Glancing over his shoulder, Timothy saw at least half a dozen other club members as well as a few of the burlier members of White’s staff gathering behind him. “It’s all right, gentlemen. The show is over. I’m leaving.”
He threw Gabriel one last baleful look, then turned on his booted heel and stalked out.
When he’d gone, Max and MacQueen released Gabriel, and he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. “Shall we finish our champagne, my friends?” he asked as he flicked out his coattails and took his seat.
“Aye,” said MacQueen, settling back in his leather chair. “Your cousin is goddamned lucky that none of us”—his steely gaze flickered between Max and Nate—“decided to call him out either.”
Max helped himself to a bacon-wrapped oyster. “In any case, he’s sure to get blackballed from the club after this incident.”
An hour later, after they’d quaffed a second bottle of champagne, Gabriel and Nate both took their leave, pleading their wives expected them home. Shrugging off Max’s and MacQueen’s good-natured ribbing about how there was nothing more pitiable than a henpecked husband, they emerged onto St. James’s Street. Malverne House was in the vicinity of St. James’s Square so Nate and Gabriel began to amble down the busy thoroughfare together, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. They hadn’t progressed all that far when a shiny black town coach pulled alongside them and the carriage door was thrown open.
A husky but very feminine voice floated out. “Lord Langdale.”
Gabriel halted in his tracks. “Lady Astley?”
From beneath the brim of his beaver hat, he squinted into the shadowy interior of the carriage. Yes, it was indeed the Countess of Astley who’d called his name.
What on earth did she want?
Beside him, Nate frowned. “Be careful, old chap,” he murmured.
Gabriel took several steps toward the open door, and as he did so, Camilla, Lady Astley sat forward; the exotic, musky scent she used drifted out, enveloping him in a sensual cloud.
“I’m rather busy right now,” he said in a low, tight voice. Salacious memories of Camilla tangled up with him in fine linen bedsheets rose unbidden in his mind, but he firmly pushed them away.
Tightly curled flaxen ringlets brushed her flushed cheeks as Camilla leaned toward him, her gloved hand outstretched. “Lord Langdale, please . . . I must talk with you.” Her countenance was wan, the skin pulled tightly over her high cheekbones.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.” Her gaze flitted to Nate, his mouth flat with suspicion, before returning to Gabriel. “Please, my lord. I beg of you. You’re the only one who can help.”
The beseeching, harrowed look in her blue eyes was one Gabriel had never seen once during their wild affair earlier in the year. Something was clearly wrong. But having a discussion about the matter in the street was inadvisable, if not out-and-out perilous. If Lord Astley ever found out about this meeting, the cuckolded earl would be sure to call him out.
Even worse would be Arabella’s reaction. He’d promised her that he would stay true. She’d never forgive him if she thought he’d strayed.
A tear trickled down Camilla’s cheek, and Gabriel swore beneath his breath. A multitude of misgivings eating at him, he sighed heavily and climbed inside the carriage. “I won’t be long but you’d best go on without me,” he said as he glanced back at Nate. “Safe travels to Gloucestershire.” And then he pulled the door shut.
Hyde Park, Mayfair
“What a glorious afternoon,” declared Charlie as she slid her arm through Arabella’s. “Taking a walk with you all”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Olivia and Sophie, who were following close behind them—“is almost like old times at Mrs. Rathbone’s Academy, isn’t it?”
Arabella laughed. “A little. But instead of Mrs. Rathbone haranguing us for not marching briskly enough, we have a retinue of our own servants keeping pace.”
A small knot of footmen in three different kinds of livery denoting the households of Langdale, Westhampton, and Malverne trailed behind their mistresses—it was quite an entourage and seemed quite ridiculous, but Arabella understood why. A countess, a viscountess, and the unwed daughter of an earl along with their heiress friend simply didn’t go walking about in public places without suitable protection.
The walk had been Charlie’s idea when the Mayfair Bluestocking Society’s meeting about charitable endeavors drew to a close. As the society’s rooms were on Park Lane, they had but to cross the road to reach Hyde Park. Lady Chelmsford, who also resided on Park Lane, had repaired to her town house, claiming her bones ached far too much, but they were all welcome to join her for a late afternoon tea after they concluded their stroll. Arabella was quite happy to do so given Gabriel was currently busy with his own friends.
She smiled to herself and her pulse quickened as she recalled everything she and Gabriel had done last night. And would probably do again tonight. She was beginning to understand why Sophie always looked so aglow.
Even though the Season had drawn to an end, the park’s thoroughfares were still quite abuzz. Charlie gave Arabella a little prod in the ribs with her elbow as they wandered across the grass to avoid a curricle bowling by at a rapid pace. “Penny for your thoughts, Arabella. Does that little secret smile of yours mean what I think it means? Have you and Gabriel settled your differences?”
Arabella blushed. “Yes. We have,” she whispered. “Not only that, because his title is now well and truly safe, we’re going to try for a baby. I promised him an heir.” She’d told Charlie, Sophie, and Olivia about Caroline Renfrew’s opportune arrival before the meeting started, and naturally, they were all delighted for her and Gabriel.
Charlie gave her arm a small squeeze. “Oh, I’m so excited for you, Arabella. I’m waiting for Sophie and Nate to announce any day now that she is increasing.”
They began to follow a path that wended its way toward the Serpentine. When they paused by the banks of the lake beneath the shade of a willow to watch the swans and ducks drifting past, a tiny bubble of laughter escaped Olivia.
Arabella, Sophie, and Charlie all blinked at her in surprise. Olivia was always so quiet and serious, it was most out of character for her to have a fit of the giggles. “What’s so amusing, pray tell?” asked Charlie.
Even though Olivia wore a shady poke bonnet, it didn’t hide her bright blush that precisely matched the fuchsia pink of her well-cut walking gown. “Oh, dear. I th-think that every time I see a b-body of water, I’m going to be reminded of sea bathing in B-Brighton.”
“You went sea bathing?” exclaimed Sophie. “In one of those machines?
“Yes,” Olivia said. “M-my aunt Edith wanted to try it as her physician told her it was useful for alleviating the symptoms of rheumatism.”
“Aye, that’s quite true,” added Arabella. “My grandfather would often recommend taking the waters in Scarborough to his patients.”
“What was it like?” asked Sophie, her blue eyes wide with interest. “I think I would be quite frightened to try it. I’d worry I’d slip and drown. And do those bathing machines really conceal you from the sight of others?”
“Oh yes, they do. N-no one at all can see you behind the enormous canvas awning. And the water wasn’t too deep. Actually”—Olivia lowered her voice and beckoned them all closer, away from the footmen—“it was quite exhilarating. Especially when I removed the horrid flannel garment my aunt gave me to wear.”
“Olivia de Vere. Don’t tell me you bathed naked in public. You wicked girl,” whispered Charlie in mock horror, but then she grinned. “I’m very impressed.”
Olivia’s mouth twitched with mirth. “It’s all your fault, Charlie, for lending me those wicked memoirs about Miss Fanny Hill. They’ve put all sorts of naughty ideas into my head.”
“They’re certainly wicked,” agreed
Sophie with a small, knowing smile. “But most enlightening.”
“Goodness gracious. I think I’ve missed out by not reading them,” remarked Arabella.
Charlie gave her a gentle poke. “You’re married to one of London’s most notorious rakehells, Arabella. You of all people would not be missing out.”
Olivia’s smile faded to be replaced by the glummest expression Arabella had ever seen. “I sometimes wish I could meet a rakehell who’d fall madly in love with me,” she said. “I caught a glimpse of my neighbor, Lord Sleat, earlier today as I was leaving our town house, but he didn’t notice me. He was striding off somewhere or other.”
“Oh, he was probably meeting up with Gabriel, Nate, and Max, the Duke of Exmoor,” said Arabella. “Gabriel told me they were all going boxing and then meeting at White’s.”
Charlie folded her arms and tapped her chin with a finger. The sunlight reflecting off the lake made her topaz brown eyes shine like gold. “We must engineer a social occasion to get you two to meet. I’m sure Lord Sleat is just right for you, Olivia.”
“I wish I possessed your optimism, Charlie,” replied Olivia with a wistful sigh. “At least my c-cousin Felix is away on the C-Continent so I don’t need to worry about him proposing anytime soon. There’s b-bound to be an enormous to-do when I refuse him.”
Arabella reached out and squeezed her arm. Olivia had been concerned for some time that her aunt and uncle may try to force her to wed their son to keep the money in the family. “If you need anything, you only have to ask.”
“Yes,” agreed Sophie. “If we weren’t leaving for Deerhurst Park early tomorrow, I’d throw a soiree and exhort Nate to invite Lord Sleat along. And I wouldn’t care if he said Hamish MacQueen is too wicked for you. It’s not up to him to decide what’s best for my friends.”
“It’s such a nuisance that the Season is over,” added Charlie. “I’d ask my aunt to throw a dinner party, but I’m afraid she’s accompanying me to Elmstone Hall. We leave the day after tomorrow. But perhaps we can arrange something when we’re all back in town in October. I imagine your aunt and uncle won’t give you permission to attend unless my aunt acts as chaperone again.”
Olivia’s doe brown eyes lit with a warm smile. “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “Even so, that sounds wonderful. October isn’t that far away.” She turned her soft gaze on Arabella. “Are you repairing to Gabriel’s estate up north?”
“I . . . I expect so.” With a mounting sense of dismay, Arabella was suddenly aware that all her friends were looking at her expectantly and she hadn’t a clue how to respond. It would suggest that she and Gabriel weren’t as close as she’d led them to believe. Dissembling seemed like the best option. “We’ve been so busy of late. You know with traveling, and the wedding. And then there was this title business and Gabriel’s mother arrived . . . We haven’t spoken about his . . . I mean our plans just yet.”
“I’ve no doubt you will,” said Charlie with a soft smile of understanding. She took Arabella’s arm. “Come, let’s go back to Chelmsford House for that spot of tea my aunt promised us.”
Pausing on the edge of the pavement as they waited to cross Park Lane, Arabella studied the passing traffic. When a smart, black town coach rolled close by, she felt Charlie tense beside her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Charlie patted her arm. “Nothing at all really,” she said as they crossed the road. “I just saw the Astleys’ carriage and caught a glimpse of the countess through the window. Of course you don’t have anything to worry about now that you and Gabriel are growing closer.”
Arabella sighed as they gained the pavement on the other side and headed toward Chelmsford House. “I really wish Lady Astley would quit town. Bumping into her could prove rather awkward. But perhaps we will be leaving soon too. I must confess, a quiet sojourn in the country sounds rather appealing. And Hawksfell Hall is bound to be lovely.”
“I’m sure it is,” agreed Charlie with a reassuring smile. “I believe it’s on the shores of lake Grasmere. While it’s not Switzerland, you’ll have beautiful views all the same.”
During afternoon tea, as Arabella observed Sophie’s radiant happiness—especially when she talked about Nate—her own contentment dimmed.
One thing Sophie and Nate had, that she and Gabriel didn’t, was love. Gabriel had promised to be faithful, but could she take him at his word? She didn’t want to compare him to his father, Michael, but after Gabriel was born, he’d grown bored with Caroline. What if faithlessness ran in the family? Did an emotionally uncommitted rakehell ever really change his spots?
She trusted Gabriel wouldn’t look elsewhere until after she’d given him a son. But over time, his ardor was bound to fade. Without love, what was there to bind him to her?
Nothing at all.
It was a dispiriting, even heartbreaking thought. As she listened to Lady Chelmsford chat enthusiastically about raising funds for dispensaries and orphanages and foundling homes, she thanked God she had work to fill her life. And her friends.
And perhaps one day, a child.
If only she could have her husband’s love, then life would be perfect indeed.
Somewhere on the streets of London . . .
Gabriel settled into a corner of the Astleys’ carriage as it moved off, and blew out a disgruntled sigh. In such close quarters, his former paramour’s perfume was quite cloying, and he had to stifle the urge to throw open a window. Strange how he’d never noticed that before.
“What’s wrong, Camilla?” he asked carefully as he removed his beaver hat and placed it on the velvet upholstered seat beside him. “Whatever the matter is, it sounds rather urgent.”
A sigh shivered out of the countess. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” she said in that distinctive, sultry voice of hers that he’d once found so appealing. “And yes, it is urgent.”
Gabriel cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, impatience sharpened his tone. “I don’t have all day.”
“I know,” she said in an uncharacteristically demure tone. Attired in a dusky blue silk gown with a matching spencer and bonnet trimmed with ivory satin roses and seed pearls, she was the epitome of tonnish elegance. Yet Gabriel knew from experience that she was a voracious lover with wild tastes in the bedroom. “It’s just so very good to see you.”
“If this is an attempt to inveigle your way back into my bed, it won’t work. I’m married now—”
“No. No it’s not,” she said. She entwined her gloved fingers together and sat up very straight. “You made it very clear that you do not care for me after that terrible night at Astley House. Because if you did, you would have responded to my letter.”
Gabriel kept his face impassive. He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d only glanced through it before throwing it into the fire. “Well, if you simply wish to berate me, you can let me out here.” He raised his fist to rap on the coach’s forward-facing window, but Camilla held up a hand.
“Wait, I’ll get to the point,” she said. There was genuine panic in her eyes. “It’s about my husband, George . . . and me.”
Gabriel rubbed his jaw. “Yes?”
“And you . . .”
“What about me?” Irritation sparked. “I haven’t seen you for months, Camilla.”
“I know, I know.” She closed her eyes as though gathering her thoughts. “I’m not explaining myself very well, I’m afraid.”
Again Gabriel waited. The carriage rocked as they rounded a sharp corner, and he glanced out the window. They were in Mayfair, heading toward Park Lane. Christ, he hoped Arabella didn’t see him. The Mayfair Bluestocking Society’s rooms were close by.
When he turned his gaze back to Camilla, he discovered she was studying him. “I’ll try to be more succinct,” she said. “After our affair ended and I heard you left town for the Continent, I tried very hard
to reconcile with my husband. For some years, we’ve been living separate lives. George kept a mistress and I dallied with whomever I took a fancy to. He tended to turn a blind eye as long as I was discreet, but with you, I wasn’t. I was in love with you and I didn’t care who knew.”
Gabriel held her gaze steadily. “I never promised you love, Camilla. From my perspective, it was a purely carnal affair.”
“I know that,” she said crossly. “But sometimes falling in love cannot be helped. It just happens.” She drew a calming breath. “Anyway, I digress. What I’m trying to say is, George and I were beginning to repair our relationship, but then you came back to town. And even though you are newly wed, and I’ve reassured him I’m devoted to him, he’s convinced you and I have taken up again. I cannot reason with him and now . . .” She swallowed and tears glazed her eyes. “Now he’s threatening to divorce me even though I’ve told him over and over again there’s nothing between you and me any longer. I suppose I cannot blame him for not trusting me, but it really isn’t fair.”
Gabriel scowled, resisting the urge to be moved by her stricken expression and desperate air. “I’m sorry, but what do you expect me to do about it? Last time I met your husband, he very much wanted to kill me.” In hindsight, it had been beyond foolish for him to accept Camilla’s invitation to the ball at Astley House in April. He’d been reckless and too cocksure. “I doubt he’d listen to a word I say, let alone believe me.”
“But can’t you at least try?” Camilla pleaded. “You can swear on your honor as a gentleman that we are no more. I couldn’t bear the public humiliation if George were to divorce me. It just isn’t done. Aside from that, I realize I do indeed care for him. Please, Gabriel.” Tears brimmed in Camilla’s eyes again and overflowed. Her fulsome bottom lip quivered. “You’re my only hope.”
Hell. Gabriel ran a hand down his face. The niggle of guilt he’d been ignoring wormed its way to the surface of his conscience. “Very well,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll do it. Will he be in tomorrow morning?”
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 29