Page 30 of A Bride By Morning
The words were spoken quietly, almost with a glimmer of understanding. Another sliver of pain shot through him, a blade of its own. She might think she knew what he went through in Moscow, but she couldn’t imagine. She’d married a monster.
He heard the whisper of clothing as she rose to her feet and padded to the door. Then she paused. “What I said before about pleasuring myself better . . . it was inaccurate,” she said softly. Then, after a long moment: “Good night, Gabriel.”
Gabriel tipped his head back and shut his eyes.
12
Lydia woke at sunrise.
Her bed revealed flagrant evidence of another fitful sleep: the twisted sheets and scattered blankets, the pillows that ended up on the carpeted floor. A dozen books at the bedside were arranged in a haphazard stack, and some overturned with spines up. She recalled attempting several different tomes and giving up on all of them.
For days now, she had tossed and turned restlessly. Lydia longed to open Gabriel’s connecting door and yank off his every stitch of clothing. Rend the fabric to pieces, as he’d done with her undergarments.
She wanted to touch him everywhere.
But Gabriel’s reaction in the library confounded Lydia. He brought her to climax and bestowed upon her scorching kisses she’d only ever fantasized in her dreams. There had been an urgency to his touch that betrayed fractures in the edifice of his mental shields. And then . . .
He had retreated from her. It had been as sudden as storm clouds cladding the sun’s warm rays; indifference dropped over his features like a frigid pall. His desire had shuttered, and he changed into someone comprised of cold marble. But unlike stone, he held no vulnerabilities. He became a peak of uncompromising ice.
You shouldn’t have been so hasty,she scolded herself. After all, Gabriel’s rejection allowed Lydia to reconstruct her own defenses. If he was a jagged peak in winter, she could be the ocean at its base. If he thought to touch her again, he would find her every emotion guarded by turbulent waters that he couldn’t traverse. Let him be just as perplexed by her. Let him experience a cold that matched his own.
Lydia was quiet and contemplative as a maid prepared her for a morning stroll. She donned a wool walking dress for the chilly morning and set out into the gardens. It had been over a decade since she’d explored the grounds of Meadowcroft, and she had almost forgotten the dazzling flowers in spring. The climbing vines of pink roses, the deep rouge of the peonies, and the xanthous of the daffodils. She ambled along a familiar footpath, one that she had often traveled with Gabriel as children.
Lydia lingered at the wooden bench, her fingertips skating over the surface coated in cool morning dew. They used to sit there. Gabriel would watch as she gathered flowers with a wistful smile. She could not walk the pathways of Meadowcroft without envisioning all the days they’d spent together. She thought she would love him forever.
And now it was too dangerous to give him her heart.
Lydia didn’t know how long she stood there, lost in her memories—perhaps it was hours. A crunch of boots along the path jarred her from her thoughts, and she knew without looking that it was Gabriel. She remembered his stride by heart.
“Lydia.”
She shut her eyes, her fingers curling away from the bench. Gabriel spoke her name softly, smooth baritone whispering around the vowels. If she had one regret about two nights before, it was that she hadn’t heard him sayhername during climax. During her fitful sleep, she’d thought about how it might sound when he came undone and called for her in the darkness. Those fantasies had left her unsatisfied and wanting.
Wanting him.
“Lydia.”
She had to look at him. She couldn’t avoid him now that he was her husband.
Bracing herself, Lydia opened her eyes and turned. Had she not been holding her breath, the sight of him might have knocked the wind from her. He was gorgeous in his dark wool riding suit, the auburn of his hair gleaming in the morning rays. His severe features were beautiful, carved from shadows and light. He would have been a sculptor or a painter’s dream.
When Gabriel’s eyes met Lydia’s, a ripple went through his features, as if he comprehended her every thought. It was clear that her admiration was unwelcome. A sharp ache pierced through her chest in sudden understanding: she hadn’t done enough to reinforce her heart that morning; his kisses wore her down.
She would have to refortify herself.
Lydia pressed her fingernails into her palm and forced her most aloof expression—one that halted suitors before they could request a dance. The one that gained her a reputation for indifference. “Husband. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Gabriel’s gaze searched hers. Perhaps he recognized the swift barricade Lydia had assembled, that he would not access her heart today. In response, his countenance grew more distant. He was better practiced at it than she.
“I came to say that you shouldn’t freely travel the grounds.” His words were flat. “If you wish for solitude in nature, the greenhouse is protected, and my men won’t have to spend their time watching you.”
Those words scraped against her skin. Lydia felt like a burden to both himandthe men he’d hired to guard her. “I see. Before we departed London, I was not given to understand that Meadowcroft was to be my cage.”
A muscle worked in his jaw, the only sign of emotion in his face. A part of Lydia relished the sight. It was a slip in his facade, a deficiency that proved he wasn’t nearly as practiced at his performance as she’d believed.
Lydia longed for other signs that he was every bit as agitated by what had transpired between them in the library. She yearned to unravel him, watch his eyes heat again. She wanted to know if his bed had twisted sheets and disorganized piles of pillows. Something that she could point to and say was evidence of his vulnerability.
She had no wish to be married to stone or immovable mountains of ice. She desired flesh and blood and hot lips against hers.
