AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Trepidation flooded through her as he entered the salon. She had enjoyed her simple luncheon and was about to rise from the table at the very moment he arrived.
“Your servant, madam?” Instead of a statement, had Gabriel posed a question.
She understood his meaning and did not hesitate to explain.
“Yes, I am married, my lord. I am in actual fact your cousin-in-law, Marie, the Countess of Maccia, your deceased wife’s first cousin. Our fathers were brothers.” She watched as enlightenment dawned.
“Ah, I thought you seemed familiar to me,” he stated, seeming relieved for some reason. Had he perhaps worried that she had returned to haunt him from the grave?
She pondered her melancholy thought, then realised that he was talking, and she had missed the entire meaning of the conversation with her wool-gathering.
“So you are in mourning?” he asked.
She understood that he had been asking about her widow’s apparel. Pausing to collect her thoughts, she decided she could tell him most of the truth without giving herself away.
“I went to my uncle’s bedside to be with him at his end. I was there when the Parisian mob arrived. I received a terrible wound to my face and fell unconscious beneath the bodies of my slain cousins. I have worn mourning and a veil to hide my disfigurement ever since that fateful day.”
Hesitating to continue, because how could she have produced an heir if she was already dead? Perhaps he would ask no awkward questions. Angele realised she was wrong as soon as he opened his mouth.
“Tell me all that occurred on that day. Did you see my Angele struck down?” he asked earnestly.
At first she shook her head but then sighed and nodded. As his forehead creased, she recalled how much he disliked to be lied to. Her body flushed and grew warm with her recollection of the first time she’d told him an untruth.
It had been a month after their marriage. She had taken her horse and ridden at dawn, alone, without the hindering presence of a chaperoning groom. She still did not know how he had discovered that she’d disobeyed him but she had heaped further fuel onto the fire by lying to him about an escort. Gabriel had reacted with swift retaliation. She’d found herself facedown over his lap in double-quick time, her riding skirt hitched clear. His hand pounded a salutary lesson upon her vulnerable derriere. Angele had quickly learned that when it came to his estate there was little that escaped Gabriel’s attention.
A wave of nostalgic longing swept over her. She fought her yearning by again conjuring an image of Christopher. Her body betrayed her, even as she resisted her aching heart. Slickness seeped from her secret core, and she was grateful for her veil because she knew her face was filled with heat.
With enormous effort, she channelled her thoughts back to the present.
“Were you there or not?” he snapped impatiently.
She nodded. “I fell at the first strike and lay unconscious. I awoke later lying beneath Angele’s younger sister, Orleanna. I-I did not come to until after the marauders were long gone. Orleanna and her mother were dead. Thankfully my uncle had died only that morning and so avoided the horror and distress.”
Gabriel leaned in towards her, his gaze intense.
“Did my Angele suffer?” he asked, his voice ragged.
“My lord, I…”
“Do not be concerned for my feelings; I will cope with whatever you have to tell me, but I must know the truth of her end. It haunts me day and night that I was not there to protect her. Tell me, madam, I beg of you. Tell me the truth of my beloved wife’s last moments.”
A lump formed in her throat at his obvious suffering. It had been a mistake to come here. How could she have thought she could do this? Shuddering with emotion, Angele fiercely held on to the image of Christopher in her mind. She had to do this for him. Haltingly, she began to tell Gabriel a mishmash of the truth.
“You…you must be brave, my lord,” she implored.
He nodded, eyes unblinking, focused on her as he waited expectantly.
“You see, Angele did not die immediately.”
Gabriel made a strangled noise in his throat. She froze. He gathered himself and gestured for her to continue. She gulped, wetting her lips.
“I, we, that is the count and I, took her to our villa in Italy, along with the bodies of her family. They are all buried together in the Maccia family mausoleum.”
She paused, shocked to see him cover his face with his hands, in a very un-English show of obvious misery.
“Go on,” he muttered through his fingers.
“I…Angele recovered and lived for n-nine m-months,” she whispered.
