Page 34 of A Bride By Morning
Lydia held her breath, twisted the knob, and entered.
Gabriel whirled in surprise. His thin undershirt was open at the neck, and his hair was slightly damp from the early morning mist. Lydia was momentarily struck by his beauty—that untamed condition suited him. He seemed even more untouchable than usual: part feral, part gentleman. But it was honest, the state of him. Lord Montgomery was too polished and charming; she preferred him like this, knowing that the world could unravel him.
Lydia’s notice paused on the sharp line of his cheek, where she spotted faint bruising near his eye.
“My god,” she said, venturing closer. “What happened to you?”
But when Lydia reached for Gabriel, he angled his face out of her hand. “It’s nothing.”
“That isnotnothing,” she insisted. “Was it Medvedev?”
Gabriel shucked his jacket and tossed it onto the chair. “No. I don’t wish to discuss it with you. I’m tired.”
Lydia curled her lip. “I don’t care. When you left yesterday morning, you told me you hadbusiness.” She motioned to his face. “Thatdoesn’t look like business to me.”
A dry laugh left him. Gabriel came forward, his chest nearly touching hers. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. In my world, brutalityisbusiness. Understand?” Gabriel’s breath heaved. His green eyes were harsh and just a bit wild. Then, at her silence, he made some bitter noise. “No response? And what would you say if I asked for this? If your new husband harbored such a taste for violence that he sought it out intentionally?”
Lydia was utterly motionless as her thoughts raced. Was that what he’d been doing while she paced the halls of Meadowcroft? She had marveled at his bestial state without realizing that it came at the cost of pain.
Her gaze lingered once more on the faint contusion that marked his skin. “Is that why you went to London?” she asked gently. “Was it to hurt yourself or someone else?”
A muscle leaped in his jaw. “Either. I don’t know.”
She longed to know his mind again. He might share a name and a face with the Gabriel St. Clair of her youth, but he was unknown to her. As unfamiliar as the deepest parts of the sea.
Perhaps she ought to have been frightened of this unpredictable man who lied with the ease of breathing, but then she noticed the subtle indications that he was not as in control as he seemed. The slight tremor of his hand, the rigid set of his jaw. Minor signs that indicated vulnerabilities in his defenses. Or did she imagine that they meant something more?
But she had a test of her own, which might provide the proof she sought: she placed her hand over his chest.
And felt the rapid thump of his heart.
“Or perhaps you left for a different reason,” she whispered. “You were running from me.”
His heart slammed. Gabriel jerked away from her touch. “I don’t run from anyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“No. I’m not finished with you.” She gestured to the bed. “Sit there so I can put something cold on your face.”
Gabriel stared at her, bemusement flickering across his features. “Why?”
“Why?” she echoed. “To bring down the swelling and spare your pretty face from worse bruising.”
He didn’t react to her compliment. “Why do you wish to take care of me?”
“God only knows,” she muttered in irritation. “You’re such an obstinate pain in my arse that I’m beginning to empathize with whoever punched you in the face. Now sit.”
A sudden, unexpected smile broke out across his features. Lydia marveled at the sight of it—the first genuine smile she had glimpsed from him in over a decade. Even bruised, his entire face transformed and brightened.
And then—as if he realized what he’d just done—it was gone.
An ache settled in a solid weight against Lydia’s chest. She wondered if those smiles would be rationed during their marriage like rare treasures, or if she should even hope to see one again.
He used to smile so often.
Gabriel clenched his jaw and surprised her by sitting on the edge of the bed. Not hesitating in case he changed his mind, Lydia briefly left him to collect a cloth and small basin from her water closet. She soaked the fabric. The brisk evening had chilled her earlier bathwater enough to redden her hands.
Gabriel winced as she pressed the cold cloth to his cheek. Lydia made a soothing noise, her fingers brushing his soft hair aside. They remained quiet for the longest time, until the fabric warmed, and Lydia plunged it once more in the cold water.
She cleared her throat.Say something.“Lord and Lady Ely have invited us to dine with them,” Lydia said, setting the cloth to his cheek again. “How shall I respond?”
