“Wherein our hero takes a chance.”

Gabriel rode hard, pushing Typhon faster, urging him on as though the Devil himself snapped at their heels. It didn’t feel far from the truth. Everything was unravelling and his father’s voice seemed louder than ever, berating him, mocking him. Any chance to be free of him, free of that hateful, taunting voice, seemed to be slipping through his hands. A part of him didn’t entirely care; he was tired of fighting, tired of trying to hold on to a normal life. There were other ways out, after all, if things got too bad.

His stomach clenched at the idea, but he remembered his mother’s face, almost peaceful in death as she had never been in life. It didn’t look so bad.

He pulled his horse up, both of them breathing hard and Gabriel sucked in a lungful of cold air. It was brighter today at least, the sky blue and scattered with billowing white clouds though the ground was thick with frost.

With chagrin, he looked around and realised he’d ridden to the border of his land, to where it met Longwold. He hadn’t noticed what direction he’d taken, just riding for the sake of it … hadn’t he?

The idea that Miss Holbrook might be coming to find him flickered into his mind and he shoved it away. He had no desire to see her again, no desire to encounter a woman who did nothing but disturb and unsettle him. Yet he scanned the horizon nonetheless, looking for her.

He waited for a while, walking Typhon up and down so he didn’t get cold, lathered up as he was, before turning him back towards the house. Gabriel refused to accept that the heavy sensation in his chest was disappointment. He had burdens enough to account for it without any sentimental twaddle over a foolish young woman who would do well to heed his words and keep clear. He had told her to, after all, demanded she go home and leave him alone.

“I can’t do that, Gabriel.”

Something caught in his throat as the words repeated in his mind. Soft words for once, kindly meant, given to him with affection. A longing to see her again crashed over him, taking him unawares and making him realise how damned alone he was. If he was honest, the letters she had written him had been the only things that had kept him alive when things had been at their darkest.

“We can be friends if you like, then we both know there is at least one person in the world who thinks well of us.”

It was ridiculous, beyond pathetic, she had been a child after all when she’d spoken those words. She had no concept of what she was saying. And yet … as the letters had kept coming, as it became clear that she did know him, or had at least guessed much about him, it had helped, knowing that there was one person in the world who thought well of him, no matter what. It had been a light in the darkness when there had been nothing else to keep him from falling into the abyss.

He pulled Typhon up again, a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him, and despite knowing he was a fool, he turned and looked again, and caught his breath.

He let out a startled laugh at the sight of her, cantering over the rise towards him as though he had conjured her up. Perhaps he had? Perhaps his mind had finally broken down and he was imagining her. He found he didn’t much care.

“Hello, Gabriel,” she said, sounding as bright and alive as she always did, a little breathless from her ride, her lovely cheeks flushed with the cold and excursion. Gabriel stared at her, finding his tongue suddenly nailed down, any reply lost as he remembered the last time he’d seen her, flushed and tousled for an entirely different reason.

He moved Typhon on, the big horse stepping out at a sedate pace with Miss Holbrook following beside him.

“How are you?” she asked, and for the first time in his life, he believed she really wanted to know the answer, had perhaps even worried for him.

He glanced at her and looked away, uncertain of how to reply to such an enquiry.

“You look tired,” she said, and he could feel the warmth of her gaze on his face. “Don’t you sleep?”

Gabriel swallowed. He didn’t want to answer questions. Instead he turned to her and cleared his throat.

“Are … are you hungry?” he demanded, his voice sounding gruff and begrudging for no good reason other than he didn’t quite know how to make it otherwise.

“Famished,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she smiled at him.

He nodded and urged Typhon into a canter, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was following, and led her back to Damerel.

Gabriel grimaced at the look in his butler’s eyes as he led Miss Holbrook over the threshold and into his home.

“Miss Holbrook!” the fellow exclaimed, so astonished and wide-eyed that he might as well have been seeing Gabriel invite a fairy queen to lunch rather than a live flesh and blood guest.

“You’ll need to set another place,” Gabriel said, handing Piper his coat as Miss Holbrook divested herself of hat and gloves.

“Of course, my lord,” Piper replied, practically beaming.

Gabriel scowled, now he’d have to put up with the staff gossiping about him. He kept the minimum of servants as it was; the less people aware of his quirks, the better.

Gabriel looked at his watch and checked it against the large grandfather clock. Ten minutes to one o’clock.

He put his watch away again and glanced at his guest, quite lost as to what to do next.

“Will you show me around, Gabriel?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. Gabriel scowled and shook his head.

“I eat at one o’clock, there isn’t time,” he said, his voice sharp.

Her face fell, clearly disappointed, but he refused to feel remorse for it. He glanced back at the hands of the grandfather clock and wished the bloody things would move faster.

“Well, afterwards, then?” she said, a hopeful tone to the question that was hard to miss.

Gabriel grunted, walking towards his study, unwilling to agree or disagree. She followed at his heels and he didn’t know how to stop her, but he needed a drink. It wasn’t usual for him to drink at this hour, but … he had a feeling this was going to be an unusual day. He waited for the idea to send his anxiety spiralling, but caught the look on Miss Holbrook’s face as she stepped into his study. She appeared enthralled, her eyes wide and delighted as she looked around.

“It’s just as I pictured it,” she said, sending him such a dazzling smile that he felt suddenly quite winded. She moved about the room, inspecting every surface, every picture.

“Don’t touch anything,” he barked, panic crawling up the back of his neck at the idea she might move something out of place.

She turned back to look at him, a little surprised, perhaps, but not as startled as he might have expected.

“All right,” she said, her tone soothing as he looked away again and turned his attention to his desk. “I can see everything is very neat. You like order, don’t you?” she observed as he moved his pen a millimetre to the right of his diary. He looked up, unaware that she’d been watching him.

“Yes.”

He turned away and poured a small measure of brandy into a glass.

“May I have one, please?” she asked, moving to stand beside him.

Gabriel looked up with a scowl. “Young ladies do not drink brandy.”

She quirked one eyebrow at him, a look of amusement lurking in those beautiful lilac eyes.

Gabriel sighed and poured another glass. “You are quite determined to be a scandal, aren’t you, Miss Holbrook?”

He held the glass out to her as she gave a soft laugh.

“I’m going to be the most appalling guest if you don’t give in and call me Crecy,” she warned him, mischief lurking in her expression. “You’ll never get rid of me.”

She reached for the glass, and Gabriel repressed a shiver as her fingers touched his. The idea of keeping her here, with him, was suddenly not as unattractive as it had once been. What the devil had gotten into him?

“Very well, Lucretia,” he replied, his tone begrudging as she rolled her eyes and tutted.

“Crecy,” she said, shaking her head. “Repeat after me: kuh-ress-see.” She sounded out her name as though he was a particularly slow child and he fought against the way his lips wanted to twitch upwards.

Instead he scowled at her again. “As you will, Crecy,” he repeated, sounding impatient, even as speaking the familiar form of her name sent a strange warmth uncurling in his chest. He looked up to see it was two minutes to the hour. Downing his drink in one go he returned to his desk, checking that nothing had moved.

Crecy watched him, obviously intrigued before raising her own glass and copying him. He raised an eyebrow as she spluttered a little, waving her hand in front of her face, her eyes wide.

“Well, that’s warmed me up,” she said with a gasp.

Gabriel tried to look revolted by such hoydenish behaviour, but suspected he failed as she simply chuckled and took his arm.

“Lead on, my lord,” she instructed, giving him a look of such warmth that he was forced to look away.

He took her to the dining room where provisions for his guest had obviously sent his staff into a panic. He could understand their agitation. His own, simple repast was not ideal for a female guest, and they did not want the lady to think badly of what had been offered. Yet any deviation from the norm would generally send their master into a towering rage. Thus it was that an extra place had been set beside his, an exact mirror image, and three servants dithered, holding plates that they had no idea what to do with.

“Just put the damn things down and get out,” Gabriel snapped. Tension snaked down his spine, coiling tight, sliding around his throat and squeezing the air from his lungs. What in the name of everything holy had he been thinking? This was a disaster, a terrible idea … He hauled in a breath, fighting for calm. It was just a meal, just food on plates, he could do this. Get a grip, Gabriel.

The servants did as he’d ordered and practically ran from the room. The moment the door was closed, Gabriel moved forward and rearranged the table. His mouth grew dry, a sour feeling climbing his throat until each item was arranged to his satisfaction. It took a little time, as moving one item often caused the need to go back and change another until it really was perfect and his chest unlocked with relief. Drawing in a shaky breath, he looked up, waiting to see the derision in Crecy’s eyes, and wasn’t sure what he felt when he found none.

“Still want to eat with me?” he demanded, his fists clenched as he waited for her to mock him. “You see tales of the mad viscount were perfectly accurate, only it’s rather less romantic in the flesh, isn’t it?” He sneered at her, bracing himself for her reaction.

Crecy moved forward, taking hold of his arm and reaching up, placing a kiss on his cheek. “May I sit down now, please, Gabriel?”

He stared at her for a moment before remembering what remained of his manners and pulling out a chair.

Gabriel sat himself and glanced at her. She was looking at the table with a little trepidation before the solution seemed to come to her. “Would you like to serve me?” she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes. “I like everything, so … whatever you’re having would be fine.”

Something inside him seemed to unwind, the tension twisted around his spine like bindweed, uncoiling and setting him free.

He got to his feet again, placing food on her plate until it matched his own, filling her glass to the wing tip of the little bird with a precision that had been given many years of practise. He sat again, moving his knife and fork a little before picking up his napkin and laying it in his lap.

They ate in silence, though strangely it didn’t feel uncomfortable, and though he knew she watched him, he felt no judgement, no scorn, just curiosity, perhaps.

“What would happen,” she asked once he had folded his napkin with care and replaced it where it had come from, “if I threw my napkin down on the table?”

There was no challenge in her voice, which was just as well, as the idea made tension snap down his spine like a whipcord.

“The house would fall down around my ears,” he snapped, feeling suddenly enraged. Did she think him a fool?

She gave him an impatient look and tutted. “I wasn’t suggesting you thought such a thing, I meant, what would happen to you, how would you feel?”

Gabriel got to his feet, breathless and irritated. “Just give it here,” he said, snatching it from her hands and folding it himself, lying it beside her empty plate.

He moved away, heading for the door, and he heard her chair push back. He turned, relieved to see that she replaced it. “I only want to understand you, Gabriel, and I can’t if you don’t explain.” She sounded so perfectly reasonable that he felt like an idiot, but he didn’t want to explain, didn’t want her know such things about him, didn’t want her to think him weak.

“You wanted to see the house?” he said, changing the subject and holding the door open for her.

She slid her hand into his and squeezed. “Yes please, but don’t think I won’t get an answer from you, because I will.”

Gabriel grunted and led her back into the hallway.

“What do you want to see?” he asked, sounding begrudging and bad-tempered but not releasing her hand. It was warm in his, far smaller and more fragile than his, own and he liked the feel of it. It was … reassuring, somehow, a little like the wolf’s head. He ran his thumb over the curve of her thumb, the gentle slope reminding him of the wolf’s neck, but so much softer and smoother. He relaxed a little, repeating the gesture as they walked.

“I don’t mind,” she said, sounding a little breathless. He turned to look at her to find her staring at their linked hands, at the way his thumb caressed her skin. It was the gentlest he’d ever been with her, he realised. For a moment, the urge to tell her it was just a repetitive gesture that soothed him and she need not read anything into it hovered on his tongue, and was just as quickly rejected. He wasn’t even sure it was true.

“Come along, then,” he muttered, his voice gruff now. “I’ll give you the tour.”