Diane Gaston - A Regency Gentleman's Passion

Still, he seemed unable to refuse. “We will stop in the Park.”

They could cross through Green Park to reach the Home Office. There would be benches there where they might sit, where she could catch her breath and spill out this new proposal he had no wish to hear.

The Park was fragrant with blooming flowers and the scent of leafy trees and sprouting grass. Warm breezes whispered through the shrubbery, and Gabe for a moment was transported back to the Parc de Brussels where he and Emmaline had strolled in happier days.

They came upon a bench and he gestured for her to sit. “Say what you need to say.”

She lowered herself on to the bench and looked disconcerted when he remained standing. Her hand fluttered to her face. “How to begin …”

Gabe gazed through the trees, his insides seared by memories and false hopes.

She fingered the front of her dress. “You once seemed to have a regard for me, is that not so, Gabriel?”

“Once.” He refused to admit more.

“We did well together, non? ” She smiled, but her lips trembled.

He merely stared at her.

“You proposed marriage to me, non? ”

He still did not speak, not knowing where she was leading, surmising it would cause him pain.

She took a breath. “I will marry you now, Gabriel.” She waved a hand. “If—if you help me find Claude and stop him from doing this terrible act, I will marry you and go wherever you wish and do whatever you say.” She made a quick, decisive nod, as if convincing herself that she could indeed perform such a distasteful task.

Gabe gaped at her. “Marry me? What of Claude, then? Will he cease to despise me if I stop him from what he wishes to do?”

A great sadness filled her eyes, but her chin lifted in determination. “He will probably hate you the more for it, but that cannot be as important as him being alive. It is better for Claude to live and have a chance for happiness, even if he chooses to exclude me from his life.”

Her son’s life. To save it, she’d agree to anything. Even to marry Gabe.

It felt as if she had now twisted the knife she’d plunged into his chest two years before. Did she think he wanted her to give up the most important part of her life for him?

When he’d proposed to her in Brussels, he’d meant their marriage to be a pledge of love and fidelity between them, not a contest between him and Claude. You win, Gabriel. I’ll marry you. That had not been what Gabe meant about wanting to win her hand. Possession of her company was not the prize, winning her away from her son was not victory. Spending his days and nights with her, sharing their dreams together, that was the prize, much more valuable. Gabe wanted to grow old with Emmaline, but not at the expense of her attachment to her son. What kind of man did she think he was?

She gazed back into his eyes, her expression tense. “Well, do you agree? Will you help me?” Her voice wobbled.

This offer of hers—this sacrifice— stung worse than her initial rejection, which, even though he did not like it, he’d understood. God help him, he had even envied the devotion she bestowed on her son. He’d never been that important to his own mother, not with all his brothers and sisters needing her more, but this was not about his needs. It was about Emmaline. She needed her son like she needed air to breathe. As painful as it was, Gabe would never take away her life’s breath. He refused to be the sacrifice she must make, the price of saving Claude from his own folly.

“Gabriel?” she asked anxiously.

He could at least force her to explain. “I thought you did not want to marry a man your son would despise.”

Panic flickered in her eyes. She glanced away. “I never despised you, though. We—we were good friends, were we not?”

Good friends. Such a far cry from being her life’s breath.

She went on, “It will be enough to know Claude is alive. I … I will even—how did you say it?—follow the drum with you when you return to the army.”

“You will marry me and travel with me as a soldier’s wife?” She’d hated such a life when her husband had demanded it of her. More sacrifice she was willing to make, for the sake of her son.

She blinked. “If you are able to prevent Claude from murdering, yes, then I will marry you.” She looked up again. “I will gladly marry you.”

“What a compliment to me,” he murmured.

“Qu’est-ce que tu as dit?” She shook her head. “I mean, what did you say?”

“It is of no consequence.” He gestured to the path. “Shall we be on our way?”

She rose and clutched his arm. “You did not answer me.”

There was no more than an inch separating them. The sun lit her anxious face and the lavender scent he’d imagined became real. At the Parc de Brussels they’d stood together just like this, sheltered from view by a large allegorical statue. He’d leaned down and tasted her lips that day and held her in his arms.

The urge to kiss her and hold her again was unabated even though he was the sacrifice she would make to save her son from a hanging. He leaned closer and she rose on tiptoe, so close their breath mingled.

“Your answer?” she whispered.

He stepped back. He ought to let her think he’d go along with making her choose him over her son. It would serve her right for thinking so little of him.

He was no card player, but he could bluff like one.

“Very well, Emmaline. I will hold you to your promise. I will prevent Claude from murdering Edwin Tranville and you will marry me.”

Her lips trembled again, but she nodded, her hand pressed against her chest.

He started to walk and she skipped to catch up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am headed to the Home Office,” he said.

“The Home Office?”

He set a fast pace. “The place where Edwin Tranville is employed.”

She strained to keep up with him. “You know where he is?”

“I always knew where he was.”

She sounded angry. “You were going to warn him? Even before I spoke today?”

He stopped and faced her. “That is correct, Emmaline. I was planning to do that much for you, but you made a new bargain. After I speak to Edwin today, I’ll proceed to where I might obtain a special licence so you and I can be married right away.”

She gazed straight ahead. “Do not forget you must ensure that Claude does not kill this man. Then I will marry you.”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “That is our bargain.”

They did not speak until the buildings on Whitehall came into view.

“We are near,” Gabe said.

When they approached the Home Office building, Emmaline shrank back. “Must I see him?”

“See who?”

“Edwin Tranville.” Her voice turned low and shaky.

He’d forgotten. She did not know Edwin as a drunken coward, but as a dangerous man who’d tried to rape her and kill her son.

He put his hand over hers. “Do not fear,” he murmured. “He cannot hurt you.”

She looked up into his eyes and he could almost think that the connection he’d believed they had in Brussels had returned and was real.

He led her through the hallways to the rooms housing the Home Office. She shrank back as he opened the door.

A clerk sat behind a desk, looking very much like the clerk who sat behind the desk in the War Office. The man raised his eyes. “Yes?”

Emmaline stood behind Gabe. He could feel the stiffening of her muscles. She was bracing herself to see Edwin again.

Gabe inclined his head. “Edwin Tranville, please.”

The clerk glanced down again. “Edwin Tranville is not here.”

“When might we expect him?” Gabe asked.

“Never,” the clerk said. “He will not be back.”