feel important. Until she had met Gabriel, she had always felt as if she had been a burden, first to her family, and then to the nuns. But Gabriel had given her a sense of self-worth, and she knew that, even if she were still bound to her chair, he would still find her desirable.
He had given her something else, as well. He had allowed her to comfort him. Clearly she recalled the night in the park, when he had knelt at her feet and begged her to hold him, to comfort him. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she recalled the abject loneliness she had read in the depths of his eyes, his hunger for the gentle touch of her hand.
She loved him. Loved him with her whole heart, and nothing that had passed between them could change that simple fact. She loved him. And he loved her.
They'd been apart almost three weeks when Sara gathered her courage and went to his hotel. She had dressed with care in a long-sleeved white silk blouse and a pink skirt. She wore a wide-brimmed white hat trimmed with feathers and flowers, and a pair of white gloves.
Taking a last glance in the mirror, she left her apartment, her heart beating double-time at the thought of seeing Gabriel again.
She lifted her chin defiantly as she walked up the stairs to Gabriel's room, ignoring the disapproving glance she received from the hotel clerk. She knew he was probably thinking she was a harlot, since no lady deserving of the name would call on a man who was not a relative unless she was adequately chaperoned. But what she had to say to Gabriel was best said in private.
She knocked on his door twice, then stamped her foot. She should have known he wouldn't be here. He was never about during the day; in fact, she couldn't ever remember having seen him before dusk.
What didhe do all day that he was never available?
Frowning, she went outside and summoned a carriage to take her back to her apartment, and then, before she could change her mind, or question her reasoning too closely, she instructed the driver to take her to the cottage on the outskirts of town.
"Shall I wait, mademoiselle?" the driver asked.
"Yes, please. I shan't be long."
"Very well, mademoiselle." Touching his finger to his hat brim, he parked the carriage in the shade afforded by a tree a short distance away.
Lifting her skirts, Sara made her way to the front door, only to find that it was locked. Making her way to the back of the house, she peered through the broken window.
"Gabriel," she called softly. "Are you here?"
She listened a moment, and then repeated her question, a little louder. Again, no answer, only a strong impression that he was inside.
With a grimace, she gathered her skirts and climbed over the low sill, letting out a sigh of exasperation as she snagged her petticoat on a piece of glass.
And then she was inside the cottage. The absolute quiet of the place was overwhelming. Was it her imagination, or could she hear the house breathing? She was certain she could hear the hammering of her heart.
"Gabriel?"
Hardly daring to breathe, she tiptoed through the house, her apprehension growing with each step.
And then, as if drawn by a magnet, she found herself at the cellar door.
She lifted a trembling hand, intending to knock on the door, when her courage deserted her. Whatever lay behind that door, she didn't want to know.
She was about to leave when the door swung open and she found herself face to face with Gabriel.
He was not happy to see her.
" Cara, what are you doing here?"
"That's what I was going to ask you."
Gabriel crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Sara met his gaze and frowned. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," he replied tersely. In truth, it took a great deal of effort for him to stand there. He judged it to be mid day, when his strength was at its lowest ebb. It was possible for him to stand there now only because there was almost no light at the bottom of the stairs, and because he'd needed so badly to see her face one more time.
"Are you sure?" Sara asked doubtfully. "You look a trifle pale..."
"I'm fine." He leaned his shoulder against the door jamb in what he hoped was a casual pose. "What do you want, Sara?"