Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno #3)(47)

He didn’t know how to communicate his feelings on these matters to her, without bringing up the specter of his past. But he felt the differences among his wife and his lovers in his very flesh and tried to reassure her of how much she pleased him in word as well as deed.

Within the bedroom as without, they followed the wisdom of St. Augustine: Love and do what you will.

(They’d loved and willed several times the night before.)

He eyed the remnants of his surprise—strawberries and truffles for both of them, champagne for Julia and sparkling water for him. The concierge had been very obliging when he’d appeared at his desk on impulse the night before.

Gabriel began picking up the clothes they’d discarded. He hung up her things first, smiling at the corset and minuscule panties she’d worn underneath her conservative suit. She knew just how to tantalize him, without losing any of her innate modesty.

He hung up his own suit, emptying his pockets as he did so. Something white fluttered to the ground.

He bent over to retrieve it. It was a business card with printed lettering.

Christa Peterson, M.A.

Graduate Student

Department of Italian

Columbia University

Email: [email protected]

Tel. (212) 458-2124

Gabriel stared in disgust at the item, turning it over. On the back of the card he found writing, in a sloping woman’s hand,

Malmaison Hotel, Room 209.

Tonight.

With a curse, Gabriel crumpled the card and threw it into the wastepaper basket.

Christa must have slipped it in his pocket the day before. No doubt she’d written on the card before she saw him, having planned her seduction in advance. Perhaps she’d even traveled to Oxford solely for that purpose.

Given that explanation, much of her behavior made sense. Gabriel was the mark, not Julia. Christa’s outrageous actions were carefully calculated to entrap him, capitalizing on his desire to protect his wife. Of course, that didn’t stop Christa from taunting Julia and suggesting she wouldn’t be able to hold on to her husband, as if Christa knew her seduction would be successful.

His stomach lurched.

Gabriel walked to the bed, looking at Julia’s face in profile as she slept. They’d enjoyed an evening of tremendous pleasure, and Christa wished to take that away from them. Her lust had turned into envy and treachery as she conspired to become an adulterer and steal him from his wife.

It’s a good thing Julia didn’t find that card.

Hopefully, she would have confronted him about it and not gone and bared her soul to Paul.

A tremor traveled up and down Gabriel’s spine. Julianne’s budding career was precious. His marriage was precious. And he wasn’t about to let anyone or anything threaten either.

Picking up his cell phone, he strode back to the bathroom, dialing the number for John Green, his lawyer.

In the Malmaison Hotel in Oxford Castle, Christa stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She raised a shaking hand to her lip, ghosting over where the skin was split. She winced, slowly inspecting the bruise that was blossoming in her cheek and the marks where his fingers had dug into her flesh.

She looked terrible.

She’d opened the door to her room the night before, expecting to see Professor Emerson. Instead, Giuseppe was standing there, drunk and furious.

He’d pushed past her and locked the door, ranting about how she was going to cost him an academic position in America. His rants were slurred and in Italian.

When she questioned him, he grew even more belligerent, demanding to know whom she was attempting to seduce in the hotel room he’d paid for.

As soon as she said Gabriel’s name, he’d backhanded her.

She’d never been struck before. There were a lot of things she’d never experienced before last night and this morning. She looked down between her legs where the flesh was tender and raw. She hadn’t consented. She hadn’t consented to any of it.

Giuseppe’s previous tenderness had disappeared entirely. He’d been in a rage, ripping the fabric from her body and forcing her to the bed. He’d called her names, cursing her and Gabriel, and when she struggled, he’d struck her again.

She stumbled to the toilet as she recalled the assault, emptying the contents of her stomach. When she was finished, she leaned against the counter and drank a glass of water.

She thought she was in control. She decided whom to f**k and what they must give her in return. She was the one who spurned lovers. But last night the control had been taken away from her.

He’d taken more than that. She fought angry, frustrated tears at the memory.

She crept back to the bedroom to make sure that he was still sleeping. When she heard the low sound of his snores, she knew it was time.

Hastily, she pulled on some clothes, not caring if the colors or styles matched. She tossed her belongings in her suitcase, leaving the torn remnants of last night’s lingerie on the floor.

She heard a loud intake of breath coming from the bed and spun around, terrified.

Giuseppe muttered something and his snoring recommenced.

Christa located her purse and her passport and grabbed them, along with her coat. She was almost to the door when she realized that her Baume & Mercier watch was sitting on the nightstand. It was mere inches from his head.

She wanted to retrieve it. The watch was very valuable, for sentimental reasons.

As she approached the bed, Pacciani’s breathing grew more uneven. A groan escaped his mouth and he rolled toward her.