However— in the meantime— leaving Mercy and Felicity Goode had become an impossible task.
Raphael— now living as Remy Severand— was dashing and deviant enough to be able to sweep the adventurous Mercy onto a sapphic duchess’s yacht to travel the world in luxury.
Whilst Gabriel stayed behind, lurking in the hospital as the genius surgeon crafted him an entirely new face during several complicated— and often experimental— procedures.
The plan was to meet his brother and sister-in-law in the West Indies, bringing the rest of their hidden fortune along with him by way of America.
But first… Gabriel had some unfinished business to take care of.
Finding the villain Marco Villanueve was paramount, as the man was the only one capable of keeping the Fauves at all organized in a way that might threaten the Goodes and their futures.
Eventually, Mercy and his brother might return to England, revealing the secret identities to Felicity.
He’d be long gone by then, having discharged his duty.
Gabriel caught a glimpse of his head in a decorative mirror on the office wall and winced. His healing flesh punished him with stabs and throbs of electric pain at the slightest motion.
After his third surgery, the bandages surrounding most of his head made him appear like a mummy… one who leaked blood and fluids from beneath his wrappings.
A secret fear spiked deep within his chest.
What if he was never anything but a horror to behold?
Dr. Conleith’s voice broke through his bout of uncharacteristic anxiety.
“Like I was saying before, once the grafts above your brow and along your cheek are healed, speaking should be a great deal easier and exponentially less painful. Then I believe we’ll finally be able to move on to crafting you a new nose.”
He approached Gabriel cautiously, his brow furrowed. “It’ll be the most painful procedure yet. I’ll mold the skin from beneath your arm where, blessedly, you haven’t any tattoos. But the skin will have to remain attached to your arm for blood flow. This means you’ll spend weeks in bed with your head trapped to the side and your elbow lodged behind your head. I won’t lie to you. The process will be— well— nothing less than excruciating.”
Gabriel stared at the door through which Felicity had departed. If he’d been a kettle this morning, boiling with the pressure of boredom and unrelenting, agonizing pain, stress over the lack of news from his brother, and rage at Marco’s betrayal…
He found himself quite distorted by her unconscious expression of gratitude. Instead of boiling over, he’d felt infused by fragrant tea leaves and rich cream to become something else entirely.
Her voice made him forget his throbbing head and itching flesh as it knitted together. The sight of her cooled his rage.
Her mere presence… soothed him.
What sort of woman could wield such magic?
“Mr. Sauvageau—” Conleith’s patient prodding broke the spell, bringing him firmly back to the moment.
He’d murdered men for less.
Good thing he liked the doctor.
“I suppose I should start addressing you by your new identity, Mr. Gareth Severand.”
He nodded his assent, as it would be good to practice being an entirely new person before he had to trot the man he’d become out in the world.
“I want you to listen,” the doctor said with indisputable gravitas. “I do my utmost to save every life that comes through that door, though I’m patently aware that not every life is worth the effort. I am sworn to not consider myself the judge of that. However, I’m convinced that no matter what your sins are, your life is easily one of the most important that I’ve spared…”
When Titus Conleith’s composure slipped, and he swallowed twice, Gabriel shook his head, intending to vehemently disagree.
“You can’t convince me otherwise,” Titus insisted, his voice a bit huskier with unabashed emotion. “If only for what you did for that girl.” He nudged his chin toward the door. “Where my wife has often been considered the crown jewel of the Goode family, Felicity is like… a treasured rosebud. She’s fragile and easily crushed. There are not many hearts in this world as pure and true as hers. I shouldn’t like to think how broken— how indelibly shattered— everyone in this family would be if we lost her. We have you to thank for that.”
Gabriel told himself he found it impossible to speak due to his healing wounds and not the tightness in his own throat.
For every moment he spent burning in hell, he’d have this to hold onto.
He’d saved Felicity Goode, because even heaven didn’t deserve her.
Chapter 1 A Year Later
There was simply nothing so dreadful as a day like today.
Felicity’s empty stomach rolled and pitched as she used the back of her soiled glove to wipe a bit of perspiration from her brow, then below her eyes, and above her upper lip.
Sitting back on her heels, she surveyed the damage whilst doing her utmost to take in a deep breath. To keep her heartbeat from galloping away, crashing into her ribs with enough force to break them.
To swallow around the lump of absolute trepidation in her throat.
Puffing out a shallow breath, she ripped her gloves off and tossed them in the dirt, fighting the tears filling her sinuses and burning the corners of her eyes.
Usually, tending her garden was rather cathartic, but not this morning. It would be a miracle if her winter jasmine survived the month of May.
It would be an absolute marvel if she survived the afternoon.
With all she had to worry about, all she had to fear, Felicity was unable to fathom why the ruination of her memorial garden was the thing that threatened her composure.
Indeed, her tenuous grip on her sanity.
She’d been digging in the dirt since four o’clock that morning, only stopping when the dizziness compromised her balance. Or, when her racing heart threatened to explode through her chest, forcing her to sit on the ground and wait for the spell to pass or for death to take her.
It never did.
So, she’d have to
