“You may be certain I will,” she answered tartly. “No doubt you shall, at your own convenience, thank me for my unstinting efforts on your behalf.”
“To be sure. Speaking of dogs, I also encourage you to keep on that little beast.”
Livia sent him an astonished look and Grandmama demanded, “Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”
“It had the look of a ratter, which no kitchen in Bath should be without.”
The old lady knitted her silvery brows. “Are you saying there are rats in the house?”
“They are, I’m told, endemic here. And nothing is more efficient than a dog at dispatching them.”
“Rats! Nasty, vulgar little things!” She shuddered visibly, then added: “I myself would suggest a cat, but—oh, never mind! Very well! Go and deal with it at once, before James—before he does whatever he had been going to do. And don’t come back! I’m going to take my nap. But you are to return at six, to escort us to Maria Tenneson’s dinner-party.”
“If you’re sure you are equal to the exertion?”
“Naturally,” was his grandmother’s haughty reply. “Go away, do! I’m tired of all of you!”
“I am all obedience.” Gabriel stood, bowed politely to the ladies, and left the room.
Livia dipped a quick curtsy in Mrs. Penhallow’s general direction and hurried after him, catching up to him when he was halfway down the stairs. She tugged at his arm. “Thank you!” she whispered eagerly. “I think—I believe—James hasn’t yet—”
“Drowned it? Yes, I did see that exchange between the two of you. That, and the fact that I watched you nearly exterminate yourself in your haste to snatch it up from certain death, more than convinced me as to your feelings on the matter.” Gabriel paused, two steps below her, bringing them to the same height. He looked into her face, and almost immediately began to regret it, for her very nearness once again thrust him into a state of bewildering purposelessness.
With a kind of scornful self-mockery he congratulated himself for his coolness upstairs just now. It was all the more impressive when he’d only recently been awash in irrational fury. And also in—he could at least admit this to himself—complete terror that Livia was going to be killed, right in front of him.
Of course he would hate to see anyone trampled by a runaway carriage, but to think of this happening to Livia—
Livia gone from the world—
A world gone dark, cold, lonely—
The intensity of his own feelings shocked him.
Buck up, old man, nothing happened, he told himself firmly, there’s no need to torment yourself with imaginary scenarios.
Still he couldn’t erase the sense of horror, only just barely escaped.
And as he stood there struggling to control his emotions, all the while facing her, standing just a little too close, awareness of her beauty, her indelible presence, rushed upon him almost like a physical blow. That beguiling vitality—which he had come to associate with her alone—seemed to emanate from her very pores. In his chaotic state of mind he almost expected to see flames crackling around her body, like some goddess from an ancient, exotic mythology: and how badly he wished to move closer to her, to bury himself within her and be immolated, enfolded in her heat and light.
He looked straight into her wide green eyes, and wanted, in a wild torrent of desire, more than anything to have her pleasure before his own. Not to see her submit to his passion but to allow him to raise her to the heights—
No.
Enough.
He couldn’t take it anymore. To her he said, very quietly, with unguarded anger:
“My God, how you spin me about.”
He wished that he need never see her again.
No sooner had that thought blazed across his troubled mind came an aching, unwelcome sense of loss.
And then swiftly he reached out his arm, wrapping it around her back, bringing her hard against him and without ceremony he kissed her, so swiftly and so roughly that their teeth clashed painfully. Then her lips parted at the ungentle insistence of his, and for a moment or two he gloried in the sweet, lush welcome of her mouth before, just as roughly, he broke the embrace.
“Don’t—” he began. He could see her breast heaving as she swayed slightly on her feet, then grasped the polished bannister to steady herself.
And in the heat of the moment, before he could stop himself he said the worst thing he could think to say:
“That imbroglio in the street today? Don’t embarrass us again.”
He turned away and went rapidly down the stairs.
He didn’t look back.
Chapter 9
Life—rather to Livia’s surprise—went smoothly on. She danced with Gabriel in the New Rooms, she sat next to him at the theatre, she strolled with him in the Sydney Gardens, and not once did he betray to her the slightest glimpse of what he might genuinely be thinking or feeling. And after that savage, soul-shaking kiss on the stairs! She wanted to take him by his shoulders and shake him, rattle him, arouse him.