“I suppose he gets points for that,” her sister said in grudging tones. “But Thea, are you absolutely certain about your feelings for him? That he is the husband you want?”
Yes, he was—with the exception of his aversion to love. But she wasn’t about to bring up that topic with her overprotective sister.
“I’m certain,” she said.
Emma studied her for a moment. Sighed. “That’s that, then.”
“Would you do me a favor, Em?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I need to speak with Tremont in private, to convince him to let me go with Pandora,” Thea said in a rush. “Her plan to infiltrate the Davenports’ home could provide the key to solving this mystery.”
“I agree. And Tremont’s not the only who needs to be convinced. I have my work cut out for me with His Grace.” Emma huffed out a breath.
“You’ll help me then?”
“If I don’t help you,” her sister said wryly, “you’ll just go about this pell-mell on your own.”
Thea’s cheeks warmed. “Mama and Papa said we must follow our hearts.”
“Well, yours can lead you to the library. I’ll see to it that you and Tremont are undisturbed. Seeing as you’re practically engaged, I suppose I can turn a blind eye for a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Thea said. “For helping me—and especially for helping Tremont.”
Emma squeezed her hand. “What are sisters for? I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
I hope so, too, she thought.
***
In the library, Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest.
“There’s nothing further to talk about. Pompeia’s plan is rife with danger,” he said.
Had he ever thought of Thea as fragile, weak? Despite her dainty appearance, she faced him like a warrior princess, battle light in her hazel eyes. Just looking at her stirred his blood.
“This is a charity luncheon, for goodness’ sake. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“Forget it,” he said. “You’re not going.”
Her chin lifted. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can, and I will.”
“We’re not even officially engaged. You have no rights over me.”
“You know damn well that you’re mine.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. Reining in his temper, he said deliberately, “Or have you forgotten the carriage ride and that night in the conservatory? The promise you made to do everything that I ask?” Hunger for her gnawed at him, amplifying his frustration.
Instead of looking flustered, she seemed… impatient.
“In the bedchamber, yes. But you’re not going to dictate everything else in our relationship. If that’s the kind of marriage you’re envisioning, don’t bother to offer for me.”
Ice coated his gut. “Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a fact.” Her expulsion of breath was slow, deep. “I can’t stand by and do nothing when you’re in danger. Please don’t ask me to.” Her beautiful eyes pleaded with him. “One of your expectations for marriage was trust. That goes both ways.”
“Trust has nothing to do with this,” he said.
