Chapter 37 Callum
Callum
The morning air tasted like memory—clean and sharp—laced with wet grass, turned soil, and distant woodsmoke.
Beneath it, the musky sweetness of horse sweat mingled with the earthy tang of leather and hay.
Birds rustled in the hedgerow, unseen but singing—thrush, blackbird, maybe a pheasant startled into flight.
Hoofbeats, softened by the damp turf, echoed around us, steady and grounding.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.
Not Branleigh. Not the house or the bloodlines or the silent judgments served with breakfast. But this—open land uncoiling to the horizon.
The steadiness of a good horse beneath me.
And the sun, breaking through a veil of cloud, just long enough to gild the fields in gold.
Gabrielle pulled up beside me, cheeks flushed from the ride, eyes alight beneath the brim of her borrowed helmet. Her seat wasn’t perfect, but it was better than I expected. She looked…right. Natural. Like she belonged here in a way that twisted something behind my ribs.
“You’re catching on,” I said, unable to hide the grin tugging at my mouth.
She laughed, winded and triumphant. “My dad put me in lessons as a kid. Western, mostly. But I guess I didn’t forget everything.”
My gaze followed the sway of her hips in the saddle, drifting down the line of her leg and over the borrowed riding boots, polished and dusted with trail grit. “Western, hmm?” I said mildly. “I’d love to see you in cowboy boots.”
She shot me a look—half-amused, half-scandalized. “Would you now?”
I leaned in enough to draw a spark without fanning it. “And nothing else.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged her horse ahead. “That’d make for an uncomfortable ride.”
I followed, smile lingering. “Depends what you’re riding.”
She slowed, letting the horse fall into a gentle walk. “Sorry I missed breakfast. Was it a big deal?”
I came alongside her. “Not at all. You were jet-lagged. I didn’t want to wake you.”
She bit her lip, still uncertain. “I hope your family doesn’t think I’m rude.”
“I handled it. And my father begged off as well, so…”
She glanced at me, worry still lingering. “I just don’t want to make a bad impression.”
I reached for her hand, steadying her reins. “You haven’t. And besides, I don’t care what they think.”
A lull settled. Only the soft snort of horses and the rustle of wind through the trees remained. I waited a beat, then spoke. “You never asked me what James meant last night. Switzerland and scandal.”
She tightened her grip on the reins but didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t going to pry,” she said carefully. “I figured you’d tell me if you felt you needed to.”
The clouds shifted like breath from a snuffed-out flame. I felt Gabrielle’s eyes on me but kept mine fixed ahead.
“Do you remember the first time we drove to Dallas together, and you asked about the last time I was in love?”
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“I told you I was engaged once, and that she died. Which is true.”
“I’m guessing there’s more to the story.”
“I took Claire to one of my father’s ski resorts in Switzerland. It was an engagement gift from the family. After a long day on the slopes, we ended up in the hot tub and, shameful to admit, high out of our bleeding heads.”
Gabrielle frowned. “You mean…high high?” she asked, bringing her thumb and index finger to her lips, miming a puff of smoke.
I let out a dark laugh and dragged a finger beneath my nose. “Think powder, not pot.”
Her expression sobered. “Oh.”
“I don’t know how I even remember everything. I probably don’t. She got out of the hot tub to fetch more drinks—like we needed anything else. But we were young and stupid. She slipped on the deck, fell back, and smashed her head on a stone bench.”
Gabrielle put her hand to her mouth.
I stared straight ahead but saw nothing of the landscape. “She was dead before I got to her. The family wanted to keep it quiet, so they rewrote the story. Made it something else entirely.”
“What did they say?” Her voice was soft, the question hesitant.
“Father couldn’t risk bad press—heaven forbid the resort should suffer. The official story was that she hit a tree skiing and died in my arms. He cast me as the innocent, grieving fiancé.” I blew out a shaky breath. “And I let him.”
“What happened after that?” she asked, her voice gentle.
“There were questions,” I said. “Her injuries didn’t match the story, for one. The resort staff and witnesses had to be bought off. And Claire’s family…” I swallowed hard. “Money solves a lot of problems. Everyone has a price when it comes to it.”
The horses plodded on. Gabrielle said nothing, her gaze distant.
“Please say something,” I pleaded. “Even if it’s that you can’t stay with me.”
Gabrielle blinked, eyes snapping back into focus. “Why on earth would I say that?”
I looked down, tightening my grip on the reins. “I can imagine what you must think of me now.”
“I’m thinking it’s odd you talk like you’re guilty of something.” She brushed my arm. “It was an accident. You didn’t kill her.”
“Perhaps not,” I said, my voice low. “But I brought her there. And I got her high.”
“No. You were ‘young and stupid,’ like you said. It just as easily could’ve been you. Though selfish as it may be, I’m glad it wasn’t.”
“But I helped cover it up.”
A pause, as sharp and clean as the morning air. “Is that how you ended up in the US?”
I nodded. “There was too much talk, too many rumors. I was a young lecturer at Oxford, but it was clear that my career was…tainted.” I met her gaze, clear and unwavering.
“England is a small country. And the upper class? Smaller still. There was nothing left for me. So my father pulled some strings and got me a post-doc at Princeton. After that, I got my position at Page on my own—no strings, no favors.” I let out a breath. “And you know the rest.”
The weight of it all—the years, the silence, the shame—fell away with the words. Gabrielle’s hand covered mine, warm and steady.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a soft tether. “That sounds…brutal.”
“It was,” I admitted. “But I’m not sure I’d have found you otherwise.”
She looked at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, then softened—something tender blooming behind her eyes. I couldn’t look away.
“I know now,” I said, steady and certain, “you’re it for me. The one I want beside me for the rest of my life. I can’t live without you—and don’t intend to try.”
She blinked. “Is that a proposal?”
I tilted my head. “If you like.”
She laughed, loud and unbridled. “That’s how you ask me to marry you?”
I arched a brow. “Would you rather I throw myself from the saddle and kneel in the mud?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure what I expected, but…a little more ceremony wouldn’t hurt.”
I made a show of patting my jacket. “Afraid I didn’t bring a ring.”
“Pity. I didn’t bring a pen,” she said, grinning. “You do seem to have a thing for asking big questions with government paperwork.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“You invited me to England with a passport application, remember?”
“It was a very efficient method.”
“It was a form, Cal.”
“A very official form.”
She shook her head, laughing as her horse sidestepped a low branch. Her laugh, bright and genuine, loosened something in my chest I hadn’t realized was still coiled.
“You’re not saying no,” I said, watching her from the corner of my eye.
“You haven’t asked me anything.”
I drew a slow breath, reining in until we were perfectly side by side. My pulse ticked hard at my throat.
“Marry me, Gabrielle.”
She stilled. Her reins slackened. For a moment, all I heard was saddles creaking and hooves on damp turf. Then she reached across and caught my sleeve, fingers curling into the fabric.
“God, I love you.”
I leaned in just enough for our foreheads to touch, the reins gathered loose in one hand, hers tangled in the other.
“Shall I take that as a yes? Or would you prefer it in triplicate?”
Her voice was warm against my cheek. “It’s a yes.”