When Love Is Enough (18 page)

"It’s possible."

"But you don’t think so, do you?"

"I think you must prepare yourself for the worst, my lady. In case the major didn’t escape."

The room shifted beneath her and she reached out to steady herself.

"I know the major is very special to you," Culbertson started to say, but her pointed glare stopped his words.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that before your father died, Major Talbot’s name was linked to yours as a possible marriage candidate. Your feelings for him must have run deep."

"Are you asking if they still do?"

He lowered his head to the pillow and closed his eyes. "No. I think that’s a question better left unasked."

A painful emptiness invaded her body, a dark void that separated her from the man lying on the bed. She didn’t want there to be a chasm between them. He was the man she would someday marry, the man both their fathers had chosen for her. The man Gabriel had given her over to marry.

"Why did you agree to your father’s demand to marry me?" she asked, the words escaping before she could consider the wisdom in her question.

He smiled, not a real smile, but a practiced expression she’d seen him bring up before at a moment’s notice.

"Because, like you, I had no choice in the matter. It seemed terribly important to my father that you would some day be the Duchess of Chisolmwood, and I was at the age when I had to marry. At the time there was no one I cared for any more than you." He turned his head and looked at her. "Do you regret the decision they made for us?"

She hesitated. "I could ask you the same question."

He smiled. This smile was no more real than the last. "But you won’t."

"No, I won’t."

He sighed. "How wise of us both."

Lydia needed to be by herself. She needed to be someplace where she didn’t have to pretend that Gabriel’s absence wasn’t more than she could bear. "I’ll return later. Get some rest." She turned away from the marquess and walked toward the door.

"We don’t know that he’s dead," he said from behind her.

She stopped and nodded her agreement but she didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t.

"If he’s still alive, Jean-Paul will bring him home."

She nodded again and reached out a trembling hand to open the door. She didn’t cry though. She couldn’t.

She hurt too much to cry.

Gabriel leaned on the roughly-hewn stick he’d whittled into a cane and limped down the alley, staying as much in the shadows against the dingy wall as he could. It had been three days since he’d killed the French soldier. Three days that he’d struggled to find enough food and water to survive. At least tonight the moon was hidden behind the clouds and he could venture a little farther to search for something to eat. Tomorrow he’d have to rest, then attempt to make his way back to Jean-Paul’s. Every time he came out of hiding increased his chances of being found.

Until today, his leg hadn’t been strong enough to consider walking far on it. He’d jarred it when he crashed through the boards in the stable.

He wouldn’t complain though. Falling through the rotten wood in the stable floor had saved his life – in more ways than one.

When his leg went through the boards, he discovered a hollow space that led to a cellar he assumed thieves had used at one time.

He’d hidden there for three days, coming out for only a short time each night to scavenge for food and water. Garbage barrels at a nearby tavern yielded a few crusts of bread, and luckily it rained each night so he was able to catch enough water to drink. Tonight, though, he needed to find enough food to build his strength.

He pushed himself from the damp wall and walked down the alley to the nearest tavern door. Inns provided the best offerings of food. He stopped by the wooden barrel near the back door and tipped the lid that teetered atop the mound of discarded food. Then threw himself back against the wall when an alley cat leapt from the garbage with a loud screech.

He waited to be sure the commotion hadn’t aroused anyone, then reached in. He found a half-eaten beef and kidney pie on top of the heap and carefully lifted it out. No wonder the cat put up such a fuss.

Gabriel caught a handful of rainwater before it dripped into a rain barrel and drank greedily, then took another bite of the meat pie. He tried to eat slowly but he hadn’t eaten all day and was so damned hungry he nearly swallowed the first few bites whole. After the third or fourth mouthful he leaned back against the soggy brick building and chewed more slowly.

The meat pie, although not the best he’d ever eaten, wasn’t the worst, and it might be all he found for days. Especially if his leg didn’t allow him to walk far.

He wrapped what was left of his dinner in a semi-clean cloth and tucked it into his pocket, then took another drink of the cool, clean rainwater. When he finished, he leaned on his cane and stepped away from the building.

He’d only taken a few steps before he heard sounds from the other end of the alley. He looked to his right and estimated that there were at least two of them, perhaps three. From the slurred sounds of the song they sang, they were well into their cups.

Gabriel pulled the pistol from his pocket and pressed back into the shadows.

He had one bullet left. That wasn’t enough to defend himself from all of them, but if he eliminated just one, his odds were better. Running wasn’t an option. His leg wouldn’t carry him to the end of the alley before he took a bullet in the back.

He held his breath and felt the familiar calm that always sifted through him seconds before he went on assignment. It was an inner composure that allowed the warrior in him to take over. He leaned his head back against the bricks behind him and closed his eyes while the calm seeped to every part of him.

From their raucous singing, the men didn’t appear to be any of LeBrouche’s soldiers. If they were, perhaps their lack of sobriety would work to his advantage.

He rubbed the throbbing muscles in his leg and readied himself to attack. He wouldn’t fire first, but he was prepared to defend himself at the first hint of trouble.

There were more than three, perhaps as many as five. They were singing—

He listened. That tune. The words. One of the voices...

Gabriel relaxed his tense muscles and smiled.

For a second or two he listened to the familiar drinking song. Then he focused on the familiar voice singing it.

With a sigh, he dropped his pistol back into his pocket and stepped out into the alley to let the men capture him.

___

"We should have left three days ago," Hannah muttered as she placed a tea tray on the desk behind her. "We’d be safe and sound in England by now."

Lydia ignored her maid’s grumbling and kept watch at the window.

"Jeanette is waiting downstairs in the kitchen," Hannah informed her. "She made a huge kettle of soup. She’s convinced that tonight her husband’s search will be successful, but that’s what she said last night, too."

Lydia turned away from the window and sat on the rumpled bed she seldom slept in for more than an hour or two each night. "Perhaps she’s right. It’s only a matter of time until Jean-Paul finds Major Talbot."

"Of course," Hannah said in a tone that indicated she didn’t think any such thing. "But Captain Faraday has sailed for England already and we’ll have to wait another week until he returns to Rouen."

"Then we’ll wait. My brother and Lord Culbertson need the extra week of rest before being moved," she argued. "And Jean-Paul doubted he could get us out of Paris safely. After the escape of the prisoners, the French have doubled their search of the town." She rose to check the window again. "Besides, we’re not leaving without Major Talbot."

Lydia ignored Hannah’s raised eyebrows and lifted the curtain to look out onto the alley.

Waiting was the worst kind of torture. Worrying was the next, and the two went hand in hand. Living through the night Gabriel had left to get Austin proved that there was no greater agony than the paralyzing fear of imagining the worst that could happen.

Her heart thundered in her chest and every muscle in her body trembled. She’d gone through this torture too often in the last few days. She didn’t know how many more times she could endure it or how she’d survive if Jean-Paul didn’t find Gabriel tonight. She wasn’t sure she could relive this nightmare again tomorrow night.

Hannah poured a cup of tea and handed it to her. She took it, but her hands shook so badly she had to set it down on the table beside her. "What time is it, Hannah? How long have they been gone?"

"It’s nearly three in the morning. Why don’t you lie down for awhile? I’ll keep watch at the window."

"I’ll stay here until Jean-Paul returns."

Hannah shook her head, then busied herself by straightening the covers on the bed.

Lydia paced in front of the window, stopping every few seconds to look out onto the alley below. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness and she checked several more times before she had to close her burning eyes and rub them.

Please let them find him,
she prayed, then opened her eyes. The sight she saw took her breath.

A wagon turned into the alley and slowed beneath her window.

"They’re here," she said, straining to make out how many men returned with Jean-Paul.

With only one small lantern for light, it was too dark to see each man clearly, but there seemed to be an excitement in the way the men moved.

One by one they jumped to the ground and rushed to the back of the wagon to assist someone. Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized that
someone
was Gabriel.

He moved slowly, his limp worse than ever. But once he stood on the ground he walked by himself, with no help from the men who walked beside him.

She wanted to run down the stairs and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to hold him, press her lips to his, tell him how thankful she was that he was safe.

Instead, she walked across her bedroom and opened the door. A swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she waited for him to climb the stairs.

There was a commotion downstairs and she swiped away several tears that errantly fell while she kept her gaze riveted on the stairs. It took forever until she heard the thud of his uneven gait as he maneuvered the steps. Her breath caught and held.

The minute she saw him her heart skipped a beat, then began a rapid thump inside her chest.

His clothes were torn and bloodstained, his body cut and caked with dried blood, and his eyes filled with pain. But he climbed the stairs alone.

He made his way down the long hall toward her, using only a stick to help him. His gaze held hers every step of the way, as if he needed contact with her to continue. As if he were silently telling her how important seeing her was. Her heart raced with increasing anticipation.

Time stood still. She wanted to be alone with him, to touch him, to hold him. To have him hold her. She wanted nothing other than to tell him that she couldn’t continue living if he weren’t in her world. Instead, she stood in her open doorway, unable to move toward him for fear Jean-Paul or Jeannette or Austin or...Geoffery, would realize how much he meant to her.

He walked down the hall and before he reached her room, the door opposite hers opened and the Marquess of Culbertson stepped out. He was weak and needed help to stand, but it seemed important that he speak to Gabriel.

Culbertson looked first to her, then back to Gabriel. The two men stared at each other for a long second before Culbertson spoke. "I owe you a debt." The tone of his voice sounded strangely official, not tinted with aristocratic formality exactly, but containing a military stiffness that took her by surprise.

"I’m glad I could be of service."

"I realize the risk you took. It will not go unnoticed."

"I didn’t take the risks I did because I wanted recognition."

"Of course, you didn’t." Culbertson’s legs seemed to weaken and the servant at his side reached out to steady him. "I seem to be weaker than I thought." He nodded and the servant stepped closer. "We’ll talk later, Major?" he said over his shoulder. "I’m sure there are a few matters you’d like to discuss after you’ve rested."

"There are," Gabriel answered.

"Thank you, again," Culbertson said before the servant took him back into his room.

Lydia watched him. For several long seconds he stared at Culbertson’s closed door, then he slowly turned. His gaze locked with hers.

Her heart thundered against her ribs. She’d been sick with worry over him. Now, the inner strength she’d forced herself to rely on seemed to collapse around her. She took an unsteady step toward him, then stopped.

She wanted to rush into his arms and hold him. She wanted to press herself against him and touch him. She wanted to press her lips to his and never stop kissing him. Emotions she doubted she could control overpowered her and she took another trembling step toward him.

"I’ll bring hot water for your bath, friend," Jean-Paul said, stepping between them. "You’ll feel much better when you’re clean and you’ve had a good meal."

Gabriel broke their locked gazes. "That sounds wonderful. The fare I found in the alley left much to be desired."

Jean-Paul smiled, then the smile left his face. "Do you need a doctor?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Just that hot bath and some decent food. That’s all."

Jean-Paul made his way to the stairs. "It will be only a moment."

They were alone now. Stepping just one foot closer would put them in each other’s arms. Yet neither of them moved. They simply stared at each other, Lydia drinking in every detail of the man she’d been afraid she’d never see again.

"Are you all right?" she finally asked.

He nodded.

"I was afraid they wouldn’t find you."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "So was I."

"I’m glad you’re safe." She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

He smiled again and she was glad the heavy tromping of footsteps on the stairway kept her from saying more. She didn’t want him to see her tears, and he would have if she had to face him much longer. Instead, she looked to where Jean-Paul came up the stairs.