Robin Schone Gabriel's Woman (best pdf ebook reader for android .txt) 📖

harm you,” she said incredulously.

His silver gaze did not waver from hers.

“May I remind you, sir, that it was you who bid on me. Why did you bid on me if you believed I would

cause you an injury?”

“If I had not bid on you, mademoiselle, you would die a far worse death than any caused by corrosive

sublimate.”

Victoria remembered the man who had met her opening price. I will give you one hundred and jive

pounds, mademoiselle, for your... innocence.

A cold chill raced down her spine.

Had he intended to purchase her virginity, or her life?

She determinedly swallowed the rising panic that fizzled inside her like seltzer water. “And now?”

“You may still die.”

“You threatened to shoot me, sir.” She convulsively squeezed the cloak. “I will take my chances with

this other man.”

His refusal was clear in his eyes.

Victoria could not get enough oxygen into her lungs. “Please let me go.”

“Are you begging me, mademoiselle?”

She recoiled. “No.”

Never.

His eyelids drooped; jagged shadows marred his marble-smooth cheek. Holding wide the mouth of her

reticule, he reached inside.

Victoria’s stomach knotted, knowing what he would find. “Let me have my reticule back.”

He brought out a bundle of letters.

Every word written within them was imprinted on Victoria’s brain. Her skin crawled, first hot, then cold.

He gazed at her through dark lashes. “You have a male admirer, mademoiselle.”

No admirer had written those letters.

Victoria’s horror that Gabriel read the letters outweighed her fear. She closed the distance between

them and held out her hand. “I do not give you leave to read those letters, sir. Please return them. They are

private.”

“I did not ask your leave”—fully raising his eyelids, he stared down at her and said her name deliberately

—”Victoria.”

He stood four inches taller than she. Victoria had never before felt so small or helpless.

“Let me go,” she repeated.

“I can’t do that.”

Desperation prodded her.

“You have known hunger,” she said rashly.

“There are many types of hunger, mademoiselle.”

Hunger of the body. Hunger of the soul.

Hunger of the flesh.

Victoria skittered away from the latter.

He must not read those letters.

“You have lived on the streets.”

“I was born in a gutter in Calais.”

Calais, France, was directly across the English Channel.

Had his body been sold in France or in England? she wondered. And then, Were the streets of France

safer than those in England?

“I do not know what crime it is you think I have perpetrated, sir,” she said in her most reasonable

governess voice. “But London streets will exact a far harsher punishment than you. I am asking you one

more time: please let me go.”

He cocked his head. The coldness inside his eyes took Victoria’s breath away. “You are afraid of what

I will find in the letters.”

She was afraid of what she had found in the letters.

“You do not want me,” Victoria repeated.

“But I do, mademoiselle,” he returned, silver eyes devoid of desire.

No, he did not want her, but he knew that she wanted him.

Had he known when he stroked the leather wrinkle that she had felt his touch inside her body? she

fleetingly wondered.

Immediately she dismissed the notion.

Of course he had known. Every move—every word he spoke— was calculated.

“If you wanted me, sir, you would have taken me.”

A familiar stillness settled over Gabriel.

Victoria’s face was reflected inside his pupils, two pale orbs surrounded by blackness.

“I cannot take you, mademoiselle,” he said finally.

“Why?”

Why rebounded off the pale blue enameled walls.

“Because if I take you, you will die.”

You will die raced down her spine.

“I may die if I stay with you; I may die if I leave you.” It was not Victoria who spoke, surely, yet it was

her voice that rang inside her ears. “It seems to me, sir, that if I am going to die, I would rather it not be as

a virgin.”

Her brazen words hovered over them.

His eyes burned.

How could silver ice burn? Victoria wondered in that part of her brain that was still capable of

wondering.

“I will not let you die,” he said.

“But you have already said that you cannot guarantee that,” Victoria riposted.

He did not respond.

“If you compel me to stay, sir, I will seduce you,” Victoria asserted, pure bravado. She had no notion of

how to seduce a man.

“Then you will pay the consequences, mademoiselle.” The black of his pupils swallowed the silver of his

irises. “As will I.”

Darkness closed around her.

“Why do you think I would harm you?” Victoria asked. And could not hide the desperation in her voice.

“Why are you afraid for me to read your letters?” he countered.

“Perhaps, sir, because we both share the same fear.”

Silver outlined the black of his pupils.

“What is it that you think I am afraid of, mademoiselle?” he asked politely.

Death lurked in his eyes, his voice.

Victoria had not killed, but this man had. She did not doubt for one second that he would do so again.

“I think that you are afraid of being touched by the opposite sex, sir.” Victoria clutched her cloak,

inhaling fog, inhaling damp, inhaling the acrid aroma of her fear.

“You think I am afraid of being touched by the opposite sex,” he repeated softly, tasting the words for

flavor. “You think I am afraid of being touched by women. Are you afraid of being touched by women,

mademoiselle?”

Touched by women ... as he had been touched by men?

Victoria swallowed. “No, I am not afraid