“I don’t know,” he said. “It was years ago.”
“No...” she said on a breath.
“Yes.”
Lies about d’Orleans had always rolled effortlessly off of Gabriel’s tongue, as easy as locking a door. But this lie felt flimsy and unrehearsed. Yes, he’d locked the door, but what if this woman managed to crawl through a window?
“If Gabriel d’Orleans is dead,” she was saying, “well... then... I’ve come for nothing. How can I return and tell them I camefor nothing? This was our best, most feasible solution. Oh my God—what will become of us?”
Gabriel stopped walking and turned back. This felt like a trick question. Who were the “them” in this pronouncement? Returnwhere?
It doesn’t matter.He forced his mind to become a blank slate of all the obligations he didnothave—not to this woman, not to anyone.
“What is your business with Gabriel d’Orleans?” he asked. If he had any obligation, it was to the name.
“Your French pronunciation is so natural,” she observed. “But do you speak French, sir?”
Gabriel swore in his head. He’d said the name with perfect inflection; the pronunciation of a native, of a man saying his own name.
She caught up and rounded on him, stopping him on the path. Her eyes were the most defining feature on her face. Large and expressive; a dusky, foggy blue. He tried not to look at them. He tried not to look at any part of her.
When he didn’t answer—when he averted his gaze—she murmured, “A question for another time, perhaps.”
She’d lost her hat in the road, and her hair hung in limp, damp waves down the sides of her face. It looked dark in the moonlight, a striking contrast to her pale skin.
After a moment, she said, “Sorry—you asked about my business, didn’t you? I might as well tell you.” She took a deep breath. “Gabriel d’Orleans was my fiancé. Actually. If you can believe it. It was an arranged marriage. The betrothal was set in place by our fathers when we were toddlers.”
“Fiancé?” he rasped. Gabriel experienced the bottomless sensation of stepping from solid ground into a deep well.
The woman nodded. “I’ve come in search of him. Because I need his help.”
And now Gabriel was so deep inside the well, he could barely hear her.
“Sir?” she prompted.
He blinked at her. He gave a definitive shake of his head—No.And then he turned on his heel and trudged away. Actually, he ran.
“Wait—sir?” He heard footsteps behind him but he didn’t stop.
Was herunningfrom her? Yes—yes he was.
Did herememberher? Yes—yes, God help him, he did. He was awash in memories: an earl’s daughter, the betrothal, the letters, his dead father, his former life.
He saw a brown-haired child in yellow ribbons, studying him with large eyes.
He saw his father, toasting an old friend.
He saw his father again, summoning him to the cavernous study inside the Palace Royale.
He heard the wordsdutyandtraditionandcovenant;abond between two families.
But how had she—?
“Please stop, Mr.—?” she called from behind him. “Sorry, I don’t know your name!”
Oh the irony, Gabriel thought. He kept moving.
He’d hidden from his own sister Elise.For years, he’d hidden. He’d secluded himself so effectively, evenshehadn’t found him. Oh, she’d come close; her investigators had cornered Gabriel’s emissary at a horse sale in Haymarket. They presented so much evidence and had so many good intentions, it had been impossible to evade them. When it was clear she intended to seek him out—to simply thrash through the forest and find him—he wrote to her and asked her to respect his privacy and the life he’d made and tokeep away. It had been a harsh request, and he’d tried to soften it with the suggestion that they correspond. Elise had not understood but she’d conceded. She and her husband had also bought an estate not far from Savernake Forest. They were building a life in Wiltshire on the hope that he would, eventually, consent to see her.
