“Yes, but when I mentioned traveling to London without her, I was informed that she would not be hidden away like an embarrassing secret.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“I haven’t the least notion,” Gabriel muttered, “but I sense she will insist on accompanying me.”
Hugo watched his companion pace from one end of the balcony to the other, a frown marring his brow.
“Then why not allow her to go with you?” he asked. “It seems a simple enough solution.”
Gabriel turned to glare at Hugo. “Impossible.”
Hugo paused, baffled by the frustration he could sense simmering just below his friend’s fragile composure.
They had managed to rescue Talia, outwit a French spy and discovered a means to prevent Harry from being exposed as a traitor.
Surely the man should be celebrating, not looking as if he desired to smash his fist into the nearest object?
“Why is it impossible? You surely do not believe she is in danger?”
“I did not believe her in danger when I sent her to Carrick Park, but she managed to tumble into disaster.”
Good God, did the man intend to flog himself forever? Anyone would think he’d deliberately sent his wife into a trap.
“You could not possibly have predicted that there was a French spy lurking in the neighborhood.”
“She is my responsibility.” Gabriel stubbornly refused to admit it had been an unfortunate coincidence.
“Fine.” Hugo held up his hands in defeat. “But, if you truly fear for her safety, then I would think that would be even more reason to keep her close at hand so that you can protect her.”
An indefinable emotion darkened the silver eyes as Gabriel stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Pray, allow me to decide what is best for my own wife, Rothwell.”
“Not when you are being a damned fool,” Hugo growled in return. He had no desire to poke his nose in the private affairs of his friend, but neither did he intend to stand aside and watch Gabriel make a hash of his marriage. “Do you not recall the last occasion that you decided what was best for your wife?”
Gabriel muttered a curse as he crossed the balcony and returned to the breakfast room, clearly intent on avoiding the logic of Hugo’s accusation.
“This is not at all the same,” he argued.
Hugo followed behind him. “Explain how this is different.”
“I cannot bear for her to be hurt.”
“Hurt?” Hugo tensed, studying Gabriel’s grim expression with a puzzled unease. “What do you mean?”
Before he could respond, an elderly butler shuffled into the room, his body appearing bent, as if the blue-and-silver uniform was too heavy for his gaunt frame, and his hair a mere fringe of gray. But there was a lingering dignity in his precise movements and a shrewd glint in his pale eyes.
“Pardon me, my lord.”
Gabriel glanced toward the servant with a hint of surprise.
“Yes, McGordy?”
“There is a visitor to see Lady Ashcombe.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, my lord.”