It wasn’t that Gabriel was indifferent or cold . . . in fact, no man could have been more attentive. He insisted on taking care of her himself, seeing to her most intimate needs and doing everything humanly possible to ensure her comfort. He had changed her wound dressing, gave her sponge baths, read to her, and massaged her feet and legs for long, blissful intervals to improve her circulation.
He had insisted on feeding her, patiently spooning beef tea or fruit ices or blancmange into her mouth. Blancmange, incidentally, had turned out to be a revelation. Everything she thought she’d disliked before, its mildness, its whiteness, and lack of texture, turned out to be the best things about it. Although Pandora could easily have fed herself, Gabriel had refused to let her have the spoon. It had taken two full days before she’d managed to wrest it from him.
And flatware was the least of her concerns. Gabriel had once been the most charming man in the world, but now all his irreverent humor and playfulness had vanished. There was no more flirtation, no teasing and joking . . . only this unending quiet stoicism that was beginning to feel a bit grueling. She understood he had been deeply worried for her sake, and was concerned about potential setbacks to her recovery, but she missed the Gabriel of before. She missed the private energy of attraction and humor that used to connect them in an invisible current. And now that she was feeling better, the iron control he exerted over every minute of her day was beginning to make her feel a little hemmed in. Trapped, actually.
When she complained to Garrett Gibson, who visited daily to assess her progress, the doctor surprised her by taking Gabriel’s side. “He experienced a great mental and emotional shock,” Garrett explained. “In a way, he’s been wounded, too, and needs time to recover. Invisible wounds can sometimes be as devastating as physical ones.”
“But he will go back to the way he was?” Pandora asked hopefully.
“I expect so, for the most part. However, he’s acquired an awareness of how tenuous life can be. A life-threatening illness tends to change our perspective on one particular thing.”
“Blancmange?” Pandora guessed.
Garrett smiled. “Time.”
Pandora gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll try to be patient with him, but he’s being cautious in the extreme. He won’t let me read novels with adventure plots because he’s afraid it will raise my blood pressure. He has everyone in the house tiptoeing and whispering so I won’t be disturbed by noise. Every time someone visits, he hovers and watches the clock to make certain they don’t overtire me. He won’t even kiss me properly, only gives me dry little pecks as if I were his second-favorite great aunt.”
“He may be overdoing it,” Garrett conceded. “It’s been two weeks, and you’re doing well. There’s no more need for pain medication, and your appetite has returned. I think you would benefit from some limited activity. Excessive bed rest can lead to weakened muscles and bones.”
There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Pandora called out, and Gabriel entered the room.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Gibson.” His gaze went to Pandora. “How is she?”
“Healing fast,” Garrett said with quiet satisfaction. “No signs of aneurysm, hematoma, edema, or fever.”
“When can I begin to go on outings?” Pandora asked.
“Starting tomorrow, I think limited outings would be acceptable. Perhaps you might start with something easy, such as visiting your sisters, or going to the tea room at Winterborne’s.”
Gabriel’s expression turned thunderous. “You propose to let her outside the house? Exposing her to filthy public places swarming with germs, bacteria, vermin, street manure—”
“For heaven’s sake,” Pandora protested, “I’m not planning to run out and start rolling on the pavement.”
“What about her wound?” Gabriel demanded.
“The wound has closed,” Garrett said. “My lord, although your caution is understandable, Pandora can’t be kept in a sterile environment forever.”
“I think—” Pandora began, but her husband paid no attention.
“What if she falls? What if someone accidentally bumps into her? And what about the bastard who ordered the attack? Just because Mrs. O’Cairre is in custody doesn’t mean Pandora is safe. He’ll send someone else.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Garrett admitted. “Obviously I can’t speak to the issue of homicidal conspirators.”
“Dragon will be with me,” Pandora pointed out. “He’ll protect me.” When Gabriel didn’t reply, only gave her a stone-faced glance, she said in the most reasonable tone she could muster, “I can’t stay cooped up in the house for much longer. I’m far behind on my production schedule. If I could just go out every now and then—”
“I’ve already told Winterborne the board game won’t be ready in time for Christmas,” Gabriel said brusquely, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “You’ll have to come up with a new production schedule. Later, when your health permits.”
Pandora stared at him in astonishment.
His control was going to extend to her business. He was going to decide when and how much she could work, and oblige her to ask his permission for whatever she wanted to do, all in the name of protecting her health. She felt her temper erupt.
“You had no right to do that,” she cried. “It wasn’t your decision to make!”
“It is when your health is at stake.”
“Dr. Gibson just said I could go on limited outings.”
“The first time you went out, you became mixed up with a group of radical political terrorists.”
“That could have happened to anyone!”
His expression was unyielding. “But it happened to you.”
“Are you saying it was my fault?” Pandora stared in astonishment at the cold-eyed stranger at the foot of her bed, who had changed from husband to enemy with bewildering suddenness.
“No, I’m saying—damn it—Pandora, calm down.”
She was struggling to breathe, blinking against the rage that misted her vision in a hot red cloud. “How can I calm down when you’re breaking your promises to me? This is what I was afraid of. This is what I told you I didn’t want!”
His voice changed, becoming hushed and urgent. “Pandora, take a deep breath. Please. You’ll work yourself into hysterics.” He turned to Dr. Gibson with a quiet curse. “Can you give her something?”
“No,” Pandora cried wrathfully. “He won’t be satisfied until I’m kept sedated in the attic with an ankle manacled to the floor.”
The physician regarded them thoughtfully, looking from one to the other as if watching a game of lawn tennis. She approached the bedside, reached into her leather doctor’s bag, and pulled out a prescription pad and pencil. In a businesslike manner, she wrote a prescription, and gave it to Pandora.
Fuming, Pandora looked down at the slip of paper.
Take one overwrought husband and administer compulsory bed rest. Apply as many embraces and kisses as necessary until symptoms are relieved. Repeat as needed.
“You can’t be serious,” Pandora said, looking up at Garrett Gibson’s composed face.
“I suggest you follow it to the letter.”
Pandora scowled. “I’d rather have an enema.”
The doctor turned away, but not before Pandora saw the flash of a grin. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, as usual.”
Both husband and wife remained silent until Garrett Gibson left the room and closed the door.
“Hand me the prescription,” Gabriel said curtly. “I’ll have Dragon take it to the apothecary.”
“I’ll tell him,” Pandora replied through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” He went to straighten the haphazard collection of items on the table near the bed, cups and tumblers, books, letters, pencils and blank paper, playing cards, and a little hand-bell that Pandora had yet to use because she was never left alone long enough to need someone.
She slanted a mutinous glance up at her husband. He wasn’t overwrought, he w
as overbearing. But as she stared more closely at him, she saw the smudges of shadows beneath his eyes, and the lines of strain, and the tense set of his mouth. Gabriel looked tired and grim, restless beneath the surface. It occurred to her that, along with his constant worrying over her, two weeks of celibacy had not brought out the best in his character.
She thought of those brief, dry kisses he’d been giving her. How nice it would feel if he held her, really held her, and kissed her the way he used to. As if he loved her.
Love . . . he often used the word as an endearment. He’d demonstrated his feelings a thousand ways, but he’d never actually said those three simple words. As for her . . . she was the wallflower who’d somehow caught the handsomest man at the ball, the man everyone wanted. Obviously it wasn’t fair for her to be the one to take the risk.
But someone had to.
As she watched while Gabriel sorted through the medicine spoons, she decided to take the bull by the horns. “You probably already know this,” she said bluntly, “but I love you. In fact, I love you so much that I don’t mind your monotonous handsomeness, your prejudice against certain root vegetables, or your strange preoccupation with spoon-feeding me. I’m never going to obey you. But I’m always going to love you.”
The declaration wasn’t exactly poetic, but it seemed to be what he’d needed to hear.
The spoons clattered on the table. In the next moment, he sat on the bed and gathered her against his chest. “Pandora,” he said huskily, holding her against his violently thumping heart. “I love you more than I can bear. You’re everything to me. You’re the reason the earth turns and morning follows night. You’re the meaning of primroses and why kissing was invented. You’re the reason my heart beats. God help me, I’m not strong enough to survive without you. I need you too much . . . I need you . . .”
She turned her face to his. Here at last was her familiar husband, his mouth hot and hungering. The feel of his solid chest against hers brought the tips of her breasts to throbbing points. She tilted her head back luxuriously, and he feasted on the tender side of her neck, using his tongue, grazing with the edge of his teeth until she shivered with pleasure.
Breathing heavily, Gabriel lifted his head and held her, rocking her slightly. She could feel the struggle inside him, the violent longing and forced restraint.
As he moved to set her away from him, her arms tightened around his neck. “Stay in bed with me.”
He swallowed audibly. “I can’t, or I’ll devour you whole. I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“The doctor said it’s all right.”
“I can’t risk hurting you.”
“Gabriel,” she told him seriously, “if you don’t make love to me, I’m going to run up and down the stairs while singing ‘Sally In Our Alley’ at the top of my lungs.”
His eyes narrowed. “Try that, and I’ll tie you to the bed.”
Pandora smiled and nipped his chin, loving the slight scratchiness of his face. “Yes . . . let’s do that.”
Groaning, he began to pull away, but at that point she’d managed to slip a hand inside his trousers. They grappled, but it wasn’t at all a fair fight because he was terrified of hurting her, and he was too wildly aroused to think straight.
“You’ll be gentle,” Pandora coaxed, unfastening buttons, pushing her hands inside his clothes. “You do everything, and I’ll lie still. You won’t hurt me. You see, this is the perfect way to keep me in bed.”
He swore, desperately trying to restrain himself, but she could feel the heat rising in him, his resistance crumbling. She moved lower on the bed, her limbs sliding beneath his, and he gasped. With a primitive sound, he gripped the bodice of her nightdress and ripped it down the front. His head lowered over her breasts, his mouth closing over a nipple and pulling it inside, his tongue stroking and circling. Dreamily she lifted her hands to his head and slid them into his beautiful hair, sifting gold and amber through her fingers. He moved to her other breast, tugging rhythmically while his hands coasted over her body.
Oh, he was good at this, his touch sensitive and knowing, spreading thrills across her skin like a net of sparks. He touched between her legs, playing sweetly, his fingers sliding in with such teasing slowness that she moaned and arched in demand. The exquisite deep caress withdrew. He worked his hands beneath her bottom and tilted her upward, holding her like a chalice as he searched with his mouth. She sobbed, writhing softly as he lavished her with textures of silk, velvet, liquid fire, and gently rasping bristle. The muscles of her thighs contracted and relaxed helplessly, her body straining to take in sensation, while heat danced in her stomach and groin. She felt the tip of his tongue against the agonizingly sensitive peak of her sex, darting, tickling, bringing the rising pleasure to the edge of culmination.
There had been times when he’d kept her like this for hours, tormenting her with just enough stimulation to sustain the excitement, and delaying release until she begged for mercy. But now, to her vast relief, he didn’t make her wait. She quivered in ecstasy while his hands gripped her bottom and lifted it more firmly against his mouth.
She lay relaxed in the afterglow, purring as his body covered hers. He nudged in slowly, the invasion satisfyingly hard and thick. Braced above her on his elbows, he held inside her without moving, his passion-drowsed eyes staring down into hers. She felt how taut and heavy his body was, how ready he was for completion. But he remained still, catching his breath whenever her inner muscles clamped on him.
“Tell me again,” he eventually whispered, his eyes brilliant in the heightened color of his face.
“I love you,” she said, and pulled his head down to hers. She felt his deep shudder as the release was pulled from him, the tide drawing back and rushing forward in abandoned waves.
Although the subject of Pandora’s board game business was not brought up again that night, she knew that Gabriel wouldn’t stand in the way when she finally decided to resume her work. He wouldn’t like her outside interests, would no doubt air his opinions about them, but he would gradually come to understand that the more he accepted her freedom, the easier it was for her to be close to him.
They were both aware that she meant too much for him to risk losing her affection. But she would never use his love as a whip hand over his head. Their marriage would be a partnership, just like their waltzing . . . not perfect, not always graceful, but they would find their way together.
Gabriel slept in her bed that night, and awakened the next morning looking much more like his usual self. He was all along her back, his long legs drawn up beneath hers, an arm slung loosely across her waist. She wriggled slightly in enjoyment. Reaching up, she searched for the beard-roughened texture of his jaw, and felt his lips press against her fingers.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice muffled.
“Quite well.” Her adventurous hand crept downward, insinuating between their bodies until she had gripped the hard length of him, smooth hot velvet against her palm. “But just to be sure . . . you should take my temperature.”
He chuckled and pried her hand away, rolling to the side of the bed. “Don’t start that again, vixen. We have things to do today.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She watched as he went to don a jacquard robe. “I’ll be exceedingly busy. First I’ll eat toast and then I’m planning to look at the wall for a while. After that, just for some variety, I’ll probably lie back on pillows and stare at the ceiling—”
“What would you say to receiving a visitor?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Ransom, the detective. He’s wanted to question you ever since you returned from the clinic, but I told him to wait until you were well enough.”
“Oh.” Pandora had mixed feelings, knowing the detective would ask her about her visit to the printer’s works, as well as the night she was stabbed, and she wasn’t exactly eager to relive either of those memories. On the other hand, if she could help in seeing that justice was served—and secure her own safety
in the bargain—it would be worthwhile. Besides, it would be something to do. “Tell him to visit at his convenience,” she said. “My schedule is quite flexible, other than my midmorning blancmange, which cannot be interrupted for any reason.”
Chapter 24
Pandora immediately liked Ethan Ransom, a good-looking young man with an air of quiet reserve and a sense of humor that was rarely permitted to surface. But there was an appealing hint of boyishness about him. It had something to do with the way he spoke, his middle-class accent carefully beveled and measured, like a serious schoolboy. Or perhaps it was the way his straight dark hair kept falling over his forehead.
“I’m from the secret service bureau,” Ransom explained, as he sat in the parlor with Pandora and Gabriel. “We’re part of the detective department, but we gather intelligence related to political matters and answer directly to the Home Office instead of the division superintendent.” He hesitated, considering his words. “I’m not here in an official capacity. In fact, I would prefer to keep this visit confidential. My superiors would be displeased, to put it mildly, if they knew I was here. However, the lack of interest in Lady St. Vincent’s attack, as well as Mrs. O’Cairre’s death, has been . . . remarkable. I can’t stand by and do nothing.”
“Mrs. O’Cairre’s death?” Pandora repeated, a sting of shock racing through her. “When did that happen? How?”
“A week ago.” Ransom glanced from her to Gabriel. “You weren’t told?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Suicide, they claimed,” Ransom said, with a twist of his mouth. “The coroner sent for a physician to perform an autopsy, but somehow the body was interred before it could be done. Now the coroner refuses to order it to be disinterred. That means no inquest. The department wants the entire matter swept under the rug.” He surveyed them both cautiously before continuing. “At first I thought it was indifference or sheer incompetence, but now I believe it’s more sinister than that. Secret Service has deliberately overlooked and destroyed evidence, and their interrogation of Mrs. O’Cairre was a useless mummery. I went to the detectives who’d been assigned to the interrogation and told them about Lady St. Vincent’s visit to the printer’s works. I also made certain they knew about the man she saw in the warehouse. They never asked Mrs. O’Cairre even one question about him.”