Rogues Gallery (24 page)

"'Tis bad luck to bring these indoors, miss," Daphne said through tight lips.

Marisa's heart tumbled. She sank into the nearby chair. No wonder her marriage had commenced in such a rocky fashion. Her bridal bouquet consisted of flowers designed to ensure the nuptials could not go smoothly.

"Though there are some who believe the blooms are a symbol of hope," Daphne continued, with uncharacteristic gentleness, as though aware of Marisa's need for comfort.

"Truly?"

"There's a tale that when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden, Eve despaired that winter would never end. So an angel blew on some snowflakes, changing them into snowdrops, helping her to believe that spring would come someday."

"I prefer that story to the bad luck one."

"Shall I take the flowers away then, miss?"

Marisa shook her head. "Leave them, please." She needed a reminder of hopefulness in that moment. Hope was proving to be a very rare commodity in her life these days.

"Very well, miss. Will you be needing assistance with your bath?"

"No, thank you, Daphne. I shall manage quite fine by myself tonight."

After Daphne had finally left her, Marisa disrobed and then sank into the heated comfort of the hip bath placed near the fireplace. She closed her eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam, redolent of roses and lavender. Would she ever feel optimistic again?

Gabriel had rescued her with the romantic elopement, yet he had also obliterated her assumption they could share a loving future together. He would be a pleasing prospect for a husband—especially for a wicked woman such as she—if he would only reveal the nature of his secrets.

She needed proof that Gabriel had not betrayed her. Yet he would not provide it, and she could not discover anything despite her unwavering efforts. It seemed there was little reason to anticipate a joyous resolution to her dilemma: she loved a man intent on betraying her heart's desire.

Marisa trickled a handful of the bath water down her throat, intrigued at how her nipples peeked through the water that concealed the rest of her body. Knowing it was sinful, yet feeling quite daring, she touched a wet finger to one of the rosy peaks. She circled it, each slow revolution reminding her of Gabriel's loving treatment.

She moaned, aroused to an uncomfortable degree. She did not know if she could bear it if he remained away, yet it would be best for her if he did. She had little experience, much less skill, in resisting him. Still, that is what she must do, for until he explained his motives for this seeming betrayal, she could not ever hope to consummate their marriage.

***

G
abriel caught his breath. No wonder Marisa had not noticed his entry into the room, silent as it was. The lass was consumed in a most delightful occupation, one which tightened his loins with envy. He watched, fascinated, as she stroked her nipple, occasionally trickling droplets of water on the receptive tip. Clearly she was enjoying the exercise, judging by the satisfied smile lighting her face.

The Fates were smiling on him, at last. He had come to her bedchamber, seeking a rapprochement with his bride. He knew he had a much greater chance of success when her body responded to him, overruling her brain's objections. To his delight, she had already commenced the activities, ensuring he would enjoy a welcome reception.

Not trusting his voice to come out in anything but a croak, Gabriel cleared his throat. Marisa's head snapped up. Her eyes locked with his. A heartbeat later, her face flooded with color, and she sank into the bathwater up to her chin.

Gabriel grinned as he advanced toward her, and not only because of her delightful embarrassment. No, his grin was as much for his stilted manner of walking. He could barely move at all for the massive arousal she had provoked.

He stood above her, his hands on his hips.

Her hands fluttered. "Oh! I was—" She flushed anew before recovering her aplomb. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to visit my bride." He executed a courtly bow, as though unaware she was less than pleased with him.

Her chin tilted up. "I hope you have brought your bride some answers."

"Ssh, angel." He leaned forward and placed his fingers against her disapproving lips. "I will satisfy your curiosity soon enough."

She scoffed, but Gabriel pretended he did not hear it. Instead, he retrieved an embroidered footstool, grateful his arousal had subsided enough so he could be seated.

Her eyes remained wary as he placed a gloved finger to her cheek, smoothing away a tendril of hair that dangled in the bathwater. His finger curled around the shell of her ear before following the tendril down her neck.

"I have missed you," he said, outlining her collarbone.

Marisa shivered and closed her eyes, unwilling to look at him.

"I can do little but think of you," he continued, skimming his gloved fingertip across her bare shoulder.

She moaned, a delicate sound, but refused to acknowledge him in any other fashion.

"My days are consumed with thoughts of pleasuring you."

She nibbled her lip, turning her face away from him.

"My nights are devoted to creating new pleasures for you."

She exhaled a delightful sigh, rippling the bathwater in a most entrancing way. His body reacted once more to her nakedness, so close to his touch, yet he reminded himself to resist a while longer.

Gabriel stroked her neck again, but he needed his bare hand against her skin. He could not tolerate even the slightest barrier between them.

When he halted his touch, her eyes flew open, her lips pouting a protest she did not intend to utter aloud. Gabriel admired her tenacity, her unwillingness to give in once she believed herself betrayed.

He knew the emotion well, having suffered betrayal by his own uncle. Yet it was because of Edmund's treachery that Gabriel could not confess his schemes to Marisa, much as he needed her faith in him.

Gabriel raised his hand to show he simply meant to remove his glove. There was no doubt she enjoyed the buttery soft leather against her satiny skin. He would remember that in future. He would also use every passionate weapon in his arsenal to dismantle the emotional barriers between them.

"Have you thought of me at night, Marisa?"

She shook her head in quick denial. Yet she observed, clearly beguiled, as he put his gloved hand in his mouth, tugging with his teeth until the glove was loosened. He pulled at each finger of the glove, watching her the entire time, until he could remove the leather gauntlet with ease.

Next he removed the leather strip covering his eyes, with equally tantalizing slowness, demonstrating he was willing to risk his identity, and his safety, for her.

"Did you remember my touch?"

Her rapt eyes followed his hand as it made its way back to her, but she did not call a halt. Gabriel dipped his hand in the rose-scented water and trickled it over the exposed portion of her chest. Once again he sketched her neck with his finger, following the route he had blazed earlier.

This time his fingers danced along her skin, right above the water. When her chest heaved with a ragged inhalation, he dipped his fingers below the water and found an impudent nipple. He cupped his hand around her breast, enjoying the warm water lapping against his wrist, savoring Marisa's quickening breaths.

Though his own aroused state was ascending to a dangerous level, still Gabriel tempted them both, lovingly tormenting first one nipple and then the other. He almost faltered when Marisa leaned back, arching so that her magnificent breasts jutted from the water.

Gabriel leaned forward to lap a droplet of water clinging to the rosy hardness of her nipple.

"Gabriel!"

It was anything but a protest, and it spurred him on. He kissed her breasts, alternately licking and sucking the water from them. He drew the nipple into his mouth, wetting his hand in the bathwater before circling his palm over her other breast.

The sloshing water brought him back to his senses, for she was retreating. Gabriel sat down on the footstool, biting back an oath. Marisa's rational nature had resurfaced, long before he had had a chance to plead his case with his tempting bride.

She gazed at him, her expression guarded once more.

"Did I hurt you?"

She mutely shook her head.

"Ah," he said with relief. "You grow cold then."

Again she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

Gabriel nearly grumbled at the picture of absolute resistance she presented. It had been a great deal easier to seduce his Mistress Angel before she had become his bride.

"What is it then, angel?"

"You distract me so!"

He threw his head back and laughed, but at her look of exasperation, he said, "I concede it was distracting, but I hope it was pleasurable as well."

She blushed and narrowed her eyes at the same time. He heard some mutterings about his audacity and her body's continued betrayal, and he covered his smile.

"Shall Daphne be attending you tonight?" He flicked a glance at the maid's door, dreading her return. He had much to accomplish with his new bride, and needed to be spared any interruptions.

"I informed her I would not require her assistance this evening."

"How fortunate for me." He grabbed the towel from the nearby table and held it open for her.

"Gabriel," Marisa said, a prim tone in her voice he had rarely heard, and never after a sensual interlude. "Though we are wed, I would ask you to turn away."

He grinned, unaccountably stirred by her bout of maidenly modesty. He turned his head to the side, although the temptation was tremendous to see his angel in all her naked glory.

"Come, my Venus, arise from thy bath."

When he heard no movements, he clenched his eyes shut. "Come, my Venus," he repeated with theatrical flair, "before thou art shriveled beyond repair."

With a hearty slosh of water on his boots, and a barely audible giggle, Marisa was at last wrapped in the towel.

She scampered behind the dressing screen across the room. Gabriel shot a hopeful glance in that direction, but the gold floral silk ensured he was not even able to see her silhouette. With a wry twist of his lips, he poured two glasses from the ever-present brandy bottle while he waited for her return.

He sipped the warming liquid, calming his rampant lust, or so he hoped. Still, it was difficult to resist her. His wife! He could legally take her that very night if he wished. And he wished—Lord, how he wished!

Yet he would only have her willing. Even though it appeared she might never acquiesce, at least not in this lifetime.

He swallowed a hefty slug of the brandy, wincing when the blazing liquid seared his throat. Before he left that evening, he would convince Marisa she had many reasons to trust him, though at present she believed otherwise.

And he meant to use every means possible, including his fiery wife's passion, as well as her propensity for wickedness.

***

M
arisa emerged from donning her nightrail and robe to see Gabriel, his head tipped back against the brocade wing chair, his eyes closed. Her first instinct was to rush to his side, but she curbed it, needing time to recover her senses. He had made it nearly impossible for her to preserve her anger.

She tiptoed toward the chair, her bare feet not making a sound. Yet when she drew near, Gabriel's eyes flew open, as if he had sensed her presence. His lips tilted up, and his hand reached toward hers.

Her heart pounded out of control, despite her strictures to remain unmoved by him. She disregarded his outstretched hand, passing by his chair on the way to her own. In the next heartbeat, he grasped her about the waist and placed her upon his lap.

She struggled to remove herself, but he was strong, not to mention resolute. He circled her with his arm, pulling her closer to his chest. She knew she had to resist, for she would be lost if he overcame her reason as he had done earlier in her bath.

She twisted on his lap until she was facing him, then she pushed against his chest in an effort to release his grip. He continued to clasp her, grinning, as determined as she was to prevail in this battle of wills.

"Gabriel, I am quite vexed with you."

"I am aware of that, angel," he said, his humor fading away.

He unconsciously loosened his hold about her waist, and Marisa grabbed the chance to scramble off his lap. His reflexes were quick, however, and he wrapped his arms about her once more.

Yet she had to admit his touch was not constricting. He held her firmly against his muscled chest, as though he meant to envelop her with comfort. At any other time she would have reveled in his closeness. Now she had to resist the lure, at least until he revealed the information she craved.

"Why have you come here this evening?"

She felt rather than heard his sigh. She turned to see his expression, yet to her frustration, his face was impassive, giving away nothing. In the next heartbeat he smiled, dazzling her with the dimple she adored. He leaned forward to give her a kiss, but she twisted her head to the side.

He nuzzled her neck instead. Her nipples hardened in response, and she could not stop the shiver that ran over her skin. Nor could she insist he halt the pleasant sensations, despite her earlier intentions.

"Since you would not tell me why you and Edmund share the same name," she said, her voice breathless, "I have tried to discover the answer on my own."

"Indeed?" His lips continued to rove her tingling skin, nipping the tender spot where her neck swooped into her shoulder. "How did you go about that, pray tell?"

"An aborted search of the local county history," she answered, though it was difficult to form a coherent thought. "The DeVault family has a long and illustrious history." She paused to catch her breath. "Though I was unable to discover anything of its current members."

"Mmm," he answered, and it almost seemed her answer relieved him.

"And then I asked Edmund about any familial connections."

Gabriel's eyebrows shot upward. "You
are
a tenacious one." He entwined his fingers in her hair, tugging on it until her neck was exposed once more. He lowered his lips to the pulse at her throat. "I can only wonder at how he responded."