I slid my arms around his torso and rested my head on his chest, trying to comfort him in the same manner he had consoled me on the staircase landing after Miss Remmington made her nasty implications about Will’s service during the war. He embraced me back, holding me so tightly that I knew I had done the right thing.
“I’m sorry you had to experience such a thing,” I rasped into the white folds of his cravat. “I’m so sorry your mother was murdered.”
I felt the muscles in Gage’s throat work as he laid his head against my hair. “Do you understand now why I didn’t want to hear your doubts over our suspect’s guilt during our last investigation?” he murmured softly. “And why I didn’t want to tell you?”
I nodded. It had reminded him too much of his defense of Annie after his mother’s death. And it had been too private, too painful to relive, unless absolutely necessary.
“Regardless, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Your concerns were not unfounded. As was proven,” he added wryly.
I squeezed him tighter, telling him all was forgiven.
He squeezed me back. “I understand that not every case is like my mother’s. And as an inquiry agent I certainly can’t be effective if I allow such a plank in my eye.” He brushed a hand over my hair, smoothing it back from my face. “That’s why I became so cross with you for defending Lord Dalmay’s innocence so blindly, and for trying to block my finding out from Mac if he had met Mary Wallace.”
“I know. I’m afraid I’ve been so concerned with making certain everyone treats William fairly, that they not jump to conclusions about him because of the time he spent in the asylum, that I failed to realize I had leaned so far in the other direction that I wasn’t treating him fairly either.” I sighed. “Perhaps we should have insisted Michael let us question him about Dr. Sloane’s accusations and Miss Wallace’s disappearance from the very beginning. We’ve been so intent on protecting him from the pain of further accusations, coddling him like a baby, that we haven’t treated him like a man.” I looked up at Gage. “I think he’s stronger than we realize.”
He lifted his hand to trail his thumb over my cheekbone. “I would agree. He survived the horrors of the Peninsular War and then a decade confined to a lunatic asylum, after all. The war alone could have ruined a man.”
There was something in his voice, in the pale winter blue of his eyes, that told me he was speaking from experience.
“Were you involved in the revolution in Greece?” I asked, not wanting to press him for answers, especially after tonight had already seen so many difficult revelations.
His gaze met mine, and I could see the sting of those memories, whatever they were, shimmering below the surface. I had expected him to hide them from me, but because he was vulnerable or he’d decided to trust me, he didn’t. “For a time,” he replied. “But I would rather not discuss it. At least, not now.”
I nodded, accepting his answer. Just the fact that he had decided to confide in me that little bit was enough.
His expression loosened in relief and he bent his head to kiss my brow, and then my lips.
When he pulled away several agreeable moments later, he tucked me in close to his side and turned to stare out the window. I pressed my cheek to the soft fabric of his coat, where I could smell the musk of his skin mixed with the starch of his clothes and the spicy scent of his cologne, and followed his gaze to the windowpane. But rather than trying to peer through the darkness to the forest beyond, I focused instead on our reflection. In the softly rippling surface, our images almost merged into one, but the shadowy outline was so faint that I swore if I blinked it would vanish. I clasped Gage tighter and kept my eyes open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next morning, I was shaken awake by my maid.
“M’lady, Mr. Gage is askin’ for ye. He says it’s urgent.”
I pushed myself upright, rubbing the sleep from my eyes while Lucy bustled over to the window to throw back the curtains. I shied away from the light, soft as it still was so early in the morning.
“What is it?” I asked. “Did he say?”
“Nay. But he’ll be waitin’ for ye oot front with the horses.”
Ten minutes later I hurried through the front door to find Gage already mounted.
“What is it?” I asked while a stable hand helped boost me up onto Dewdrop. Two quick adjustments to my saddle and I was following him down the drive.
“We’ve found Miss Wallace,” he told me grimly when my horse drew abreast with his.
I didn’t like the tone of his voice.
“Where?”
He directed his horse east toward the firth. He glanced over his shoulder at me, a solemn, angry look in his eyes. “On the beach.”
*