Page 47 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke
“Your ladyship,” Gabriel corrected coldly.
Giles visibly swallowed, shoulders hunching as he curled underneath Gabriel’s stare. “Y-Yes. Your Ladyship, I mean.”
Thalia stirred briefly in his arms, and Gabriel brought her closer to his chest. “Now, I believe I’ve exercised quite a bit of patience on your behalf, Lord Oslay.”
“Oh, yes,” Charlotte agreed a bit too chipperly. “We really should get our guest back to Stonewell. You don’t mind, of course, do you, my Lord?”
Gabriel watched a flicker of rage cross the little marquess’ eyes, but the crowd had him bound. Whatever anger tried bubbling to the surface was expelled with a loud clearing of his throat. “Of c-course not.”
Gabriel’s gaze narrowed further.
“Of course not… y-your ladyship.”
The crowd parted quickly, allowing the Hardings through and leaving Giles behind. Gabriel let their stirring gossip fall by the wayside, far more intent on keeping his arms steady and Thalia unmoving in his grasp.
“That was a sight to behold, Charlotte. Remind me not to cross you publicly.”
Charlotte exhaled sharply, her nerves now clear as day in her face and tone. “You liked it? I know you wanted to kill him there and then, so, I thought my interjection would make you cross.”
“I was,” Gabriel admitted. “That little marquess would be digging his own grave, had I had my way.” Once more, Thalia stirred in his arms, and he shifted gently to allow her head to settle against his chest. “You were inspecting her… rather closely.”
Charlotte’s expression hardened. “Can’t be too careful, especially after what I’ve heard about the man. Nothing seems to have happened, but I won’t know for sure unless Thalia mentions it. Not that I’d make her,” she added with a somber tone. “Poor thing’s been through enough already.” She stood behind Gabriel as their carriage approached, ensuring enough space was given so Thalia could be eased into a seat.
He could sense her unease, a desire to ask what remained unspoken between them for so long. “It was a cowardly blow,” Charlotte murmured. “Mentioning family the way he did. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
He did. To have used his father’s death like that… it still sat heavy in Gabriel’s stomach, welling a sour taste up his throat. No one had mentioned his father’s death in years; today had been the most he’d thought, or spoken, of the man.
“Are you all right, Gabriel?”
He sighed lightly, the weight of the world suddenly noticeable against his shoulders. “I will be,” he replied as coolly as he could manage. “The sooner the name ‘Tilbury’ is ruined, the better. You don’t need to worry.”
“I always do, though,” Charlotte retorted. “And I’m insisting you get yourself patched up when we get home. I’ll make sure Thalia makes it to her room.”
“She’s not leaving my side, Charlotte.” Gabriel caught the anger in his tone, noted the surprised look on his sister’s face. He inhaled deeply, wrestling whatever emotions flared up briefly back into the pit of his chest. They could be dealt with later; it was not Charlotte who caused such fury. “I’ll have the doctor look at my face after Thalia’s is checked.”
“Promise?” Charlotte scowled.
Gabriel nodded, settling inside the carriage as his sister followed suit. He carefully maneuvered himself beside Thalia, gently easing her against his side as her eyes fluttered. Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up, catching a smirk crossing Charlotte’s face. “What’s that for?”
“She said your name,” Charlotte beamed. “Your proper name, dear brother.”
She had, indeed. And it was destroying Gabriel from the inside out.
CHAPTER22
She had vague memories amidst fluctuating consciousness. Of panic, of pain, of someone gathering her up and cradling her so tightly against their chest.
There was a vague understanding that she’d been in a carriage, the scent of chamomile alongside warm water, and the plush of a pillow that she sank so deeply into. Then there were the nightmares, breathless and cold, where she ran through the sinking snow as the shadows themselves stretched after her. And then…
Thalia’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring at a silk canopy. She groaned, sitting up against a wide array of pillows while pushing tangles of hair free from her face. It was clear she was back in Stonewell.
Giles would never place her in such a nice room unless it were his own, and the distinct scent of earth and smoke she’d grown to associate within the Stonewell manor was all too present. Her face throbbed terribly, and she brushed her fingers lightly across small bandages, while the memory of grasping tree limbs skittered across.
She did her best to peer through the dimness, noting the partially-drawn curtains displayed a night sky full of stars. The bed table was covered in a variety of medical supplies—salves, linen, clean water—and as her eyes trailed across, Thalia took notice of the partially slumped figure curled up in one of the reading chairs. “Is someone here?”
Immediately, the figure was on their feet, rushing to her side as Mr. Harding—as Gabriel—came into focus. There was a wild look to his eyes, and as he grasped her hand, Thalia could feel seething heat rolling off his body. “You’re awake.”
Thalia nodded, still taken aback by his intensity.
