“What if . . .” Gabriel drew back a little. His green eyes were so dark, they were almost black. “What if I said you make me want to do those things . . . Would that be enough for you?”
What? Arabella’s breath caught and she pushed herself up on the silk cushions. Is he sincere or telling me what I want to hear? She stared into his eyes, trying to read his expression. She suddenly wished she had her glasses on.
Gathering her thoughts, she said quietly but firmly, “Good intentions are not enough. Your promises and any declarations of love have to be real and heartfelt, Gabriel. To offer me the moon and the stars and then snatch them away, that would be cruel indeed.”
Gabriel gave her a maddening, devilish smile. “Are you falling for me, Bella?” His voice was a velvet caress, and his thumb stroked over her cheekbone. “Is that why you’re asking me if I feel the same way?”
Arabella sighed and brushed the raven curls back from his forehead. He was trying to avoid the issue by turning the focus back onto her. But she wouldn’t confess her love for him, not yet. He wasn’t ready to hear it and she wasn’t ready to tell. “You’re a conceited peacock, did you know that?”
“I know.” His smile widened to a grin. “But you’re avoiding my question.”
“I could say the same about you,” she countered.
He sighed and adjusted his position so he was sitting beside her. “I’m afraid I don’t believe in love at first sight. I do believe one can feel lust at first sight though. The rush I got when I first saw you was incredible. Indescribable. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Sadness filled Arabella’s heart. It seemed they were at an impasse. “But I want more than lust from you. Lust isn’t enough.”
“It’s a good place to start.” Gabriel’s voice was rough yet soft as he added, “I ache for you, Bella.”
Arabella studied his face. All flippancy had disappeared from his expression. “I know. But have you ever felt anything beyond lust, Gabriel? For any of your paramours? I don’t want to be just another one of your meaningless conquests.”
Gabriel’s gaze grew so intense, it made Arabella’s breath catch. “You’re not a meaningless conquest at all. So it seems I might be falling for you.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Just a little.”
Can it be true? Or is he just saying that? Arabella searched his eyes. “You promised me you would only ever be honest.”
“May God strike me down, I am.” Gabriel’s tone was fierce and his gaze blazed with green fire. “Tell me what I need to do so you’ll accept more than my kisses. I’ll do anything. Not being able to have you in all the ways that I want is killing me.” He speared his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, then laid an ardent kiss upon her lips. “You’re all I think about. Dream about.” His words were a desperate plea against her mouth. “I have to have you, Bella, or I’ll go insane.” He seized her hand and placed it against his chest. “Can you feel that? My heart thunders for you. I burn for you. It’s been this way from the very start.”
Arabella was shaken. “I want to take you at your word,” she whispered. “To trust you. I know love takes time to grow, but perhaps . . .” She drew a shaky breath. “It would be foolish of me to demand the impossible, but if you could at least swear to be true to me for now . . . at least until you have your heir. That would help.”
“It will be the first time in my life I’ve made such a vow. But for you, Bella, I will.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Tonight you may have more than kisses. You can have all of me.”
“Thank God,” Gabriel groaned. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each one in turn. “You won’t regret this, sweetheart. I promise you that I’ll do my best to make you feel cherished. I want no one else but you. And that’s the truth.”
Gabriel gathered her close and kissed her. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his hands were everywhere, at her throat, at her breasts, at her waist, stroking and feeding her desire. He pushed her down onto the cushions again, and this time she could feel the evidence of his own arousal pushing against her hip. The thought of having all that male hardness inside her again made her moan into his mouth, and moist heat welled between her thighs.
Gabriel began to loosen her bodice to expose her breasts. “Are you ready for me, my darling?” he murmured huskily. “Are you wet?”
“Yes,” she whispered, helping him with the ties of her stays and chemise.
“Excellent.” One of Gabriel’s hands slid beneath the hem of her gown and traced a slow path up her calf to her lower thigh to where her silk stockings ended and bare flesh began. As he tugged at the ribbon garter, he captured one of her aching nipples between his wicked lips and began to suckle. The pleasure was so exquisite, Arabella gripped his head and moaned again . . .
And then there was a knock at the sitting room door.
Arabella gasped and Gabriel swore beneath his breath as the knocking continued, louder and more insistent.
“My lord?” It was Ryecroft. “I’m sorry to disturb you and Lady Langdale. But there’s a most urgent matter that requires your attention.”
“What the hell?” Gabriel pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I dismissed him. It’s our wedding night, for Christ’s sake.”
“There must be something terribly wrong,” said Arabella, pulling her chemise, stays, and bodice back into place. Apprehension and thwarted desire made her clumsy—her trembling fingers couldn’t manage to do up all the laces and ribbons.
“The bloody house better be burning down, that’s all I can say,” grumbled Gabriel as he got to his feet, then swore again when he noticed the telltale swell at the front of his breeches. “What’s going on, Ryecroft?” His voice was thunderous as he crossed the room. Tugging his shirt out to cover his groin, he then yanked the door open. “I’ll have your guts for garters if it’s not a dire emergency of some kind.”
“My lord, I am so, so sorry.” The pale-faced valet was visibly quaking. “Lord Sleat is downstairs. He apologizes for intruding but he says he must speak with you. That the matter can’t wait.”
“Fucking hell.” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. “Get me a robe or something, will you?”
The valet scurried off, and Gabriel turned back to face Arabella. “I’m going to have to see him, sweetheart. If it were anybody else, I’d probably tell the dog to go to hell. But MacQueen wouldn’t be here unless it was important.”
“I understand,” she said, rising to her feet. Her bodice was back in place now. “Would you like me to come too? I don’t know if I can help . . .” She faltered and blushed. “Of course, I don’t want to intrude. If it’s a private matter.”
Gabriel frowned. “You wouldn’t be intruding, Bella. Yes, do come . . .” He held out his hand. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you. We’ll deal with this together.”
* * *
* * *
They met MacQueen in the drawing room.
“What’s happened?” asked Gabriel without preamble as he entered the room, Arabella’s hand still in his. The Scottish marquess was perched on the edge of a gilt-legged chair that looked as if it might crumble beneath his substantial muscular bulk. With his black eye patch, he looked more like a pirate than a marquess.
However, as always, MacQueen’s manners were perfect. He rose to his feet and affected an elegant bow as soon as he saw Arabella was with Gabriel.
“My lady,” he said in his rumbling baritone. His storm cloud–gray eye held a light of concern as his attention shifted back to Gabriel. “I apologize for disturbing you both, but I thought you needed to know what’s going on.”
The Scot shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and the skin prickled at the back of Gabriel’s neck. MacQueen had personal demons that in some ways outrivaled his own, but Gabriel had never seen his friend quite this unsettled.
“We
ll, out with it, man. You’re making me nervous.”
MacQueen’s mountainous shoulders heaved as he drew a deep breath and his gaze riveted on Gabriel’s. “I’m loath to be the bearer of bad tidings, especially on your wedding day, Langdale, but it would seem your uncle, Stephen Holmes-Fitzgerald, passed away early this evening.”
“Oh, Gabriel, I’m so sorry,” murmured Arabella. She squeezed his hand.
Grief gripped Gabriel’s chest, stealing his breath. “Thank you, sweetheart. It wasn’t unexpected,” he said at length in a choked voice. Indeed, he had to swallow past the hard lump clogging his throat before he could continue. “I saw him yesterday and he was in a bad way.”
After another moment, he dashed a hand across his eyes before focusing back on MacQueen. “How did you hear?”
“After I farewelled you here, I went to White’s . . . and your cousin, Captain Holmes-Fitzgerald was there. He was well in his cups and telling anyone who would care to listen that his father had just died.” MacQueen paused, his gray gaze as hard as granite. “And that he was going after your title because you’re a bastard.”
A muscle pulsed in Gabriel’s jaw. “Also not unexpected.” Christ, he needed a drink. Crossing to the oak sideboard, he sloshed a sizable amount of cognac into two glasses—one for himself and one for MacQueen. “Would you like one, Bella?”
She shook her head as she settled herself on a sofa. “No, thank you. I prefer whisky. If you have it.”
“I do.”
A smile split MacQueen’s ruggedly handsome face. “You have good taste, Lady Langdale.”
Arabella inclined her head. “I’ll probably cough and splutter when I sip it, but it reminds me of my dearly departed grandfather. He was fond of a wee dram before bed.”
Once they were all armed with drinks, Gabriel claimed the space beside Arabella, and MacQueen took the gilt-legged chair again.
After draining his glass in two mouthfuls, Gabriel dragged an unsteady hand across his mouth. He caught Arabella’s gaze. Her lovely face was pale and grave, but she was composed. It meant a lot that she wanted to face this crisis with him. She wasn’t a fainthearted miss by any means. Which was fortunate indeed in light of the present circumstances. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go away, Bella. Tonight in fact.”
“Where to?”
“To Scotland. The inquiry agent I sent up north wasn’t able to uncover any useful intelligence in Springfield. But when I saw my uncle yesterday, he said something that piqued my interest.” Gabriel recounted the odd exchange to Arabella and MacQueen. “My uncle made me wonder if he’d actually been present at my parents’ anvil wedding. I’m probably searching for hen’s teeth, but I can’t completely discount what he said. Not when there’s so much at stake.” He reached out and covered Arabella’s hand with his.
She gave him a reassuring smile. “Of course you must go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be quite fine.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you. You’re far too good for a scoundrel like me, do you know that?”
She blushed and MacQueen cleared his throat. “I’ll go with you. My coachman knows the Great North Road better than the back of his own hand.”
“We’ll travel in tandem then.” Even though there was only two of them traveling, Gabriel knew that MacQueen needed his own carriage.
Plans were made to meet in an hour, and then the Scotsman took his leave.
“How long will you be gone?” Arabella asked as the door shut behind the marquess. “Will you miss the funeral?”
Gabriel grimaced. “I’m afraid I will. Not that Timothy would let me attend anyway. As to how long I’ll be gone, six or seven days at the most if we also travel at night. The roads will be in good condition this time of year.” He rang for a footman to issue orders for his four-in-hand carriage to be readied and brought around. “But I’ll leave you with my town coach so you can get out and about around town. And if you need to purchase anything and I don’t have an existing account at the store, start one, or ask Jervis to send for my man of affairs to arrange it. I’ll also leave you with a substantial sum; I’ve a stash of pound notes locked away in the library. I’ll show you where I keep it and give you the key.” Sliding a hand behind her slender neck, he drew her close and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll miss you, my sweet. More than you’ll know. But I have to go. All going well, I’ll be back before you know it with good news.”
Chapter 16
If you are feeling under the weather—as one is wont to do after a particularly taxing Season—perhaps consider taking a tincture of opium such as laudanum.
Whether one is afflicted with a megrim, cough, toothache, fever, or rheumatism, or simply suffers from poor sleep, it is guaranteed to improve one’s well-being.
The most astute lady will always have some near to hand.
The Beau Monde Mirror: A Lady’s Guide to Beauty
The Seven Dials Dispensary, Covent Garden, London
August 3, 1818
As Gabriel’s town coach drew to a halt outside the Seven Dials Dispensary, Arabella exhaled a shaky sigh. In her gloved hand, she clutched a letter from Dr. Radcliff; it had come with yesterday’s post to Langdale House, and was addressed quite correctly to ‘The Right Honorable, The Countess of Langdale’. After all this time—five whole months in fact—he’d finally reached out to her. And Arabella didn’t quite know how she felt about it.
No, that wasn’t quite true. She’d considered Dr. Graham Radcliff a friend, perhaps even a kindred spirit, and if she were completely honest with herself, his neglect stung. However, when all was said and done, she must put aside her pique if she wanted her dream to come true. Thanks to Gabriel’s generosity, she would have the money required to form her own charitable society. Then, once like-minded people such as Lady Chelmsford and her well-connected bluestocking friends were on board, they could establish more dispensaries for the poor and an orphanage in Edinburgh, even Glasgow. With such grand ambitions, Arabella couldn’t do this on her own; a physician’s professional expertise and advice were essential too.
She still needed Dr. Radcliff.
Gabriel’s footman, Soames, let down the steps and helped Arabella to alight from the town coach onto the busy, dusty, litter-strewn street. It was just past noon and the summer sun beat down upon her; even though she wore a plain straw bonnet, she squinted against the glare. The clinic was located in a two-story building of dull brown brick, crammed between a shop selling secondhand items of a dubious nature and another vacant store with boarded-up windows. The Seven Dials Dispensary was painted in neat black lettering upon a white wooden sign hanging above the dark blue door. Through the clinic’s open windows, the cries of babies along with the hubbub of adult voices reached her. A light breeze set the sign swinging and carried the odor of rotting refuse from a nearby alleyway, making Arabella wrinkle her nose.
Seven Dials was one of the poorest, most overcrowded areas in London. A slum. Indeed Arabella understood from Dr. Radcliff’s letter that crime was rife here, particularly at night, so she must be careful when visiting. Even during the day, one had to take care not to become a victim of a pickpocket.
Of course, the grandness of the Earl of Langdale’s town coach and the liveried servants in their powdered perukes and green satin waistcoats with brass buttons had attracted quite a bit of attention. Passersby stared openly with hard, suspicious eyes as Arabella shook out her skirts and adjusted her glasses upon her nose. A trio of painfully thin ragamuffins with dirty faces and bare feet scurried past, an emaciated dog at their heels; one of the boys poked his tongue at her before they all darted down the alley. In deference to the Londoners who lived here, Arabella had donned one of her plainest, workaday gowns of striped cotton and carried her old leather satchel, rather than a reticule, in an attempt to blend in. But it hadn’t helped. It was clear she didn’t belong here. However, she
wouldn’t be deterred.
As she crossed to the dispensary’s door, a sallow-faced man in shabby clothing appeared at the entrance of the shop and leaned against the doorframe. His gaze wandered over her in a slow, insolent inspection that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.
Arabella was suddenly grateful that she’d brought Soames and another young strapping footman with her. If Gabriel discovered that she’d ventured into the Seven Dials slums unaccompanied, he’d be livid with her for putting herself in danger. And rightly so.
Soames accompanied her to the front door and opened it. She smiled her thanks, then passed into the crowded interior.
The stench of unwashed humanity hit Arabella instantly. It was not an unfamiliar smell given the places she’d sometimes ventured with her grandfather in Edinburgh. Considering the day was so hot, it was no wonder the room was so malodorous.
“Would you like me to come with you, my lady?” asked Soames, eyeing the front waiting room of the dispensary with distaste. There were at least thirty souls crammed into the small space, and the atmosphere was stifling. Mothers rocked crying babies in their arms or held toddlers on their hips while their other children pulled at their skirts. A few men with a variety of injuries lurked by the window: a youth cradled his badly cut hand; a middle-aged man with a bandaged foot and a makeshift walking stick sat on one of the few wooden chairs; another man nursed a bruised, swollen jaw. Arabella was instantly reminded of her grandfather’s clinic, and she couldn’t help but make a mental assessment of who should be seen first.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said firmly and lifted the letter. “Dr. Radcliff is expecting me.”
“Of course, my lady. I’ll wait by the door.”
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 24