She glared at him.
After a moment he added, “He’s a very nice brother. I’m fond of him.” He seemed not the least bit abashed.
“I’m not surprised you survived the war,” she said at last.
His mouth twitched. “And why is that?”
“Because you were clearly born to be hanged,” she told him. “Or throttled. It does amaze me that nobody has throttled you. That you’ve escaped hanging doesn’t altogether surprise me—government authorities are so rarely efficient, I find. You can wait for your brother as long as you like. Nicky and I will leave first thing in the morning.”
Gabe watched her sweep from the room, his mouth drying at the sway of her hips. His body was aching and aroused and he felt simultaneously frustrated and exhilarated.
He shrugged on a shirt, then sat down at the writing desk in the corner, pulled out a quill, and began to sharpen it with a small pearl-handled knife. His mind kept reliving that kiss, but he forced it instead to consider what he’d learned about her.
He hadn’t meant to distress her, hadn’t meant to stir up painful memories. But his questions had produced such revealing answers he could not regret asking them.
Most fascinating was her answer to the question he hadn’t asked. She’d answered it with such vehemence, too.I did love my husband, I did.
Was it the truth? Or, to paraphrase the Bard, had she protested too much?
And did it matter anyway? After all the man was dead.
It was bizarre, Gabe reflected. He’d known her such a short time and knew so little about her, yet, somehow, she had become so important to him. And it wasn’t just lust, though he was beset with lust the entire time he was with her. That mouth of hers would be the death of him yet.
He groaned just thinking of how she’d tasted, her sweet, frantic response. She’d almost dissolved right there in his arms. Had they not been standing, she might have been his yet.
But he’d been in lust many a time before, and it had never caused him to panic at the thought of the woman leaving. He’d never panicked in his life, let alone over a woman. But the feeling in his chest when she’d declared she was leaving, he was pretty sure that had been something akin to panic.
The soldier in him had reacted immediately to secure his position; he’d taken her luggage prisoner. Held it hostage until she gave her parole. Not one of his more glorious military moments.
It was only afterward that he’d analyzed his actions. It had shocked him to realize it, but there it was, as large as life in his consciousness.
After so short an acquaintance he had no business thinking the thoughts he was thinking, or making the plans he was making. But he seemed to be making them anyway. He couldn’t seem to help it.
All unknowing, like a sniper in the dark, she’d taken him neatly in the heart.
He’d had no idea it could happen like that. He’d never had plans to settle down, had never once considered marriage.
Marriage?Surely he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
Marriage was for family men, for eldest sons who needed to get heirs, for men in need of an heiress, or for fools who fell in love.
Gabe was about as far from being a family man as he could imagine; he’d never met his father, never once been to the family home. He’d met his two older brothers twice in his life that he recalled. It might be three times. Those occasions had been stiff and uncomfortable, and none of them had made a push to see each other since they’d become adults.
His father had died while he was away at war and his brothers hadn’t even thought to inform him. He had been informed of his mother’s death a short time later—not that he’d seen her since he was a child. Great-aunt Gert’s death had affected him the most; the degree of grief he’d felt for the stern old woman had shocked him with its intensity. His most distant relative, she’d been his closest family member, apart from Harry. So no, he was no family man.
He had no need of an heir, either. As the third son he was surplus to requirements, so any potential heirs of his body were even more so.
He didn’t need to marry an heiress, or earn his living. Great-aunt Gert had left him the Grange and most of her fortune, with a list of stipulations, bless the tyrannical old dear. None of the stipulations had included his marriage.
As for being one of those poor fools who fell in love, he’d never imagined it could happen to him. Had planned never to allow it. People in love could do terrible things to each other, and innocents suffered when they did. He and Harry had both experienced that firsthand, though in different ways. Bad enough to ruin each others’ lives, but children became pawns when things went wrong in a marriage…
Gabe pulled out several sheets of writing paper, slightly yellowed, untouched since Great-aunt Gert’s day. He had watched love happen to others time and time again and thought himself immune. He wasn’t even sure it had happened to him now.
All he knew was that every time he looked at her he wanted to touch her, taste her, hold her. And every instinct he had was screaming at him not to let her go.
He shook up a pot of ink. Those instincts had kept him alive throughout eight years of war. He wasn’t going to start ignoring them now.
The last of the sun’s rays touched the octagonal bow window and slid away. It would soon be dark. She had not yet conceded defeat, but she’d given him a reprieve. He had one night. He needed at least two more. It would take the others that long to get here.
