Page 54 of When He Was Wicked
“You forget I will come into Grandmother’s legacy in a few years’ time?” On his thirtieth birthday, a sum of thirty thousand pounds would be bequeathed to him, as per his grandmother's will.
“Good God man, that is three years from now!” George said, shaking his head in disapproval.
It seemed at one point in their father's young life, he'd been somewhat of a wastrel, until he'd met his wife. Still, he'd been reckless with his legacy and had been forced to marry an heiress. The earl had merely been lucky it had turned into a love match. His grandmother had been very careful in the inheritance she left her grandchildren, thinking with maturity they would be more responsible. George had already received his, but Gabriel and Annabelle had years to wait. Until they were both of thirty years, their inheritance would sit in a trust. “I am quite aware of how long before I claim the monies Grandmother left. I believe I am ambitious and inventive enough that I can provide for my wife ably until that time.”
"If father desires it, he can find a way to ruin that," George snapped. “He is the Earl of Fairclough, and his influence is far-reaching. Our father can be ruthless when he is of a mind to be, and I do not think he would care for you marrying Miss Markham even though she is a pleasant girl. Use your head. Take her as your mistress, do not make the mistake of arguing for her to be your wife!”
Anger snapped through Gabriel. “You insult Miss Markham, and I will not stand for it,” he warned low and hard. "She doesnot deserve to be anyone’s soiled dove, and you dishonor her for even suggesting it."
George exhaled on a harsh breath. “She is a nice girl, but she is not fit for your wife. I’ll not apologize for thinking it.”
Gabriel glanced toward the figure in the distance. “I spoke to you before making an announcement, because your support is important to me, George.”
He wrinkled his nose, but his eyes were sympathetic. “Do not ask me to back you in this.”
"You are my brother, of course I shall ask it of you. When you offered for Verity, you asked for my support, and I gladly gave it."
“She’s the daughter of a viscount! It is hardly the same.”
“Yes, but you were expected to marry her older cousin who is the daughter of an earl. You were being forced to marry against your heart. I supported your decision to elope with Verity. I daresay I expected a similar loyalty, George.”
His brother made no reply, simply turned, and walked away to the Manor. Trudging through the snow, Gabriel made his way over to Primrose. Her cheeks and the tip of her elegant nose were red from the biting cold, but her lovely eyes sparkled with joy and a bit of shyness.
“Good morning, Miss Markham,” he greeted.
“Good morning, Gabriel,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes searching his. Vulnerability glimmered deep in those exquisite eyes of hers.
The quick flash of hesitation, of doubt, had him stepping scandalously close to her. “I slipped away before the household woke. I did not want to explain what I was about in your room before marriage.”
Her sharp cheekbones lifted as her face lit with the radiance of her smile. “I understand. Though I wish you’d woke me. I…I had a present for you.”
“I shall gladly receive it tonight. How are you feeling, Primrose?” he asked her, tenderness, and love, welling inside him so deep, so strong it nearly strangled him.
A becoming flush crept up her slender neck, pinkening her fair cheeks. “It is frightfully cold out,” she said with a gasping laugh. “But I feel glorious.”
He reached out and tugged the muffed hat firmer over her ears. He did not like that her coat and gloves seemed so worn. How little she had, no family to call her own, no wealth, and worked very hard for the little she had, yet she possessed such good cheer.
“I’m glad there are no discomforts from my enthusiasm last night…and early this morning.” He could still smell the heady and decadent fragrance of her passion on the air, taste the tart sweetness of her sex, and hear her lovely cries of fulfillment.
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks blushed apple red. “I’m quite fine, thank you,” she said primly.
He laughed, and she grinned. Her small teeth bit nervously at her lip, drawing his attention to the fullness of her soft mouth, with soft curving lines bordering its pale-pink, pouting skin.
“I could not hear the conversation between you and Lord Weatherton, but I thought he appeared out of sorts.”
Gabriel cupped her jaw and lifted her anxious gaze to his. “I promise you it shall be well.”
She searched his face, and then the tension seeped from her. “I believe you.” Then she pressed against him in a surprising hug.
Gabriel wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. He cursed the clothes separating them, desperate to stroke his fingers across her soft, delicate skin. How he’d missed her. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her to the conservatory. He wanted to do all the things he shouldn’t. Last night he had been weak and had taken her withoutthe benefit of marriage. Gabriel would not be foolish in his temptation again. He would wait until they were married before making love with her again and again and again.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sound of clinking glasses and laughter filtered on the air. Taking a deep breath and clasping above her stomach to stop the wild flutters, Primrose stepped through the ajar door into the spacious drawing room. It seemed like everyone but the lord and lady of the manor were present. All the cousins and the aunts and the close friends who’d been invited had arrived sometime throughout the night and earlier throughout the day.
After her walk with Gabriel this morning, they’d gone to the church in the village where several carriages had arrived, rumbling and crunching through the snow. The sermon of charity and love had been inspiring, and the pews had been overfull, with several people standing.
They’d returned to the manor a few hours ago, and the festive feel had continued with parlor games, with some guests braving the steadily falling snow to skate. Now about twenty people were in the drawing room, laughing and chattering, drinking champagne and mulled wine, while Lady Beatrice, a most charming young lady, played a jaunty carol at the grand pianoforte close to the roaring fire. Gabriel held the sheet for her, and they seemed to be having quite a lovely time. Primroselooked away, wondering if he enjoyed Lady Beatrice’s company or merely tolerated it at his mother’s insistence.
