Olivia stood in the open door, light streaming in behind her, lighting her blond hair like a halo and wearing only a night rail and dressing gown.
He’d have thought himself incapable of noticing the outline of her hourglass shape but was to be shamed by his libido. And if he’d had any humor left inside his person at all, he’d have laughed at the muddied boots she’d thrown on with the ensemble.
But he just stood there, staring at her. Drained of anything substantial that might be considered worthwhile, without honor, weak. Men had died because of him.
What did that leave him?
A man flawed.
“I might as well have killed them. I didn’t stop…” His voice broke and at the same time, she rushed into the stable. She placed both hands on his cheeks and lowered his face to hers.
“Hush,” she whispered against his lips. He didn’t deserve her absolution but took it anyway. Her kiss tasted of honey and warmth and woman. Her hands stroked the sides of his neck and her warmth pressed against him as though she could absorb the permanent chill of this day.
“I was so scared… that you…” She dropped her hands and ran them over his chest, his arms and then to his wrists. “You’re injured! Come. The sooner we get you inside, the sooner I can get you warm and dry.” She drew him outside and toward the house. His body ached and the cold rain soaked through him again immediately. He welcomed all the discomfort and pain and had no strength to resist her. If she chose to lead him to the edge of a cliff, he’d allow her to push him into the abyss.
They stepped into her small house and when she closed the door behind her, silence echoed around them. But that he could shut out the events of the previous twenty-four hours so easily.
Only he could not. They would forever be his legacy.
And yet, violet eyes drank him in hungrily. Olivia.
Sweet Olivia.
Her right eye danced but the left remained focused upon him in relief. Both shone with unshed tears.
He had to tell her. “Smith was one of them.”
She blinked and then turned her head away, staring unfocused at something nonexistent on the steps. And then she turned back with questioning eyes. “How many?”
“Twelve, I think. We cannot be certain yet.” And then in harsh irony, “Plus the duke.” He had difficulty speaking around the emotion caught in his throat.
“But not you! Gabriel.” Her hands were on his face again, rubbing his cheeks and jaw, touching him much as a blind person would to see. “I thought you…” She gulped. “I had thought you would be one of them.”
“I should have been, Olivia. I should have warned them. I knew it would fail. I knew Crawford would override the engineers, and I didn’t tell them in time.”
She was leading him again, upstairs this time. And again, he didn’t protest. She drew him into a warmly decorated bedchamber and pushed him onto a soft chair. He sat as though in a trance, vaguely aware that she was removing his muddied boots. She disappeared a few times, bustling about, and then sat on a small ottoman before him. When she turned his hands over, she gasped.
“I’ve never seen so many blisters.” He welcomed the pain as she dabbed at and then scrubbed the crusted blood from his hands. “Oh, Gabriel. I’m so sorry,” she whispered when he could not prevent flinching.
“I need to go back up.” He tried to stand, but with one hand, she easily pushed him back into the chair.
“You need to rest first. You’ll do no one any good if you make yourself ill.”
But he was shaking his head. “Let them putrefy. It doesn’t matter, Olivia. I’m no good to anyone either way.”
* * *
Luke Smith was dead.In the blink of an eye, four motherless children had become orphans.
But Gabriel was here, and God save her soul, no small amount of relief swept through her at that knowledge.
He was bloodied and soaked through, and worst of all, riddled—no, more than that—drowning in guilt. But he’d not been buried beneath tons of rubble and dirt. He was here. He was alive.
I’m no good to anyone either way.
“Hush,” she scolded him, barely able to speak past the sadness in her throat. “You’re my friend, and I’ll not have anyone speak of my friend thusly.” She dabbed at his hands again. She’d seen what happened to a wound when it wasn’t cared for properly.
“I’ve never been your friend, Olivia. I’ve only wanted to bed you.” He spoke in a toneless voice, but she knew better. He’d cared. And right now, he needed her. The violent tremor that shook his body set her into motion again.
