Gabriel stood motionless on the curb, Alathea locked in his arms. His senses were reeling, his wits no less so. At the edge of his awareness, he heard Serena, Mary, and Alice shrilly scolding the driver—they were incensed but not hysterical. Everyone around them was watching the melee in the road, temporarily ignoring him and Alathea.
He tried to catch his breath, and couldn’t. A host of emotions poured through him, relief that she was unhurt not the least. He hadn’t been gentle—he’d slammed her against him, then held tight; she was plastered to him from shoulder to knee. She’d gasped, then gasped again as his body had jolted with the horse’s kick.
Her gaze was fixed over his shoulder, but from her fractured breathing, he suspected she saw nothing. A light, flowery fragrance rose from her breasts, crushed to his chest; soft whorls of hair peeked from under her bonnet, mere inches from his face.
He felt her catch her breath; a slight shiver went through her. She gathered herself—he could feel steel infuse the fine muscles in her back—then she turned her head and looked into his face.
Their gazes met and held—hazel drowning in hazel. Hers were clouded, so many emotions chasing each other across her eyes that he couldn’t identify any of them. Then, abruptly, the clouds cleared and one emotion shone through.
He recognized it instantly, even though it had been years since last he’d seen it. Concern poured from her eyes and warmed him—he’d forgotten how it always had.
“Are you all right?” Her hands, trapped between them, fisted in his coat. “The horse kicked you.”
When he didn’t immediately reply she tried to shake him. Her body shifted against his. He caught his breath. “Yes, I’m all right.” But he wasn’t. “Only the knee connected—not the hoof.”
She stilled in his arms, open concern for him filling her face. “It must hurt.”
All of him hurt—he was so aroused he was in agony.
He knew the instant she realized. Flush against him, she couldn’t help but know. Her gaze flickered, then her lashes lowered—her gaze fell to his lips, then to his cravat. An instant later, she sucked in a small breath and wriggled—just a little. It was a long ago sign between them; she wasn’t attempting to break free—she knew she couldn’t—she was asking to be let go.
Forcing his arms to unlock, then setting her back from him was the hardest physical labor he’d ever performed. She immediately fussed with her skirts and didn’t look at him.
He felt flustered, awkward, embarrassed . . . he swung on his heel to view the disaster in the road, praying she hadn’t noticed the color in his cheeks.
Alathea knew the instant his gaze left her. She couldn’t breathe; her wits were reeling so crazily she felt disorientated as well as dizzy. Straightening, she pretended to watch as the fracas was resolved, grateful when it required Gabriel’s intervention. Rigid, she waited on the pavement, stiffly inclining her head when the gentleman who’d been in charge of the young horse approached with profuse apologies.
In her mind, she repeated a single refrain: Gabriel hadn’t realized.
Not yet.
The question of whether he would suddenly see the light kept her stiff as a poker.
Then Serena bustled up, all matronly concern, both for her and her protector.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Uninhibited by age or elegance, Serena grabbed Gabriel’s arm and made him swing around.
Alathea allowed herself a fleeting glance at his face as Serena brushed off his coat.
He frowned and all but squirmed. “No harm done.” Freeing himself from Serena’s grasp, he gathered Mary and Alice with a glance. “It would be wise to retreat.” He hesitated, then asked Serena, “Is your carriage close?”
“Jacobs is waiting just around the corner.” Serena waved back along the street.
For the first time since he’d let her go, Gabriel looked directly at her; Alathea immediately waved Mary and Alice before her, then turned in the direction of the carriage. The last thing she needed was to stroll on his arm.
He offered his arm to Serena; she was very ready to lean on his strength. She filled the distance back to the carriage with sincere and copious thanks for his prompt and efficient action. Safely separated from him by Mary and Alice, Alathea murmured her agreement, allowing her stepmother’s praise to stand in place of her own.
She was grateful—she knew she should thank him. But she wasn’t game to get too close to him, not when she’d so recently been in his arms. She had no idea what might trigger a fateful convergence of memories; holding her head high, she walked to the carriage, apprehension crawling along her spine.
By lengthening her stride, she reached the carriage first and climbed in without waiting for his assistance. He shot her a hard glance, then handed the others up. He stepped back and saluted; Jacobs flicked his reins.
At the very last, Alathea turned her head—their gazes met, held . . . she inclined her head and looked forward.
Gabriel watched the carriage rattle away down the side street, his gaze locked on Alathea’s chip bonnet, on her shoulders encased in lavender twill. He watched until the carriage disappeared around a corner, then, his expression turning grim, he headed back to Bond Street.
Rejoining the bustling throng, he walked along, his gaze fixed ahead, unseeing. He still felt stunned—poleaxed to be precise. To be so aroused by Alathea. He couldn’t understand why it had happened, but he could hardly pretend it hadn’t—he was still feeling the definite effects.
He was also feeling rocked, off balance, and hideously uncomfortable. He’d never felt that way about her—they’d always been such close friends, that had never raised its head.
He walked on; gradually, his mind cleared.
And the obvious answer presented itself, much to his intense relief.
Not Alathea—the countess. He’d spent all last night plotting the how and where of her ultimate seduction, teasing himself with all the details; this morning, he’d set out to implement his plan. Then fate in the guise of a horse had flung Alathea into his arms. Obvious.
It was hardly surprising that his body had confused the two women—both were tall, although the countess was definitely taller. They were both slender, willowy—very similar in build. They both had the same fine, supple muscles in their backs, but that, he assumed, was to be expected of any very tall, slender woman—an architectural necessity.
The physically obvious, however, was the limit of their similarity. If he dared kiss her, Alathea would tear a verbal strip off him—she certainly wouldn’t melt into his arms with that gloriously seductive sensual generosity the countess displayed.
The thought made him smile. His next thought—of what Alathea would make of his reaction once she’d had time to consider it—eradicated all inclination to levity. Then he recalled her long-standing opinion of him and his rakish lifestyle; once again, he smiled. She would doubtless put his reaction down to unbridled lust—and she wouldn’t be wrong. But it was the countess he lusted after, his houri of the night.
He wanted her intensely. Somewhat to his surprise, that want went further than the physical. He actually wanted to know her—who she was, what she enjoyed, what she thought, what made her laugh. She was mysterious and intriguing, yet, oddly, he felt very close to her.
She was a puzzle he intended solving—taking apart at every level.
To do that, he needed to press on with his plan . . . Lifting his head, he refocused on his surroundings. He’d nearly reached the end of Bond Street. Crossing the road, he started back, once again scanning the crowds. He still needed a sheep. There had to be someone—
“Gracious! And what’s got into you?”
The query and the cane levelled at his navel jerked him to attention.
“Going about with your nose in the air in Bond Street! Why, you don’t even know who you’re cutting.”
Looking into a pair of bird-bright eyes in an old, soft face, Gabriel smiled. “Minnie.” Brushing aside her cane, he dropped a qu
ick kiss on her cheek.
“Humph.” Minnie’s tone was unmollified but her eyes twinkled. “Remind me to tell Celia about this, Timms.”
“Indeed.” The tall lady beside Minnie lost her fight to keep her lips straight. “Quite unconscionable, going about Bond Street without due regard.”
Gabriel bowed extravagantly. “Am I forgiven?” he asked as he straightened.
“We’ll consider it.” Minnie looked around. “Ah! Here’s Gerrard.”
Gabriel watched as Minnie’s nephew, Gerrard Debbington, brother to Patience, Vane’s wife, crossed the street, the bag of nuts he’d clearly been dispatched to fetch in one hand.
“Here you are.” Handing the bag to Minnie, Gerrard smiled easily.
Gabriel returned the smile. “Still keeping watch on Minnie’s pearls?”
“No more threat, thank goodness. I’m staying with Vane and Patience, but I stop by to take a stroll with Minnie now and then.”
Although just eighteen, Gerrard appeared older, his assurance in part due to his brother-in-law’s influence; it was Vane’s elegant hand Gabriel detected behind Gerrard’s fashionable town rig. At close to six feet, Gerrard had the height and breadth of shoulder to carry the austere lines. The rest of his appearance, his easygoing demeanor, his directness and self-confidence, could largely be laid at his sister’s door; Patience Cynster was the very epitome of directness.
Gabriel opened his mouth, then quickly shut it. He needed to think. Gerrard was, after all, only eighteen, and there were risks involved. And he was Patience’s brother.
“We’re going to look in at Asprey’s.” Minnie fixed him with an innocent look. “Perhaps there’s some little thing you need from there?”
Gabriel returned the look with one equally innocent. “Not at present.” The image of the countess drifted through his mind. Perhaps, after she’d rewarded him, he would reward her. Diamonds would look well on such a tall woman. Filing the thought away, he bowed. “I won’t keep you.”
With a humph softened by a smile, Minnie nodded. Timms took her arm and they moved on. With a grin and a nod, Gerrard turned to follow.
Gabriel hesitated, then called, “Gerrard?”
Gerrard turned back. “Yes?”
“Do you know where Vane is at present?”
“If you want him, try Manton’s. I know he was going to meet Devil there sometime this afternoon.”
With a brisk salute, Gabriel headed for Manton’s.
“It’ll have to be August.” Devil extended his arm and pulled the trigger. His shot was an inch off the center of the target.
Vane squinted down the alley. “That seems awfully close. Is Richard sure?”
“As I understood it, it’s Catriona who’s sure. Richard, at this stage, isn’t sure of anything.”
Moving past Devil to take his shot, Vane grimaced. “I know the feeling.”
“What’s this?” Lounging against the partition wall, Gabriel fixed them with a look of mock dismay. “A lesson for expectant fathers?”
Devil grinned. “Come to learn?”
“Thank you, no.”
Grimly, Vane sighted down the long barrel of his pistol. “You’ll come to this, too.”
Gabriel grimaced. “Someday perhaps, but spare me my innocence. No details, please.”
Both Honoria, Devil’s duchess, and Patience were pregnant. While Devil was displaying the detachment of one who’d been through the wringer before, Vane was already edgy. He pulled the trigger. As the smoke cleared, they saw his bullet had barely nicked the target.
Devil sent the attendant to get another pistol, then turned to Gabriel. “I assume you’ve heard that our mothers have determined on a special family gathering to welcome Catriona into the family?”
“She’s definitely coming down, then?”
Devil nodded. “Mama had a letter from her yesterday. Catriona’s decreed she can travel until the end of August. What with Honoria due early July and Patience later that month, it’ll have to be August for this celebration of theirs.”
Gabriel blinked, replaying Devil’s words. “Don’t tell me Richard’s joined your club.”
“He has indeed.” Vane grinned evilly. “Now all it needs is for Demon and Flick to get back from their wanderings with Flick blooming, so to speak, and just think where that’ll leave you come August.”
Gabriel swore. “I’d better warn Lucifer. Mama is going to be impossible.”
“You could, of course, cheer her up.”
The look Gabriel leveled at Devil was that of a man betrayed. “That is a truly horrible thought.”
Devil laughed. “Strange to say one gets used to the state.” One black brow arched suggestively. “There are compensations.”
“There’d have to be,” Gabriel muttered.
“But if you didn’t come to discuss our impending paternity, what brings you here?” Vane, too, settled his shoulders against the wall.
“A swindle.” Briefly, Gabriel outlined Crowley’s scheme, avoiding all mention of the countess.
“Crowley.” Devil cocked a brow at Gabriel. “Wasn’t he the one with the investment in some diamond mine?” Gabriel nodded.
“You exposed that one, too, didn’t you?” Vane asked.
Again Gabriel nodded. “Which is why I need help this time, and not from you or the others.” He looked at Vane. “I need someone not obviously connected.”
Vane looked puzzled; Gabriel quickly explained the necessity of learning the precise details of the offer made to investors.
“And . . . ?” Vane prompted.
“What do you think about using Gerrard Debbington?”
Vane blinked. “As your sheep?”
“I haven’t been seen about with him, and if he gives Minnie’s address rather than yours, then there’s no reason anyone will immediately connect him with any Cynsters. I know Crowley’s not au fait with the ton—he uses Archie Douglas as his source in that arena, and Archie wouldn’t know Gerrard from Adam.”
“True.”
“And even if Archie did ask around, checking Gerrard’s background, all he’d hear is that Gerrard is reasonably wealthy and owns a nice manor in Derbyshire. He wouldn’t think to ask after Gerrard’s connections, or Gerrard’s sister.”
“Or Gerrard’s guardians.”
“Precisely. Gerrard appears distinctly older than he is.” Vane considered. “I can’t see any reason why Gerrard couldn’t develop an interest in gold mining.” He looked at Gabriel. “Provided, of course, that we don’t tell Patience.”
“I hadn’t imagined doing so.”
“Well, then.” Vane straightened away from the wall as the attendant slipped back into the alley. “I’ll explain the matter to Gerrard, if you like, and see what he thinks. If he’s agreeable, I’ll send him to see you.”
Gabriel nodded. “Do.” Picking up the extra pistol the attendant had brought, he hefted it. “So what’s the score?”
They fired ten rounds. Gabriel beat the others easily, a fact that made him frown. “Marriage,” he observed, “has dulled your edges.”
Vane shrugged. “It’s just a game—hardly important. Marriage has a way of rescripting your priorities.”
Gabriel stared at him, then looked at Devil, who merely looked back, making no attempt to correct Vane’s strange thinking.
Reading his thoughts in his eyes, Devil grinned. “Start thinking about it, for as sure as August follows July, your time will come.”
The words froze Gabriel, just as they had at Demon’s wedding; again, a tingle of presentiment glissaded down his spine. He managed to suppress his reactive shiver. Adopting an easy expression and his usual debonair manner, he accompanied the other two outside.
At five o’clock, Gabriel was idly scanning the Gentleman’s Magazine when someone knocked on his door. Listening, he heard Chance’s footsteps all but dance up the hall; smiling, he returned to the magazine.
A minute later, the parlor door opened. Chance stood in the doorway. “A Mr. Deb
bington to see you, m’lord.” Gabriel inwardly sighed. “Thank you, Chance, but I’m not a lord.”
Chance’s brow furrowed. “I thought as how all the Quality was lords.”
“No.”
“Oh.” Catching a glimpse of Gerrard, waiting at his elbow to get past, Chance stepped aside, and all but shooed Gerrard over the threshold. “Well, here you are. Do you want me to pour you some brandy?”
“No. That will be all.”
“Very good, sir.” With commendable aplomb, Chance bowed himself out, and remembered to shut the door.
Gerrard stared at the closed door, then looked questioningly at Gabriel.
“He’s in training.” Gabriel waved Gerrard to a chair. “Would you like some brandy?”
Gerrard grinned. “No. Patience would be sure to notice.” Once at ease in the chair, he met Gabriel’s gaze. “Vane told me about this swindle you’re trying to expose. I’d be happy to help. What do you need me to do?”
Omitting all mention of the countess, Gabriel outlined his plan.
At noon the next day, Gabriel descended the steps of the Burlington Hotel, well satisfied with the arrangements he’d made. His plan was in motion and developing nicely. Soon the countess would be his.
Turning into Bond Street, he looked ahead. His steps slowed.
Alathea stood on the corner of Bruton Street, hanging back by the shop facade, her gaze on the crowd surrounding a nut vendor.
She’d always been particularly partial to nuts—and she was clearly debating pushing into the crowd to secure a bag. At this hour, the rowdy crew about the vendor’s stall was composed of young sprigs and boisterous bucks.
Lips setting, Gabriel had crossed the street before he’d even thought of what he was doing—or going to do. The memory of his last encounter with Alathea flashed—too hotly—into his mind. His jaw set more firmly. Perhaps a bag of nuts would go some small way toward mending his fences with her.
He could hardly excuse his reaction to her by explaining he’d confused her with another lady.
A Secret Love Page 10