Page 30 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)

When Gabby fluttered her eyes open, it took her a moment to remember where she was. For a fortnight she’d awoken in her parents’ villa, yet Gabby continued to experience the same confusion, because it did not feel like home.

Stretching her arms overhead, she sat up and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

Dropping her hands, she slowly focused on the painting on the wall.

It depicted La Virgen de Guadalupe when she appeared to Juan Diego and asked him, in Nahuatl, to have a church erected on the spot where they stood.

Gabby knew for a fact that this was not the only painting of La Virgen in the house, but this particular one had always been her favorite because depictions of the four apparitions were included.

As a child, she used to imagine the cherubs, who frolicked along the border, their reverent eyes turned upon Mary, were her friends.

Her youthful thoughts made her laugh now, almost as much as they made her want to cry.

A maid had left a tray with chocolate and a pan dulce on a side table, and Gabby smiled as she padded to it.

Taking the cup of chocolate in hand, she wandered to the window and pushed the curtain aside.

From this angle, she could just make out the table on the terrace where her father sat every morning to read reports and the latest news.

However, he was not there now, and Gabby remembered that he would be meeting with Presidente Juárez to discuss the latest news from the siege of Querétaro.

She was relieved she would not have to tiptoe around him, as she had been since the start of her stay.

A stay she had felt forced into, if only to escape her own roiling emotions.

After she and her sister had collected their books and left the town square to rejoin the Ortiz dinner, Gabby had thrown herself into socializing.

She’d talked and laughed with any number of people, although she could not remember any of their faces or names.

Gabby barely remembered what she had said, as every bit of her energy had been focused on ignoring the duke.

Avoiding the duke. After their charged dance, Gabby had needed some distance from him.

The morning following the party, she had inadvertently collided with him in the hall outside of her bedroom at Casa Inglesa.

She’d almost melted when he’d gripped her upper arms to steady her, his azul eyes intent upon hers.

Whitfield murmured some sort of apology, but Gabby had been unable to attend to his words because all she could think about was the heat radiating from his palms and streaking through her limbs.

With a rushed apology of her own, Gabby had slipped from his grasp and sought out her sister.

Fortuitously, Isabel had just received a note from their mother, inviting them to join her for lunch, and Gabby had immediately agreed.

During their visit, María Elena had invited her to spend the week with her and her father, and again, Gabby had accepted.

While being in such proximity to her father was not ideal, Gabby also did not trust herself around the duke.

He was due to return to London soon. Surely, she could find a way to steer clear of him until then…

especially when the thought of his hands on her skin made heat coil low in that sensitive spot between her thighs.

Yanking the drapes closed, Gabby stalked to her chamber door and flipped the lock.

Setting her cup of chocolate aside, she climbed back under the sheets.

Staring at the ceiling for a moment and listening for any sounds in the hall beyond, Gabby eventually closed her eyes.

Whitfield was imprinted on the back of her eyelids.

That taunting smirk curled his lips before they shaped the word hungry…

just as they had during their dance. Gabby shivered at the memory.

Dragging her night rail up her legs and over her hips, she slipped one hand into her drawers, sighing as her fingertips stroked where she was wet and aching. Biting her lip, Gabby allowed the memories of his voice, his scent, his touch to turn her boneless.

Sometime later, Gabby joined her mother in the sunroom for a late breakfast. The room was her favorite space in the house, for while it was tastefully decorated in that regal manner her father insisted upon, it was also comfortable.

Her mother had ensured there were pillows of varying textures on every armchair and settee, and soft blankets encouraged visitors to relax.

But what really drew Gabby to the space was that two sides of the room were encased in glass.

Glass on such a grand scale was a lavish choice and spoke of her parents’ wealth, but it also brought the outdoors in.

While curled up on the settee, Gabby could admire the craggy slopes of Cerro Grande and the surrounding mountainside.

It was a different landscape than what she had grown up with in Mexico City, and certainly what she had come to know in London. But the sight brought her peace.

A bit of peace she should have known she’d need to survive staying under her father’s roof.

“You’ve had a lazy morning, mi hijita,” her mother said, glancing away from the newspaper she was reading to greet her with a smile.

After serving herself a plate of fruit with a concha, Gabby seated herself on the armchair next to her mother.

“I sleep well knowing you’re near.”

María Elena chuckled softly before bussing her cheek. “Mi amor, I’ve missed you.”

“Y yo te.” Gabby watched her mother while she popped an orange segment into her mouth. “Have you adjusted to life in San Luis Potosí?”

Her mother released a long breath, and she turned to consider the sweeping vista outside the windows. “We haven’t been here long, but it feels more like home than any place we’ve stayed.”

Gabby nodded. After she and her sisters had been sent to London, her parents had traveled all over the central and northern part of Mexico seeking safety.

Wherever Presidente Juárez took refuge, so did they.

It had been an anxious time for the sisters, for reliable reports of the conflict were sparse, and there was no convenient way to communicate with their parents.

Tío Arturo had an extensive network of contacts within Mexico, however, and news filtered through them in irregular waves.

Thus, Gabby and her sisters spent many sleepless nights worrying over not just Elías and María Elena, but the president and the state of their beloved Mexico.

Gabby could only imagine how stressful it had been for her parents to experience that tumultuous period.

“I’m glad the city has been welcoming to you. From what I understand, the French attempted to use it as an outpost to solidify their hold in the north.”

María Elena turned to quirk a brow. “How did you know that?”

“I have done my best to keep abreast of the Liberal forces’ efforts, despite the patchy news coverage.” Gabby toyed with an orange rind. “Ana, Isa, and I would read aloud the letters Tío Arturo received from his contacts.”

Her mother’s forehead crinkled. “Arturo would share his correspondence with you?”

“Of course.” Gabby snorted. “He knew we were desperate for any news from home. Not once did he withhold information from us, even when he knew it would frighten us.”

It was a jab at her parents’ lack of transparency, and they both knew it.

Neither her mother nor her father had ever been forthcoming with information surrounding the war, even when there was a chance their daughters would be in danger.

Instead, Gabby and her sisters were expected to follow their edicts without question… which had become impossible for her.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen Arturo.” Her mother’s expression was wistful. “He was always so protective. He didn’t want me to marry your father, you know.”

As if an invisible hook had tugged on her spine, Gabby sat up straighter. “I did not know that.”

Leaning back in her chair, María Elena slid her gaze to the closed door before she said, “Arturo believed your father was only interested in marrying me because of my dowry and familial connections, and he wanted me to have a love match.”

Gabby tried to keep the scowl off her face, but it was so very hard. “Mother, but that is why Father married you. You must know he doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

She wasn’t sure of the response she expected to receive, but her mother’s exhausted sigh was not it.

“You know that, don’t you?” Gabby set her plate aside and leaned toward her mother, her hands curled like talons around the armrest. “Surely you understand that his love has only ever been conditional.”

“Of course I know,” María Elena snapped. Primly folding her hands in her lap, she speared Gabby with a look. “Despite what you may think of me, I’m not a fool.”

“I’ve never thought you were a fool.” Gabby’s chair squeaked as she pushed it back, and she stalked to the other side of the room. Anger fired in her veins. “But why do you allow him to make you out to be one?”

María Elena gaped at her. “Because I love him, querida.”

Her anger fled her in a whoosh, and Gabby sank onto the settee. The words were not a surprise. But to hear her mother confirm her feelings, and in such a dejected way, was crushing.

“I was not ignorant of your father’s motivations when I entered this marriage”—María Elena’s voice broke—“but he was who I wanted.”

Her mother had settled…and had convinced herself to be content with scraps ever since.