A Secret Love c-5

by Stephanie Laurens

  If she didn't see Gabriel face to face, she would have no way of knowing how he reacted to her news, nor could she question him over what he'd learned-she was quite sure he wouldn't have been idle in the five days since they'd last met.

  At the Burlington Hotel.

  The mere name sent a wave of uncertainty through her; she immediately blocked it off. She couldn't afford to let her emotions rule her, or dictate her moves. What had Gabriel learned? Had Crowley done anything more? These were questions to which she needed answers; she would get answers only if she met Gabriel face to face, of that she was absolutely sure.

  But the thought of being private, alone with him in the dark, made her shiver-and not with dread. The fact only increased her wariness and made her question her arguments. Were they merely rationalizations?

  Standing in the pedestal's shadow, she examined, dissected, and reassembled her thoughts-and got nowhere. The situation irked; her inability to make up her mind rasped her temper.

  Then he moved. She'd been watching him from the corner of her eye. As he forcefully handed the twins' watch back to Lucifer, then stepped into the crowd, she straightened. A clamp slowly closed about her lungs. There was, she told herself, no reason he should stroll her way, no reason he even knew she was there.

  She'd underestimated the power of her cap.

  It drew him like a lodestone. He cleaved through the crowd so efficiently that, once she realized she was indeed his target, she didn't have time to beat a retreat. He halted beside her.

  Trapped, she raised her chin and fixed him with a glare. "Don't say a word."

  His eyes held hers for a pregnant moment; she inwardly quivered, and told herself he couldn't see through her disguise. That he'd never see the woman who'd lain naked in his arms in the lady who now stood before him.

  Lips thinning, Gabriel nodded curtly. "There's obviously no need, although I can't see why you bother-your hair will go gray soon enough."

  Alathea's eyes flashed, but instead of ripping up at him, she smiled. Acidly. "I'm quite sure you'll have gray hairs aplenty if you persist in acting like a dog with a bone over your young cousins."

  "You know nothing about the matter, so don't start."

  "I know the twins are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves."

  He snorted derisively. "Which shows how much you know."

  "I would have thought"-her tone had him tensing-"that any females capable of routing one of the Cynsters, capable of detecting the chink in his armor and plotting and acting to press their advantage, and succeeding, would be thought capable of managing even the ton's most notorious rakes." Her gaze slid around to his face. "Don't you?"

  Gabriel felt his eyes narrow; his temper surged. He would infinitely have preferred impassivity, but with her, that always seemed beyond him. He transfixed her with a glittering glance. "You told them."

  He didn't need the artful lift of her brows to tell him that was the truth.

  "They approached me with their problem-I merely made an observation."

  "You are the cause of their current obsession with finding me a suitable bride."

  "Now, now"-she wagged a finger at him-"you know perfectly well I couldn't be responsible for that. You're the one who's yet to marry. You're the one in need of a wife. The twins are merely trying to be helpful."

  What he muttered in response was far from polite; Alathea merely smiled. "They're trying to be helpful in exactly the same way you're trying to help them."

  "And what way is that?"

  She looked him in the eye. "Misguidedly."

  He blinked.

  When he didn't immediately respond, she looked away. "I rather wondered how you'd react if the shoe was on the other foot."

  "You knew damned well how I'd react." He gritted his teeth. "You only suggested it to plague me." Her lips quirked, very briefly but enough to set his temper soaring. "I know Lucifer attempted to explain the need for our watch on the twins-he clearly didn't succeed. So perhaps a demonstration's in order"-he lifted his gaze to the cap covering her soft hair-"to drive the point through your demonstrably thick skull."

  Her head whipped around. She was frowning. He shifted closer, crowding her into the nook between the pedestal and the alcove wall. Clamping one hand on the pedestal's top, he caged her into the small space.

  Meeting her gaze, fell intent in his, he was surprised to see her eyes flare-surprised to see how far into the gap between the pedestal and the wall she'd backed herself.

  Her gaze falling to his chest, mere inches from hers, Alathea swallowed and wrenched her gaze back up to his face. She fought against the urge to press one hand to her breast in a vain effort to calm her leaping heart. Oh, God! In situations like this, she would customarily slap a hand to his chest and shove-she wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't stop to consider any possible impropriety. And although her strength couldn't possibly shift him, if she shoved, he'd move.

  But she didn't dare touch him.

  Couldn't guarantee what her hands would do if she did.

  Gracious heavens! What on earth was she to do? She could already see puzzlement dawning in his eyes.

  Senses reeling-he was far too close!-she stiffened her spine, drew herself up to her full height, and made a passable attempt at looking down her nose at him. "I do wish you'd think!" Her gaze locked with his, she did-frantically. "Protecting them from real threats-threats that actually materialize-is all very well, but in this case, your"-she gestured, using her wave to make him lean back-"constant hovering is actually limiting their opportunities. It's not fair."

  "Fair?" He snorted. To her immense relief, he eased back, letting go of the pedestal and turning to glance to where she imagined the twins must be. "I can't see where fairness comes into it."

  "Can't you?" Able to breathe again, she dragged in a breath. "Just think. You never used to stop me from… oh, riding neck or nothing with you and Alasdair-you wouldn't stop me doing it now."

  "You ride like the devil. There's no need to stop you-you'd be in no danger."

  "Ah, but if there was something dangerous in my path-if, for instance, I'd jumped a fence into a field with an enraged bull. Wouldn't you come racing to save me?"

  The look he shot her was disgusted-disgusted she'd even asked. "Of course I would." After a moment, he added more softly, "You know I would."

  She inclined her head, a very odd knot of emotion in her stomach; as children, he'd always been the first to interpose himself between her and any danger. "Yes-and that's precisely what I mean about the way you're suffocating the twins."

  Deliberately, she fell silent. She sensed his reluctance; it poured from him in waves. He didn't want to hear her theory, didn't want to canvass the possibility that he, his brother, and his cousins might be wrong, might be overreacting. Because if he did, he'd have to rein in his Cynster protectiveness, and that, she well knew, was very hard to do.

  Eventually, he shot her a far from encouraging glance. "Why suffocating?"

  She looked away, across the sea of heads. "Because you won't let them spread their wings. Rather than letting them ride wild, stepping in only if they're threatened, you're making sure they're not threatened in the first place by ensuring they never ride at all." He opened his mouth; she held up a placating hand. "A perfectly valid approach in other contexts, but in this arena, it means you're blocking off all chance of their learning to ride-all chance of their succeeding. Well"-she gestured across the room-"just look at them." She couldn't see them, but he could. "They may be surrounded by ten gentlemen-"

  "Twenty."

  "How ever many!" Her terse tone had him meeting her gaze. "Can't you see they're the wrong men?"

  Gabriel looked at the teeming masses around the twins, and tried to tell himself he couldn't see it at all.

  "Can you seriously imagine any of those innocuous gentlemen married to the twins? Or is it more accurate to say you-all of you-have been carefully avoiding imagining the twins married at all?"

  She was li
ke his conscience, whispering in his ear. Like his conscience, he couldn't ignore her. "I'll think about it," he growled, unwilling to even meet her eyes. All he would see was the truth, his own truth reflected back at him.

  He dragged in a breath, chest swelling against the usual constriction, the constriction he always felt when around her. Lord, she made him uncomfortable. Even now, when they weren't tearing strips off each other but having what was, for them, a rational discussion, his insides felt scored, like claws had dragged down from his throat over his chest, then locked about his heart, his gut.

  She'd shaken him, too. Again. Why the devil had she looked at him like that-eyes wide with what!-when he'd backed her against the wall? The sight had rocked him; even now, his skin was prickling just because she was close.

  His impulse, as always, was to verbally lash at her, to drive her away even though, if she was in the same room, he would compulsively head for her side. Stupid. He wished he could tell himself that he disliked her, but he didn't. He never had. Keeping his gaze from her ridiculous cap-the sight would assuredly set him off-he drew in another breath, scanning the nearer guests, about to bow and excuse himself-

  He narrowed his eyes. "What the devil…?"

  The muttered question went unanswered as Lord Coleburn, Mr. Henry Simpkins and Lord Falworth, all smiling easily, strolled up.

  "There you are, my dear lady." Falworth swept Alathea an elegant bow.

  "We thought you might need rescuing," Henry Simpkins stated, his gaze sweeping over Gabriel before coming to rest on Alathea's face. "From the crush, don't you know?"

  "It is indeed horrendous," Alathea smoothly returned. She waited for Gabriel to excuse himself and move on; instead, he remained planted like an oak at her side. With Wellington immediately to her left, she couldn't escape; her would-be cavaliers were forced to deploy themselves in a semicircle before her and Gabriel. As if they were on trial. Heaving an inward sigh, she introduced him, quite sure the others would know him at least by reputation.

  That last became rapidly apparent. By dint of various subtle quips, Coleburn, Simpkins, and Falworth all made it plain they thought Gabriel would find better entertainment elsewhere. Alathea was not at all surprised when he shrugged their suggestions aside, looking for all the world as if he was fighting a yawn. He probably was. She certainly was. If she'd wanted to stand by the wall and converse with a gaggle of gentlemen, Coleburn, Simpkins, and Falworth would not have been her choice. She would rather converse with the Devil himself, presently on her right; at least, with him, she was never in danger of mentally drifting away and losing track of the conversation.

  Despite the lack of stimulation, she was distinctly relieved that Gabriel did not decide to enliven proceedings by surgically dissecting Simpkins, who seemed intent on putting himself first in line with his studied and not-quite-nonchalant quips. Lady Castlereagh would not appreciate blood on her ballroom floor.

  "And so Mrs. Dalrymple insisted we ride on, but the oxer at the end of the fourth field forced her to retire. Well"-Falworth spread his hands-"what could I do? We had to do a Brummel and take refuge in a nearby farmhouse."

  The other gentlemen seemed mildly intrigued by Falworth's description of his aborted outing with the Cottesmore. All except Gabriel, who was doing a remarkable imitation of a marble statue. An utterly meaningless smile on her lips, Alathea inwardly sighed and let Falworth's words flow past her.

  Beyond their little circle, a tall gentleman, as tall as Gabriel, strolled nonchalantly by. His idle gaze passed over them, then halted. He stopped, noting Gabriel, then his gaze slid back to her.

  The gentleman smiled; Alathea nearly blinked. Charming did as charming was, but this was something rather more. Her lips had curved in reply before she'd even thought. The gentleman's smile deepened; he inclined his head. His gaze on her face, he approached with the same easy, loose-limbed prowl that characterized the Cynsters and, Alathea surmised, certain of their peers.

  Gabriel's reaction was immediate and intense. Alathea barely had time to consider the why before the wherefore was bowing before her.

  "Chillingworth, my dear. I don't believe we've met." Gracefully straightening, he flicked a glance at Gabriel. "But I'm sure I can prevail upon Cynster here to do the honors."

  Gabriel let his silence stretch until it was just this side of insulting before grudgingly saying, "Lady Alathea Morwellan-Chillingworth, earl of."

  Arching a warning brow at him, Alathea gave Chillingworth her hand. "A pleasure, my lord. Are you enjoying her ladyship's offerings?" There was a string quartet laboring somewhere, and a busy cardroom,

  "To be honest, I've found the evening a mite dull." Releasing her hand, Chillingworth smiled. "A little too tame for my liking."

  Alathea raised a brow. "Indeed?"

  "Hmm. I count myself lucky to have spotted you in this crowd." His gaze was filled with appreciation, especially of her height. His lips curved. "Fortunate, indeed."

  Alathea stifled a gurgle of laughter; beside her, Gabriel stiffened. Eyes dancing, she essayed, "I'm engaged in planning a ball for my stepmother. Tell me, what entertainments would best entice gentlemen such as yourself?"

  The look Gabriel shot her was unmitigatingly censorious; Alathea ignored it.

  So did Chillingworth. "Your fair presence would greatly entice me."

  She met his gaze with a blank look. "Yes, but beyond that?"

  He nearly choked trying to swallow his laugh. "Ah… beyond that?"

  "Come now, Chillingworth. I'm sure, if you concentrate, you'll remember what it is that brings you to these affairs." Gabriel's languid drawl deflected the earl's attention.

  Chillingworth's brows rose. Leaning one arm on the pedestal's top, he frowned. "Let me think."

  Gabriel snorted softly.

  "Not hordes." Catching Alathea's eye, Chillingworth continued, "I can't think why the cachet of exclusivity isn't more widely appreciated."

  His gaze on the guests shifting and shuffling before them, causing the three other gentlemen, now relegated to the outer ranks, to have to constantly give way, then struggle back, Gabriel humphed in agreement. "God knows why they imagine literally rubbing shoulders all evening to be fun."

  "Because no hostess is game to call the ton's bluff, so we're all left to suffer." Alathea swept the gathering with a resigned eye.

  "At least," Gabriel muttered, "we can see reasonably well. It must be worse for those who can't."

  "I'm sure it is," Alathea returned. "Mary, Alice, and Serena seem to spend half their time trying to find their way about."

  Chillingworth had been watching them, taking in this exchange. "Hmm. As to other requirements, while gentlemen such as I-and Cynster here-might be partial to sonatas and airs in their place, having a set of screeching violins set up in a comer merely constitutes unwarranted distraction."

  "Distraction?" Alathea glanced at him. "Distraction from what?"

  The direct question made Chillingworth blink. He slid a glance at Gabriel.

  Alathea's lips quirked. "From your customary pursuits?"

  Chillingworth straightened; Gabriel merely threw her a resigned glance. "Don't mind her," he advised Chillingworth. "Although perhaps I should warn you it only gets worse."

  Alathea favored him with a haughty look. "You can't talk."

  Glancing from one to the other, Chillingworth stated, "You know each other."

  Alathea waved dismissively. "From birth-our association was decided for us, not by us."

  Gabriel's brows rose. "Nicely put."

  The puzzled look in Chillingworth's eyes didn't entirely evaporate, but he settled beside Alathea again. "Where were we?"

  "The amenities you prefer for your customary pursuits."

  Alathea was enjoying herself; both Chillingworth and Gabriel sent repressive glances her way.

  "Very well." Chillingworth accepted the challenge. "Not a dance schedule that includes only two waltzes. Apropos of that, my dear, I believe the orchestra is about to make
itself useful and indulge us with a waltz." Straightening, he smiled, both charming and challenging. "Can I tempt you to brave the floor with me?"

  Alathea returned the smile, perfectly ready to take up his challenge, equally ready to give Gabriel a chance to slope off. They'd been in each other's company without descending into cutting sarcasm for nearly half an hour; there was no sense in stretching their luck.

  She held out her hand. "Indeed, my lord-I'd be delighted."

  Gabriel gritted his teeth, held his breath, and willed himself to stillness. God knew, he didn't want to waltz with Alathea-the mere thought sent itching heat washing over his skin like a rash. But… he didn't want her waltzing with Chillingworth. Or anyone else, but Chillingworth was, typically, the worst choice she could have made of all the gentlemen in the room. Not that she hadn't chosen quite deliberately; she might be twenty-nine but she still possessed a healthy vein of minxlike tendencies, victim to a strain of considered recklessness.

  He watched as Chillingworth led her to the floor, then took her lightly in his arms. She laughed at some quip and they began to revolve; as they whirled down the room, Gabriel inwardly snorted. There she went, tempting fate with her eyes wide open.

  Shifting his gaze, he saw Lucifer, still on guard but chatting with two friends while the twins danced. Gabriel located them, each in the arms of a suitably innocuous gentleman.

  Alathea's words rang in his head; he inwardly humphed. He'd think about it. His gaze drifted over the dancers, and settled again.

  The waltz was nearly over before Alathea identified the peculiar sensation afflicting her. It had started not when Chillingworth first took her into his arms but later, as they'd commenced their second revolution around the room.

  She'd enjoyed the waltz. Despite his predilections, Chillingworth was charming, witty, and a gentleman to his toes. He was very like Lucifer and his Cynster cousins; she'd treated him as she would them-he'd responded in like vein, with a bantering air. She'd relaxed.