Chapter Twenty-Eight
The hours slid by. Gabriel kept his ear peeled to the sound of Janelle’s calm voice over the cries of pain.
He watched the men who bumbled their way into nearby rooms, making sure that none came close.
And he thought about the way Janelle had looked as she held the newborn babe.
Satisfaction filled her expression and a tenderness that pulled at his gut.
He’d also caught that she didn’t press into her spine as usual when she stood up. Instead, her hands hovered near her low back but didn’t connect. He’d seen her wince a few times as well, and her movements weren’t as fluid as normal.
She was hurt.
He boiled with fury at the realization. Not only had she been hurt, but he hadn’t been there to protect her, and that was a dereliction of duty that cut down to his soul.
There was nothing he could do about it as she worked. He knew that nothing short of being knocked unconscious would take her away from delivering that baby. So he waited, worried, and plotted. He had an idea, but there were several million details to sort out first.
The child was born three hours later. It was another hour to finish up and a bit more to check on the happy family on the third floor.
They didn’t even care that the roof still dripped on their heads.
Then finally, Janelle dismissed Polta, which gave him a chance to catch her hand and pull her away.
“I’ve got something to discuss with you,” he said.
“Not tonight,” she said, her expression filled with real regret. “I ache.”
His gut tightened. He knew she’d routinely delivered two babies in a night, sometimes three. Her pain came from something else, and he was determined to find out what.
“I’ve got a bath set up for you.”
She looked at him, momentarily still. “No,” she finally said. “I’ll do it at home.”
“Because you’re hiding bruises? What happened?”
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. He let her go but would not allow her to run away. He should have known better. She was not a runner. She lifted her chin and faced him eye to eye.
“Would you marry me?” She blurted the words out, and then she gasped and pressed her palms to her mouth.
Clearly, she hadn’t thought the question through, but then a moment later, her hands slid away.
Her chin remained firm and her gaze steady.
“If I cried off from Lord Benedict, would you…could we wed?”
His breath was frozen in his chest. The calm of absolute terror held him in place, and he couldn’t react, couldn’t speak. It was as though a goddess stood before him and offered him everything he’d ever dreamed of. A good wife, a family built on love, all the things that made life worthwhile.
He needed to say something, do something, but every part of him was trapped between yearning and fear, desire and despair. And with every second that passed, the sparkle in her eyes dimmed.
She thought he didn’t want her. He saw her eyes darken with pain, but he didn’t know how to explain. Never in his life had he been offered something so precious. But never in his life had his gains come free. Or even cheap.
Finally, he choked out words. They were the least of his thoughts, but all he could manage.
“You are not mine.”
“I can see that.”
This time he did touch her. He caught her fingers and tried to entwine his with hers. “You know I want you.”
“Do I? Do you?”
Good God, was she blind? Even now he burned for her. He sighed and tugged her down the hall. “Your usual room is ready and the water for a bath is hot. Please let us talk there.”
“It’s not love then,” she said, her voice so raspy he knew she fought tears.
“It is love,” he returned, unable to lie. “I cannot give you what you want most.”
“And what’s that?”
“This,” he said, gesturing to the room behind them. “The work, the babies. There is a way to do this, but only with Lord Benedict’s money.”
“What if I want babies of my own—”
“You can—”
“—and a man who holds my hand when I birth them?”
“I will.”
She looked at him. “You won’t. You’ve just said as much.” There was accusation in her tone, a betrayal that he understood, and yet it still infuriated him.
“Do you think this is easy for me? You offer me everything I want. You, a woman of merit beyond compare.”
“Merit?” she mocked. “Beyond compare? You sound like you’re quoting a gothic novel.”
“And you are being a child who believes fairy tales,” he shot back.
He grasped her face. He tilted her head with one hand and pressed his mouth to hers.
There was little room in this narrow corridor, and he took up all the space as he captured her with his kiss.
She softened into him, her hand wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer.
She opened, and he plundered her mouth, owning this part of her in the only way he knew how.
Her body fell into him, and then abruptly stiffened. He heard her whimper in pain, a quiet sound she clearly tried to silence. He pulled back, his eyes wide and his breath rasping in his throat.
“What happened, Janelle? How are you hurt?”
She sighed, looking weary to the point of breaking. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice dull. “It won’t ever happen again.”
That was not an acceptable answer, but he had no power to force an explanation. So he focused on this moment and what he could do now.
“Do I carry you? Or do you walk?”
Her chin lifted in defiance, but it didn’t last. Soon, her expression fell into despair. Tears welled up and she closed her eyes while he brushed them away with his thumbs.
“I am not the man you want,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “You’re an idiot.”
He chuckled. “I am that, too. Come.”
He drew her down the hall to her bath. It was a back room on the third floor, but one that was serviced by an outside stair. He’d made sure the fire was lit and the water hot. And as he locked the door behind them, he cupped her face again.
“Let me take care of you tonight.”
“And what of you? Who will ever have you if you run every time a woman loves you?”
He sniffed, insulted. “I never run.”
“Do I believe your words or how you kiss me? Do I hear the sounds from your mouth or see the adoration in your eyes?” She jerked her head at the bath. “The things you do for me?”
He didn’t answer except to pull at the buttons of her gown. She had already given her leather apron to Polta. “Let me see what happened,” he coaxed.
“Not until you tell me the truth.” She gripped his jaw and pulled his gaze up to her face. “Do you love me?”
How fierce she was! He loved the strength of her, the determination to fight for what she wanted, no matter the reality of the world.
She was a woman who lived two completely different lives, and she did them both with grace.
Never could he imagine a woman he’d adore more.
He wanted to shelter her, ease her, support her… spend his life in service to her.
“Gabriel!” she snapped. “You will answer.”
“Yes,” he said. “A thousand times yes.”
“Then marry me. We can find a way—”
He stopped her words with a kiss. He stroked away every impossible thought before it was uttered. Because he already knew that they were unreachable dreams. After all, he’d spent the last week mulling over possibilities that could not come to pass.
“Gabriel,” she gasped as she pushed back from him. “Listen.”
“Will you give up midwifing for me?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Do you give up your work to be with me?”
“We will need coin somehow. I can help with that. Midwives are usually paid.”
“But would you give up your work for me?”
She shook her head. “Why would you ask that of me?”
“Because I would have to give up my employment with Lord Benedict to marry you.” He swallowed. “Do you think I serve him for no reason? Do you think the war against Napoleon means nothing to me?”
She frowned. “Of course, your work is important. As is mine. But he will not dismiss you. You are too good at what you do for him.”
Possibly, but not likely. “The embarrassment would be severe. And though he might forgive us, the world would not. He cannot appear strong before kings while his manservant whisks away his fiancée right under his nose.”
She frowned. She hadn’t considered that, but he had. He had worked and worried the thought in his mind until he saw no way out.
“It’s not just the money,” he said. “Benedict is an earl and a diplomat. I would find no other work after I betrayed him. No one would risk favoring me over him.”
“Babies are born everywhere. We could go—”
“Away from your family? Your aunt loves you. Your brother adores you. I know you have feelings for them.”
She winced. “They could come see us.”
“They would damn us as fools, and I wouldn’t blame them.” He stepped forward, knowing he had to end this discussion the same way he had ended all his tortured fantasies. “What do you think of this building?”
“What?”
“I think we can buy it.”
“What!”
“I have found a better building to house the Rose Garden. My mother will sell. She hates how much work this place needs. The new place is better suited for a whorehouse anyway.”
“And what would I do with this?”
“Repair it. It used to be a foundling home anyway. Already women come here to find you. The gypsies sell potions here. There’s a storefront on the east side.”
“I know it. It used to sell ribbons and ropes.”
Ropes were the least of the items. There was a man who made toys of all sorts for use upstairs, but he was too old to work now. His hands cramped and lacked strength, and so he would sell the shop to them. Gabriel knew because he’d already talked with the man.
“You could set up an apothecary there. It will work much better than your kitchen stillroom.”
He saw the idea take hold. Her eyes widened and her gaze grew abstract as she sorted through possibilities. Then she shook her head. “Your mother will not sell.”
“What? Of course—”
“I met her yesterday. Do you know the apothecary shop to the west?”
“The place the Chinese princess owns.”
“Your mother owns it. The princess rents it. Indeed, I think she has acquired the whole block.”
“What!”
“She offered to give Betty a place there—”
“She never gives anything away.”
Janelle nodded. “All on the condition that I throw over Benedict, become Betty entirely, and never speak to you again.” Her expression darkened. “Why does she hate you so?”
So many reasons and none at all. “Because I don’t dote on her.”
“She’s your mother. Shouldn’t she dote on you?”
He wrapped her in his arms, holding her close while emotions rolled through him. “You will make a wonderful mother.”
She settled against him, but a second later, she shoved him back. “I told her no.”
“Of course, you did. You have more resources as Benedict’s wife.”
“No, you idiot! Because of you.” She gave a self-mocking shrug. “I found something I want more than Betty’s dreams.” She pressed a hand to his heart. “You.”
What could he say to that? How could he deny a woman whose heart was in her eyes as she gave herself to him? Not in body, but in soul. He wanted to give her everything.
“You don’t need her to get your dreams.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “You don’t need to choose between Betty and Janelle. You don’t have to compromise anything ever again.”
He waited a moment while she absorbed that. He held his breath while her lips curved into a tentative smile. He saw her growing excitement as she pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“You really think it is possible.” A statement, not a question.
“Not if you marry me.”
She jolted as if slapped. “Gabriel—”
“Only if you marry Lord Benedict. His money can get you that, not mine. His resources would allow you to build what you want and to hell with my mother. No one would ask twice. Many wealthy women have favorite charities. You could be the patroness of—”
“A place for women.”
“Yes.” But not with him. At least not as his wife.
He saw the knowledge sink into her body.
As much as she trembled with excitement, a weight pulled at her shoulders and drained the strength from her knees.
He saw it coming and was there to support her, but she didn’t reach for him.
Instead, she crumpled slowly to the floor, sinking down until tears slid down her cheeks.
He met her there, knee to knee. “You can have that,” he said. “I can see it done. But only if I give you up.”
“No,” she murmured.
“Yes. But this—” He pressed his mouth to hers.
He kissed her quickly, then slowly, until neither of them could breathe.
“This must stop. I will not dishonor you or Lord Benedict.” Or himself.
His honor was all that he had left, and he would not forswear it even for her.
Especially for her, because he would not give Lord Benedict any reason to toss her aside.
“I don’t need all this,” she said. “Not really. I haven’t had it before. I don’t need—”
“You would destroy your own dreams, and for what?”
“You. Haven’t I just said that to your mother?” She looked into his eyes. “I would give it all up for you.”
He could see she meant it. He could see the love in her eyes and feel the promise in her touch. She would give it all up for him. How she humbled him. He was so unworthy of her.
“We cannot,” he said. “You will lose too much.”
“I will gain more,” she said. It was a lie. She would gain nothing, and so he ended it in the clearest way he could.
“I will not do it.” He pulled her hands from his face. “I will not marry you, Janelle. I swear it. You will never be my wife.”