“No need. The moment she accepted my father’s bribe, she ceased to exist to me.” She could come crawling on bended knee, and he would not offer his hand. “Loyalty is the foundation for anything lasting.”
He had watched his parents’ marriage crumble like cracked plaster at the first whisper of adultery. He’d seen the craving for love wielded like a weapon of destruction. He refused to suffer the same fate. Better no love at all than a bond built on betrayal.
“I’ll call when I have news,” Gentry said, gripping his case. “Miss Woolf should begin to improve, but send for me at once if she develops a rash or a fever.”
Gabriel nodded. “Thank your wife for the tisane. I won’t ask you to lie, so tell her the truth.”
“I would if I knew what the devil is going on here.” Gentry gave an amused hum as he let himself out, leaving Gabriel alone with his thoughts and the woman who refused to leave them.
If only his friend knew he had spent two days staring at a battered valise, fighting the urge to pry it open and unearth its secrets. Or that he had ridden to town that morning to press the Archbishop into granting a special licence.
He moved to the end of the bed and watched Miss Woolf draw slow, even breaths. Something about the sound soothedhim. Still, he whispered, “What is it you’re not telling me, woman?”
What did the blackguard want from her?
And where the blazes was he now?
The questions plagued him until a discreet knock broke the silence. Mrs Boswell entered, carrying a pitcher of water and a stack of clean towels.
“Still no improvement?” she said softly, setting the pitcher down and draping the linen over the rail. “Mr Gentry seems to think it’s exhaustion. Perhaps the herbs his wife sent will serve as a restorative.”
“Perhaps.”
What would he do if she never recovered?
He had not allowed himself to think that far ahead.
“I can sit with her for a while.” Mrs Boswell wet a cloth in the porcelain bowl and came to the bed, dabbing Miss Woolf’s forehead with the linen. “Have you tried moistening her lips with brandy? A little nip can do wonders for the constitution.”
“I daren’t risk hindering her recovery. And there’s no need to stay. I’m sure you have enough to contend with. I have nowhere else to be.”
Mrs Boswell schooled her expression, as she had the night she’d led him back to bed when he was ten and had stumbled upon his parents’ orgy. “There’s a pile of unopened letters on your desk, along with the surveyor’s report from Eaton Chase. And Mr Davies sent the accounts for you to review when you’re ready, my lord.”
“They can wait.”
Neither spoke for several seconds. The silence stretched taut as a held breath.
He knew why.
“Have you news to impart, Mrs Boswell?”
His housekeeper smoothed the sheets and cast a furtive glance at the woman in the bed, as if Miss Woolf had the power to bring empires to their knees. “The chapel has been cleaned, as requested. Fresh flowers placed in the vases.”
Gabriel dipped his chin. “And you’ve informed the vicar I may need him at a moment’s notice?”
“Mr Collard knows that if he values your patronage, he will be on hand night or day.”
“Excellent. Though I sense your disapproval.” He lifted a staying hand before she spoke. “You fear this will end in disaster. That, despite all I have done to avoid past mistakes, I am blind to the dangers.”
“It’s not my place to pass comment, my lord.”
“Yet you know damn well I want to hear it.”
Her lips thinned. When she spoke, it was scarcely above a whisper. “Must you marry her now? Could it not wait until you know her better? A week or two might make all the difference.”
He gave a hollow laugh. What could be more absurd than marrying a stranger? “I gave my word. I offered her the protection of my name. The arrangements are merely a precaution. The lady is free to decide her fate when she?—”
A sound from the bed cut him short.
