by Amelia Grey
The picture he was painting for her sounded divine, but she didn’t want him to know that, so she gave him a queer look and offered, “But I want all that in my life, my lord. I enjoy civilization. I like seeing people and talking to them. I love to attend carnivals, circuses, and all the traveling shows that come to London.”
The assembly was called while she was still speaking, so Lord Brentwood took hold of her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. “You will get used to the quietness of country life.”
The old Gabrielle would have simply acquiesced to his statement and remained quiet, but she was no longer willing to be agreeable or dutiful simply for the sake of being the way others thought she should be. She said, “I don’t want to get used to it, my lord. I want to be free to make my own decisions about where I shall live as well as whom I should marry.”
“That decision was taken away from you when you were found in my arms, Lady Gabrielle.”
She scoffed at his comment. “No, my lord. That decision was taken from me the moment I was born the duke’s daughter.”
They fell silent as other dancers took the floor and surrounded them. A short introduction was played, and Gabrielle realized they would be dancing the waltz. She would have much preferred the quadrille or an even faster dance, where there wouldn’t have been the constant touching. But perhaps all was not lost. She would take this opportunity and use it to show him why she would not be a good wife for him.
He took her hand in his and then placed the other on her back, while she lifted hers and laid it on his broad, strong shoulder. The music started, and on the proper note, Lord Brentwood took a gliding step forward. Gabrielle purposefully didn’t move her foot in time, and he stepped on her toes. He tried not to put his weight down on her and almost tripped himself trying to keep from hurting her.
“Ouch,” she whispered, not realizing it would hurt so much to have him land on her foot.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said.
“No, no. It was my fault,” she said and quickly missed another step, causing the viscount to step on her toes again.
“Nonsense,” he said, trying to be polite. “I’ll take smaller steps.”
As soon as he said the words, she stepped on his foot. “I’m sorry,” she said and then took a huge step backward and deliberately bumped into the couple behind her.
Lord Brentwood quickly guided her away from the middle of the dance floor and to the outer edge of the dancers. “I just assumed you would know how to waltz,” he said.
She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling when she saw the confused look on his face.
“I do,” she said honestly. “Perhaps I’m simply not as good at it as you are. I used to be a very good dancer, but tonight I seem to have two left feet.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” he mumbled. “We’ll muddle through.”
And so they did. Trying not to dance properly wasn’t as easy as Gabrielle thought it would be. She had been dancing since she was a young girl, and it was second nature to her. She could waltz as gracefully as anyone, so she had to pay close attention to the beat of the music so she could deliberately miss steps. At one point, she started forward rather than stepping back. She remembered how irritating it was once when she danced with a young man who counted the steps under his breath, so she whispered, “One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four,” in time to the beat of the music.
She knew her constant mumbling had gotten to him when he said, “Lady Gabrielle, if you will just concentrate on following me, there will be no need for you to count the steps.”
“Oh,” she said and gave him a sheepish smile. It made her feel positively wonderful to be in control of the dance and to cause him a few moments of frustration.
By the time the music stopped, her toes were hurting from being mashed by Lord Brentwood’s much larger feet, and she was certain her beige satin pumps would be beyond repair; still she smiled. All in all, it was a small price to pay if it helped the viscount see that she would be far from a perfect wife for him.
Lord Brentwood bowed, and she curtseyed before they left the dance floor.
When she looked into his eyes, a warm, tingling sensation washed over her, and that made her feel a bit guilty for having deceived him, even though it was necessary. “I’m sorry I didn’t waltz very well.”
He studied her face for a moment before he leaned forward just a fraction, lowered his voice, and said, “Not a problem, Lady Gabrielle, I’ll see to it you have a few more lessons after we marry, and soon you will be outdancing even the most accomplished dancer.”
That wasn’t what she expected to hear. Suddenly a charming light glinted in his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at her that led her to believe he might know she had only been pretending not to know how to waltz.
“I see my brothers have arrived at the party. Do you mind coming with me to meet them?”
Gabrielle looked in the direction of his gaze and saw the two tall and powerfully built men entering the drawing room. They were the epitome of identical twins, from their same height, coloring, and features, to every detail of their evening clothing being exact in color and style.
“Not at all,” she said. “Your brothers are very handsome.”
A queer expression settled on his face. “You think they are handsome?”
“Very much so, don’t you?”
He laughed. “I suppose I do.”
“They look so much alike, how do you tell them apart?”
“In appearance, even I have trouble telling them apart sometimes unless one is wearing his hair longer than the other, as they are now. If you’ll notice, Iverson’s hair is a little longer in back than Matson’s.”
“Thank you for telling me the difference,” she said, studying the two men. “But I do believe what others are saying to be true. From this distance, they look nothing like you.”
“Really? I always thought I was a handsome blade, too.”
Gabrielle gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You are quite handsome, too. I meant they—”
His eyes sparkled with laughter, and he said, “I know what you meant. My brothers take after our mother’s side of the family instead of our father’s.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, grateful he hadn’t taken offense at her offhanded comment and seemed more than willing to laugh off her reference to the fact the twins looked nothing like their older brother.
He stopped and looked at her for a moment before they reached the gentlemen. “One thing I would ask of you. My brothers don’t know of your father’s threat to ruin their business. I want to keep it that way.”
“If you wish, but why is it so important to you?”
“Because if they knew, they would move heaven and earth to prove your father wrong and make their business prosper. I would rather not get a war going between your father and my brothers, and I don’t think you want that either.”
“Heavens, no.”
“Then we are in agreement that it won’t be mentioned.”
“Absolutely, and just so you know, I never planned to mention it.”
He grinned and said, “And I didn’t think you would, but I had to be certain.”
The viscount presented Mr. Iverson Brentwood and Mr. Matson Brentwood to her. It wasn’t just the longer length of Iverson’s hair that made him different from Matson. She sensed something about his air of nonchalance that immediately told her this man was a rogue of the highest order. Mr. Iverson Brentwood looked her directly in the eyes and lifted his chin slightly, as if to challenge her to try to figure him out, but she had no desire to do so. She greeted him pleasantly and then turned her attention to the more affable Mr. Matson Brentwood. The last thing Gabrielle wanted to do was to match wits with another roguish Brentwood.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lady Gabrielle,” Mr. Matson Brentwood said with a much more engaging smile than his twin.
Gabrielle returned his smile. �
�Would that be from Lord Brentwood, the gossips, or from the scandal sheets?”
He chuckled. “All three.”
She smiled. “Judging by some of the gossip I’ve heard about myself tonight, I can only imagine the kind of wagers that must be going on at White’s and other clubs about me and Lord Brentwood.”
Matson gave a quick glance to Lord Brentwood, as if to ask if the subject was acceptable, before he answered. “It’s true there are quite a few, but Iverson and I are not strangers to scandal ourselves. Perhaps you’ve heard some of the gossip about us.”
“Yes, more than once, but I never put stock in gossip.” She looked over at Lord Brentwood and said, “Besides, now that I’ve gotten a closer look at the two of you, I can tell that both of you look just like Lord Brentwood.”
Matson lifted his eyebrows and quirked his head slightly to the side. “Really?”
Iverson added, “If true, you are the first to think that.” He looked over at Brentwood and asked, “Does she wear spectacles when she’s not at parties?”
Lord Brentwood grinned. “Perhaps that is why I have such a difficult time getting her to see things my way.”
While his brothers laughed at his remark, Gabrielle smiled and took the time to look each of them in the eyes before she answered Mr. Iverson Brentwood with, “How could you not favor? All three of you are tall, powerful-looking, and handsome.”
Lord Brentwood and his brothers laughed again, and Gabrielle was suddenly aware of how natural it seemed for her to be so at ease with these three gentlemen.
“There you are, Lord Brentwood, I’ve been looking for you. I simply must speak with you about a pressing matter.”
Gabrielle turned to see the Earl of Snellingly walking up to them, holding a lace handkerchief in one hand and a small leather-bound book in the other. The points of his collar were so stiff and high, his head was cocked back in an odd-looking position. His neckcloth looked to be tied in a fancy triple bow with wide ends that flared and covered a good portion of his dark pink waistcoat. The cuffs of his shirt had so many layers of lace, his fingertips were barely visible.
After proper introductions to the twins, who promptly excused themselves, Lord Snellingly turned to Gabrielle and, taking her hand in his, said, “Every time I see you, you remind me of a slice of warm sunshine on a cold and dreary day.”
He bent and kissed the back of her gloved hand. Gabrielle worried he might choke himself, because his collar looked so tight.
“Thank you, my lord,” Gabrielle said as she slowly pulled her hand from his grasp.
Lord Brentwood eyed the earl warily and moved closer to Gabrielle. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Snellingly?”
“Oh, yes,” Lord Snellingly said and then sniffed into his handkerchief as he took a step closer to the viscount. “Pardon me for interrupting your tête-à-tête with the most charming Lady Gabrielle, my lord, but her beauty made me forget my sorrow for a moment. I thought perhaps you could help me, as we have the same troubles.”
Lord Brentwood’s eyes drew together with curiosity. “What’s that?”
“My darling little spaniel, Josephine, ran away from me yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to find her. I heard you have been walking the parks and streets for a week, annoying everyone, trying to find your dog. I thought perhaps you might have seen her.”
The viscount’s eyes darkened and narrowed. His shoulders shifted. “Did you say I’ve been annoying everyone?”
“Annoying? No, no.” The earl’s eyes widened, and he sniffed again. “Well, yes, I might have said that, but forgive me. I’m sure I meant to say asking everyone. You’ve been asking everyone, and no, surely not everyone, but some people. Again, forgive me, my lord, as I’m overwrought because Josephine hasn’t returned home yet. Please tell me you have seen her.”
Lord Brentwood took a step back. “Naturally I’ve seen several stray dogs in the park, but I don’t recall seeing a spaniel.”
Lord Snellingly rolled his eyes up and put his hand to his forehead. “Oh, it pains me to hear you say that. Are you quite sure? Her coat is an exquisite shade of cream with a smattering of golden-brown spots on her back and a large one that circles down the side of her face and over her left ear. She has a good disposition, seldom barks, and is sweet and loving to everyone she meets.”
“I’m sure she is. I haven’t seen Josephine, but if I do I’ll catch her and bring her to you.”
“Thank you. You don’t think it’s true what some people are saying about Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, do you? Do you think he has stolen our dogs and is keeping them for himself?”
Lord Brentwood shifted his stance restlessly and cleared his throat before saying, “I can assure you that is not the case with Prissy, Lord Snellingly.”
“Then what has happened to them?” he asked, a nervous twitch attacking one of his eyes. “It’s as if they’ve simply disappeared into thin air. I think it could be true. I’ve heard Lord Pinkwater was quite fond of dogs when he was alive. I don’t think I could bear it if I knew my sweet little Josephine was living with a ghost and couldn’t get back to me.”
Lord Brentwood glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that seemed to be asking, “Where did this fop come from?” Lord Brentwood was clearly not interested in having the ghost conversation with the earl. Gabrielle knew it was time to direct the conversation in a different direction.
“Perhaps there is a dog thief in town, Lord Snellingly,” Gabrielle said. “Perhaps someone is taking the dogs.”
The earl frowned and looked from Gabrielle to Lord Brentwood. “For what purpose would they? The only thing I can think of is if they wanted to use them for such dastardly deeds as experiments for some insane alchemist or depraved physician, or perhaps to be fed to other animals.”
Gabrielle’s eyes widened in shock at the earl’s inappropriate comments. She glanced over at Lord Brentwood, whose frown had deepened to anger.
She quickly said, “No, my lord, such things as that never entered my mind. I meant someone who wanted to love the dogs and care for them, of course. Dogs such as the quality of your Josephine and Lord Brentwood’s Prissy are highly sought after as pets. Surely you know that.”
“Yes, yes, of course, pardon me, my dear.” Lord Snellingly sniffed into his handkerchief and took the book he held in the other hand and placed it over his heart. “It’s just that no one could love Josephine as I do. No one. I’ve written a poem about her. Since you are both so fond of dogs, I’ll recite it for you.”
Without giving either Gabrielle or Lord Brentwood time to object or retreat, Lord Snellingly looked up toward the ceiling and said:
“With shining black eyes and fast dancing feet
My beloved Josephine is no longer mine to greet
Take my wife, take my wine
I shall never once repine
Take my breath and all sunshine
Take my health and my wealth
But not my darling Josephine’s yelp
My yearning is deep, intense, and fatal.”
Gabrielle gasped and interrupted him. “Surely you don’t mean fatal, Lord Snellingly?”
He looked down at her. “Oh, not as in death, of course not.” He sniffed in his handkerchief again. “But I don’t know how I shall live without my sweet little companion. I thought perhaps coming to this party tonight might cheer me, but the only thing that really helps is my poetry. Shall I recite another for you?”
“Excuse me, Lord Snellingly,” Lord Brentwood said. “I see someone I must speak to before they leave. But please do recite another poem for Lady Gabrielle. I have it on good authority she adores poetry almost as much as she loves dogs.” He turned to Gabrielle with a mischievous grin, and in a low-pitched voice that sounded far too intimate and much too cocky, he said, “Lady Gabrielle, thank you for the dance; now enjoy the poetry.”
There was no way in hell Brent was going to listen to another word from that sniveling fop. He wanted to get as far away from the man a
s he could, but Lady Gabrielle deserved to listen to more of the obnoxious man’s dreadful poetry. Brent loved the look of shock on her face when he turned away.
He chuckled when he heard:
“Happy bark, wagging tail…”
Brent smiled to himself as he made his way through the crowd in search of drink or his brothers, whichever came first. He couldn’t imagine what had made Lady Gabrielle pretend she couldn’t dance. Her feet must be killing her. He must have stepped on her toes at least five or six times.
Ah, but she was beautiful. The moment he saw her tonight, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She was stunning in that pink velvet gown. When he’d brought her into his embrace for the waltz, it took all his willpower not to pull her up close and hug her to his chest. He watched her lips when she talked, and all he could think was that he wanted to kiss her until she surrendered to his will.
Someone tapped Brent on the shoulder, and he turned around just in time to see a fist heading straight for his face. He tried to duck, but the punch was so unexpected, he didn’t have time to react fast enough. The fist landed on the corner of his mouth that had just healed. Brent stumbled backward and bumped into someone, who gasped. Somehow, he managed to catch his footing and didn’t hit the floor. In his younger years, Brent had been in one or two fights at tavern brawls, and he’d matched his fists against others at notable boxing salons, but he couldn’t ever remember being caught off guard.
Brent’s right hand closed tightly, and his arm flew back, ready to take on his attacker. He stopped short when the irate man was quickly grabbed by a couple of other men. He was held back when he lunged forward at Brent again. Brent’s fist clenched nervously, tightening, itching to knock the man’s teeth down his throat, but Brent couldn’t hit a man whose arms were being held behind his back.
“Let go of me,” the stranger yelled. “I want to hit him again!”
“No, Staunton!” said one of the men holding him. “Stop this madness.”
The name Staunton reverberated in Brent’s ears as his breaths came fast and hard.
Lady Gabrielle’s former fiancé.