a sharp gesture. Keeping out of arm’s reach, her cheek still stung from his early fury, she stopped. Any argument she mustered had been tried. They’d all failed. Whatever happened to Theodore before the Revolution had irrevocably changed him. Nothing she said ever got through to him.
“I don’t want to hear another word from you, Gabrielle,” he instructed. “Wait here and I’ll send word to Fortier’s daughters that they’re to come here to fetch you. Do not,” he hissed, “defy me again.”
Before she had a chance to even draw breath for an argument, Theodore turned and stalked form the room. The lock clicked behind him.
Resigned, Gabrielle sank into one of the study’s leather chairs. This was an old argument, rehashed too many times and always with the same ending. They fought every few weeks by her count, and her damn brother refused to let her out of the house without a chaperoned, let alone back to the Hellfire Club. He rarely lost focus, and had only missed very few of her movements.
Only twice had she managed to slip away and make discrete inquires with former neighbors or one at of the increasingly common Parisian graveyards. After every escape, she’d always returned to this townhouse. And her brother’s wrath.
Two years. It had been nearly two years since she’d last seen Eric and André. During the beginning of La Révolution , Gabrielle had managed to stay with them, safely ensconced in the Club’s catacombs. Out of harm’s way, away from the masses bent on seeing every noble guillotined. But then even that had worsened after the king had been killed under the National Razor. No one was safe from Robespierre’s reach.
Theodore had forcibly taken her from the Club one night and hid her with one set of friends after another, but it did them little good. They’d been arrested, thrown in the prisons to await their shame trial and turn before the guillotine. Somehow, he never said how and Gabrielle never asked, six months passed before Theodore managed to buy their freedom. With the promise of the virginity she no longer possessed.
After General Fortier arranged their release, Theodore never allowed her to send word to the Club. She had no idea who among her friends lived or died, who awaited death, who had escaped.
Gabrielle stood and crossed the room, restlessly pacing the confined space. She didn’t bother with the door; she knew from long experience its lock would never budge. She was as much a prisoner here as she’d ever been while being held by the Revolutionaries.
No matter what Theodore did or said to her, what ways he’d managed to manipulate Fortier’s daughters, Gabrielle would find a way to her old Hellfire Club haunts. Maybe not the Club itself, that was too far off the main streets of Paris, and Theodore would go there to wait her should she slip past him. But she knew people; the Club had a variety of storefronts, and though her search had thus far proved fruitless, it didn’t matter.
It had been so long since she’d last seen her lovers, but she would never give up until she found their graves. The Hellfire Club was a place of pure debauchery and political machinations; but it had given her Eric and André. And one day she’d find them no matter where they lay.
Even now her blood heated, and Gabrielle remembered the pleasure they’d shared. The long days spent in bed, the three of them talking, laughing, planning their future. And enjoying each other.
Closing her eyes, Gabrielle’s fingers traced the décolletage of her gown. Her nipples hardened and her core moistened with the memory of taking Eric deep into her body, of André behind her, his large hands holding her still so she couldn’t escape the relentless pleasure until she passed out from it.
Her eyes snapped opened, and she shook off the memory.
Theodore had only told her they’d died, caught by the National Police. He’d never said how or where their bodies now rested. All Gabrielle knew was
“I don’t want to hear another word from you, Gabrielle,” he instructed. “Wait here and I’ll send word to Fortier’s daughters that they’re to come here to fetch you. Do not,” he hissed, “defy me again.”
Before she had a chance to even draw breath for an argument, Theodore turned and stalked form the room. The lock clicked behind him.
Resigned, Gabrielle sank into one of the study’s leather chairs. This was an old argument, rehashed too many times and always with the same ending. They fought every few weeks by her count, and her damn brother refused to let her out of the house without a chaperoned, let alone back to the Hellfire Club. He rarely lost focus, and had only missed very few of her movements.
Only twice had she managed to slip away and make discrete inquires with former neighbors or one at of the increasingly common Parisian graveyards. After every escape, she’d always returned to this townhouse. And her brother’s wrath.
Two years. It had been nearly two years since she’d last seen Eric and André. During the beginning of La Révolution , Gabrielle had managed to stay with them, safely ensconced in the Club’s catacombs. Out of harm’s way, away from the masses bent on seeing every noble guillotined. But then even that had worsened after the king had been killed under the National Razor. No one was safe from Robespierre’s reach.
Theodore had forcibly taken her from the Club one night and hid her with one set of friends after another, but it did them little good. They’d been arrested, thrown in the prisons to await their shame trial and turn before the guillotine. Somehow, he never said how and Gabrielle never asked, six months passed before Theodore managed to buy their freedom. With the promise of the virginity she no longer possessed.
After General Fortier arranged their release, Theodore never allowed her to send word to the Club. She had no idea who among her friends lived or died, who awaited death, who had escaped.
Gabrielle stood and crossed the room, restlessly pacing the confined space. She didn’t bother with the door; she knew from long experience its lock would never budge. She was as much a prisoner here as she’d ever been while being held by the Revolutionaries.
No matter what Theodore did or said to her, what ways he’d managed to manipulate Fortier’s daughters, Gabrielle would find a way to her old Hellfire Club haunts. Maybe not the Club itself, that was too far off the main streets of Paris, and Theodore would go there to wait her should she slip past him. But she knew people; the Club had a variety of storefronts, and though her search had thus far proved fruitless, it didn’t matter.
It had been so long since she’d last seen her lovers, but she would never give up until she found their graves. The Hellfire Club was a place of pure debauchery and political machinations; but it had given her Eric and André. And one day she’d find them no matter where they lay.
Even now her blood heated, and Gabrielle remembered the pleasure they’d shared. The long days spent in bed, the three of them talking, laughing, planning their future. And enjoying each other.
Closing her eyes, Gabrielle’s fingers traced the décolletage of her gown. Her nipples hardened and her core moistened with the memory of taking Eric deep into her body, of André behind her, his large hands holding her still so she couldn’t escape the relentless pleasure until she passed out from it.
Her eyes snapped opened, and she shook off the memory.
Theodore had only told her they’d died, caught by the National Police. He’d never said how or where their bodies now rested. All Gabrielle knew was
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