Finding Gabriel (34 page)

Someone still could spot them, Ariah’s mind warned. But her heart quickly rebutted with its characteristic stubbornness:
so be it.
Nothing would keep her from Gabriel. Not on this night. Not when it could very well be the last time in his arms.

“
Dieu.
Ariah,” he panted between heavy intakes of air. “It’s too much.”

Ariah muttered an airy protest as Gabriel freed his hands from her thighs. He wrapped both arms beneath the curve of her bottom and, steadying himself against the stone balustrade, elevated her from the cobblestones. The abrupt change in position caused her hands to slip free from the warmth of his trousers. She slung both arms around his neck and clutched onto him like a lifeline. He positioned his legs wide apart, encasing her perched body between them. Leaving a damp trail in their wake, his lips traveled over the high, modest neckline of her dress … then skirted over each curve of her breast – one and then the other …

His mouth and tongue wetted the material, plastering cotton to flesh. With each pull, each lick, her fingers twisted in the dense waves of his raven hair. Her nipples sprang to life, seduced by the overlapping sensations: his tongue saturating her chemise, the wind in her ears, her skirts rustling in the breeze, the Seine’s steady cadence …

With labored breaths, he skimmed his lips across her throat and deftly worked the clasps of her gown. They popped open, revealing the swell of her breasts to his hungry mouth. Gabriel skimmed his lips over each mound, dampening the chemise firmly to her skin. She cocked her head back and moaned in appreciation. Long fingertips urged the material aside; Gabriel’s tongue ran over the veiled flesh and sought her nipple. Red-hot chords of pleasure shot through Ariah’s body while he suckled her straight through the material. The thin layer of cotton clung to her like a second skin. A masterful hand kneaded her opposite breast, caressing and fondling – cupping the voluptuous weight in his palm.

Thumb and forefinger rolled over her veiled nipple, urging it into erotic submission. She obeyed with breathless wonderment as the sensitive bud tightened into a knot of pleasure. His lips detached from her other nipple and sought the center of her throat. Her pulse quickened, hurdling to life as his lips traced the architecture of her collarbone.

Every nerve caught fire. Ariah twisted her fingertips in the thick waves of his hair and pulled him from her neck. Their lips crashed together and worked in unison, as if they were attempting to consume the other’s spirit. Ariah jerked her head back, generating a few centimeters of space between their lips. She stared straight into his eyes and caressed the disfigured half of his face. Groaning deeply, he dipped into her touch, and a ragged breath pierced the air between them.

“Please. Let me feel you, Gabriel …” Her voice sounded unusually husky. She leaned forward as her fingers slid down the greatcoat in urgent perusal. Reaching into the high waistline, she dove inside his trousers and claimed him once more. A tortured groan rose from his throat and echoed the darkness. His head fell forward as she enveloped him with her fingers, sliding up and down his impressive, turgid length …

She paused her movements, grasped onto either side of his trousers, and urged them downward. Along with his undergarment, they slid down both muscular thighs until his manhood sprang free. Had she truly been so fearful – so afraid to even touch another – only a month earlier? Indeed, it seemed a lifetime ago that she’d been a prisoner to her memories. Yet, with Gabriel, she felt safe, empowered, and free.

A strangled sound rattled his chest as she worked his silky smooth erection between both palms. She dampened her lips and peered down at where her hands rested – pale white against the bronze of his skin. Shallow breaths stirred her curls as his head slumped forward. His arms landed on either side of her seated body, anchoring her in place. Then one of his hands slipped downward, beneath the material of her skirts, and skimmed the wet material of her pantalettes. He found the slit, and a strong, hooked finger eased inside her very center.

Paris seemed to swirl and rotate, blending everything into a surreal blur. The hold on his erection faltered. Her breaths grew shallow and irregular. Biting back a moan, she arched against the mind-bending ministrations. Her body opened for him, inviting him inside, and two thick fingers sank deep. As she steadily reached that plateau, he withdrew completely. Then, in a solid, consuming motion that screamed
you are mine
, he thrust forward and joined their quivering bodies. His face rolled forward and descended into the crook of her shoulder.

She glanced up at the star-speckled sky, and the world seemed to spin as Gabriel swiftly plunged in and out of her body. She embraced him with both arms, holding him soundly all the while, never wanting to be separated from him again.

His lips ghosted across her neck and teased her racing pulse. Precious seconds soon transformed into minutes, and Ariah fought to commit every sensation to memory: the cool stone grating against her thighs, the tentative breeze that rustled through her hair and swelled her skirts, the musky scents of the Seine and melting ice, the steady cadence of her beloved’s voice, the soulful melody of their hearts pressed together.

Let this moment whisper through eternity,
her inward voice sighed.
Let it fill my every dream and visit me each night.

White-hot warmth swirled inside Ariah’s body and rose in a steady roar. Her senses reeled, her legs tightened, and she rode the mounting precipice into a wave of mind-bending release. Gabriel’s breaths shortened and grew increasingly rigid; he chanted her name as his tempo increased. Within minutes, the urgent movements summoned a second wave of pleasure – this one far more intense than the last. Bound together, Gabriel and Ariah surrendered and fell into blissful, pulsating oblivion.

Ariah collapsed within his arms. He embraced her tightly as if never intending to let go. Their tears mingled as they wept, arm in arm, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Then Gabriel finally stepped back, cradled her face between his palms, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He outstretched an unsteady hand and slid the signet ring off. Ariah’s breath caught as he grasped her left hand and placed the ring on her wedding finger. The band was two sizes too large for her, yet it was a proposal, a vow, an unspoken promise. It whispered all the things they dared not speak.

Swallowing deeply, Ariah studied the engraving and closed her palm to trap the signet ring in place. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a whirlwind of emotions consumed her.

Gabriel leaned forward and caught her lips in a soul-searing kiss. The heat of his body tied them together as one. His unique scent, sandalwood and winter, engulfed her within a safety net.

“
Vous et nul autre.
”
You and no other.
He breathed the words into her mouth, urging them to overflow her lungs and fill her spirit. “I love you, Ariah Larochelle. And that shall never change. Today, tomorrow, always.”

•

Hours later, Ariah stood before the hearth and vacantly stared into the blazing fire. Despite the heat, she’d never felt colder. A chilling numbness seeped through her bones and spirited away her very soul. She summoned every bit of her strength and wrestled back her tears. She fought to be logical, to be sensible, to be filled with gratitude rather than disdain.

Most of all, she fought to be untouchable. But Gabriel had touched her profoundly.

She’d known this time was coming ever since he first arrived. Even if Jacques hadn’t returned, she and Gabriel had immersed themselves in a world of make-believe. They’d recognized a kindred spirit in each other – and they’d seized the opportunity to at last become whole.

And now, without Gabriel, Ariah had never felt more shattered or incomplete.

Clutching his signet ring, she brought the cool emblem against her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she allowed the memory of his scent to drift over her thoughts. Sandalwood and winter. In spite of herself, the tears resurfaced and trickled down her cheeks. She felt empty, lost … plundered of her happiness and very essence.

She pressed a palm against her chest, easing the ache within. She was utterly heartbroken.

I lost him. He is gone.

And no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to detach herself from Gabriel. His scent still lingered on her mattress … his warmth still infused the walls … and when her eyes drifted shut, the timbre of his voice whispered in her ears.

Beyond the window, the wind howled a grim, ominous melody, which summoned more chills up and down her spine. Where was he now? He had no family left, no friends – only the painful memories of his past and the agony of a lost love.

And what of Emmaline? How would she endure the news of his departure? Hopefully Jacques’s return would eclipse her daughter’s sorrow – and, in time, she’d understand there had been no other choice.

Mon Dieu.
Ariah’s heart had grounded to a near halt when she’d discovered Gabriel’s satchel next to the hearth. He’d stuffed the leather bag with more francs then she’d ever seen – and a single paper banknote had accompanied it. Her family would want for nothing. Gabriel had ensured that.

“Ariah?” the soft, robust sound of Jacques’s voice jerked Ariah from her thoughts. Fighting to disguise her heartache, she wiped away her tears in haste. Discreetly lowering her hand, she slipped the signet ring into her pocket and turned to Jacques with a forced smile. A rush of guilt overcame Ariah, and the emblem seemed to burn through the coarse material. She shifted uncomfortably and leveled her stare on her husband’s strained expression. Balancing beneath the bedchamber’s archway, he cleared his throat and hung his head. A myriad of overlapping emotions crossed over his handsome features. He was dressed in a simple sleeping gown. The prosthetic leg peeked out from the material as he balanced himself against the archway.

He studied her in silence for several moments – and each second expanded her guilt until she was sure it would swallow her whole. He scrutinized her like one might examine a painting, she mused: his heart wrapped in clear admiration while assessing every detail, every possible imperfection with a critical eye. “Awfully cold night,” he murmured.

It was a simple, obvious statement – yet Ariah knew he was referring to something else entirely. She swallowed and tucked several loose curls behind her ears. Then she gazed into the wavering flames and absorbed their heat. Rubbing both palms together, she urged the coldness from her bones, yet the chill remained. Head spinning, she crossed both arms over her chest and sighed deeply. “Indeed. It’s been a long, merciless winter.”

Jacques nodded and awkwardly cleared his throat. Ariah met his gaze, startled by the riot of emotions she found there. He attempted to walk toward her and instead swayed a bit – clearly burdened by the wooden leg. Pain was etched in his brow, and Ariah’s heart flew out to him. Guilt and a potent self-loathing rose inside her chest. How selfish had she become? Jacques had sacrificed so much in her family’s name … and in turn, she’d repaid his kindness with betrayal.

“Please – you shan’t wait up. I shall be there in but a moment,” she whispered.

He studied her expression. Only the crackling embers and moaning wind fractured the silence. Shadows from the hearth engraved his features into a mask of sorrow. When he at last spoke, the dejected tone of his voice reflected his soul: “I’m sorry, Ariah. Forgive me.”

The words startled her. She moved toward him until less than a few centimeters separated their bodies. Staring into his eyes, she reached out and ran her fingertips over his cheek. His face was smooth, handsome, and clean-shaven. Sighing, he dipped into her touch and pressed a kiss to the heel of her palm. Her pulse thrummed against his lips as it echoed her erratic heartbeat.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Jacques. You have only ever been honorable, strong, and devoted.” The emotions pressed hard on her throat and constricted the words. She swallowed while her fingertips obsessively toyed with the material of her skirts. “I’m the one who implores your forgiveness.”

He offered a weak, almost pragmatic smile. Then she stiffened as his hand grazed her cheek in a ghostlike caress. Indeed, he seemed afraid to touch her. “Thank you,” he murmured, his hand dropping back to his side.

Her brow knotted in confusion. Bewildered by his gratitude, she awkwardly swayed on her heels and smoothed down her skirts. “I … I don’t understand – ”

“I know you loved him.” He hesitated, gave her a poignant look which spoke volumes, and continued through a torn whisper, “I know you love him.”

And without another word, Jacques turned away and receded into their bedchamber. Ariah pressed her hand against her pocket, caressing the hidden keepsake within. Steeling her heart, she surged forward and followed after her husband.

Alas, she was a survivor.

Gabriel’s breath misted the air in tight coils, sheathing his face in an impenetrable cloud. All around him, the alleyways appeared bleak and frigid with despair. In a far corner, a young homeless woman huddled next to a fire while a child clung to her legs. Their clothing was torn, threadbare, and covered with filth and grime. A knot gathered inside Gabriel’s chest as he passed them by. Then a painful image of Ariah and her family – homeless, cold, and hungry – followed after.

Non.

They’d never fall victim to such desperation. He’d made certain of that before departing. He’d emptied his bank account early that morning and left the majority of his inheritance in Ariah and Jacques’s care.

“I’m so hungry, Maman.” The little girl’s voice sliced through the darkness and anchored his thoughts.

Gabriel turned toward the mother and child and warily approached them. Devoured by the nearby shadows, the little girl shrank against her mother’s skirts as he edged closer.

The mother’s eyes roamed across his disfigured face, and she uttered a shallow gasp. Then a mixture of fear and pity swept over her features. Gabriel sighed, dug a hand inside his greatcoat, and withdrew a handful of francs. Her expression transformed from fear to gratitude as he reached for her hand and placed the money in her sullied palm.

Battling to block Ariah from his mind, Gabriel turned away and surged forward with determination. An eerie melody filled his surroundings as his boots banged against the cobblestones. With each step, brandy sloshed inside his gut, flooding his limbs with an unsatisfying and superficial warmth. He’d tried not to drink – but the pain of Ariah’s absence had become too great, and he knew no other way to relieve the agony.

•

Père Lachaise’s massive gates slipped into view nearly an hour later. In spite of its beauty and scope, the elaborate garden cemetery boasted very few graves; it was considered to reside too far from the city’s center and hadn’t been blessed by the church. Regardless, Sybil had fallen head over heels for the cemetery’s grandiose charm – and now she and Lisette lay within Père Lachaise’s eternal dirt.

Gabriel froze outside the cemetery as a feeling of hopelessness descended. He gripped the bars and tested the massive lock with a firm shake. Nothing. As he’d expected, they merely clattered, laughing at his despair.

Quite suddenly, it was critical that he saw his wife’s and child’s graves. The desire to be near Lisette – to obtain some measure of closure, no matter how delayed or fleeting – overwhelmed him beyond logic.

Gabriel’s hands slipped from the bars as he scanned the cemetery’s finely manicured perimeter.

Could I possibly …?
The stone wall was fairly high – and the hairline cracks would provide little to no climbing leverage. Gabriel gave a dejected sigh, stared up at the immense wall, and leaned against one of the trees. Then he rotated on his heels and gazed into the shuddering branches that loomed overhead. Indeed, the tree was decked in an abundance of branches, which would prove to be adequate stepping stones; climbing would be child’s play.

Infected with the idea, Gabriel reached for the nearest branch and heaved his body upward, scrambling with his boots for footing. With each movement, bark broke off the limb and fluttered to the ground below. Summoning his strength and dexterity – two qualities that had proven themselves invaluable across the battlefields – Gabriel lifted his knee up, planting it solidly on the branch. But he was quite tipsy – and his movements weren’t nearly as poised or graceful as they should have been.

God’s teeth. His foot slipped, almost causing him to fall and break his damned neck. Muttering a curse, he reached above his head and latched onto the next branch. Suspended in the night air, his biceps quivered as he fought to support his weight and not shatter the branch. As if mocking his resolve, the bottle of alcohol jingled with each movement. Then, with a great grunt of effort, he swung his legs up and propped his ass onto the branch. He reached for the next branch and followed suit; soon, the top of the stone wall was at the level of his eyes – and a sparse forest of jagged gravestones, moss-covered statues, and towering mausoleums crept into sight. Gabriel eased onto a branch that hung over the wall and dropped to the stone ledge. On the opposite side, a tree loomed a meter away. It would take a faithful leap and quite a bit of luck –

Gabriel launched his body from his resting spot and wheeled through the air. He momentarily grabbed onto the tree before losing balance and tumbling into darkness. Branches zoomed past him at lightning speed, breaking his fall and tearing at his greatcoat with icy claws. Landing with a cruel thud, he curled his body into the fetal position and rolled across the grassy knoll. God’s teeth. He struggled to maintain his breathing as the air was momentarily purged from his lungs. After a full minute, he stumbled onto his feet and continued forward, wading through a sea of lonely tombstones. Blood streamed from his forehead and trickled into his eyes; he muttered a curse and wiped it away.

The cemetery was deathly still and silent – yet he felt strangely at home, surrounded by death and decay. A painful jolt speared through his body as he recalled burying Oliver.

On that day he’d been thinking of Jacques.

The wind blew in all directions, rushing through the mausoleums, tombstones, and statues in a ghostly breath. Stone crosses jutted against the horizon in irregular lines, appearing as silhouettes against a bruised, purple skyline. A decapitated angel stood off to the side, its eternal features overgrown with moss.

Mon Dieu.
Chilled to the bone, Gabriel held his breath and peered down at the two headstones. Between his traveling, the war, and his guilt, a decade had passed since he’d visited Lisette’s and Sybil’s graves.

His heart raced against his rib cage. Exhaling a breath, he plunged to the crutch of his knees and draped a hand over Lisette’s marker. His fingertips curled around the coarse edging as an ache rose inside his chest. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the rough stone while long-ago memories overwhelmed him.

He caressed the marker with tenderness, running his palm over its surface, stroking his daughter’s spirit. He gently traced the eternal letters and intricate grooves while Lisette’s image held inside his heart. The melody of her laughter rang inside his mind – bright, cheerful, and luminous. His fingers tightened around the stone edging as her features clearly materialized behind his shut eyes. How very real she seemed … real enough to reach out and touch. But when he opened his eyes once more, Lisette’s angelic features transformed back into cold reality: a weathered tombstone.

Gabriel blew out a long-suffering breath and collapsed onto the grass. Head lolled against the stone, he extracted the bottle and nursed himself into a black, numb oblivion.

•

Gabriel awoke with a painful groan early the next morning. Assaulted by the blinding light, he shaded his eyes as they fluttered open. The still air of the cemetery traveled down his spine and chilled his spine. His brain pulsed against his skull, his greatcoat was torn from the stone marker, and a gnawing despair occupied his heart.

He’d dreamt of Ariah … and it had been so painfully real. They’d made love beneath a star-speckled horizon and held each other until the sky shattered into luminous shades of orange and red.

Dieu,
how he ached for her.

Gabriel battled his nausea while cold reality set in once more. Then he lifted his head and examined the cemetery. The weeping willow, which towered in front of him, poorly shielded the rays between its skeletal limbs. He lowered his face in an attempt to dodge the burst of light.

The back of his head pounded with a multitude of pains. He adjusted his position and winced as the stone marker grated against him. His mind spun as the alcohol took its toll. It rolled inside his gut, infusing him with shame, disgrace, and sickness. Filled with self-hatred, he glanced down at the bottle resting in his lap. He cursed himself and threw it at a nearby marker, allowing it to shatter into a million little pieces. Then his head fell into his hands as he nursed away a migraine.

A mild wind rustled through the mausoleums, and Gabriel swore he could hear his father’s voice:
Pick yourself up, mon fils. Journey forward with pride in your heart and fire inside your belly …

With a pained groan, Gabriel climbed onto his feet. He steadied his body with a hand on the marker, brushed off his greatcoat, and pressed his lips against the cold stone.

“Lisette, Sybil … forgive me. I should have been there for both of you. Sybil, if there’s indeed more than this world … I pray that you found your happiness.” Tears streamed from his eyes and splashed against the stone marker. Mind spinning, he traced the engraved letters of his daughter’s name and swallowed deeply.

Could he do it? Could he say goodbye?

He concentrated on the air moving in and out of his lungs, the sweet lines of his daughter’s face … the fortifying melody of Ariah’s voice. “Lisette … you shall always be my little girl. Today, tomorrow, always.”

With a new closure, he trudged through the cemetery’s now-open massive gates and rejoined Paris’s hubbub. Beyond Père Lachaise’s lofty walls, the city buzzed with activity and a message: Napoleon Bonaparte was a few days’ march from Paris.

•

Ariah and Jacques walked side by side through the Tuileries Garden. Emmaline stood sandwiched between their bodies while the puppy remained close to her heels.

Ariah fought to keep a smile plastered to her face – though memories of Gabriel rained down on her thoughts. In his absence, a black void filled her chest. Rising in the morning was a battle. All joy fled from her world, abandoning her to a cold, hollow existence. Food had no taste. Laughter held no music. Colors were depthless and bland. Art was without form. And with each passing day, the precious light slipped from her world a little more. Only her love for Emmaline kept Ariah sane and moderately functioning.

She found it difficult to breathe … impossible to stay anchored in the present moment. The world seemed to move around her while she remained stationary, cold, and alone. She waded through each new day, mimicking all the correct motions without any inspiration. Her heart throbbed with pains she hadn’t known to exist.

Ariah’s grip tightened on Emmaline’s hand as she examined her frenzied surroundings. Had it only been weeks ago that she and Gabriel walked this same path? She took in the intricate, lively walkways as if suspended from her body, and envisioned her, Gabriel, and Emmaline together once again.

Where is he now?

Riddled with heated conversations and debates, the Tuileries Garden was packed to its limits. News of Napoleon’s march had burned through Paris. Ariah had briefly discussed the matter with Jacques – though he’d remained withdrawn and reluctant throughout the conversation.

She didn’t blame him.

“May we sit by the lake again?” Emmaline asked, jarring Ariah from her inward musing.

Ariah forced a smile and flattened her palm over her daughter’s rowdy curls. Emmaline scooped Gabriella into her arms, handling the pup like one might a newborn babe. “Come now, Gabriella.” Without another word, she shot off in the direction of the lake and plopped onto a grassy knoll. Ariah gazed at her daughter as a wave of despair crashed inside her chest. Emmaline had taken Gabriel’s departure incredibly hard. Over the past few days, countless tears had been shed – and Ariah had tried her best to explain the situation as eloquently as she could.

Tense silence filled the air as Jacques glanced at her. Clearing his throat, he outstretched a gloved hand and signaled toward the glittering lake.

“Shall we, then?”

Ariah lowered her chin in the semblance of a nod and followed his lead. Her heart ached as he winced with each step, hiding the pain behind a mask of outward apathy.

She and Jacques settled onto a small wooden bench. His faux right leg remained perfectly erect. They sat mere centimeters apart … intimately close. Jacques stretched one of his arms and laid it across the back of the bench. For several moments, they harmoniously observed Emmaline at play as she battled for the pigeons’ attentions. But sorrow rimmed Emmaline’s gaze, and the joy she’d so recently acquired seemed to have faded from her spirit. As if sensing her sadness, Gabriella reared onto her stubby legs and bathed her face with kisses.

Ariah’s eyes settled upon the sparkling lake, which was blanketed by a thin veil of frost, and she thought of her encounter with Gabriel. Here, he’d opened his heart and spilled his darkest secrets. Here, he’d connected with Emmaline, indulging a little girl’s whims. Here, he’d shared the most intimate part of himself, linking their souls forever …

Here, Ariah realized with a cavernous pang, she’d first known she’d loved him. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. She inhaled a rigid breath and braved them away.

Jacques chuckled, snapping her from thoughts of Gabriel. The sound was brittle and painful to behold – rid of any genuine joy. Ariah turned and locked onto his gaze. He looked so lost … so lost and alone. Then her gaze dropped to his stiff leg – and a torrent of self-hatred rose in her gut. How could she be so selfish? He deserved every grain of her kindness and compassion. Nothing less.

She yearned to absorb some of Jacques’s pain, just as he’d done for her so many years ago. She longed to help alleviate the horrors he’d so recently endured. But such a thing was not in her power.

“She appears to be quite well,” he said, breaking their gaze and signaling Emmaline with a nod.

“Yes.” Ariah grinned and smoothed down the material of her skirts. “The cough is completely gone now. Thanks to you and Doctor Mongeau.”
And Gabriel,
her mind silently added.

“He was a good man,” Jacques said with a slight wince. Ariah paused, unsure if he was referring to Doctor Mongeau or Gabriel. She pursed her lips, deciding not to press the subject.

She positioned her hand across his extended arm. He tensed at the subtle touch, visibly rattled and on guard. They’d come dangerously close to making love the night before; but he’d read the grief and anguish in her eyes – and instead he’d kissed her knuckles, wished her sweet dreams, and silently turned away.