It had turned up nothing, although she was the first to admit that didn't mean there was nothing; it was always possible to conceal things from the most experienced spy. But that afternoon she'd attacked the next most obvious place and had turned up gold. It was ironic that Nathaniel's precautions had given away the hiding place. But then, she'd profited from the lesson of the library.
A tap on the door heralded Jake's now-customary evening arrival. He was looking remarkably cheerful, the reason obvious in his first bubbling announcement.
"Papa doesn't want to see me in the library today 'cause he's still doing business with the bailiff. So we can have a really long story." There was utter confidence in his assertion as he clambered onto the window seat beside her and beamed up at her.
Gabrielle smiled and encircled him with one arm. "Which story?"
Jake tilted his head, a little frown on his brow as he considered the question. He resembled the portrait ofHelen much more nearly than he did his father, but there were moments like this one when an expression, the tilt of his head, or some tiny gesture would remind Gabrielle of Nathaniel with an almost heart-stopping accuracy.
"The one about when you and Georgie an' Kip rode the ram with the curly horns and he chased you out of the field and you got stuck in a bramble hedge."
"You know it already," Gabrielle laughed.
"Yes, but I want to hear it again." He stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled against her.
Children were always immensely comforted by the familiar, Gabrielle reflected as she began the tale, searching for some interesting and hitherto unrevealed embellishments to enliven the narrative.
She heard the door to Nathaniel's bedchamber open and close. Heard his footsteps on the bare polished floor. Heard the sound of a drawer being opened, a cupboard door unlatched. Her heart began to speed but her voice didn't falter as she continued with the story. She felt the child stiffen against her for a minute as he, too, heard the sounds of his father's proximity, then Jake relaxed again.
Nathaniel opened the connecting door and stood leaning against the jamb in his shirt-sleeves, one-handedly loosening his cravat as he took in the cozy scene.
Gabrielle's skin prickled as her eyes absorbed the long-fingered hand against the white lawn of his cravat, the lean, athletic frame, and her body shot off on one of its unilateral journeys into the world of throbbing arousal as she felt as vividly as if it were real his hand and his body on hers. Ten minutes earlier she'd been filled with lethal hatred for this man, and now she could think only of what his body did to hers.
"Nathaniel." Somehow, despite the swirling turmoil as her physical responses warred with her emotions, she managed to greet him with a serene smile, her arm tightening around the child as she felt the currents of unease flowing through the small body. "We're just finishing a story. Did you have a successful afternoon?"
"Tedious, but I achieved what Ihad to," he said. "Isn't it time you were in bed, Jake?"
"I can't tell the time yet," Jake confessed in a tiny voice, his solemn, liquid brown eye- regarding his father anxiously.
Nathaniel made no immediate response. He was struck by the comfortable intimacy of the woman and child and the softness that surrounded Gabrielle like an aura. It was feminine and loving and it seemed to flow over Jake. How had he ever thought she lacked womanly tenderness? The more he learned of her, the less it seemed he knew.
"Hasn't Miss Primmer tried to teach you?" he asked after a minute.
"I'm not very good at it," Jake confessed, wriggling uncomfortably. As always, the atmosphere in the room had changed with his father's arrival, and he could feel something different in Gabby, almost as if she were angry about something. He hated it when people were angry. When Cook shouted at Hetty, the scullery maid, and Hetty cried, he always felt like crying himself and his tummy went into a hard knot. But even though he could feel something was wrong, Gabby was smiling. His father wasn't, but then, Jake didn't think his father ever smiled.
"Well, I think it's time you became good at it," Nathaniel said, glancing at the Chippendale clock on the wall above the chaise longue. "It's almost six."
"Yes, sir," Jake murmured with downcast eyes. He squirmed out of Gabrielle's hold and slid off the window seat.
"Don't you want to hear the end of the story V Gabrielle asked, laying a hand on his arm.
Jake glanced at his father and then stared down at his feet again, mumbling something inaudible.
"Finish the story," Nathaniel said abruptly, feeling like an ogre from a fairy tale casting gloom and despondency wherever he went. Anyone would think he took pleasure in making the child unhappy, but for some reason everything he said to the boy came out wrong. And Jake looked at him all the time as if he was expecting harshness. Had he looked at his father with the same apprehension? If so, he'd certainly had a good deal more cause than Jake.
He shook his head with an impatient gesture. "I have to get out of my dirt before dinner, Gabrielle. I'll see you in the library in half an hour."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment and lifted Jake back onto the window seat. The child's eyes darted toward his father, and on impulse Nathaniel stepped forward and awkwardly patted his head.
"Good night, Jake."
The salute so startled the boy that he stared dumbly at Nathaniel, who, without waiting for a response, turned and went into his own room, closing the door behind him.
Now, that had been quite promising, Gabrielle thought as she resumed the story. Whatever ill she might wish Nathaniel, it belonged in the dark world of espionage and bore no relevance to his relationship with his child. If she could effect some changes there, inject a ray of warmth, then she would do it.
Nathaniel stood frowning, stroking his chin thoughtfully behind the closed door of his own chamber. His eyes darted to the armoire. He'd checked it as soon as he'd first entered the room. The film of powder remained undisturbed. And the second safe he kept concealed beneath a loose floorboard under his bed also bore no signs of intrusion. Not that he would expect anyone to find it without a wholesale search that would involve tipping up the massive poster bed. Gabrielle certainly couldn't move it alone.
He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door and nodded thoughtfully. So far, it appeared that Gabrielle was what she seemed. One more thing remained before he would be completely satisfied, however. He must search her possessions. As soon as the Vanbrughs sent on the rest of her luggage, he would conduct that search and then, so long as it turned up nothing even remotely out of place, he would reconsider employing Gabrielle in the network.
That evening Gabrielle's particular brand of sensual challenge seemed even more pointedly mischievous than usual, and once or twice Nathaniel, even as he responded, felt a stirring of unease. There was a brittleness to her, almost a hint of desperation. He told himself he was being fanciful, that his mistress was just in one of her more intensely passionate moods, and as they soared to the heights of ecstasy during the glorious hours of the night, he forgot his earlier misgivings in the kaleidoscopic wonders of their fusion.
Gabrielle sought to vanquish turmoil in the clean responses of passion. She told herself that the afternoon's discovery altered nothing, since it merely confirmed what she had already known. But whoever Nathaniel Praed was… whatever he had done… nothing could diminish the power of their mutual obsession, an obsession that would facilitate her revenge.
She awoke the next morning lying on her stomach, her body pressed into the mattress with Nathaniel's length measured along her back.