“Will you sleep now and let us talk again in the morning?”
“You’re joking? You would send me to bed with a vague promise of revisiting this topic ‘in the morning’? No sir, I will not. I would know itnow.”
“You want to know, and I want to be left alone,” he growled, pushing back from the table. “We can’t always have what we want, can we?”
She laughed a little at this, thank God. The irony was, he did not want her to go away. Even though she asked the impossible, everything about this conversation had thrilled him. Having a real conversation with a real woman—not just any woman, but the girl from the letters, all grown up—was invigorating. He never wanted to stop talking to her or looking at her. He could watch her eat raspberries every day for the rest of his life.
Well.
And wasn’t this a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge?
He could hardly tell her that.
“Look, Lady Ryan. You are articulate and determined, and good for you. I go days without speaking to anyone at all—and now you would have me reveal deep convictions that were borne of the darkest moments of my life?” He began walking the perimeter of the room. She kept silent, watching him.
Finally, he said, “The forest is safe and private. It requires nothing from me but survival. If I leave it, I would have to relearn how to carry on. And I don’t want to relearn. My old life betrayed me in terrible ways.” He paused beside the wall and leaned back, staring at her. He crossed his arms over his chest. “That is one reason.”
“Alright,” she said carefully. Her expression had softened.
“I don’t know anything but horses and living off the land. And these have been enough—for years, this was enough.”
She nodded.
He pushed off the wall and started again to prowl the room. “People will expect me to behave like a prince. Not only have I forgotten how to be a prince, I don’t want to know how. The world assumes that a prince manages things, rules over a kingdom. Perhaps he does and perhaps he doesn’t, but the result is—as I’ve experienced it—a prince is actually ruled by his subjects. Sometimes, they love him and he is obligated to retain their love. Other times they hate him, and he is compelled to win back their regard.Sometimes they hate him so much, they cannot be won over, and they kill him. Regardless, his life is not his own—not his work, not his study, not whether he marries or who. His enemies are chosen for him, as are his allies. He’s given almost no choice in how he spends his time. All of these very basic things are controlled by his duty and his country. Various members of my family have been in exile for years, and I can only guess that they have suffered—but not me. I am finally in control. No longer at the mercy of nameless, faceless subjects; of governments; of my family’s bloody place in bloody world history.”
“Gabriel—”
“Lastly,” he said, cutting her off, “there was a culminating event—a disaster—that caused me to take shelter in the forest. That disaster convinced me without a shadow of a doubt that I am not safe outside the forest, nor is anyone with whom I share my life. I can’t elaborate further, so please do not ask, but I have freedom from fear in the forest; outside of it, I do not.”
“Gabriel, enough,” she said softly and he looked up. He’d not realized his voice had risen. He’d almost forgotten she was there.
“Enough,” she repeated. “You’re safe here in a way you’re not safe elsewhere; and I’m sorry. It has been selfish of me to not accept no for an answer. I couldn’t see around my own crisis. I was entitled and short-sighted.”
“You deserve an explanation.”
“And you’ve explained—and I believe you. I’ve been—” And now she sighed. “Thank you.”
This was unexpected. She watched him now with eyes bright; her pretty face gentle, her body relaxed.She looked like she could listen to him prattle on about the safety of the forest all night.
Gabriel frowned. “You’re exhausted. You should sleep while it’s still night.”
She considered him a moment longer. She glanced to the direction of his bedchamber and back to him. Finally she said, “Alright. Will you walk with me? I’m not sure I can navigate the room when the candles are snuffed.”
His eyes flicked to hers. She stared back. Gabriel felt a blast of something hot and potent. It was hazy and breathless and smelled like a thermal spring. He’d taken her to the waterfall to help her, not—
He breathed out.Touching herhad simply happened. His current impulse was not to help, it was to indulge. Arousal crawled through him like a wolf. The rawness of their conversation was rapidly fading away and a deeper connection, a greater intimacy, smoldered between them.
“Gabriel?” she prompted.
Of course he couldn’t refuse her; not after everything else. He was not a miser. He was simply not a prince.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll get the lamp.”
She waited for him to collect the light and then preceded him down the dim corridor.
Chapter Twelve
Gabriel’s excuse was insufficient, but Ryan had always been a little helpless around people who told the truth. Vulnerable friends, neighbors who shared worries, tenants who bared their souls. Her sister Diana said Ryan’s heart was too soft and her patience too loose; that Ryan invited these confessions. Ryan preferred to think of it as prioritizing the authentic.
