He stared at her, words crowding in his head, fear making his chest tight all over again. Why did she insist on spoiling everything by … by making him doubt her with such …romantic nonsense.
Crecy lifted onto her toes and kissed him. Only once, a brief touch of her lips that made him feel at once cherished and scolded. He wanted more. So much more.
“I have to run now,” she said, moving to the door.
“Wait,” he demanded, needing to delay her, at least a little. “I’ll dress and see you outside, at least.”
She gave him a smile, so full of understanding that he felt rather winded. “I don’t have time, my love. It’s all right. I can manage perfectly well.”
Gabriel felt his jaw tighten, knowing how long it would take him to dress and quite unable to contradict her. “Will you come tomorrow?”
She frowned for a moment, her blonde brows drawn together as her face fell. “Oh, damn it,” she cursed. Gabriel found himself amused at hearing her swear, so unladylike, but then he realised that meant she wouldn’t come, and he felt like saying something far more obscene. “Belle has … I mean, we are supposed to be visiting someone tomorrow, I think? I’m not sure I can. But the next day, I promise. Early as I can,” she added, hearing the clock chime downstairs as her eyes widened. “Good Lord, I have to run. Goodbye, Gabriel.” She blew him a kiss and closed the door, the sounds of her footsteps flying down the stairs echoing around the quiet house.
Gabriel stood in the middle of his room, finding that it seemed suddenly empty, devoid of colour, of life … of her.
He sat down on the bed as the realisation hit him that unless he did something, she would leave him. Perhaps not right away, and perhaps not willingly, but someone would discover them, someone would take her in hand - God knew someone needed to. A young woman of her astonishing beauty going about the countryside all alone, heaven alone knew what could happen to her. He couldn’t breathe for thinking about it - and then gave a bitter laugh as he realised that the worst had already happened. He had taken that which none but her husband had the right to. Not unless he was her husband. The idea rang in his head again, louder, more insistent, demanding to be heard.
He should marry her.
He should.
He would.
Gabriel grasped the bed post, feeling his heart squeeze so tight in panic he thought he might actually die. No. No. No. He repeated the word over and again as his breathing steadied. He wouldn’t die if he married her … but he might if she left.
He dressed for dinner, taking his time, hoping his rituals might sooth him a little, to push back the panic that his decision had created. It hovered about him still, though, like a monster he could see out of the corner of his eye. If he didn’t confront it, perhaps it wouldn’t strike, after all. So he ignored it, pretending he hadn’t made the most momentous decision of his entire life, and carried on as usual.
He went into the dining room and sat down to his meal as the servants came and went. Gabriel looked up as Piper spoke to him.
“Will that will be all, my lord?”
Gabriel knew he was by far from the most perceptive of beings when it came to fellow human emotions, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Piper was angry with him from the terse tone to his voice.
He nodded, watching Piper as he turned and left, the old man looking stiffer and more on his dignity than he ever had before. For a moment, he felt bewildered, wondering what the devil the old fellow’s problem was, and then it dawned on him.
Crecy.
Piper knew. He knew what Gabriel had done, dammit, the whole bloody staff probably knew. A creeping sensation of heat prickled over him, accompanied by a wash of guilt, and for one horrific moment, he actually considered calling Piper back and explaining himself.
He took a large swallow of wine and composed himself. He was damned if he would explain himself. But they’d see. Tomorrow, he would make the arrangements for the wedding. A special licence would be required, of course, he needed to get this over with as quickly as possible, needed to re-establish some kind of normality in his life as fast as he could. The idea that he also needed to have Crecy with him with all possible haste was so obvious that he didn’t bother denying it.
He finished his meal, determined to go to his study and make a list of everything that needed to be done, the things his wife would need … He stilled in the middle of folding his napkin, the word so foreign that he had to think about it again.
His wife.
For a moment, he didn’t realise he was smiling.
Gabriel got to his feet, leaving the dining room and heading to his office to start his list, but looked up as he heard voices and realised Piper was speaking to someone at the front door.
“I have news, my lord.” Paul Chambers, the man he used to spy on Winterbourne here in the country, strode towards him, looking pleased with himself. For a moment, Gabriel frowned; he had completely forgotten about Edward, about his vendetta. “I know who she is, Lord Winterbourne’s wife.”
Gabriel gestured for the man to enter his study, finding to his surprise that he would just as soon tell the fellow to come back another time, he had more important things to deal with, after all.
“Well?” he demanded, feeling terse and impatient and wanting the fellow gone already.
“Well, I got the story from Lady Scranford’s maid,” he said, beaming at Gabriel. “Apparently, they’ve hushed it up at the big house, but there were two sisters at this party of Lord Winterbourne’s, and the both of them fortune-hunters. They both tried to get Winterbourne, by all accounts, but the older one set a trap for him. Apparently, her and his lordship was caught in a delicate position in the fellow’s library. Lady Scranford was there, saw it with her own eyes as she was one of the party that walked in on them, and she said it was obvious the marquess had been caught right and proper. He had no option but to offer for her.”
Gabriel snorted, amused by the idea. Edward had always been such a ladies’ man, a popular and beloved fellow who knew just what to say to make a woman fall into his arms. You’d think he’d have been awake to such tricks. More fool him.
“So who are these enterprising young women?” Gabriel asked.
Chambers fished about in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh, nobodies, like I said. Not a farthing to their name, apparently, and a vulgar aunt in tow, too. Let me see, now. Oh yes, here it is, Belinda and Lucretia Holbrook.”
It was strange, how everything was so still as that name was spoken. How quiet the house seemed, when in truth, it was crashing down upon his head. He was silent for a moment that seemed to stretch out until fury hit him, hard and hot and overwhelming.
“You’re lying.”
The words were quiet but said with such white rage that Chamber’s eyes widened, fear draining the colour from his face in an instant.
“N-no, my lord, I … why would I?” Gabriel moved towards the man, who backed up, holding one hand out in front of him. “It’s the God’s honest truth, you go and ask Lady Scranford, she’ll tell you herself.”
Before Gabriel could consider anything else, he found his hands had clasped the man about the neck, and the desire to squeeze the life from him was all-encompassing. He didn’t hear or think or feel anything else but the desire to drain the life from the man who had destroyed everything.
Chambers clawed at his hands, hitting him as his eyes bulged and his face grew purple, and Chambers might be a big man, but Gabriel was out of control. Chambers wasn’t going to escape. The door to the study flew open, and suddenly Piper was there with one of the lower footmen, both of them shouting and trying to prise his hands from the fellow. The shouts drew other servants running, all of them begging him to stop before he murdered the man.
Gabriel let go, just wanting them gone now, turning on them and screaming at them to get out, get out and don’t come back.
There was a terrific buzzing in his head, his breath short and hard to snatch at, and
pain, such pain that he felt he would die of it, he prayed that he would.
Fool, fool, you pathetic bloody fool.
I told you.
His father’s voice rang in his ears, louder and stronger and more strident than ever. This is what you get, Gabriel, this is what happens when you ignore me. You can’t survive without me, you’re too weak, too desperate. She got you good, didn’t she?
No. No.
She tied you up in her games, made you believe she cared about you. You? Who in their right mind would want you? She wants your title, your money, that’s what she wants - not you, you miserable excuse of a man. She nearly got you, too, you damned halfwit. She crooked her finger and lifted her skirts and you were actually going to marry her!
Gabriel let out a howl of rage, of pain, sweeping everything from his desk with one furious movement. Satisfaction at seeing everything crash to the ground made his anger grow, and he repeated it across every surface, sending everything hurling to the floor until it was all scattered. He staggered backwards, surrounded by destruction, by the ruins of everything he had, the pitiful life he had carved for himself destroyed by a pretty face. Gabriel leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted, hollowed out, empty.
He slid to the floor as a strange emotion clawed at his throat, clogging it up, making it hard to breathe. Gabriel sucked in a breath, trying to hold it back, he would not … would not … But he could not stop the tears, tears that he had never cried for the loss of his parents, that he had never cried for being alone and unwelcome, unloved and unlovable. But now they would not be held back, and Gabriel put his head in his hands and wept.
Chapter 19
“Wherein sorrow and despair take hold.”
It was the early hours of the morning when Gabriel finally stirred himself to move. He looked up and saw with revulsion the destruction surrounding him. It felt like his guts had been sucked out of him. He was nothing but a hollow, dried-up husk. His father’s voice berated him, but he was too numb to even acknowledge it now. Seeing everything in such disorder was enough to make him want to retch, though, and he knew he had to put things straight.
Memories of another night came back to him in a rush as he bent to pick up the broken pieces. That, too, had been a night full violence and terror and regret. His stomach roiled and he moved quicker, feeling that the memories might go away if only he could tidy things and put everything back as it had been. His skin was clammy, everything slipping through his fingers, and a prickling sweat broke out over his flesh, and his breath came fast as his anxiety grew.
It was hard to get everything just right, as his hands were shaking and over and over, and he cursed himself for being so bloody weak. He picked up every broken shard, heedless that he’d cut himself until he bled over the pages of a book and he was forced to throw it in the bin, too, along with the evidence of his shocking lack of control. Those pieces seemed to burn as bright as a dozen candles despite the dim light of the room, and in the end, he was forced to take the bin downstairs to the kitchens and throw the entire thing in with the household refuse. He buried it under a mountain of food scraps, revolted by the filth on his hands but needing to bury the shame of it out of sight. He washed his hands over and over, but the sun was beginning to dawn before he was satisfied, and he hurried back to his study before the staff saw him and realised their master really had run mad at last.
Not that they didn’t already know it. If they hadn’t guessed it long since, then any doubts would have been put to rest by last night’s performance. At least he paid them well enough and they feared him badly enough to keep their bloody mouths shut. He did not need to worry about his humiliation becoming the next story in the gossip sheets. They simply wouldn’t dare. They knew too well what he was capable of. They knew he was a monster.
Gabriel closed the study door behind him and went to reach for the slate wolf’s head, pausing before his hand could close over it. She had given him that. He snatched his hand back and turned away from it. There was no she, no her, no woman. She had been the figment of a deranged mind, nothing more. He had seen what he’d wanted to see, not the truth. The truth was a grasping young woman who had hoped to get what she could from him, and had failed.
There was a small voice inside of him that protested, that reminded him of everything that young woman had said and done, but he stamped on it. He would not think of her. He would not.
He would go away. His property in France had sat empty for too long, and his affairs there had long since needed his attention. He would go away, and by the time he got back, the woman would be gone, probably long since married to some other rich, titled fool who had fallen for her lovely and all too willing charms.
The thought hit him in the gut like a fist, and he hauled in a breath. No. It was a lie, a mirage. She was not what he’d thought. She never had been. But he would endure. He would endure and he would have his revenge.
Perhaps you’ve had it already. That cold, hateful voice echoed in his mind. Even now she could be carrying your bastard. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end to this affair? If Winterbourne was forced to raised your bastard child. I might even feel proud of you.
Gabriel ran from the room, flinging open the door and running across the entrance hall, barely making it outside before he retched, heaving over and over as he began to shake.
No. No. Not that.
The idea that he might have given her a child was …
He leaned against the wall, watching as the sun rose on the horizon. It blurred as he blinked, the startling orange growing ever more vivid and colouring the dramatic clouds that had begun to gather, and hung low in the skies, promising storms would be coming soon.
He closed his eyes against the beauty of it, too full of pain to take any pleasure in anything anymore. He must get away from here. He must go now.
Before he proved to everyone just how weak and pathetic he really was.
***
Crecy saw Damerel house come into view with a surge of happiness and no little relief. It had been two days, two whole days since she had seen Gabriel. They had visited friends the day after her last visit, as she’d told him, but the weather had closed in and they had been forced to spend the night. Their hosts were so welcoming and delighted by their visit that it had been impossible to leave until after lunch the next day, and so any wistful ideas of visiting Gabriel had been taken from her.
She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry with her for breaking her word. Not that it had been her fault, and he needed to understand that, but she felt she had begun to understand the way in which Gabriel undermined himself, how he sabotaged any hopes for his own happiness. It stemmed from a lack of self-worth, that much she was certain of. No one had ever taken the time or the trouble to get to know him, to understand him, and so he believed himself not worth the attempt. It was why he trusted her so little, and why something like leaving him alone for an extra day would immediately be accompanied by dark thoughts and speculation about her motives. Still, she would cross that bridge when she got to it.
Leaving her horse with the groom, she hurried to the door, a little surprised that Gabriel hadn’t come out to meet her. Of course, he couldn’t have known that she was coming. With regret, she realised that he might not even be here. Perhaps he had business in town?
Her fears grew as Piper opened the door to her. There was sympathy in the old man’s eyes and a look that made her heart grow cold.
“Hallo, Piper, is … is Lord DeMorte not at home today?”
Piper’s face was grave as she walked into the house and he closed the front door.
“Would you come through to the parlour, Miss Holbrook?” he said, his voice so gentle that anxiety curled around her heart and began to squeeze.
“What is it, Piper?” she asked, following him into the parlour. To her surprise, the butler closed the door, and she realised that he was trying to keep the other staff from overhearing what he had to say.
“He’s gone, miss,” he said, such
regret in his eyes that Crecy did not have the luxury of misunderstanding him.
Her breath caught and she sat down. A rush of cold seemed to cast over her in a wave and she clasped her hands together, finding them clammy. “Gone where?” she whispered.
Piper hesitated, and then his face softened. “France, I believe.”
Crecy swallowed. The urge to burst into tears was so strong that it was almost overwhelming, but she would not embarrass the poor butler with such a scene. He had always been kind to her, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t known the risks.
“Do … do you have an address?”
Piper shook his head. “His lordship has always been cagey about his property abroad. I believe he considered it wise to have a bolt hole that no one else knew of, in case …” He hesitated and Crecy nodded.
“I understand, Piper, you need not explain.” She knew well enough that Gabriel played many dangerous games. If things went awry, it would be just like him to have a safe place to retreat to. “Is there anyone who might have the address? Someone he trusts, perhaps?” The idea that he might trust anyone at all was slim but she had to ask.
Piper looked torn for a moment, loyalty to his master warring against his desire to help her. In the end, he sat down, his voice confiding as he leaned towards her.
“His man of business, he has an office in Bath, but …”
Crecy snorted and shook her head. “Yes, I can imagine the likelihood of him giving out Lord DeMorte’s address to a single female of my ilk.” She looked down at her feet, knowing she could not hear the answer to her next question and hold back her tears if Piper was nice to her.
“Did he say when he would be back?” There was at least a little hope that he had gone to cool off and would be back in a week or so, but her hopes were short lived as Piper shook his head.
“No, miss, but … I was given to believe he would not be back before the summer.”
“Oh.” Crecy concentrated on breathing. It seemed a remarkably hard thing to do. The idea that she would need to keep on doing it, keep on forcing herself to breathe in and out for six months, at least, before she would have the opportunity to even try and explain. It was too painful to contemplate. “Why?”
To Tame a Savage Heart Page 17