Gabriel smiled easily. He would enjoy this evening, after all. “Absolutely. This should prove to be a memorable night.”
An hour later, Clarrissa’s frustrations showed. Never before had he tarried so long over their meal. In fact, often the food went untouched; yet, tonight, he made no move to take his willing companion.
“Rumors have it you plan to marry soon, my Lord,” Clarrissa said coyly. “When you called upon me this evening, I assumed you wished a taste of freedom before pronouncing your wedding vows.” She slid her long muscular leg from the opening in her silken gown.
Gabriel smoked a cheroot. When he had entered Clarrissa’s chambers, he had all the intentions of enjoying the lady’s renowned passions, but somehow her luscious body held no interest. He was a man. Gabriel could easily respond to the lady’s femininity, but, in reality, he could just as easily walk away. “I thought to enjoy your other fine qualities,” he said diplomatically.
“Then you do not wish to know the pleasures of my bed?” Clarrissa said with a frown.
Gabriel blew out a puff of smoke and watched it dissipate into the room’s shadows before answering. “Perhaps later.” After another awkward pause, he asked, “Tell me what you see for your future.”
“I do not understand, my Lord. Is this some sort of game you play?” She jerked the gown’s opening closed.
Gabriel leaned back leisurely into the chaise’s cushions. “No game, my Dear. As you so aptly expressed earlier, I am soon to take a bride. It has started my thinking a great deal about my own future and curious about yours. Obviously, in such a line of work, your days are numbered. Unless, of course, you plan to succeed Minerva as the house’s mistress.”
“You practice no folly, my Lord?” Clarrissa said with a deep frown.
Gabriel smiled easily. “None whatsoever.”
Clarrissa pulled her legs up under her, as he had often seen his younger cousins sit upon the floor, while they giggled about some feminine ideas. And just as suddenly, Clarrissa’s countenance changed. She was no longer the seasoned courtesan. Rather, she was a young girl with hopes and dreams. “Then if you must know, my Lord, I wish to open a dress shop. I make all my own clothing, as well as much of what the other girls wear.”
Gabriel did not think such garments would be in high demand, but he would not dash Clarrissa’s dreams. “And will a man play a part in your future?” he said smugly.
“Oh no, my Lord!” she said honestly. “I have had all the false attentions from males I care to ever know.”
Gabriel sat up briskly. “A woman who has not need of a man? I have never known such a creature. And what makes you believe the men you have known offer false platitudes?”
Clarrissa chortled, “A man in the throes of passion? Surely, my Lord, you cannot believe he does not tell a lady what he believes she wants to hear?”
“And it is not your desire to be told you are one of God’s most lovely creatures?” he said sarcastically.
“Of course, women wish to be thought desirable. But we wish so much more from a man,” she countered.
Gabriel sat forward, “Such as?”
“Empathy, for one,” she said waspishly.
Gabriel snorted. “Empathy? What woman expects empathy from a man?”
Clarrissa huffed, “Every woman of any merit. Every woman who wants to be more than a common street whore. And perhaps even those who take their pleasures in back alleys want it. Want a man to understand the small sacrifices she makes every day. A man who comprehends the difficulties a woman faces in our Society.”
Gabriel looked off as if seeing something not there. “And do you believe I could ever be such a man?” Somehow, he thought he had stumbled upon a secret no other man shared.
Clarrissa said sadly, “I doubt it. You prefer to keep others set apart from you. Such a man could never feel empathy for another. And if you cannot do so for your fellow man, how could you think to extend such consideration to a mere woman?”
Gabriel felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. “You think so poorly of me?”
Clarrissa flinched with his tone, and for a moment, Gabriel regretted his terseness, but the lady did not retreat. It was as if Gabriel had released her from a prison of thoughts. “Tell me,” she said defiantly. “Other than your family and the men with whom you served, have you shared a part of yourself with another human being?”
Gabriel’s lips set in a tight line. He would not speak of how open he had been with Gardenia Templeton. How easily he had declared his love for the woman? How he had trusted her? Nor would he speak of how close he had come to permitting Grace Nelson into his heart. How he had wanted to find a glimmer of trust within the woman’s arms. “A gentleman must protect himself from those who would take advantage,” he said brusquely.
“So much so you cannot find charity with another?” she asked.
Gabriel did not like the timbre of this conversation. It had not been his purpose in coming to Minerva’s to analyze his life. He had come to this house to assure himself the last time he had visited Clarrissa Chamberlain she had not conceived a child. At least, that fact was what he had told himself, but Gabriel knew his quest had been a false one. Clarrissa would have never permitted herself to become enceinte, and even if she had, he would not have married her. There was only so much he was willing to sacrifice to save his title. He was a fool for still clinging to the hopes of finding love, and Gabriel despised himself for it.
He stood to straighten his waistcoat. “It is best if we continue this conversation when I have had less to drink.”
Clarrissa scrambled to her feet to stop his exit. “I apologize, my Lord. I meant no offense. You asked for an honest response,” she said in her defense.
He knew Minerva would think it odd he departed so quickly, and the house’s mistress would blame Clarrissa. “I will settle my account with Minerva.” He caressed the courtesan’s cheek. “There will be something special for you.”
“But I have displeased you, my Lord,” she said contritely.
“On the contrary, my Dear. You have given me much upon which to dwell. The most precious gift with which you have ever shared with me.” He kissed her forehead before leaving the room. After assuring Minerva he had truly forgotten a previous engagement, Gabriel scribbled a quick note for Lexford and then summoned his carriage. He stepped into the damp mist that had blanketed London’s streets. He stood looking out into the fog and considering what a woman thought he should know about her species when a warning shiver ran down his spine a second too late. His attacker brought the club down on Gabriel’s injured shoulder. The pain ricocheted down his arm, but his honed reflexes had saved him a worst fate. He had sidestepped to counter the man’s movements, causing the cudgel to slide across his collarbone rather than to split open his skull.
Gabriel countered with a well-placed thrust to the man’s nose, crushing the bones and sending his attacker reeling. He wanted to kill the dirty street thug, but he wanted to know more who had made him a target.
“My Lord?” his footman appeared from the dark. “Are you well, Sir?”
His assailant’s bloody nose oozed over Gabriel’s leather gloves, but he held the man firmly against the building with a strong forearm. “Go inside and rouse Lord Lexford from the lady’s bed. Tell him I require his assistance immediately.”
*
As she raced along the country road, Grace had the good sense to keep a watchful eye on the way she had come, but no one else stirred. Other than the occasional barking dog, she heard nothing. She repeatedly congratulated herself on personally sending her belongings on to Sleaford. In fact, she had never unpacked her things when they had arrived from Scotland. Mrs. O’Boyle had arranged Grace’s new position faster than anticipated.
She had asked Geoffrey about returning the Averettes’ books, but when her brother had gone on a tirade regarding her unworthiness, she had decided to shoulder the expense herself. Grace thanked her lucky stars she had told her brother and
sister very little of her next post. She would not have Geoffrey know of her whereabouts. Grace hated the idea of leaving without a proper farewell, but her sister was safe for the time being. Safer than Grace.
As she neared the village’s coaching inn, Grace slowed her steps. An inn presented a different sort of danger for a woman alone. Geoffrey and Lord Spectre had drunk themselves into a sound sleep, but many of Geoffrey’s friends reportedly kept late hours over a hand of cards in the inn’s common room.
Hoisting her bags closer, Grace circled the building to enter through the door leading to the stables. Mr. Arnold, the inn’s proprietor, sat at the bar with his head down. A soft gurgle in the back of his throat indicated the man slept. Two of the regulars also snored away the night. Thankfully, no one else appeared to be about. Grace shot a quick glance to the clock above the hearth. She had made it with a quarter hour to spare. She smartly fell back into the shadows and waited for the mail coach.
A few minutes later, she held her breath as the inn reluctantly stirred to life. Only when she was certain it was time for the coach to depart did Grace step from her hiding place.
“Miss Nelson?” Mr. Arnold said as she stepped up beside him. “Are ye leaving us so soon, Miss?”
Grace replaced a stray lock of hair into her hastily fastened chignon. “I am afraid so, Mr. Arnold. I have a new position and must be on my way.”
“Where to then?” he asked as he tossed the mail pouch to the driver.
“London.” She handed him the necessary fare.
Arnold stamped her ticket and then escorted Grace to the coach. “You will have the carriage to yourself,” he said as he braced her on the step. “At least, until the next stop. Not many travel at this hour.”
Grace just nodded her gratitude. She knew he was curious as to why no one had seen her safely to the inn. It did not matter. She would find refuge in London while she waited for the duties of her next post. Geoffrey certainly would not waste the time or the money it would take to seek his sister on London’s streets. She could spend a week with exploring the city’s museums and galleries and then disappear into the English countryside.
*
Gabriel had permitted Shepherd to question the man he and Lexford had wrestled into Gabriel’s carriage while the governmental surgeon had seen to Gabriel’s shoulder.
“Badly bruised,” the man had pronounced as he treated a few of Gabriel’s cuts, “but you will heal quickly.”
Yet, Gabriel had barely heard the physician. His mind raced with the thought that someone had attempted to kill him–AGAIN. Why now? The phrase beat out a staccato. Why now? He had returned to England over two years prior, and other than when he had gone on a mission for Shepherd, he had had no contentious interactions with anyone. Not even an argument over cards.
“Are you well?” Lexford asked as he slipped into the room with the physician’s exit.
Gabriel forced himself into action. He stood to slip his shirt on over his head. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Then he looked at the concerned countenance of his friend. “Bloody hell, Lexford. It makes no sense.”
From behind his back, the viscount produced a decanter of brandy and two teacups. Gabriel recognized Shepherd’s mark on the liquid’s container. “I have no answers. Only questions,” his friend said as he sat the cups on the table and poured the amber drink. He extended the dainty china toward Gabriel. “You must know we are all part of this. You do not have to face this madness alone.”
His friend’s words had caught Gabriel off guard. He had expected the viscount to bombard him with unanswerable questions. Instead, Lexford had offered a pledge of loyalty. Of respect. He had acquaintances who would not turn from him even if Gabriel had committed the greatest of transgressions. Somehow, that knowledge provided him solace.
Before he could respond, Shepherd entered. Solemnly, he surveyed the scene, and Gabriel noted the slight twitch of the man’s lips when he spotted the drink Lexford had pilfered from Shepherd’s personal stock. “Did you learn anything useful?” Gabriel pleaded. The panic had returned, and he required information.
“Not much, I fear, but we will follow up on a few of the details. For now, your attacker will be going nowhere,” Shepherd said as he sat in a nearby chair.
Lexford asked, “Should I leave? Do you wish to discuss this matter in private?”
Gabriel shook his head in the negative. “Before this is over, I suspect that I will require the Realm’s support.” To Shepherd, he added, “Did my assailant say anything upon which we can act?”
Shepherd leaned forward to press his point. “Your man says a toff hired him to do you harm. Nearly a week prior. Although he is dressed as one of London’s seedier occupants, your attacker has been following you since before your return to the City. Said his employer put him on your trail when you were spotted in Lancashire.”
Gabriel’s heart lurched with possibilities. Could the man he had seen in the garden at Foresthill with Miss Nelson have been the “toff” his attacker had described? “Is that all?”
Shepherd paused before adding, “There was a woman in the carriage with the gentleman, and she seemed most anxious her companion find you and soon.”
Chapter Eleven
Trying to pretend that he had no cares but those of a man seeking a wife had been more difficult than Gabriel had expected. Despite considering it an effort based in futility, the Roses had insisted he continue his survey of former lovers. Uncharacteristically, Lady Sarah Underwood had refused to see him. She had managed to bring a wealthy merchant to toe the line, and the lady sent word Mr. Terrell knew nothing of her past. With good manners, Gabriel accepted her dismissal. If by marrying the shipping entrepreneur, Lady Sarah had found the security she required, then he would wish her well. Her husband had died unexpectedly and had left Lady Underwood with no means of support. With her new marriage, Lady Sarah would live on Society’s fringes, but the woman would know a new kind of acceptance.
Margaret Early’s temper had surprised him. Gabriel had thought the opera dancer had understood he would provide her with a certain income, but he had no intention of making the lady his mistress. He had always told Margaret to choose a protector–that he would hold no objections. Yet, when he attempted to ask her the type of questions he had asked Clarrissa, Maggie had exploded. She called him every vile name her street education had added to her vocabulary. Then she proceeded to lob several heavy crystal cylinders at his head. He managed to escape without injury; however, Mr. Sanders threatened to burn Gabriel’s jacket. It reeked of several cheap perfumes.
Finally, on the third day, he had made his way to Mrs. Winslow’s small home on Mayfair’s outskirts. Before he arrived, he knew the lady could not be carrying his child. Mrs. Winslow was, at least, a decade older than he. However, he had always found her elegantly beautiful: Deborah Winslow was one of those women who aged slowly.
“Oh, Gabriel,” she said with that slight Irish accent she had worked so hard to conceal. Mrs. Winslow had lost her husband some twenty years prior. A bit of a bluestocking, the lady had sponsored numerous excavations of ancient ruins, and Gabriel had found peace in just listening to her speak on the world’s wonders. “Have you come to say your farewells?” She handed Gabriel a glass of champagne.
“Something along those lines.” He sipped the liquid as he reclined against the cushions of an overstuffed chaise. “I have promised my aunts I will do my duty.”
The widow chuckled lightly. “Some woman shall be counting herself very fortunate.” She sat at the other end of the chaise and draped his booted feet over her lap. Gabriel liked that easiness about her. Mrs. Winslow never turned away from a man. A bit of boot black might stain her gown, but the lady made no fuss. “I would wish to be twenty years younger. Then you might consider a too thin, budding intellect worthy of the Marquis of Godown.”
“We would make a good match,” he said evenly.
Her chuckle became more pronounced. “We might at that,” she said diplomatically.
“Then again, twenty years ago, I was not so astute. I am not certain I could overlook your obsessive moodiness.”
“Obsessive moodiness?” he said incredulously.
“Well, perhaps, that is not the correct phrase,” Mrs. Winslow said with a bit of amusement.
Gabriel abruptly sat up. His attention fully engaged. “Then what is the correct phrase?”
The lady set his feet on the floor. She stood to refill her glass. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”
Gabriel forced his countenance not to display the turmoil filling his chest. “Am I such an ogre, Deborah?”
“An ogre? No. Never that. A man unable to forgive himself. Most definitely.”
Irritated, Gabriel accused, “You know nothing of my life.”
“See, I was accurate. A young woman would never understand such a complicated man. Would never see beyond those handsome features.” She sat across from him. “Gabriel, you have such capacity for love; yet, you have kept love at a distance. You have permitted a venomous relationship to ruin any opportunity for happiness. Despite the fact you have never uttered the woman’s Christian name since the day you walked away from her, you have given Gardenia Templeton domain over your past, your present, and your future.”
“Bloody hell, Deborah. I assure you I have left Miss Templeton’s duplicity behind,” he insisted.
“Have you?” she said sagely. “I certainly pray your assertion is true. Otherwise, you have doomed not only yourself but also the woman you choose as your wife. You may wish to wallow in your grief, but the future marquise deserves better. She deserves to know the depth of your love.”
“People of my rank do not marry for love. Convenience is the name of the marriage game. Surely you understand the concept.”
Deborah Winslow shook her head in denial. “Mr. Winslow died too soon, but the five short years we had together were the most exquisite I have ever known. I would take one day with Henry over all the others I have lived. One day to feel his arms about me again. If your marriage does not leave you feeling the same about your new marquise, then you have wasted your gift.”
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 16