Page 43 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
“I cannot endure your silence,” she said.
His gaze finally met hers, and for the first time since that night in the glass house, he allowed himself to take her in fully. The strain marked her features just as surely as it marked his own. The uncertainty troubled her as much as it did him. And still, despite everything, she stood before him, bold and unwavering. She had not come to ask for explanations. She had come to demand them.
“You have been keeping me at a distance,” she said. “You retreat into strategy, into control, and expect that to be enough. But it is not.”
Gabriel remained still; his expression unreadable.
“You believe this is protection,” she said. “But it is abandonment. You leave me isolated against dangers we should face together.”
The words struck harder than he anticipated. He had expected anger, expected frustration. He had not expected this raw honesty, this piercing assertion of her place within the storm surrounding them. She understood his fear. She understood his need to protect. But she refused to let him do it at the expense of her own agency.
Gabriel exhaled slowly, running a hand over the tension gathered at his jaw. His pulse beat steadily, his breath even, yet something inside him stirred in response to the quiet force she wielded. He had spent years mastering control, had honed himself into a man capable of withstanding pressure without faltering. And yet, with just a few words, she had struck at the heart of his failing.
He had distanced himself not out of necessity, but out of fear.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally, the words came.
“Do you imagine I wish you ill?” he asked.
Genevieve shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I believe you do it because you are afraid of what will happen if you do not.”
He did not deny it. The fire crackled softly between them, filling the silence that followed.
Gabriel studied her, her presence pushing against the guard he had so carefully upheld. He had expected her to turn away when he remained distant. He had expected her to retreat just as he had. She had not. How did she manage to keep surprising him with her tenacity?
Gabriel turned from the open doorway, spine snapping straight as though bracing for a blow. The lines of his face hardened, every muscle locking into place, as if by will alone he might contain the roil beneath his skin. Control. Discipline. Distance, he thought. Those were the watchwords that had carried him through battlefields and boardrooms alike. They had safeguarded what remained of him after Elizabeth’s betrayal, after his mother’s death, after years of calculated silence.
But Genevieve stood before him now, close enough that the pale flicker of candlelight caught the tension in her brow, the stubborn tilt of her chin. She was not retreating. She was advancing.
“Do not,” he said, the word emerging sharp, brittle. “You do not understand.”
Her expression did not falter. If anything, it sharpened.
“You mistake me,” she said. “I understand far more than you believe.”
He moved as though to turn again, to retreat into the shadows that had long been safer, but she stepped forward, closing the final distance between them. Her presence was unrelenting and wrapped in soft cotton and unflinching truth. She raised her hand and placed it flat against his chest.
The contact was light, but the effect was not. It struck through him like the first blow of a battering ram. Her fingers splayed over the racing beat of his heart, and he knew she could feel it.
“Fix your eyes upon me,” she uttered, her voice dropping to a fierce, unyielding tone. "Look at me,” she repeated.
He did not wish to. He could not bear to, for he did not know what would happen if he did.
No, he admitted to himself. It is because I do know, and it will make it impossible to ever keep her at a distance ever again.
“Gabriel,” she said. Again. His name, spoken with that quiet strength, left him no place to run. He lifted his eyes to hers. She held him there.
“I am not Elizabeth,” she said with firm simplicity. “You must stop seeing her ghost every time I come near.”
His breath caught. She had named the shadow he had never spoken to her. He might have wondered how she knew, had he not known how much Sophia liked to gossip. No doubt his sister had told his wife about his former lover to help her understand his demeanor. Yet he found he was not angry. He only felt relief, and nervousness about what his wife would say next.
“I will not shatter if you touch me,” she said, continuing before he could speak. “I will not recoil from your scars, whether they are on your body or buried deeper. I will not pretend to be untouched by fear. I know what Charles is capable of, and I know what his threats mean. But I will tell you this plainly. I would rather stand with you in danger than be safe and alone, shut out by the man I entered into matrimony with.”
Her hand did not move. Her palm remained over his heart, calm and steady. He could not speak. Something inside him fractured, an old wound torn wide by honesty. She looked up at him, gaze unwavering. There was no artifice in her. Only fire and demand. Strength, not softness. A plea, not for protection, but for partnership.
