“Wherein Crecy confronts the devil.”

The months that followed were idyllic, as far as Crecy was concerned.

Perhaps not quite perfect, as the stupid French doctor had confirmed his English counterpart’s ideas on lovemaking whilst pregnant. But discovering other options was a rather delightful way to pass the time. Gabriel was at his most wonderful in these moments. His ability to love and care for her was something which continued to astonish her. That a man who had received so little care in his life was capable of such tenderness towards her was something she felt humbled by, and extremely fortunate to experience.

Not that everything was easy. By no means. Gabriel’s obsessive behaviour had not diminished as much as she had hoped, and indeed, as her pregnancy progressed, she sensed it worsening. She had overheard him the day before, having a passionate argument with someone, only to discover that he was alone. That his father’s voice still plagued him was only too clear. From her eavesdropping, she had also realised that for Gabriel, this was only a happy interlude. His job was to destroy Edward’s good name, and delivering his wife’s sister home with his bastard child in tow had to fit into that category nicely.

To say that Crecy was devastated was perhaps to simplify her feelings. She didn’t blame Gabriel, though, she couldn’t. His father was to blame for this. For everything that Gabriel had become, that man was to blame, and she had never hated anyone more. For she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Gabriel loved her, that he wanted their child and feared for both of them … and that knowing he could not keep them was tearing him apart. That was why he became increasingly unsettled as the time passed all too quickly, because he did not want to let her go.

It was August now, and the days were almost too hot to bear. They stayed indoors most of their day, either locked in their bedroom and each other’s arms, or in the sanctuary of the library, which was clearly Gabriel’s favourite room. After dinner that evening, however, the temperature had been more moderate and Crecy desperate for some air, so she had persuaded Gabriel to take a walk with her.

The gardens here were exquisite and, of course, another thing that Gabriel had controlled with precision. The design was his own, after having studied a number of books on the subject, and Crecy was delighted and fascinated that such a natural and gently beautiful garden had come from his own hand. She might have expected mazes and tightly clipped box hedging, but not the profusion of colour and variety that was to be found here.

They settled themselves on a bench not too far from a small river that wound through the property towards the bottom of the gently sloping grounds. Close enough that they could hear the soft murmur of the water, but not so near that they’d get bitten to death by the wildlife. Crecy liked sitting and talking to Gabriel in the dark. Outside of their lovemaking, it was the one time that he let his guard down a little and would speak more freely. It was almost as though the darkness shielded him somehow.

“Why doesn’t it bother you?” Crecy began, voicing a question she had long wanted to pose.

Gabriel turned his head, the slight glint of his eyes visible in the moonlight.

“It probably does,” he replied, his tone dry. “But what precisely are you referring to?”

“When we make love,” she said, smiling as she knew he still wasn’t used to her directness. “It’s wonderful and joyous and … well, simply the best thing in the world,” she added, knowing it would amuse him even if he said nothing. “But it’s also messy and disordered and out of control and … well, all the things you can’t abide.”

He was quiet for a long while before he shook his head.

“No, it isn’t,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s perfect.”

Crecy was quite certain she could melt at his feet at that moment, but contented herself with raising his hand to her lips and kissing it.

“I love you,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t reply and feeling quite at ease with the fact. She knew how he felt. That was enough.

“You were right,” he said, his voice a little tense now.

“That sounds unlikely,” she laughed, squeezing his hand and snuggling closer against him despite the heat.

He let out a huff of laughter, but shook his head. “About the night Aubrey Russell was shot. I didn’t order it.”

Crecy smiled in the dim light. She’d been sure that had been the case, but she was simply happy that he felt like telling her the truth.

“I knew that, Gabriel,” she said, watching as he turned his head.

“Why do you have such faith in me?” he demanded, sounding angry all at once. “I don’t deserve it, you know. I may not have ordered Edward’s murder, but the man who did it knew I wanted rid of him, and he wanted to be free of his debt to me. He thought if he solved the problem of Edward returning and taking back the title that I would owe him instead.”

Crecy held his hand tighter, knowing that he would retreat from her if she let him.

“But you didn’t order his death, Gabriel. I know you’ve done some bad things and I can’t condone them, and I hope, in time, that you will find a happier way to live your life. But I do forgive you for them, and I understand why you did those things.”

“How?” he said, the word almost a snarl of anger. “How can you possibly understand? I killed a man in a duel, did you know that?”

Crecy took a breath, but nodded. He was trying to drive her away like he had many times before with his angry words. He would push and push, all the time waiting for the moment she would leave, as she knew he believed she would, whilst all the while praying that she wouldn’t. Surely, sooner or later, he would have to believe that he was stuck with her for good?

“Yes. I knew that, Gabriel. Though I don’t know why you killed him. Tell me, please?”

He fell quiet then, and she didn’t need to see his face to imagine the mutinous expression that was on it now.

“Well?” she pressed him. She knew for certain that Gabriel never did anything without a good reason, no matter how tangled that reasoning might be. But she felt in her heart that he would not have taken a man’s life for nothing.

“It’s of no matter,” he snapped.

Crecy sat up, turning towards him. “Oh, but it is,” she said, her voice firm. “You want me to believe you the very devil, Gabriel, well, prove it, then. Tell me why you killed him, and don’t you dare lie to me, for I shall know it.”

“I didn’t like his face,” he retorted, sounding so much like a sulky boy that she had to bite back a smile.

“Liar,” she said, her voice tart as she let go of his hand and folded her arms.

“Did you know I own a whorehouse, too?” This one had been designed to make her jealous, but Crecy didn’t rise to it. She knew him too well to believe he would ever give anything of himself to a woman he had no feelings for. Whatever he had done before she had arrived would have been out of physical need, and perhaps simply a desire for some form of human contact, no matter how sordid. She pitied him for it and could only feel gratitude to the women there if they had brought him some comfort in the years before she’d come to him.

“I knew that, yes,” she said, her voice placid. “Are the ladies pretty?”

“For the love of God!” he exploded, getting to his feet, though to her relief, he did not walk away.

“Gabriel,” she said, getting up and walking to stand beside him. “You cannot shock me into not loving you and you cannot drive me away, so you may as well tell me all of your darkest secrets. I will keep them safe for you, and you will feel all the lighter for it.”

He let out a breath and stared up at the stars. His body was taut, and she knew he was fighting a war in his head. He wanted to tell her everything, but his father’s voice was determined to undermine them. If she could only make him see that it wasn’t his father he heard at all, just his own conscience because he didn’t believe he deserved to be happy. He sabotaged every opportunity he had for happiness because he didn’t dare take it.

“I killed Lord Aston because he nearly killed one of the girls.”

Crecy let out a breath and smiled in the darkness, but she said nothing, hoping he would say more without her forcing the words from him.

“I didn’t know at first, they contacted the law, but of course no one was interested in helping a woman like that.” The anger in his voice was obvious and she moved closer to him, holding his hand within both of hers. “He beat her, oh, God, so badly, and then … he cut her face. She’d been beautiful before, but she knew she couldn’t work after that. The bastard had stopped short of killing her, but taken her ability to support herself. So I killed him.”

“Good.”

Gabriel gave a laugh, but it sounded almost as though he wanted to cry.

“You’re madder than I am,” he said, his voice rough as he covered his eyes with his free hand.

“In the first place, you are not mad, Gabriel,” she said, staring up at him and willing him to believe her. “You have a beautiful soul.” She ignored the sound of ridicule he made to that comment and pressed on. “You do, but you’re damaged, too, and in everything you do, you are always fighting your past. But you win out so often, my love. If only you could see that.”

Crecy wished the moonlight was stronger so that she could see his face clearly, but he would not look at her. She tugged at his hand, pulling him back to the bench and sitting herself in his lap this time. Leaning into him, she placed his large hand against the fullness of her stomach and covered it with her own. “Someone who could not protect themselves was badly hurt and you couldn’t bear it. So you took action. That is not the work of a bad man, but a compassionate one.”

“And you don’t care that your child’s father is a whoremonger?” The words were crude and designed to shock her, and Crecy sighed.

“When was the last time you visited them?”

“Just before Christmas,” he said, sounding satisfied in the fact that it had been after they’d met.

“And did you … did you take anyone to bed while you were there?”

She saw his jaw stiffen, even in the dim light, and knew her suspicion had been correct.

“Not that time,” he admitted, but implying there had been plenty of other times.

“When was the last time?” she pressed, needing him to see she didn’t care. It was now that mattered, not then.

He let out a frustrated sigh and she knew she’d won. Whenever it had been, it was before she arrived. Long before, if she was any judge.

“Why own a place like that, anyway?” she asked, not really expecting an answer and not in any way judging him, simply curious. That was it, of course. A place where no one judged him. For surely, if there was a place where the most base of human nature could be found … it was there. “They were kind to you,” she guessed, and Gabriel dropped his head forward, resting it against her, his big hand still splayed over her stomach.

“How do you do that?” he asked, sounding raw and unhappy and afraid. “It’s like you get inside my head, and believe me, that is somewhere you do not want to be.”

Crecy stroked his hair, leaning her head upon his.

“There’s nothing in there that frightens me, Gabriel.”

“Oh, there is,” he said, a dark threat lacing through his words. “Believe me, Crecy, if you knew …”

She raised her head and looked at him, putting her finger to his lips before he could say more. “I do know.”

“You can’t!”

He was tense and angry again, all at once, and he began to withdraw his hand from her stomach. Crecy grabbed his wrist, holding on tight.

“Your father wants you to return me to Edward once the child is born, so that he is forced to raise your bastard. Isn’t that it, Gabriel?”

He sucked in a breath and looked away from her, making a choked sound.

“But here’s the thing, my love,” she said, her voice soft. “I know you, and I know that it’s killing you. You don’t want to do it.” Crecy watched as the emotions chased over his face, revulsion and self-loathing, guilt and sorrow, they were all there.

“Why don’t you hate me,” he demanded, and she could see the glitter of anguish in his eyes as the words tumbled out, harsh and desperate in the darkness. “Can’t you see how vile he is? He’s in me, Crecy. He is me. He’s in my head and under my skin. Sometimes I think I can even see his face behind mine in the mirror.”

“Hush, love, hush,” she said, feeling heartbroken by his agony. “It’s all right.” She held him close, rocking him like a child even though he was stiff and angry and unbending, refusing to allow himself to grieve. “Tell me about that night,” she said, realising that if she was ever to truly understand him, she needed to know the horror of it, needed to hear exactly what had happened.

“I told you already,” he said and she heard a weary note to his voice now. He would retreat into himself and lock himself away with his compulsions unless she could get him to talk.

“You told me about finding your mother,” she said gently. “You said that you’d never seen so much blood.” He flinched, and she leaned her head against his once more, holding him closer against her. “You said your father had beaten her, and then gone back to confront Winterbourne. When he returned home, she was dead.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“What happened then, Gabriel?” She kept the words soft but firm, he would tell her, he had to.

He drew in a breath, but it was a long moment before he spoke again.

“His grief was … Shakespearean,” he said with a snort of disgust. “I think he’d have done well on the stage. I always felt he was acting, always acting, always lying, professing how much he loved her … ‘I only get so angry because I love you so deeply and you hurt me so much’.” He shook his head. “He didn’t know the meaning of the word. He’d punish her for simply speaking, for expressing an opinion; good God, if she disagreed with him, there’d be hell to pay.”

Crecy waited as he gathered his thoughts, feeling as though she was bleeding inside for the pain he was in, wishing she could take it from him.

“He wept and screamed and lost his mind for … I don’t know, a long time,” he said at last, and she could hear the tension in his voice now as he tried to keep himself calm. “His shirt was soaked in her blood. I remember that. I remember thinking how strange that Father was wearing a red shirt, and then realising it was her blood.” He swallowed and she clung to him, only too able to imagine the horror of it. “He turned on me, then. He said it was my fault. They were happy before I was born, it was all my fault. He should have drowned me, thrown me in the lake before I had the chance to come between them.”

Crecy sobbed, and Gabriel put both arms around her now, pulling her against him, covering her stomach with his body and his arms, as if protecting the child within from the monstrous words. She held her tears back as best she could, knowing he would stop if she became too distressed.

“He said Mother’s death was on my conscience, and his would be, too, because he had to follow her. He could not live without his love. The only way that I could make amends was to destroy the Greyston line.” He looked up at her then, his eyes full of tears and confusion. “I was ten, Crecy. I didn’t know how to do what he wanted and ... and I said so.” His voice broke, and Crecy could do nothing but hold him, stroking his hair and whispering that she loved him. “He went downstairs in a rage, and I thought perhaps he’d changed his mind, but when he came back, he had a pistol.” Gabriel sucked in a breath and she could feel his big shoulders trembling now. “He held it to my head. He said that I had to swear, upon my life, that I would destroy Edward’s father and everyone that followed, or he’d shoot me before he killed himself.”

“Oh, my God.” Of all the things that Crecy had imagined, she had never realised how very black it was. That Gabriel had survived at all, let alone become a man capable of such love and compassion, was nothing short of miraculous. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. I’m so desperately sorry.”

“I did it,” he said, the words forced out now, though his voice shook with emotion. “I swore that I would do it, and he said that he would haunt me until the day I succeeded, that I would never be free of him unless I kept my word.” He swallowed, then, hauling in a breath, the next words halting and so vile that he clearly didn’t want to say them aloud. “He … he was standing right in front of me, pointing the gun in my face, pressing the barrel against my forehead, and then … and then he shot himself instead.”

Crecy buried her face in his hair, rocking both of them now, weeping for the poor, frightened boy and all the horror he had experienced. They stayed like that for a long time, until Gabriel had composed himself a little.

“He won’t let me be, Crecy. He’ll never let me be.” The words broke her heart completely as she heard the exhaustion behind them, the defeat. He was so tired of fighting.

Crecy sucked in a deep breath and took his head in her hands, forcing him to look up at her.

“You just listen to me, Gabriel Greyston. I’m not afraid of your wretched father, and I won’t let him hurt you anymore. We are going to get rid of him. You and me, one way or another. Do you hear me, you bastard?” she screamed, raising her voice to the skies, knowing it was ridiculous, but shouting into the darkness all the same. “I won’t let you have him. He’s mine now, and I’ll fight you until you’re burning in hell where you belong!”

Gabriel gave a startled laugh, staring at her with wonder, and they stayed there until the dawn came up, safe in each other’s arms.