CHAPTER SIX THE FEAST OF HERMES #3
They moved toward the cabinet. Gabriel intercepted Lord Carrow near the centre of the gallery and drew him into an argument concerning a racehorse.
Eleanor used the distraction to reach the alcove.
Gabriel maintained the conversation while watching her in the mirrored panel opposite.
She read the quotation. Counted the letters.
Tried the cabinet. Locked. Eleanor removed the second coin found in her father’s study.
It fitted the circular recess beneath the keyhole. The cabinet opened.
Gabriel ended the conversation abruptly and joined her.
Inside lay three ledgers. Eleanor opened the first. Payments to printers.
The second contained gifts to newspaper editors, academic societies and political pamphleteers.
The third was written partly in code and partly in ordinary English. Eleanor turned pages rapidly.
“Academic stipends,” she whispered. “Purchased reviews. Private editions. Payments to scholars for alterations.”
“Copy names.”
“There are too many.”
“Take the relevant pages.”
“The removal will be noticed.”
“So will remaining here when the bell rings.”
Footsteps sounded beyond the curtain. Gabriel closed the cabinet.
He caught Eleanor’s wrist and drew her behind the heavy drapery at the rear of the alcove.
The space concealed a narrow window seat and little else.
They stood pressed between the stone wall and velvet curtain, their bodies forced together by the lack of room.
Eleanor’s back touched the wall. Gabriel braced one hand beside her head. A masked man entered the alcove.
Through a narrow gap in the curtain, Gabriel saw a silver mask and the lower edge of a dark coat.
The man tried cabinet forty-seven. Finding it closed, he paused.
Eleanor’s breathing sounded too loud. Gabriel lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was meant to create cover. Nothing more.
He touched her lips gently, intending the smallest sound of intimacy to explain movement behind the curtain.
The masked man remained. Gabriel kissed Eleanor again.
Her hands slid beneath his coat. The response was not part of the plan. His body tightened. Outside the curtain, the cabinet door opened. Pages turned. Eleanor drew back enough to whisper against Gabriel’s mouth.
“Unconvincing.”
His breath touched her lips. “What?”
“No one would believe you brought a lover behind a curtain merely to kiss politely.”
Before he could answer, Eleanor opened two buttons of his shirt. Her fingertips touched the bare skin beneath his collar. Gabriel went still. She guided his hand downward.
“Eleanor.”
The warning emerged almost silently. Her eyes remained upon his.
“Performance,” she breathed.
Then she placed his hand beneath the folds of her gown.
Gabriel’s restraint became a physical ache.
He gathered the blue-black silk carefully, lifting it above her knees while keeping the movement hidden behind the curtain.
His fingers found the bare skin above her stocking.
Eleanor’s breath caught. Outside, the masked man stopped turning pages.
Gabriel pressed his mouth to Eleanor’s throat.
She tilted her head, giving him access. His hand moved higher.
The darkness beneath her skirts was warm.
He traced the inside of her thigh with slow pressure, feeling the small tremor passing through her as his fingers approached the centre of her body.
He paused. Even now, even with danger beyond the curtain and desire threatening judgement, the question remained necessary.
Eleanor answered it without words. She opened her thighs.
Gabriel’s fingers slid between them. Her lips parted upon a breathless sound.
He covered her mouth with his before it could escape.
She was already warm and ready for him, her body responding with an honesty that stripped the encounter of any remaining pretence.
Gabriel touched her slowly, circling the sensitive place he had discovered in the carriage and feeling her soften beneath his hand.
Eleanor gripped his shoulders. The masked man coughed beyond the curtain.
Gabriel’s hand stopped. Eleanor moved against it.
His gaze snapped to hers. She pressed closer, deliberately seeking the pressure he had withdrawn.
The confidence of it nearly destroyed him.
He resumed the touch. Eleanor’s breathing quickened against his mouth.
Each sound remained trapped between them, transformed into small tremors Gabriel felt through her body.
The danger sharpened everything. The narrowness of the space.
The heat beneath her skirts. The sound of pages turning inches away.
Gabriel’s thumb moved more firmly. Eleanor’s fingers tightened at his collar.
He felt her approaching the same edge she had refused in the carriage.
Her body grew taut, her movements less controlled. He should have stopped.
He wanted to feel her shatter silently against his hand while another man stood beyond the curtain unaware of what occurred.
The thought was reckless. It was also impossible to dismiss.
Gabriel kissed her harder. Eleanor’s hand slid down his chest. She opened his waistcoat, then moved lower.
His entire body went rigid when her fingers found the hard line of him beneath his trousers.
She touched him through the fabric first. Then her hand slipped beneath the waistband.
Gabriel’s forehead dropped against the stone beside her head.
Every breath threatened sound. Eleanor closed her hand around him with growing confidence, and the pleasure struck so forcefully that his fingers pressed inside her before he intended.
Her body tightened. For one alarming instant, he feared he had hurt her.
Then she moved against him. Gabriel nearly lost control.
“Christ,” he breathed against her mouth.
Eleanor’s eyes gleamed behind the silver mask.
“Unconvincing?” he whispered.
“Improving.”
He could have laughed if breathing had not become difficult.
Outside the curtain, the masked man shut the ledger.
He remained in the alcove. Gabriel’s hand continued moving beneath Eleanor’s skirts, slow enough to keep her silent and relentless enough to drive them both toward disaster.
She held him with equal determination, learning the rhythm that made his control fracture and repeating it whenever he attempted to slow her.
Their lessons had ceased to possess an instructor.
They were discovering one another together, giving and withdrawing, testing reactions in the darkness.
Eleanor’s head tipped back against the stone.
Gabriel felt her nearing release. Her muscles tightened around his fingers.
Her hand faltered upon him. He wanted to continue.
He wanted to watch pleasure overcome every careful defence she had built.
But the masked man shifted beyond the curtain. Footsteps approached from the gallery.
An officer’s voice said, “Have you found what you required?”
“Not yet.”
The answer belonged to Vauclair. Gabriel froze.
Eleanor’s eyes widened. Vauclair stood inches away.
The stolen coin might already have been reported.
If he opened the curtain, explanation would become impossible.
Gabriel withdrew his hand from beneath Eleanor’s skirts and caught her wrist, stilling her touch upon him.
The abrupt stop left both breathing too hard.
Eleanor understood. She removed her hand and helped him fasten his clothes with movements made clumsy by urgency.
Beyond the curtain, Vauclair spoke again.
“The ledger has been altered.”
The officer replied, “Impossible.”
“A page was moved.”
Gabriel adjusted Eleanor’s skirts. Her mask remained straight, but her mouth was swollen and her chest rose rapidly beneath the bodice. He lowered his lips to her ear.
“Follow me when I move.”
She nodded. Vauclair stepped closer to the curtain.
Gabriel kissed Eleanor’s neck loudly enough to be heard.
She gave a breathless laugh that required no acting.
The curtain shifted. Vauclair looked inside.
For one suspended second, the diplomat stared at them.
Gabriel had arranged his body to shield Eleanor, but the position remained unmistakable.
Her skirts were rumpled, his collar open and his hand rested high upon her thigh beneath the folds of silk.
Vauclair’s eyes moved over the scene. Amusement replaced suspicion.
“Ashcombe.”
Gabriel glanced toward him with irritation that required little performance.
“Henri.”
“You might select a room with a door.”
“Doors invite interruption.”
Vauclair looked at Eleanor. She lowered her face against Gabriel’s shoulder as though embarrassed by recognition rather than danger. Gabriel’s hand tightened upon her thigh. Vauclair laughed.
“The third bell has sounded.”
“So I heard.”
“Try not to miss the auctions entirely.”
He let the curtain fall and walked away. Gabriel remained still until the footsteps disappeared. Eleanor lifted her head. Neither spoke. They were still pressed together. Gabriel could feel the heat of her body, the rapid pulse in her throat and the tremor she could not entirely control.
“How much,” he asked quietly, “was performance?”
Eleanor looked at his open collar.
“Not enough.”
The answer struck deeper than desire. Gabriel stepped away as far as the alcove allowed. Cold entered the space between them. He repaired the remaining buttons of his shirt. Eleanor smoothed her skirts, though nothing could entirely disguise the flush across her skin.
“We should leave,” he said.
“The ledger.”
“Vauclair knows it was touched.”
“We still need the names.”
“He may have removed it.”
Eleanor drew a small folded paper from inside her bodice. Gabriel stared.
“When did you—”
“Before the footsteps.”