CHAPTER FOUR THE WIDOW IN RED #5
Gabriel lifted her hand away and stepped back. Cold air entered the space between them. Eleanor’s breast remained exposed. He could not look at it without wanting to begin again.
“Your gown,” he said.
She stared at him. Then understanding became anger. Eleanor pulled the bodice into place. Her fingers were not entirely steady, and the sight filled Gabriel with guilt and desire in equal measure.
“The lesson has gone farther than intended.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“You touched me first.”
“I know.”
“You asked whether I wished you to continue.”
“I know.”
“I said yes.”
Gabriel retrieved his coat and used the movement to put necessary distance between them.
“Consent does not eliminate consequence.”
“What consequence?”
He looked at her. The honest answer was that another minute would have ended with her skirts around her waist and his hand between her thighs.
Another five might have ended with his trousers open, Eleanor’s fingers or mouth upon him and every useful boundary destroyed.
The more dangerous consequence was not physical.
He had enjoyed her pleasure too much and had wanted to keep every sound for himself.
“It would have become difficult to stop,” he said.
“Then perhaps we should not have stopped.”
Gabriel’s body reacted viciously to the suggestion.
Eleanor saw it. Her gaze lowered to the hard outline still visible beneath his trousers.
Then she looked at his face. Sensual confidence had replaced confusion.
Not completely—she remained flushed and breathing quickly—but enough to make her dangerous.
“You are frustrated,” she said.
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
“I am aware.”
“No. You are assuming.”
Gabriel’s hand tightened around his coat.
“What would you have preferred?”
Eleanor’s gaze held his.
“That you finish what you began.”
The room seemed to contract. He imagined using his fingers beneath the red silk until she came against his hand. He imagined watching her face when pleasure overcame restraint, then guiding her hand around him until he spent himself under her touch. Gabriel forced the images away.
“This was not meant to become a complete lesson in pleasure.”
“You object to completion?”
“I object to losing the purpose of the arrangement.”
“Which is to make me appear experienced.”
“Yes.”
“Would experience not assist?”
“Not if obtaining it makes us careless.”
Eleanor looked at him for a long moment. Then she adjusted the garnet pendant, returning it precisely to the centre of her chest.
“Do you always stop when you begin to feel something?”
The question entered more deeply than any touch. Gabriel went still. Eleanor saw the answer. He restored his smile, but too late. Her expression changed from frustration to understanding, and he disliked that far more.
“You mistake discipline for fear,” he said.
“No.”
“What, then?”
“I think you use discipline to avoid discovering which it is.”
Gabriel put on his coat. His hands were steady because he required them to be. From the salon beyond the door came a burst of laughter, followed by the opening notes of another piece from the musicians. They had been absent too long.
“Arrange your gown,” he said.
“It is arranged.”
“Your hair.”
She lifted both hands to the loose curls at her nape.
Gabriel wanted to do it for her. He turned away while she repaired what his fingers had disturbed.
When he looked back, Mrs. Grey had returned.
The bodice was respectable, the hair elegant and the expression composed.
Only her swollen mouth betrayed the woman he had kissed.
Gabriel crossed toward the door. Eleanor reached him before he opened it.
“Your cravat,” she said.
He looked down. It had shifted beneath her hands. Eleanor straightened the cloth, her fingers brushing his throat with deliberate care. Gabriel remained motionless.
“You are becoming too convincing,” he murmured.
“I had an effective teacher.”
Her hand slid down the front of his coat as she stepped past him. Something small pressed into his palm. Gabriel closed his fingers around it automatically. Eleanor opened the library door. Music and conversation flowed into the room.
“Mrs. Grey,” he said quietly.
She glanced back.
“How?”
“Diplomats watch women’s faces,” she replied. “They rarely watch their own hands.”
Then she walked into the salon. Gabriel opened his palm.
A small bronze coin lay against his skin.
One side bore the winged staff of Mercury.
The other carried a line of Greek. He could recognise the letters but not the precise meaning.
Eleanor paused several feet away, speaking to Sabine as though she had not been half undressed against a library table minutes earlier.
Gabriel closed his hand around the coin and followed.
When they returned to the edge of the salon, Eleanor accepted a glass of water from a servant. Her expression remained perfectly calm.
“What does it say?” Gabriel asked beneath the music.
She looked at the coin concealed in his palm.
“The father speaks with the daughter’s tongue.”
Gabriel’s amusement disappeared.