Page 79 of A Bride By Morning
“Let me get you home,” he said tenderly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. To Callihan: “You’ll deal with Medvedev?”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure he stays dead,” Callihan said. “Now, take care of your wife. And try not to fuck up this time.”
39
Back at Langdon Manor, Gabriel made a fire and quietly peeled the wet clothes from Lydia’s body, pushing her down into the chair beside the hearth.
There, he treated the lacerations across her hands and wrists. Rage burned through him as he examined the bruises where her hands had been bound with rope. Lydia winced as he pressed a warm cloth to the we
bleeding cuts and instructed her to hold it while he tended to her feet. She would not be walking much until she healed the collection of gashes across her tender soles.
“Damn Callihan,” he muttered, setting her feet inside a bowl of water he’d warmed by the fire. “I ought to have murdered Medvedev my fucking self after what he did to you.”
Panic had nearly consumed him as he rode through the mist earlier. When he heard Lydia’s scream and saw her struggling with Medvedev . . . he had never before known such fear. He could have lost her in an instant.
He’d never told her how he really felt.
Lydia wordlessly stared into the fire, holding the cloth to her hands. “I suppose you have a reason to leave now,” she said flatly. “With Medvedev gone.”
Gabriel paused, staring at the bowl of water that had pinkened from her blood. “Medvedev could have killed you.” The words stuck like a barb in his throat.
“Gabriel—”
“Medvedev could have killed you,” he repeated, interrupting her. Then he raised his head and met her gaze. God, he loved her. He loved her so fucking much that he ached with it. “After what you went through, do you still wish to keep me?”
Lydia’s features softened. “Yes. I still wish to keep you.”
“Why?”
He had to know. Before Gabriel gave Lydia his answer for their future, he had to know.
She sighed and reached for him, her thumb brushing his lip. “Because I already lived for ten years without you. And I wish to be wherever you are, whether it is Moscow, Kabul, England, or elsewhere. Do you comprehend me?”
Gabriel leaned forward, his lips touching hers. “Then keep me.”
He heard her breath catch, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she grasped his shoulders and pulled him in for a hard kiss.
“I love you, Lydia,” Gabriel whispered against her lips. “I choose you, every fucking day of my life.”
Days later,back in London, Gabriel entered Wentworth’s study. He found the other man at the window with a brandy in his hand. Wentworth seemed contemplative, more so than usual.
“How does Lady Montgomery fare after her ordeal?” Wentworth asked by way of a greeting.
Gabriel discreetly shut the study door behind him. “Recovering. We depart town tomorrow morning. I’m eager to give her a proper honeymoon after Lady Derby is once again assured that I’m madly in love with my wife.”
Wentworth’s lip curled in a sort of smile. “I assume she won’t need much convincing this time.” He motioned to Gabriel’s face. “You actually appear happy for once in your fucking life.”
Gabriel thought of the woman in the carriage outside Wentworth’s house. Despite their hours of exhausting travel from Langdon Manor, these past few days with Lydia had been . . . a revelation. Gabriel had made love to her every evening and woken up in her arms every morning. When she smiled at him, her countenance no longer wore the wariness of a woman uncertain of his affections. She touched him so easily. Even the slightest brush of her hand against his was a marvel that spoke of trust; she had chosen him. He would spend the rest of his life making damn certain he was worthy of her. He had ten years to account for.
“I am,” he said softly.
Wentworth gave a laugh. “I assume this is you formally turning down my offer, then?”
“If you require my expertise and intel, you need only send me a missive,” Gabriel said. “But yes, I’m turning you down.”
“Then allow me to give my congratulations on your marriage.” Wentworth set down his brandy and went to his cabinet to retrieve another snifter. He poured a finger of the golden liquid and handed it to Gabriel. “I hope you and Lady Montgomery are happy together wherever you stay.”
Gabriel took a sip of the beverage and let the sweet taste linger on his tongue. “Scotland,” he said. His expression was tender as he glanced out the window toward his carriage. Toward his future and the woman who had given it to him. “I have an estate in the far north that I discreetly purchased after returning from Moscow. She’ll be safe there with me.”
