Chapter 27
He walked toward her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let me help you.”
Victoria leaned into him, letting him take most of her weight. His body was warm, steady, the scent of cedar and something faintly smoky wrapping around her. Her ankle throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the rapid pounding in her chest.
The closer they got to his room, the tighter his jaw became. His breathing was uneven—nerves, strain, or something heavier.
He helped her to the loveseat near the window and set the candle on the table. Shadows played over his face, softening and sharpening in the flicker. That unreadable expression—somewhere between restraint and hunger—was back.
“Shall I bring tea?” he asked.
“No need,” she replied.
“I should have a look at that ankle.”
Before she could reply, he knelt. Her breath caught as he slipped off her shoe without waiting for her consent. He held her stockinged foot in one hand, probing the joint with the other. It hurt, yes, but it seemed to be all right.
“Doesn’t appear to be broken.” He looked up and the intensity there stole the air from her lungs.
She saw desire.
Her breath hitched.
“That’s very good to hear,” she said, her words low in the quiet of the room.
His hand slipped upward, over the curve of her calf and a shiver went through her. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She was sure she could not control her erratic breathing. What was he doing? His touch was not unwanted but unexpected. His gaze caught hers, deep and conflicted.
“Victoria, I—” He broke off, as if the words would unravel them both.
He hesitated. As though the space between them was an eternal abyss of longing. She saw it in his eyes. She felt it, too, as her pulse fluttered. She leaned toward him, drawn by an irrational thought that he was going to finally kiss her. Knowing that’s what she wanted more than anything.
Then, he closed the distance between them, scooting close to her. He lifted his hand, his fingers fluttering over the curve of her jaw. The pad of his thumb grazed her cheek. Nothing could tear her gaze away from his. Not the presence of Lenore. Not the creaking of the house around them.
His hands were in her hair next, tangling the locks in his fist. Her breath hitched as he tipped her head back, his lips hovering over hers.
“I waited a lifetime for you and now you’re here,” he murmured against her mouth.
It was no casual phrase. It was his confession, raw and unguarded—the truth of his heart laid bare at last.
Her answer never came. His mouth was on hers.
A kiss steeped in yearning and regret. As if he’d wanted it for far too long. And perhaps he had.
The house stilled around them. Quiet as though holding its breath.
She’d lost all sense of time as her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself to feel everything about the moment.
His lips moved over hers with a tenderness that belied his inner darkness, banishing everything that had haunted him for far too long.
And she found herself moving closer to him, wanting to be nearer to him, to feel him.
She pressed closer, palm to his chest, feeling the wild hammer of his heart.
His mouth moved from hers to trace a line along her jaw, down her neck, drawing an unguarded sound from her. Her breath, erratic and jarring, see-sawed in and out of her as she clung to him, keeping him close, refusing to let him go.
“This is dangerous,” he murmured against her neck just under her earlobe.
“I don’t care,” she replied.
And she didn’t. She cared nothing for how it would change things between them.
Nothing for what it would do to the ghostly apparition that stalked the halls of the manor.
None of that mattered now that he held her.
He planted one final kiss on her temple and then clutched her to him, his arms encircling her as her head pressed against his chest.
It seemed important to him he hold her. So, she said nothing. Her body relaxed against his. Beneath her ear, the erratic beat of his heart. He wanted this. He wanted her.
She wanted him back.
But she could not envision a life with him. Not the way things were at present.
“Gabriel?” she queried.
“I’ve long avoided telling you,” he said, his voice was low and thick above her head.
“Why?”
“It will change things. You will look at me with loathing and disgust.”
He sounded so forlorn, she pushed away from him, holding him at arm’s length. His eyes were full of sorrow. He looked away from her, as though he could not stand for her to see him as he truly was—a broken man.
“I won’t,” she said.
He rose and stepped away from her, standing with his rigid back to her. “You will.”
She took a deep, calming breath, expelled it. “Perhaps you let me decide for myself, Gabriel.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, surprised at her candor. His brows rose.
“I’m not afraid,” she added.
A smile then. One corner of his mouth. She had never seen him smile. “You never were.”
She patted the seat next to her in invitation. He hesitated, the silence stretching between them. Finally, he moved to sit next to her. Close. Taking her hand in his, as though he needed her strength. She gave it to him willingly.
“My solitude here…it wasn’t entirely self-imposed. Your father knew I was in the house.”
The words jarred through her like ice water. “My father?”
“He found me years ago in the west wing. He saw the altar, the remnants of what Lenore had done. He knew I couldn’t leave…that I was bound here. He wanted me gone anyway. We argued. He feared I’d harm you.”
“But you didn’t,” she said, thinking of the garden—the way he’d shielded her.
“No. I stayed away. But when you and your parents arrived, Lenore grew restless. She watched you. She hated that you lived and Lily did not.”
She listened. Sometimes with her breath held, sometimes with her pulse skittering in horror as he told her of Lenore’s first husband, of Lily, of the drowning and death, of the loneliness that came after. Of how her father had found him.
And finally of the night Lenore tried to bring Lily back.
Victoria’s stomach turned at the image. The altar, the child, the blood. The desperate, terrible spell. The knife. The curse flung in rage and grief.
When his voice finally broke, she squeezed his hand.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t answer.
They sat in silence, the air heavy with all he’d said and all he hadn’t.
Now she saw the cruel truth—Lenore had cursed him to these walls, binding him in a prison of sorrow so her vengeance could stretch into eternity.
And in that moment, Victoria felt the weight of his torment settle over her soul. She would not let him bear it alone.
She shifted closer. “We’ll find a way.”
Before he could answer, the candle guttered low. A draft whispered through the room. The shadows in the far corner thickened, almost like a figure standing there. There was a muffled rustle of skirts.
A faint, distant laugh—cold as the grave—slid along her spine.
Lenore knew.
“I should go.” She rose, but he gripped her hand, keeping her in place.
He looked up at her. The loneliness coming off him was palpable. In some way, she did not want to be alone, either.
“You don’t have to.”
She shifted. Uneasy. Unsure. “I don’t know—”
A lump formed in her throat. A part of her understood he was still trying to protect her. He didn’t want her to be alone in her room.
“We can sit here. Together. If you like. I’ll bring up a tray if you’re hungry.” His voice was hollow. Not quite pleading. Not desperate. Wanting. Hoping.
For a moment, she thought what it would be like. To remain here with him, next to him, in his arms. As the shadows lengthened in the room and the house creaked and Lenore lurked. Perhaps it was best if she remained here with him.
Relenting, she lowered herself back to the loveseat. “All right.”
Something in his shoulders eased, though his expression remained shadowed. He leaned back beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth through the thin space between them.
The candle burned low, its light trembling over the walls. The house creaked in slow, deliberate sighs. Somewhere beyond the reach of the flame, Lenore lingered, patient as ever.
Victoria’s gaze held to the wavering glow of the candle.
Gabriel was right—something in her heart had changed.
Not into the revulsion he seemed to dread, but into a fragile, frightening tenderness.
A love she had never expected, not when she first stepped into Ravenfell with dread pressing down her spine.
And as the shadows pressed in, she knew the truth. She could never leave him to face this darkness alone. Whatever it took, whatever the path, she would break his curse.