Velvet (40 page)

When they’d twice made public promenade of the length of the terrace and everyone was perfectly accustomed to the sight of them arm in arm, Nathaniel directed their steps toward a shadowy corner screened by a group of bay trees in wooden tubs.

Gabrielle forced herself to keep her pace to Nathaniel’s slow, idling stride as she saw where he was heading. She wanted to leap forward into the dim privacy of the trees and lose herself in his body, but the spymaster, in the grip of the same compulsion, knew what he was doing. No one took any notice of them as they slid unobtrusively into the shadows.

“Dear God,” Gabrielle whispered. “I can’t bear it another minute.” She flung her arms around his neck.

He wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as their mouths met, crushing her against him. Bearing her backward, he pressed her against the stone parapet of the terrace, his tongue driving into her mouth as they drank of each other’s sweetness. Her body bent backward as he leaned over her as if all the better to devour her, and his hands pushed her skirt up to her waist, holding it there with his body. A fingernail
snagged the delicate silk of her stocking, and his flat palm pushed up inside the leg of her drawers. This was no slow and easy exploration, but a rough and hungry revisiting of her body, damp and aching with its own passionate arousal.

She groaned against his mouth and bit his lip as his fingers delved deep within her. She pressed her loins against the hard mound of his erect flesh as if she could somehow achieve the fusion that was now such a desperate need.

“Come into me,” she whispered. “You have to, now, Nathaniel.”

“No … no … sweetheart. No.” He withdrew his hand, pulled away from her, gazed at her in the dimness from his own passion-filled eyes. “Not here—it’s not possible.”

She sagged against the wall, her breathing ragged, her heart racing, her eyes closed as she fought to control the conflagration of her senses.

Nathaniel straightened her skirt, barely touching her as he did so, as if she were a burning brand that would set him alight.

“Where?” she breathed finally.

“Outside the town, along the river,” he said with soft-voiced urgency. “Walk north, and I’ll wait for you.”

She nodded slowly as if the physical effort was almost too much for her.

“Go back now, ahead of me,” he instructed, adjusting his cravat, smoothing his hair.

“But what must I look like?” She touched her lips that still sang with the memory of hat consuming kiss.

“A little disheveled, that’s all,” he reassured. “Nothing that a couple of minutes in the retiring room won’t put right. Now, off you go, before you’re missed.”

She left him, gliding out from the screen of trees but keeping in the shadows of the house as she made her way inside, hurrying through the brilliantly lit salons,
keeping her head down so that she wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye.

Nathaniel took his time about emerging. He leaned on the parapet and breathed deeply until his aroused loins were once again comfortable and his head was clear. Madness … utter madness. But he hadn’t been able to help himself, and for two pins he’d have yielded to Gabrieile’s desperation and joined with her there and then, standing against the parapet of a terrace in the midst of the two most illustrious courts in the world.

Madness! But he wanted to laugh aloud. And that was not the prudent reaction of a man who walked in the lion’s den and whose life presently depended upon a mixture of good fortune, experience, cool nerves, and utter discretion.

He’d half hoped, when he left her in Paris, that distance would lend detachment, but it had done the opposite, merely intensified his addictive passion. She continued to obsess his dreams, both sleeping and waking.

And here, on the banks of the River Nieman, in surroundings that would be more suited to a theatrical drama, she was with him again and it was the stuff of fantasy.

Gabrielle somehow managed to get through the rest of the evening without any obvious signs of insanity. The two emperors left together as they’d arrived, in perfect unity. Benedict Lubienski made his farewells with a group of others, his lips brushing her gloved hand, his eyes opaque.

“Well, that went off very well,” Talleyrand declared as the last guest left. “Congratulations,
ma chère.”

“On what?” she asked swiftly.

Her godfather’s eyebrows rose. “On what do you think?”

Flustered, Gabrielle waved a vaguely dismissive hand. “I didn’t mean to be obtuse. I’m rather tired.”

“I imagine you might be.” He examined her thoughtfully for a second. “You seemed to enjoy the company of Monsieur Lubienski.”

The crafty old fox never missed anything! “Did I,
mon parrain?”
She met his shrewd gaze and sighed; there was no point in prevaricating with Talleyrand.

“You forget that I know how you are with your lovers,
mon enfant.”

“Just two,” she reminded him.

“More than enough for a woman who loves as hard as you, Gabrielle.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a subdued smile.

“You were not expecting him?” His glance was suddenly sharp.

“No.” She shook her head helplessly. “I feel as if I’m in some dream world. I never expected to see him again.”

“D’accord.”
He kissed her cheek, and then stood back, holding her shoulders lightly.

“I won’t insult either of you by recommending caution.”

“No,” she agreed.

The door closed on the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and Gabrielle gave a little involuntary skip of excitement. Nothing now lay between her and the rendezvous on the riverbank.

Nathaniel strode north along the riverbank away from the town. The air was fragrant with wild thyme, and a field of sunflowers hung their heavy golden heads, turned to the east, ready to greet the rising sun. The moon was a perfect circle in a black velvet sky, its reflection sailing over the dark waters of the river.

The silvery fronds of an ancient weeping willow on the bank hung to the water’s edge. Nathaniel pushed through the veil of leaves and found what he sought—a perfect secluded bower where the grass was cool and fragrant, protected from the burning summer sun that during the day dried the ground to a crisp and shriveled the grass to brown spikes.

He spread his cloak on the grass at the base of the gnarled trunk and sat down to await Gabrielle, ears pricked for the rustle of hasty footsteps outside his bower.

Gabrielle let herself out of the house and ran straight into a soldier from the garrison patrolling the street outside. She’d somehow not taken into account the fact that the town would be crawling with guards,
with two such precious personages asleep within its walls.

She identified herself and said she was going for a walk along the river. The soldier seemed nonplussed. Unescorted ladies didn’t ordinarily take walks at three o’clock in the morning. Gabrielle subjected him to a haughty stare and demanded to know whether he wished to awaken the Minister for Foreign Affairs to verify her credentials? Or the emperor, perhaps?

The soldier coughed apologetically and bowed her on her way.

She sped along the riverbank, barely aware in her eagerness of the beauty of the night, the balmy air, the harvest moon.

She was in such a hurry, her eyes straining into the distance for some sign of Nathaniel, his shadow in the moonlight perhaps, that she didn’t see a flat stone in her path and tripped, falling headlong with a vigorous expletive.

“Don’t make such a noise!” Nathaniel sprang out of his willow cave a little way ahead as the shocked curses filled the quiet night. “Oh, dear, what are you doing down there?”

Gabrielle pushed herself onto her knees. “Don’t laugh,” she demanded crossly. “There’s a great big boulder sticking up in the path. It has no right to be there.”

“No, of course it doesn’t,” he said soothingly. “And you’ve just told it so in no uncertain terms. I’m sure it won’t do it again.”

Gabrielle grinned reluctantly and held up her hands. “Kick it for me, will you?”

He pulled her up, laughing. “I might stub my toe if it’s as vicious as you say.”

“Such chivalry!” She held him at arm’s length, examining him with her crooked smile. “I suppose I’ll become accustomed to the beard, and the silver hair is tres distingué.”

“It’s only temporary.” He subjected her to his own assessing scrutiny. “You look well. But thinner.”

“Pining will do that,” she said, still smiling.

“Have you been?”

“Pining? Oh, yes.”

“So have I.”

They stood for a minute in silence, still holding themselves away from each other, almost as if they were afraid to move closer, as if the other would prove to be only the dream phantom of the long, lonely nights of the past two months.

Then Nathaniel said softly, “Come here.” He pulled her in toward him and she came with playful reluctance. He pushed off the hood of her cloak and ran his hands through the silky dark red mane, drawing it forward over her shoulders.

“Whenever I’ve tried to remember the color of your hair, I haven’t been able to,” he mused, frowning as he stroked it. “It changes color according to the light. Here, for instance, under the moonlight, it’s like a charcoal brazier, all glowing embers. But when we go under the trees, it’ll be almost as dark as the night. And in the sunlight it flames so that sometimes it looks too hot to touch.”

Gabrielle chuckled. “It goes with my temper, I’m afraid.”

“So they say.” He traced her mouth with his finger. “But yours is no worse than mine, and I’ve no hint of the devil’s color in my hair.”

“Nathaniel, I don’t mean to be importunate, but how long must we continue this conversation,” she said, the mock-plaintive tone doing little to disguise the husky throb in her voice. “We started something earlier, and I’d dearly like to finish it.”

“Postponing gratification is good for the soul, they say,” he murmured mischievously, trailing his finger along the curve of her cheek.

“To the devil with my soul,” Gabrielle declared.
“My body is already on fire, so my soul might as well join it.”

“In that case …” Taking her hand, he led her through the veiling fronds of the willow tree. “My parlor, madame. I trust you find it to your satisfaction.”

“Quite frankly, I’d find the open road to my satisfaction at this point,” she said, flinging off her cloak before slipping her arms around his neck, reaching against him.

“I am possessed with the most violent need, my love,” she whispered, all teasing abruptly vanished beneath the urgency of her demand. Her hands ran over his back, remembering every curve, every muscular ripple, every knob of his spine. Her eyes closed and the scent of his skin and hair filled the air around her. She inhaled greedily, her lips parting as he kissed her, gently at first, as if he wanted to rediscover her taste and the wonderful feel of her mouth.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his hands moved to cup her bottom. The firm, rounded flesh was warm against his hands, and he realized with a shock of amusement and delight that she wore no underclothes beneath the fine muslin gown.

He drew back, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Wanton brigand,” he said with soft satisfaction. Obeying the peremptory hand on her shoulder, she sank down on the cloak he’d spread earlier, her hands reaching for him impatiently.

He dropped to his knees beside her, and without preliminary drew her skirt up to her waist. Her tongue touched her lips as the cool night air laved her bared belly and thighs.

Her thighs parted for him as he unfastened his britches and pushed them off his hips. Her hips lifted to meet him as he lowered himself upon her. He entered her, penetrating to her very self in one deep thrust. It was the culmination of their passion on the terrace and the long, tantalizing hours of anticipation ever since. A
rich liquid fullness spread through her loins, her inner muscles contracted around him, and she was instantly lost in an explosion of joy that sent her spinning into the star-filled night.

The piercing descant of a nightingale brought them back to an awareness of their surroundings. Nathaniel hitched himself on one elbow and smiled down at her transported countenance.

“I do believe I’ve just made love in my boots,” he said with an exhausted chuckle. “I’ve never done that before.”

Gabrielle was too spent to do more than stroke his face with a languid hand, brushing back the lock of hair that flopped damply onto his forehead.

Slowly, he caressed the length of her exposed thighs, his fingers playing in the curly tangle at the base of her belly, moving over the mound beneath, taking his time now that the desperate urgency of lust had been slaked.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded weakly. “I am already dissolved.”

“But I want to,” he said simply. He placed his hand over the moist, pulsing warmth of her core and bent to kiss her belly, tickling his tongue into her navel. His breath whispered over the taut skin of her abdomen and his hand seared her.

“Please,” she whispered, uncertain what she was asking for as, despite dissolution, she lifted and twisted on the cloak beneath the devastating power of his touch. And when his mouth replaced his hand, her little sobbing cries filled the dim green grotto beneath the willow as the rapturous tide swept her yet again into momentary oblivion.