2Chapter Sixteen:
What might have been a three-hour journey with a good wind became a ten-hour ordeal. A promising breeze failed them before they were even halfway to Dover, and a squall made the rest of the voyage unpleasantly turbulent. Eventually, though, the white cliffs emerged from behind a curtain of rain, and half an hour later they'd safely docked. Gabriel was more than happy to leave the little packet boat far behind, following Henri into the relative warmth of a quiet inn.
"Haven't been here in twenty years," Henri muttered, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see how my English is."
Gabriel leaned toward Clara and asked, "What do you think of England, amour?"
"It's wet," she noted, moving a little close to Gabriel under the curious, suspicious gazes of the other patrons.
"Truly," he remarked, his voice the only part of him that was dry.
They watched Henri haggle with the innkeeper, occasionally letting out a frustrated cry in French before doggedly pushing on in English. Finally, he turned with a triumphant grin. "Three rooms! Eloise and I will take one, and the three of you can divide the other two amongst yourselves."
"I'm a singer." Clara exchanged a glance with Gabriel. "I already have disreputable honor. Are you worried about yours, Monsieur Lion?"
Gabriel laughed. "Hardly."
"Oh good," said Jean-Luc. "I snore."
Gabriel wanted nothing more than to retire to a real bed, to share that bed with Clara, but Henri caught him by the shoulder. "Come with me, mon ami. I'd like to make a few inquiries before it's too late."
"Very well," he sighed. Glancing wistfully at Clara, he told her, "Don't wait up."
Clara was already en deshabille by the time Gabriel returned, her skin almost bronze in the orange glow of the fire. She rose from the bed as soon as he entered, the loose collar of her chemise slipping down one shoulder. He floundered without words for a few moments.
"Are you going to close the door?" she asked with a little laugh.
"Right." He snapped out of it and closed the door behind him. Slipping out of his coat, he draped it over the back of a chair and absently undid the buttons of his waistcoat, aware that her eyes followed his hands down his torso. "I'm surprised you're still awake."
"I was curious," she replied. "What were you and Henri up to?"
"How do you feel about Boston?"
"Boston?"
"Henri knows a merchant who might be able to find space for us on one of his ships."
"What would we do in Boston?"
Gabriel shrugged out of his waistcoat and tossed it over the chair too. "Learn English."
"We'll have a lot of time to practice on the journey, I suppose."
"Yes." He took her by the waist and pulled her nearer. "And we have plenty of time to discuss Boston later. Let's talk about something else."
Clara smiled. "Is talking really what you want to do right now?"
"No." He plucked suggestively at the laces of her corset, murmuring, "May I?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He unlaced her corset, a task he'd always enjoyed, that slow, sensual beginning with the promise of a pleasant night to follow. The rest of her clothes followed, lazily removed until she stood in only her stockings and a thin layer of goosebumps. Gabriel warmed her arms with his hands, pulling her into a long, aching kiss, his body throbbing for hers.
"We have so much to catch up on," she whispered on his lips, her fingers tickling against the back of his neck.
He pressed his forehead against hers, gray eyes boring into hers. "I'm going to take my time with you tonight."
Clara smiled, her breath soft and warm against his mouth. Life pulsing in her, in him. They shouldn't have been there, not in that little room in Dover, not even alive.
"Come to bed, chérie."
Gabriel walked her back to the bed, pressing her into the mattress and dragging her closer to the edge. Kneeling between her knees, he slowly rolled her stockings down those legs he loved, kissing them, biting them, bruising them.
His.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him higher, asking wordlessly for what she couldn't bring herself to say aloud. He obliged.
Clara quivered beneath him, back arching, pushing her breast into the hand that slipped up her body. The woman that confounded him, left him reeling, needing him, craving his touch.
His.
"Gabriel!" she cried out, fingers twisting painfully in his hair, thighs squeezed tightly around his head. His tongue slowed and went soft, but he didn't stop, not even when she fell limp, chest heaving.
She petted his hair, laughing breathlessly, "Isn't your tongue tired yet?"
Gabriel's only response was to introduce a finger, slipping it inside her, his strokes growing firmer, faster.
"Again?" She'd stopped laughing.
"Mm," he growled an emphatic affirmative.
She purred his name, twisting and bucking beneath him. Again, a wave of heat pummeled him, a throbbing ache that demanded to claim her. Tearing himself away from her, he ran his eyes over her smooth, swarthy skin while his hands fumbled with his clothes.
"What happened to taking our time?" Clara asked with a maddening smile.
Gabriel didn't bother with an answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and sank into her eager embrace, catching her in a bruising kiss. She moaned into his mouth, breath hiccupping as he thrust deeply and forcefully.
"How's this?" he asked.
"Harder."
"That's my girl."
She braced herself beneath him, body flexing and trembling under his, begging for a heavier touch.
His.
"Harder?" he asked with a crooked smile, knowing what her answer would be before she gave it.
"Yes." She nodded emphatically. "Yes!"
He plunged into her, harder, faster, holding her in place so his thrusting wouldn't send her into the headboard. Their voices tangled together. She clutched his neck, his shoulders, grabbing the sheets and hanging on as if she expected the room to flip upside down.
She doesn't know what to do with her hands, he thought in delight.
The firelight danced on her shining skin, this wild, vibrant woman writhing beneath him, her voice climbing. He scraped his hand over her breast, squeezing until she cried out, her fingernails biting into his arm.
"I don't have much longer," she gasped.
"Good." He didn't either. They raced toward the end, panting and perspiring, eyes fixed on each other. Clara cried out and pushed her body into his, pulling him over the edge with her. Gabriel lost himself in the feeling of her slick skin on his, her heat, the sharp pleasure of her every movement. Truly a game with no winner; every time he gained the upper hand, thought she was his, she reminded him without fail of what she could do to him, how she could make him
Hers.
Gabriel let her collapse and took his place at her side. She shivered under his hand when he ran it absently up and down her arm. After a few moments, he lay back and closed his eyes. He didn't realize how exhausted he was until Clara's voice startled him from the brink of sleep.
"Gabriel."
He didn't respond.
"Gabriel?" She rolled onto her side and scratched his chest gently with a finger, touching the corner of his mouth when he smiled against his will. "I see you smiling."
He tried to hide it, but it only grew, especially when she let out an impatient sigh.
"Hey." She pinched him. "I'm not done with you."
Gabriel groaned and opened his eyes. "You aren't satisfied yet? Chérie, I'm tired."
"Amore," she pouted. "I've been pierced by Cupid's wanton shaft, my body bruised by it, and now I ache for it once more, to feel my flesh yielding to each powerful thrust—"
His laughter escaped in one loud burst. "Mon Dieu, you'll be the death of me."
She wiggled up to him, sighing when he wrapped an arm around her. Her hand traveled up his neck, cupping his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "To think I almost overlooked this tiresome face of yours."
"You would've found another," he murmured, his eyes already closed again.
"No, I don't think there'd be many men willing to satisfy me three times in a single night."
"Well, I'm—three?" His eyes flashed open.
She pounced.
He wrestled her down, exclaiming, "You don't need a lover, you need an army!"
Clara's laughter was a delight, so strong and full that tears of mirth trailed down her cheeks. Gabriel cupped her face in his hands and kissed her through the laughter. They were alive.
They were alive.
"I'll do what I can," he relented. "Just give me a few minutes."
"That's all right, amore. Rest. I can wait."
He didn't respond, rubbing her arm and kissing the top of her head. A few minutes later, he was snoring.
Gabriel rose early the next morning, gently pulling himself from Clara's embrace, careful not to wake her. He admired her while he dressed, eyes following the smooth curve of her back, the freckle on her left shoulder, the sheets tangled around her legs. He was tempted to climb back in bed and rouse her, but he wasn't sure he was ready for another round with her, especially not with the same intensity as last night.
She stirred and rolled over. He hadn't seen much of her last night in the darkness, just the flickering glow of her skin in the firelight, learning her by touch and by taste. By God, she was beautiful in an unkempt, wild sort of way, her hair in tangles, her lips still a little swollen, and a dark trail of love bites down her neck and along her collarbone.
Gabriel finished tying his cravat and tucked it into his shirt. Buttoning up his waistcoat, he pulled the blanket to Clara's shoulders, smiling when she let out a little moan and settled deeper into her pillow. He brushed her hair out of her face and turned to go.
"Gabriel?" she called to him with a sleepy croak in her voice.
He turned back. "Did I wake you?"
"I'm glad you did." She sat up and stretched. "Where are you off to so early?"
"I thought I'd let you sleep."
"Come back to bed."
He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her bruised lips, feeling an ache in his own.
"Gently," she whispered with a little laugh, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling away. "You were very vigorous last night."
"If I was vigorous, Clara, you were—" He made the mistake of looking at her as he spoke, catching the play of humor on her face, the look of false innocence she gave him.
"Stay."
"I should see what Henri is up to."
She pouted, still holding him down. "He's probably still asleep. Please stay."
"I won't be of much use to you this morning, I'm afraid," he warned her.
"Good. I'm bruised enough already. I just want to hold you for a while."
Gabriel didn't resist as she pulled him down beside her, her fingers tracing the side of his face, following the curve of his throat into his cravat, which she pulled loose.
"I just tied that," he protested.
"It's better this way," she told him, her breasts pressing against his arm as she leaned in to kiss the underside of his jaw. One of her hands slipped down his torso and rubbed the front of his breeches.
"Ah," he groaned. "Gentle, Clara. Be gentle."
"I suppose I'm going to have to learn to show some restraint."
He chuffed her under the chin and kissed her. "Absolutely not."
She giggled and ran her hands through his short, uneven hair, tugging on it playfully.
Gabriel lay there quietly, arm curled around her, absently rolling the ends of her hair between his fingers. Nothing had ever felt so uncertain to him, so new.
"Gabriel?"
"Hm?"
"Do you miss home?"
"Mm hm," he answered wordlessly, staring pensively at the ceiling.
"I'm sorry…" she began.
He looked at her, turning her by the chin and holding her gaze with his. "Don't apologize."
"Are you all right?"
"I'd like to marry you."
Clara sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, regarding him with cautious surprise. He watched her patiently, waiting for her answer.
"Well," she said, smoothing the sheet with a hand. "I suppose someone has to."