Page 43 of A Bride By Morning
“Tell me what happened in Moscow,” she said, her voice quiet. He would not sway her from the topic.
Her mind had the unerring precision of a hunter’s arrow. She had honed her skill in his absence.
“Why?” Why did she wish to know everything he wanted so badly to forget?
“Because,” she said. “I want to know what made you turn me away from your door three years ago.”
“Then I’ll tell you one day. Perhaps as a reminder of why I’m not fit to be your husband.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then turned and started down the path again. Gabriel quickly followed after her. “And when you catch Medvedev, what then?” She spoke as briskly as she walked. That tender look she’d given him was gone now; her anger had renewed purpose. “Shall we cohabitate at Meadowcroft, or do you intend to vacate Surrey at the first opportunity?”
When Gabriel had married her, it was easy to decide his future: he would leave her at one of his properties, and they would reside in separate locations. Such an arrangement wasn’t unheard of for the aristocracy; no one would think twice of an estranged husband and wife. It was the way of the nobility.
But now that he had spent time with her—had kissed her, heard her laugh, made her smile—his old plans pushed further from his mind. And that was too dangerous for her. After all, Medvedev was not the only enemy he had made over the years.
A breath left him. “I don’t know what my plans are anymore.”
Her jaw tightened. “Then tell me what you intended when you asked me to marry you.”
“I would return to London.” His words rang hollow, much like his life would be without her in it. “Reside in my townhouse. Encourage you to do what you like.”
“What I like?” she echoed softly. “And where, in this hypothetical, did you place me? Meadowcroft?”
He paused again, taking that moment to look his fill of her. Her hair had come loose from its chignon, coiling around her face in soft mahogany ringlets. Such an innocent countenance she had; it didn’t match her eyes. Those watched him with a circumspection that scraped at his soul. He wanted to take that look from her and make her laugh again.
But he had not earned it.
“I always place you in Meadowcroft,” he told her. Too tempted to touch her, Gabriel pushed his hands into his pockets. “Every memory I have of you is here, with the wind in your hair and a smile on your face.”
“But you are never with me, are you?” Her question was faint, spoken like a whispering breeze.
He shook his head. He couldn’t help himself now; he lifted a hand to feel one of her soft curls. “When I think of myself with you, it’s in the Brome’s garden. Near the corpse for which I was responsible.”
She flinched. He watched that memory play out in her features. He had told the truth before; her heart was so soft. A life with him might harden it, congeal it to stone. He would ruin her.
“What if I don’t wish to be here without you? Does it matter that all my memories of you are at Meadowcroft?”
“Yes.” He held her hair to the light. He had yet to see it cascading down her nude back. He never would. “Your memories were of another man.”
Her regard was challenging. “Were they? Very well, then. Maybe I won’t stay at Meadowcroft if you’ve decided I ought to do whatever I wish.”
Of course, she wouldn’t want to stay. Perhaps those memories of their childhood carried some hurt. She might as well grieve him as if he’d died. “Stay wherever you’d like. I’ve fifteen other properties if this one doesn’t suit. If you wish for distance, I even have one in Scotland.”
Her expression grew more severe, but she didn’t recoil from his touch. Rather, she kept her attention on him, as unwavering as solid metal. “And what if Scotland doesn’t satisfy? What if I desired somewhere farther? Your mind has already separated us as if we resided the distance between England and Russia.”
Lydia’s voice scraped against Gabriel’s skin like a blade over rough stone. If she had made this a test, he was failing it. But maybe she wished to hurt him back; perhaps she understood that the mere notion of her leaving chafed at him. Even Scotland, despite his offer, seemed too far. He wanted her somewhere close.
“Where do you have in mind?”
She blinked as if the question surprised her. Then she lifted her chin. “I’ve never been to Paris. Or Spain. Parts of America, I hear, are quite lovely. Lady Derby has friends in New York I could stay with for an extended visit.”
America.
Across the entire ocean.
Leagues of water between them.
All of his muscles constricted in protest. Already, he imagined the space between them growing; she was slipping through his grasp like water.
