Page 59 of Gabriela and His Grace

Struggling, Gabby shook her head back and forth.

“Gabriela, you’re dreaming.”

Gabby’s eyes flew wide, and she gasped as she blinked against the light. She gave a start when she noticed Whitfield kneeling before her, his hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry to scare you,” he murmured, his hand tightening for a moment. “We’ve stopped to switch teams, and I thought you might welcome the chance to stretch your legs.”

“Oh,” she responded, the edges of her vision still clouded by dreams. Turning, she found the space on the squab next to her empty.

“Señora Lopez has already disembarked,” he said, as if reading her mind. “She said this inn makes delicious pozole, and wanted to eat before we departed again.”

Gabby licked her lips but said nothing.

Whitfield’s eyebrows stitched together. “Were you hungry? I noticed you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

She hadn’t. Gabby possessed no appetite, certain whatever she tried to eat would taste like wood chips.

Mindful the duke was waiting for her response, she cleared her throat, noting that it was raw from her unshed tears. “No, gracias. But I think a walk will do me some good.”

Whitfield climbed from the conveyance and extended his hand to help her down. Gabby exhaled a long breath and reached for it. When both of her feet were planted on the ground, however, Whitfield did not release her. She glanced up at him and raised her brows.

“The driver informed me of an arroyo that runs adjacent to the horse yard here.” The duke’s voice carried his signature bored tone, but his pale blue eyes traveled over her face with a familiarity that hinted he understood how tenuously she was holding herself together. “I thought it might be an idyllic place for a quiet, private walk.”

“That,” she said on an exhale, “sounds lovely.”

Whitfield nodded but didn’t release her…nor did Gabby pull her hand from his. Standing this close to him, with his woodsy scent seeping into her lungs, she felt her turbulent emotions ease. Just a smidge, of course. But try as she might, it was impossible for her to deny that the duke was being sincere. The Gabby of old would have assumed he was mocking her, but over the past eight weeks she’d learned, quite against her will, that the Duke of Whitfield was truly a thoughtful man.

It was hard to remember Whitfield was a scoundrel when he gazed at her as if his next breath depended upon whatever words her lips formed.

“Your Grace?” a voice said behind her.

Gabby sucked in a gasp as she stumbled back a step. Whitfield steadied her and then promptly released her hand. They both turned to see the driver standing several feet away, his hat in his hands.

“There are several teams available. Would you like to select which one you’d prefer?”

“I’d be happy to review the selections, but I trust your judgment.” Pivoting back to her, the duke dipped his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She stared after him, her stomach flipping when she noted how he flexed his hand, as if her touch were imprinted on his palm.

Whirling about, Gabby smoothed wrinkles out of her skirts before she adjusted the fit of her hat. It had become askew while she slept, and Whitfield was probably staring at her so intently because she looked like an idiot. Setting off in the direction he’d indicated, Gabby tried and failed to convince herself of that notion.

The terrain had become more verdant the closer they moved to the coast, and the arroyo was lined with anacua and texana trees, their boughs providing relief from the afternoon heat. Gabby noted that the tavern’s proprietors had placed benches along the arroyo for guests and travelers to enjoy, and if she hadn’t been sitting for so long in the carriage, she would have happily found a spot under one of the shade trees. Instead, she paced along the arroyo bank, her thoughts once again drifting to what she had left behind in San Luis Potosí.

Gabby knew now that she had returned too soon. She may have matured in the years she was away, but with no outstanding accomplishments to her name, her father would always view her as a daughter to marry off for his own gain. Isabel returned to Mexico after quite literally saving Presidente Juárez’s life and with a position working with the First Lady awaiting her. Her sister possessed power that Gabby lacked, and she should have known better than to assume her reception would be anything like Isabel’s.

She’d been so eager to leave London. Excited to be present for the fall of the empire and Presidente Juárez’s triumphant return to Mexico City. So desperate to flee the impending scandal of Lord Carlisle’s actions. Word had already begun to spread that something untoward had occurred between them, and Gabby had no doubt about whose version of events the ton would choose to believe, for it was her word versus an earl’s. Ana María’s letters had assured her that the gossip had ceased, but Gabby was still nervous it would rekindle upon her return. But what choice did she have? Whether in Mexico or in London, it seemed Gabby had no safe place to land.

Slipping under the flowering boughs of an anacua tree, Gabby pressed her back to its rough bark and covered her face with her hands. With only the calls of doves and the chittering of squirrels as they rustled through the foliage to serve as witnesses, Gabby let down her emotional guards and finally shed a few tears.

17

Sebastian experienced one of the most uncomfortable moments of his life when Gabriela Luna returned to their hired carriage with her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from weeping. He hadn’t known whether he should comfort her, ignore her, or sweep her into his arms and implore her not to cry. It was very disconcerting, and Sebastian despised being disconcerted.

They traveled in relative silence for the rest of the day, with Señora Lopez making occasional observations about the terrain or commenting on the history of the small towns they rumbled through. Gabriela remained withdrawn, her gaze empty as she stared out the carriage window. Sebastian found himself brainstorming questions he could ask her or things he could say to elicit a response from her, but in the end, he held his tongue. She was grieving the loss of the future she had envisioned for herself here in Mexico, and thrown by the abrupt departure from her sister. She couldn’t be pleased to have to share a cramped compartment with him when her world was crashing down about her ears.

So Sebastian did his best to give her privacy, or as much as he could in their circumstances. He opted to ride next to the carriage some days, welcoming the breeze and admiring the changing flora as they moved farther east, and smiling as he imagined how David would be whooping and hollering as he explored the countryside. In the evenings when they arrived at the inns Brodie had reserved for them on his way to Altamira, Sebastian escorted the women to their rooms, but did not join them for meals. It was an act of self-preservation. He had no notion of whether Gabriela’s opinion of him had changed over the weeks they’d been forced together, and for reasons Sebastian was still wrestling with, he was too anxious to find out. Therefore, instead of offering to be a sympathetic ear to share her heartache, Sebastian kept his distance.

But Sebastian learned that distance would be impossible to come by when they finally arrived in Altamira several days later.