It did not escape her notice that Lady Adele was pale indeed.
“Are you feeling well, my lady?” she ventured.
Lady Adele’s expression was pinched. Closed in upon itself. “Perfectly well, thank you, Miss Winter. I must insist you call me Adele. No formality between us, if you please.”
“Then you shall call me Christabella,” she countered, offering her unlikely new friend a hand. “May I help you to stand?”
She felt guilty for having repeatedly run into Lady Adele, who had only been gracious and lovely. And entirely forgiving of the sights she had witnessed—not to mention perhaps overheard—between Christabella and Gill, loyally remaining silent. Nary a hint of gossip had been spread.
Lady Adele took her hand, allowing Christabella to help her to her feet. They stood opposite each other in the hall, taking each other’s measures.
“Christabella,” Lady Adele said at length with a nod of her head, as if she had reached a conclusion.
“Adele,” she returned, equally hesitant. “Are you certain nothing is amiss? You look frightfully pale, almost as if you are ill.”
“And you look the same,” said the other lady, quite shrewdly. “Unless I am mistaken, there are the trails of tears on your cheeks. Your nose is quite red. And I do believe you have come from the direction of the Duke of Coventry’s chamber.”
Here was a worthy opponent.
Lady Adele was sharp-witted. Kind, and yet she clearly possessed a calculating side. Christabella approved.
“We are all allowed our secrets, are we not?” she asked softly. “You have more than enough of your own, I would wager.”
“I do, and speaking of them…” Lady Adele paused, then inclined her head. “I have been meaning to speak with you concerning the favor I asked.”
Christabella could not help but to take note of her pallor once again. “Are you certain nothing is amiss?”
Lady Adele swallowed, looking as if she were ill. “Everything is amiss, I am afraid, and it is all my fault, but that matters not. What does matter is the favor. If you cannot do it, I understand. Please know that regardless of your decision, your secret is safe with me.”
Her secret involving Gill.
The man she loved.
The man she had to find some way of convincing to marry her. The man she had to make realize he loved her every bit as much as she loved him. Stubborn virgin rakehell that he was.
“Thank you,” she said simply, turning her attention back to the discussion at hand. “Please, do tell me what it is that you require. I will be happy to help however I may.”
Lady Adele hesitated, as if she were struggling to find the proper words. “I was wondering if you might convince my older sister that you have invited me to remain here with your family as a guest, beyond Christmastide.”
It was not the sort of favor Christabella would have guessed she would request. And certainly surprising, coming from a duke’s daughter. Why would Lady Adele wish to remain?
“You want to stay on at Abingdon House?” she asked. “Consider it done. My brother is remaining in residence for at least the next fortnight, before returning to London.”
“That is the crux of the matter, I am afraid, and the necessity for the favor,” Lady Adele said, her expression strained. “You see, I…need to go away. I am not certain just where yet, as I have not had the proper time to formulate my plan, but before I can do anything, I must convince my sister to leave me behind. That way, I will be unencumbered and free to make the decisions I must.”
“But why must you go away?” Christabella’s curiosity could not be restrained. “And why lie to your sister? Surely she would understand.”
“This is a matter most delicate,” Lady Adele said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I dare not involve anyone else.”
She struggled to comprehend what matter would lead to Lady Adele’s flight and could think of only one thing. And that one thing seemed decidedly unlikely for a reserved, shy wallflower.
“Will you not confide in me, at least?” she asked, feeling a strong surge of empathy for the other woman. “If you are in trouble, perhaps I may be of assistance.”
“I am in trouble, but the trouble is of my own making.” Lady Adele paused, biting her lip and pressing a hand over her abdomen. “I do not want anyone else to be hurt by what I have done, and that includes you, Miss Winter. You will grant me all the aid I require in persuading my sister to allow me to linger here.”
“But where will you go, if you have no intention to remain here at Abingdon Hall?” she pressed. “You can hardly intend to disappear. A lady such as yourself, alone in the world…why, it would be dangerous.”
“Not any more dangerous than the future facing me, I fear.” Lady Adele looked grim.
Christabella could not help but to wonder how her future could be so grim when she was the daughter of a duke. When she was lovely, her lineage impeccable, her deportment forever above reproach.
But she said nothing, for her newfound friend seemed to wish to guard her secrets. “Whatever happens,” she said, speaking as much to herself as to Lady Adele, “everything will work out as it ought. Even if it seems impossible.”
She had to believe it, for without hope, what remained?
Chapter Eleven
“You have surrendered,” Ash pronounced, disgust evident in his tone. “By God, Gill, I never thought I would see the day.”
Morning had dawned grim and bleak, just as the day before had been. But he and his brother were on their customary ride despite the threat of another snowfall looming on the horizon. It was rather indicative of Gill’s mood.
He had spent the remainder of yesterday wallowing in his own self-pity to such a degree that he had actually called for some brandy. He had fallen into bed in a stupor and had risen to the devil’s own headache.
Along with the unshakeable heartache that had been his steady companion since he had watched Christabella Winter walk out of his bedchamber—and mayhap his life—the day before.
“I did not surrender,” he corrected his brother at length, his voice sharper than he intended as he defended himself. “I did the only thing I could do.”
“The only thing to do is to wed her, and yet you told her to marry someone else.”
His brother was irritatingly right.
He winced. The day was deuced cold, as was the rapidly dawning fear he had made an insurmountable mistake. “I did what was right, what was fair. Christabella deserves a man who can love her. I am incapable of it.”
Ash scoffed. “What rot. You think yourself incapable of love?”
“There is something inherently wrong with me,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. “Whatever softness I had was beaten out of me by our father, or lost somewhere deep inside the chamber where he kept me locked for days on end.”
“The bastard locked you in a chamber?” Ash demanded.
Belatedly, Gill realized how much he had just revealed.
More than he had wanted, it was true.
“Occasionally,” he muttered. “It was nothing, and many years ago now. Do not worry yourself over it.”
“It happened when I was sent to stay with Mother in London, was it not?” Ash asked, his jaw rigid.
“It did,” he admitted.
Their father had made certain to separate them often in their youth. Though he had claimed it was because he wished his heir to follow in his shadow whilst a mere second son was extra trouble he did not need, Gill saw quite suddenly the reason why. When the brothers had been separated, they were unable to defend each other against their father’s wrath.
Thus it had remained until, eventually, they had grown too tall and strong to suffer their father’s abuse any longer. He had turned his perversity to his mistresses then, the despicable sort of man who took pleasure in the pain of others.
“Damn it to hell, Gill, why did you not tell me?” Ash demanded. “I would have done something to try to stop him. We co
uld have banded together.”
“That is why I did not tell you.” He looked away, gazing into the trees in the distance ahead.
Bereft of their leaves, their wizened branches were raised to the sky like open hands. Waiting for something. Something that would never come.
“I should have killed him before the devil took him,” Ash growled.
Gill glanced back to his brother. “And that is another reason why I never told you. You have found happiness now. You deserve it, Ash. Leave the past where it belongs.”
“Tell yourself the same bloody thing,” his brother said.
“I am…as happy as I am capable of being,” he said, struggling to give voice to the complex emotions churning through him.
“Horse shit,” Ash spat. “You want to marry the hellion, and yet instead of fighting for her, you are giving in, allowing an enemy army to storm your bloody castle.”
His brother’s words produced a visceral reaction in him that he could neither deny nor control. The notion of another man touching Christabella made him want to slam his first through something.
“I am not giving in,” he denied again, though this time with considerably less vehemence.
“Damn right you are not.” Ash’s countenance was determined. Stubborn. “Because I am not going to allow you to do something so cursed foolhardy. You are every bit as capable of being happy as I am. You said it yourself, Gill. Leave the past where it belongs. Do not allow that miserable prick to rule the rest of your life and ruin it from the grave.”
Was that what he was doing?
His brother’s words gave him pause.
“But what if he was right? There is something wrong with me, Ash,” he said. “You cannot deny it. I freeze in large gatherings. I can scarcely speak.”
“There is nothing wrong with you except that you are being a stubborn, wrongheaded fool,” his brother accused. “There is no other explanation for what you are doing. You love Miss Christabella, do you not?”
Did he?
His heart was pounding, his ears going hot despite the frigid late December’s winds tearing at him. “How did you know you were in love with Miss Prudence?”
“I realized I could not fathom spending one day without her,” Ash answered. “That her kindness and beauty are mesmerizing. That her kisses drive me mad. That I could not bear to be anything other than hers.”
Bloody hell.
It sounded familiar.
He reined in his horse, drawing to a stop. What if everything Ash had said was right? And what if he was a fool who had given up with far too much ease?
What if he loved Miss Christabella Winter?
“I need to return to Abingdon House immediately,” he said.
“Yes,” his brother agreed. “You do.”
Because he did love Miss Christabella Winter. She owned his heart. His heart was capable of feeling. He had just been too deuced stupid to see it. But he was going to change that now, if it was the last thing he did.
“Carry on without me,” he told Ash, turning his mount around to head back in the direction they had just come from.
“Do not forget to grovel,” called his brother after him.
But Gill was riding too hard back to Christabella to answer.
Christabella was waiting for Gill in his chamber. Making her way there had been no easy feat. Ever since Pru and Lord Ashley had been caught alone together in dishabille by one of the servants, Dev had extra staff prowling the halls. Lady Emilia was keeping a watchful eye upon all the Winter sisters as well.
Dev had held a private family meeting late yesterday evening, and he had been stern.
No more improprieties. Not even with their betrotheds. There was to be no sneaking about, no meeting alone, no stolen kisses.
In short, nothing fun.
But when Christabella had suggested as much, her brother’s expression had turned thunderous. Though she and her sisters had quietly snickered at her sally, Dev had unsmilingly gone into yet another lecture. Her lack of foresight had earned her the rather sharp elbow of her sister, Grace, in her side.
And so it was not without great risk or the very real danger of inciting her brother’s wrath that she had found her way back to Gill’s chamber this morning. She knew from Pru that he and Lord Ashley had a habit of riding each morning. She knew when he left, when to expect his return.
She was prepared. She had been pacing the floor, practicing her speech for the last half hour. Christabella was not going to leave without making him listen to her. She had decided she must fight for them, even if he would not.
By her estimate, she had another half hour to prepare herself before—
The door to his chamber flew open, and he strode over the threshold, his high cheekbones still painted red from the chill outside. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he did not even see her at first. He came striding in, throwing the door closed behind him.
It was now, she told herself, or never.
“Gill,” she said.
He jolted, as if jarred from slumber, his gaze flying to where she stood. “Christabella?”
“I need to speak with you,” they both said in unison.
Then they stared at each other for a heavy, silent beat.
“Before you say anything, please listen,” she began, only to stop when she realized they were once again speaking at the same time.
“I want to apologize,” he was also saying, before pausing.
She longed to run to him. To end this silly distance between them. To throw her arms around him and feel his embrace surrounding her, inhale his familiar scent, absorb the steady beat of his heart.
“I want to apologize to you as well,” she told him, remaining where she was, too uncertain of herself to move for the moment. “I am sorry, Gill, for not accepting your proposal of marriage when I had the chance. I was wrong.”
“You were not wrong to refuse me,” he countered, surprising her then by moving forward of his own volition. “I am no Lothario, as you well know. But I wish to God I had tried harder to tell you how much you mean to me. How much you have changed every part of me.”
She took his hands in hers. They were cool from his time spent in the elements, but thankfully bare and devoid of gloves. She laced her fingers through his just the same. “I do not want or need a Lothario. All I want, and all I need, and all I love is you.”
The confession left her feeling freer. Lighter. Also frightened.
Gill was staring at her, wordless.
Perhaps she had frightened him away. Perhaps whatever it was that rendered it so difficult for him to speak in social gatherings had returned.
Or perhaps he did not love her.
After all, he had only told her previously that he liked her.
She vowed not to let that sway her from her course. “I came here to tell you that I do not want to marry anyone else. You are the only man for me. The only man I wish to wed. It must be you, or no one else. Unless you will not have me, of course. If you have changed your mind, I understand…”
“Of course I have not,” he said in a rush, his fingers tightening on hers. “I have realized how wrong I was. Because the thought of you marrying anyone other than me is… Belle, I-I—”
He extended the sound of the I, seeming to struggle within himself.
She was about to tell him it did not matter, that she loved him enough, and that in time, she hoped his feelings for her would grow, when he shocked her.
“I love you,” he blurted, so quickly she may have missed it had she not been hanging upon his every breath, his every word.
Gill’s expression was pained. His jaw rigid. He was holding her hands in the tightest grip, as if he feared an incremental loosening of his hold on her would somehow make her disappear.
And all she could think was thank merciful heavens.
“I love you too,” she said, beaming at him, unable to contain her happiness. “I love you so much it hurts. I am sorry it took me some time to puzz
le out my emotions, and I am sorry that I allowed my pride to get in the way. When I thought you only wanted the Winter fortune instead of me, it hurt. I reacted foolishly. Selfishly. But when I thought about everything I know about you, about the way I feel for you, I knew I was wrong.”
“You were not wrong.” He shook his head. “You were right. I do not blame you one whit. I was the arse. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course.” She bit her lip, searching his gaze. “You were not the arse at all, Gill, You were…”
“The arse,” he said again, offering her a wry grin that somehow only made him more handsome. More beloved.
“Do you still wish to marry me?” she asked, knowing she was taking a risk and doing so anyway.
“Bloody hell, woman, do you need to ask?” He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers, their entwined fingers trapped between their bodies. “There is nothing I want more than you at my side for the rest of my life, as my duchess. Not because of the blasted Winter fortune. But because of you, Belle. I love you. You changed me. Cut the bonds of my past and set me free.”
His past.
It was the first time he had mentioned it.
But she had wondered, many times, what could have happened to him. What had turned him into the man he had become.
“I love you too, my darling man,” she told him, releasing his hands to frame his beloved face. The prickle of his golden whiskers on her skin was a beautiful abrasion. She could not help but to wonder how it would feel rasping on her breasts. Or lower still…
“About my past, Belle,” he began hesitantly, seeming to struggle in his search for the words.
Just like that, Christabella felt as if she were back to the day their paths had crossed in the salon. That first day. She had spoken for him. And he had not minded. Rather, her daring had entertained him, if vexed him.
“Your past is what makes you the man you are today,” she told him then. “And the man you are is the man I fell in love with. That is all I need to know.”
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