Page 52 of Lady of Providence
"You find that funny?"
"I should have known better," she said, turning around and beginning a slow pace of the room, looking down at one foot moving forward, and then the other. "You are a master manipulator. Nothing you do is ever straightforward. Even now, how am I to know that what you say to me is the truth? Perhaps you are being honest. Perhaps you are not. Perhaps this is all part of some new game that you are playing to pass the time, to keep from boredom. How am I to know?"
"I would never manipulate you, Elizabeth," he said quietly.
"No?" she asked, rounding on him, flinging her hands widely. "Did you or did you not manipulate Julia and Eddie?"
"I wasn't manipulating anyone," he defended himself as he remained standing stoically. "All I did was feign interest in order for them to realize how important it was that they find one another."
"But you were lying."
"I wasn't lying—"
"Were you being honest?"
"Not quite."
"And with Phoebe's newspaper, did you not play a game in order to ensure she would be able to keep her secret?"
"That, I am proud of," he said, his expression hardening. "Are you questioning the actions I took — in concert with Berkley — which ended in your friend finding happiness?"
"I am not questioning the action," Elizabeth said, exasperated that he was completely missing her point. "I am only proving how much you enjoy these games, using people as pawns in order to find the result you are looking for. It doesn't matter that your end goal is a noble one, don't tell me you do not enjoy this type of deception."
"What I enjoy, Elizabeth, is using my position to help others find what they are looking for. For that, I will not apologize."
"Of course you won’t," she said, shaking her head. “But whether or not I believe you…there’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“What happens… what happens when you no longer want only me?”
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh. “You are not like any other woman. I could never be bored of you.”
Elizabeth swallowed. She wanted to believe him, truly she did, but she just didn’t know any longer what to think. She was hit with sudden exhaustion as it all seemed to be raining down upon her at once. She allowed herself to fall back into one of the chairs that surrounded the small conversation table in the corner as she placed her head in her hands.
"I don't know what to think anymore, Gabriel," she said, her voice low, just over a whisper, and he walked over to the chair across from her, likely to better hear her than anything else. "All I know is that I don't want to spend my life questioning every word you say to me, wondering if it is all part of some ploy. I want honesty, straightforwardness. I have enough deception here at the bank. I want to be able to trust you."
Gabriel reached across the table and took her hands in his. "You can trust me, Elizabeth. That, I can promise you."
She roamed her eyes over his face, taking in the strong jaw, the patrician nose, the deep blue of his irises. If only she could see what was behind it all, to peer into the depths of his mind and understand him. He was intelligent, sure — more so than any other man she had ever met. She knew it intimidated many, for he always seemed to be able to read through the words of others to come to the proper conclusion. She liked that about him. She always knew she could converse with him and not have to explain herself.
But it also scared her. For she could hide nothing from him, while he seemed to have perfected the facade that kept everything from her.
"What do you want, Elizabeth?" he asked, far more gently now, to the point that his words nearly brought tears to her eyes.
"I'm tired," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "I'm tired of fighting for everything. I'm tired of not knowing if anything I am doing is ever going to come to anything. I'm tired of having to prove myself simply because I'm a woman. And I'm tired of my own indecision when it comes to you."
He stood then, stepping over toward her, his hard thighs beneath his tan breeches filling her vision. Before she even knew what he was doing, he picked her up as he had the night at his manor, holding her close against him. But instead of any suggestion of passion, he turned around, sat back in the chair she had just unwillingly vacated, and held her close against him. His chin came to rest on the top of her head, and he simply held her.
"No one can do anything alone, Elizabeth," he said in a low voice, as she unconsciously clutched at his shirt, drawing strength from him.
"You do," she said, hearing her own voice so small and vulnerable.
"It may look that way," he conceded, "But that is not necessarily true. I have many people working for me — people who care for my households, my estates, my business matters. Do I oversee it? Yes, of course, I do. It helps, though, to know that you can offload some of the work."
"You still retain that responsibility as though it is of no consequence."
"It may seem that way, but it is not entirely the case," he said, and she could feel his smile upon her hair. "I lean on others just as I ask you to lean on me. Ask Berkley how many times I have come to him with my complaints. Even my mother... she may be slightly sickly, but she was a great source of wisdom and comfort for my father, and she remains so for me."
