A tear slipped slowly down her cheek. With a little start she jerked her wrist from his hand and scrubbed it away as if it were evidence of something she wished to conceal. Her hand fell to her side slowly, her shoulders drawing up with tension.
Whatever moment of weakness he might have provoked in her passed, all traces of it erased as if it had never existed at all. “Good evening, my lord,” she said, and turned resolutely away, proceeding up the stairs.
Disappointment struck deep, alongside the uncomfortable sensation that time was swiftly slipping away from him, from both of them. He wanted to reach out and grab her, to beg her not to go. Plead for just five blasted minutes of her time. Instead he watched her ascend the staircase and disappear once again, leaving him in the darkness with only his regrets for company.
∞∞∞
The next morning, Gabriel sent Matthew down from the nursery, calling short his lessons in the hopes of coaxing Claire from her silent fugue-like state and giving her something pleasant to focus her attention on that did not involve polishing silverware until it was blinding in the light.
It had worked wonderfully. From his vantage point in the kitchen, peering out the window, he could see her chasing their son across the lawn—though she was hindered by her heavy grey skirts, the winter wind had burnished her cheeks with a charming flush, and her smile did not look in the least affected. For just a moment, a bittersweet ache burned in his chest. Had things been different—hadhebeen different—this might have been his life. Perhaps he would have been out there with the two of them, enjoying the cold winter air, laughing as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
He could have had his sonandhis wife—and perhaps another child or two. Certainly the nursery was large enough to accommodate them. They could have given their children the sort of secure, comfortable childhoods that neither of them had had. Most assuredly he would not be where he was now, hiding behind the mullioned kitchen windows, spying upon them.
He cleared his throat, and the little kitchen maid who was scrubbing at the dishes that had been left after breakfast jumped at the sound. “Send some tea out to them, please, Sukey,” he said. “It’s cold this morning.”
“Yes, sir.” She scrambled at once into action, setting the kettle on to heat and retrieving a tin of tea leaves.
China cups rattled on a tray behind him, but Gabriel paid little attention to Sukey’s progress. He watched Matthew race for the shelter of a tree, scurrying up it with the agility of a monkey now that he’d had a little practice at it. From the base of the tree, Claire braced her fists on her hips, peering up into its branches where Matthew had climbed. Even in profile, even from such a distance, Gabriel could see the wry amusement tugging at the corner of her lips.
And then, to his surprise, she stretched onto her toes and jumped for the nearest branch. The ghost of her laughter squeezed through the windowpanes as she seized it, and she began the careful process of pulling herself up, bracing her feet on the trunk of the tree for stability as she did so.
For a heartbeat everything went smoothly. In the next, the ominous crack of wood split the air. And then she was falling. It wasn’t so terribly far. He knew it wasn’t. But it felt as though she fell forever, and it didn’t even matter because he was out the door and racing across the terrace even before she had hit the ground.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Don’t move.”
Through an agony born of dispossessed breath and scattered wits, Claire heard the words. The pressure in her chest was unbearable, a burning, seething ache. Stars sailed behind her closed eyes, a kaleidoscope of careening pinwheels.
She wanted to say that she would be fine, but it was difficult enough to force her lungs to draw in air. At last she managed a huge, gasping breath, and winced at the renewed burst of pain. She wanted to draw her legs up and curl into a tiny, invisible ball until the ache subsided, but a heavy hand fell upon her knee when she tried.
“Claire,don’t move.” Gabriel’s voice, a thread of panic reverberating in it. “I don’t know how badly you’re injured.”
“Mama?” Matthew’s plaintive inquiry trembled through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of him scrambling down from his perch. “Mama, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Perhaps her reply would have been more convincing if it hadn’t sounded so much like a wheeze. “Really. I’m fine. I just had the breath knocked out of me.”
She tried to shove herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the twinge in her right shoulder, but Gabriel’s hand splayed over her collar held her down.
“Claire. You arenotto move.” His voice was an odd mix of authoritative and apprehensive, and with brisk efficiency and an almost offensive familiarity, he swept his hands down her limbs, searching for spots that might pain her.
“That isn’t necessary,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’mfine.”
He ignored her, his brows drawn, his face a few shades paler than she’d ever seen it. For some bizarre reason, that pallor deflated her irritation. “How did you get here so quickly?” she asked. His fingers found the tender spot at her shoulder, and she winced.
“I was watching at the window. I saw you fall.” His hand slid over her nape, insulating her skin from the icy prickle of the deadened grass beneath her. “Is it difficult to breathe?”
“No, but it does hurt a bit—will youstopthat?” She swatted at his other hand, which sought to trace the lines of her ribs through her stays; an exercise in futility if ever there had been one. “For God’s sake. Only my pride is bruised.” And perhaps her shoulder; itdidache.
“We’ll let the doctor decide that.” His hands were sliding beneath her now, one arm bracing her back as the other searched beneath her skirt to find her knees. Satisfied that he would not compound an injury by moving her, he lifted her off the ground and into his arms.
Claire flailed, ignoring the protest her shoulder gave. “My lord!” And when that failed to produce a response, she ground out, “I don’t require a doctor.”
Gabriel huffed, already striding toward the house. “Nevertheless.”
Nevertheless?Nevertheless?She was going to grind her teeth down to nubs.
Matthew trotted along at Gabriel’s side, his face drawn in concern. “Papa, what can I do?” he asked.
