Claire Thornton - The Defiant Mistress

Gabriel leant out of the cabin to reply. ‘Showing your guest the sights of the city. You will allow I am better qualified than any member of your household to do so.’

‘Humph. Oh. Yes. Your advice has been invaluable,’ Sir Walter acknowledged, disgruntled. ‘But is Mrs Quenell warm enough? Surely a moment to prepare herself before you carry her—’

‘She will be warm enough.’ Gabriel settled back on to his seat, clearly considering the exchange at an end. Already the swift-moving gondola was beyond comfortable shouting distance from the palazzo.

There was a gondolier standing at the back of the gondola and another one in front of the cabin, but Athena knew she could expect no help from the two men. She’d heard Gabriel give them curt orders in Italian. They were in his pay, they would do whatever he said.

He leant back in the seat, stretching out his legs in a semblance of relaxation. Athena sat upright, staring straight ahead, her hands gripped together on her knees. Gabriel’s casual posture didn’t fool her. She could feel the fierce emotion vibrating through his body, sense his angry gaze burning the back of her neck. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. Instead she glanced down and a little sideways. She saw his hand lying on his thigh. It was a large hand, with long, strong fingers. The last time she’d seen Gabriel’s hand he had stroked a finger tenderly across her cheek. As she watched, it clenched into a fist.

In the years since she’d discovered he hadn’t turned up at the church for their wedding she’d taught herself to accept he hadn’t loved her as she’d loved him. She’d forced herself to face the fact that, if they ever met again, he would treat her with indifference. Perhaps wouldn’t even remember her.

She’d never anticipated this hostility.

She waited for him to speak. He didn’t say anything. She took a breath. Her ribs felt as if an iron band had been placed around them and she had to force her chest to expand when she inhaled.

When she heard him take a harsh breath, she wondered dizzily if he had the same problem with his ribs.

She stared at his hand on his leg. Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel’s leg. The fine cloth of his breeches touched her petticoats. He was only inches away from her. And more distant than she’d ever imagined.

She knew he was watching her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze. Like a deer caged with a hunting lion she felt compelled to look at him. His eyes burned into hers. His visual assault was so devastating her body went slack with shock.

Athena swayed. The world swirled about her.

He caught her arm and pulled her back on to the seat beside him. A second later he loomed over her, his large body half-covering hers, pinning her in place.

‘Gabriel,’ she whispered. She lifted a trembling hand to touch his cheek.

He was real. The weight of his body on hers was real. The slight rasp of stubble on his smooth-shaven jaw was real.

‘Gabriel.’ Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. She touched his face with quick, fluttering gestures, hungry for more assurance of his reality. Stroked his hair, traced his dark eyebrow. ‘I wanted you so much.’ Her voice caught on a sob and she flung her arms around his neck, clinging desperately to him.

She buried her face in his shoulder, momentarily forgetting his hostility in the miracle of being once more able to touch him. But his hard body was unyielding as oak in her embrace.

She became aware of his silent rejection and began to pull away, shaken anew by his inexplicable anger.

He growled low in his chest, moving suddenly, forcing her back against the velvet upholstery. His action triggered memories of another man who’d used force against her.

‘No!’ Panic shot through her. She struggled wildly, pounding at Gabriel’s shoulders with her fists. Water slapped against the sides of the rocking gondola.

‘My God!’ He lifted his head a few inches.

‘No!’ she panted, twisting her face away from him, thrusting at his chest in an unavailing effort to shove him away from her.

His curse emerged as little more than a snarl.

‘How much will it cost to make you say yes?’ he demanded.

‘What?’

‘You thought you could play your tricks on some poor bastard who’d be fooled by your innocent face,’ he said savagely. ‘It must have been a shock to discover this particular pigeon has already been plucked.’

Athena stared up at him, bewildered by his accusation. ‘What? What pigeon?’

He laughed harshly and lifted himself away from her. ‘Save your breath, madam. I’ve seen you unmasked. I’ll not be duped again.’ He flung a curt order at the gondoliers. ‘I might have guessed you’d one day find your way to Venice,’ he said bitterly. ‘A whore belongs in the city of whores. You’ll fit in very well.’

The gondola stopped at a landing stage. In one lithe movement Gabriel sprang out. He issued another incomprehensible order to the gondoliers and turned to stride away across a large square.

‘Wait…’ Athena’s voice faded. Gabriel had already disappeared into the crowds. The gondola was once more gliding through the waters of the grand canal. Life continued all around her as if nothing of moment had happened.

She swallowed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear with shaking fingers. Emotion suddenly threatened to overcome her. She propped her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her trembling hands.

‘M y lord, the banquet is about to start!’ The young page bounced on his toes as he waited for Gabriel to pay off the hired gondola.

‘Banquet?’ Gabriel frowned. This was the first he’d heard of any banquet.

‘In honour of Mrs Beresford and Mrs Quenell,’ the page explained eagerly. ‘Come, my lord. Sir Walter sent me down to wait for your return. You are the most important guest!’

Gabriel bit off a curse. He had no desire to raise a glass in honour of Frances—but the meal would be over soon enough.

‘I’m likely the only guest,’ he said drily, striding beside the page through the andron, the ground-floor hallway that corresponded to the portego on the floor above.

Venetian citizens such as Filippo Correr were permitted to deal directly with foreigners, but the nobility refused to mingle with visitors to their city. The Ambassador was only able to meet with the Doge and other important patricians in the most restricted and formal of circumstances. Usually the embassy household had to rely on each other for companionship—though not necessarily for entertainment. Venice had many attractions for men in search of diversion. But it wasn’t surprising Sir Walter had seized on this excuse for a grand dinner.

‘Yes, my lord. But you are a very important guest,’ said the page.

True to his usual habit, Gabriel took the steps two at a time, arriving in the portego before the breathless servant. He paused just inside the door. The long chamber was crowded with members of the Ambassador’s staff. Roger Minshull, the Ambassador’s chief secretary, the two undersecretaries, one of whom was Edward Beresford, the chaplain, various young gentlemen who were supposedly being trained in the art of diplomacy…

Frances.

Gabriel’s eyes locked on to her immediately. But that meant nothing. She was one of only two women present. Naturally she drew his attention.

‘Halross! Splendid!’ Sir Walter spotted him. ‘In good time! We are having a banquet in honour of our gallant new arrivals.’

‘So I see.’ In Gabriel’s absence the portego had been transformed into a dining chamber with the addition of a large, magnificently laid table and finely carved chairs. ‘Most impressive.’

‘Yes. Yes. Come, my lord. You must sit on my right. Mrs Beresford on my left…’ The Ambassador immediately began to arrange his most important guests.