“Thank you, Anna, but I’m afraid that I don’t have much choice.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“There’s nobody else.”
Her maid did not respond to that, for which Gabriella was grateful. Especially since she knew she was lying, not only to Anna, but to herself. Because the truth . . . the real truth, was a terrifying thing to face, her options impossibly difficult to consider. And Huntley . . . he was a friend, nothing more. Their acquaintance had been brief. To even consider marrying him, with all the consequences that might follow, would be mad.
More mad than marrying a man whom you don’t even like?
Already, in little more than one week, she felt a greater connection to Huntley than she’d ever done to Fielding. Huntley had actually listened to her, shown an interest, and been intrigued by her curious passion for insects.
She stepped through the parting in the hedge, distracted by all the worries that crowded her mind. Could she break her connection to Fielding? Did she dare to? She had no other plan than him. And her parents would never allow her to marry Huntley. Provided he asked, of course, which was rather unlikely since he had so much else to think about at the moment than acquiring a wife.
A movement at the edge of her vision halted her thoughts on the matter. She instinctively turned toward it, almost stumbling the moment she spotted him.
“Goodness,” Anna murmured.
Indeed, Gabriella thought, for there was the duke sprawled out on the grass, eyes closed, and with a very satisfied smile upon his lips. The pose was one of complete relaxation, no hint of tension about him at all.
“Wait here,” Gabriella whispered to Anna as she took a step closer, studying him as she approached—appreciating the opportunity to see him at rest. But out here? On the grass? It was most unusual. Her gaze dropped to one of his hands, palm down in the grass, the fingers gently moving as though caressing the ground. The movement produced a flexing of tendons, a tightening of skin across reddened knuckles. He’d been boxing again.
And just like that, the image of him standing before her, bare chested while sweat ran down the sides of his face, flew to the front of her mind. She gasped. He opened his eyes, staring straight up into her face. His mouth tilted, and then he smiled. “You’re watching me again.”
Heat rushed to her face, burning her until she feared she might combust. “I . . .” What on earth had she been thinking not to make her presence known? “I didn’t want to disturb you.” A silly excuse. She’d wanted to get a good look at him—a private look at him.
He held her gaze just long enough to make her cringe with embarrassment. “You should rise,” she suddenly blurted. “A gentleman doesn’t remain seated or . . .” she waved her hand “lying down, when a lady arrives. He stands up and greets her properly.”
He seemed to consider this and for a second she thought he would follow her advice, but then he said, “How about you come down here instead?”
“What?” She gaped at him.
He patted the grass by his side, then raised a challenging eyebrow. “I think you’ll like it.”
She didn’t doubt it for a second. But she was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. Such things weren’t done, no matter how prone one might be to spontaneity. “Your sisters will be expecting me. I ought to go and find them.”
“They’re having embroidery lessons,” Huntley said, rising onto his elbows. “Richardson arranged for Mrs. Bryant, our housekeeper, to teach them.”
“Oh. Well.” Disappointment suddenly filled her. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”
He tilted his head. She didn’t move, torn between doing the right thing and just letting go. He patted the grass once more and she glanced back at Anna, who seemed to be giving a potted plant a great deal of attention.
“If you join me, I’ll show you the beetle I found.”
She allowed herself to give in. “Very well, but just for a moment.”
He offered his hand to help her down and she accepted, the contact sending ripples of energy up her arm and into her chest. She caught her breath and lowered herself to the ground while little shivers raced down her spine at the gentle squeeze of his hand. He did not let go right away as he ought, holding her for a second longer than what was deemed proper. “You’re so soft.” The whisper breezed against her cheek, accompanied by the scraping of a callused thumb against her palm.
“I . . .” The word was more of a croak than anything else. He let her hand go, allowing her to win back some of her composure. She tried again. “I shouldn’t be here like this. With you, I mean. It’s not the least bit appropriate.”
“Your maid is here too,” he pointed out. “You’re at no risk of being ravished.”
The smile that followed was filled with so much cheekiness that it was impossible for Gabriella to refrain from laughing. “I should hope not.”
“Unless of course you’d like to be.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Your Grace.” He was making her uncomfortable again, the worst part being that she actually felt like he’d already done what he now suggested, her dream a memory based on her own imaginings, her desires . . . She licked her lips, then realized he’d followed the movement, his pupils dilating slightly as he watched. “A gentleman doesn’t say such things,” she told him sternly. If only they could find a way to revert to the conversational friendship they’d shared the day before.
He drew back a bit, his expression changing to something more debonair. “You’re bound by too many rules. If you’re not careful, you’ll just be another Society lady one day, no different from the next.”
“But . . .” She stopped herself. Perhaps he had a point? She considered the ways in which her life had changed since Victoria’s marriage. Her parents had given her more attention than ever before, and she’d faced daily reminders of how to speak and behave. “You must learn to restrain yourself,” her mother had said as she’d brought up the bumblebee incident from Gabriella’s childhood. “You must make them forget that you ever behaved so poorly.” Lessons in etiquette had followed. She’d been schooled in how to walk and how to sit, how to stand and even how to listen. And although she hadn’t thought it possible to begin with, she’d changed. Rules had become a significant part of her life—a structure that would lead her to her destination without incident. But where was the joy in that? She’d allowed herself to be molded into a creature she no longer recognized—a woman who’d forgotten how to live.
What a momentous bit of insight that was.
She glanced at Huntley and found him watching her with interest. You want more than this. Perhaps running from it was the wrong idea. Perhaps facing it would be better. “I don’t know what to do.” She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, and yet she had.
“What would you like to do?” He tilted his head. Curious.
She pressed her hand into the grass, loving the feel of each straw between her fingers. “This,” she said, and then she lay back, just as he had been doing earlier, and stared up at the sky. She could see it through between the branches and leaves of a nearby oak, a light blue color with shifting tones and worn-out clouds. Aaah. She sighed with contentment.
“There you are,” he quietly murmured. “I’ve finally found you.”
She knew what he meant. It was as though she’d rediscovered herself—the girl who’d been lost for a year had returned. But she wasn’t quite ready to talk or think of what that might mean for her future. So she caught hold of a different thought instead and said, “You impress me, Huntley.”
She sensed him shift a bit as he lay down beside her. “In what sense?”
She turned her head, her eyes meeting his across a small stretch of grass dotted by clover. It wasn’t precisely scandalous, but it certainly wasn’t proper either. Gabriella found that she no longer cared, too caught up in the intimacy—the connection she’d formed to another person. It filled a need—a craving—that had likely been there for most of her life. “The way you mana
ged to make a life for yourself after losing your parents, the way you saved your sisters and—”
“Only Amelia and Juliette,” he said. A sheen of moisture appeared at the edge of his eyes. “I lost one. Couldn’t save her.”
Gabriella’s chest contracted, squeezing until her heart ached with pain. Without thinking, she reached for his hand. “I’m sorry. So terribly sorry.”
“It happened suddenly. I wasn’t prepared and I couldn’t . . .” He swallowed hard, but he didn’t look away, holding her gaze with unyielding resolve. “She was only seven when it happened. I was twelve.”
“A child with far too great a burden to carry.” She squeezed his hand in sympathy, then moved to pull away.
He held her fast. “You should reconnect with your sister.”
“I have written to her more than once, but she never responds.”
“Were you close?”
Gabriella tried to shrug, which was difficult, given her position. “I always thought so. But then she did what she did without a word of warning. She only left me a short note.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Gabriella stared at him. “Why?”
“You were her little sister and your opinion of her mattered. That’s why she didn’t say good-bye to you in person. She just couldn’t face you.”
She considered that for a second and finally nodded. “Very well, I’ll accept that. But she could have mentioned Connolly to me before she chose to elope with him. She should have said that she planned to break her engagement with Bellmore.”
He watched her a moment, his expression signifying deep contemplation. “Let’s pretend the roles were reversed.”
“I don’t see—”
“Let’s pretend that you got engaged first. To Fielding. A fine match to everyone’s liking. But then one day, you meet someone else. A dockyard worker who reminds you what it’s like to chase your own dream, fulfill your own wants and desires.”
She stared at him, enthralled by the image he’d painted, and by him. “You were a dockyard worker?”
“I had to make my way somehow.” The air grew still between them, and then he suddenly grinned, sweeping aside the tension that had materialized out of nowhere. “Anyway, imagine that, and then imagine telling your sister that you’ve changed your mind about the earl and that you’d rather have the dockyard worker instead.”
Gabriella’s heart pounded against her chest. “I wouldn’t have trusted her to understand the way I feel.” She barely got the words out, their breathiness like a puff of air pushed toward him.
“Gabriella.” He spoke her name softly, abandoning the honorific for the very first time. “What do you want?”
A question—the most important question she’d ever been asked. Not Fielding. Never Fielding. But then what? She met his gaze. You. Possibly you. She couldn’t say that, so she sat up instead and looked for Anna. “I should probably go. Mama will be home soon.” She rose to her feet and he got up as well, brushing off leaves and bits of grass. “Please tell your sisters that I will return tomorrow. Ten o’ clock.”
He crossed to the terrace step and retrieved a small wooden box that he promptly handed to her. “This is for you.”
Unable to hide her surprise, she accepted the offering and peaked inside, instantly smiling at the sight of a shimmering green mint beetle. “Remarkable.”
“Do you like it?” It was touching how shy he suddenly sounded, this man who was always so strong and confident. He cared about her opinion now. That much was clear.
“Yes. They’re usually smaller than this one. Where on earth did you find it?”
“In the herb garden.” He pointed to a low wall that jotted out from the other side of the house. “I was investigating my property and spotted the fellow. Made me think of you.”
It was suddenly impossible for her to speak, the emotions he stirred in her threatening to tip her over. So she stood completely still and stared down at the beetle, afraid of meeting Huntley’s gaze—afraid she might cry. “He’s . . .” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
He might as well have pushed her. Her head jolted back as she sucked in some air. “How wrong you are.” She snapped the box shut and pressed it to her chest. “There is no better gift than this.” Calling for Anna she spun on her heel and hurried away, chased by the feeling of imminent change.
Chapter 15
“You would be fortunate to win her,” Richardson said, his voice breaking the silence and making Raphe wince. He hadn’t noticed his secretary’s arrival.
“What makes you think I’ve an interest?”
With a chuckle, Richardson came to stand beside him. “One look at you right now is all it takes.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Raphe turned to face his secretary—a man whom he’d come to consider a friend more than employee. The same could be said of Humphreys, although not Pierson. “I have more important things on my mind than considering a courtship.”
“I suppose that explains why you’ve asked your sisters to make themselves scarce whenever Lady Gabriella comes to call?”
That got Raphe’s attention. “How did you know?”
“All it takes is a pair of eyes and a bit of common sense.”
Raphe pressed his lips together. “I just want to get to know her better. That’s all.” He would never reveal the effect Gabriella had started to have on him—her pink lips as tempting as ripe fruit on a summer’s day, her porcelain skin a bloody torture device, inciting the most deplorable contemplations. Hell, he’d had a difficult time sleeping last night, his body tight with the memory of how she’d looked at him in the courtyard, as though she hadn’t known whether to devour him or run.
“Really?” Richardson sounded entirely too skeptical for Raphe’s liking.
“Of course it is!”
Liar.
“A pity,” Richardson told him. “I personally think she would make you an excellent wife. And there is no doubt in my mind that you would be better for her than that fop Fielding.”
Raphe almost choked on a laugh. “Surely, you jest.”
Arching a brow, Richardson met Raphe’s gaze. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Huntley. You’re a good man with a sense of normalcy that the ton lacks. Lady Gabriella—”
“Would run screaming in the other direction if she knew all there is to know about my past.” Raphe inhaled deeply. “Besides, her parents would never give their approval. It would be a wasted effort to even consider the possibility.”
“So you’ve told her part of it then? About your past?”
“Yes. Most of it really, just not the part about Guthrie.”
“Hmm. And how did she react? Was she horrified? Appalled?”
“No.” He recalled the sensitive look in her eyes when he’d told her, the pain there when he’d mentioned Bethany. “Far from it.”
Nodding, Richardson said, “I’d recommend focusing on that then. Trust her to understand the rest of it.” When Raphe said nothing, he added, “In the meantime, I thought I’d suggest an outing tomorrow afternoon. You and your sisters have not been out much since your arrival here. We can go for a bit of shopping on Bond Street, and then for an ice at Gunther’s?”
Raphe eyed him with hesitation. “I don’t know . . .”
His caution prompted Richardson to ask, “Do you really wish to hide away in this house?”
“No. Not really. It is just—” Oh, how could he possibly explain? “What if something bad comes of it?”
Richardson stared at him in surprise. “Something bad? From an excursion in Mayfair?” He looked dubious. “I don’t see any threat, as long as we venture out together. Your sisters will have our protection, if that is your concern.”
Pushing aside his fear, Raphe allowed a faint smile. Did Richardson not realize that there existed threats beyond anyone’s protection? “I worry about Juliette’s health,” he admitted.
“Really? She doesn
’t look sickly to me.”
“No. But she has been quite susceptible to illness in the past.”
Richardson nodded with understanding. “It was just a suggestion, Your Grace. If you think it best for your sisters to remain at home, I completely understand.”
Inhaling deeply, Raphe expelled a lengthy breath. Richardson was right. They had spent far too much time indoors—a pity, considering all there was to see in this part of town. In St. Giles it had been easier. Juliette had happily remained at home with the few books he’d managed to acquire, but she’d also been younger when he’d initially demanded she stay indoors after barely recovering from the same sickness that had claimed Bethany. Terrified of losing her and unable to afford a good doctor, Raphe had insisted she stay at home, away from possible infection.
But now they were here, in a place where people would never think to bring their illnesses out into public. The risk of her getting sick was small. And besides, she would have to venture out soon if she was to make her debut. Forcing himself to consider her wants and needs, he told Richardson, “Thank you for your suggestion. I think we would all enjoy getting out of the house.”
A slight drizzle dampened the air the following morning, but that did not deter Raphe and his sisters from setting out with Richardson. Seated across from his sisters in the phaeton, Raphe couldn’t stop from smiling in response to their giddy expressions. They’d talked of little else since he’d brought the subject up last night during supper, their endless comments and questions prompting him to retire early after claiming a headache. But the truth of the matter was that he was thrilled to bring some happiness to their lives, even by such simple means.
“You mustn’t forget yourselves,” Richardson warned in a jovial tone when the carriage finally drew to a halt and Amelia jolted forward. “Remember what Lady Gabriella has taught you. Today’s outing will be good practice.”
“For all of us,” Raphe said, amused by Amelia’s eagerness to escape the carriage so she could explore the shops. He reached for the door, opening it. “Allow me to alight first so that I may help you down.”
A Most Unlikely Duke Page 15