Quinn’s first impulse had been to call her parents and tell them what happened, but after nearly dialing the number, she replaced the phone on the sofa next to her. She couldn’t do that to them. They’d be devastated for her and suddenly unsure of their place in her world. Well, their place would never change. They were her mum and dad. They’d taken her in, loved her, cherished and protected her, and given her the encouragement and support she needed to be the person she was today. She’d rather die than hurt them. Perhaps they never needed to find out about Sylvia at all. Quinn had no intentions of ever seeing the woman again. What was the point? But she did need to talk to someone, and that someone was Gabe. It was just past ten, and she hoped that he’d be at home.
Gabe picked up on the third ring, his voice gruff. “Hello, Quinn,” he said. Normally, he would have asked about her day and told her about his. Quinn would hear a smile in his voice when he told her of something funny that had happened or recounted some silly joke, but now his voice had a granite edge to it, and he was doing nothing to make things easier for her. It was up to her to do the talking.
“Gabe, something’s happened,” Quinn said quietly, desperate for him to care. There was a momentary silence as Gabe waged an internal battle between his wounded pride and his long-repressed feelings. He hadn’t called her since the night she lashed out at him, and Quinn wondered if their relationship was over once and for all. Would he politely tell her that he no longer wanted her in his life?
“Gabe?” Quinn prompted when he didn’t immediately respond. “Will you not speak to me?” It must have been a close thing, but love won in the end and Gabe replied, unable to reject her.
“Of course, I’ll speak to you. What’s happened?” he asked, his voice softening. “Are you all right, Quinn?”
“No, not really.” Quinn hadn’t even realized how not-all-right she was until she heard Gabe’s voice. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a shuddering sob that turned into a full-blown breakdown.
“I . . . she . . . my mother,” Quinn said, gasping as she tried to calm down. She hadn’t meant to blub like this and had hoped to discuss the situation with Gabe calmly, but she couldn’t seem to stop sobbing, a wave of devastation sweeping her along and smashing her against the rocks until she felt as if she were mangled beyond repair.
“Quinn, is your mother ill? Talk to me,” Gabe pleaded with her.
“No. Not her.” Quinn took a deep breath and tried again. It took several tries, but she finally got the words out. “Gabe, my birth mother came to see me tonight.”
“What? You’re kidding. Tell me everything.” Thankfully, he’d forgotten all about his own hurt feelings for the moment. He knew what it meant to Quinn to find out about her past. “Wait. I’m coming over.”
“It’s late.”
“I don’t care. I need to see you.”
Quinn rang off and hugged herself. Knowing that Gabe would be there in less than an hour made her feel infinitely stronger and calmer. She’d been such a fool. She’d been so thoughtless, so dismissive of his feelings when he had been the one to love her all this time. He’d always been there for her, even when she was in a relationship with a man he considered unworthy, a man who left her for another woman and didn’t even have enough respect for her to break things off in person. Deep down she knew that Gabe would drop everything to come to her aid—he always had. He was the one man she trusted, the one man she loved. What had she been thinking when she rejected him so cruelly? She’d been mourning her relationship with Luke and coming to terms with the fact that the future she’d envisioned for herself was no longer hers when she should have been thanking her lucky stars that she’d been spared years of misery with a man who clearly didn’t love her.
Quinn sprang to her feet and flung open the door when she heard a car pull up. Gabe slammed the car door and walked toward her. He didn’t say anything, just took her in his arms as she melted into him, thankful that he hadn’t forsaken her.
“Gabe, I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“I know. No need to talk about that now. Come, tell me what happened.”
Gabe threw his jacket over a chair and pulled Quinn down on the sofa next to him after pouring them both a large whiskey. Quinn took a sip and savored it for a moment before recounting the events of the evening without dissolving into tears again. The whiskey helped, and Gabe’s presence made her feel as if she could handle this situation with some semblance of grace. She didn’t have to deal with this alone. Gabe was there.
“I’ve spent all these years dreaming about meeting my mother, and now that I have, I feel empty and cheated somehow,” Quinn said. “I know it sounds perverse, but I feel almost angry.”
Gabe silently refilled Quinn’s glass and studied her face. He wasn’t the type of man who spoke without thinking, and although Quinn knew that he would try to comfort her, he’d also not bother with meaningless platitudes. He’d tell her what he really thought.
“Your feelings are natural,” he said at last. “You have every right to be angry.”
“How do you figure?”
“Quinn, like many children who’ve never known their parents, you’ve created a fantasy—a mother who was practically sainted. You imagined her as beautiful, loving, kind, and honorable. Tonight, you’ve been confronted by a real woman, a woman who made mistakes, lied, and exercised bad judgment. You also question her story.”
“She was raped,” Quinn protested hotly, shocked by her desire to defend Sylvia. She hadn’t questioned what Sylvia told her, but now that Gabe brought it up, she paused to consider. She was a historian, and historians never took anything at face value. History was just someone’s version of events until supported by facts, and all she had was Sylvia’s version.
“Was she? Can you be sure that she didn’t get drunk, have a bit of fun with three randy lads and then run off in shame when she found out she was up the duff? She didn’t tell her father and never reported the incident to the police.”
“Many women don’t report rape,” Quinn bristled, shocked by Gabe’s lack of sensitivity. “The investigation can be more traumatic than the actual experience.”
“True, but there are women who cry rape after consensually engaging in intercourse. This woman wants to gain your sympathy and forgiveness. Perhaps things happened just as she said, or perhaps she wants you to see her as a victim rather than someone who exercised bad judgment and paid for it.”
“Gabe, I’ve never known you to be cruel,” Quinn said, moving a few inches away from him and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She knew she had no reason to feel defensive, but Gabe was bringing up theories she didn’t care to explore.
“I’m not being cruel, I’m being objective,” Gabe replied, unfazed by Quinn’s anger. “I’m simply exploring all the aspects of this story. What do you really know of this woman other than what she told you?” Gabe demanded. “Are you even sure that she is who she says she is? Perhaps she thinks she has something to gain by approaching you.”
“She knew certain details,” Quinn replied, wondering if anyone might have had access to that information. She supposed that anyone who was involved in her adoption would know about the circumstances in which she was found, not to mention anyone who watched the news or read the newspapers. The discovery of an infant in Lincoln Cathedral was well publicized.
“Details can be unearthed and manipulated if someone makes it their business to do so,” Gabe replied, rational as ever.
“But not DNA,” Quinn replied triumphantly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a few strands of dark hair.
“Good girl,” Gabe said with a grin. “Plucked it off her coat, did you?”
“It was easy enough. Most women have a stray hair or two clinging to the fabric of their scarves or coats.”
“And what about Morgan?” Gabe asked carefully. “Will you confront him?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn replied truthfully
. “What should I do?”
Gabe folded his arms and tilted his head, something he often did when he was thinking and didn’t wish to be disturbed. Quinn let him have a moment. She had no idea how to approach the situation with Rhys Morgan. She had a contract with the BBC and was legally obligated to see it through to the end. Accusing Rhys of rape, especially when all she had to go on was the word of a woman she’d just met, would make working with him untenable.
Gabe finally turned to face her, decision made. “Say nothing to Morgan. Even if what Sylvia Wyatt told you is absolutely true, it’s not your place to level such an accusation at him. She’d made her decision, and you must abide by it. Besides, the statute of limitations on rape must have expired by now.”
“But how do I continue to work with him, knowing what he’d done and who he might be?” Quinn protested.
“First things first. You must find out if he’s your father. Is there any way you can do that?” Gabe asked, practical as ever.
“He keeps a toiletry bag in his desk at work. I’m sure I can find something I can work with.”
“Will you be able to keep your feelings to yourself until you know the truth?”
“I’ll have to, won’t I? I’ve waited this long to find out who my parents were. I can wait a bit longer. It will be hard to be in the same room with Rhys, knowing what I know, but I’ll keep a lid on my emotions for the sake of the truth.”
“Put on the old poker face?” Gabe joked. “I’ve never known you to be able to hide your feelings. Everything you think is always right there in your eyes.”
“So, what am I thinking now?” Quinn asked softly, a telltale blush staining her cheeks.
“You’re thinking what a fool you’ve been and how you can’t possibly live without me,” he replied with a smile.
“You know me better than I know myself, Gabriel Russell.”
“Yes, I do,” Gabe said. He was joking, but Quinn could sense the longing behind the humor. He wanted her still, despite the fact that she’d rejected him so brutally.
Quinn leaned forward and wrapped her arms about Gabe, drawing him toward her. She brushed her lips against his and pulled him closer as she deepened the kiss. This kiss was a long time coming for both of them, but Gabe’s response wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as she might have expected. He took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. Quinn felt a wave of humiliation wash over her and lowered her eyes, wishing that she’d not been so forward. Gabe wasn’t ready to forgive her, and perhaps he’d changed his mind. God knew, she’d given him enough reason to despise her. Gabe instantly picked up on her emotional turmoil and smiled ruefully, taking her face in his hands and forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Quinn, I want you more than words can say, but not like this. You are feeling raw and unsettled, and you want to make the hurt go away. What you need right now is support and understanding, and I would be the worst kind of prick if I took advantage of that.”
Quinn nodded, still embarrassed but somewhat mollified by Gabe’s observation. “You are right: I feel completely adrift.”
“Well, what do you say to me anchoring you tonight? I’ll stay, if you want me to, but as a friend.” Gabe took her hand in his and smiled. “What say you?”
Quinn smiled back tearfully. “I say thank you.”
Gabe drew her to him and they sat in companionable silence until Quinn fell asleep, her head against Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe carefully lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he laid her on the bed, removed her shoes, and tucked her in beneath the covers. He climbed in next to her but knew that sleep wouldn’t come for hours. He desired the woman next to him so much it hurt. Some small part of him wished that he’d taken her up on her offer, but he couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. If and when he made love to her, it would be with her full consent and because she wanted him as much as he wanted her, not because she was looking for a bit of comfort. Gabe sighed and stared at the embroidered canopy, wishing it was morning.
Chapter 47
June 1665
Suffolk, England
Elise woke up with a start, clutching the counterpane to her bosom. A loud crash came from downstairs, as if a heavy wooden chair had been overturned. She sprang from bed, desperate to lock the door, but before she could reach it, it flew open, revealing her irate husband. Edward was panting with fury as he took in her disheveled state and frightened face.
“How dare you defy me?” he roared. “I ordered you to stay in London. We do not flee while our monarch sees fit to remain in the city.” Edward looked exhausted, with shadows of fatigue staining the delicate skin beneath his eyes and a sickly pallor in place of his normally ruddy complexion. He hadn’t shaved in days and wore his natural hair instead of the wig he favored, the hair carelessly tied back and nearly free of its leather thong.
Elise opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She was terrified. She’d never seen Edward so angry. He was usually cold and indifferent, not spitting mad as he was now. The journey from London did nothing to cool his anger, giving him time to stew instead. He’d clearly traveled through the night and had had ample time to nurse his fury.
“I convinced her ladyship to come away.” James appeared in the doorway. He’d obviously just gotten out of bed, and Elise said a silent prayer of thanks that it hadn’t been her bed. Edward would have disemboweled them both.
“And what gave you the right to take my wife to the country without my permission, sir?” Edward roared, redirecting his fury to James.
“Common sense, your lordship,” James answered, not bothering to hide his contempt. “People are dying by the thousands. Your wife is carrying the heir you so desperately wanted. Why would you put her life at risk? What does the king care where Lady Asher is? It’s not as if he’s even aware of her existence.”
Edward flew at James and punched him in the face, his heavy ring striking James just below the eye and leaving a nasty cut. James winced with pain but didn’t say anything to his father or retaliate. He stood his ground, feet apart, arms at his sides, hands balled into fists. He would not allow another blow to go unanswered, that was obvious, but he hoped that Edward would come to his senses and not strike him again. A thin trickle of blood ran down James’s face, its slow progress resembling a bloody tear. James didn’t bother to wipe it away, retaining his defiant position in case Edward should assault him again.
“Get out, you bastard,” Edward growled. “You are no longer welcome in this house. And if I see you anywhere near my wife, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
James gave a curt nod and left but not before giving Elise a reassuring look. For all his bluster, Edward would be a fool to send Elise back to London. He was furious, but he was also sufficiently chastised. He knew that James was right, although he’d never actually admit it.
“I’m sorry, Edward,” Elise said in a conciliatory manner. “James meant well. Surely you know that.”
“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” Edward spat out. “Get dressed,” he commanded.
Edward strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Elise wondered if he planned to stay, but asking him when he was in such a state could be hazardous to her health. So, she dressed and sat patiently while Peg styled her hair. She had to do everything in her power to pacify Edward and get him not to banish James for good.
She came downstairs to find Edward eating alone in the dining room. He normally ate very little for breakfast, but the table was laden with everything Cook could find on such a short notice. Edward was devouring the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days. He was pale and drawn, and cold sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Are you quite well?” Elise asked carefully. “Shall I summon the physician?”
“I’m tired and hungry. I traveled all night.”
“Then I’m sure you’d like to rest after you’ve eaten. Shall I call for a bath?”
Edward made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll sleep awhile, t
hen have a bath after. Now, leave me in peace.”
Elise was only too happy to be dismissed. She made her way outside and hurried to the stables in the hope of intercepting James before he left. James was saddling his horse, and Elise breathed a sigh of relief, noting his slow movements. He’d been waiting for her.
“Are you all right?” James asked when he saw her silhouetted in the doorway.
“Yes. He’s angry as a bear, but he probably just needs time to cool off. Where will you go?”
“I’ll stay at the gamekeeper’s cottage for a few days. I can’t imagine that my father will remain in Suffolk long enough to notice. I’m not leaving you, love.” James reached out and cupped Elise’s cheek. “I will be wherever you are, for all time.”
“James, are you sure it’s safe for you to remain here? I’ve never seen him so angry,” Elise said as she walked into James’s embrace. “I fear for you.”
“What’s the worst he can do, eh?” James shrugged, dismissing Edward from his thoughts. “Try to go for a walk by the beach each morning after breakfast. I will be looking out for you.”
“All right. But stay out of sight until he leaves.”
James lifted Elise’s chin with his finger and planted a tender kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry about me. I have a horse, my weapons, and a purse full of coin. I’m better off than most.”
Elise waited until James galloped away before returning to the house. Edward’s snores could be heard throughout the house, so Elise went to the kitchen instead. A strange man sat at the kitchen table, a mug of ale and a bowl of pottage in front of him.
“Good morrow, me lady,” the man said, springing to his feet when Elise entered. He bowed to her and remained standing, waiting for permission to sit back down.
“Pray, continue with your meal, and then come see me in the parlor. I have a few questions to put to you,” Elise said.
“As ye wish, me lady.”
Elise didn’t have long to wait. The man came shyly into the parlor, hat in hand. He was a simple peasant and not accustomed to being invited into the house proper.
The Lovers (Echoes From The Past) Page 28