And so, with great reluctance, Gabriel soon found himself riding toward Thornton Hall.
Thomas greeted him in the library, where the scent of aged leather and faint cigar smoke lingered in the air. Dust motes drifted lazily through the shafts of light spilling through the tall windows, and the room held the warmth of shared memories. Gabriel could recall summer days spent lounging here as boys, before life had drawn its harder lines.
“Come, Gabriel,” Thomas said jovially, pouring them both glasses of port. “We have scarcely had a moment alone since your return.”
Gabriel forced a smile. “Indeed.”
They settled into high-backed chairs near the fire. The sunlight slanting through the tall windows in soft, muted rays over the shelves of books. Gabriel sipped his port, gathering his courage.
Thomas, ever perceptive, arched a brow. “You have something on your mind, old friend. Spit it out.”
Gabriel cleared his throat, the words catching for a moment in his chest. He looked down at the glass in his hand, then up at Thomas, his jaw working. “It is about Eden.”
Thomas stiffened almost imperceptibly, his blue eyes sharpening. “Eden?”
Gabriel nodded slowly. “She has become an extraordinary young woman.” As he spoke, an image of Eden flashed through his mind—her laughter under a canopy of stars, the fearless glint in her eyes when she challenged him, the warmth of her hand in his. She was a woman who had claimed his heart without permission and without pretense.
Thomas’s expression softened slightly. “That she has.”
Gabriel set down his glass, leaning forward. “If a man were to court her—seriously, honorably—what would you require of him?”
Thomas stared at him for a long moment, silence stretching between them like a taut wire.
Finally, Thomas said carefully, “I would require that he love her truly, protect her fiercely, and uphold her honor above his own life.”
Gabriel’s chest tightened painfully. “And if that man had a past, that might be... complicated?”
Thomas’s mouth tightened. “If he loves her, and if she loves him in return, then perhaps the past matters less than the future they might build together.”
Hope flared briefly in Gabriel’s heart.
But Thomas’s next words doused it. “However,” he said slowly, “I would not look kindly on deception or secrecy. If such a man truly intended to claim her heart, he would do so openly and with honor.”
Gabriel bowed his head, guilt churning in his gut. “I understand.”
Thomas leaned forward, fixing Gabriel with a piercing gaze. “Is there something you wish to confess, Gabriel?”
Gabriel hesitated. The truth clawed at his throat, hot and unrelenting, but still he could not bring himself to speak it. He feared losing not only Thomas’s friendship, but the fragile hope that he and Eden shared if all was laid bare. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“No,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “Only that I hope Eden finds happiness.”
Thomas studied him a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “As do I.”
Gabriel rose, muttering something about estate matters as he pushed back his chair with a controlled urgency. His chair scraped softly against the rug, but to him it sounded deafening. The heat of the fire seemed to recede from his skin, leaving behind a chill of guilt as he crossed the threshold, each step weighted with the words he had not spoken. Every instinct urged him to confess. To tell Thomas everything. To risk it all—for Eden. Yet the weight of guilt, the fear of losing her before they had even begun, pinned the truth to the back of his throat. He left Thornton Hall with his heart a tangle of guilt and yearning, each step away from the library echoing like a blow he could neither deflect nor explain.
* * *
That evening, Eden crept out to the gardens, her heart fluttering with anticipation and unease. The memory of her friends’ warnings echoed in her thoughts, but so too did the warmth of Gabriel’s last kiss. The stars twinkled overhead, and the night air was thick with the scent of roses and summer grass.
She found Gabriel waiting by the old stone gate, his silhouette etched in moonlight. The sight of him—still and waiting—sent a wave of longing crashing over her. She crossed the garden in a rush, her slippers skimming the dew-kissed grass, breath tight with anticipation as her slippers skimmed the damp blades, the moonlight gleaming on the lawn. In that moment, all fear vanished, leaving only the desperate need to be held, to be his.
She flung herself into his arms. He caught her, holding her tightly, as though bracing against the weight of a storm only she could calm.
“You are trembling,” she whispered against his chest.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I spoke with Thomas today.”
She pulled back slightly, searching his face. “And?”
