Dom had grown up and filled out, his big, rangy body replacing the lanky young man Gabriel remembered.He’d always been the more gregarious and carefree of the two of them, without Gabriel’s tendency toward bleak humors, but Dom’s ready smile hid a sharply analytical mind and a loyal streak a mile wide.
This older version appeared much the same, though Gabriel noted that his cousin held himself differently from the easy, casual athleticism of his youth.This Dominic carried himself like a man who knew how to handle himself in a fight.
Despite everything, Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t have to find out firsthand whether he or Dominic would win in a fistfight these days.“In all seriousness,” he said quietly, “thank you for last night.”
Dom quirked a smile at him, the edge of mischief in it so familiar that it made Gabriel’s throat tighten.“Ah, it was a dream come true.”
A sound like the ocean crashing against the side of a ship filled Gabriel’s ears.
“But now it’s time to wake up,” Gabriel said, then frowned, bewildered.
Why had he said that?Why did he hear it echoing in his head, in Lucy’s voice, low and aching with sadness?
Gabriel staggered to his feet, his grip on the tablecloth pulling dishware to the floor with a cacophony of shattering plates and glasses.
His head split with the worst pain he’d ever felt.He couldn’t see through it, couldn’t breathe through it.
Dimly, he heard Dominic’s alarmed voice saying, “Gabriel?Gabriel!”but he couldn’t answer.
All he could do was crash to his knees as wave after wave of memory crowded into his head in a single instant.
A night out with friends, though Dominic had declined the invitation, citing the need to study.He was always so worried about not doing anything to disappoint Uncle Roman, he ought to live a little.What Uncle Roman didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.
Stumbling away from the tavern to cast up his accounts in the dank lane behind.Hearing footsteps just before a dirty burlap sack closed over his head and several pairs of brawny arms pulled him off his unsteady feet, subduing his struggles with humiliating, terrifying ease.
Waking up in the hold of a ship, the creaking of the timbers and the lap of waves against the hull not loud enough to drown out the raised voices of the men who took him.They were arguing about how Uncle Roman hadn’t paid, and how best to compel him to put up the ransom.They should start cutting pieces off, one of the men suggested, and send them to him by post.That’d get his purse strings untangled quick enough.
Realizing the man was talking about cutting off pieces of Gabriel and having to twist his body painfully against the bonds tying his arms behind his back so he didn’t heave bile all over himself.
Realizing he’d been in the hold of that ship for some indeterminate length of time that could have been weeks or years, but that no one was coming to save him.His captors had begun fighting amongst themselves, forgetting to feed him half the time, drunk and getting restless and frustrated and very free with their fists when they did remember to bring Gabriel a cup of water and a piece of hardtack to chew on.
The day he finally managed to saw through the rough rope binding his wrists using the sharp corner of the square pole to which he’d been lashed.The lance of pain in his shoulders, the horror of feeling how weak and useless his arms were after being tied up so long.But he’d been strong enough to overpower a man who stank of fish and cheap rotgut, grown careless after weeks of tossing scraps to a helpless victim.Gabriel wasn’t helpless anymore.He was fueled by rage that lent him enough power to knock the man out and escape the hold.
Shocking cold water closing over his head—a moment of panic that he didn’t possess the coordination or the strength to swim to shore.Salt burning his nose and eyes, choking him, but he forced himself to kick.
Pushing himself up onto the shore, his clothes ragged and stained with God knew what, his hair a tangled mass and raw welts circling his wrists.He looked like an escaped convict.People shied away from him, and Gabriel felt as wary as they.He’d never seen most of the men who’d abducted him.Anyone he passed could be one of his captors, there to retake him.He avoided crowds and villages, keeping to the hedgerows that ran alongside the country roads and lanes, and made his slow, painful way north.
The rush of joy at seeing Thornecliff in the distance.The disbelief and confusion of finding it empty.No one there to welcome him home except the skeleton staff of servants left behind when the family removed to London.
Sitting in his first proper bath, alone, because he hadn’t wanted help.Shaving himself after, with shaking hands, nicking his jaw and staring into the hollow eyes of the young man in the looking glass, because he couldn’t bear to be touched.
Arriving at Wycombe House, the Thornecliff residence in London, to find Uncle Roman embroiled in a battle with Parliament to wrest control of the estate into his own hands.
Shock.Betrayal.
Rage.
Accusations.Gabriel shouting, ranting, that his uncle had left him to rot.Throwing out the wild speculation that perhaps he’d even hired the kidnappers in the first place to get Gabriel out of the way.The answering fury on his uncle’s face, and his freezing tone as he acidly informed Gabriel that his abduction was his own fault.If he hadn’t disgraced the family name with his degenerate behavior, drinking and whoring and gambling, he never could have been taken.
The truth of it piercing Gabriel to the bone, turning his vision white with an anger so livid, so encompassing, he couldn’t contain it.
I never want to see you again.You are no longer my family.
Uncle Roman’s shocked face.You can’t do this.
A smile that drew blood.I am Thornecliff.I can do whatever the fuck I want.
And he had.
