Broken Wing (8 page)

“Yes, I know. I must look a fright. But I’m nice and comfortable and warm. You missed supper.”

Nice and comfortable and warm
. Yes, she was that, he mused, and yet so powerfully unsettling. “I was riding. I lost track of time.”

“Ah, well, you’re in luck, I think. There’s ham, pie, and apples, on the counter. I won’t keep you from your meal.”

She gathered her cup, preparing to leave, and he found himself desperate to stop her.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Can you not sleep? I hadn’t expected to find anyone here at this hour.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I was sleeping until a half hour ago. I woke myself up and came down to gather
my star-gazing supplies.”

“Star gazing?”

“Yes!” she said. Her face lit up and she almost danced with excitement. “There’s going be a meteor shower over the next few nights. It comes this time every year and tonight will be especially grand because there’s hardly any moonlight. There’ll be shooting stars hurtling across the sky. Hundreds of them! I’m gathering supplies so I can watch the show in comfort,” she said smugly. “It’s best just before dawn.” She’d been trying her best to remain as cool and distant as he was, determined not to intrude on his privacy and not above punishing him for his behavior last night. She simply wasn’t very good at it.

Looking into her shining eyes, Gabriel felt his heart flip and flutter in his chest. She really was the most singular female he’d ever encountered.

“Would you like to see?” she asked impulsively. “We could watch them together.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them.

“Where?” he rasped.

“From my room. I have a telescope and a small observatory on my balcony,” she said proudly. “The view is magnificent.”

He wondered at her invitation, especially after last night. He’d found her here, waiting for him. She hadn’t told her brother about what had happened, and now she was inviting him to her room in the middle of the night. Understanding dawned, and he felt a
sharp pang of disappointment. She meant to take him up on his offer. It seemed she hadn’t minded his rough treatment. He knew some women liked it, but he hadn’t expected it from her. Well, what had he expected? He was a whore, after all, and he’d asked for this. He’d deliberately shown her what he was, and he could hardly blame her for accepting what he’d so baldly offered. And he wanted her. He would give her whatever she wanted, and take whatever she’d allow.

“Well?” She was still waiting for his answer.

He gave her a mocking bow. “I follow where my lady leads.”

She grinned again. “Excellent! I like to be prepared so I can settle in and really enjoy it. Ross says if you’re going to do a thing, do it well. I know he means duties and responsibilities and such, but I believe it applies equally well to pleasures and enjoyments, don’t you?”

“Indubitably, mignonne.”

“Hold out your arms.”

Recognizing the voice of command, he obligingly held out his arms, wondering what pleasures and enjoyments she had in mind, what orders she would give him this night, and why it should make him feel so … sad. His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a large serving plate.

“Steady, don’t drop it. Do pay attention, Gabriel!”

Bemused now, he watched as she piled it high, a knife and spoons, a half leg of ham, the pie and apples she’d spied earlier, a chunk of cheese, and after a bit of rummaging, a bowl of trifle.

“How are you managing? Can you carry it all?”

Refusing to fail in his first commission, he grunted and nodded.

“All right, this should do us handsomely. Let’s be off.” She hefted a jug of wine that had been sitting under the table. Speaking in a hushed voice, almost a whisper, she lifted a lamp in her free hand. “Follow me.”

He did, mouth watering as he watched the vague outline of her bottom swaying under her shapeless gown as she climbed the stairs in front of him. If he hadn’t been carrying the tray he would have grabbed her hips and pulled her tight against him, rubbing his swollen sex against her round backside. His hands itched and his cock twitched in anticipation.

“One more flight,” she whispered, as they reached the first floor.

One more flight. It had been far too long since he’d had a woman. He felt a brief flicker of regret to be breaking Huntington’s trust so soon after it was given, but the man deserved it. He was a fool to let a jaded whore anywhere near his sister, and a bigger fool if he couldn’t see that she was far from being the innocent she appeared.

“Here we are.” A door opened, spilling soft light into the dark hall.

Gabriel followed her in, looking curiously about him. A fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, dispelling the chill and adding light to the room. There were
several lamps and candles, some of them lit. There were bookcases and a fiddle, a small black statue of what looked to be some ancient goddess, shells, and stones, and feathers, and oddly shaped pieces of dry wood. He noted a writing table, and several curio cabinets he would have liked to explore if he hadn’t had other things on his mind.

The furniture was solid, sturdy, and exuded comfort. Soft carpet and colorful tapestries blended it all together, creating an impression of warmth and welcome. It was the kind of room where a man might relax and stay a while. A large bed on the far wall, parallel to a recessed window seat, captured his attention. Strewn with pillows, books, and discarded clothes, its velvet coverlet was thrown back, exposing what appeared to be silk sheets. It looked comfortable and inviting. He imagined he could still see the imprint of her body in the sheets, and his body tightened in expectation.

Sarah motioned him to place the tray on a low table. “There will be fine, for now.” Stretching to reach, she opened the doors to a large armoire, pulling out a soft wool blanket.

His nerve endings hummed with expectation as his body came exquisitely alive. His nostrils flared, capturing her scent, clean, musky, with hints of smoke, salt, and spice. He was intensely aware of his clothing, caressing and constraining, his erection heavy and turgid, twitching and swollen against his breeches. Without conscious awareness he changed,
metamorphosed, his manner becoming languid, seductive, his eyes hooded and heavy with sensuality, his lips parted, full and inviting.

Sarah was trying to open the doors to the balcony, struggling with the blanket and almost tripping over her shapeless nightgown, somewhat annoyed that he was standing there, doltish, rather than aiding her. “Bring the tray if you please, Gabriel.” Goodness, what was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see she needed help?

Distracted, he did as he was told. He’d been hoping for the bed, but he would service her anywhere, and any way, she pleased, standing, sitting, or lying on cold stone. Stepping out onto the balcony, he stopped suddenly, turning his head in amazement. He’d read somewhere of how homeowners in Arabic lands would turn their rooftops into delightful gardens, fantastical, private oases, open to the sky. He imagined they might look something like this.

The balcony was wide and solid and ran the length of her room. It seemed to float out over the ocean, like the prow of a ship, and he imagined he could feel the swell and pitch of the waves beneath them. An ancient oak loomed in the darkness on the northern edge to his left, its branches shading the second floor and towering above the roof. The balustrade was fitted at regular intervals with oil lamps in the shape of widemouthed brass bowls. Some of them were lit now, providing a soft, unobtrusive, glow. There were shrubs, herbs, and exotic potted plants along the wall and in the corners,
mingling with the breeze in a heady aroma that reminded him of her. Stone benches fitted with padded cushions lined the seaward edge here and there, and what appeared to be a swing sat almost dead center.

Wordlessly, Sarah stepped forward and took the tray from his unresisting grasp, setting it on a low stone table next to the swing as he continued to marvel at the magical little world he’d stepped into. Turning his face up to the heavens, his skin pricked with superstitious awe. The vaulted ceiling above him sparkled and glittered, pulsing with an ancient beauty, stirring something deep, and atavistic, within. The enchanted little space from where he watched wasn’t dwarfed or diminished by the night’s majesty, but somehow enhanced, fragile, warm, human, and all the more precious because of it. The overall effect was one of floating, as if they were part of the night, sailing amongst the stars.

He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with wonder, and then moved to examine an instrument set out on a jutting platform. It looked like the muzzle of a small cannon set on a tripod. Reaching a hand out tentatively, he looked back at her. She smiled and nodded, and reverently he felt the barrel, trailing his hands along its length, examining the focusing mechanism, tubes, mirrors, and mounting. “Is it real? Does it work?”

His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement, and her heart skipped a beat. “Yes, it works. Have you used
one before?”

“No, I’ve read about them, though.”

“Here, then, let me show you. Let’s start with the moon.” Careful not to touch him, Sarah showed him how to focus and align the instrument with the thin sliver of the moon. Standing by his shoulder, she explained that this was a twenty-four-inch reflecting telescope, made by Mr. James Short, of Scotland. She was about to regale him with the advantages and disadvantages of reflecting versus refracting telescopes when she realized he was far too engrossed in what he was doing to pay her any attention.

She contented herself with watching him. It was the first time she’d seen him completely stripped of mask or artifice. He was boyish and eager in his enthusiasm, enraptured with the wonders revealed through the lens, and she saw past all the walls that hurt and cruelty, abandonment and betrayal had built around him, to the lively, sensitive, spirit within, and realized she was in danger of falling quite hopelessly in love.

Gabriel was caught up in an excitement of discovery unlike anything he’d ever known. To learn from books was one thing, but to actually see, with one’s own eyes! The moon had taken on a character now. It was a place. It had mountains and valleys! He had seen them clearly, stark against the shadow that obscured all but the crescent edge. He wondered what it would look like full. He must ask her to show him. Surely she’d let him look again. Might he be able to
find Mars, the red planet? He began to realign the telescope, beginning his search, when she spoke over his shoulder.

“Come, Gabriel. It’s time.”

“But I want—”

“You’ll miss the shooting stars. They’ve started. You have to watch the whole sky now, or you’ll miss them.” Forgetting her promise not to touch him, she took hold of his hand, pulling him away. “You can come back to use it, Gabriel, on any clear night, but these only come once a year. No one else ever watches except Davey.”

Who
was
Davey? Gabriel wondered, not for the first time.

“Please, Gabe! I want someone else to see it with me, to know.”

He recognized her plea on a level so intimate he almost gasped. How many times had he looked to the sky in awe and appreciation, only to find the beauty diminished and hollow as it echoed, lost inside him, with no one to share it with? He understood her invitation now. She had brought him here to share her treasure, to fashion it into a gift for someone else … for him.

He sat beside her on the swing, close, but not touching, and she spread the woolen blanket over their legs. Munching an apple and doing justice to the excellent local cheese, he happily accepted the wine jug she passed him. Leaning back contentedly, he used
one leg to push the swing back and forth as he scanned the sky, eager to take it all in. They stayed like that for hours, in a companionable silence, broken by short sharp bursts of excitement.

“Did you see that? Did you see it?”

“God, yes! It was amazing!”

Finally, gathering his courage, he said what he needed to say, asked her what he needed to know. “You didn’t say anything to your brother, about last night.”

“Why would I tell Ross about a private matter between you and me?”

“Christ, Sarah! I assaulted you!”

“Well I would hardly call it that. Oh, my God!

Look! From the west, did you see?” She tugged urgently at his elbow.

“Why, Sarah? Why didn’t you tell him?”

She turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t need to know, and he wouldn’t have understood. He would have overreacted, and as I’ve told you, I didn’t consider it any of his business.”

Her gaze met his, steady and clear, and he wanted desperately to kiss her.

“Sarah, I … I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am.” Damn but this was hard! He felt exposed and vulnerable, and he hated it. “I acted like an animal, and you didn’t deserve it. You should have told him and had me thrown out of the fucking house.”

Exasperated, she glared at him, digging a sharp elbow into his ribs. “Gabriel, we’re missing the best part,
and you shouldn’t use such language! You’re making much too big a fuss. You grabbed me and kissed me and I’m sorry to tell you, you weren’t very good at it despite all your boasting. You caused me no harm. None at all, except to my pride.” Her eyes softened and her voice gentled. “I’m sorry, too. I provoked you. I’m forever poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”

He realized she was holding his hand, or he hers, and the ache that went through him spread from his chest to his loins. At a loss for words, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, he was tremendously relieved when she gasped in amazement.

“Oh, my Lord!”

Turning to follow her gaze, his eyes lit with wonder as a fireball trailing plumes of blue, yellow, and green streaked across the sky. They turned to look at each other, still holding hands, grinning in awe and excitement. It was the most beautiful moment of his life. It was something that he’d never done, never even imagined possible, sitting under the stars with a young lady, hand in hand. It was something that lovers, sweethearts, people who cared for each other, did. Her hand was soft, strong, cool, and he stroked her wrist with the pad of his thumb, unconsciously sensual. Delicately tracing her knuckles, he gave her hand a soft squeeze and she turned, smiling, and gently squeezed him back.