Claire Delacroix (23 page)

Adelys’ head snapped up, her attention diverted too quickly for her to note Gabrielle’s expression. When the other woman smiled with every vestige of her charm, Gabrielle knew who returned to the hall.

She looked up to find Yves crossing the room with purpose in his step. What chance had she of winning his heart, let alone in competition with Adelys’ wiles? Her gut writhed as
her father’s condemnation echoed in her ears once more, and Gabrielle could not have remained in that hall to save her life. She fled, avoiding Yves’ puzzled gaze. Tears blurred Gabrielle’s vision and she stumbled on the flagstones, but hurried onward, Adelys’ cruel laughter ringing in her ears.

S
omething was wrong with Gabrielle. Yves watched her run, then turned on the woman he was certain was responsible. “What did you say to her?”

The woman smiled coyly and patted the bench that Gabrielle had abandoned. “Come and sit with me,” she cooed, “and I shall tell you all you desire to hear.”

Yves did not care for the woman’s manner, nor for the way she had laughed while Gabrielle left. His wife was upset, there was no denying that, and Adelys was responsible. Oh, Yves had seen this one stir the pot for her own entertainment time and again at the count’s court.

She would tell him nothing that even resembled the truth.

“The meal will be served shortly,” he said tersely. “If we have not returned, please do not wait for us.”

With that, Yves pivoted and went in search of Gabrielle.

“But you cannot leave me!” Adelys cried. “I am a guest.”

Yves fired a glance over his shoulder. “An uninvited guest, and by your behavior already in this hall, an unwelcome one,” he corrected sternly. “Enjoy your repast.”

Adelys sputtered in indignation, but Yves had no time for her. Gabrielle was distressed and he could only hope that he could mend whatever damage had been done.

He found her in the gardens of the upper bailey, a shadow
against the shadows, her face buried in her hands. Yves stepped onto the pathway, knowing she must hear his step, but she did not acknowledge his presence.

“Gabrielle? What did Adelys say to you?”

“Nothing of import,” she retorted, and Yves ached at the ravaged sound of her voice. She was weeping, and he knew that only something of tremendous import would draw tears from this lady. “It is none of your concern.”

“It
is
my concern,” Yves corrected gently and continued into the garden. These gardens were extensive, the herbs and flowers surrounded by an orchard of goodly size. The leaves were in the fullness of the summer now, a gentle evening breeze lifting Yves’ hair as he progressed.

Gabrielle said nothing, but he thought he heard her swallow a sob.

“It is my concern if you weep, because you are my wife.”

“Do not toy with me!” Gabrielle burst out. “Do not play your games—I know you would rather be with Adelys, so go! Go back to the hall and be with her!”

Yves folded his arms across his chest and surveyed his wife, not liking how little sense she made. She must be very upset to have abandoned her clear thinking.

“What did Adelys tell you? She is a troublemaker and a gossipmonger.”

“She is a beauty!” Gabrielle retorted.

Yves snorted at that. “She is not!”

Gabrielle looked up at him, her pale features drawn in an expression so forlorn that he dared to step closer. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Gabrielle said quietly, but Yves shook his head.

“She may have been born with pleasing features, but the blackness of her heart steals away any merit they might bring to her.”

He was close enough now to see Gabrielle nibble her lip.

Then she tossed her hair and stepped away. “You do not need to lie to me any longer,” Gabrielle declared proudly.

“You have wedded me to win Perricault and bedded me to plant your seed and surely there is nothing else that you can want from me now.”

“I never wanted Perncault or any other estate,” Yves said evenly. “And I never wanted to bed you solely to plant my seed. There is only one thing that I want from you and it is what I have wanted all along.”

“What?”

Yves stretched out a fingertip and touched the lady’s chest. Her heart pounded beneath his hand. “I want your trust,” he said simply.

She stared at him, and as Yves watched, the tears gathered anew in her lovely violet eyes. “Trust is just another lie,” she whispered.

Yves felt his lips set in a grim line. “What did Adelys say to you?”

Gabrielle’s mouth worked as though she could not bear to give voice to what troubled her, then she blurted out the words. “She slept with Michel!”

And the tears broke loose in a ragged torrent.

Yves winced and clutched Gabrielle before she could flee. She did not fight him, only stiffened, then suddenly crumpled against his chest and wept like a child.

The man Gabrielle adored had been unfaithful.

And with the likes of Adelys. Yves could not blame Gabrielle for being so distraught. A cold anger erupted deep within him.

“Before you were wed?” Yves asked carefully, hoping the offense would be so minor, but suspecting not.

“No!”

“Perhaps Adelys lies,” he suggested. “She has been known to tell tales merely for her own amusement.”

“No!” Gabrielle retorted. “This is
true
—she told me of one day and I remember.” She pointed a quivering finger to a stone bench to Yves’ left. “I sat
there,
at Michel’s dictate, for I was pregnant with Thomas and ill beyond all. He told
me that the sunlight would improve my spirits, and I…” Her voice faltered. “I believed him.” She swallowed, then pointed to the orchard. “But he wanted to bed her there, right beneath my nose.”

What a tragic waste that Gabrielle had given her heart to such a man. Yves frowned and fought against his own impulse to respond angrily. He must remain calm, for that alone would aid Gabrielle. “Perhaps it was just the once…”

“No! She came here twice a year for weeks at a time, and he went between the two of us.” Gabrielle took a deep, shuddering breath. “It makes me want to retch.”

Yves could well understand that sentiment. He held his wife closer as her tears slowed, and was reassured when she did not pull away.

She inhaled raggedly and wiped futilely at her tears. “I am sorry.” Her voice was soft and sad, as that of someone who had lost something precious. “Perhaps we reserve the full weight of our disappointment for those who shatter our dreams.”

Yves closed his eyes against the import of her words. She still loved the treacherous wretch! Disappointment flooded through him, but he could not abandon the field so readily.

“Michel is dead, Gabrielle,” Yves said quietly, feeling that it was more than time this point was made. “This betrayal is over and done, however newly discovered it is by you.”

“You do not understand!” Gabrielle declared. She turned to face him, and Yves ached at the trail of tears marring her cheeks “I
trusted
him,” she said angrily. “There was honesty between us, or so I had always thought.”

“There are many men not worthy of trust.”

“
All
men are unworthy of trust! All men see to their own advantage alone. My mother warned me as much, for she had seen the truth. Indeed, she begged me not to repeat her mistake, but Michel persuaded me that he was different.” Gabrielle folded her arms across her chest and stared at the garden.
“And I was fool enough to think that he was different because he was not a handsome man.”

Yves frowned, unable to follow the path of her logic. “I do not understand what difference that makes.”

Gabrielle took a deep breath but did not look up. “My sire was beyond handsome, selfish and vain to match,” she said tonelessly. “My dame worshipped the very ground he trod, but he made no bones of the fact that he had wed her for the richness of her estate alone. She always swore she loved him enough for both of them.”

Gabrielle paused for a moment, but Yves did not rush her. “She was wrong. I remember that when she lay dying, he did not have the time to come and see her.” Gabrielle flicked a telling glance toward Yves. “You see, he was being fitted for a tabard that showed his good looks to great advantage. The precise height of the hem was of greater import to him than my mother’s life.”

There was nothing Yves could say to that.

Gabrielle halted once more and swallowed awkwardly. “She realized on her very deathbed that he truly cared naught for her. It was a cruel blow and perhaps the one that stole the last breath from within her. Her heart was broken and she lost all will to live. Before she died, she begged me not to grant my heart to a man, especially one fair of face. She warned me of men, warned me not to be fooled that they could ever put anyone before themselves.”

Gabrielle paused again, her lips tight.

“It was a lesson you took to heart,” Yves suggested, and earned a sharp glance for his observation.

“Oh, my father gave me no chance to miss that lesson,” she said bitterly. “It seemed that my mother’s estate reverted to her own family on her demise and did not fall to my sire, much to his disappointment. There was no longer any holding to fund his wardrobe and his servants and his taste for every bit of frippery he fancied. He informed me that he had made
arrangements for my wedding, the dowry being paid to him in gold coin.”

She cleared her throat. “On the day of my nuptials, when he was paid, he berated me for not being more beautiful, for then he could have sold my hand for more.”

Yves felt his fists clench that Gabrielle had endured such insult from her own sire. It was incredible to him that she had gone through with those nuptials, let alone that she had come so willingly to the altar a second time.

But then, she had done so out of her love for Thomas, which Yves had already seen could not demand too much of Gabrielle.

This was a lady who had been poorly served for far too long.

“Where is your sire?” Yves demanded, hearing the thread of anger in his own voice.

“Dead,” Gabrielle said, so crisply that Yves knew she cherished no tenderness toward her sire. “He cheated a tailor, who hunted him down and choked him with his own tabard. I like to think it was the one he had hemmed the day my dame died.”

She plucked at her surcoat with absent fingers and her veil fell over her face, hiding her thoughts from Yves’ view.

“We have something in common in that,” Yves said in a low voice. Gabrielle’s gaze flew to meet his own and he smiled ever so slightly. “Our fathers are undoubtedly both warming themselves in hell.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but Gabrielle turned quickly away once more. “It is hardly an accomplishment to feed one’s pride.”

“No, it is not that,” Yves conceded, disappointed that he had not been able to make her smile. “Tell me of Michel. Why did you trust him?”

Gabrielle sighed and frowned. “Michel was not handsome, you see, and I thought that perhaps he had no cause to be vain or to see his cause won at the expense of others. He had
his own estate, for Tulley had just invested him with Perricault. There was nothing I could give him that he did not have, save perhaps a son.”

“You did that.”

“Yes, though apparently that was not enough.” Gabrielle frowned, then plunged on past the topic of Adelys’ revelation. “I came to trust him. I thought we had a match based on honesty and good sense.”

And love. Gabrielle had come to love the man who had so cruelly cast her affections aside, choosing instead the empty pleasures that one like Adelys would grant him.

It was far, far less than Gabrielle deserved.

“But it was all a lie,” she said savagely. “My mother was right and I should never have ignored her advice.”

Yves saw suddenly that this horrible pattern could be drawn to him. Did Gabrielle fear she had ignored her mother’s words again? If Gabrielle tarred him with the same brush, he would never truly win her trust.

And that had no part in the future he envisioned for them both.

“No!” Yves gripped Gabrielle’s shoulders, bending to snare her gaze when she did not look immediately to him. “Your mother was right about your sire, she may even have been right about Michel, but her words do not apply to all men.”

“They must!” Gabrielle insisted.

“Why? Do you fear that I am no better than your sire?”

Gabrielle looked from side to side as though to somehow escape Yves’ question.

“Do you?”

“I do not know.”

Yves felt a surge of anger at that. She had no cause to doubt him, and he would prove it to her! Was Gabrielle not a woman of good sense? “Do you find me vain?” he demanded. “Do I fritter away the funds of Perricault on garb and useless frippery?”

“No. You have spent nothing to my recollection.”

“Have ever I deceived you in any way?”

“No.”

“Have ever I treated you with less than honor?”

Gabrielle shook her head miserably.

“Or broken my word to you?”

“But it is not the same,” she argued, and Yves could not help but give her a shake.

“It is precisely the same!” he insisted, his temper wearing thin that she was so determined to align him with such sorry company. “Gabrielle, use the wits you are graced with! Is it more fair to judge a man by the deeds of others or by his own deeds?”

She slanted him a mutinous glance. “His own.”

“And mine?”

Gabrielle sighed, clearly unable to avoid the concession. “Above contempt,” she admitted. “At least thus far.”

“Thus far! Thus far!” Yves stalked away from her in frustration, shoved a hand through his hair, then strode back to her side. “Am I never to win your trust? Must we spend the remainder of our days with you reserving judgment on my character?”

“Only until you have nothing else to gain!”

“And what have I to gain from you now?”

Gabrielle lifted her chin. “My indifference to your dalliance with Adelys.”

“Adelys,” Yves hissed, and felt his lips thin. “Let me review. I have wed you for Perricault alone, I have bedded you only to beget a son of my own blood and I am solicitous to you now only so that I may warm the bed of that bitch Adelys with a clear conscience.” He snorted in disdain, certain a woman had never infuriated him more. “What a relief it is that you do not hold my illegitimacy against me!”

Gabrielle folded her arms about herself. “You make it sound so unreasonable.”

“It
is
unreasonable!” Yves fairly bellowed. “I have done
nothing to earn your sorry opinion of my character!” He flung out his hands in frustration. “Surely it is not too much for a man to be judged by his own words and deeds alone!”

Gabrielle wiped away her tears and regarded Yves solemnly. To his dismay, he could not fathom a guess at her thoughts. “I have never seen you so angry before,” she observed quietly.