My stomach clenched. Damn him, he was right. If Will were to accidentally injure me while in the grips of one of his melancholies, he would never forgive himself. I had admitted as much to myself earlier this evening when I thought Michael was angry with me for approaching his brother.
Frustrated that he had backed me into a corner I could not reason myself out of without disregarding Will’s best interests, I glared daggers at Gage. “I can’t just walk away and ignore that he needs my help,” I challenged him. “What kind of person would I be to abandon a friend in such a manner?” I heard distress creep into my voice and shook my head in aggravation. “I can’t do it, Gage. I owe him too much.”
His brow furrowed in consternation. “Because he was your drawing master for a few months?”
I closed my eyes, trying to find the words to make him understand. “Because he believed in me when no one else did. Because he was my friend when everyone else had abandoned me.” I sighed. “Because without Will’s encouragement I would likely have given up my portraits, and then where would I be?”
I opened my eyes to find Gage watching me with a strange glimmer in his eyes. I knew he understood how much my artwork meant to me, how lost I felt without it. How desperate I had been when Sir Anthony had threatened to take it away from me if I dared defy him in his quest to complete his anatomy textbook—the textbook for which he needed my sketches. I had only ever admitted to Philip and my brother Trevor how far Sir Anthony was willing to go to carry through on his threats, but I suspected Gage had inferred more than I had let on. Even if he hadn’t guessed that my late husband had threatened to break my fingers, I knew he presumed something similar.
I could tell from the concern in his eyes that his thoughts had traveled along the same path as mine, and I dropped my gaze. Even eighteen months after Sir Anthony’s death, the hurt was still too raw.
Gage surprised me by cupping my jaw with his warm hand and gently forcing my gaze back to his. The callus on his thumb rasped against my skin as he brushed it back and forth across my cheek.
For one breathless moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. His face was so close that I could smell the smoky scent of whiskey on his breath, telling me he must have indulged in a tot or two before venturing forth to confront me. His gaze dropped to my lips, making them tingle, but he never brought his mouth closer to mine.
“I can understand why you want to help William Dalmay,” he said. His voice sounded huskier than before. “But you need to consider what would really be best for him.”
I backed away from his touch, and his hand fell away. Turning my back to him, I took several steps toward the fireplace, needing to put some distance between us. I was shaken by how disappointed I felt that he hadn’t kissed me, and thrown off guard by his persistent efforts to keep me away from Will.
Struggling to maintain my composure, I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Why are you so concerned about this?” I finally managed to ask him. When he didn’t approach or offer an explanation, I turned to look at him. He stood with his hands at his sides, watching me with a faint look of consternation on his face. “If it’s because you feel some sort of responsibility for my safety because of what happened two months ago, I assure you, there’s no need. You saved my life. Had you not jumped into the loch after me . . .” I smiled sadly. “Well, let’s just say we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Any obligation you felt toward me in not taking my concerns seriously has been fulfilled.”
His voice was soft. “Kiera, I will never stop feeling responsible for your safety.”
I wrinkled my brow in puzzlement.
“But I’m not warning you because of what happened two months ago,” he added briskly, closing the distance between us again.
“Then why?”
“Because someone needs to. Cromarty and Michael Dalmay clearly aren’t thinking.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that rather high-handed of you?”
A smile quirked his lips. “Perhaps. But you have a stubborn streak. Someone needs to rein you in.”
“I resent that,” I gasped, planting my hands on my hips. “You were prepared to name me as your chief suspect for the murder at Gairloch if I did not help you find the real culprit. And I only insisted on continuing the investigation after you were done because I knew you . . .” I pointed a finger at him “. . . had apprehended the wrong suspect.”
“Yes, well, nothing I have seen of you since your arrival here at Dalmay House has convinced me you are not as willful as you were at Gairloch.”
I frowned. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you further. Because you’re not about to see anything from me now that will change your mind.”
He scowled. “Kiera . . .”