Mayhap.
He was a beautiful, flawed, hopelessly confounding man. But he was the man she loved, and she would stand by his side forever.
“Helena.” He said her name reverently, as if it were a prayer.
As if he had not, minutes before, suggested he feared she would make a cuckold of him. The hurt from his words lingered, simmering just beneath the surface. But she would tend to it later. She would prove to him she was nothing like his parents. For now, he needed her far more than she needed to lick her wounds.
What had Gabe endured, what had he witnessed, to make him into the man he had become?
“Yes, my love.” She ran her hands up and down his spine, caressing him, soothing him. “I am here. I will be here for you always, whenever you need me. This, I promise.”
His heart, which had been racing in a tangible thud against her, seemed to calm. So, too, his breathing. He inhaled slowly, sharply, then exhaled, making the tendrils of hair that inevitably worked themselves free of her coiffure dance and tickle her cheek.
He shifted in her arms, pressing his lips to her skin. “Thank you, hellion. I…want to tell you about Lisbeth. About my sister.”
It seemed too soon. He was still trembling in her arms, andohhow her heart ached at this seemingly omnipotent man, brought so low.
“Hush,” she whispered, still stroking his back. “You need not tell me anything. We shall have a seat on the settee, and I will ring for a tea tray or mayhap something stronger. Would you care for some Moselle? A whisky, perhaps?”
“You.”
She was not certain if his terse response meant that he wanted her alone or if he was asking her to decide what she ought to ring for. In the end, Helena decided to guide her husband to the settee so they could sit down.
Slowly, haltingly, they traveled across the thick Axminster.
“Here we are, Gabe.” She puffed out a breath, for though she was tall and though he had moved on his own, she had put a considerable effort into hauling him to the piece of furniture in question. “Have a seat.”
“You as well.”
Three words. Mayhap she could count it an improvement. A sign his attack was receding.
“Of course,” she said agreeably, attempting to infuse her voice with calm and cheer. “You first, my love.”
He lowered himself to the cushion, then gestured for her to do the same.
How he could appear imperious and demanding when he was not himself, she could not say. However, the Earl of Huntingdon was, indisputably, a law unto his own.
She seated herself at his side as he wished, so near their hips were aligned. She felt him keenly, even through her layers. He seared her everywhere their bodies connected. And she knew he always would. It was simply the way of it between them.
Her heart gave a pang anew at the difficult—nay, impossible—decision before her. Did she dare defy Lord Algernon and invite the possibility of scandal and lies into her life when Gabe had just told her himself that he would not tolerate scandal, that his honor and duty were paramount? Or did she betray her husband by going to Lord Algernon and paying him the funds he required for his silence?
It was a horrible choice, either way.
Given Gabe’s state of mind this evening, she did not even dare broach the subject with him. What she needed to do now was to be as supportive and calming an influence as possible.
His hand shook her from her reveries. Their fingers tangled and held, there in her lap. His touch was warm and reassuring, his grip strong. All signs he was reemerging from the tunnel into which he disappeared in these rare moments.
She turned to him, searching his countenance and noting some of the life had returned to his handsome face. He was no longer the color of ash. “How are you feeling, darling?”
He licked his lips. “I am calming. Forgive me, Helena.”
She would forgive him anything. “Of course. I cannot begin to imagine what might have happened to cause such a visceral response in you, but please know I am here at your side whenever you have need of me.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Thank you.”
She brought their entwined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to the top of his. “You need not thank me. As your wife, it is my duty to see to your well-being.”
“Duty,” he repeated.
