“What?” Gabriel asked, frowning.
“The scar healed long ago,” John replied. “Why do you insist on asking?”
Gabriel remained silent, his gaze fixed upon the fire. Every time David cried, he wondered whether something had been missed. Every time the boy flinched unexpectedly, guilt gnawed at him.
I had promised Benedict I would protect the children, and I constantly fear I am failing.
John seemed to understand anyway. Rising from his chair, he crossed the room and stopped beside his friend.
“It is not the physical scar that remains in David,” he said gently.
Gabriel looked away. The words landed harder than any criticism because they were true. David’s wounds had never truly been on his skin. They lived elsewhere now, in memories, fears, and nightmares.
The crying continued above them. John rested a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “You cannot heal every hurt.”
Gabriel let out a bitter laugh. “I should like to find someone who can heal and fix this.”
“I know,” John said softly. “You are a man of solutions.”
For several moments, neither man spoke. Then another sob echoed through the house. Gabriel straightened. Duty overrode everything else. His grief, his exhaustion, his uncertainty, all of it.
“I should go to him,” he declared, already moving toward the door.
John smiled faintly behind him. “That sounds remarkably like something a father would say.”
Gabriel paused and glanced back with a frown. “I am not his father.”
“No,” John agreed, picking up his brandy once more. A knowing smile touched his lips. “But I suspect David would disagree.”
Chapter Three
Amelia woke slowly beneath a mountain of blankets. For several blissful seconds, she felt nothing but warmth. The mattress beneath her was soft, the air smelled faintly of lavender, and sunlight streamed through elegant curtains. Then confusion arrived. Her eyes flew open as she sat upright and stared around the unfamiliar room.
The chamber was beautiful. Cream-colored walls, polished furniture, and a cheerful fire occupied the space. Nothing about it looked familiar. Amelia frowned as she pushed a hand through her tangled blonde hair.
“Oh dear,” she murmured. “Either I have been abducted, or I have finally lost my mind.”
Then the memories came rushing back. The carriage. The thief. The struggle. His hands on her dress. The fall. The terror. Amelia gasped and threw aside the blankets. Panic gripped her chest as she scrambled from the bed. She looked down anddiscovered she was wearing a clean day dress she had never seen before. That realization alarmed her even further. Someone had changed her clothing while she had been unconscious.
“Wonderful,” she muttered. “This situation improves by the minute.”
“Good day,” a little voice said.
Amelia nearly screamed. She spun around so quickly that dizziness swept through her. Standing near the doorway was a small boy with dark hair and curious eyes. He looked to be about six years old. Judging by his expression, he had been staring at her for quite some time.
“Oh!” Amelia pressed a hand against her chest. “Good heavens, you frightened me.”
The boy tilted his head. “You frightened me first.”
“I did?”
“Yes.” He nodded seriously. “You looked dead yesterday.”
Amelia blinked. “That is certainly one way to begin a conversation.”
The boy seemed pleased by her answer. For several moments, they simply stared at one another.
Finally, the child stepped forward. “Who are you?”
