Chapter Fourteen
The change in Gabriel was instantaneous.
One moment, his body had been pressed against hers, his breath had been warm against her skin, and his restraint had been lost in the space between them.
The next, he was gone. The man who had held her with aching tenderness had disappeared.
In his place stood the Earl, hard-edged, honed by command, and utterly inaccessible to her.
Genevieve barely had time to register the sharp blast of the hunting horn before his arms fell away, his warmth retreating as his focus snapped outward, assessing the threat with swift precision.
His Expression had instantaneously hardened as all signs of softness erased, replaced with sharp calculation.
No hesitation, no lingering glance, only immediate action. She felt the loss acutely.
Then came the shouts. Suddenly, the world was filled with urgent voices rising from the direction of the stables, the warning carried through the night with undeniable force.
Before she could process what was happening, Gabriel was already moving.
He sprinted across the lawn before she could take a breath, his strides long, his posture controlled yet brimming with intensity.
Servants emerged from the house, some half-dressed, others pulling on coats as they rushed forward, drawn by the alarm.
Gabriel’s voice rang clear above the commotion, barking orders with sharp authority.
Genevieve pressed a trembling hand against her lips, the heat lingering where his mouth had been only moments before.
Then, shaking herself free of the confusion clawing through her chest, she grabbed her dressing gown and followed, half-running, her pulse pounding with a chaotic mix of curtailed passion and genuine fear.
The entrance hall buzzed with controlled activity.
Footmen and grooms hurriedly gathered buckets; their movements swift but coordinated.
The housekeeper stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tight, issuing quiet directions to the younger maids, who had been startled from their beds.
Sophia stood pale on the stairs, her fingers gripping the carved railing, her night robe slipping from one shoulder as she searched the chaos for understanding.
Through the window, she could see that James was beside Gabriel, calm, competent, his presence a steady anchor against the urgency of the moment.
Genevieve barely paused, weaving through the hall as she stepped into the chilled night air once more, her slippers damp against the dewy ground.
Gabriel had told her to go inside and stay, but she would not stand by helplessly and allow her husband to fight the battle against the flames alone.
The fire was visible now. She could see glowing embers casting an eerie light just beyond the stable yard, illuminating the frantic figures of men forming an organized line.
It was not in the stable itself, nor near any lanterns or usual fire sources.
It had started in the hay bales stacked near the far fence, almost as if someone had intended to keep it hidden until it was too late to stop it.
Had it been deliberate, just like the girth straps had been?
“Form a brigade,” he said. “Keep water moving toward the flames. Do not waste a drop.”
The men obeyed without pause. Buckets traveled swiftly between hands, the dirt near the bales turning slick beneath the rush of water being poured over the fire. The flames hissed as they met the weight of the deluge, steam rising in twisting curls against the night sky.
James stepped forward, his coat brushing against Gabriel’s shoulder as he assessed the fire’s placement with a calculating eye.
“It was set here intentionally,” he said. “No question. There is no other way that a fire could have started back here at this time of night.”
Gabriel nodded.
“And someone knew exactly where to start it,” he said, cursing under his breath.
Genevieve’s breath faltered. Her worst fears had been confirmed. But who would do something like this? And why would they do it?
Her gaze moved instinctively toward Gabriel, but his attention remained fixed on the task at hand. He stepped closer to the burning remnants, his stance rigid, and his thoughts clearly forming before he spoke.
“The damage is manageable,” he said. “Have the remaining hay moved before dawn.”
James nodded, repeating the order to some stable hands nearest him.
The flames dwindled, reduced now to smoldering heaps of damp straw, the acrid scent of smoke curling around them.
The staff continued working, dousing the last stubborn embers until nothing remained but charred hay and the unmistakable weight of deliberate malice.
Yet even after Genevieve understood that the danger had ended, her blood still ran cold.
Someone was trying to hurt Gabriel intentionally.
How far would they go to accomplish that goal?
***
The fire was out. Smoke still curled from the charred remnants, the scent of dampened embers thick in the air.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the scorched ground, surveying the scene with a grim expression.
The bucket brigades had dispersed, the servants were now working under Mr. Winters’ sharp-eyed supervision to clear the remaining debris.
Wet straw clumped beneath their boots as they hauled away damaged bales, their faces drawn but composed.
The urgency had passed, leaving only the calculated remnants of what had nearly become disaster.
Gabriel clenched his jaw, rolling his shoulders as if the tension there could be shaken loose. It could not. His pulse remained steady, his breath controlled, but beneath the surface, something coiled tighter with every glance across the ruined stacks.
James approached; his boots quiet against the damp ground. His tone was low, meant only for Gabriel’s ears.
“The fire’s location and the timing are just too convenient,” he said, repeating his previous assessment.
Gabriel did not look at him. He only nodded, his gaze sweeping across the yard, cataloging every weakness.
The fencing, the servants’ quarters nearby, the shaded alcoves that would allow too easy an approach unseen.
Every inch of this land had been reinforced, watched and fully protected.
Yet still, someone had breached it. He exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest pressing harder than the damp air around them.
His gaze flicked toward the entrance hall.
Genevieve stood beside Sophia, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the thin material of her dressing gown barely shielding her from the wind.
Moonlight touched her skin, tracing the contours of her face in soft silver.
But she was pale and badly shaken. He had told her to get inside and stay, and she had not complied.
Nonetheless he was not angry. He felt guilty that being someone’s target was affecting her.
Their eyes met. In that fleeting instant, something inside him twisted, but he forced it down, swallowing the burn of whatever had existed between them only moments before.
She searched his expression, as though looking for the man who had held her in his arms, the man who had kissed her without hesitation in the quiet sanctuary of the glass house.
But that man was gone. All he could give her was cold distance.
Gabriel turned away and faced the estate manager.
“Mr. Winters,” he said sharply.
The estate manager straightened from where he had been instructing a young stable hand.
“Yes, milord?” he asked.
Gabriel pointed, circling his finger intently.
“Double patrols,” he said. “Effective immediately. No one moves near the grounds at night unaccounted for.”
Mr. Winters nodded, already moving to relay the order.
Disaster follows closeness, he thought, numbly surveying the damage around him. I lowered my defences. I permitted myself to forget duty and responsibility, and these were the consequences.
His weakness invited danger, a truth he had learned long ago.
The moment he abandoned caution, the moment he allowed himself even a taste of indulgence, the world reminded him of its brutality.
Whatever fragile connection had formed between himself and Genevieve was severed, cauterized by fire and certainty.
He turned from the wreckage of burned hay and the lingering scent of deliberate malice.
From now on, nothing could distract him from finding the person responsible for the mishaps on the estate and bringing them to justice. Not even Genevieve.
For the next hour, he moved through the grounds, inspecting every vantage point, reinforcing every order.
His focus remained absolute; his demeanor brusque.
Instructions were issued without softness, his voice carrying across the yard in clipped precision.
Footmen hurried to obey, stable hands doubled their efforts, every person responding to the unspoken warning beneath his tone.
Genevieve did not approach him. She did not need to.
He could feel her presence and the question that hung between them. But it would remain unanswered. His path had already been decided. Even if he did not agree with it. He could not afford to make such lapses in judgment or focus ever again.
Striding back toward the house, he passed Genevieve and Sophia without a word or a glance.
His scarred profile remained rigid, his steps measured and unwavering.
The warmth they had shared and the fire between them was nothing more than a phantom memory now.
And to protect Genevieve, that was how it must remain.