Gabriel’s gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, he saw not the present but the echo of a time when he, too, had believed he might shape his own fate. That same fire stirred now. An ache for lost freedom, and the courage she helped him remember.
His hand tightened around hers. “You are fighting. And you are not alone.”
Eden’s fingers tightened slightly around Gabriel’s, her mind suddenly flooded with the image of her mother’s disapproving gaze or the whisper of scandal that could so easily unravel everything. What if this moment, so full of promise, was the beginning of a much greater cost? She glanced toward the edge of the garden, where the lights of the ballroom flickered through the hedges like distant stars—close enough to reach, but cold and watching.
Eden vowed she would not let the world steal this feeling from her. Not again. She felt the lingering press of Gabriel’s lips like the warmth left by a vanished fire. Quiet, persistent, and impossible to forget, and as laughter swelled from the ballroom beyond, a whispered thought rose in her mind, fierce and unyielding.
She would fight for this.
For him.
For them.
Seven
Gabriel approached Thornton Hall in the sharp, merciless light of late afternoon, the house rising out of the haze like a relic out of time. He steered his bay at a steady pace, giving his thoughts room to press in from all sides. Each one echoed bitterly, reminders of last night’s folly. The memory of Eden’s mouth, soft, fiercely alive beneath his, had not left him for an instant. The ghost of her hands still burned in his hair, the reckless way she had yielded with all her guarded, clever will crumbling, only for a heartbeat, in his arms.
He had not slept. There was a relief in that, for he did not deserve rest. The taste of her lingered not only in memory but in the sinew and marrow of him. All the years of discipline and denial—gone with a single moment’s indulgence. Gabriel told himself it was only desire. It had to be. Any other explanation was too ruinous, too final.
He had a duty to Thomas. To every hour spent at Harrowsgate, to every promise made and not yet broken. The fact that his lips had found Eden’s, that he had drawn her so near—willingly, shamelessly—filled him with disgust and want in equal, poisonous measure. What kind of man dishonored a friend this way? What kind of man could not even regret it fully?
He would see Thomas. Speak with him, if he could manage it. Then leave. He would stay clear of Eden. It was what honor demanded, what sense required. If he did not, he would lose himself, and likely her as well.
The house was alive with activity. Two footmen hurried to take his reins as he dismounted, then a girl in a white cap bobbed past with a stack of linens. The air inside the vestibule was cool and shadowed, and for one glorious instant, he thought to flee. Alas, he was no coward.
He composed himself and approached the house.
Thomas greeted him in the study, already pouring two generous measures of brandy. “Good to see you, Blackstone.” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You remember the way.”
Gabriel returned the smile, but the effort of it sent a line of pain through his brow. “I would be remiss in denying your invitation,” he said, accepting the glass. The study was little changed since their boyhood. The same green damask on the walls, the hunting prints, the battered chess set in the window’s light.
“I will never grow used to seeing you dressed as the proper marquess,” Thomas said, gesturing at Gabriel’s dark, precisely tailored jacket. “You always looked more yourself with a loosened cravat and rolled shirtsleeves.” He flung himself into an armchair, the picture of ease.
Gabriel sat opposite, trying to arrange his body in a way that did not betray his inner agony. “Try as I might, I could not avoid my duty forever,” he said. The glass warmed quickly in his hand.
They exchanged small talk. Estate repairs, the upcoming hunt, and the state of the village’s poor. Gabriel could not focus. Every word Thomas spoke was a kind of accusation, each syllable grazing the edges of Gabriel’s restraint. He opened his mouth once, almost confessing, almost saying, ‘I kissed Eden, and I cannot take it back.’ But the words shriveled before they formed, replaced instead by silence and the sting of cowardice.
The night replayed in his mind, relentless. Eden in the maze, her voice, her refusal to be dismissed, the way she had reached for him and held nothing back. His fingers tightened on the glass. He forced himself to listen, to answer. This, at least, he could do for Thomas.
At last, Thomas set his glass down and regarded him with sudden seriousness. “I ought to ask, Gabriel, about your plans. Now that you are back.” His tone softened. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You can visit here as often as you wish. Even stay for the house party. Mother insists. And frankly, the place is dull as hell without you.”
The offer shamed Gabriel in ways he could not express. “That is kind,” he managed. “I am only a short ride away at Blackstone.”
Thomas shrugged. “Still. You are wanted here, you know.” He fixed Gabriel with a more searching look, one that sent a ripple of foreboding through him. “We were worried after your father passed. You disappeared entirely. No letters, no word. Now, a year later, you are suddenly back, and you act as though nothing has changed.”
Gabriel stared at the liquid in his glass. “Some wounds take time to close,” he said, voice raw. “Some never do.”
Thomas looked at him in silence for a moment, then nodded. “If you need anything. It goes without saying.”
Gabriel nodded, unable to answer. He wanted desperately to confess, to say, Thomas, I am the worst kind of coward. Last night, I kissed your sister, knowing what I do, knowing what it would mean. I want her in ways I should not. Instead, he drank, and the silence swelled between them.
After a time, Thomas set his brandy aside. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the billiard room. “It is early yet, but unless you are afraid of being thrashed?”
Gabriel could not help a faint smile at that. “I am out of practice, but I shall try not to disgrace myself.”
They played two quick games, the second less a contest than a way for Thomas to lose gracefully. Gabriel let the familiar rhythm of chalk and cue, the low click of ivory balls, carry him away from his thoughts. For a few minutes, it almost worked.
When Thomas excused himself to handle a sudden household matter, Gabriel wandered the study in a daze, tracing the spines of old books, peering at the curling photos on the desk. Every shelf and windowsill recalled a part of his youth. Every memory returned him, inevitably, to Eden. Her laughter in the corridor, the way she used to chase him and Thomas through the orchard, her wild, stubborn loyalty. He should never have let himself touch her. The guilt was exquisite. The desire, even worse.
