Lady Lissa's Liaison (18 page)

Then again, perhaps his final kiss of the night was proof positive that he, just as she, felt something when the two of them were together. Perhaps Gabriel was as much drawn to Lissa as she was to him....

Lissa's head spun with all the possibilities. Doubtless she could spend an eternity puzzling over all that had transpired betwixt herself and the enigmatic Lord Wylde this day! For that reason alone, Lissa knew she would be at the river's edge come dawn. She needed to learn whether Gabriel was concocting some sort of emotional game between them, or if he was as caught up in the energy that flared inside of her whenever they were together.

Even if Lissa
didn't
need to catch a certain trout—and soon!—she knew she would make the trek to the Dove at dawn to meet Gabriel. For better or worse, she'd become enmeshed within the enigma that was Lord Wylde.

There would be little sleep for Lissa once Lavinia's natal day celebration came to a close, she knew. Dawn, and not midnight, seemed to have become the witching hour.

A part of Lissa decided that daylight could not come soon enough... while another, more cautious part of her deduced that tomorrow's dawn alongside the Dove might well prove to be disastrous!

Chapter 11

Gabriel was feeling in odd spirits when he arrived home. After checking on Harry, who was peacefully asleep, he went immediately to his library. He closed the door soundly behind him, shutting out the echo in his brain of the evening he'd just put himself through.

He was amazed that he'd even set foot in a room teeming with so many members of the
ton,
with people he'd sworn never to come near again. Lissa, and her plot of a liaison with him, had clearly set him into a stew.

But even though Gabriel had set out for Lissa's assemblage in a foul and savage mood, by the time he'd led her out into the front hall his anger had begun to dissipate. And when his mouth had melded with hers, he'd experienced both a death and rebirth. He'd felt, for the first time in six years, that life might actually hold a promise for the bruised part of his soul that not even Harry's presence could help to heal. He knew for certain there was unfinished business betwixt himself and the lovely heiress who sought no suitors, things that went far beyond trout or a locket lost.

Though the lady was known for not wishing or even seeking a marriage, Gabriel had sensed in Lissa's passionate responses to him that she—
just as he
—was caught up in the maelstrom of emotions flaring to life whenever the two of them were together.

Gabriel mulled over all of this as he sank down into his favorite chair. He'd placed Lissa's folded blanket atop the small table beside him, her nature journal as well. His angling pole and fishing basket were also atop the table since he'd been of the mind to contemplate his angling endeavors this night. But all thoughts of angling paled in comparison to the puzzle of Lissa and his feelings for her.

Was he falling in love?
he wondered.

Or had he simply become too lonely over the past many years and was now reaching out for any kind of companionship, no matter how preposterous?

Gabriel glanced at Lissa's forgotten blanket. He touched the hem of it, his fingers gliding over the sturdy material. From there, his hand moved to her nature journal.

He should have returned the journal to her by now, should have taken it to Lissa's gathering with him. But he hadn't. Mayhap he'd been too angry after talking with Manningford earlier... or maybe he just wanted to keep for a little while longer something that she treasured.

Whatever the reason, the journal was here, beside him, and though he told himself not to do so, Gabriel picked the thing up, settled back, then began thumbing through its many pages.

He moved past the notes about her father's death, about the mention of the baby birds in a nest, and found to his keen interest several entries detailing Lissa's adventurous night visits to the River Dove.

Just as she'd mentioned to him earlier that day, her father had been an angler of the night, and clearly, following in the wake of the man's death, Lissa had sought to discover some of the wonders her father had told her about.

In her perfect script, she'd written

There are not very many night anglers who partake of the "Black Art, "or so Papa told me. The bigger brown trout, though, become nocturnal. They find the "better feed at night, "Papa explained, and so become very cautious. They are also extraordinarily Bedlam-mad at times during the night, feeding with an absolute frenzy! They could be lying out within the water during the daylight, and if an angler raises his rod tip to cast, they are gone—but at night, if the trout are on the feed, an astute angler can catch them....

I decided, late last night, to gather my courage about me and head to the Dove shortly after midnight. It was the dark of the moon. I needed a lantern to light my way, so thick was the pure blackness. Once I reached my destination, I was amazed at the pulse of life beating all around the river. I'd had no inkling of the energy that surged along the Dove during the depths of night! It was truly otherworldly, a place of fascinating busyness.

Gabriel, very much caught up in Lissa's journal entries, fought down the feeling of guilt that washed through him. He was invading her privacy by reading her thoughts, but he wanted to know more about night angling for trout—and God's truth, he wanted to know more about the lady who had caught his interest and responded to his kisses with such toe-curling passion.

He continued reading.

After midnight, the entire structure of a stream changes. It is a different place, a beehive of activity as the air temperature drops and the water temperature drops. Papa explained to me that when the latter happens, more oxygen comes into the water, and therefore the best insect hatches often occur after midnight.

On this particular night, the very air seemed to thrum with insect life. I was amazed and pleased, and recall just standing at the river's edge and feeling many large-winged flies beat against my skin. The dragonflies were most pronounced. I loved hearing the thrum of their tiny wings! I espied many bats—or at least, their shadows. They swooped and swerved, claiming the night with their crazed curves. A whippoorwill sounded far off in the distance. I heard the howl of several wolves as well. Lonely calls they were, but oddly enough the sounds comforted me. I did not feel alone in the Stygian dark. I dareswear I felt very much at home.

I settled down alongside the bank and allowed my lantern to grow dim. I wished to view this dark world as a creature of the night. Following is what I noted...

When all cools within the Dove, the larger trout move out in the stream and find feeding stations along huge rocks or the banks of the river. Bugs and flies settle on these rocks because they are seeking heat. And then mice come, looking for food. Oftentimes, one of these mice will tumble off the rocks, into the water. A trout will sense the mouse swimming in the water, and up he goes, capturing the mouse around the tail-end and pulling it down! I was surprised at the savageness of the trout in taking the mouse. Papa once explained how trout can be perfect carnivores. From what I have seen, he was very precise in his description. I swear I could hear the trout's jaws click as it overtook its prey!

Lissa then segued into describing a particular handmade fly her father had created during his lifetime. Dubbed the "Midnight Caller," the fly resembled a mouse, was made of deer hair dyed black that was meticulously spun round the hook and trimmed, and had a tail made of boar bristle.

Gabriel, very interested in this concept of angling during the dark of the moon, paid close attention to these entries. He went over and over the words, mentally envisioned the Dove at night, and then got up, procured paper and pen, then sat back down and took meticulous notes.

That done, he spent the next hour waxing his silk line, soaking his cat-gut leaders, and then dried the handmade flies Lissa had created for him.

Sometime around midnight he took Lissa's journal and her blanket in his arms, gathered up his angling rod and the handmade flies, then headed to his river lodge, thoughts of creating a "Midnight Caller" of his own on his mind.

It took several hours to create such a fly. Gabriel's fingers felt clumsy as he wound the deer hair and affixed it about a long, delicate hook. He wished Lissa was beside him, schooling him in the exact ways of creating such a fly. No doubt she was still entertaining her guests—possibly even dancing until dawn with the dastardly Lord Langford. Gabriel's mood blackened at the mere thought of the latter. He wanted Lissa nowhere
near
Langford.

His only balm was in knowing that Lissa, come dawn, would hopefully spirit herself to the river and meet him there, intent on hooking "their trout" and retrieving her precious locket. He hoped his behavior of this night—and the kisses he'd stolen yet
again
—would not cause her to have a change of heart.

By two a.m., Gabriel had accomplished the completion of two flies that seemed both strong in construction and true to form.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep. He ought to go back to the main house, he knew, ought to settle in his bed for what remained of the night.

But he wasn't ready to leave the refuge of his lodge. He could still imagine Lissa's honeysuckle scent filling the interior, and for now—possibly forever—it seemed that he could recall her best while in this cozy place where he'd first touched her.

Extinguishing the light, Gabriel settled down on the bench and pulled Lissa's forgotten blanket up and over the long length of him.

Gabriel propped one arm behind his head, staring up at a black ceiling of nothingness as he thought of all that had transpired this day, and remembered the feel of Lissa in his arms.

She alone, it seemed, held the power to unhinge him, to blast his perfectly ordered life into so much emotional upheaval, and to leave him wondering about what she was doing and with whom she was doing it.

Was she dancing with Langford at this very moment? Was her heart beating against Langford's chest as fully as it had thrummed against his own? Was her mouth looking as sweetly kissable to that windsucker Langford as it had appeared to Gabriel earlier?

Damnation!
thought Gabriel, squirming atop the hard bench, his mind and his heart in chaos. He could not tolerate the thought of Lissa with Langford. He should have stayed until the final guest begged off. He should have....

Bother it all
, he thought. He should have done a good many things, such as tell Lissa what was truly in his mind; that she was the most beautiful, intriguing female he'd ever met. That she had the power to overshadow even his memories of Jenny, the woman he thought he'd love forever and would never forget.

He should have told Lissa that she'd managed in a short span of time to make him feel alive again, that she'd become a bright ray of sunshine in his life, no matter of her duplicitous plot of using his blackened past to her advantage....

Unfortunately, he'd said none of that. Though anger had swept him into her home, his deepest reactions to the lady had made him dare only to promise to shadow her every step, kiss her passionately at her front door, and then leave.

What a perfect fool he'd made of himself.

A fool in love, mayhap.

As Gabriel drifted off into restless sleep, he wondered if his supposed "liaison" with Lissa could go beyond what she'd first imagined, and if it could metamorphose into something each of them might truly want. Come dawn, he might have a clue—that is, if the lady kept her vow and met him alongside the Dove.

He hoped she would, almost prayed for that, in fact. But prayer had not come easily to Gabriel over the past many years. In fact, prayer had become the most difficult thing of all since the death of Harry's mother.

Maybe tomorrow, Gabriel thought, he'd be able to make amends with Lissa, and to perhaps even pray again. Mayhap tomorrow would truly be a new beginning for him—with Lissa beside him.

Only time would tell.

With that thought, he finally fell into a dream-filled sleep. Pity that his dreams involved both Lissa and Langford, and with his own self drowning in restless waters kicked up by the evilness that was Langford....

* * *

Lissa came awake well before dawn. She got dressed and was pacing her rooms long before Tilly's knock sounded upon her door. The abigail brought with her a breakfast tray as well as an apology of sorts.