Page 42 of A Bride By Morning
“It doesn’t have a strong scent,” he said. Lydia straightened, her gaze snapping to his. When she said nothing, Gabriel edged closer. “You’ll find other blossoms with stronger perfume, if that’s what you wish.”
Her fingers curled into her palms. “Perhaps I’d like to admire this lovely blossom that evidently exists here for mere ornamentation.”
Gabriel paused as hot shame snaked through him. He cleared his throat. “Lilium lancifolium,” he said, his fingers reaching to caress its spotted petals. “I noticed it during the summers on my travels to the Russian far east. It’s indigenous to that part of the world.”
If anything, her countenance only grew harder. “Perhaps I ought to pity this poor flower for being taken from its home and confined in a greenhouse.”
“Pity it if you’d like.” His voice had the sober tone of an executioner. “The owner deserves your censure.”
Lydia’s chin raised a notch, and her lips took on a determined line. “You are not here to discuss flowers with me,” she said sharply. “If you wish to monitor my wellbeing, it’s unnecessary. One of your men is stationed directly outside the glasshouse. Callihan, I believe his name was.”
He had not seen her like this since the Duchess of Hastings’ house party. Then, as now, her fury had battered him like jagged stones. A year ago, he’d built the armor to defend himself from her condemnation; now, he let those sharp edges sink into his skin as punishments for hurting her.
“That’s not why I’m here, either.”
“No?” She arched an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine it was for me. You desire my company as much as you desired a wife.”
Gabriel pressed his teeth together.You deserve this,he said to himself. Hell, he deserved worse. She ought to hate him. Whywashe here? He’d succeeded in pushing her away; that would keep her safe.
Wasn’t her indifference what he wanted?
But those motives became unthinkable the moment he’d seen her humiliation the previous evening. He had given her pleasure and then made her feel shame for it.Thatwas unforgivable.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. When she did nothing more than stare at him, he let out a breath. “I was a bastard to you last night, and I’m sorry for it.” Her scrutiny had the weight of solid stone pressing against his lungs. Gabriel was compelled to fill the silence, to interrupt her decision. “Will you walk with me?”
Her silence was the most prolonged moment of his life. Then she wordlessly nodded once and grabbed the shawl she had deserted on the bench. She draped it around her shoulders before they departed the building.
Gabriel noticed Callihan in his watchful position in the gardens and gave the guard a subtle gesture to indicate all was well. Callihan flashed a grin and promptly vacated the area to provide husband and wife with privacy.
It was mid-afternoon, and the slight chill to the air left Lydia’s cheeks with a blush of rouge. She gripped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, and Gabriel wondered if it was from the cold or to use that garment as a meager form of protection. Last night she’d reached for him, and Gabriel had rejected her in the most vicious way possible.
“You’re pushing me away,” she said finally, as if she heard his thoughts.
Gabriel made a noise and gazed out at the trees as they continued along the garden path. “I only know how to push people away. I’m afraid you’re not an exception.”
“When you proposed, you told me that this wouldn’t be a real marriage.” Her voice was quiet; it didn’t seem to fit such a somber topic. It was a voice made for whispering to Gabriel in the darkness, when he needed her most. “Last night felt real to me.”
He wanted to tell her that, for a blissful few hours, it felt real to him too. That he couldn’t help but think of the life they might have had if he’d stayed ten years ago. If he had decided to marry her then. Upon arrival in Kabul, the conflicts between the emir and his brother ought to have been a warning for Gabriel to put in his notice and return to England. But he foolishly remained, then he had taken the assignment in Russia and become a man unworthy of her.
“I said that because I’m not capable of being a good husband,” he said quietly. “Not since Moscow. Perhaps not since Kabul.”
She fidgeted with her shawl. “You never told me what transpired in Moscow.”
Memories flickered across his thoughts. He’d spent four long years there reminding himself that he was not the man he pretended to be. That his name was not Alexei Borislov Zhelyabov and that his mission served a purpose. He vowed to return to England one day and pick up the pieces of the life he only remembered in the quiet of his thoughts.
But he’d returned, and those pieces had been shattered beyond repair. He had no life left to rebuild.
Gabriel stopped on the path. Lydia stared up at him with an expression that was a touch guarded, for he had given her the expectation of rejection. And for that, he would never forgive himself.
“I did unspeakable things,” he said softly. “And last night, you looked at me as if I had never done them.”
Lydia’s expression gentled slightly. “You were wrong before. You didn’t say what you did because you’re incapable of being a good husband. You told me that because you intend to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for Moscow.”
“What difference?” he asked tiredly.
“The difference is that you’ve proven youcanbe a good husband.” Her eyes held his. “It’s just that you don’t think you deserve to try.”
Gabriel lifted a hand to her face, marveling at the softness of her skin. Regretting all the years he’d wasted without her. He ought to have asked to touch her long ago; perhaps he would never have left. “Just think of what the gentlemen would say if they knew the woman notorious for her iciness had such a soft heart,” he told her. “They would have offered for you long ago.”
