Page 38 of My Darling Rogue
The faintest hint of insecurity glimmered in his demeanor and Celia was puzzled by it. This man was always supremely confident. So assured of his position. His power. He may be Ravenswood’s enforcer, the earl’s man in all things, but only because it was Gabriel’s choice. He held the reins of his own fate and lived as he wanted.
“I want you to marry me,” he clarified.
“You are not making a great deal of sense, Gabriel.” Celia shook her head in an attempt at clearing the cobwebs. She was obviously missing a great deal of information during this odd conversation. “How precisely would marrying you make me a marchioness?”
Gabriel took her by the arm.
“Come, sit down so that I might explain better. That bench there, it will provide the privacy required for this tale.”
Celia eyed the stone bench Gabriel waved at. It was further into the rose hedge maze, shrouded from any lantern light. It was just a shadowy heap in the darkness.
Her heartbeat answered with a thud of fear. “I see no need of going any farther.”
Gabriel’s head tilted as if he suddenly understood a great many things about her. Celia swallowed and met his penetrating stare.
“Come with me, Celia.” His hand took hers, his long fingers clasping lightly around her own. The tone of his voice, both gentle and unyielding, persuasive yet darkly commanding, touched something deep inside her. And her fate was sealed when he uttered one additional word.
“Please.”
Celia hesitated, her heart thumping as she considered Gabriel’s request. She understood she was safe with him, even in the dark. What she could not comprehend washowher obedience was so easily compelled. She let out a breath and gave a barely perceptible nod.
He led her to the bench, tugging her down beside him. His fingers remained tangled with hers, his bicep pressing against her shoulder. His arm was huge. Hard as the stone bench they sat upon but much, much warmer. Hot. Unyielding.
It was dark in this corner of the garden. Darker than she’d anticipated.
A bubble of panic rose in Celia’s throat but Gabriel must have sensed her unease.
“Settle, Celia. Take a deep breath and release it slowly.”
His voice rumbled through her in a soothing, melodic river of sound. Celia did as instructed, leaning into him as though absorbing his calmness was possible. She focused on her breathing and the steady cadence of his as the dizzy wave of fear subsided with surprising quickness.
A few seconds passed before Celia felt steady enough to speak.
“I’m better now.”
Gabriel’s dark eyes watched her like a lion sizing up prey. “How long have you been frightened of the dark?”
Celia startled at her secret fear voiced aloud. “I’m not. I just…”
Gabriel’s fingers tightened upon hers, his mouth quirking with a sympathetic smile. A smile that was also laced with steely determination. “You will not lie to me, Celia. As my wife, I will expect your honesty. Even when you are uncertain or afraid.”
Her stare turned sharper. “I still do not understand what you are talking about.”
“My father has died.”
Another wave of dizziness swept her. “Your father?”
“Yes, my father. And on his deathbed, he claimed me as his heir. I am to be the new Marquess of Rosenthorne. Once the queen approves my father’s wishes, that is. And if I accept.”
“Marquess?” Celia’s mouth fell open at the unexpected declaration. Her heart plummeted as if she’d suddenly leapt from a cliff. If Gabriel was unattainable as a husband before, he was truly out of reach now. The Rosenthorne title was too lofty to be risked with someone like herself. Someone less than worthy.
“I am as shocked as you at this turn of events, but this title means nothing to me if you will not become my marchioness.”
Celia’s chin tilted higher with distress. “It matters not if you are a marquess. We cannot marry.”
There would be no shortage of women vying for Gabriel’s attention now. He would soon forget her, and she prayed that happened quickly. For both their sakes.
“And why not? I’ve no interest in marrying anyone else. And you must marry eventually.”
