Page 106 of The Captive
She might have fought back, revealed her scars to Polite Society, arranged a visit to Helene but instead taken ship for South America. By the hour, she had listed the plans and schemes she might have, should have, anddidnotattempt.
She also blamed herself for revealing the whole business to Christian, who had put all the violence he’d suffered behind him and focused on building a life around the daughter he loved and his ducal responsibilities.
And Gilly blamed herself for being rude over breakfast to the man she loved, though as awkward as things had grown between them, she didn’t like the idea of him traveling to Greendale without her.
She couldn’t say why the idea rankled, but it did.
And thus, she was on the drive after breakfast, ready to bid Christian farewell on more cordial terms than she’d shown him earlier.
“Good of you to see me off.” Christian settled on the lady’s mounting block next to where Gilly stood. “You were less than charming over breakfast, except to St. Just.”
“I am yet tired,” she said, though those words weren’t what she wanted to convey to him.
He stood and took the step necessary to close the distance between them.
“It won’t work.” He put a hand on each of her shoulders and brought her against him. “Paw and snort all you like, Gilly. Dodge, duck, and dawdle, but your temper won’t chase me off. I’m tending to a duty, but I’m also giving you some peace and quiet.”
She put her arms around his waist and let herself have the comfort of his embrace for a moment. “Don’t let Easterbrook make you smoke any of his smelly cigars.”
And that had nothing to do with anything either.
“Gilly, the only sleep you found was when I held you. I want to always be there to hold you.”
She held on to him, trying to believe what he was telling her. Christian’s mistreatment by the French made him only more dear to her. Her mind trusted that Greendale’s abuse did not sully her in Christian’s eyes, did not make her less worthy of Christian’s regard.
Her heart was more wary.
“I didn’t want you to know.” An orphan’s cry for her mama might have been more forlorn, barely. “I didn’t want you to know I’d let somebody treat me like that. A shame is less wounding if it’s private.”
He was silent, simply holding her, and Gilly took it as a measure of her upset that she let him embrace her more or less in public. A quick hug between cousins-by-marriage might be excused, but not this.
“I cannot know the experiences you’ve survived, Gilly, except what you tell me of them.” His hand stroked across her back, as if he would remind her of what he’d seen and that her scars did not frighten him. “I will tell you what somebody told me: I respect you all the more for what you’ve confided, both because of what you survived and because you don’t pretend it never happened. The shame wounds you, but it belongs entirely to Greendale.”
If Christian did not get on his horse soon, she’d be telling him every last, awful detail. “I wanted it all to die with him.”
“The mistreatment died with him, but you, my love, did not, for which I will ever give thanks. You’ll be decent to St. Just?”
“I’ll flirt my eyebrows off with him.”
This earned her a chuckle. “He’s a cavalry officer. He won’t scare easily.”
Christian kissed her forehead, and Gilly couldn’t help holding him tighter.
“I’ll stay if you ask me to,” he said softly, right near her ear, “but I owe Marcus a show of support.”
“Go then.” She stepped back quickly, before she started begging. “Give him my regards, and tell him…”
She never wanted to see Marcus Easterbrook again, never wanted to see Greendale again.
And never wanted to say another good-bye to Christian Severn.
Gilly made a decision. She made her decision based on the way Chessie nuzzled at Christian’s pockets, the way Christian had held her right here in the stable yard, the way a man he’d befriended stood a few yards off, pretending to play with the puppies while standing guard over Christian and Gilly both.
“Tell Marcus to blow the dower house to kindling. It has the creeping damp, and I cannot see myself inhabiting such a sorry dwelling, ever.”
“I’ll tell him no such thing.” Christian smiled as he kissed her cheek, which both gratified and annoyed her, for she’d been deadly serious and trying to convey something besides the proper fate of a neglected heap.
Then he was up on his horse, a groom handing him his crop. He lifted it as if to flourish it in a salute, but caught Gilly’s eye.
