Passion

by Gayle Eden

  Raith flashed to those feverish moments at his house, before it all ended…on the bed…when he had lost all control. Each time he allowed it to surface, it was a spark of light in utter darkness, like a flicker of flame in his dark soul.

  He still did not know if he had actually rescued her all those years before, or destroyed her. He sometimes thought, he was not all that much better than the devil they had killed.

  It was too late to second-guess or regret if he was some shadow version of Stratton.

  No. Bloody hell no.

  He had not always been conscious of what his obsession, tied to hers, may do to her afterwards, as consumed as he was with Suzette. There was some part of Gabriella that was him…some part of him, that was her. Though healing in body, it now felt raw, seeping, un-assuaged, separated. It felt like—it needed to be merged, healed…Although he did not see himself as the healer.

  Raith found his bed again and lowered his body upon it. The pain and soreness was constant. He missed her. He had never thought he would. He did not ever expect to. Nevertheless, from the moment, he opened his eyes— he had wanted to see Gabriella’s face.

  The other part of it—was fear—a kind of terrifying realization, that he had long ago replaced Suzette’s image with hers. He never dreamed of Suzette’s death anymore, not since he had ended Stratton’s life, not even under the medication. He always, always, saw Gabriella.

  When Gabriella’s image haunted him, it was animated, filled with emotion, some expression that he could feel, because he knew her, her spirit, her soul, her strengths. It was not the same as the haunting of Suzette had been. Nonetheless, he was afraid he would never feel whole, healed, or not haunted. Perhaps that was his destiny. Perhaps—it was the price of his own sins.

  Looking up at the high vaulted ceiling gave the impression of an endless void. He had never lived with (silence) of spirit. It seemed he was born wrestling with his own heart, soul and mind. He said at Stratton’s last breath (forgive me Suzette, forgive me for taking the sweetness and love you offered for I led you from safety. It did. His restlessness, his not telling her the full truth of who and what he was.) There were more like Stratton out there. He had seen them on his haunts. Predators. He was not guilty of that.

  He did not want Gabriella to be another obsession. There. He could at last admit it, if only to himself. He wanted this…struggle to be for something other than darkness.

  * * * *

  The day following Raith’s moving in, Artis was assured by the servants that Raith was up, dressed, and that he had eaten. Knocking on his door, Artis heard the muffled (enter) and opened it, spying Raith by the window, standing with the aid of canes.

  When his son turned around, it killed Artis to see the hardness in him, even as he acknowledged it had helped Raith survive. Walking closer, he watched his youngest lower himself into a nearby chair, a small table next to it holding coffee.

  Artis reached him, hand trembling slightly when he carefully laid the tied bundle upon the table surface. “These are letters your mother and I have exchanged, over the years. They will tell you much more than I can, about the kind of woman who gave birth to you.”

  The Duke stepped back and eyed that fierce and closed to him, countenance. “Of your uncle, Phillip—there are one or two which include his salutations. If, after reading them, you wish to see her. I am sure it would please her beyond imagining, seeing you at last. Phillip, will welcome you too.”

  He next rested that a hand on Raith’s shoulder, giving it a pat before walking back toward the door.

  “Your Grace?”

  Artis turned, his eyes as dark as Raith’s, holding them across the distance. “Yes?”

  “I’ll read them.”

  Artis felt something inside both squeeze and then release, a vise that had been holding him many long years. He smiled and nodded.

  Raith drew in a long breath and released it slowly. His gaze was not wavering. “She asked—about me?”

  “Always.”

  “You loved her?”

  “I did.” Artis nodded again.

  “Did she wed?”

  “Yes. Very well, and happily. She has two daughters, your half-sisters. They are in their early teens. Her husband knows of your birth, our affair. She says she only wed him because he respected her honesty. She would have no man who would not accept that she would always hope to see her first born.” He waved to the letters. “It’s all there.”

  Raith regarded him, his hand on a cane flexing. “Nothing I did after I left…. is your fault.”

  His eyes burning, nose too, Artis held onto his dignity with difficulty. “Yes—It is. Part of it. But I thank you, for absolving me.”

  “You did what you….you followed the Duchess’s impossible demands and conditions, for me?”

  Artis nodded. “I shouldn’t have stayed with her. Somewhere along the way, things were …twisted. And, guilt, for what I could see happening, consumed me. Perhaps, I got so far away from feeling, to protect myself, I did not know how to come back. I lost…myself, if that makes any sense.”

  Raith looked away, and at the letters. “Does she still write to you?”

  Softly, the Duke replied, “Not as often. Mostly to ask if I’ve found you yet.”

  When Raith looked at him, Artis asked gruffly, “Have I?”

  Raith, after a moment of their gazes being locked, nodded slowly.

  Artis did not stop the tears that spilled over. They were still there, shimmering on his cheeks, when he quietly left.

  In his study, he sat heavily in his chair and let them silently flow, let the pain melt out of him. The relief flowed too. When he had gathered himself, he wiped his face, drank a stiff brandy, and then opened the desk drawer and took out paper, getting his ink and pen, he wrote: Our son is home…

  Chapter 10

  Gabriella used her time away from London, away from the past and the nightmares, to enjoy simple things. She often rode with the Duke, learning to ride horseback for the first time. She walked and rambled miles of country lanes with him, listening mostly as he talked of his welsh ancestors, and about the estate—which came to him through his wife’s grandfather.

  She sat too, just sat, and took in, absorbed, and just was—in a sense she had never been able to relax or not be focused or on guard, or worried by something. She would sit in the sun and fresh air, in a world so alien to her before, where birds sang and sheep bleat melodiously from the green meadows. Where wind actually had a sound, grasses sighed and rain danced.

  One day—she just started sobbing, and wept for many long hours. That night, his Grace came to her chambers and held her, just held her in his arms. Gabriella knew it was all the tears she did not allow herself in her life, the pain and trauma she refused to feel. She was glad he didn’t ask, didn’t seem to need to, and she was moved by his comfort—comforted by his presence—though she could never explain her reality, her childhood and life to him, in any way he’d understand those emotions. She could never explain what every tear was for.

  The fact he did not ask bonded them more than words could have.

  When the storm ceased, she felt purged and drained. After sleeping nearly two whole days, she began the process of finding herself again. She was aware that her father watched her. That he was often filled with his thoughts and past regrets too.

  Gabriella did not rebuff him. She listened, she attended when he recommended a book, or encouraged her to explore his collection of art. She discovered a love of music again, and had the heart to actually feel it. He took her to the local hall and they listened to lovely orchestras and went into the village where music was always spontaneously played.

  He introduced her to the locals as Lady Caroline’s cousin. Gabriella found she did not mind. She knew he loved her, and she was getting used to that reality—being loved, and it was enough. As a child, she had dreamed of meeting him, living with him, but the reality on the streets, later vengeance stole that ideal. Now she had that old sou
l feeling inside, and knew she could not go back and neither could he. Life, age, experience, could not be undone. That was why their getting to know each other and finding acceptance, affection, this sort of bonding, was a gift to them both.

  Gabriella healed in body, and when alone tried to distance her mind from the worst parts of that time with Stratton. It was easier to see it as another person, because in many ways she had been. She’d split herself into two people, but then…she had done that for many years. She tried to work on herself, her emotions, her thoughts and reactions. She knew that facing the dark and the light was the only way to move past that and heal.

  She spoke to locals and was curious about much of the country life, fascinated, honestly. People were occupied with the basic things, planting, harvest, earning their bread, and at least on the surface, they seemed to have uncomplicated lives. Although she was sure as individuals, it was likely not so simple. Still, it was good for her to see something besides the reality of her past and the existence she’d had in those dark and shadowy alleyways. Yes—in her own self-created-world afterwards.

  She was a woman fully grown. There was as much of her thoughts and life, entwined and merged with Raith LeClair. Much more than she would not likely have admitted had she not had this first separation from him.

  Distance, and the end of their vengeance was slowly wiping away the blur and shadows. His face came to her, his dark eyes often. Everything was clearer, crystal, and unlike their relationship, he was always looking right at her, seeking, asking perhaps? She told herself that it could all be her fancy or her own emotional residue….But they had an unbreakable bond, forged for good or ill, and he was much of who she became….

  In the frame of those days with her father, Gabriella was also somewhat amazed by Lady Caroline as naturally the Duke often spoke of her. There was not one tale of mischief or flaw in her growing up, according to David. Although to be fair, Gabriella had seen something more in that first meeting, and was thinking perhaps a parent was not the most unbiased of a son a daughter’s character. Still, she found the contrast in their lives fascinating. She sometimes wondered if Lady Caroline privately missed having her mother in her life—who by her portrait in the library, looked to be a handsome woman. The Duke told her that his wife had her own life with her lover, who she lived with until death. Something she gathered he had not told his daughter. It made Gabriella all the more aware that David Bordwyc truly had only loved one woman in his life, and never settled for another. That woman, was her mother. Knowing herself as a woman, she rather thought Caroline was likely more than her daughter self. There was a woman self separate from that. She had told Gabriella she had been searching for her. Something the duke did not know. It warmed her to think so, now. She was glad someone had thought of her.

  In time, Gabriella was more frank about her life, honest in telling what they suffered on the streets. She sensed the Duke was most curious about the years she lived with Raith, and planned with him, but he did not probe beyond what she hinted at. In the end, they found a mutual place to respect each other, even love each other.

  Part of that was poignant, because he had to come to terms with the fact he could not go back and be her father, or change her fate or the wisdom she had gained the hard way. Moreover, she could not depend upon him as a father beyond a certain point, because she was grown in every sense, and had much of her mother’s independent spirit.

  Gabriella did not want rescued. She wanted to find peace, to live life and be able to make her way through it. She wanted—in her private moments, to hear her mother’s voice, and see the colors of life again, and hear the music from childhood, and to feel it in her soul.

  Through dinners or walks, sometimes just sitting and watching it rain, they learned much of each other. In time they laughed, shared some of the same humor, surprisingly. It was in these moments that Gabriella knew he too would be all right. David would be able to reconcile with Natasha’s death and move forward. So too, would she.

  She told him, one day, “You need to love again. That is when you will be free and healed. When you love in the right way, and can give and receive what you need from it.”

  He had grinned softly but merely replied, “Perhaps.”

  After she had been there a month, Gabriella received a brief missive. Her father brought it to her, and then stood a bit off, admiring the fresh blooming roses, to give her privacy.

  It was from Raith and read:

  I hope it was all right, I buried your mother at my estate, in Cornwall. Her stone is fashioned of marble, and decorated with flowers and birds. It has a simple inscription: Natasha Druitt, mother of Gabriella (Tara) Beloved of David. Here lies the Gypsy, who forever dances on the waves… and sings on the wind.

  Her tears splashed on the note. Gabriella wiped them away and then walked to the Duke, handing it to him. After he read it with a heartbreaking smile on his face, Coulborne pulled her to his side.

  Gabriella’s arms went round him.

  The scented wind wafted over them—a voice hummed familiar in her soul. Peace, Gabriella thought, it was the sweetest peace, in the sound of her mother’s voice.

  Later that evening, the Duke studied her at dinner.

  “You must go back?”

  Startled, having fallen into a muse on Raith, Gabriella looked up from her plate and nodded. “I must.”

  He went back to the meal, saying sometime during, “Caroline can help you with refurbishing your wardrobe. Now that you can ride, we’ll get you a town mount from tatters.”

  As he went on, Gabriella listened, her heart fluttering though because it was not really about clothing or horses—and they both knew it. She was not born to be part of the world even he found little personal happiness in. she was born to create her own. It was about answering the other questions she could not anywhere else.

  ~~

  “You abandoned me!” Caroline accused Harry, having rushed through her door.

  “Caroline.” Harry laughed and came to take her hands.

  But Caroline wailed, “You have no idea what has gone on in my life of late. You were my friend, Harry. And you have... You’ve... missed everything.”

  The lady was clearly upset. “There, there,” Harry drew her in a hug. “I am sorry. I’ve had a nasty bug…”

  “Pooh. You’re never unwell, Harry.” Caroline pulled back and whipped off her hat, tossing it on a stack of books.

  Taking off her cape, she further said, “You missed it. The night of the fire, and Gabriella—is who we were looking for. My half-sister. She was brought to our house, and now father is in the country with her.”

  Turning she went on, “She was in dreadful shape, but she is as beautiful as we imagined. And, I was happy to have met her, but there was all this goings on, that…”

  “Slow down, Caroline.” Harry pressed a glass of wine into her hands.

  Caroline did not “….Goings on…that no one was really speaking of. Not that I was permitted to ask anything. But then, I have had my own adventure, Harry. And, oh, it was—is—glorious. I cannot explain to you how it feels. Although, I have not had that feeling in weeks. Weeks, I tell you, because before he left, father summoned Jules and—“

  “Jules?”

  “Lord Stoneleigh.” Caroline waved her hand, not noticing the look on Harry’s face. “He summoned him, because there’s that whole bit with his brother, and the scandal, and the fire. I agreed with father that I should be seen about in society. I did not particularly mean what he meant.”

  Caroline took a long drink of the wine and paced. “I tell you, Harry. I cannot go on with this forever. Stoneleigh agreed with father that he should escort me. There is sense in that, I agree, given that his brother— but then, there is the Captain. Oh, I miss him. Stoneleigh takes this blasted escort business so seriously, I’ve not had a moment to slip away.”

  “The Captain?” Harry was pouring herself an even stronger, more generous drink.

  “My adventure. Anothe
r thing you have missed.” Caroline turned to her, her eyes earnest. “Although ‘tis not really. I mean it is real, more real than anything. And, God—Harry. I just know that father wants me to wed Stoneleigh—“

  “Wed!" Harry choked on her drink.

  “Everyone likely does. It makes perfect sense. Even to me, it makes sense. It doesn’t anymore though.”

  “Wait. Stop.” Harry gulped the drink and put the glass down. She went to Caroline and cupped her face. “Breathe, Caroline.”

  She did, in and out.

  “Now then.” Harry took her arm. “Come upstairs and we will talk. Slowly. I’m afraid I cannot make sense out of anything you’re saying.”

  “But the fire…”

  “Yes, yes. I know all of that. I have figured it out. I am glad, Gabriela? Is with you, with your father. Glad for the Duke of Eastland. Let’s skip that part, and tell me about the adventure and this Captain and…”

  “—Jules,” Caroline muttered at the top of the stairs when they parted. “He’s bloody well making it all so difficult, even if he is doing the proper thing.”

  Harry urged her to the bedchamber. She sat Caroline on the bed, and leaned against the window.

  Caroline fell back on it though, and put her hands over her eyes with a groan. “I miss him. Oh, I miss him Harry.” She began to cry.

  Sighing, Harry went to her, held and pat her and waited for the storm to pass.

  When it did, Caroline blew her nose and said, “Stoneleigh has all but asked for me. We’re seen everywhere together, and father…he wants the match.”

  Carefully, Harry intoned, “You knew he’d settle on someone, Caroline, and you and Stoneleigh are the ton’s dream match. Perfect.”

  “Yes. We are. But, what about my Captain?”

  Harry blinked. “Your Captain?”

  Caroline stared at her. “The adventure, Harry. The man I’ve given—“

  Harry groaned and quickly asked, “How long has this been going on?”

  “Why, since I first came here…the day I was trying to find your address and I bumped into…”