Broken Wing (37 page)

The problem was that he had taught her to appreciate a man in a way she never had before, and to be lonely in a way she had never imagined. She thought of Killigrew, and wondered for the first time, if Ross hadn’t known damn well what he was about, hadn’t put him deliberately in her path. The thought should have made her angry, but it didn’t. He was a challenge that any sensible woman would stay well clear of. Charming, handsome, and very wicked, he was a licentious rake, but she’d sensed something more, and his cynical good humor held great appeal. Sensible,
or not, she found herself interested in someone for the first time in years.

Arriving home two days before Jamie did, she was immediately caught up in the bustle of holiday preparations. Her good cheer communicated itself to the rest of the household, and although they passed a quiet Christmas, it was a very pleasant one. When Davey came, tentative and careful around her, as he always was these days, she threw her arms around him and gave him a great hug, knowing he’d taken her silence for blame. “I’m so sorry, Davey. I’ve been unforgivably selfish. I don’t blame you for it, you know. It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. It’s just been so hard.”

He hugged her back, relieved, and thankful for the return of the easy camaraderie and deep affection that had always been between them.

Sarah greeted the New Year with excitement. She’d received several letters from London, including one from her old friend Lady Webster, inviting her to go mountain climbing in Italy with her and Lady Spenser in the spring. There was also a very charming letter from the Earl of Falmouth, thanking her for her visit and inviting her to call upon him in London should she find herself so inclined. She thought that she might take him up on it. Perhaps she would write and invite him to visit her in Cornwall. But not yet. She felt as if she’d finally woken from a deep sleep, and she had no intention of losing herself in it again, but every night she dreamed of Gabriel, and she supposed,
even though he’d not expect it, she would wait a while longer.

The coming of spring found Sarah in the stables helping Simmons with the foaling. She was expecting to leave for Italy within the month, after a quick stop in London to renew old acquaintances. The thought made her grin. Ross had gone to Holland on business and was expected back anytime, and when a servant came to inform her of his return, and his request to see her immediately, she hurried to the house. He greeted her with a warm hug, but he was clearly uneasy, eyeing her with a mixture of trepidation and solicitude that he hadn’t shown in months.

“Good God, Ross, whatever’s the matter? You’re making me nervous.”

Sighing, he poured them both a drink. “Sarah, I’ve recently had some information from a fellow who served under me almost ten years ago. I’m not sure how reliable it is, and I’ve debated telling you. I want you to understand that I put very little credence in it, but I feel you have a right to know.”

“Tell me what, Ross? What information?” Sarah asked, her heart pounding.

“Well, my dear, the fellow claims to have been taken prisoner off the Barbary Coast a few years back.
He had recently escaped his captivity you see, and he came to me, as his former commander, to see if I might help him back on his feet. He claims to have served some corsair captain, as a
renegado
, a fellow who’s turned Turk, as they say. He says he escaped with two Frenchmen and some other crew members, when they were placed on a prize ship. One of them was the second in command. The thing is, Sarah … it seems most unlikely, but from the way he described this man, he sounded somewhat like Gabriel.”

“Oh, my God!” Sarah threw herself at Ross, hugging him excitedly, laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s alive! I knew it. Oh, I knew it. Oh, thank God! Where is he, Ross? Surely you asked the fellow where he is?”

“Calm yourself, Sarah,” Ross said, gently detaching himself and guiding her back to her chair. “You mustn’t get your hopes up. As I told you, I doubt very much it could be him. Surely if it were, Davey would have found him long before now. The man I spoke with made good his escape ten months ago. He says the Frenchmen went to Paris, and then on to London. Surely if one of them were Gabriel he would have contacted you immediately. I tell you this not because I believe it. I simply felt it was something you needed to know.”

“You’re quite right, Ross,” Sarah said, stunned and elated. “I most certainly needed to know.”

Napoleon, upon his triumphant return to Paris, had proclaimed a general amnesty for most classes of French exiles, and within the first year of the consulate over forty thousand families had been permitted to return, the
chevalier’s
among them. By the time Gabriel and Jacques arrived in Paris, the city was thriving, teeming with soldiers, citizens, returning old guard, and eager British tourists who’d swarmed across the channel shortly after the treaty was signed. It was a cosmopolitan city, particularly in the summer of 1802. Even so, they created somewhat of a stir as they strode down the streets of Paris in flowing burnooses, armed to the teeth.

“Il faut d’argent,”
were the
chevalier’s
first words upon entering the city.

“What do you propose, Jacques? We left a bloody fortune behind us. That’s two I’ve lost now. We do have this, though.” Gabriel reached under his burnoose
and pulled out the purse he’d pilfered from de Sevigny, tossing it to his companion.

“But this is very nice, indeed, Gabriel! I propose we invest it at the Palais Royale.”

“Are you suggesting we apply ourselves to vice, Chevalier?”

“Most assiduously, yes. I have led
une vie manquée
until now. It’s hardly the time to stop. I assure you I’m very well suited to it.”

“I don’t doubt it. I have had some small success at the gaming tables myself. I’ve noted that with the proper skill and attitude one can reliably turn the play to one’s advantage.”

Well, then, my friend,” Valmont said, tossing Gabriel back the purse, “I suggest we prepare our offensive. We must divert and distract. We must shimmer, dazzle, and shine, and above all, we must not appear
à la bourgeois.”

The Palais Royale was the center of Parisian political and amorous intrigue, and one of the most celebrated gambling dens in the world. It was here they launched their campaign of gambling and gallantry, with an eye to replenishing their lost fortunes. The society of professional gamblers that roamed the major courts and cities of Europe had largely forgone the distinctions of birth, the willingness and ability to play deep, being the great equalizer. It was a mobile society of cynical, cold-blooded, hard-eyed men and women, that lived by their own rules, and Gabriel and Valmont
fit right in.

They implemented a strategy that quickly elevated them to the top rank of predators in Paris at the time. They didn’t cheat. They didn’t need to. Pooling their resources and sharing their winnings they played only those games where skill, attitude, and a cool head, gave them an advantage over their opponents and the odds. Affecting the flamboyant mannerisms and dress of the
ancien régime
, wearing velvets, silks, jewels, and high heels, tall men both, they towered above most gatherings. Outrageously beautiful, glittering, and painted in powder and kohl, they were always the center of attention.

Gabriel found himself a cousin again, claimed as the
chevalier’s
not so distant kin. They were widely rumored to be lovers. It was nothing obvious, a smile across the room, a touch on the arm, an unguarded look, and a certain
je ne sais quoi
of style and manner. Pederasty
and
incest. Even the most
laissez faire
of their dissolute society was enthralled by the gossip, which suited them both. The
chevalier’s
family, trying to reestablish themselves and their fortune, were uncharitably dismayed at the prodigal’s return, loudly and publicly disowning him. They were dead to him, but their shocked outrage at his scandalous behavior fueled gleefully malicious gossip that both the
chevalier
and Gabriel welcomed. By drawing attention to themselves, they diverted their opponents from the play.

A player who was adept at identifying situations where he had the advantage over the casino, could
make a good deal of money at
vingt-et-un
, and Gabriel taught a delighted Valmont his system for counting the cards. Choosing their games, remaining relentlessly sober while those around them surrendered to excess, they pitted
sang-froid
, knowledge, and experience, against ignorance and reckless self-abandon. Within three short months they had recovered all the fortune they’d left behind in Algiers, and were well on their way to doubling it.

Gabriel’s return to Paris revived feelings and memories he had long thought dead and buried. His nightmares had returned with a vengeance. His sleep was filled with grisly horrors of blood and death; towering waves and snapping bones, and sweet kisses that ended in twisting hatred. Awake, he was plagued with thoughts of Sarah, constantly aware that she was now within his reach, three, maybe four days away. He wondered how she had taken the news of his death, what she was doing now, and if she ever thought of him. He wondered if she’d married again, properly this time, to someone whom her brother would gladly accept, someone worthy of her.

The thought of her with someone else twisted through him like a knife in the belly. He no longer harbored any illusions though, about who or what he was. He’d come to understand what Sarah had tried to tell him, that as a youth, and even later, he’d never really had a chance to choose for himself. What de Sevigny had done to him years ago was not of his
choice, or his making, and when he’d been given the chance it was Sarah that he’d chosen. He’d even started to believe that maybe she was right. Maybe he deserved to love and be loved as much as anyone else did, but he couldn’t believe it anymore.

He’d been given the opportunity to know something better. He’d been given Sarah, and he’d betrayed her with the most intimate gift he had to give. It hadn’t been taken, or forced. He’d given it freely, deliberately, to de Sevigny. One kiss, followed by others, to charm, to seduce, to destroy. He’d finally become the whore that de Sevigny and others had always thought him, not for money, not for favors, but for revenge.

He’d betrayed her, and he’d betrayed himself, and for that alone he’d be too ashamed to look her in the eyes, but there was more. Nothing had mattered after that. He had killed, cold, mechanical, and merciless, dealing death and being paid for it. Even now he preyed on the weak and the pathetic. He was familiar enough with the rituals of self-destruction and despair to recognize them in others. He saw it in the faces of the foolish boys and desperate men who haunted the casinos, seeking the perverted solace of debasement and ruin. He knew them intimately, and he preyed on them, using their weakness to his advantage, and helping them along their way.

The best thing he could do for Sarah was to stay away from her, let her think he was dead, and let her start her life anew. Even though she was just a few
miles away, a few days distant, it was an impossible distance, an insurmountable chasm to cross. He couldn’t find his way back. He just didn’t know how. He was well and truly lost. At least de Sevigny had taught him one useful lesson. He had taught him not to feel. All he need do was remember that, and he’d be fine.

Telling himself that a man who had money had at least some control of his fate, he drowned his turmoil in the ruthless pursuit of perfecting his game, and increasing his and the
chevalier’s
winnings. Their strategy was not without flaws. The
chevalier
was inordinately fond of women. Tall women, short women, young or old, strumpet or lady, he felt supremely dissatisfied if he didn’t have at least one to charm, and one more for a grand
affair d’amour
. Having gone far too long without, he availed himself of the discreet services of a local courtesan, until he hit upon the happy discovery that many ladies were fascinated by his androgynous appearance and enigmatic sexuality. They vied to seduce him, delighting to think that they might have the power to sway him. He delighted in hesitantly allowing them to try.

“Ma foi, Gabriel!
C’est un embarras de richesses!
They find that though I am not inclined to be willing, I am ever so willing to be weak. They pursue me unmercifully, beauties each and every one of them!”

“I am delighted for you, of course, Valmont.”

“Yes, but how is a man to choose? Which one should I allow to seduce me first?”

Unlike the chevalier, Gabriel was not willing to be weak. Beautiful and ice cold, there were few who dared challenge his reserve He was not kind to those who did, flaying them with a frigid disdain and an acid wit that frightened others from approaching.

“Does it really matter, Valmont?” Gabriel asked tiredly. “They seem somewhat interchangeable.”

“But of course it matters,
mon vieux!
Great honor will go to the Diana, Hecate, or Artemis who succeeds. More importantly, there appears to be a great deal wagered on the outcome.”