Page 38 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
She found Gabriel in his study. The door stood half-open, allowing a glimpse of him before she stepped inside. He was surrounded by papers and maps spread across the desk, notes stacked with measured precision. His posture was tense, though his gaze was unfocused, lost somewhere beyond the calculations before him. Still, she hesitated.
The last time she had stood close to him, her body had pressed against his, her breath unsteady beneath his touch. She had felt the shift within him—his need overcoming his control—and for the first time, it had seemed that whatever stood between them was not merely obligation but something else entirely. And yet, looking at him now, she saw none of that. He was composed, withdrawn. The man who had kissed her the night before was nowhere to be found.
She swallowed, finding her voice at last.
“I wished to inquire about the fire investigation,” she said as blandly as she could manage.
He looked up, his dark blue eyes meeting hers. They were polite but remote and distant, just as she had expected and dreaded.
“There has been nothing conclusive,” he said. “The men scoured the grounds but found no clear evidence of trespass.”
She waited, expecting some hint of frustration or a shared acknowledgment of the unease lingering in the aftermath. But instead, he turned back to his desk, his attention returning to the documents before him. He silently dismissed her, and did so as if she was a mere servant.
She stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of that unspoken rejection settle deeper into her chest. Hurt and frustration fought for her attention. She had not expected tenderness or easy warmth after the way he had pulled away. But she had hoped that she would at least not be shut out entirely, since the matter involved her home, as well.
That evening, as she stood near the window, watching the last light fade, Mrs. Cartwright approached.
“His lordship requests supper in the study, milady,” she said.
Genevieve merely nodded. The wall between them had solidified.
Retreating to her chambers, she did not wait for the house to settle before she undressed for the night. The connecting door remained closed for the rest of the evening. Perhaps, for the rest of her life. A final, insurmountable barrier had been instated. And she was growing too weary to work her way through it again.
Chapter Sixteen
The breakfast table was steeped in tension, thick enough to render even Sophia’s brightness and James’s effortless charm ineffective. The fragrances of the fresh bread and steaming tea, and the warmth of sunlight spilling through the mullioned windows did nothing to dissolve the undercurrent of unease. The previous day’s silence had stretched into the night and now into the early hours, heavy as stone.
Gabriel sat across from Genevieve, his posture unyielding, his expression unreadable. His movements were mechanical as he ate, measured and deliberate, as though each bite required precision rather than hunger. His attention remained fixed on his plate or the papers beside him, offering only the briefest nod when their eyes met. She might as well have been invisible.
James attempted conversation, his voice smooth and unaffected, though even his careful efforts faltered against Gabriel’s wall of restraint.
“The perimeter fencing will hold for now, but the laborers mentioned reinforcing certain weak points,” he said. “Would you prefer that be handled before winter?”
Gabriel did not look up.
“It will be dealt with,” he said.
James poured himself a second cup of tea, undeterred.
“Is there any indication that the disturbances are connected?” he asked. “I am still certain that they were all too perfectly timed to be coincidence.”
Gabriel took a sip from his own cup before answering, his tone clipped and detached.
“No indication,” he said. “There has been nothing definitively damning.”
Genevieve pressed her hands against the smooth porcelain of her plate, willing herself to speak, to cut through the unbearable formality that had settled between them. But she could not.
Polite strangers under the same roof, she thought, biting back the urge to demand something from him beyond the infuriating restraint he wielded so precisely. The atmosphere fractured suddenly when Mr. Winters strode in, his normally composed expression noticeably ruffled. The stiffness in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw, warned of unwelcome news before he even opened his mouth.
“Pardon the intrusion, my lord, but there is an issue near the north fields,” he said. “Strangers have been seen asking pointed questions about your management.”
Gabriel set his tea down with deliberate control.
“Questions?” he asked.
Mr. Winters nodded, shifting uncomfortably.
“They are reviving old grievances about water rights,” he said. One is suggesting that your grip is weakening.”
