Helena regarded him for a long moment. “You are a man accustomed to command,” she said. “It is plain enough in how you speak, how you act. But there are some battles, my lord, that cannot be fought with orders and armed men.”
He frowned slightly. “You believe this is something other than a mortal threat?”
“I believe it may be both,” she replied. “Flesh and spirit often walk hand in hand. This person plotting against you may havetheir own reasons for doing so, but the curse plays a part in it. Of that you can be certain. You may guard the house and the gardens, but it will not be enough. Not forever, at any rate.”
Gabriel exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ve encountered evil in this world, madame. But this is something that I find difficult to reconcile. I am a man of reason and rationality. And there are not rational things we speak of.”
“Yes,” she said, a faint smile curving her lips. “You are much like him in that.”
He blinked. “Like whom?”
“The first Earl of Blackburn,” Helena said softly. “A man of reason. A man who thought the world could be tamed with logic and strength of will. He was mistaken, as you are mistaken now. The curse is not a matter of belief, my lord. It is a matter of blood. And the blood has already chosen.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “You speak in riddles.”
Helena’s eyes gleamed faintly in the candlelight. “I speak the truth. The curse binds us all, but it is not without its key. You hold it, though you do not yet understand how. Until the bond between you and my granddaughter is sealed—truly sealed—neither of you is safe. Not from the one who hunts you, nor from the darker fate that waits in his shadow.”
He shook his head, half in disbelief, half in frustration. “You speak as though marriage were a charm against bullets.”
“Perhaps it is,” she said softly. “Or perhaps it is simply the only path left to you both. The curse demands balance. If love is left unspoken, it turns to grief. If it is denied, it turns to vengeance. That is its way.”
Her words struck him harder than he expected. He looked away, to the darkened window beyond her. “You would have me rush her into marriage for the sake of superstition?”
Helena’s voice gentled, though it carried unmistakable urgency. “I would have you act before the curse takes its due.The danger that stalks her is not idle. It grows stronger and more determined with each day that passes. You think time is your ally, but it is not. Delay serves only to feed the shadow that hunts you both. If you care for her, if you would see her safe, then claim her. Make her yours in the only way that matters.”
Gabriel’s hands curled at his sides. “You make it sound as though love were a weapon.”
“Perhaps it is,” Helena murmured, her gaze steady. “The only one powerful enough to strike back at what was set in motion so long ago.”
For a long time, neither spoke. The air between them seemed to hum with the weight of unspoken things—the echo of ancient grief, of choices that had bound the living to the dead.
At last, Gabriel inclined his head. “I will consider what you’ve said.”
“Do more than consider,” Helena replied, her tone quiet but implacable. “Act. Every hour that you hesitate, you give fate one more chance to destroy her.”
He looked at her then, and though he wanted to dismiss her words as mere fancy, he could not quite find the strength to do so. The conviction in her eyes was unshakable, the urgency in her tone unmistakable. He had seen that look before—in men who knew the cost of waiting too long to strike.
“Good night, madam,” he said finally, his voice low.
“Good night, my lord.”
As he turned away, the candlelight flickered across her face, revealing for an instant a weariness that went deeper than age, deeper than fear—a kind of grim hope that had survived too many losses. When the door closed behind him, Helena lowered herself into a chair and drew the shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“Please,” she whispered to the empty room, “let this be the time the curse is broken. Let her be the one to finally know happiness.”
Chapter
Nineteen
The morning had dawned gray and cool, the mist clinging stubbornly to the parkland beyond Ravenswood’s great windows. Eliza had always liked mornings such as this—quiet, contemplative—but today the stillness felt heavy, almost oppressive, as though the air itself held its breath.
Eliza was not sleeping. She’d been awake for hours, lost in thought as she stared out at what should have been a peaceful setting. Now, replaying the events of the evening before, even that bucolic scene appeared threatening. When Helena sent for her, the summons was not expected, yet no less unwelcome for all that. It was a welcome distraction from the terrifying memory of feeling hunted.
Not bothering to wait for the maid, Eliza dressed quickly and brushed her long hair until it was free from snarls. Rather than pinning it up, she allowed it to hang freely over her shoulders, tied back from her face with a simple ribbon. Her toilette complete, she sought out her grandmother in the morning room as directed.
When Eliza entered, Helena was seated by the window, her embroidery set aside, her sharp eyes fixed upon the pale, drifting fog outside. “Come, child,” she said. “Sit with me.”
Eliza obeyed, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. There was an air of ceremony about Helena this morning, one that made Eliza wary.
