"What is it, Maurice?" Sara asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"Sara Jayne..." He stumbled into her apartment, the fear that had choked him at the cottage still strong.
"What have you done to your hand?" she asked.
Maurice glanced at his hand. The neckerchief he had wrapped around the cut was soaked with blood.
"It's nothing," he muttered, too agitated by what had happened in the cottage to be concerned about his injury. "Saints above, Sara Jayne, he's a monster!"
Exasperated, she closed the door, then drew her dressing gown more tightly around her. "Haven't you given up that absurd notion yet? Is that why you got me out of bed at this hour of the morning? To tell me that Gabriel is a monster?"
"It's true. Come with me and see for yourself."
"And just what did you see?"
"Nothing."
"Maurice, you're not making sense."
"I didn't seeanything except a locked door. It's what I felt, Sara Jayne. Never in all my life have I felt such evil. You've got to believe me. He's unholy."
"Sit down," Sara said. "I'll get you a glass of brandy. And then I'll bandage your hand."
With a weary nod, Maurice sank down on the sofa and closed his eyes. He couldn't forget the horror that had surrounded him in the cottage, the terrible sense of evil, of danger. Of death.
"Here," Sara said, handing him a glass of brandy. "Drink this. It will help ease the pain."
While he sipped the brandy, she washed the blood from his hand, covered the shallow cut with salve, and bandaged it with a strip of clean cloth.
"I'm going to get dressed now," she said, "and then we'll go have a look at that cottage."
"Maybe that's not such a good idea."
"I want to see it for myself."
They reached the cottage an hour later. In the brilliant light of early morning, the dwelling looked peaceful enough. It was obviously deserted, Sara thought, and had been for a long while by the look of it. The vines had gone wild, climbing over the trellis and spreading around the house. The windows were dirty; the chimney was in disrepair.
"Maybe we shouldn't go any closer," Maurice said.
"Don't be silly. We've come this far. I'm going inside."
Resolutely, she approached the cottage, then walked around to the back until she came to the window Maurice had broken. She could see several dark brown stains on the sill, and she shuddered, knowing it was from the cut on Maurice's hand.
Picking up a rock, she broke away the last shards of glass from the frame. Then, lifting her skirts, she started to climb over the sill.
"Wait." Maurice laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You'll ruin your skirts. I'll go through the window and open the front door."
"Very well," Sara agreed.
Moments later, the front door opened with a loud creak and Sara stepped into the cottage. The room she found herself in was empty, but she thought it might have once been rather nice.
Holding her skirts away from the floor to keep them clean, she walked toward the next room. She could hear Maurice following her, his footsteps hesitant.
She walked through each room, and then turned to confront Maurice. "There's nothing here. I don't think anyone's lived here for years."
"Don't you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
With a shake of his head, Maurice grabbed Sara's hand and led her down the cellar stairs. As soon as they reached the door, he felt the short hairs rise along the back of his neck.
"Don't tell me you can't feel that?" he exclaimed.
"I'll tell you what I feel," Sara retorted. "I feel silly for listening to you."
"He's behind that door," Maurice said. "I know it."
"That's ridiculous. Gabriel's a wealthy man. What would he be doing here, in this old place?"
Yet even as she spoke the words, she remembered the deserted abbey in London.
"Put your hand on the door and tell me what you feel."
Filled with a sudden sense of unease, Sara placed her hand on the door. And in that instant, she knew Maurice was right. Gabriel was behind that portal. She could feel his presence as strongly as she felt Maurice's hand on her shoulder.
But it wasn't a sense of evil that assailed her, but rather a sense of confusion and doubt. Why was he here?
"Gabriel?"
Be gone!
Itwas his voice, loud and clear in her mind. And in that moment, she didn't want to know why he was there, didn't want to know what secrets he was hiding.
"Do you feel it?" Maurice asked.
"No. Let's go."
"What's wrong?" Maurice asked. His fingers closed around the crucifix in his jacket pocket. It was large and costly, made of solid silver. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
"We have a rehearsal this afternoon. I want to have time to eat lunch first. Come along, Maurice, there's nothing scary here."
He followed her because he was eager to be away from the place, but he didn't believe her words for a minute. She had felt something, and whatever it was had drained the color from her face.
He rose as soon as the sun had set. After drawing water from the well behind the cottage, he bathed, then changed his clothes and packed a few of his belongings.
With preternatural speed, he made his way into town and secured lodgings at the best hotel Paris had to offer. After unpacking his clothing, he ordered a bouquet of flowers and a midnight supper for two, and then he left the hotel.
For an hour, he walked the streets. For Sara, he would reenter the mainstream of humanity. He would take her to parties; he would take her dining and dancing, though he would have to be careful to avoid mirrors and other reflective surfaces. If she wished, he would accompany her to London when the company left Paris.
He sat in his usual box during her performance, mesmerized, as always, by her beauty. She moved with an inherent grace that was enchanting. Each step, each movement of her hand, each facial expression, was perfection.
And Maurice... Gabriel let his gaze rest upon the young man. What was he going to do about Maurice? The man didn't know anything, and yet he suspected far too much. Gabriel's first instinct was to kill Delacroix, but that he could not do. Sara liked the young man. But for her affection, Maurice would be dead even now.
Muttering an oath, Gabriel dismissed Maurice from his mind and lost himself once again in the magic that was Sara Jayne.
As always, she flew into his arms when the show was over, her eyes shining with happiness and the knowledge that she had danced beautifully.
"Where shall we go tonight?" she asked, slipping her arm through his.
"My hotel?" he answered casually.
"Your hotel?" She hesitated only a moment. "Yes, I'd like that."
She was surprised when he summoned a carriage, and even more surprised when they arrived at the Hotel de Paris.
"Is this where you stay?" she asked, her eyes growing wide as they stepped into the lobby of the hotel.
Never in all her life had she seen anything so grand. The carpets, the tapestries, the long, winding staircase. A chandelier to rival the one at the Opera hung from the intricately carved and painted ceiling.
His room was equally grand. Heavy velvet draperies covered the windows. A matching spread covered the enormous brass bed. The furniture was rich red mahogany, the settee of fine damask.
She made a slow circle, taking everything in, frowning when she noticed there was no looking glass.
Before she could comment on the lack, there was a knock at the door and a young man entered the room pushing a tea cart with one hand and carrying a huge bouquet of flowers in the other.
Gabriel took the flowers. Bowing low, he handed them to Sara. "For you, cara."
"They're beautiful, Gabriel," she murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."
"Shall I serve you, monsieur?" the young man asked.
"That won't be necessary."
The young man's eyes widened as Gabriel pressed several coins into his hand. "Thank you, monsieur. And if you have need of anything else, please let me know." With a bow, he left the room.
"Enjoy your meal, cara," Gabriel said. He placed the tray on the small table near the window and lifted the cover. "I hope the pheasant is to your liking." He held her chair for her, then took the opposite seat.
"It looks delicious," Sara said. She cocked her head to one side and smiled. "I suppose you've already eaten?"
Gabriel nodded. "But don't let that spoil your dinner."
"I'm used to it," she said with a sigh. "Are you sure you won't share it with me?"
He glanced at her plate briefly, his stomach churning at the mere idea of digesting such a conglomeration of meat and vegetables. "I'm sure."
He filled their glasses with wine, then handed one to her. "To you, my sweet Sara," he said, touching his glass to hers. "May life bring you all the happiness you deserve."
She looked at him over the rim of her glass as she took a drink, felt the heat that arced between them as their gazes met.
"To us, my angel," she said, lifting her glass to his. "May we share all our tomorrows."
"It is my fondest wish," Gabriel replied ardently.
The fervor of his words and the refulgent look in his eyes enveloped her in a warm haze. Lost in the promise of his hooded gray eyes, she began to eat, though she hardly tasted a thing.
She couldn't stop watching him. He sipped his wine while she ate, and she yearned to lick the drops from his lips. He placed his empty glass on the table, his fingers making lazy patterns on the stem, and she yearned to feel his hand caress her skin.
He smiled, as if he knew her thoughts, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she couldn't stop staring at him, couldn't keep from admiring the width of his shoulders, the sheer masculine beauty of his face.
He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, dark brown trousers, and brown leather boots, and she thought how perfect he would be to play the part of the prince in Sleeping Beauty, for his kiss had surely awakened her, to life, to love. To passion.
"What did you do today?" Gabriel asked as she pushed her plate away.
"Do?" She was filled with a sudden sense of unease as she recalled going to the cottage with Maurice. In the excitement of performing and then coming to Gabriel's hotel, she had all but forgotten Maurice's ramblings.
A slight frown drew Gabriel's brows together. "Is something wrong, cara?"
"Wrong? No, nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"
"You're a poor liar, Sara."
"What do you mean?"
"Something is troubling you. What is it?"
"Nothing!"
He didn't believe her. She felt her mouth go dry as his gaze pierced hers. She could almost feel those deep gray eyes probing her heart, her soul. Her mind.
"Nothing's wrong," she said again. "Maurice and I went for a drive this morning."
"Indeed?" Gabriel said, his voice silky smooth. "Tell me, how is your young man?"
"He's not myyoung man," Sara retorted, glad for the apparent change of subject. "We're just friends."
"He seems to have injured his hand."
Sara bit down on her lip. "Yes, he... he cut it on a piece of glass."
"How unfortunate."
"Yes. We stopped at a small cottage. That's where Maurice cut his hand."
"I hope you looked after it for him. Cuts can be nasty things. Deadly, should infection occur."
Sara nodded. They weren't talking about anything as mundane as a minor cut, she thought, her mind racing. Gabriel was warning her to be careful. But to be careful of what?
"It was a quaint little cottage just outside of town. No one was living there. We climbed in through a broken window in the back."
Why was she telling him this? She had the oddest feeling that he already knew, that he was somehow drawing the words from her mind.
"And what did you see there, cara?"
"Nothing..." She tried to draw her gaze from his and failed. She hadn't seenanything, but she hadheard his voice. All day, she had tried to tell herself it had only been her imagination, but she knew now that it had indeed been Gabriel's voice. "You were there, weren't you?"
"No questions, cara."
"You were there," she said again, with more conviction this time. "Why? Are you engaged in something illegal?"
"No questions!" His fist came down on the table with such force her silverware skittered across the surface, knocking over her empty wine glass.
"Maurice said..." Abruptly, she pressed her lips together, fear for Maurice's life making her suddenly cautious. For the first time since she had known Gabriel, she was truly afraid of him.
"I should like to go home now." She clasped her hands in her lap to still their shaking, but she could not stay the tremor in her voice. "Please."
Gabriel rose stiffly to his feet and pulled out her chair. "As you wish, cara," he said quietly.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye while she drew on her evening cape and gloves, fearing he would try to detain her, but he remained by the table, his hands clenched at his sides, his deep gray eyes filled with pain and self-reproach.
"Good night." She was trembling so badly she could scarcely speak the words.
A sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Goodbye, Sara Jayne."