John Lanscarr had always been an absent father. He would sweep into his daughters’ lives with presents and a smidgeon of attention before just as quickly leaving again. She and her sisters had lived for those visits. They had believed they were a sign that their father did care for his motherless daughters.
But in the end, they had learned he didn’t. It was that simple. He had other pursuits, another family, and daughters were unimportant.
At the time of this revelation, Gwendolyn had thought she’d handled it all very well. She’d accepted the facts and carried on... but that wasn’t exactly true. Learning that he had just abandoned them had been one more betrayal in a lifetime of them. Perhaps his absence was the reason she’d kept her distance from men in general—until Beckett. The truth was, trust wasn’t easy for her either.
His brows came together. He seemed to be trying to read her mind. “I will come—” he started.
Gwendolyn stopped him, raising a hand tocut him off. “Don’t. No promises.” She looked at the bunched material of her clothing she held, preparing to dress. If something happened to him... ?
But that was out of her control. She had to let him be the man he was.
“I have faith in you, Beckett Steele. I’m not certain even a bullet could stop you.”
“Some have tried.” He tapped his head where a French bullet had found him.
“Is that supposed to be humorous?” Her words came out sharper than she’d intended. Her impulse was to reach for him, to fall into his arms and fiercely hold him close. Instead, she began dressing.
She didn’t know whatshewould do if the Middleburys harmed him. There was no other for her, and there never would be. She felt a strange kinship with her mother, who had died waiting for her love to return. Oh, yes, John Lanscarr had fobbed her off as well. However, Beckett was a far better man than her gambler father.
“Gwendolyn?”
She didn’t answer, keeping her back to him. What more could be said? She tied the tapes of her petticoats.
He waited a moment and then left the room to fetch fresh water. Without comment, she used it to do what she could to make herself presentable. She braided her hair and fashioned it into a knot at the nape of her neck. There was no piece of glass to check her appearance.
Finally she made herself face him. “You ask for me to believe in you, to do as you ask.”
“I do.”
She hesitated, not liking the choices. “Fine. I’ll leave. But don’t you dare let them kill you.”
“They won’t.”
She pressed her lips together, biting back any retort. Her gaze fell on where his finely tailored riding jacket was torn at the shoulder seams. The material was the worse for wear after the previous night’s adventures. She could make him a bit more presentable. “Ask Mr. Stimson for a needle and thread and I’ll repair your jacket.”
“We don’t have the time,” Beckett answered.
“It won’t take me three minutes. Besides, do you have my transport to London arranged?”
He released his frustration in a heavy sigh. “Yes, a vehicle is waiting.”
“Of course you planned ahead. You are Beckett Steele.” She didn’t mean to sound bitter, so she held up three fingers. “Three minutes,” she promised.
Beckett removed his jacket. He handed it to her and left the room. He returned shortly with thread and a needle. The thread color didn’t match the jacket, but beggars could not be choosers. She knew how to hide stitches.
Gwendolyn set to work mending the jacket while he went off to see to other matters. This was something he would let her do, and it seemed insignificant considering what he faced. As she sewed, she thought of the things she should tellhim. For one, Dara would be furious if she returned without a proper chaperone.
Then again, both of her sisters would be thankful to know that he was removing Gwendolyn from a dangerous situation.
Beckett appeared in the doorway just as she’d finished. She offered his jacket. He put it on. “Well done,” he said.
She nodded. His praise would have mattered more if he wasn’t sending her away. She looked up at him. “I’d still feel better if I was there to protect you.”
Beckett’s smile was gentle, his gaze full of love. “I know. Now come, Gwendolyn.”
She glanced around the room that for a heartbeat of time had been heaven. She gave him her hand.
In the kitchen, old Charles was busy at work. However, he had prepared bread and ham wrapped in a clean rag along with a jug of sweet cider for her trip.
