Page 66 of A Bride By Morning
“My sweet girl,” Lady Derby murmured sadly. “Does he . . . not treat you well?”
Lydia knew how it must have appeared to her aunt: keeping secrets, maintaining performances—all the indications of an acrimonious marriage. But even she couldn’t help but express surprise at the notion that Gabriel would hurt her. The very idea had been so repellant to him that he’d locked himself in his room and was troubled to the point of distraction earlier.
Lydia’s eyes stung once more. “He is the best husband I could ask for,” she said. She paused to gather herself. “But I don’t know if he wishes to have the kind of marriage that I do.”
Lady Derby’s mask of concern collapsed to sympathy. “Oh, Lydia.”
“I love him so much,” Lydia said, all too conscious that the tears she so valiantly tried to subdue now fell freely. “And I don’t know if he loves me back.”
Her aunt sighed and released Lydia’s hands. She reached into the pocket of her travel dress and plucked out a kerchief, using the cloth to dab Lydia’s cheeks. “I remember observing the two of you together when you were children. One thing I noticed was how that boy watched you when you weren’t looking.” Her aunt gave a small smile. “Forgive an old woman for the sentimentality, but it warmed my heart.”
Lydia shook her head. “All those years apart, his time in the diplomatic service . . . things are different now.” She wished she could tell her aunt how much.
But Lady Derby made an exasperated sound and continued wiping at Lydia’s cheeks. “I’m aware that Lord Montgomery isn’t the same, don’t think I’m not. He might have all of society fooled, but I’ve known him since he was young enough to climb my trees.”
Lydia gave a quick smile at the memory, gone just as fast. “He and I aren’t like we were then.”
“That’s not the point I was making, my love. I watched him when he returned to England. I noticed how different he was.” She set the cloth into her lap and smoothed her thumb affectionately over Lydia’s cheek. “But he always looked at you the same way. Like you were the brightest star in the sky.”
31
Gabriel spread the map of Langdon Manor’s grounds across the table in his study. “If Medvedev’s remaining men try to attack, they’d have to scout this area. It’s larger than Meadowcroft.”
Callihan studied the map, then tapped a rocky outcropping nearby. “Plenty of places for them to hide there.”
“Have your men patrol and keep watch in shifts,” Gabriel said. “After losing several of his agents, Medvedev will be more determined than ever.” He glanced at Wentworth. “Any idea how many people he has working for him?”
Wentworth shook his head. “But you know that doesn’t matter. Pay the right man in the rookeries enough, and he’ll join Medvedev in trying to murder you and your wife.”
“Then he’ll be paying the right people to hide him,” Gabriel murmured. “Plenty of criminals know how to escape authorities, and the East End is full of places for him to regroup while his scouts gather intel on this property.”
Callihan glanced at Wentworth. “You ought to ask Nick Thorne to aid in your search. He knows the rookeries better than anyone, and residents might be more willing to talk to him.”
Nicholas Thorne was the owner of the Brimstone, a successful London gaming hell that had elevated him from a criminal to one of the richest men in England. Residents in the rookeries referred to him as the King of the East End, a moniker coined for the control he wielded in his little corner of London, where no one dared to cross him. His marriage to Lady Alexandra Grey, sister to the Earl of Kent, elevated his status beyond the Brimstone’s environs and gained him a certain respectability. Still, Gabriel had heard that Nick Thorne wore that respectability like a costume. And Gabriel knew a thing or two about performances.
Wentworth seemed intrigued by the idea. “Thorne cooperates with the authorities on his own terms but doesn’t like to involve himself with the business of aristocrats. Until Medvedev causes trouble in the East End, Thorne might not be interested in offering his help.”
“Give him my name,” Callihan said easily, still studying the map of the grounds. “Remind him that he owes me a debt.”
Wentworth’s eyes flared with surprise. “Youknow Nick Thorne?”
Callihan didn’t even look up. “Who doesn’t?”
“There’s a difference between knowing him and having the King of the East End in your debt,” Gabriel added.
“If I were interested in sharing my history with Thorne, I would,” Callihan said impatiently. “Just call in the fucking favor, Wentworth.” He pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to familiarize myself with the grounds.”
Wentworth watched his agent leave with an unreadable expression that Gabriel had come to know well. Wentworth, after all, had not come into his position without being adept at reading people.
“Don’t scratch at that particular door, Wentworth,” Gabriel said. “You don’t need to know everyone’s business.”
“It’s my job to know everyone’s business,” he murmured.
“Yet you keep a thousand of your own fucking secrets that you’ll never divulge.”
“When mine become a problem, perhaps I will.” Wentworth looked thoughtful. He returned his attention to Gabriel. “And you?”
Gabriel frowned. “What about me?”
