Chapter 18
A s soon as Gabriel arrived home after a long day of meetings, he was greeted by the sight of Drago awaiting him in the entrance hall.
“Milord.” Drago moved forward to assist him, but was pointedly shouldered aside by the first footman, who collected Gabriel’s hat and gloves.
Gabriel sternly suppressed a smile, knowing that Drago hadn’t yet learned the order of precedence concerning the small rituals of the household.
Certain tasks defined a servant’s status and would not be relinquished easily.
After shooting a quick, scathing glance at the first footman’s back, Drago returned his attention to Gabriel. “A word with you, milord?”
“Of course.” Gabriel led the way to the nearby morning room, where they both went to stand at one of the front bay windows.
As Drago gave him a succinct account of the visit to the Clerkenwell printer’s shop, including their abrupt exit, and the suspicious items in the offices and warehouse, Gabriel listened with a growing frown. “What was the chemical compound? Could you hazard a guess?”
For answer, Drago pulled a small, cork-stoppered glass tube from his coat pocket and handed it to him. Gabriel held it up and rotated it slowly, watching a few salt-like grains roll inside.
“Chloride of potash,” Drago said.
It was a common and easily recognizable chemical, used in soap, detergents, friction matches, fireworks, and ink. Gabriel handed the tube back to him. “Most people wouldn’t see cause for concern upon finding this at a printer’s works.”
“No, milord.”
“But something about it seemed dodgy to you.”
“It was the look of things. The way Mrs. O’Cairre behaved. The man Lady St. Vincent saw. Something’s not right about the place.”
Bracing one hand on the niche framing of the bay window, Gabriel regarded the quiet street outside, and drummed his fingers on the wood paneling.
“I trust your instincts,” he finally said.
“You’ve seen enough trouble to know when it’s brewing.
But the police will dismiss this out of hand for lack of compelling evidence.
And I don’t know of a detective in the entire department who isn’t corrupt or an idiot. ”
“I know who to talk to.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t like his name to be mentioned. He says most London detectives are too well known by their appearance and habits to be of any use. Soon they’ll make a clean sweep of the department and create a special branch. That’s a secret, by the way.”
Gabriel’s brows lifted. “How do you know all this when I don’t?”
“You’ve gone missing of late,” Drago said. “Something about a wedding.”
A smile tugged at Gabriel’s lips. “Talk to your contact as soon as possible. ”
“I’ll go tonight.”
“One more thing.” Gabriel hesitated, almost dreading the answer to what he was about to ask. “Did you have any difficulties with Lady St. Vincent? She didn’t argue or try to evade you?”
“No, milord,” Drago replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “She’s a brick.”
“Oh,” Gabriel said, bemused. “Good.” He headed upstairs to find his wife, puzzling over the statement.
In London street cant, calling someone a brick was the highest possible praise, used only for a man who was exceptionally loyal and good-hearted.
Gabriel had never heard Drago pay such a compliment to anyone.
In fact, he’d never heard of a woman being called a brick until now.
Pandora’s voice drifted from the direction of her bedroom, where she changed her clothes and had her hair arranged.
At his insistence, she slept in his bed each night.
She’d offered a few half-hearted objections at first, pointing out that she was a restless sleeper, which was true.
However, whenever she awakened him with her tossing and turning, he solved her problem—and his—by making love to her until she fell into an exhausted slumber.
Drawing closer to the room, Gabriel paused with a smile as he heard Ida delivering a lecture about ladylike delicacy, which appeared to have been inspired by an article in a recent periodical.
“...ladies aren’t supposed to rush from room to room trying to help people,” the lady’s maid was saying. “The article said you should recline on a chaise, all fragile and wan, and make people help you .”
“And be an inconvenience to everyone?” Pandora asked heatedly .
“Everyone admires delicate ladies,” the lady’s maid informed her. “The article quoted Lord Byron: ‘There’s a sweetness to woman’s decay.’”
“I’ve read plenty of Byron,” Pandora said indignantly, “and I’m sure he never wrote such twaddle. Decay, my foot. What periodical was that? It’s appalling enough to advise healthy women to act like invalids, but to misquote a fine poet in the bargain—”
Gabriel knocked at the door, and the voices fell silent. Making his face impassive, he pushed his way in, and was greeted with the charming sight of his wife dressed in nothing but her corset, chemise, and drawers.
Staring at him with wide eyes, Pandora blushed from head to toe. She cleared her throat and said breathlessly, “Good evening, my lord. I’m... changing for dinner.”
“So I see.” His gaze traveled slowly over her, lingering at the gentle weight of her breasts pushed upward and outward by the corset.
Ida snatched up the circle of a discarded dress on the floor, and said to Pandora, “Milady, I’ll fetch a robe—”
“No need,” Gabriel said. “I’ll take care of my wife.”
Looking flustered, Ida bobbed a curtsey and fled, closing the door behind her.
Pandora stood still, radiating nervous energy as Gabriel came farther into the room. “I... I suppose Dragon talked to you.”
He arched a brow at the nickname but didn’t comment.
His gaze took in the worried pucker of her forehead, the twitching fingers and fidgeting toes, those eyes as round as a punished child’s, and a feeling of overwhelming tenderness poured through him.
“Why are you uneasy with me, love?” he asked softly.
“I thought you might be angry, because I went alone into the warehouse. ”
“I’m not angry. Just slightly tormented by the thought of anything happening to you.
” Taking one of her hands, Gabriel drew her to a nearby chair and sat with her slight weight on his knee.
She relaxed in relief, her arms linking around his neck.
She was wearing perfume, a light touch of something flowery and crisp, but he preferred the silky, salty fragrance of her unadorned skin, more potent than any aphrodisiac.
“Pandora, you can’t take risks by going into unfamiliar places without protection.
You’re too important to me. Besides, if you deprive Drago of the chance to intimidate and oppress people, you’ll demoralize him. ”
“I’ll remember next time.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “What’s going to happen now? Is Dragon going to tell the police about what he saw?”
“Yes, and until we find out whether or not it’s worth investigating, I’d rather you not venture far from home.”
“Gabriel... Mrs. O’Cairre is a nice woman. She was very kind and encouraging about my board game company, and I’m sure she would never hurt anyone knowingly. If she’s caught up in something dangerous, it can’t possibly be her fault.”
“Let me caution you, love: Sometimes people you want to believe in will disappoint you. The more you learn about the world, the fewer illusions you’ll have.”
“I don’t want to become cynical.”
Gabriel smiled against her hair. “Being just a little cynical will make you a much safer optimist.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Now, let’s decide how I should punish you.”
“Punish me?”
“Mmm.” His hands wandered over her slender bare legs. “You can’t learn your lesson properly if I don’t reinforce it.”
“What are my choices?”
“They all begin with removing your drawers.”
A smile deepened the curve of her cheek as he sought her lips. “There’s not enough time before dinner,” she said, squirming as he reached for the drawstring just below her waist.
“You might be surprised at what I can accomplish in five minutes.”
“Based on recent experience, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
Gabriel laughed against her mouth, relishing her impudence. “A challenge. Well, you can forget all about dinner now.”
Pandora struggled and squeaked as he divested her of her drawers and pulled her fully onto his lap, with her naked legs dangling on either side of his waist. The corset, with its stiffened fabric and stays, forced her back to remain straight.
He tugged down the shoulders of her chemise and lifted her breasts from the supportive half-cups of the corset.
He kissed the pale curves, leisurely catching the soft pink nipples with his lips, flicking them with his tongue.
Her breathing grew labored within the confining grip of the corset, and she reached down to the front hooks.
Gabriel stopped her, gently grasping her wrists and drawing them back around his neck. “Leave it on,” he murmured, forestalling arguments by taking her mouth with his. It was a decoy she couldn’t resist, heat instantly taking hold like flame racing through kindling.
Adjusting her weight, he let her bottom settle between his spread knees, leaving her open and exposed.
He kept one arm behind her back, while he slid his hand between her thighs.
His fingers tickled and stirred through petals and silkiness and tender wet heat, until Pandora quivered in his lap.
He knew what was happening to her, the way the corset redirected sensation below her waist in unfamiliar ways.
Pressing a fingertip just above the hidden peak of her clitoris, he agitated it softly.
Pandora’s moans grew louder. He circled the emerging bud and slid his finger to the little cove below, and sank it inside her.
He felt her thighs and hips flexing, muscles struggling to bring their bodies closer, to close around the teasing stimulation.