you were about for the past two years, Gabriel. He loves you, and you do owe him.”
“Him and Marjorie both, though he tells me their marriage may be invalid as a result of my resurrection.”
The logical consequences of such a notion had Polly tracing a vintage Gabriel North scowl. “Is that why you were so careful with our dealings? You knew you had a fiancée?”
“She was married to my brother. It never occurred to me their union might not be valid, but Aaron has warned me Lady Hartle threatened breach of promise did he not marry Marjorie. In my case, the scandal would revolve around fraud in the inducement.”
Polly had never heard such a term in spoken English, suggesting Gabriel’s acquaintance with law far exceeded hers. “She’d do that to her own daughter?”
“She’d do it for her daughter. So you see, Polonaise, this place will soon be rife with unpleasantness and intrigue. You must not remain here too much longer, lest it taint you by association.”
He was concerned for her, at least some. “Bother that. I’m associated with the Gypsy Princess, who played her violin for coin, and I’ve been to most of the courts of Europe, some of which were little better than orgies in progress.”
Gabriel touched her cheek. “I would not see you burdened by my difficulties.”
“So you’ll really send me away?”
“I will.”
She believed him, because he slipped an arm around her shoulders, tugged her against him, and held her just as he had that night in the Three Springs kitchen more than a year ago. She went into his embrace and cuddled up without a whimper of protest, because there was such strength and comfort to be had in his arms.
For her. As she breathed in the scent of soap, cedar, and tired adult male, Polly hoped their embrace held comfort for him too.
***
Gabriel waited until the lady had fallen asleep, a warm, soft feminine bundle of heat, temper, and talent, and then let his lips cruise her temple. She smelled good—of spices, rose water, lavender, and Polonaise Hunt.
Even her name gave him pleasure—artistic, unique, and bold like her.
He should have told her the truth. When he’d gotten to Three Springs, he should have told her who he was and why he dissembled, but the idea that he could trust two women and a little girl to protect his interests had seemed laughable at the time.
He was the man; he did the protecting.
He’d learned differently.
As a steward, it hadn’t been lost on him that the mamas among the beasts did the protecting. The mares, ewes, nannies, heifers, and she-cats all defended their young, while the stallions, rams, billy goats, bulls, and toms enjoyed reckless liberty until the mating urge struck yet again.
Sara and Polly had done what needed to be done to protect Allie and each other, and gradually, their care had extended to Gabriel as well. He had been awed and grateful, particularly when he’d suspected even his own brother of trying to kill him.
Those women, and looking after an old woman’s estate with them, had changed Gabriel in ways he was only now coming to understand. He looked at Hesketh with new eyes, at the whole business of the marquessate differently.
And Polonaise Hunt appeared in the middle of this awkward adjustment as if Gabriel’s chronic longing for her conjured the lady at his side.
He should have shooed her up to her room, but he couldn’t stand to have her thinking their affections for each other had meant so little. She’d been a lifeline for him, pragmatic but kind, forcing food and rest and dry clothing on him when he’d been more inclined to work and work, and go back out in the rain, wind, cold, and mud, and work some more. She’d made him appreciate the small comforts—a cup of tea, a touch, a fresh, hot muffin slathered with butter, a smile—and made him realize that somewhere along the path to becoming the marquess, he’d missed the need to become Gabriel.
To her, he was simply Gabriel, and that had been
“Him and Marjorie both, though he tells me their marriage may be invalid as a result of my resurrection.”
The logical consequences of such a notion had Polly tracing a vintage Gabriel North scowl. “Is that why you were so careful with our dealings? You knew you had a fiancée?”
“She was married to my brother. It never occurred to me their union might not be valid, but Aaron has warned me Lady Hartle threatened breach of promise did he not marry Marjorie. In my case, the scandal would revolve around fraud in the inducement.”
Polly had never heard such a term in spoken English, suggesting Gabriel’s acquaintance with law far exceeded hers. “She’d do that to her own daughter?”
“She’d do it for her daughter. So you see, Polonaise, this place will soon be rife with unpleasantness and intrigue. You must not remain here too much longer, lest it taint you by association.”
He was concerned for her, at least some. “Bother that. I’m associated with the Gypsy Princess, who played her violin for coin, and I’ve been to most of the courts of Europe, some of which were little better than orgies in progress.”
Gabriel touched her cheek. “I would not see you burdened by my difficulties.”
“So you’ll really send me away?”
“I will.”
She believed him, because he slipped an arm around her shoulders, tugged her against him, and held her just as he had that night in the Three Springs kitchen more than a year ago. She went into his embrace and cuddled up without a whimper of protest, because there was such strength and comfort to be had in his arms.
For her. As she breathed in the scent of soap, cedar, and tired adult male, Polly hoped their embrace held comfort for him too.
***
Gabriel waited until the lady had fallen asleep, a warm, soft feminine bundle of heat, temper, and talent, and then let his lips cruise her temple. She smelled good—of spices, rose water, lavender, and Polonaise Hunt.
Even her name gave him pleasure—artistic, unique, and bold like her.
He should have told her the truth. When he’d gotten to Three Springs, he should have told her who he was and why he dissembled, but the idea that he could trust two women and a little girl to protect his interests had seemed laughable at the time.
He was the man; he did the protecting.
He’d learned differently.
As a steward, it hadn’t been lost on him that the mamas among the beasts did the protecting. The mares, ewes, nannies, heifers, and she-cats all defended their young, while the stallions, rams, billy goats, bulls, and toms enjoyed reckless liberty until the mating urge struck yet again.
Sara and Polly had done what needed to be done to protect Allie and each other, and gradually, their care had extended to Gabriel as well. He had been awed and grateful, particularly when he’d suspected even his own brother of trying to kill him.
Those women, and looking after an old woman’s estate with them, had changed Gabriel in ways he was only now coming to understand. He looked at Hesketh with new eyes, at the whole business of the marquessate differently.
And Polonaise Hunt appeared in the middle of this awkward adjustment as if Gabriel’s chronic longing for her conjured the lady at his side.
He should have shooed her up to her room, but he couldn’t stand to have her thinking their affections for each other had meant so little. She’d been a lifeline for him, pragmatic but kind, forcing food and rest and dry clothing on him when he’d been more inclined to work and work, and go back out in the rain, wind, cold, and mud, and work some more. She’d made him appreciate the small comforts—a cup of tea, a touch, a fresh, hot muffin slathered with butter, a smile—and made him realize that somewhere along the path to becoming the marquess, he’d missed the need to become Gabriel.
To her, he was simply Gabriel, and that had been
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