He was subdued now. Drained, but clearly implacable. “As I once said,” he said slowly, “I simply will not allow you to ruin me.”
There was no sound but the rush of the breeze through the shrubberies around them. She could all but feel his beautiful, savage, battered heart lighting on her palm. Crushable as a butterfly.
“Making love to you would ruin me, Ginny. And that’s why I can’t.”
The ferocity of his yearning poured from him in rays. But his will was as palpable as a wall. It was as though he were fighting for his very life, which of course was all he’d known how to do since he was a boy.
“I see,” she finally said.
She wasn’t certain she did, entirely.
What if she never saw him again?
She looked at him as if it might be the last time, hoarding every second he remained in her vision. She was afraid, too. Because she didn’t know how to comfort him. She couldn’t, when clearly she was the source of his torment.
“Gabriel...?” Her voice was threadbare.
“Yes, Ginny.”
“Do you know... do you understand... how frightened I am about money?”
Pain fleetingly tensed his features. “I know,” he said quietly.
Where did that leave her?
Something remained unsaid. Something she desperately needed to understand.
I look for heart-shaped rocks on the ground everywhere now.
And then she remembered the one that had magically materialized near her foot.
And then she thought she understood, and once again her breath was robbed.Oh, Gabriel.
He was terribly afraid of being hurt. And ashamed of being afraid.
But how could she know for sure?
What if she nudged him again? Not by goading him. But bytesting, one last time, the strength of his resistance, to see if it would give way. To see if the ultimate truth would emerge if she gave him one final push.
The rogue in her made her do it.
She leaned forward and said softly, “One night. One night in your bed. I’ll do anything you want me to do. And after that, my brother’s debt to you will be paid.”
He closed his eyes, taking those words like a blow.
Her heart was pounding so hard the blood sang in her ears.
When he opened his eyes again, his expression was once again as unreadable as any expert gambler’s.
“I’ll give you my answer this evening.”
He turned on his heel and closed the gate behind him as he left.
Chapter Eighteen
When Marchand returned to his room, he discovered the flowers in his vase had been replaced before they could finish dying. Just one of the little ways the Grand Palace on the Thames tenderly cared for their guests.Protecting them from the illusion that all things must die, he thought mordantly.
He’d learned early in life that sex was an appetite, a commodity, an escape. He’d never truly been innocent. In St. Giles, everyone did indeed do what they needed to do in order to survive another day. He’d fended off the advances of both men and women when he was younger. Later, he’d found surcease from loneliness and the endless struggle of survival courtesy of women who took his money. Together, they’d helped each other get through another day.
