Hated her stepdaughter!

Hated her life!

At the notion of Elizabeth's prancing off to enjoy a carefree adventure, jealousy poured through her. How she wished she could get even for the contentment Elizabeth had found! If only Charlotte could detect some method of reducing Elizabeth's elevated circumstances! It wasn't fair that Elizabeth was so gay, while she, Charlotte, was so miserable!

How gratifying it would be to bring her down a notch or two, and how splendid if, in the process, she could demonstrate to the earl a few of Elizabeth's defects. He acted as if his daughter could do no wrong. Well, Charlotte would eventually force him to confront the truth.

Elizabeth wasn't anything special! Charlotte would show him!

She rose, placidly and sedately withdrawing from the salon and proceeding to the stairs, but no one noticed her departure.

Chapter Fourteen

Gabriel stood at the window, dressed solely in his trousers, ready to paint, but he couldn't. An arm braced against the sill, he gazed out at the rainy day, but saw nothing. Nothing, that is, but the sight of his father and Mary Smith. He couldn't put the scene behind him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he pictured them together John blithe and joyous; Miss Smith rumpled and well loved.

He couldn't figure out why he was so upset by his discovery. Over the years, his father had had many lovers. His amorous exploits had never been a secret, even when Gabriel was a young boy, but it had been a long while since John had displayed more man a passing fancy for any female.

The man was fifty years old, and he'd encountered limited contentment, as well as inconceivable heartache, so Gabriel should have been glad that John had found someone with whom to share his future. Yet, John's marrying was painful to contemplate.

For some reason, Gabriel equated his disturbing reaction with the loss of his mother. He'd been a babe when she was murdered, so he had no recollections of her but, in many unexplainable ways, she had had more influence on his upbringing than John.

The woman's life had been a tragedy, one that John had recounted in numerous melancholic moments, so Gabriel felt that he'd known her, had suffered for her, and had loved her.

Wed at fourteen to an elderly, bitter Italian count, she'd been a gifted artist, supposedly more talented than Gabriel, yet her husband wouldn't permit her to practice her craft. Driven to create, she would slip away to hidden studios, using pilfered supplies, only to be caught and beaten, men locked in her room to prevent her from continuing.

At age nineteen, she'd met and fallen in love with John. His father had always imagined himself as a modern-day knight in shining armor, bent on rescuing damsels in distress, and he had fled with her to commence their doomed, bittersweet affair.

Eventually, her brothers had located them, had killed Selena for the disgrace she'd wreaked on their family. They would have killed Gabriel, too—the ultimate evidence of her grave sin—if they'd had the opportunity, but luckily, he and John had been out of the house when his uncles had arrived, and John had immediately whisked him away upon learning the dreadful news.

This event, and the torment that followed, had bound him more closely to John man any son could ever be, and though Gabriel's sentiments made no sense, it seemed as though John was tarnishing Selena's memory by succumbing to ardor again. The notion was asinine, but he couldn't set it aside.

He couldn't discuss his feelings with John. His father was buoyant in a manner Gabriel could never recall witnessing before, and Gabriel would never hurt him by implying that he wasn't ecstatic, too. He loved his father, and if Mary Smith could make him so exhilarated, then Gabriel yearned to be happy for him.

Unfortunately, the two women, Selena Cristofore and Mary Smith, were jumbled together in his head, having both vied for and received John's undying devotion, which Gabriel knew from individual experience to be a vast amount. He couldn't get past the annoying, infantile conviction that Mary Smith would be stealing John away, that John's regard would be forfeit and showered on another,
that the fealty they'd unceasingly had to Selena's memory would fade with John's remarriage.

John had been the shining center of Gabriel's existence, the guiding force, the calming influence. For so long, it had been just the two of them against the world, running, (raveling, living life to the fullest, while thriving on their bonding reminiscence of Selena. He couldn't predict how things would change with Mary Smith plopped into the middle of their relationship.

He was acting like a child. A spoiled, coddled, selfish child, yet he couldn't desist. He didn't want the woman insinuating herself into his family. As he'd never had a mother, he wasn't sure how to adapt to having a female constantly on the premises.

If that attitude wasn't immature enough, he didn't want her interfering with his time with John, meddling and intruding into their male business. Without a doubt, she'd insist that he modify his methods and habits—both public and private—and he was petulantly, pettily opposed to obliging her.

The door opened, and he glanced over his shoulder, inordinately pleased to see Elizabeth. He was terribly glad she'd come early, that she'd spend most of the day. Perhaps after copious hours in her sweet company, some of his agitation and apprehension would wane.

She's my best friend.

The thought popped out of nowhere, and the realization was refreshing and pacifying. She was someone in whom he could confide. She wouldn't judge or ridicule; she would empathize and offer advice upon which he could depend.

How extraordinary that he hadn't appreciated it before! He'd been so focused on the sexual, on her blossoming carnal proficiency, that he hadn't peered beyond the surface. From the beginning, he'd cherished her, which was why he battled to keep her at arm's length, but on this hideous occasion, distance wouldn't do.

He needed compassion and commiseration, so he intended to lean on Elizabeth for the duration of her visit, letting her shower him with her precious attention, and sate him with her lush, magnificent body.

Meticulously, he assessed her as she removed her cloak and hung it on a hook. She was so charming in her pink dress, in her hat with its green bow tied appealingly under her chin, with her luxurious hair cascading down. It was difficult to recognize her as the same demure, retiring noblewoman he'd stumbled upon such a short time ago.

"Hello,
bella."
He struggled for composure, for equanimity, and prayed his greeting had been sufficiently pleasant to have masked his level of anguish.

"Are you all right?"

Instantly, she perceived that he was unsettled, and he should have guessed that she would. Where he was concerned, she had an uncanny knack for discerning his emotional condition.

She untied her hat and tossed it on the floor, then stalked across the room and slipped her arms around his waist, scrutinizing him exhaustively. Considering his vexation, he couldn't abide such an exacting appraisal, so he pulled her tightly against him, burying himself at her nape, breathing in her scent so he could be soothed by her familiar essence.

"I'm fine," he contended once he felt more poised.

"Liar."

She tilted back to look at him, and he shrugged. "Well, perhaps I'm not feeling all that great"

"I should say not" Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss against his mouth. "Want to tell me about it?"

The entire sordid story of his chancing upon John and Mary was perched on the tip of his tongue, but he simply couldn't speak of the incident aloud. Turning away from her shrewd evaluation, he proceeded to the small room at the rear of the cottage. She followed, tarrying in the doorway and watching his every move as he crossed to the nightstand next to the bed.

He slept in the bed when he was working late, and he'd had a lover or two upon its comfortable mattress. As he rooted around in a drawer, he wondered if she suspected. In situations involving his comportment, she was incredibly astute, so he wouldn't be surprised if she'd surmised his rampant, dubious proclivities.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he concluded his search.

"I have a piece of jewelry I'd like you to wear with your dress." He held out a silver necklace, with a heart-shaped locket.

"Oh, Gabriel, it's lovely."

"I want to draw you with it on."

She spun around and lifted her hair, and he stepped behind her and hooked the clasp. The locket nestled just above her cleavage, a stunning focal point to her gorgeous breasts.

"Is there something special inside?" She fussed with it, then flipped the pendant open to reveal two miniatures of a woman's face—one a front view, one a profile. "Who's this?"

"My mother," but as soon as he'd divulged Selena's identity, he felt horrid, and his anxiety spiraled.

He shouldn't have asked Elizabeth to model the priceless keepsake! The heirloom was too exceptional! Should he take it back? Put it away?

Was she cognizant of any of his parents' history? What if she made a disparaging remark?

No, no, she never would!

His fractious, careening introspection was making him crazed! He was a mess!

"She was very pretty."

"Aye, she was. My father always said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met."

"Did you do the paintings?"

"From his descriptions. I never knew her; she was ah ... killed when I was a wee child."

"Killed?"

"By her brothers." Oddly, he blushed with shame, as if the disclosure made him partly responsible.

"Oh, Gabriel. I'm so sorry." She laid her palm against his cheek, a tender gesture that—disgustingly—brought a sheen of tears to his eyes, and he whipped away, lest she notice.

"She was compelled to marry very young, and she was desperately forlorn. She ran off with my father and... well.. ."

He couldn't finish, and he wasn't certain Why he'd started. In his twenty-nine years, he'd never imparted a single detail to another soul. Yet, to Elizabeth, he'd hinted at the squalid particulars. It was almost as if he
wanted
her to comprehend some of the grief he carried, which was nonsense. He wasn't the sort to go around pounding his chest and supplicating for sympathy!

Behind him, he heard her shut the locket.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm honored that you'd have me wear it."

"I want you to have it," he suddenly proposed. "It's yours."

"Gabriel... it seems too dear. Are you sure?"

"It would please me tremendously."

She clasped her arms around his waist, burrowing herself against his naked back, her breasts flattened on either side of his spine. "What's wrong? Can you talk about it?"

He gulped in a huge breath of air. If he didn't exercise some discipline soon, she'd deem him to be insane! Yet, the next words out of his mouth proved that a trip to Bedlam was nigh. "What do you know about Mary Smith?"

"Mary ... Smith?" Curious, she circled around him, and braced her hands on his waist. "Our housekeeper?"

"Yes, her."

"She's a valued employee and a respected friend. Although I'd say she's an extremely private person; she has her own life."

"Yes, yes"—he waved impatiently—"but what's she
like?”

"Kind, smart, generous, patient. Why?"

"Has she ever been married?"

"No. She's a spinster."

"Has she ever been in love?"

"Well, mere were rumors that she was once infatuated with a gentleman when she was a girl, but he couldn't marry her because of their disparate stations."

"So ... she wouldn't be the type who would toy with a man's affections, or try to—"

"Honestly, Gabriel, what it is?"

"My father is going to marry her."

"What!"

"She keeps refusing him, but John insists he's about to change her mind. I'm sure he'll succeed."

"Mary and... Mr. Preston?" In shock, she sank onto the mattress, her hips balanced on the edge. "I can't believe it."

'Trust me, it's true." She was extremely dubious, so he confessed, "I walked in on them when they were naked, in my father's bed."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"How embarrassing! For all of you!" Baffled and dumbfounded, she shook her head. "I didn't realize they had more than a passing acquaintance. How—when—did this happen?"

"Well, I'd suppose we weren't the only ones dallying when you came to visit."

"Obviously not."

She chuckled, men flopped onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling and worrying her fingers in me blankets. He climbed onto tile bed so he could lie with her. "Will she be a wormy wife to him, do you think?"

"Absolutely, Gabriel." She shifted, so they were facing one another. "Is that what has you in such a state?"

"I've been in a complete muddle."

"Their affair has been stirring up memories of your mother, hasn't it?"

"Yes," he acknowledged. He crawled up to repose against the pillows, and he hauled her along so that she rested with him, her torso positioned between his legs. "I wish there'd been some means of contacting you. I was dying to tell you the news."

He paused, reflecting on what he'd just admitted. As his misery and confusion had intensified, the only person with whom he'd wanted to discuss the situation had been Elizabeth. It was frivolous daydreaming to presume that he could turn to her in times of trouble, yet there it was: He was smitten, captivated, bewitched.

Dared he give it a name? Was he in love?

"I wish I could have been here for you." She rubbed her hand over his heart, as if she knew how badly it was aching.

"As do I."

Their comments hovered in the air. Dangerous, risky, and foolish they were, so he tried to formulate another remark to fill the gap, but the only topic on which he could dwell was how splendid it would be if she was really his.

What was he contemplating? Had his recent mental ramblings left him so irrational that he imprudently hoped they might wed?