Chapter 9 #2
Gabriella turned to find three chairs by the wall, all of them empty. However, there was also a glass-paned door leading out to a massive interior courtyard.
She returned her attention to Wilkins, halting him before he was able to stride off between the rows of shelves where all the records were kept. “Might we enjoy some fresh air instead?”
“Certainly,” Wilkins said, then off he went in search of Mr. Warren’s file.
Peter said nothing. Instead he gave her a curious look, in response to which she said, “It’s been a long time since we left Bow Street. I thought you might like to have a cheroot.”
His eyes widened. “You, of all people, are encouraging me to smoke?”
“Of course not,” she muttered.
“Sounds like you are,” he countered.
She crossed her arms and huffed a breath. “We can also sit over there if you’d rather do that.”
He held her gaze for a second, then swept his arm toward the door. “After you.”
Every inch of her skin pricked with the knowledge of being subjected to his full attention as she preceded him into the chilly afternoon air. Clouds had blocked the sun since their arrival, encouraging winter’s sharp fangs to sink into their flesh.
A shiver raked Gabriella’s spine. When she turned to look at Peter, she found him leaning against the side of the building, legs crossed at the ankles, while he pulled a neatly rolled length of tobacco from his silver case.
He struck a flint and drew in a visible breath as he lit the cheroot, then sent the smoke skyward while snaring her with a steady gaze.
There had to be at least three yards between them, and she was wearing not only her grey woolen dress but also her charcoal pelisse along with a dark brown bonnet and gloves.
Yet in that moment she felt undressed. Naked.
Scrutinized in a way that made her wrap her arms around herself, not only to ward off the cold but also her self-conscious discomfort.
“As we established earlier,” he said, his voice soft, the words measured, “I’m quite a bit older than you.”
Seventeen years, to be exact.
She arched a brow. “And?”
He set his cheroot to his lips once more, sent another plume of smoke into the air, then offered it to her. “Care to try?”
Her nose instinctively scrunched. She shook her head. “No thank you.”
Silence fell between them for a short while, until he tossed the cheroot on the ground and snuffed it out with the sole of his shoe. Instead of approaching her, he remained where he was with distance between them, quietly watching and clearly assessing.
Eventually he said, “You’re a pragmatic person — another quality I respect and one that I hope will allow for frank conversation between us.”
“Of course.”
He pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t afford to make any mistakes where you are concerned, Gabriella. As you are the chief magistrate’s daughter, even the slightest error on my part could end my career.”
“I understand.”
That steady gaze didn’t let up. “You should also know that I am not seeking the kind of attachment that ends in marriage. Or at least I wasn’t until half an hour ago.
But then you declared yourself. That is, I presume you did, though there’s a chance I’m entirely wrong.
In which case I’d like to forget this conversation ever happened.
” He took a deep breath and expelled it.
“The point is, I need to know exactly where we stand with each other so we can move forward accordingly.”
A valid point she could not dispute.
“I’m not accustomed to feeling the way you make me feel.
Out of sorts, nervous, unsteady on my feet.
” She ignored his smirk and the glint in his eyes.
“It’s disconcerting, but when I realized I hurt you earlier in the carriage, it clarified matters.
So yes, I did declare myself to you, Peter, but I’ll likely need a moment or two in which to adjust. As for marriage, I’m really not sure I’m the sort of woman you’d want as a wife. ”
“First, stop diminishing yourself. Second, that would be my decision to make, would it not?”
“Of course. I just don’t want to be a regret, which there is a good chance I may become when you yourself have just said you are not seeking the kind of attachment that ends in marriage.”
She stared at him, at the sudden displeasure pulling his features into a tight mask.
It was clear to her that he didn’t like her comment.
Whether because he disagreed or took issue with her questioning what he would feel about being tied to her in perpetuity, she wasn’t sure.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t sorry for what she’d said.
It was, as he’d pointed out, best to be frank so there would be no misunderstanding between them.
“Our relationship has taken a drastic turn within a very short time,” he said. “We’ve been caught off guard and while instinct may compel us to forge ahead, I believe the prudent thing to do would be for both of us to take some time to reflect on what we actually want.”
While she agreed with the wisdom of this, she had to know, “Where does this leave us?”
“Since we’ve already begun addressing each other informally, I see no reason why we cannot continue to do so when in private. Provided you agree.”
“I do.” She liked that familiarity between them; besides which he was right. It would seem ridiculous to revert to formal forms of address after using each other’s given names.
He held her gaze a moment, the intensity she found there distracting her from the cold. Then he broke eye contact and returned to leaning against the wall. Another cheroot was swiftly lit, the smoke it produced a swirling mist that rose to the sky.
“Beyond that,” he said, seeming to ponder every angle as he spoke, “there will be no intimacy between us unless we become affianced. That means no physical contact whatsoever from this moment onward.”
“Unless we become affianced,” she said, repeating his stipulation, hating the sense of loss that came with it.
Instead of responding, he pulled more smoke into his lungs and expelled it, then told her softly, “After everything we’ve discussed this afternoon, after all that has been revealed, it’s the only way to ensure I don’t ruin you, Gabriella.”
She swallowed as his honesty settled deep in her bones.
That any man would struggle to restrain himself in her presence was inconceivable.
But that he, Peter Kendrick, the most impressive man she’d ever met would do so, seemed impossible.
Yet there was no hint of dishonesty about him. He was as grave as she’d ever seen him.
And since his confession had caught her off balance, she had no ready response besides, “I think I’ll go see if Sergeant Wilkins has found Mr. Warren’s file.”
* * *
Peter remained outside for a few minutes longer, his thoughts in turmoil.
Gabriella was drawn to him. She reciprocated the fierce attraction he’d been fighting these past few months. And in so doing, she’d made herself available to him in ways he’d not dared hope for. Which was why he’d been forced to place a barrier between them, because the alternative…
Heaven help him, but knowing she’d welcome his advances was like a flame to his pent-up desire.
An impatient beast he had to keep on a very tight leash, lest it ruin her reputation.
Something he would not allow, no matter how challenging it would be to face her each day with that much tension between them.
He’d do it though, to protect her from all repercussion.
So he finished the last of his cheroot and tossed it before returning indoors. With a murder case to solve, his personal life had to come second anyway. Plus, the case would provide a welcome distraction from Gabriella’s kissable lips and delectable body. Her hair…
She didn’t glance his way when he entered, though the increased strain in her posture as she leaned over the records room counter told him she was acutely aware of his arrival. A sentiment that pulled at his lips as he strode to where she stood, a number of pages spread out before her.
“I see Sergeant Wilkins found Mr. Warren’s record faster than expected,” he said, staying at arm’s length. “Anything of note?”
“He was at Waterloo.” She pointed to a spot on the page where Peter presumed this was mentioned. “Served as a private in the foot guards.”
Peter propped his forearm on the edge of the counter, his body turned toward her. “Waterloo was fought in 1815.”
He noted the way in which she stilled, could almost see her clever brain processing that information.
And then she finally did glance at him, those stunning bespectacled eyes of hers bright with understanding. “The coin found in Warren’s mouth was minted that same year. A coincidence or a deliberate connection?”
Peter squashed the powerful urge to kiss her and turned to address Sergeant Wilkins. “I’d like to take these papers back to Bow Street with me. If needed, I can have a copy returned to you tomorrow.”
The sergeant straightened. “I’ll need your word on that, Chief Constable.”
“Of course.” Peter exchanged a few more words with the man while Gabriella gathered the papers back into a pile and placed them in a folder.
As soon as he saw she was ready, he thanked Sergeant Wilkins for his time. Hands clasped behind his back, he then directed a nod at the door and told Gabriella, “After you.”
Carrying the file, she preceded him into the hallway beyond and continued walking toward the building’s exit. Peter followed, his disobedient gaze on the sway of her hips, his mind on the inappropriate thoughts that were born from this vision.
And then they were stepping outside and crossing to where their carriage waited. Intent on keeping his word and preventing the possible destruction of Gabriella’s future, Peter did not offer to help her climb in. Instead he waited until she was seated inside the vehicle.
Only then did he say, “I’m going to ask the driver to take you home.”
She leaned forward, lips pursing, her brow slightly furrowed. “You’re not coming back to Bow Street with me?”
“It’s late and I need a walk to clear my mind.” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he had the will-power required to spend two additional hours alone with her in a confined space without giving in to his baser instincts. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
He closed the door before she could say anything to sway him, and gave the coachman his orders. Standing on the pavement, a chill breeze nipping the back of his neck, he watched the carriage drive off. There was much for him to sort through.
As he set off at a brisk pace, he asked himself the first pertinent question:
Could he give up on being alone, free from the responsibilities of matrimony, and spend the rest of his life with Gabriella?