Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
For a long moment after she spoke, there was only silence. The words still hung between them—fragile, trembling—before Gabriel leaned forward, his breath warm against her temple.
He kissed her again, slow and unhurried, a caress that deepened by degrees until thought itself dissolved into feeling.
She had imagined, foolishly perhaps, that such closeness would frighten her.
But it did not. Instead, it brought a strange calm, as though she had stepped into a moment that had been waiting for her all her life.
His touch was reverent, every movement measured as though he feared she might break. The fire painted him in gold and shadow; she could see the taut line of his jaw, the gentleness in his eyes. When his fingers brushed her cheek, she turned her face into his hand without hesitation.
He spoke her name softly, the syllables roughened by emotion. And when he kissed her once more, he moved between her thighs. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her. And then he was reaching down, parting her gently.
Eliza forced herself to relax, to push away any lingering fear and accept him as he eased into her.
It was both strange and wondrous all at that same time.
And then there was the briefest flash of pain.
No more than a second or two, really. And in its wake was only a feeling of fullness, of being connected to him in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and powerful all at once.
Because he trembled. She could feel him shuddering against her, struggling to rein in his need.
The world beyond that small chamber ceased to exist. It was only the rhythm of their bodies moving together, of their ragged breaths mingling in the silence of that room.
He murmured her name in such a way that it sounded like a prayer on his lips.
Each touch built upon the last—slow, searching, certain—until she forgot what it meant to be afraid.
The tension that had gripped her before, that had preceded the stunning and all consuming pleasure of release, began to build again.
All she could do was cling to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, her nails scoring his skin gently as she arched beneath him.
But she wasn’t prepared. How could she have been?
Because this wasn’t simply release. It wasn’t simply pleasure and relief all mingling together within her.
This was a deep and soul binding connection, something that rocked her to the very foundation of her being, and she was helpless to do anything but let it carry her away.
A surrender, yes, but not of will. A surrender of all the loneliness she had ever carried.
And in its place, something new—something whole.
He stilled above her, his hips pressed tightly against hers, the heat of his release pulsing inside her. It only amplified her own pleasure, until they could do nothing but shudder together, clinging to one another as sweat cooled on their skin and their breathing slowly returned to normal.
He whispered to her, words she could scarcely remember but would never forget.
His name left her lips in a gasp, a plea, a promise.
And when he gathered her close afterward, she felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever had drawn them together was more than chance.
She drifted into sleep within the circle of his arms, her last waking thought a quiet, incredulous joy.
The morning came soft and gray, with rain misting against the windowpanes.
Eliza stirred, blinking awake to find the light spilling across the coverlet, the embers in the hearth still faintly glowing.
Gabriel was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt open at the throat, his expression distant and thoughtful.
When he turned toward her, the solemnity in his features softened into something warmer. “Good morning, Eliza.”
The sound of it—his voice, her new name—sent an unexpected warmth through her. She smiled, shyly. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Gabriel,” he corrected gently.
“Gabriel,” she echoed, and the simplicity of it made her heart tighten.
They broke their fast together in the small parlor adjoining their chamber before setting out for Ravenswood.
The rain had lifted, though the air remained heavy with moisture, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.
The roads were yet soft beneath the wheels, but that would change ere long.
A storm was coming. The magical abilities of the Ashcombe family might have largely missed Eliza, but she could read the elements well enough to see that.
If they did not make it home soon, they would not.
Inside the carriage, they sat close, the quiet between them companionable this time.
There was no need for constant speech. Her hand rested lightly in his, and he stroked his thumb across her knuckles absently, as though he was reluctant to break contact.
And she was grateful for that, grateful to have the spell that had been cast in their room in Lincoln continue as they made their way home.
Initially, she had feared awkwardness, that some strain might come after such intimacy, but it had not.
Instead, she found comfort in his nearness, a steady calm where she had expected self-consciousness.
The closeness and connection they had shared lingered between them, casting a warm cocoon about them.He glanced at her often, a faint smile touching his mouth, and each time their eyes met, a spark of shared understanding passed between them.
It was strange how quickly something so new could begin to feel familiar. And so right.
The landscape rolled past, damp fields giving way to the outskirts of Dunrake-on-Swale. They were scarcely a mile from Ravenswood Hall when the coach jolted sharply, pitching them both forward.
The driver reined in the team with a shout, and Gabriel leaned out the window. “What is it?”
“Wheel’s gone, my lord!” came the reply. “Snapped the spoke clean off. We’ll have to stop in the village for repairs.”
Gabriel swore under his breath, though more in frustration than anger. “Are you hurt?” he asked her.
“Only startled,” Eliza said, steadying herself as he opened the carriage door and stepped down.
He offered his hand, and she took it, letting him help her to the ground.
The village street was muddy, the chilled air filled with the scent of damp and smoke.
Within moments, faces appeared at windows, curious eyes watching as the Earl of Blackburn and his new wife stood beside the crippled carriage.
It did not take long for the whispers to begin.
By the time the carriage was wheeled to the blacksmith’s yard, word had already passed from mouth to mouth, growing with every retelling.
Yet another Ashcombe witch, they said, had ensnared the newest Earl of Blackburn.
Some swore they’d seen the pair exchanging vows at Lincoln.
Others insisted the union could only bring ruin.
Some mentioned the old curse and claimed that the Earl was under her spell.
Others still cast uglier aspersions, painting Eliza in the light of a woman with low morals.
But it was not the first time she’d born the brunt of gossip and it would not be the last. But she no longer had to bear it alone.
Tucked into a small alcove in the taproom of the local tavern, one man listened to the gossip and rumors intently, the hum of conversation loud around him.
With each passing second and each rumor that spread like spilled ink on the carpet, his expression grew darker, more filled with fury, until his eyes appeared nearly black.
He had been waiting for this—waiting for the gossip to confirm what he already feared. They were married. The bloodlines had joined.
His hand curled into a fist around the edge of the table. He had missed his chance, allowed sentiment to stay his hand when he should have acted. And now—now the cost of that weakness would be everything he’d worked for.
But it was not yet too late.
If the curse could not be broken, it could still be preserved.
All it would take was one death.
He leaned back in his chair, the shadows swallowing the hard line of his face. “Enjoy your happiness while it lasts, my lord,” he murmured softly, his voice like a promise. “It will not endure.”