John’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps?”
“You seem unusually agitated about this,” Gabriel said. He took a stiff drink of the brandy and poured another.
John laughed softly. “One of us must be sensible.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I saved a woman from a criminal, which is sensible.”
“Yes. She is safe for the moment.” John said. “My concern is that some furious father, husband, brother, or guardian may arrive at your front door demanding explanations and possibly be convinced that you have ruined her reputation.”
The possibility had occurred to Gabriel. He simply did not care very much. Whoever the woman belonged to could wait until she woke. He was not about to make any brash decisions merely to avoid uncomfortable conversations. The idea offended his sense of honor, even if John insisted upon being dramatic about it.
“You need to act quickly once you know her identity. I can stand by you as a witness that no harm came to a woman while under your care,” John assured.
“I dislike being rushed. You know that about me already, yet you pester me,” Gabriel groaned.
“You dislike being told what to do,” John said. “This is different.”
“That as well.” Gabriel moved to his desk and sat down. He opened a drawer and pulled out a ledger.
John sighed heavily. Before Gabriel could respond, the sound of crying echoed faintly through the ceiling above them. Both men fell silent. The sound came again. A small child’s sob. Then another.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
David.
The helpless feeling that followed was immediate and unwelcome.
John looked toward the ceiling. “Bad dreams?” he asked quietly.
“Most likely. The nurse will handle David,” Gabriel replied, staring down into his glass as David’s crying continued somewhere above them.
John watched him for a moment. Gabriel could face armed men without hesitation. He could manage vast estates and negotiate with politicians, bankers, and noblemen. Yet a crying six-year-old boy reduced him to complete uncertainty.
“Have you found a governess yet?” John asked, leaning back in his chair.
“No,” Gabriel answered at once, his jaw clenching. He knew that he needed to find one, but he could not find anyone he trusted enough to live inside his walls.
John nodded slowly. “You cannot delay forever. The boy is of age now for instruction, not just nurses.”
“I can delay a while longer,” Gabriel said flatly. He released a long breath as the crying continued upstairs. “I do not trust strangers,” he admitted, setting his glass aside. “Not in this house. Not around David or Valerie.”
John studied him carefully. “Because of what happened?”
Gabriel’s expression hardened at once. His thoughts drifted to the scar on David’s back, left years ago by David’s own mother, who had struck the child. David had been very young, but young children remembered fear far too well.
“Yes,” Gabriel said quietly.
“I know,” John replied with a small nod.
The crying grew louder overhead. Gabriel rubbed a hand across his face as exhaustion settled heavily upon his shoulders. One year ago, he had been a duke with responsibilities. Now, he was attempting to become a father as well, and nobody had ever taught him how.
Benedict should be here.
The thought struck him unexpectedly. Benedict would know what to do. Benedict always knew. He had possessed endless patience with people, especially children. Gabriel possessed almost none.
“Since you are here,” Gabriel said abruptly, straightening from the mantel, “you should check the scar on David’s back.”
John stared at him for several moments before sighing. “Gabriel.”
