“Wherein … a reunion of sorts.”

Crecy ran forwards, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, but halted as she saw his posture stiffen. He stood staring at her, perfectly rigid, his face a mask.

“Hello,” she said, uncertain as to whether she wanted to cry and rage at him or just fall at his feet. She was smiling, though, her heart alight with hope. Surely, there was hope? There had to be.

Gabriel said nothing, his eyes wary now.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, his voice hard and curt. “If you want any chance of catching yourself a husband, you’ll regret getting caught here with me.”

Crecy felt her smile fall away, but she found she could not be angry with him. He was staring at her as though she was a threat now, as though she posed a danger to him, and she knew how badly he’d been hurt.

She moved closer, slowly, as if she was approaching some wounded, wild creature, and she smiled a little as she realised that it was exactly that.

“I will tell you now what I have told you before, Gabriel,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “And I will keep on telling you until you believe it. I will never marry. I will have you or no one, and if you want to walk back into that ballroom right now with me on your arm, then I am ready to do it.”

His gaze was fierce for a moment and then he looked away, folding his arms. “Come over here before anyone sees you,” he said, his voice gruff and rather begrudging as he nodded towards a more secluded corner. At least he still seemed to have some care for her.

“Why did you attack Bellinger?” she asked, wondering what had riled him badly enough for such a violent outburst.

“Why?” he asked, the sneer in voice clear enough. “Was he one of your beaus?”

Crecy felt a burst of fury with him and struggled to tamp it down. “No,” she said, the word brittle and angry just the same. “He’s a revolting, ill-mannered libertine, and I was never more pleased to see anyone brought to his knees. I wanted to cheer you on, if you must know,” she added, folding her arms to mirror his defensive stance.

Gabriel looked a little startled, and then his face darkened further.

“Did he touch you?” he demanded, his arms falling to his sides as he walked closer to her. “Did he hurt you?”

Crecy melted all at once, utterly undone by the concern and fear in his eyes.

“No,” she said, smiling at him and wanting to reach out and touch his dear face so badly it was an ache beneath her skin. “No. He made me very uncomfortable and I dislike him intensely, but nothing more than that.”

He seemed to let out a breath, and yet that stiff, cool look swept over him again.

“Don’t meet him, Gabriel,” she said, her voice pleading as she dared to take another step forward. “Please, don’t.”

“Why?” he demanded, his eyes glittering with anger now.

She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on his sleeve, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fine cloth, perfectly rigid with tension.

“Because I’m frightened, Gabriel.” She dared to move a little closer, staring up at him and feeling the tears prickle in her eyes. “Even a fool like Bellinger could get lucky, and even if he doesn’t, it will hurt you, Gabriel. Killing a man simply over angry words is foolish and will leave a mark on your soul. Please, my love, don’t do it.”

An uncertain expression slid into his eyes and he looked down, away from her gaze.

“I’ve issued a challenge, now, there is no backing down.” His face grew cold once more and he gave her a rather unpleasant smile. “It’s a matter of honour.”

Crecy swallowed, knowing her voice was going to tremble but needing to get the words out. “You have more honour than you know, Gabriel, certainly far more than most of the people in that room.”

He snorted, incredulous. “You can say that?” he mocked, shaking his head and removing his arm from her grasp.

“I knew what I was doing,” Crecy said, feeling suddenly worn and exhausted. She no longer had the energy to battle him so hard, to battle the ghosts of his past that were forever whispering their vile words in his head. “I have no regrets.”

He looked around, perhaps hearing the change in her demeanour. He looked concerned all of a sudden, and that, at least, warmed her heart.

“What is it?” The words were an imperious demand. He would know what was wrong. She smiled at it, knowing his harsh tone hid anxiety, but only shook her head. She would cry if she said more.

“Tell me,” he insisted as he moved back to her. He touched her face, a fingertip lifting her chin so he could look down at her. “You’re pale,” he said, hiding his growing concern with a gruff voice. “You’re not sleeping?”

She shook her head, which only made things worse as a wave of dizziness hit her and she was forced to hold onto him.

“Crecy!” he exclaimed, real concern audible now. “Are you sick?”

Crecy swallowed hard, what remained of her self-control dissolving in his presence. “N-not sick,” she whispered as her eyes began to fill, but forced herself to hold his gaze.

Gabriel stared at her, uncomprehending at first, but she saw the moment her words sank in.

He gasped and shrank back, and she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake, and then his jaw tightened.

“Whose is it?”

For just a moment the pain of his words stole her speech, or any ability to react at all, but not for long. She slapped him. Crecy put everything she had into that one strike and the burning pain of it seared her palm, making her eyes water and the tears spill over.

“How could you?” she said, though she was more hurt than angry now. It was too much. She could not face any more of his anger and hurt, not now. So Crecy began to walk away.

“Crecy!” She was halted with a large hand on her arm, though his grip was gentle. She paused, looking back at him with tears running down her face. “I … I should not have said that.”

“No,” she said, with as much dignity as she could find as she tried to dash the tears away with her gloved hand. “You shouldn’t have.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still holding her arm, but his presence was reassuring now, hopeful.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low and a look in his eyes that she could not quite read, but she thought that he looked afraid.

Crecy nodded, knowing she would simply crumple if she tried to speak. Gabriel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“We cannot discuss this here,” he said, glowering now, and she sensed his frustration. “Can you get away?”

“Yes,” she said, though in truth, it was hard to do. She felt sure Lady Russell didn’t trust her an inch.

Gabriel nodded. “Go to Hatchard’s. I’ll have a carriage pick you up outside and bring you to me, tomorrow morning, at ten?”

Crecy nodded, smiling again now, and the tears that she was trying desperately to hold back were of the happy variety now as she felt her faith in him had been justified. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but if he would speak with her, surely she could win him around?

“Yes,” she managed, her voice a little uncertain. “But what about Bellinger?”

Gabriel tutted, looking angry and disgusted in an instant. “Oh, for the love of God. Fine! I won’t kill the blasted fool, if it’s going to make you weep all over me.”

Crecy laughed, a startling sound as it was so long since she had heard it herself. “Oh, Gabriel, I do love you, whether you want it or believe it.”

For a moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes, something warm and hopeful, but it was quickly hidden. He grunted but said nothing, and Crecy reached out, clasping his hand and raising it to her cheek.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

He glowered a little but gave a curt nod.

“Tomorrow, ten o’clock,” he repeated, avoiding her gaze.

“I’ll be there, Gabriel.”

***

Gabriel waited in the damp mist of an early March morning at The Ring in Hyde Park. It was chilly and murky, and he’d much rather have been in his own bed, but he was damned if he’d let a nasty jumped-up jackanapes like Bellinger get off scot-free. Especially after Crecy’s words. The longing to put a bullet in the fellow was tantalising. Happily, there was not a soul in sight apart from his opponent, who had gone to throw up his guts behind a tree, and the idiot’s friends. The last thing he needed was for the law to get wind of it.

Gabriel looked up as Bellinger’s second approached him, looking very much like he wanted to make use of his friend’s tree as soon as possible.

“My lord,” the man said, barely able to meet Gabriel’s eyes. There was some satisfaction in being thought a monster after all, Gabriel mused, smiling inwardly. “Mr Bellinger is truly sorry for having slighted the young lady in such an abominable manner and would like to offer his sincere apologies.”

“I’m quite certain he would,” Gabriel said, with what he was very sure was a most unpleasant smile. “I, however, do not accept. Mark the points and let us get this over with.”

His friend blanched and gave a stiff nod, and Gabriel watched with a keen eye as the ground was paced out, a sword struck into the ground to mark the firing positions for both parties. Once this was done, Gabriel rapped on the carriage door to indicate to the doctor that his services may be required. He had also blackmailed an indignant Mr Rufford - who owed him a large sum of money - to stand as his second, and this gentleman now bore Gabriel’s pistols off to Bellinger so the fellow could inspect them and make his choice.

This done, Rufford presented the case to Gabriel, who took the remaining pistol. With a twisted smile, he realised that Bellinger had taken the one that his father had used to blow his own brains out. You could tell, as there was a slight nick in the fine, polished wood of the butt. Wouldn’t that be ironic, if Bellinger got lucky as Crecy feared, and he was killed with the same gun? Almost poetic. If it hadn’t been for Crecy’s revelation last night, he would probably have hoped for it. But his thoughts on the matter were too tangled of yet, and he needed time to decide what was to be done.

Rufford gestured for him to come forward, and he stared hard at Bellinger, who walked to his position, ashen-faced and looking like he might cry. They stood back to back, and then, as the signal was given, they walked away to their firing positions. Gabriel reached his and began to turn as the sound of a gunshot ricocheted across the empty park. Gabriel turned fully to see that Bellinger had fired on him while his back was to him, and had missed by a mile. The fellow looked like he was about to bolt, his second obviously feeling the same as he shouted at Bellinger to hold.

Gabriel took his time, raising the pistol and taking aim. It would be an easy thing, to rid the world of this unpleasant creature, but Crecy would not be pleased with him – to say the least. He deloped, firing the gun into the ground before handing it to Rufford and giving Bellinger one last look of disgust.

“I suggest you stay out of my way in the future, Bellinger,” he said, watching with contempt as the man sat heavily down on the damp ground and put his head in his hands.

Once he’d returned Rufford to his home, Gabriel returned to his own to pass the interminable hours until it was time to send a carriage for Crecy. He would not send his own carriage, as his coat of arms was far too distinctive, so a hired carriage would have to be arranged. At least he had time enough to dress and prepare himself if he started at this ungodly hour.

He began his ablutions with his thoughts in a tangle. The idea of Crecy carrying his child brought such a terrifying range of emotions that he simply didn’t know how to deal with them, and all the time he could hear his father’s instructions to him.

Throw her out, send her back to Edward, let him raise a DeMorte bastard. That’s almost as good as destroying him, Gabriel, it will ruin his reputation, make him a laughing stock when you live on his own doorstep. It’s our revenge!

“Yours, not mine, Father.”

He would have to call you out for it … we can finally end this.

Oh, God, the idea of an end to this torment, to this living nightmare, that was sweet indeed. But could he do that to Crecy? Could he really turn her away?

His chest grew tight, pain radiating out from his heart. Could he do that to his own child? He racked his brain, trying to think of a way he could have everything.

“Edward might get rid of the child, she might not be given proper care, she could lose it. I can’t risk that,” he countered, knowing it was just an excuse, but clinging to it anyway. “Better I keep her close, at least until the child is born. Then I’ll take her back, with the babe in her arms. Edward won’t have any choice then.”

His father was silent on the matter and Gabriel considered it a victory, or at least … a temporary reprieve.