“Until Renard got this damn fool notion in his head that he should find me a husband. That I could never be happy or content until I was wed.”
“Is that such a foolish notion, Gabrielle?” Remy asked quietly.
For her, it was. Renard playing matchmaker for her might have been laughable if it also hadn’t been unbearable, the idea that some nobleman, greedy for the dowry Renard offered, might be willing to overlook the fact he was getting damaged goods. Or worse still be enchanted with her beauty and fancy himself in love with her, a love she’d never be able to return. And when this prospective bridegroom had discovered the truth about her? What then?
Gabrielle knew there were ways a clever woman could deceive her husband into thinking he had acquired a virgin bride. But the thought of such deception sickened her. No, better at once to let a man know exactly what she was and be warned.
Then why was she still avoiding revealing the truth to Remy? Feeling the weight of his grave dark eyes upon her, Gabrielle finally answered him. “It was foolish for Renard to seek a husband for me for many reasons, but chiefly because I had no interest in being wed to some provincial oaf, being buried in the country all my life.”
Seeking to change the subject, Gabrielle rustled over to the bedside stand, where a flagon of wine and a crystal glass were kept to slake her thirst should she awaken in the middle of the night.
“Can I offer you some Rhenish wine, Captain Remy?” she called over her shoulder. “I could also roust out my cook to serve you a late supper down in the hall.”
“You mean on that great table that I glimpsed below stairs, the one that’s the length of a battlefield?” Remy grimaced. “No, I am afraid I hardly appear grand enough for such a setting.”
“Because you clearly have not been taking proper care of yourself. Just like most men when they are left to their own devices.” Gabrielle poured out the wine and marched over to him. “You look as pale as the ghost I mistook you to be. Perhaps some wine will at least put a little color back in your face.”
She forced the glass into his hand, saying sternly, “Here. Drink this.”
“Yes, milady,” Remy replied, his meekness belied by the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. When he took his first sip, he winced, and for the first time Gabrielle noticed the split in his lip where she had struck him.
She forgot her cool demeanor in the wake of her remorse. “Oh, lord, Remy. Did I do that to you?” She feathered her fingertips across his lower lip, dismayed to detect a slight swelling as well. “Oh, I—I am so sorry.”
Although he winced again at her touch and caught her hand, he said, “It is no great matter, my dear. I’ve been dealt far worse blows, but probably none I ever deserved as much. After all you and your sisters did for me, I should have found a way to let you know I was alive.”
He pressed a light kiss to her fingers. “It was natural that you should be angry with me.”
Gabrielle’s skin tingled from even so soft a pressure of his lips. She made haste to pull away from him.
“Natural, perhaps,” she conceded, “but hardly civil, Captain.”
“Is that what we are doing now, Gabrielle? Being civil to each other?” Remy asked quizzically.
She thrust up her chin with a determined smile. “Of course. Why should we not be cordial to each other? It has been a long time but we are still friends, are we not?”
“Yes, friends, ” Remy agreed, but the intense look in his eyes belied the word.
He reached up to tuck a stray wisp of hair back inside her net, his fingers lingering against her cheek. Gabrielle always had marveled how Remy’s hands, so hard and callused, could still be so gentle. His touch was almost a seduction in itself.
She felt a quiver of warmth rush through her. It was all the fault of that heated embrace they had shared earlier. She had always known it would be a mistake to kiss Nicolas Remy. That
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