* * *
It seemsweird to stay at the castle after the duke’s threats, but Gabe assures me we’ll hardly see his parents. That’s not the point, and he knows it. He’s using their stiff British formality against them – they won’t kick him out and risk a scandal so close to his engagement announcement, so he intends to party in their castle and make them sweat.
I can’t say I blame him. Turnabout’s fair play.
Cleo disappears somewhere in the vast labyrinth of rooms. She’s smarter than she seems – she must know that if I find her I won’t let her go this time. Gabriel marches us into a large, empty room with a polished wooden floor where several long mats are set out. He kits us out in white fencing jackets, breeches, and mesh helmets, and shows us how to stab each other with impossibly thin swords called foils.
What can I say? The boy knows what I like.
Fencing is a careful, structured fight that would be shit against the hack-and-slash berserker style I learned off re-enactors on YouTube. I struggle to get the hang of it, but I love watching Gabriel. With his white jacket and his dark hair spilling from beneath his helmet as he lunges forward to thrust, I see a little of the aristocrat his father bred him to be.
“Wit over brawn wins again.” Gabriel bows to Noah, whipping off his helmet and shaking out his hair. He grins wickedly as he reaches for a glass of Champagne held out to him by Harold, but his jaw hitches and I see this jovial Gabe is a mask.
He’s distressed.
He’s drinking.
My fallen angel’s wings have been clipped.
I think he hoped stabbing his friends with a sword might take his mind off what his father said. It’s working for Eli, whose light-footedness and ability to read an opponent make him a natural, and for Noah, who enjoys applying precision and control to the killing arts. But it’s not stabby enough for me, and Gabriel’s movements show that while he knows the dance his father has swept him into, the last thing he wants is to participate.
What heneedsto do is write a song, but the stubborn bastard won’t do it. I take the glass from his hands and sip as Eli and Noah dance across the floor, flinging medieval insults at each other as they lunge and parry.
“Take that, you crooked-nosed knave.”
“Hah, the point is mine, you treacherous, demon-sired spittoon.”
“Fine. Ready for a rematch, you ruff-sucking rapscallion?”
“I’m so proud.” Gabriel places his hand over his heart. “I taught them everything I know. What do you say after the boys have given each other a thrashing, we take the horses for a run? There’s a trail through the woodland that leads to an extraordinary view of the valley, and—”
“Gabe, this is fun and all, but we need to deal with your father’s threats.”
“What’s there to deal with?” Gabe won’t look at me. “I’m not marrying Cleo. My father can do his worst. Send me filthy nudes of yourself when I’m in the clink, won’t you? Wear your cheerleader uniform.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t. “If you think I’ll accept you rotting in prison, you don’t know me at all.”
“If I marry Cleo, it amounts to the same thing. There’s no third option, no last-minute reprieve.” Gabe swipes another glass and downs the liquid in one gulp. His shoulders tremble. “My father has the power to do what he says. This is his checkmate.”
“Not necessarily. We’re missing something – the reason this has suddenly become so urgent. I think we need to…” My thoughts trail off as I notice a shadow in the doorway. I pull Gabriel to his feet.If that’s Cleo, I’ll finish her off—
The figure steps into the room. It’s not Cleo. The duchess glides toward us with easy grace, but beneath her makeup, I see her skin is pale, drawn. “Gabriel, may I speak with you?”
Gabriel drowns another Champagne, tossing the glass over his shoulder. It smashes, spilling glittering shards across the floor. “You’ve never asked permission before,Mother.”
“I need to speak to you.” Her tone is wheedling. She wrings her hands as she glares at me. “Inprivate.”
“Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Mackenzie,” he says.
I expect her to protest. Instead, she grabs his arm and drags us into a darkened corner, out of earshot of Noah and Eli, and far away from the door. “You must accept your father’s match.”
Gabriel snorts.
“I’m serious.” Her voice rises as she jerks his arm. “Even though you play your games with us, I know you want what’s best for this family.”
“This family?” Gabriel scoffs. “The only people in this house who gave a shit about me were Dylan and Liam, and they’re dead. I have a new family now. I don’t need you, and I certainly don’t need a wife I despise and a cursed title.”
The duchess turns to me. “You’re an heiress. You understand the great responsibility that comes with such a birthright. You must convince him to marry the St. James girl, or we’re all ruined.”
