Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,69

faith. Julia clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized how it sounded aloud.

Gabriel’s dark blue eyes opened slowly, like the dragon in the Tolkien story, but he did not take the bait of her impertinence. And he did not breathe fire. Yet.

“You wish to be professional, so act like it. A normal graduate student would receive an award letter, be profoundly grateful for her good fortune, and accept the money. So act professionally, Miss Mitchell. I could have hidden my connection to the bursary from you, but I chose to treat you like an adult. I chose to respect your intelligence and not engage in deception. Nevertheless, I took great care to hide my connection to the bursary from our department. The philanthropic organization does not have my name attached to it publicly, so it can’t be traced back to me. And Emerson is an extremely common name. So no one will believe you if you reveal that I’m behind the bursary.”

He withdrew his iPhone from his pocket, opened up the notepad application, and began writing with his finger.

“I wasn’t going to complain…” Julia began.

“You might have said thank you.”

“Thank you, Professor Emerson. But think of it from my point of view—I don’t want to play Héloïse to your Abelard.” She looked down at her silverware and began adjusting the pieces until they were all lined up symmetrically.

Gabriel quickly remembered seeing her do that once before, when they were dining at Harbour Sixty. He placed his phone on the table and looked over at her with a pained expression, made doubly painful by the guilt he felt over what had almost happened in his study carrel. Yes, he’d come close to succumbing to Miss Mitchell’s considerable charms, and risking Abelard’s fate, for Rachel would no doubt castrate him if she discovered he’d seduced her friend. Miraculously, however, his self-control proved to be superior to that of Abelard. “I would never seduce a student.”

“Then thank you,” she murmured. “And thank you for the gesture of the bursary, even though I can’t promise to accept it. I know it’s only a small amount to you, but it would have meant airline tickets home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and spring break and Easter. And money for many more extras than I can afford now. Including steak, on occasion.”

“Why would you use it for airline tickets? I would have thought you’d use it to secure a better apartment.”

“I don’t think I can get out of my lease. And anyway, going home to see my dad is important to me. He’s the only family I have. And I would have liked to see Richard before he sells the house and moves to Philadelphia.”

Actually, it would be worth it to accept the bursary so I could visit Richard and the orchard. I wonder if my favorite apple tree is still there…I wonder if anyone would notice if I carved my initials into the trunk…

Gabriel scowled obliquely, for a number of reasons. “You wouldn’t have gone home otherwise?”

She shook her head. “Dad wanted to fly me home for Christmas, rather than taking Greyhound. But the prices on Air Canada are outrageous. I would have been ashamed to accept a ticket from him.”

“Never be ashamed to accept a gift when there are no strings attached.”

“You sound like Grace. She used to talk like that.”

He shifted in his seat and involuntarily scratched at the back of his neck. “Where do you think I learned about generosity? Not from my biological mother.”

Julia looked at Gabriel, meeting his gaze without blushing or blinking. Then she sighed and put the award letter back in her bag, resolving to spend more time thinking about how best to deal with it once she was no longer in The Professor’s magnetic presence. For she saw that arguing with him would get her nowhere. And in that respect, as in several others, he was exactly like Peter Abelard, sexy, smart, and seductive.

He peered over at her. “But despite all I’ve tried to do, which isn’t much I’ll admit, you’re still going hungry?”

“Gabriel, I have a tenuous relationship with my stomach. I forget to eat when I’m busy or preoccupied or—or sad. It’s not about the money—it’s just the way things are. Please don’t trouble yourself.” She readjusted her cutlery once again for good measure.

“So…you’re sad?”

She sipped her beer slowly and ignored his question.

“Does Dante make you unhappy?”

“Sometimes,” she whispered.

“And other times?”

She looked up at him, and a sweet smile spread across her face. “I