by Danice Allen
Zach gritted his teeth. Drat the baggage, she still wouldn’t admit the whole thing was a farce! “Yes, I’ve noticed his devotion to you. The sonnet he recited today was most… touching, wasn’t it?”
Gabby nodded assent, saying nothing, looking like royalty miffed at a peon. Rory’s poetry wasn’t the issue, she said with her eyes. Don’t you recognize quality when you see it, taste it? her look said. Don’t you recognize love?
The walls were closing in. Zach had never noticed before how narrow the hall was, how low the ceilings, how the heat rising from the kitchen parched his throat with dryness. He had to leave before panic made him the fool. “I need a bath before dinner, Gabby, so if you’ll excuse me…” He turned and left her.
“Are you frightened of me, Zach?”
The plaintive voice, devoid of anger now, carried across the hall and hit him in the gut like the broad end of a sword, leaving him breathless. With his hand on the cut-glass knob of his bedchamber door, he looked over his shoulder, saying sadly, “No, Gabby, I’m frightened for you.” Then he went inside.
For a week Gabrielle saw Zach only when in the company of others. No matter how much she contrived a chance encounter, he consistendy foiled her designs. Even at parties, when private conversation together might be obscured by the noise of a hundred other conversations, Zach always managed to pull someone else into the huddle, the subject matter relegated to idle chitchat. His manners toward her were punctiliously polite, remote and odiously proper. He never touched her. He barely looked at her, even when directing a comment to her. He was pretending as though nothing had happened between them, and by his odd behavior proving just the opposite.
Gabrielle had glued together the broken shell and sent it to Zach’s room, but even that he acknowledged with only a brief, banal expression of polite gratitude. This was too much. She had to get him to open up to her. After what happened in the hall, she was encouraged to be more forward in convincing him they were meant to be together. She couldn’t forget how wonderful it felt to be held and kissed and caressed by Zach. The memory haunted her.
At the end of this torturous week, as Gabrielle was beginning to feel rather desperate, the Murrays decided to spend a quiet evening at home. Due to the holiday season, their social schedule for the past several weeks had been more hectic than usual, and Lady Grace felt the need for a respite. Tonight she had a headache and retired to her bedchamber directly after dinner. The rest of the party settled in the drawing room for tea and conversation. Gabrielle was hoping that the intimacy of their gathering would at last present her with an opportunity to speak to Zach alone.
He was not cooperating, however. Probably having decided that it would be rude if he quit their company at too early an hour, he nevertheless avoided a tête-à-tête with Gabrielle by sitting in a chair by Sir George and Aunt Clarissa, politely dividing his attention between the two elders and leaving Gabrielle, Rory, and Regina to their own devices.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” whispered Rory into Gabrielle’s ear as he stretched an arm behind her on the sofa the three of them shared, “but I don’t think Zach is rising to the bait, as it were. Do you think I ought to try wooing you a little more … er… aggressively?”
Regina, sitting on Gabrielle’s other side, leaned close, scolding, “Short of tossing her onto the carpet and making mad love to her, I don’t know how you could be much more aggressive.”
Rory winked at her. “Jealous, Reggie? You and I used to wrestle on the carpet when we were younger, but ever since you came back from that fancy girls’ academy I didn’t think you’d oblige me if I challenged you to a tussle.”
Regina blushed, trying hard to frown and failing miserably. “For shame, Rory!”
Gabrielle sighed. “I don’t think Zach would respond even if I writhed through a houri’s dance with a sapphire in my navel. He’s too stubborn.”
“Why doesn’t he join us?” said Regina. “It’s got to be slow going talking to Papa and your aunt! He’s obviously avoiding you, Gabrielle. What did you do to make him so skittish?”
“I got too close to him, that’s what. And, first chance I get, I’m going to get even closer.”
“That’s the spirit, lass!” Rory said approvingly. “And here’s your chance! He’s gone to fetch your aunt her nightly dose of sherry. How obliging of him. Quick, Gabrielle! Go!”
Gabrielle was indeed beginning to feel like a predator who’d caught the scent of her dinner and was running it down. But she had no time to lose. She rose from the sofa, smoothing down the front of her daisy-sprigged skirt and trying to look nonchalant as she followed Zach to a distant corner of the room where Sir George kept his liquor cabinet. Zach was dressed in a deep blue jacket tonight, and his back looked very broad and his legs, in fawn-colored trousers, very slim and muscled.
Zach heard her coming. Every muscle in his body bunched and every nerve hummed with expectation. He steeled himself against the sensory assault he knew he would feel the minute she was within grabbing distance. He wished he completely understood her situation with Rory, but he still felt the need to bide his time for a spell, just watching and forming opinions. But he was only human, after all, and how was he expected to keep resisting what she promised with her sweet, eager kisses? Ever since their encounter at the threshold of her bedchamber door, he was too aware of the tenuousness of his self-control.
Her scent was in the air; she’d arrived. He kept his back resolutely turned toward her.
“Zach?”
“Hmm?” He opened the cabinet and searched for the decanter of sherry.
“Don’t grunt at me! Turn around and speak to me like a gentleman.”
Zach couldn’t seem to find the dratted sherry decanter. He gritted his teeth and turned his head, glancing at Gabby over his shoulder. “Did you want some sherry, too, Gabby?” Her eyes were wide and appealing. Her lips were pursed in a slight pout. Damned kissable-looking, they were. Of course, he didn’t have to guess about that. He knew how kissable her lips were. He hadn’t slept well for a week thinking about the warm, firm texture of her mouth and the incredible taste of it.
“You know I don’t want sherry. I want to talk to you.”
Zach returned to his task, viewing the various crystal containers with unseeing eyes. He saw Gabby’s reflection in the polished glass of the cabinet door. She was dressed in yellow and white, the fresh, delicate colors making her look like a bloomy dairy maid. “We talk all the time, Gabby.”
“I don’t mean about the amount of snow we’ve got this year, Zach, or what’s up with good King William. Weather and politics are things polite acquaintances talk about, and we’re much more than that!” She had been speaking in a whisper, but now she lowered her voice still further and caught his arm, leaning into him. “What about the other day? You enjoyed that kiss as much as I did. And ever since you’ve been treating me as though I have the plague! I’d like an explanation.”
He could feel the curve of her breast against his arm. Warmth emanated from her. He swallowed hard. He stared determinedly into the liquor cabinet, willing himself to concentrate. At last he spied the sherry decanter and, relieved, reached for it, gently pulling his arm free of Gabby’s grasp. “Your aunt is waiting for her sherry. She says she shan’t sleep a wink unless she has her usual dose.” He removed the lid of the decanter and reached for a small wineglass. His hands were shaking as he poured a generous helping. Perhaps he was responding to his own inclination for a calming drink.
“I don’t think my aunt will have a bit of trouble falling asleep tonight. In fact—”
“Nevertheless, she’s waiting for me.”
“She’s asleep right now, Zach!”
Zach turned and was dismayed to see that this was true. Aunt Clarissa was in her customary position for napping, head back, mouth open. Sir George had happily immersed himself in the Times, and Rory and Regina had their heads together as they conversed. No one would mind their absence even if they left the room. Damn.
“And how am I to do that, Gabby?”
“By explaining to me how it is you can kiss me so passionately and then pretend nothing happened. I want to know your true feelings, Zach.”
Zach was prepared to lie. If it would keep Gabby safe from his own desires, he would blame his conduct in the hall last week on something as base and basic as … lust. Love, he would say, had nothing to do with it. “All right,” he said. “We’ll clear the air, Gabby.” Then he tossed back the sherry meant for Aunt Clarissa and led Gabby out of the room, lighting a candelabra in the hall under the interested eye of Ralph the footman, and then on into the adjoining parlor. There was no fire, and the room was cold.
“Shall we ring for wood?” Gabby suggested.
“No,” said Zach. He set the candelabra on a low table, then sat down in a large wing chair by the fireplace and faced her. “We won’t be here that long.”
“We won’t?” She had hovered near the door for the first moment or two, and now she approached slowly, her hands clasped behind her. He found this pose rather disturbing, as it caused the fabric of her gown to stretch taut across her breasts.
“No. I’ve decided that you are quite right in demanding an explanation for the other day and clearing up the misunderstanding once and for all.”
She stopped just inches away, looking at him with a confused expression. “Misunderstanding?”
Zach flourished a hand through the air, a gesture of summary dismissal. “Lust, Gabby, that’s all it was. Because of the few kisses we shared, you imagined that I felt romantically toward you. But the sad truth that I have striven to keep from you is this: When a comely young woman allows a man to kiss her in an intimate manner, he responds automatically. It’s man’s nature to do so. I would have responded the same way if, say, Regina had made herself as willing as you did that day.”
All during his breezy speech, he’d watched Gabby’s reaction. She didn’t look a bit miffed by his implication that she’d been forward and therefore had mechanized his frail male, knee-jerk reaction of flattening her against the wall and kissing her with demented abandon. No, not a bit. And judging by the determined expression on her face, he greatly feared she meant to call his bluff somehow.
She arched a brow. “Why don’t we call Regina in here and test out that theory?”
He choked out a cursory laugh. “Don’t be absurd.”
“I won’t, if you won’t.”
“I’m not being—”
She sat down on the arm of the chair, her hand resting on his shoulder. Her slim thigh hovered just above his lap. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull her down on top of him and read her bedtime stories. Then take her to bed. Her breasts were at eye level. “Admit it, Zach. You do have romantic feelings for me.”
He clenched his jaw. “Admit it, Gabby. You and Rory aren’t engaged.”
She reached across and ran her hand along his lapel, caressing the smooth blue superfine with light strokes that Zach registered in every nerve in his body. “I asked first,” she taunted, lifting her chin and looking down at him through half-closed eyes.
He caught her hand and held it still against his chest. “This isn’t a game, Gabby.”
Gabby’s face changed suddenly. She looked dead earnest. “No, I know it isn’t,” she agreed. “Kiss me, Zach. Just like last week. Kiss me.”
Zach was beginning to wish that lust was all he felt for Gabby. If it were just lust, he could slide her off the chair arm, set her on her feet, and send her out of the room in a state of humiliation. Teach her a lesson, as it were. Then he’d leave the house and find a willing Cyprian to cool the fire that Gabby had started with an orgy of unrestrained sex. But it wasn’t that simple.
He loved Gabby. He didn’t want to hurt her. And, as well, he wouldn’t get her out of his system simply by copulating with a courtesan. His connection to Gabby was as spiritual as it was physical. Right now the fine line between these two components was so faint as to be indistinguishable. Hell, he wanted her and he wanted her now.
He groaned and pulled her onto his lap, burying his face in the warm scented dip of her cleavage. She responded immediately by plunging her fingers into his hair and holding him closer. Her firm round bottom felt rather too good in his lap. His hands pressed into the dip of her small waist and followed the outward curve of ribs and bosom. He pushed up and flicked his tongue into the deepening crease between her breasts. Gabby moaned and tugged his hair in rhythm with each swipe of his tongue.
My God… What am I doing? With a mammoth surge of willpower, Zach lifted his head and stared into Gabby’s flushed, ecstatic face. She bent to kiss him, and he turned away. He avoided looking at her as he lifted her gently and set her on her feet, just as he should have done five minutes before, before he completely lost all sense of right or wrong. He stood up and walked toward the door.
“No, Zach. Not again!” cried Gabby, hurrying along right behind him. “You’re running away! You’re running away from me and from the truth!”
Zach turned at the door, his hand on the knob. “You’re one to talk, Gabby. Maybe when you’re ready to tell the truth, we’ll talk again.” He left her and, ignoring Ralph’s covertly curious expression, took the stairs two at a time to his bedchamber to spend another sleepless night grappling with his conscience and his desire.
Every afternoon, while everyone else rested from their morning calls and prepared for the evening’s entertainments, Zach left the premises in his carriage. He said he had business in Old Town, and Gabrielle was dying of curiosity as to exactly what that business was. She was afraid it might be a woman. She was afraid it might be someone who put no demands on Zach’s heart, someone who didn’t scare the living daylights out of him the way she did.
It was the day after Zach had run out on her again, and, despite Lady Grace’s strictures, Gabrielle decided to follow Zach to Old Town. She was going to find out what drew him there day after day, as religiously devoted to the outing as a novice to prayer. She slipped out of the house right after the others went to their various chambers to repose; she left a note on her bed, just in case she didn’t return before time to dress for dinner. She hailed a hack disgorging passengers on the corner and paid the driver to let her simply sit inside the cab until Zach’s carriage drove by. Then they followed at a discreet distance.
They were in the midst of Old Town now, and Gabrielle was practically gawking out the window at the fascinating, dreary, historical wonder of the place. She felt dizzy just trying to glimpse the gables of the rooftops, so high were the tenements. The people moved in diverse droves of humanity; some sharp-eyed, some dingily clothed, some in flashy attire and slightly improper, some prim, neat, and businesslike. Some appeared jovial, others grim, angry, pathetic, sick, maimed, or even—she suspected after viewing one body in the gutter—dead. More likely, though, it was a drunk she’d seen. At least she hoped that was the case.
There was a continuity in the masses of people simply because of their diversity. It was a thrilling, bustling, frightening place, the scape of the buildings a hodgepodge of cubbyholes, alleys, and dark serpentine roads running steeply down into parts unknown. No wonder Lady Grace forbade her to go there. But Gabrielle was quite sure she could take care of herself. She’d been in enough scrapes in her lifetime, and she’d managed to survive them all. A niggling voice reminded her that Zach had usually been the one to pluck her out of her messes in the past. But then he was nearby, wasn’t he?
The carriage stopped, the portal in the roof opened, and the hack driver’s whiskered face appeared. “The carriage is stopped in Carruber’s Close, miss, and the gentleman ’as stepped out and gone in the buildin’. I’ll be wantin’ my two pence, miss.”
Gabrielle hurriedly gave the driver his due and stepped out of the carriage. She must find a hiding place out of view of Zach’s servants, then try to a
scertain exactly what sort of place he was visiting. The hack drove off, and Gabrielle was grateful to discover that the tiny alley the driver had called Carruber’s Close was not so well trod by the throngs of pedestrians. Only an occasional person emerged from its shadows now and then.
Conveniently, and much to her surprise, Malcolm backed the carriage out of the close and drove off. Now she needn’t worry that she’d be caught spying on Zach, but the leaving of the carriage indicated that Zach routinely spent considerable time in this one spot, not allocating his afternoon to several different locations.
Gabrielle stood peering up at the building, at all the many windows, wondering which apartment Zach was in. It looked like a common dwelling tenement, not a place of any sort of business. At least not a legitimate business. Suddenly she realized that she was being stared at by a small, dirty boy of about five years old. He was carrying a bucket of peat, apparently on an errand. She smiled and said, “Hello. Do you live around here?”
He shook his head. “Not in this part o’ town. I jest work ’ere. I can tell ye dinna live round ’ere either, miss.” He smiled, displaying several badly stained teeth, then went on his way, whistling.
Gabrielle looked down at her emerald green, erminelined pelisse, her favorite winter garb. She tsked to herself. Indeed, she’d not dressed very appropriately for this venture. She looked much too grand. She glanced nervously about. If a small child could make such a remark, she obviously stuck out like a sore thumb. She could easily be made a target by the criminally inclined. She clutched her reticule against her side, shrugging the braided carrying strap higher up on her shoulder. She hastily looked about for some place to sit or stand that would minimize her conspicuousness.
She saw a boarded-up door to an abandoned building behind her. The overhang and the steps leading into the basement-like entryway would shield her a little from passersby, yet still allow her a good view of the building Zach had gone into. She supposed that she’d just have to wait for him to come out now, since she’d not discovered anything by the outward appearance of the place.