Her breath caught at the simplicity of it. There was no artifice in his manner, no empty flattery. Only conviction, quiet and sincere. She had been prepared for argument, for persuasion, coercion even—but not for this kind of honesty. For his willingness to admit something that would make him as vulnerable to her as she was to him.
“You speak of love as though it were a matter of logic,” she said softly.
“Perhaps it is,” he replied. “Or perhaps it is something deeper that I cannot name. But I know this much: I cannot imagine another man at your side without feeling the ground shift beneath my feet. That must mean something.”
Eliza’s pulse fluttered. His voice was low, almost rough at the edges, and though he stood with every outward appearance of calm, she could see the faint tension in his jaw, the way his hand flexed at his side. He was not as composed as he wished her to believe.
“I do not know what to say,” she admitted.
“Say only what you feel,” he answered.
She hesitated for several moments, caught between reason and that strange pull that had bound them from the first moment they met. She thought of Helena’s warning, of her own fear, and of the glimmer of hope that his words had sparked within her despite them both.
At last, she nodded once. “Very well. I accept.”
He released a quiet breath, and though his expression hardly changed, she saw the faintest easing of the lines around his eyes. From his coat pocket, he drew a small velvet case and opened it to reveal a delicate ring of gold set with pearls and tiny diamonds arranged like a cluster of blossoms.
“It was my mother’s,” he said softly. “I would be honored if you would wear it.”
Her hand trembled as he took it in his, the warmth of his touch startling after the coolness of the morning air. The ring slid easily onto her finger, fitting as though it had always belonged there.
“It is beautiful,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes met hers. “It suits you.”
The words, simple as they were, carried a weight that made her chest tighten.
“When shall we—?” she began, unable to finish.
“As soon as may be arranged,” he said. “We will go to Lincoln tomorrow, and be married by Common License.”
Eliza nodded, still unable to find her voice. When he bowed and turned to leave, she did not stop him. She stood in silence long after the door closed, staring down at the ring that gleamed faintly in the firelight.
Fidelis et Fortis.Loyal and Strong.
She traced the words with her thumb and wondered which of them would have to prove truer before all of this was done.
Chapter
Twenty
Dawn broke pale and silvery over the park as the carriage rolled through the gates of Ravenswood Hall. The air was sharp with the promise of rain, the scent of damp earth rising as the horses struck the road that would take them to Lincoln. Within the coach, Gabriel sat opposite Eliza, the space between them narrow but dense with unspoken words.
They had spoken little that morning. There was comfort in the silence, though it was not an easy one. The faint creak of the wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves filled the stillness as the countryside unfurled beyond the misty panes. Two grooms rode ahead, another pair behind, their pistols holstered at the ready. After what had transpired in the woods, he would take no further chances.
Eliza’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the fogged glass. She wore her familiar dark cloak, the hood pushed back, her hair drawn neatly beneath a simple bonnet. Yet stray tendrils had already escaped, curling along her cheeks in soft defiance. The sight stirred something deep within him—protectiveness, certainly, but also an ache that had nothing to do with duty.
He should have been content to sit in silence. Instead, he found himself studying her reflection in the window, the delicate slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her chin. And her lips. But that was dangerous territory. It reminded him only too clearly of what it had felt like to take those lips with his own, to taste her sweetness and feel her breath as it rushed out on a pleasured sigh.
The coach jolted suddenly, the whole of it shuddering as the wheels dipped into a rut. The motion threw Eliza forward with a startled cry. Gabriel caught her instinctively, one arm curving around her waist as the other braced against the seat to steady them both.
For a breathless instant, she was against him—soft, trembling, her palms pressed to his chest. The faint scent of lavender and crushed rosemary surrounded her, and his hand, resting at the small of her back, felt the heat of her body through the fabric of her gown. She looked up, eyes wide, lips parted.
It was the same look she had given him the night they’d had their encounter in the corridor.When he’d kissed her. When she’d allowed him to kiss her. And when she had kissed him in return.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice low, roughened by restraint.
“Gabriel,” she whispered, though the formality between them felt strange now, absurdly fragile.
