CHAPTER 14
Watching Gabriel dance with Miss Ashworth was torture of the most exquisite variety.
Clara stood with the other upper servants, maintaining a pleasant expression while internally screaming at the sight of his hand on another woman's waist, his attention focused on someone else, his rare laugh given to a girl who wasn't her.
"You're grinding your teeth, miss," Mary whispered beside her.
"I'm maintaining a pleasant expression."
"She's very pretty."
"She is but eighteen."
"Some men prefer younger women."
Clara turned to stare at Mary. "You're being remarkably bold."
“I am conducting myself with great candour, which, you must understand, is quite distinct from audacity.”
"You and your differences."
"You and your denial."
They watched as the dance ended and Gabriel escorted Miss Ashworth back to Lady Agatha. He said something that made both women laugh, though his expression suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.
"He's doing well," Mary observed. "No one's run screaming yet."
"The night is young."
"You wish him to fail?"
"I wish him to succeed in keeping his independence from his aunt. I also want him to stop touching Miss Ashworth with such apparent comfort."
"He's barely touching her at all. His hand hovers at least an inch from her back, and he maintains maximum possible distance during the dance figures."
"You were watching that closely?"
"We're all watching that closely. Cook has money on him lasting two hours before he snaps and does something dramatic."
“A wager has been laid upon the matter?”
"Of course there has. We have very little entertainment, and His Grace's romantic situation is better than any novel."
"We don't have a romantic situation."
"You share his bed every night."
"For sleeping."
"Of course. Sleeping. With an extraordinary amount of tossing and turning and muffled sounds that definitely indicate peaceful rest."
Clara felt her face flame. "The walls are thin."
"The walls are stone, miss. Stone doesn't carry sound unless the sound is particularly... energetic."
"Mary…"
"I'm merely suggesting, if you're trying to maintain the illusion of a professional relationship, you might want to consider separate rooms. Or at least quieter frustration."
"We're not…we haven't…"
"I am aware. That is precisely what renders it a yet greater misfortune. Such ardour, without an acceptable outlet to bestow it!” That's what makes it even more tragic. All that passion and nowhere to put it."
“Indeed, it is nothing short of agony.”
"I imagine so." Mary's expression softened. “It is clear your affections are bestowed upon him.”
It wasn't a question, but Clara nodded anyway. “Very much so.”
"And are his affections returned?”
“Entirely, I assure you.”
“For love cannot sustain us, given his station and my lowly position. Society maintains certain undisputable rules that, if broken, ruin will befall upon both parties. And what is more, in a mere eighteen days, my necessary departure will come, leaving him here; we must both then shoulder the burden of feigning that this intimacy never existed.”
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"That's reality."
"Reality is negotiable if you're creative enough."
"You sound like Gabriel."
“Perhaps his disposition is beginning to influence us all.”
Before Clara could respond, she noticed Gabriel approaching their corner, which caused a minor sensation among the assembled servants.
"Your Grace," Clara said with a perfect curtsey. "Is something amiss?"
"Miss Whitfield, I require your assistance with a small matter in the retiring room. It seems my coat has suffered some damage during the dancing."
"Of course, Your Grace."
She followed him through the crowd, aware of the eyes tracking their movement. He led her not to the retiring room but to a small antechamber that was blessedly empty.
The moment the door closed, he pressed her against it, his mouth claiming hers with desperate hunger.
"Gabriel," she gasped when he finally let her breathe. "Someone could walk in…"
“I am wholly unconcerned with it. I've been watching you observe me for the past hour and if I didn't kiss you immediately I was going to do something truly spectacular and inappropriate in front of everyone."
“Such as?"
"Such as crossing the room, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you out of here while declaring to the entire assembly that you're the only woman I want to dance with, now and always."
"That would be dramatic even for you."
"I'm feeling particularly dramatic tonight. It must be the effect of pretending to court a child while the woman I love stands ten feet away with a murderous look etched on her countenance.”
“I have no desire to stain my soul with such a heinous crime.”
He pressed closer, and Clara could feel every line of his body against hers. "She offered to help us."
"What?"
"Miss Ashworth. She offered to maintain a false courtship to give us time to find a solution."
"Why would she do that?"
"Apparently, she wants to avoid matrimony for another season and thinks a failed courtship with me would buy her time."
"And you're considering it?"
"I'm considering anything that might give us more time."
"Gabriel, false courtship or not, you'd still have to appear in public with her. Dance with her. Touch her."
"While thinking of you."
"That's not the comfort you think it is."
He cupped her face in his hands. "What do you wish me to do? Tell me and I'll do it."
"I want you to stop looking for solutions to an unsolvable problem."
"There has to be a way…"
"There isn't."
"Clara…"
She kissed him to stop the words, hard enough that it hurt a little, pouring every knot of frustration and longing into the contact until her chest ached. When she pulled back, their mouths were both wet and unsteady, their breathing ragged as though they’d been running.
“We should return before someone notices we’re both missing,” she whispered, but the words wavered.
“Let them notice.”
“Gabriel…”
“Dance with me.”
“What?”
“Here. Now. Dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
“We don’t need music.”
But he was already drawing her closer, one hand sliding firmly to her waist, the other capturing her fingers and lacing them with his. He didn’t so much lead as gather her into the shape of a dance, his body dictating the slow, deliberate sway.
“I warn you, this is exceedingly perilous.” Clara breathed, feeling his palm warm through the thin muslin of her gown.
“Everything about us is perilous.”
“Someone could walk in.”
“Then we’ll scandalise them with our fully clothed, perfectly proper dancing.”
She almost laughed, but then she met his eyes and the look there burned through her composure. “There’s nothing proper about the way you’re looking at me.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you want to devour me.”
His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist where he held her hand. “I do want to devour you. I want to start at your throat and work my way down until you’ve forgotten every reason why we can’t be together.”
“Gabriel…”
“I wish only to draw you to my chamber and lavish every adoration upon your person until your lips can utter nothing but my name in a fervent supplication.”
Her heart stuttered.
“We agreed…”
He gave a low, humourless laugh. “We agreed to boundaries we’ve been breaking since the moment you walked in on me half-dressed.”
“We haven’t broken the most important one.”
“Only because you have more self-control than I do.” His grip on her waist tightened, pressing her just a little nearer until the outline of him was unmistakable against her stomach.
“I have no self-control when it comes to you,” she said, her voice raw. “I have determination not to make things worse than they already are.”
“How could they be worse?”
“I could be with child when I leave.”
He went still at that, the slow circles of their dance faltering. “Clara…”
“That’s the reality, Gabriel,” she said softly. “One night of giving in could result in consequences that would follow me forever.”
“I’d make you my wife.”
“I’d refuse.”
“Clara…”
“I won’t trap you into matrimony, and I won’t bring a bastard into the world to suffer for our choices.”
“Our child wouldn’t be…”
“Our child would be illegitimate unless we entered into matrimony, and we can’t wed without destroying your life.”
“My life is already destroyed without you.”
“No, it’s damaged. There’s a difference.”
“You and your differences.”
They were still moving, slow circles in the empty room, her cheek brushing his shoulder, his breath warm against her temple. It felt like a farewell disguised as a waltz, a sin hidden under the shape of something innocent.
“I love you,” Gabriel said suddenly, his voice breaking. “I need you to know that. Whatever happens, however this ends, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life.”
Her eyes closed. His confession was a balm and a blade all at once. She clung to him a little tighter, her body betraying her even as her mind whispered of consequences.
"I know."
"Say it back."
"You know I love you."
"I need to hear it."
"I love you, Gabriel Hale. I love your scars and your moods and your terrible attempts at making tea.
I love the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching and the way you pretend not to care about things that matter to you. I love you completely and desperately and will be the death of me.”
He stopped dancing, pulling her closer until there was no space between them at all. "Run away with me."
"Gabriel…"
"I'm serious. We'll leave tonight. Go to the continent. I have money that's not tied to the estate. We could disappear."
"And live as what? Fugitives?"
"As us. Just Gabriel and Clara."
"You can't walk away from a dukedom."
“I most certainly can.”
"Your aunt would have you declared insane and drag you back."
“Let her make the attempt. It matters little.”
"Gabriel, stop. You're the Duke of Ashbourne. You have responsibilities, duties, a legacy…"
"I don't want any of it without you."