“Oh yes—deny it,” she said. “That is your luxury. Meanwhile, I’ve tried to deny the betrothal of the imposter, and he set his dogs on me and torn away my gold chain.”
“He’s a thief on top of everything else?” he gritted out.
“He didn’t steal the locket. He tossed it into the pond. My mother’s necklace. Tomake a point.”
“What point?”
“That he mustn’t be told no.”
“Told no for what?” he asked.
“For any reason,” she said, tears now spilling down her cheeks. “NoI will not marry him.Nohe may not assume control of Winscombe.Nohe may not release our staff and install his own.Noa manager fromFrance may not replace my sister in tending the sheep.NoI will not relocate to Paris to live in his castle.Nohe may not leer at my younger sister, nor corner her in passageways, nor grope her, nor intimidateany of us. It’s a rather long list, all the things I denied him; and he was spitting mad in the end.
“Even so,” she finished, swiping away tears, “no one was more shocked than me when he allowed his dog to attack me and then he garroted me—excellent description, by the way—with my own necklace.”
“Are there more?” he rasped.
“Morewhat?”
“Do you harbor more wounds by his hand?”
“No,” she exclaimed, so very annoyed that it had come to this. “Surely one dog bite and the abrasion to my neck is enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to justify me leaving my home and asking this very great favor of you.” Her neck burned and her leg ached and Ryan was suddenly cold all over.
He eyed her warily.
“Forgive this outburst Prince Gabriel,” she said—but then she remembered this wasn’t his preferred name. “Sorry,Mr.Rein. I find myself reeling from the carousel of emotions brought on by our introduction. My only goal in meeting you was to ask for a very little bit of help. Not a lot. I simply wanted you to publicly say your name and discredit your cousin. It was meant to be an inconsequential, totally reasonable request. Instead, I’m digging through your drawers and baring my cuts and bruises. I’ve somehow become the busybody; even worse, I’mthevictim—which I hate. Not my planned method of persuasion, I assure you.”
“Saying a name publicly may seem reasonable,” he said, “but it can have far-reaching consequences, Lady Ryan. It’s no small thing to bring someone back to life after they’ve been given up for dead, least of all a prince. Even so, please do not misunderstand. I am very concerned. From the beginning, you’ve had my concern.”
“Let me be more clear,” she said tiredly. “I needlessthan a solution butmorethan concern. I needhelp. Not a lot, as I’ve said—just a little. At the moment, I’ll settle for this: Admit it. Admit that you are Prince Gabriel. The real, living Prince Gabriel d’Orleans.”
He stared at her, breathing in and out, in and out. Finally, he said, “I will hear it. I’ll hear what’s happened with Maurice. You can say it and I will listen.”
“Truly?” A rasp. She barely understood how they’d gone from feet washing to quarreling—and now he was inviting her to discuss Maurice? She’d begun to shiver; small, jarring shudders vibrated through her body. She was cold and hopeful and frustrated all at the same time.
“Now?” she said through teeth rattling.
“Have your bath,” he said. “Get warm. I will set out something to eat. We will... talk.” He began to back away.
She looked over her shoulder at the waterfall.
“Can you manage?” he called.
“Yes,” she said, “I can manage.”
In her head she thought,I can manage, I can manage, I can manage.
If only he understood how very proficient she was at managing... everything.
“I don’t mean to be a burden,” she said quietly, mostly to herself. She sighed quietly. She stepped toward the little ridge. “I simply need a favor.”
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel gathered a loaf of bread, a bowl of raspberries, and a triangle of cheese, and set them on his small, rough-hewn table. He hung the kettle over the fire to reheat. He kept only one set of utensils, and he clonked these down next to the food. There was a cloth for a napkin and butter and salt and jam. He stepped back, staring at the spread but seeing nothing. In his mind’s eye, he saw only a man hurting Lady Ryan. Not just “a man.” His own cousin, marauding about with Gabriel’s title. How deep a cowardice, he thought, to brutalize defenseless young women. Maurice had clearly survived the French Revolution hale and hearty. With so many dead or lost, he was climbing the ranks of their shattered family. And his response was cruelty to Lady Ryan and her family?
