CHAPTER 37

GAbrIEL HAD BEEN WATCHING the sunrise through his bedroom window. Remembering another morning that now seemed so long ago, when he had spotted her riding out. He didn't expect to see her ride out today. Not in her condition. Yet he couldn't help but to hope for a glimpse of her.

And then she was there, walking through the gardens. He knew her destination. And nothing could have kept him from following. He needed to be near her. To bask in her presence. To observe the changes the pregnancy had wrought in her body.

But if he had not been watching, if he had taken one fucking minute longer to arrive, she could have come to harm. Their baby could have come to harm. The mere thought was unbearable. This despicable brute had dared to put his hands on Hannah. Now the rage coursing through Gabriel's body clamored for blood. His first instinct when he came upon the scene had been to charge Blackwell, to wrench Hannah from his grasp, to punch his face in for causing her any distress. Only the risk of hurting her in the melee held him back.

Blackwell turned to him, and his face twisted with rage. "You! You are her lover, aren't you? Have I interrupted your assignation?" he taunted. "Everyone knows your earldom is ruined. Do you think you and your whore will get your hands on my dukedom? Steal what's mine? I will tell everyone. Create the biggest scandal—"

"The scandal will be if you harm the duchess, a woman enceinte. Now that I'm here, I will never let you harm her, but if you don't release her this instant, I will bring the law against you for assaulting her. It won't even be hard to convince them of your evil intentions. As the heir presumptive you have the most to lose. I'll see you thrown in jail."

Realizing the truth in Gabriel's words, Blackwell grimaced and shoved Hannah, who stumbled a couple of steps before Gabriel caught her, steadied her. Studied her face for any sign of harm.

"I'm well," she murmured in response to his unspoken question.

"You won't get your way," Blackwell screeched, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes crazed. "I will file a lawsuit–"

Gabriel couldn't hold back anymore. With Hannah out of harm's way, he fisted Blackwell's shirt and slammed him against a tree. "You will not slander the duke and duchess anymore, much less while enjoying their hospitality."

"Hospitality, my arse," Blackwell snapped. "My uncle and this bitch—"

Gabriel's fist interrupted his offensive sentence with an uppercut to the chin. Blackwell went down, but to his credit, he regrouped and came back to charge at Gabriel.

Oh, how he relished the chance for a fight. The blood pumping through his body demanded it. His senses heightened, muscles coiled like a spring, looking forward to using this swine as his punching bag. With a sneer plastered on his face, Blackwell lunged forward, fists swinging.

Gabriel sidestepped the attack with the fluid grace of his Kalarippayattu training, his body flowing like water. As the brute stumbled past him, Gabriel snapped a quick jab to the man's jaw, feeling the satisfying connection of knuckles against bone.

Recovering, Blackwell threw a wild hook. But Gabriel had been expecting it. He ducked under it, pivoting on his heel and bringing his elbow up in a precise arc. The strike landed on the side of Blackwell's head, disorienting him.

Not giving the man a moment to recover, Gabriel unleashed a rapid combination of punches—a left hook to the ribs, a right cross to the cheek, and an uppercut that snapped Blackwell's head back. Gabriel delivered each punch with surgical precision, honed from his years in the army and fighting in the streets of Calcutta.

Blackwell staggered, eyes glazing over, but Gabriel wasn't done. He stepped in closer, using his opponent's momentum against him. With a fluid motion, he grabbed the man's arm, twisting it into a lock.

"You will leave this house immediately. If you ever come close to the duchess again, I will kill you."

Despite being wheezing and dizzy, Blackwell still found the nerve to sneer. "What are you, their guard dog? I'll leave now. But this is not over." With a malevolent glare, he staggered away.

Gabriel watched. Wondering if he had done the right thing by letting him go. Almost wishing the blackguard would turn around and give him an excuse to finish him. His breathing was steady, but inside, his thirst for blood had not abated.

And then Hannah's soft hand slid into his. He held on tight as if it was his anchor in a whirlwind of violence. Her touch grounded him. Abating his bloodlust with a rush of tenderness. He turned to study her. His anxious gaze roaming over her face and body, assessing for any injuries.

"Are you truly well? Did he harm you in any way?"

"I'm well. You arrived in the nick of time."

"In the nick of time? That implies he planned something nefarious. What if I had not been here... Bloody hell, Hannah. I can't bear to think of the consequences. You must promise me to take better care. You must not go anywhere alone–"

"I know. And I don't. I rarely venture any farther than the gardens these days, and when I go out, I always take the carriage and a couple of footmen with me. But today... Well, I was hoping to meet you. It was imprudent to seek this encounter, I know. I'm sorry, it's just that I haven't seen you in so long."

"Don't apologize. I wanted to see you, too. Away from the house and all the guests." He ran his hands up and down her arms. Small tremors still shook her body. "You are trembling like a leaf. Come, let's go to your folly."

"You did? Want to see me, I mean."

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Did you doubt it?"

She looked down at their entwined hands as they walked towards her retreat. "It crossed my mind that you might have forgotten me. Or at least, that you were trying to put me out of your mind. I wouldn't blame you, but I —"

He interrupted her with a kiss. He couldn't let her think for even one moment that he had forgotten her. She was the very air he breathed. He couldn't forget her even when he slept. Pouring all the emotions he couldn't express with words into the kiss, he possessed her lips until they were both breathless and dizzy with desire.

Desire that would have to go unsatisfied.

But it was enough to have her company. To have her delicate hand in his. To feast his eyes upon her for a few moments. It would have to be enough. Anything was better than the utter desolation of not having her.

When they got to the folly, Hannah tried to open the door to her retreat, but her shaky hands made it difficult to insert the key in the lock. Gabriel took the key from her stiff fingers and opened the door himself, ushering her inside.

"I'm such a silly goose. I'm still a bit shaken."

"You are not silly. I'm terrified myself of what he could have done before I arrived. The few minutes it took me to get to you..." He enveloped her with a protective embrace, whispering soothing words to ease her fears and let her know she was secure. That he would always protect her. She winced. "What is it?"

Hannah shook her head. "It's nothing. My shoulder is a little sore."

Gabriel came instantly alert. "What did he do? If he hurt you in any way, I will kill him."

Her eyes roamed his face with a puzzled expression. "You mean that literally, don't you? I wouldn't have believed you had that capacity for violence. Stupid of me, I know. After all, you were an officer. But you have always been so congenial, so steady. I just didn't think... And yet today, fighting him, you looked... lethal."

Gabriel looked away. Not wanting her to see the darkness. But she was right. His words were no mere figure of speech. He would kill the bastard if he ever harmed her. But there was no point in upsetting her any more than she already was.

"I regret you had to witness that," he said, evading the question. "I would rather die than allow any harm to come to you or the baby."

She nodded. "It was unnerving. But also a little thrilling. The way you came to my aid."

"I will always come when you need me. You don't even have to ask." He drew close, pressing his forehead to hers. His hands roamed from her cheeks, down her neck, and over her shoulders. Re-learning her contours. She seemed softer, more delicate. And as beautiful as ever.

She remained still, allowing him the pleasure of absorbing the feel of her satiny skin. The inhale of her tender fragrance. At last, his hands slid down her arms and came to rest on the place he had been dying to touch. Her belly.

It was rounder, firmer. For now, her gown did a good job of disguising it, but already the changes were noticeable to the touch. It would get even bigger before their child was born. He smoothed his hands over it, pretending his child could feel the caress.

"Hannah, can I see it? Can I see your belly?"

She frowned, uncertain. "I'm so fat and swollen. It's not a pretty sight."

"I'm sure that's not true. If possible, you look even more lovely while pregnant. How has it been?"

Her laugh was a little strained. But at least she was laughing. "I'm not. I'm ungainly and cumbersome. But I have felt well. I haven't got morning sickness, although I crave biscuits at all hours. And I need more sleep than usual."

"I wished I could be by your side all the time," he crooned in her ear. "I would feed you biscuits, rub your feet, and lay you down to take naps in the afternoon."

"Hmmm... that sounds lovely."

He had been gathering her gown in his hands, lifting it until he uncovered her legs. When his fingers touched the bare skin of her thighs, she jumped.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"I just want to see your belly. Nothing else, I promise. I-I need to see the place where my child is growing." He rasped the last sentence, pushing it out of a throat constricted with emotion.

She gasped. "Don't say that! Nobody must know."

He knew. And the knowledge was a dagger in his heart. Now she had twisted it.

"I'm aware of that, Hannah. You have my word I won't claim this child as mine in public. But here it's only us. When we are alone, there shall be no pretense."

Leaning back in his arms, she met his gaze. And whatever she saw in his eyes convinced her, for she nodded and lifted her dress with her own hands. Giving him permission to see, touch. Experience it.

He went down on one knee. This brought his face level with her belly, covered only by her sheer chemise. Slowly, so that she would have time to object if she so chose, he lifted the chemise until her belly was bared. And his breath caught.

He let his hands roam over the rounded contours, committing to memory their shape. Feeling the creamy skin stretched smooth. His throat was heavy with emotion as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her belly. And his eyes widened in wonder as a bump appeared and then a ripple disturbed the smooth surface.

"Oh! Did you feel that?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes! Was that...?"

"That was the baby moving."

He tried to follow the ripple with his hands. "It is as if I can touch him."

"How do you know the baby is a he?" she teased.

He smiled. "I don't. Nor do I care. But you need a boy to inherit. And I always want to give you what you need. So I hope."

Her smile contained the sweetness of a renaissance madonna. "You do. From the moment I met you, you have always given me exactly what I need. For what it's worth, I think it's a boy. And he is reaching out to you, as if he senses you. I've felt a few bumps before, but never this intense."

His eyes were getting moist, so he lowered them, pressed his face against her belly, kissed it. When he felt confident his voice would come out steady, he murmured, "Hullo, baby. I'm your papa. And I love you very much." Another push, a big one. An acknowledgement? Hannah winced and put a hand to her belly.

He looked up, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. That was a powerful kick."

"Careful with your mummy, sweetheart," he crooned to the belly. "You must be very gentle with her. Will you do that? Will you take care of your mummy for me?"

As if the baby understood him, it quieted. After depositing another kiss on her belly, he stood up and helped her to rearrange her clothing. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her with all the yearning, the tenderness, the desperate love trapped inside him.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips. "Thank you for sharing this moment with me. For letting me feel him."

"Of course," she rasped, and he noticed her eyes were full of tears. Of joy or sorrow? Or maybe, just like his, a mixture of both.

"Come, let me pamper you a bit," he said, tugging her towards the daybed.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, but her trusting smile was a balm to his ragged heart.

"Just a foot massage. And maybe I can coax you to rest for a bit."

"I can't. The guests..."

"It will be hours before the guests arise."

"But..."

"Don't protest. You need to rest."

He urged her to lie down, then removed her sturdy walking shoes and stockings, revealing her dainty pink toes and once slim ankles. They were now swollen and looked painful.

"Oh, sweetheart. Look at your poor little feet," he crooned as he used his hands to massage and soothe her feet and legs.

"Hmmm, that feels amazing." She sighed.

"It would be a privilege to do this for you every day."

"I wish you could," she whispered.

By the time he had reduced her to the pliancy of soft dough with his massage, her eyelids were drooping with exhaustion. He leaned back amongst the cushions, embracing her, holding her while she slumbered. Only one thought was on his mind.

Here on this bed was everything that mattered in his life.

THAT NIGHT, GAbrIEL was playing billiards with a few other men after dinner. More like he sprawled on a chair in the corner of the billiards room, waiting for his turn to play while watching two young fools knock the balls around. They were abysmal players, but then, they were well into their cups, which may account for their inability to play. He was considering the merits of inebriation himself.

At this rate, they would be here until the sun came out. He didn't mind. Most of the company was congenial. A few gentlemen played cards, while others talked, smoked cigars, and drank brandy. He had sought refuge in this masculine haven because he had not realized how difficult it would be to interact with Hannah while pretending to be only an acquaintance. Not in the mood to play cards or make conversation, he allowed the muted tones of the voices to wash over him.

Until a sentence snagged his attention with the piercing quality of a grappling hook.

"Have you heard that the duchess's pregnancy is not the duke's doing?" one of the young fools said in a loud whisper.

"It wouldn't surprise me." His partner sniggered. "The duke is old. A man his age wouldn't be up to the task, if you get my meaning. The only surprise is that it took her this long to, hmm... take matters into her own hands."

They both laughed at their lame wit, no doubt considering themselves clever in the extreme.

Gabriel saw red. In his mind's eye, he visualized himself wielding the billiards cue stick and smashing it against their foul mouths. His fists clenched, and his blood pounded with the willpower it took to restrain himself. He couldn't cause a scene. Especially not after the thrashing he had given Blackwell this morning. If he started acting as the duchess's champion, he would surely set even more tongues wagging.

Taking a deep breath, summoning all his years of practice in the art of looking impassive, he joined the conversation.

"I say, those are some nasty rumors to repeat under the duke's own roof. Where did you hear such a thing?"

The two young bucks looked at him. Color spread through their faces, but the one who had first spoken jutted his chin out and said in a defensive tone, "T'is no rumor. I heard it from someone close to the duke and duchess." He lowered his voice to add in a stage whisper, "He said everyone in the duke's close circles, including the servants, knew about it."

Gabriel could make a very good guess who had started such rumors, but he wanted confirmation, so he pressed them.

"I very much doubt it. If that were the case, the duke wouldn't be hosting half the ton to celebrate his impending fatherhood."

"Ah, but you see, Mr. Blackwell says it was done on purpose. The duke is so desperate for an heir, and so embarrassed by his inability to produce one, that he is willing to claim the duchess's bastard as his own."

Blackwell. Of course, it was him. Gabriel made sure he had departed the house this morning. But apparently not without first introducing some venom.

"Isn't Mr. Blackwell the duke's heir presumptive?" he asked, feigning boredom.

The second youngster frowned. "Well, yes. I believe he is."

"In which case, if the duchess has a son, Mr. Blackwell would be displaced as the heir. That could make a man bitter to the point of spreading malicious rumors. Don't you think so?"

"I suppose it's possible," the young man replied, his hands fiddling with the cue stick in a sign of nervousness as he saw his argument crumble in front of him. "Nevertheless, you have to admit it's deucedly suspicious the duchess conceived now when she had not in many years of marriage."

"Perhaps. Then again, what do you know about women's reproduction?" Gabriel asked with a sardonic twist of his mouth. Eliciting a low rumble of laughter around the room. "Miracles happen every day. I would be hesitant to repeat spiteful gossip from a decidedly biased source. You wouldn't want to find yourself on the wrong side of the duke's favor."

There was a murmur of assent throughout the room. The two young men blanched, chastened and humiliated. Maybe they would make a last-ditch effort to save face. But before they could open their mouths again, a suave voice intoned.

"If I were in Stanhope's place, I know what I would do to those spreading such slander. I would ruin them."

Gabriel knew the voice before he even turned around to see the commanding figure of the Duke of Aycliffe.

The veiled threat, delivered in such a flat, conversational tone, put the final nail in the rumor's coffin. And had the pair scrambling from the room with mumbled apologies.

"Aycliffe." Gabriel stood to offer his hand to the newcomer. He knew the Duke of Aycliffe from when they had served together in the army. Back then, Aycliffe had been Lord Michael, the younger son, and not expected to inherit. "I didn't know you were in attendance."

"I have only just arrived." Aycliffe said, shaking Gabriel's hand. "Good to see you, Brentworth. Still playing the knight errant, I see."

Gabriel frowned. "Hardly the knight errant. I just can't stomach these young fools slandering the duke and duchess. You jumped into the fray yourself. I believe it was the fear of your wrath that vanquished them from the room."

Aycliffe chuckled. "I hope so. Those buffoons were monopolizing the billiards table and watching them play was excruciating. What say you and I take a turn? I want to see if I can still beat you."

Gabriel accepted the invitation. And got a sound beating at billiards. He was a decent player, but his mind was not in the game. Blackwell had wasted no time to strike back. They had squashed the rumors this time, but it wouldn't end there. And it worried him what other tactics the blackguard might use against Hannah and his child.