A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Read online

  Gabby appreciated their protection, but she also would be vigilant to keep her friends safe.

  She had slept soundly for the first time since the news of Lucien’s death. And she had awoken this morning refreshed with a new resolve. The loss of Lucien was a terrible shock, and she had needed time to absorb the pain. But many had lost loved ones in this time of unrest, and it was time to move forward. She didn’t want to remain like a broken shell on the shore, swept back and forth with each change in the tide of men’s greed and violence.

  Aunt Euphemia had risked her life to save Gabby and her family. She owed Aunt Euphemia and her family a debt of honor. Like her grandmamma and Aunt Euphemia, she wouldn’t allow Napoleon to wreak havoc on her friends or on herself.

  Napoleon and his men would not intimidate Gabrielle de Valmont.

  “Mr. Crawford, have you worked here for a long time?” Amelia asked innocently. “You must know everyone who works here. It must be a large group.”

  “I do, my lady.”

  Gabby caught on to Miss Amelia’s purpose. “You guard the door against anyone who doesn’t belong?”

  “Of course, he does. It is why they have a gentleman of Mr. Crawford’s bulk and strength at the door,” Gwyneth added.

  Mr. Crawford shrugged his shoulder, basking in the ladies’ admiration. “I do what I must to keep the uninvited from wandering in. It’s a little tricky with the young gents who have too much liquor… Oh, the stories I could tell ya.” He stopped. “Excuse me, my ladies. I shouldn’t be telling you fine ladies such tales.”

  “Oh, but Mr. Crawford, we would love to hear of the gentlemen and their visits backstage, wouldn’t we ladies?” Gwyneth snickered.

  Unfortunately, they had reached the end of the hallway. Gabby’s heart kicked into a rapid allegro rhythm with the sound of a familiar male voice coming from behind the door of Madame Abney’s dressing room.

  Mr. Crawford knocked on the door.

  “I thought Madame Abney didn’t allow gentlemen visitors before a performance.” Gabby’s tone came out strident with the realization that Michael was back in pursuit of the opera diva.

  Crawford shook his head. “Depends on the gentleman.”

  The cad was back, pursuing Madame Abney after pledging his fidelity and planning a rendezvous with Gabby on the same very night. Gabby stewed in a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

  A young, plump woman, with round apple cheeks and a wide smile, opened the door.

  “The ladies are here to see Madame Abney,” Crawford said.

  The woman blocked Gabby’s view into the room. But she heard the singer’s titter and then Michael’s croaky laugh.

  He’d asked her to trust him. Could she? Maybe he was innocent, but it didn’t stop Gabby wanting to do something violent to his person.

  “Bete, allow the ladies into the room,” Madame Abney chimed.

  Madame Abney’s dresser fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”

  Crawford grinned at the dresser before he stepped back to allow them into the room. Unlike the dark hallway, this was a bright and spacious room. An Oriental painted screen sat in the corner. A vivid red jewel-encrusted costume was hung partially over the screen.

  Crawford bowed his head. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Crawford.” The ladies all spoke at the same time, making them all laugh together.

  “Ladies, what is so amusing?” Madame Abney sat in front of a large mirror, again in disarray, her ivory robe hanging over one shoulder, her dark hair hanging down her back. Unlike at her townhouse, she had blackened her eyes with kohl. The dramatic line made her small eyes appear large and intriguing. She pouted at herself in the mirror while she applied deep-red rouge to her lips.

  Michael stood frozen like the marble statues at the Louvre, his mouth open in shock. The idea of the loquacious man shocked into silence would be amusing to Gabby if she weren’t ready to combust in distrust and disappointment.

  Part of her excitement for the evening was her secret rendezvous with Michael. She had been eager to share with him her resolve to be of assistance in finding the men, to not be seen as helpless in Michael’s eyes. She wanted to be seen as a confident woman, like Aunt Euphemia, not someone who needed his protection.

  Neither Gwyneth nor Amelia registered any surprise over finding Michael again in the presence of the singer. “Kendal, your face looks like…” Gwyneth pressed her fingers to her lips to stop the laughter.

  “Were you going to say as if he has seen a ghost?” Amelia asked.

  “Ladies, does Ashworth know of your appearance backstage?” Michael’s voice was challenging, as was the way his eyes locked on Gabby.

  Gabby stared right back at him. After this morning’s decision, she wouldn’t allow her feelings for one tempting man to rule her behavior. She was going to trust him and if he proved false, she would survive. Women survived heartbreak all the time.

  “Tut, tut. Lord Kendal, didn’t know you were so exacting on propriety. The ladies are here on my invitation. And Lady Gwyneth and Miss Amelia, do you believe in ghosts?”

  Amelia said amusingly, “I’m not sure I do, but I do believe Lord Kendal does.”

  Gwyneth swept into the center of the room, her crimson gown matching the exotic hues of the paisley shawl draped across the settee. Two chairs were placed next to the sofa and gave all those seated a great view of Madame Abney’s reflection in the mirror. Gabby didn’t believe it was an accidental arrangement.

  Amelia gasped on spotting a small anteroom overflowing with costumes and gowns. A long shelf above the rack of clothing held wigs, hair pieces, and hats. “Your costumes are magnificent. May I take a peek?” Amelia pleaded.

  “Of course. I’m looking forward to your ideas on my new gowns and costumes.”

  Gwyneth sat on one of the chairs. “We’ve lost Amelia to any further conversation.”

  Thinking about what activities Michael and Madame might have been involved in before their arrival, Gabby refused to sit on the settee.

  “Darling, would you be willing to serve the ladies champagne?” Madame asked Michael.

  Gwyneth’s eyebrows shot up with the endearment.

  “Of course, Madame.” Michael walked to a table, near the costume closet. He avoided eye contact with anyone.

  Seated on the chair next to the settee, Gabby noticed the open music score for the Bach cantata on a side table. “May I look at your music?”

  “Of course, mademoiselle. You must play this cantata for me. You have promised me. I have a feeling your interpretation will inspire me.”

  “When are you going to perform this wonderful piece?” Gabby asked.

  “I’m preparing it…I’m not supposed to speak of it yet. But I’ve been asked to sing for His Royal Highness. He has requested this specific sacred cantata.”

  Amelia, unseen by Madame, whipped around and raised her eyebrows in question at Gwyneth and Gabby.

  Gabby sat staring at the sheet. More handwritten notes, in the same scrawl as in Madame’s townhouse, were made throughout the music. The scrawl suggested changes altering the timing of the trumpet, which musically made absolutely no sense.

  “Your notes suggest rather radical changes to the music,” Gabby commented.

  “Those are my husband’s notes. He still likes to feel he is part of my music.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He resents my brother Jacques’s involvement.”

  Michael walked toward Gabby. “May I see the music? I’m familiar with Bach’s compositions.”

  “You’re interested in sacred cantatas, Lord Kendal? With your reputation, I was led to believe your interests lay elsewhere,” Madame flirted.

  “Madame, please, there are ladies present.” Michael voice sounded strained.

  Madame gave her husky laugh. “And I’m not?”

  Seeing the singer’s eyes darken and her lips part, Gabby looked back at the music, unable to watch the obvious dallia
nce between the singer and Michael. Gabby felt unsophisticated and naive by the way Madame Abney licked her lips and gazed at Michael as if she could devour him.

  Gwyneth interrupted. “You mentioned that your brother is a very skilled musician.”

  “Yes, Jacques is gifted and Francois is jealous of my brother’s talent. My husband trained, but was never accomplished.”

  Michael leaned over Gabby. He smelled of the out-of-doors, fresh and clean, and of Michael. His hands wrapped around her fingers and lingered briefly before he took the music.

  She glanced up and was captured in the longing and tenderness in his expressive eyes. This was the man she had fallen in love with, the open, caring man. But she didn’t recognize or understand the posturing rake who dallied with experienced women.

  She lowered her eyes, afraid to betray her insecure and hurt feelings. She wasn’t sophisticated enough to play these flirty games.

  But why was he playing this part with Madame when he had sworn he was innocent of any wrongdoing? Did he also think Madame was a threat? He had promised Gabby that the situation wasn’t as it appeared.

  Madame rolled her head back and forth to loosen her neck, allowing her dressing gown to fall further down her shoulder. “How did we get on such a dreary conversation? Let’s talk about new romance. I want Jacques to meet Mademoiselle Gabrielle.” Madame turned her head and gestured with her hands. “Ooh, la la! What great music you’ll make together.”

  Bete said in a quiet voice, “Please, Madame, you must not move.”

  Madame looked at Gabby in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve arranged for us to have a late supper with my brother. He wanted to meet you before the performance, but he must warm up. I told him it must be fate that brought you two together.”

  Michael’s face contorted by how tightly he clenched his jaw. Gabby had never seen such an aggrieved look on his face. “I’m sure Lord Ashworth plans for the ladies to return home after the opera.”

  Gwyneth tittered. “No, Ash is out at one of his clubs for dinner and then I believe he plans to go gambling. Miss Amelia, Mademoiselle Gabby, and I are unencumbered tonight. And I do believe mademoiselle was looking forward to sharing her experiences with the gentlemen about her beloved mentor.”

  Michael now gave Gwyneth the same black look, his eyes narrowed while his fingers drummed at his side.

  “What a disappointment, Madame.” He turned and looked at Madame in the mirror. He spoke in a silky smooth voice Gabby had never before heard. “I thought you and I were having dinner together.”

  Madame Abney’s hands fluttered to her chest. Her voice became deep and sultry and made promises that Gabby didn’t want to imagine. “After, ma chère…after we all dine together.”

  Gwyneth shot Michael a look that could cause unsuspecting people to wilt and then used her haughty, cold voice. “We wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans with Lord Kendal, Madame.”

  “No, Lord Kendal will indulge me, won’t you, ma chère? Can you blame me for wanting to matchmaker for my brother? Have you seen a lovelier French creature, and also a gifted musician who also studied with Monsieur la Toure? It is fate.”

  Michael shifted his weight back forth while he pulled on his cravat. “As you wish, Madame. We will all dine together.”

  “Now, I must warm up. Bete will escort all of you to the wings.”

  Gabby and Gwyneth stood. “Thank you, Madame. We are looking forward to watching your performance.”

  Gwyneth walked to the closet. “Come along, Amelia. We must leave Madame to prepare.”

  Amelia stopped in front of Madame. “Seeing your costumes tonight has already made the evening extraordinary. I will look forward to your performance.”

  Gwyneth and Amelia followed Bete out the door.

  Michael took hold of Gabby’s elbow and held tightly. “Allow me to escort you, mademoiselle.”

  He walked slowly, allowing Gwyneth and Amelia to move out of earshot.

  He whispered. “Are you insane? Do you know what you’ve stumbled into?”

  Gabby took umbrage at his angry condescending tone. “Why do you have to treat me as if I’m an infant?”

  She tried to free her arm, but his grip was tight. “I’ve never thought of you as an infant. Not since I discovered you weren’t a boy in those breeches.” His voice sounded different as if he were strangling.

  “I can’t be this near to you without…” His breathing accelerated, his words rushed. “My God, what am I doing?” His thumb rubbed along the sensitive skin above her glove. “Gabby, you and the ladies need to leave. It’s not safe.”

  A shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine with his warning.

  Bete waited in the middle of the stage, preventing any further discussion.

  Amelia gasped at the first backdrop painted with the Greek Parthenon, and Greek columns. “They are wonderful. I feel as if I’m walking in ancient Athens.”

  Gwyneth groaned. “I feel another toga obsession blossoming.”

  Amelia took Gwyneth’s arm. “You told me my togas were inspired. And Bete, is it permissible to examine the back drop more closely?” Amelia was already dragging Gwyneth toward the painted scenery.

  “Of course, my ladies.”

  Gabby didn’t follow the ladies, but remained close to Michael for a reason she didn’t want to examine.

  Bete spoke in a serious manner, aware of the honor to be presenting to the fine lady and gentleman. “The opera has artists who paint the backcloths and flats. The men change the scenery by a system of ropes and pulleys.” Bete pointed to two workmen who stood ten feet above them on elaborate wood scaffolding.

  “It is best if you stand close to the curtain, away from where the men are working during the performance or…”

  Bete stopped midsentence when she noticed Crawford standing near the heavy forest-green velvet curtain. The man sauntered toward Bete.

  “Excuse me for a moment, my lady and my lord.” Bete curtsied.

  A violent tremor went through Gabby when one of the stagehands, in cap pulled down over his eyes, stopped working to watch her.

  She stood still, like a deer trapped in the hunter’s stare.

  She heard a voice shout and then a whirl of motion. It all unfolded slowly. Michael jumping toward her. The rush of cold air before Michael threw her to the ground. Shouts and screams bombarding her while she flew through the air. An explosion of stars and bright lights burst in front of her eyes when she hit the hard floor. And then nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was pure instinct.

  One minute Michael was admiring the realistic painted scenery, the next he sensed imminent danger.

  He had time for only one reaction.

  He had looked up at the moment before the workmen released the heavy metal pulley aimed to swing down and fall dead center where Gabby stood.

  Michael leapt through the air, unaware of the shouts and screams, tackling Gabby to move her out of the path of destruction.

  He shoved her hard. Not judging his strength and speed, fear fueling his momentum, he pushed her right off her feet.

  Shocked, she teetered back and forth, unable to regain her balance.

  He reached for her, but was unable to grab her before she slammed onto the floor, hitting her head against a wooden prop box.

  With the loud crash of the pulley splintering the wood floor inches away from them, Michael threw himself on top of Gabby to protect her.

  His hands shook and his heart leapt, trying to escape his chest.

  Gabby lay still beneath him.

  He levered himself on his arms to look at her. “Gabby?” Icy fear consumed him. She was unresponsive. Her face and lips without color. “Gabby, darling, wake up.”

  The saucy feathers she wore in her hair were smashed and lying on the ground next to her. He gingerly lifted her head and felt the cold stickiness of her blood.

  Gabby’s blood. Gross and ugly terror coiled around his heart. He refused
to think about the possibilities. She needed a doctor. He jumped to his feet to shout for help. Amelia was kneeling down beside Gabby. Seeing the blood on his hand, Amelia had taken out her handkerchief and carefully lifted Gabby’s head, putting pressure on the wound.

  Amelia spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. “She’s going to be fine.”

  “There is so much blood.”

  “Head wounds always bleed profusely.”

  Michael finally became aware of the chaos around them. The workman had swung by a rope to drop to the ground. He now sprinted across the stage and jumped into the empty auditorium.

  Ashworth and Chalmers and Fenton raced across the stage after him. Why were Chalmers and Fenton helping Ashworth? Was no one in London truly who they were supposed to be?

  Ashworth shouted to someone in the wings. “Cut him off at the front door.”

  Michael bent down and lifted Gabby into his arms. “We need to get her away from here.” She was a wee little thing, weighing practically nothing. Although he was careful, she moaned with the sudden movement. Grateful to hear a sound from her, Michael spoke soothingly. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  “The man…” she sucked in a painful breath. “A ghost.”

  “Hush, darling. He’ll never hurt you again. Ashworth will get him.” And Michael didn’t add that if Ashworth didn’t get the bastard, he would kill him with his own bare hands. Michael loosened his tight protective hold on her slight body when she whimpered.

  Amelia handed him the handkerchief. “Keep the pressure on the wound. I’ll summon a carriage and send a messenger for the doctor.”

  “Thank you.” His voice was rusty and rough with emotion.

  Michael walked slowly and carefully around the stage to the backstage exit. He gazed down at Gabby’s fluttering flaxen eyelashes, the only color on her pale face. He shifted her in his arms to descend the steps down from the stage. She moaned in French and then opened her unfocused eyes, a fathomless pool of blue. “My head aches.”

  “I’m sure it does, darling. I knocked you into a prop box.”

  She winced in pain. “Not your fault.”

  It was his fault. All of the bloody mess. He had failed to protect her when she was standing right next to him. Despite being well-guarded, the bastard had gotten to her. How could he protect her when he didn’t know why the French would want to harm her? Had Napoleon decided he didn’t need her alive to get her fortune?