Broken Wing (42 page)

Sarah told him about Jamie, how much he’d grown, and how close they had become. She told him about Davey and Ross, and Killigrew. He told her about the
chevalier
, what he owed him, and how he loved and valued him as a friend. He described Algiers and Morocco for her, and all the things he’d seen in Africa, the fantastical, and the horrific. He described the battles, the dead bodies, and his own strange detachment. She couldn’t find any words to
help him with it, but she listened, her arms wrapped tight around him while he relived it, and he wasn’t alone with it anymore. It was three days before they finally stirred from her room.

“I have no clothes, Sarah.”

“That is how I like you, Gabriel. I’ve decided to keep you this way.”

He laughed and tickled her, lying across her back and capturing an ankle, contenting himself by caressing her calf and playing with her toes as they talked. “I should go back, though, to collect some belongings and let Valmont know I’m still alive.”

“I’m afraid to let you out of my sight. I’m afraid I might lose you again.”

“Fear not, mignonne, we shall be as Castor and Pollux, ‘united by the warmest affection, and inseparable in all our enterprises.’
Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge
. Where
do
you want to live, Sarah? Here in London? We can stay wherever you like. I have more money than I could ever spend. We are rich.”

“We are richer than you think. Your ship, the one you left in Gibraltar, is waiting at anchor in Falmouth Harbor. Davey sailed it back, and Ross had your
shares put in the bank, in case you should be found someday.”

“God bless them both! Did you see her, Sarah?” he asked excitedly. “Is she not a quick and lively little thing?”

“She truly is. She’s beautiful, Gabe. I’d rather hoped we’d go sailing together. In the last letter you sent you promised me travel and adventure.”

“Would it please you, mignonne?”

“It would please me very much, indeed. I would love to travel the world with you. We could go to the Sandwich Islands, and Japan, and visit the Americas, and I’ve always dreamed of going to China.”

Laughing, he kissed her toes, and reluctantly let her go. “If we’re to do all that, mignonne, I really must get dressed.”

Not ready to explain themselves, to leave their own private world, or to converse with anyone but each other, they snuck out late that night, whispering, laughing, and shushing each other like a pair of naughty schoolboys. Sarah, dressed in breeches and boots, looked every inch the part. Any fears, doubts, pains, or sorrows that might have stood between them, had been forever washed away in a torrent of lovemaking and sweet communion,
and they were inseparable now.

Although the hour was late, there was a still a steady stream of traffic in and out the house on Chesterfield Street. They stole through the garden, and stopped under a balcony adjoining Gabriel’s private suite. “Here we are, my girl. Up you go.” Making a foothold with his clasped hands, Gabriel boosted Sarah easily up to the railing. She scrambled over, laughing and panting.

“Be careful, Gabe,” she whispered, reaching down to him. “You’re a lot heavier than I am.”

“I’m a sailor, my love,” he said, waving her hand away disdainfully. Leaping up, he caught the rail, one-handed, and pulled himself easily onto the balcony beside her. Flushed with the excitement of clandestine escapades in the dark of night, they forgot their purpose, and tumbled happily into his bed, kissing, squeezing, and struggling with their clothes.

“You ripped my shirt,” she complained, sometime later.

“You can use one of mine, mignonne. You wear them so much better than I.” He found her a shirt in one of his chests, grinning appreciatively when she put it on.

“Should we go and see your friend now?”

“No, he’ll be with his guests, and a woman after that. Tomorrow will do well enough.”

“Mmm. You know this room doesn’t seem like you at all, except for those,” she said, pointing to several instruments that took up most of the far wall.

“I don’t suppose I’ve really thought of it as my room. It’s just a place to sleep, if I can. Those? I don’t know … I thought it might …” He shrugged and made a helpless gesture with his hands.

“Do you still play?”

“No, Sarah. Not for some time now.”

Absently caressing her new shirt, she ambled over to the wall for a closer look.

The
chevalier
entertained his guests, making sure that the wine and the conversation flowed smoothly, but his mind was somewhere else. It had been four days since St. Croix had stormed from the library. Gabriel’s reaction to Lady Munroe had been astonishing. He was well aware the man wasn’t the callous libertine most people thought him, but he’d always found him to be cool, verging on cold-blooded. He’d never seen him truly upset before. He wondered if he might have left for France, if he might have done himself an injury, or if Lady Munroe might know what had upset him so. Weary, worried, and increasingly perplexed, he pushed away Barbara’s grasping hands, stepped around a pretty raven-haired doxy, and set off for his bed, alone. He would visit the widow Munroe and make some inquiries of her tomorrow.

He stopped suddenly, turning to look down the hall. There was light spilling from under the door to Gabriel’s rooms, and he could hear the unmistakable sounds of merriment within. Damn the impertinence! These were private quarters and no one was allowed to enter here without express invitation.
Nom de Dieu
, they weren’t operating a brothel! He stood outside the door, collecting himself. Quiet laughter, the murmur of soft voices, and the discordant notes of piano and fiddle drifted from the room out into the hall. He was about to enter when notes turned into chords, and chords turned into music. Piano and fiddle coaxed and caressed each other, engaging and coalescing into a hauntingly lovely melody that spoke of yearning, pathos, and joy. His anger evaporated. He couldn’t recollect the last time he had been so moved. Curious, spellbound, he opened the door.

They were oblivious to everything but each other. St. Croix, barefoot and bare-chested bent over the keyboard, his fingers weaving an exquisite spell, his eyes warm and intent on his lady. She sat cross-legged on top of the piano wearing nothing but a shirt. Stunned, Valmont watched them, completely captivated. Gabriel was a virtuoso! His lady was enchanting! He waited until the last notes rolled, slowed, and stopped, then exclaimed into the silence, “Oh, well done,
mes enfants!
Well done, indeed!”

Sarah shrieked in surprise and slid hastily off the piano as Gabriel jumped to his feet, pushing her
behind him. “Damn you, Jacques! Have you no manners? Has no one taught you how to knock?”

“Je suis désolé, mon vieux
. Your pardon, Madame la Comtesse,” the
chevalier
said with a deep bow. “I was so enchanted, transported, in fact, that I quite forgot myself. Gabriel, dear friend, will you not introduce me to your lovely lady?” he asked with a disarming grin.

“Sarah, may I present to you Jacques Louis David, Chevalier de Valmont.”

“It’s a great pleasure, Chevalier! Gabriel speaks very highly of you,” Sarah said, smiling warmly from behind Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Does he really, my dear?” the
chevalier
asked, delighted. “I’ve always assumed I annoyed him terribly.”

“You do!” Gabriel snapped.

“He tells me you are his dearest friend. I am most grateful to you for your care of him.”

“It seems that I might say the same of you,
mademoiselle.”

“She is to be called
madame
, Valmont!” Gabriel growled. Damn Jacques! He was trying to ogle her bare legs! It was time to set him straight. “Chevalier, allow me to introduce my
wife
, Sarah St. Croix,
Madame
St. Croix to you. Sarah? Perhaps you would like to retreat to the dressing room and find something a little warmer to wear.”

“Yes, Gabe,” Sarah said meekly, kissing his shoulder, slightly ashamed of herself for enjoying his jealous snit. She slipped quickly into the adjoining dressing room.

“Your wife! I am
bouleversé, mon ami!
Shocked! I never imagined!”

“I know you didn’t, Jacques,” Gabriel said with a wicked smile, relaxing now that Sarah’s legs were no longer on display. They both turned as she reentered the room a moment later, lost in one of Gabriel’s dressing gowns.

“Madame St. Croix,” the
chevalier
said, clicking his heels and making a formal bow. “It is a very great delight to meet you! Gabriel,
mon ami
, when you refused all the women who threw themselves at you, here and in Paris, I felt certain that … well, never mind. Clearly, you had a
grande passion
. And to think, she is your wife! How unusual! I am delighted for you both! Come now,
mes enfants
. We shall share some wine and celebrate and you will tell me of your
grand amour.”

Gabriel and Sarah spent another month in London finishing up their affairs, moving back and forth between the town house and the house on Chesterfield Street. Gabriel ceded his share of the property to Valmont, refusing any compensation other than the
chevalier
‘s agreement to come to his aid if ever he was needed, which they both knew either would happily do for the other, in any case.

Within days, it was common knowledge they were lovers, and that a startling transformation had come over St. Croix. Gone was the glittering disguise. The man who emerged from underneath was virile, powerful, and intensely alive. He doted on his lady in a way that was unfashionable, entirely unexpected, and the envy of all the ladies of the ton. His hard-planed features gentled and warmed, his cruel mouth softened and smiled, and his eyes glowed with a proprietary flame whenever he looked at her. They were inseparable. Wherever one was, there was the other, always touching, hand in hand, leaning in to each other to speak, and walking with arms linked or wrapped around each other’s waist. It was disgraceful, and they didn’t care. They were sought after everywhere, receiving many invitations, and accepting none. They enjoyed themselves with Valmont, whom Sarah quickly came to know and love, almost as much as Gabriel did, and when their business was done, they went home.