by Darcy Burke
Assuming she survives.
The dark voice surfaced from the back of his mind. The petrifying fear that came when he thought of losing his mother and sister bubbled up. He was able to keep it at bay for the most part, but he’d come to know Dinah, and if she died… When she died. For he had every expectation that she would. And damn if that—his expectation—wasn’t horrible.
Trying to banish the darkness, he strode into the main room. Judith handed him a plate with a thick slice of bread slathered in butter. He didn’t think he could force it past the lump in his throat. Still, he took the plate.
“I heard her ask about biscuits,” Judith said.
“Yes, I’ll have a groom bring some down later.” First, he had to see if Cook even had any on hand.
Gabriel’s insides roiled with unease. “How do you manage loss at Hartwell House? When people die, I mean.”
Judith’s eyes widened briefly. Lines creased around her mouth as she seemed to ponder his odd question. He was on the verge of telling her to forget he’d asked when she said, “It’s difficult, particularly when we’ve come to know them well. However, we always see it as a blessing for them for they are no longer suffering. And, we hope, they passed in a place of comfort and love.”
Tears stung the back of Gabriel’s throat. He swallowed, praying he wouldn’t humiliate himself in front of Judith. He took a bite of bread, not because he wanted to, but because it gave his body something to do besides surrender to grief.
The bread was delicious, and Gabriel was surprised when he eagerly finished the entire slice. The flavor, the simplicity, the care with which Judith had prepared it for him gave him comfort.
The room around him came into sharper focus as he saw with a clarity he’d never managed before. He handed the empty plate back to Judith. “Thank you. For everything.” He smiled at her then turned and left.
He’d spent so many years fearing death that he’d failed to realize what he was truly afraid of, what he’d worked so hard to avoid—grief. The thought of losing Poppy had precluded him from living the way he ought, without preoccupation about things that he could not control.
He finally understood Poppy’s perspective. Or, at least, he hoped he did. He loved her beyond measure, and that she’d suffered in her grief without him beside her—truly beside her—threatened to break his heart.
Thankfully, he could fix this. He could show Poppy that the loss, the grief, was theirs together. She wasn’t alone.
And neither was he.
Chapter 5
“Are you upset we left early?” Bianca asked as the coach carried her and Poppy away from Thornhill the day after the party began.
“Of course not. I only came to chaperone you,” Poppy said. That wasn’t exactly true. She’d also welcomed the chance to spend some time away from Gabriel. By leaving early, she was shortening her respite, but if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she missed him.
Bianca smoothed her hand over her skirt. “And I appreciate it. Since you are already being so helpful, perhaps you can provide assistance with Calder. We are now in dire need of him to host the St. Stephen’s Day party after today’s debacle with Thornaby and the others.”
“It was a debacle?” Poppy hadn’t heard what precisely had gone on at the shooting competition that had been held at Thornaby’s house party—she’d been too far away—but Bianca had said the host and his friends had bullied the Earl of Buckleigh. Whatever had happened had been enough to drive the Earl of Buckleigh away, as well as Bianca and Poppy.
“It was for Ash—and for me.”
“You’re calling him Ash again,” Poppy murmured. They’d known the earl since they were children. He’d lived in Hartwell until he’d gone off to Oxford, after which he’d moved to London. He’d just come back this year upon inheriting the earldom from his cousin, something he’d never expected to do.
Bianca slid her an exasperated look. “You’re pointing it out again.”
Poppy smiled to herself. How she loved her sister. And how nice it was to be with her away from her own worries.
“It was especially awful because of St. Stephen’s Day,” Bianca said. “I’d hoped Thornaby could host the party at Thornhill—it’s the closest estate to Hartwell after Hartwood.”
“He won’t host it?” Poppy asked, having missed that fact from earlier.
“I didn’t ask him to. I can’t.” Bianca made a face. “He’s horrid.”
Poppy turned her head and stared at her sister. She’d jumped rather quickly and passionately to Ash’s—Buckleigh’s—defense. Was there something between them?
“Bianca, do you have a tendre for the earl?” she asked softly, her lips curving into a slight smile. How wonderful it would be if her sister fell in love. Poppy doubted Calder would be so fortunate. He was making himself rather unlovable with his stinginess and frigidity.
Bianca blinked, then turned her attention to the window. “Don’t be absurd. We’re old friends.”
It seemed more than that based on Bianca’s behavior, but Poppy wouldn’t press the matter. She remembered falling in love with Gabriel. They’d danced at the holiday assembly, and she’d been immediately smitten by his charm and good looks. He’d made her laugh, and she’d counted the days—two—until he’d called on her at Hartwood.
The three-year anniversary of their meeting was almost upon them, she realized with a bittersweet ache. Would they celebrate? Or would they still be at odds? She hoped not.
“Are you all right?” Bianca asked, fixing Poppy with an anxious stare. “I mean, I know things aren’t—” She abruptly stopped and shook her head. “It’s not for me to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.”
Poppy appreciated her sister’s concern. It wasn’t as if she was trying to keep anything from her, but why burden anyone else with her troubles? Especially when there was nothing to be done about them.
“Thank you.” Poppy gently touched Bianca’s arm. “You are the sweetest sister.”
“Calder wouldn’t agree,” she said wryly, provoking a welcome laugh from Poppy.
“No, I suppose not. I do wonder if he will come around,” Poppy mused. “To be more like how he used to be.”
Bianca exhaled. “I can’t see it happening, unfortunately, especially with him refusing to host the St. Stephen’s Day party as all the other Dukes of Hartwell have done before him. I’m still going to try to persuade him, mind you.”
“Of course you are. And if anyone can, it’s you. But you’re right. I do fear he’s hardened into a forbidding shell, and that breaks my heart.”
“He needs a wife,” Bianca said, straightening her spine. “Someone who will manage him and make him feel again. What I should like to know is what made him this way.” She looked over at Poppy. “Or do I just have a rosier idea of who he was before he went to school? I was rather young.”
“No, you remember him correctly. He was kind and caring. He used to make jokes, if you can imagine.”
“I can, actually. I remember giggling with him.” Bianca frowned. “Which makes his behavior all the more maddening. And distressing.” She turned her head toward Poppy. “What happened, do you suppose?”
Poppy thought she knew—or had a good idea, anyway. “I’m sure it was at least partly due to Felicity.”
Bianca cocked her head to the side. “I’d forgotten about her. See, I was young. What happened?”
Felicity Templeton, now Garland, had lived in the village of Hartwell with her parents. When Poppy thought of how different her brother had once been, she always thought of him with Felicity. “Calder wanted to marry her. However, for reasons that have never been made clear to me, they didn’t wed. She and her family moved to York.”
“Her mother came back to Hartwell last year, after her husband died, I believe.” Bianca glanced out the window. “I don’t see her very often. In fact, I should look in on her. Perhaps I’ll do that.”
Poppy smiled. “You’ve such a caring he
art. Let me know when you go, and I’ll join you.”
“Like when we used to visit Hartwell House together,” Bianca said, grinning. “Do you remember when we first started going there?”
Poppy nodded. “Father said we read too many books and suggested we do something else.”
Bianca giggled. “So we took our books to Hartwell House and read to the children.”
“And then taught them to read,” Poppy said with a hint of pride. They both still did those things, just not together. Of late, however, Poppy hadn’t done them at all.
They fell silent for a few minutes before Bianca spoke up again. “Do you think Calder has had a broken heart ever since?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but I’m not sure that’s the case. Gabriel has told me all about Calder’s behavior in London when he was younger. It doesn’t sound as if he was pining for Felicity.”
Bianca’s brows arched. “I see.”
Just like that, the mention of Gabriel drew Poppy back to her own problems. As much as she wanted to aid Bianca in her dealings with Calder, she needed to go home. All this talk of Calder and who he was before made her realize she was ready to be who she was before—who she wanted to be now.
Still, as they drove up the lane leading to Hartwood, she didn’t want to abandon her sister’s cause regarding the St. Stephen’s Day party. “Bianca, do you want me to come in and talk to Calder with you?”
“I don’t think it would matter,” she said with resignation. “Anyway, he’s often busy in his study—there’s no telling if he’d even see us.”
“Surely he’d come to dinner,” Poppy said.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I have the patience for dinner with him tonight. Not after the events of the day.”
The business with Ash had affected Bianca quite profoundly. Poppy kept that observation to herself.
After bidding her sister farewell, Poppy urged the driver to make haste so they would reach Darlington Abbey before it was fully dark.
Despite a succession of clouds, the light of the moon guided Gabriel back to the house. His belly was delightfully content from dinner at the cottage. Aside from making excellent bread, Judith also crafted a mouthwatering stew.
As he walked into the house, a giddy anticipation filled him. Tomorrow, Poppy would return. His excitement reminded him of the night before St. Nicholas Day when his family would exchange gifts. He’d barely been able to sleep, wondering what he’d receive on the morrow.
Deciding to have a glass of port before heading upstairs, he went toward his study and ran into the butler on the way.
“Good evening, my lord,” Walker said. “Lady Darlington has returned.”
The anticipation thrumming through Gabriel expanded. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs, I believe.”
Gabriel was already striding toward the stairs before he remembered to thank Walker. As much as he’d enjoyed dinner at the cottage, Gabriel now wished he’d been at home instead. He took the stairs two at a time.
The fire in their sitting room burned low, and a single lantern flickered on the desk in front of the window. Gabriel went into their bedchamber and stopped short. Standing before the fire, her body silhouetted beneath her cream-colored night rail, was the woman he dreamed of. The woman who held his heart in her hands—precisely where he wanted it to be.
She turned, and he held his breath—both because of her beauty and because he didn’t know what to expect. Would she turn him away? No, she was here, in their bedchamber, unlike the nights before she’d left.
“You’re here,” he whispered.
“I’m here. Bianca wanted to leave Thornhill early.”
“Did something happen?”
“Thornaby and his friends—the ones you don’t like—bullied our old friend Ash.” She shook her head. “The Earl of Buckleigh.”
Gabriel knew Buckleigh. They’d met on a few occasions in London, and Gabriel had encountered him in Hartwell since he’d become the earl. “I’d been meaning to invite him to dinner.”
A half smile tilted her mouth, and Gabriel’s heart flipped. “Have you? I suppose we’ve been busy. Or distracted.” Gabriel’s throat constricted, and she continued before he could gather himself to speak. “There was a shooting competition, and while I couldn’t hear what was being said, Bianca could.”
“Why is that?” Gabriel interrupted.
“Because she insisted on shooting and remained somewhat close to the competition after they deigned to allow her to have a turn—not in the competition, of course, but to demonstrate her skill.”
Gabriel chuckled. “I’m not surprised she demanded equal opportunity. And good for her.” His sister-in-law was perhaps the most fearless and self-possessed person he’d ever met.
“Whatever happened between the gentlemen upset Buckleigh enough that he left the party. Bianca insisted we do the same.”
“To show solidarity?”
“I’m not sure. She says that she and Buckleigh are just friends, but she referred to him repeatedly as ‘Ash.’”
“You just did the same,” he noted.
“So I did,” she said with a laugh. “We have known him forever, it seems. Beyond that, however, she was very upset by what happened. Passionately so, I would say.” She gave Gabriel a direct stare. “The only man I feel passionately about is you.”
Gabriel’s pulse sped. His heart thudded, sending blood crashing through his ears. Had he heard her right? In a handful of steps, he stood before her. “Poppy, I think I understand what you’ve been going through. I didn’t before. Or at least, I didn’t want to. I should have shared in your grief—our grief—but I couldn’t.”
She took his hands in hers. “I know. I shouldn’t have expected it of you. I know how deeply your mother’s and sister’s deaths affected you.”
He didn’t deserve her understanding. “Don’t. I left you alone to deal with what was happening. Or not happening, as it were. I was too scared.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m still scared.”
She moved closer and brought her hands to his face, holding him as she looked up into his eyes. “I know, but you don’t have to be.”
He clasped her waist, holding her against him. “I wish I could change things. I wish I could fill you with a child. With ten children.” She arched a brow at him, and he laughed softly. “Too many?”
“At once, yes,” she said drily.
He grinned. “Not at once, then.” Sobering, he wrapped his arms around her. “Scared as I am, I want to be a father, and I’m heartbroken I can’t make you a mother.”
Poppy stood on her toes, whispering, “My love. We are still a family.” She kissed him, her lips soft and warm beneath his.
A dam of emotion broke inside him. He swept her up against him and deepened the kiss, desperate to show her how much she meant to him and how sorry he was. But it was she who showed him—her hands twined in his hair as she pressed her body to his, offering herself in sweet surrender.
After a thorough, toe-curling kiss, she undressed him piece by piece, her lips pressing into his skin each time she revealed a new part of him. He cupped her head as she unfastened his fall to strip him of his last garment. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said with a soft smile. “We deserve each other.” She peeled his breeches away, exposing his cock. Then she dropped to her knees as she pulled the garment completely down his legs. Her hand encircled the base of his shaft as he worked to kick the breeches away.
Before he could tell her to stop, that he wanted to be the one to worship her, she took him into her mouth. Her dark curls fell across her cheeks as her head bobbed forward, her lips sliding over his flesh.
Gabriel thrust his fingers into her hair, holding her lest he spin away into darkness. He was aware only of her—the clasp of her hand, the gentle pressure of her thumb, the glide of her tongue, the heat of her mouth. His hips moved, and he had to work to keep from thrusting into her.
Sudde
nly, it was too much. He withdrew from her and bent to scoop her into his arms. He bore her the few steps it took to reach the bed, then he laid her down and climbed between her legs.
He reached for the hem of her night rail, but she was already tugging it up, revealing herself to him inch by inch. He smiled to himself as she went slowly on purpose. It had been a long time since she’d seduced him.
The moment she bared her sex to him, he bowed forward. She spread her legs to him, but he put his palms against her thighs and pushed them farther apart, opening her to his gaze completely. She was so beautiful with her bright pink lips and glistening folds. He was humbled by the offering of her body and just knew that the fault of their childlessness had to lie with him.
“Gabriel?” she asked softly.
He looked up her body where she had the night rail gathered at her waist. She’d brought her head up to look down at him, her gaze heavy with desire but also tinged with concern.
“Take it off,” he rasped.
She pulled the garment the rest of the way up her body, lifting from the bed and then whisking it over her head. The cotton floated away, but he was fixed on her breasts, so full and round and tipped with soft, blush-pink nipples. They tempted him, but he was already committed, the scent of her arousal luring him back to her sex.
He buried himself in her, using his tongue and fingers to tease and fill her. Her whimpers were a song, urging him to give her more. He curled two fingers into her, finding that sensitive spot that sent her spiraling into ecstasy. Her legs quivered and her muscles clenched around him, signaling her release. She cried out, and he suckled her clitoris, drawing out her pleasure until she begged him to stop.
He looked up at her as she tugged on his hair. “You really want me to stop?”
