Chapter 22
Gabriel retreated to his room, slamming the door with a finality that seemed earned.
He raked his hands through his hair and peered at his hollowed face in the full-length mirror of his dressing room. Shadows smudged under his eyes as the war within him continued to rage.
He couldn’t tell Victoria the truth. Couldn’t let her see what he truly was. Couldn’t allow his carefully built facade to crack.
Because she was closer to figuring out the truth. She was putting the pieces together. It was only a matter of time before she found out why her father was here searching for answers. Why her father insisted he remain hidden where no one would see him.
But she had seen him. From the first night she’d spent in this house, she knew he was there.
He’d seen her vulnerability even then, when she was small. And her sweetness. Victoria did not yet remember the moment he saved her. She was seven, perhaps eight. It was shortly before the Ravenwood’s packed up and left the manor.
He stood at his window and saw her walking through the gardens. Somehow, she’d wandered out alone, perhaps looking for her mother who spent many hours there cultivating her flowers. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She’d started for the path to the hidden graves.
And she was not alone. Lenore was there, too. Drifting like smoke along the hedges, her watchful eyes on the girl.
Something ancient and knowing tightened in his chest.
Gabriel moved before he could think. He dashed down the stairs, made it through to the back door unseen, unheard, and into the gardens.
The girl was poised at the side of the abandoned gravel path, caught in a trance.
Lenore was nearby, ready to take her and drag her to that awful place under the tree.
If my daughter is not allowed to live, neither is hers.
The words rang out in Gabriel’s head. Not spoken aloud, but pressed into the air. Cold. Final. A curse born of grief and rage.
Revenge. Spite. She wanted to steal Victoria away from her mother, as death had stolen Lenore’s own child.
He saw Lenore’s hand reach for her shoulder, saw the shimmer of magic begin to form.
Gabriel launched forward. His hand landed first.
The spell broke. She blinked and turned her youthful face up at him with wide, startled hazel eyes. Her face was pinched with confusion.
“You’re the man in the west wing,” she whispered.
He hadn’t answered as he knelt before her, shielding her from the presence of the ghost. Lenore hissed her frustration, then vanished into the fog.
Victoria ran past him, heading for the house, leaving him there alone. He remained, wondering why his chest suddenly felt hollow, why he suddenly felt weak.
A clamor downstairs broke him free of his thoughts. He thought he heard shouting. His brows drew together as he hurried toward his bedroom door and tried to pull it open.
It didn’t budge.
Then he heard the faint piano music lilting through the house. A mournful tune. Lenore’s tune. And he knew he had to get to Victoria.
He jerked on the door, yanking hard until it came free. The moment it did, he heard her scream.
Gabriel dashed down the stairs. At the foot, he saw the parlor door shut. He went to it immediately, pulled it open. And there, crumpled on the floor, was Victoria.
“Oh, gods. Victoria!”
He dropped to his knees next to her, reaching out a hand to hers. Her skin was cold and clammy. Her face was pale. Her eyes closed.
Without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms and headed for the sitting room where they had waited out the storm and he talked about books. As though they were a normal, every day couple.
But they weren’t, were they? And this time, he wasn’t there to shield her from the malevolent ghost. But he didn’t put her down on the settee. He cradled her against him, holding her close, trying to warm her chilled body with his.
He admonished himself for not being there. For not keeping watch over her. He wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t strong enough. Just like before.
He could lie to her. He had. More than once. But every time she looked at him with those innocent eyes, something inside him cracked a little wider. Chipping away at his resolve. If she ever learned the truth, she would never forgive him.
She shifted in his arms and let out a breath. Her hand slid to his collar, fingers curling there, as if to signal she was all right as long as he held her. He blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“I should have been there,” he whispered.
Gabriel pressed his cheek to her forehead. She was so cold, as though the ghost had drained the warmth from her very soul. He held her tighter, determined to give it back. He felt Lenore’s presence linger. Thin, angry, full of malice. But he did not flinch.
“Go away,” he whispered. “Haven’t you done enough?”
A beat of silence, then the room warmed again and the presence of Lenore was gone. He clutched Victoria to his chest, leaning back into the cushions and holding her while she slept. It didn’t matter if she stayed that way the rest of the day.
He wasn’t letting go. Not this time.
Victoria came to her senses slowly. The first thing she was aware of was Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. The second was that she appeared to be cradled on his lap.
How in the gods had that happened?
Then it came back to her. The parlor. The mist. The piano.
Lenore.
Her eyes blinked open, but she remained still. She heard his deep, rhythmic breathing. The slow rise and fall of his chest against her ear.
He slept.
And yet, his arms did not relax.
Her hand rested against his chest. His warmth. His fingers were curled around hers, holding her, as though afraid she might escape. With him, she had a sense of safety and security. Even though they were at odds earlier that day, even though he was angry with her, here he was. Holding her.
Without moving, she used her senses to figure out where they were.
Not her room. Or his. The sitting room. Where they’d stayed together to wait out the storm and he’d told her about his favorite books.
That he liked stories of high adventure with pirates.
And she’d told him about the death of her parents.
When she had, it was like a weight had lifted.
To be able to share it with someone else was a balm to her tattered soul.
The shadows were deep inside the room. As though only one lone candle flickered, casting a pale yellow glow. What time was it? The last thing she recalled was it was early afternoon after the horrible luncheon with her aunt and Lord Charles. And then…the parlor.
She shifted then, unable to hold still any longer.
He startled, his fingers twitching against hers before releasing her.
She slipped out of his grasp and settled on the settee next to him, putting distance between them on the velvet cushions.
He looked at her with his sleepy-eyed gaze.
Confused at first, then clarity came back into his eyes.
He started to reach for her, then pulled back his hand.
“Are you…are you all right?” he asked, his voice thick.
“Yes,” she said.
“Would you like tea?” He rose from his prone position, stretching his back.
“No.” She lifted her hand up to him. “Don’t leave.”
He froze there for a moment, unable to move. His gaze landed on her outstretched hand. Finally, he reached for her, clasped it, and lowered back down to the cushion next to her. Closer this time.
He held her hand for a long moment. No sound in the room other than the faint flicker of the candle on the side table.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “I should have been.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
Gabriel slipped his hand out of hers and rose again. Restless. He picked up a tinder box and walked around the room lighting candles, giving it a warmer glow. She watched his stiff body movements as he struck each match with precision. Lighting first one candle, then the next.
“The room is chilled. I’ll start a fire.” He replaced the tinder box and went to the hearth, kneeling there.
Victoria remained where she was, huddled in the corner of the settee, watching him. Their afternoon argument played through her mind. Things she said, things he didn’t say. She wanted answers. Needed answers. Needed to know what Lenore meant when she said you’re part of the bloodline.
“Gabriel…” Her voice was quiet in the gloom, drifting across the space to him.
He paused a moment, his hands stilled holding a log of wood. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t know what to say. He placed the wood on the pile and then reached for a match.
“I think…” she started again. “I think we need to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.” He struck the match and lit the fire.
“Yes, there is. There is a great deal to talk about.”
He didn’t turn to look at her, but she saw the muscles grow taut across his back through his shirt.
He tossed the spent match aside and rose in one fluid movement.
His eyes met hers. She gazed up at him, the light from the candles reflecting in his dark orbs.
His face was etched in concern with a hint of fear.
“I know you have questions,” he started. “But I…I cannot answer them.”
“Why not?”
He pressed his lips together in a thin line.
And then she understood. He was afraid to tell her the truth.
He was afraid if she knew, that it would change things between them.
Perhaps it would. Perhaps things would be different.
For the better. Or perhaps for the worse.
But didn’t she deserve to know why her house was haunted by the woman he was once married to?
“Tell me what happened in the parlor,” he said, pushing the conversation the direction he wanted it to go.
She swallowed hard, looking away, fixing her gaze on some distant space in the room she could not see. Her mouth had gone dry.
“I tried to leave for good,” she admitted. “But she did not want me to.”
“She?” he prompted.
“Lenore.” She glanced up.
His brows were knit together in a severe line.
“The front door wouldn’t open. And then…
” She fisted her hand against her lap, remembering the horrible feeling.
“Then there was a…mist pouring out of the parlor. And the music. The piano was playing. I shouldn’t have gone in there.
I should have stayed away. But something pulled me toward it.
Toward…her. And I saw her there. Sitting at the piano, playing that somber tune. ”
Gabriel’s face drained of color, his features etched in disbelief. “You…saw her?”
“Yes. In her ghostly form. Looking at me with those black eyes. Eyes the color of ink.”
He swallowed hard, his throat working. He turned away from her, back toward the fire. The flickering light played upon his features.
“There is more, Gabriel.”
Though he may not want her near him, she rose and moved to stand next to him. He averted his gaze, keeping it on the hearth.
“She spoke to me,” Victoria said.
He stiffened. “What did she say?”
“She told me I was part of this place. That I was part of the bloodline.” She wanted to reach for him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her again and offer her solace. Comfort. She wanted him to tell her everything was going to be all right.
But he didn’t. He remained stiff and still.
“Before I blacked out…something inside me pushed back. I think…I think she felt it. What does it mean, Gabriel?”
Slowly, he inhaled a breath, then let it shudder out through his lips. “It means there’s no turning back now.”