He didn’t want her to witness what he needed to do.
She pulled back, gazed up at him and then, seeming to understand what he needed, nodded.
“Good girl.” He set her away from him toward the trail to the manor. Only after she disappeared did he turn back to Lockley.
“I never would have poached, my good man, if I’d known you’d be so unwilling to share.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” But then he remembered that Lockley had appeared when Gabriel had been alone atop the abbey with her.
“It’s obvious to me. She’s your whore.” He shrugged. “I recognize these things, you know. Takes one to know one?” And then he laughed.
The words landed like no physical blow ever could.
And as vile and disgusting as Gabriel thought the man to be, Gabriel was worse.
“She’d be a pretty little thing, too. If not for that crazy eye of hers.”
The stinging in his fist and the sound of cracking bone registered before Gabriel realized he’d landed a punch to Lockley’s left cheek. The man staggered backward until running into the trunk of a tree.
“What’d you do that for, Kingsley? Don’t you have a fiancée to defend? I’ve left her well enough alone!”
Gabriel stepped forward, placed his fingers around the baron’s neck, and pinned him against the tree. “You will pack your bags and leave. You will never speak to Miss Redfield or my sister again. I’d hazard to guess I have more friends in high places than you. So much as look at either of those ladies again and you’ll be on the first packet out of England looking to find a new homeland. Is that understood?”
The baron desperately tried peeling back Gabriel’s fingers but to no avail.
“Is that understood?” Gabriel squeezed tighter.
At last, the man blinked and attempted to nod. Without Gabriel’s hands supporting him, he slid slowly to the ground.
“Be gone before morning.”
Gabriel spun on his heel and left the man gasping for air. Not before, however, the blighter uttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like the word fiancée…
Lockley was lucky Gabriel didn’t return to kill him, by God.
* * *
“Areyou going to inform your sister of the true reason for Lockley’s departure?” Crawford asked later that night, reclining on the long sofa in Gabriel’s study.
Gabriel shook his head. “Best she believes he’s lost interest. I don’t wish to put Olivia— Miss Redfield’s—reputation in jeopardy.” He’d spilled the night’s events to Crawford knowing he could trust him.
Not with everything, though.
Not everything, by far.
But when Gabriel returned to his study, nearly shaking in his anger, to find his old school chum freely imbibing his finest scotch, he’d spilled every detail of Lockley’s unpardonable behavior. And the consequences he’d delivered.
Gabriel had wanted to go to Olivia but instead sent one of the maids to ascertain that she was resting comfortably.
It would not do for him to arrive at her chamber this time of night. He’d already done enough.
It’s obvious to me. She’s your whore.
Gabriel winced as the words replayed in his mind. He’d thought he’d been so careful. But the truth of Lockley’s insult shook him.
His treatment of her had been deplorable! He lifted a glass to his lips and stifled a surprising sob that threatened to embarrass him.
Olivia had said she’d fought Lockley. How on earth? The baron outweighed her by half. She’d had blood dripping from her lips.
