The Master Of Michaelmas Hall by Vanessa Brooks

Author:Vanessa Brooks [Brooks, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Vanessa Brooks
Published: 2020-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Angele had not thought to enjoy marital congress with Gabriel ever again. At no point after removing her veil had he looked at her with anything other than disbelief and unadulterated love. She’d seen no revulsion or disgust in his eyes when he’d traced her scar, only fury directed at those who’d harmed her.

The bliss she’d felt when his body had taken hers was indescribable. She had never thought to hold him in her arms again, let alone feel that delicious sensation of fullness as he’d entered her body. Joy fizzled through her veins. She felt light-headed with euphoria, not simply because she had reached the dizzy heights of completion seconds before—no, this was bone-deep, pure rapture. She was once again connected with her soul mate, her other half. In her view, her better half, something she acknowledged ruefully in the aftermath of passion. She felt fully alive again for the first time since the birth of her child, their son, Christopher.

Angele had welcomed the agonising pain of childbirth, relished the raw power of that base act which brought forth new life. Christopher was the precious piece of humanity that linked her to Gabriel forever. When they were apart, she could adore that which they had created between them with a passionate love.

She noted her beloved’s countenance now set in stern lines. She knew she had some explaining to do, yet even his wrath seemed something wondrous. Any form of physical contact with him was bliss. She felt like a starving woman seeking crumbs from his table. Any touch of Gabriel’s hand would suffice, even his scolding palm. She shivered. It had been an aeon since she had felt his punishing hand upon her derrière. She had spent five long years attempting to forget his touch, both loving and chastising, each as exciting to her as the other, entwined as they were in the physicality of their relationship.

He tidied his dress. She gave him her hand as he imperiously offered her his palm. Pulling her upright, he brushed down her crumpled dress and then indicated she should be seated upon the edge of the bed. Pacing to and fro in front of her, he finally came to a halt. Her gaze fixated on a tendon in his neck which pulsed intermittently.

“Tell me, why the deception?” he finally asked, sounding strained.

She opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted her.

“I have died a thousand deaths since word came that you were gone. I have been tormented to Hell since your death; not least by the fact I was not there at your side to protect you from the mob. How could you have been so cruel as to lead me to believe that you were dead?” His voice, ragged, rumbled with emotion.

“I…” she began, but once again he spoke over her, ignoring her attempted reply.

“You say we have a child and yet you deliberately neglected to inform me of the fact, keeping me from watching my son and heir grow. Whatever have I done to make you hate me so, Angele?” His words cracked with pain.

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