by Candace Camp
Five
Gabriel stood for a moment, looking after Thea, then followed her as she stepped into the kitchen. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them, the air redolent with the scents of cooking. Mrs. Brewster turned at their entrance, and her eyebrows sailed upward at the sight of Gabriel Morecombe. She cut her eyes toward Thea.
“I was just about to take your brother an early supper on a tray to his office, Miss Althea. We wasn’t sure when you’d be back. You want me to change to the dining table, then?” Her gaze flickered back to Gabriel. “Should I set more places?”
“No, it’s fine.” Thea kept her voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping baby. “Go on. I have something to do. I’m just putting the little one to bed first.”
Thea squatted beside the basket and eased the baby down into it. No one moved or spoke as Matthew squirmed, then let out a tiny sigh and continued to sleep. Thea arranged the blanket over him and stood up.
“I shall return soon,” Thea promised the housekeeper, and Mrs. Brewster nodded as she picked up the tray of food. With a last glance back at Gabriel, she left the room.
Thea lit the candle, then turned and started toward the outside door, all without saying a word to Gabriel. Gabriel opened the door, grinning, and followed her outside.
“I didn’t recognize you earlier,” he said in an explanatory way.
“That was obvious,” Thea snapped. “Since you accused me of being a lightskirt!”
He let out a laugh. “I didn’t accuse you. I merely assumed. You did not, um, look like a vicar’s sister.”
“You are impossible.” Thea whirled to face him. “Any decent man would be embarrassed at making such a mistake. He would be appalled to have insulted a gentlewoman in that manner. All you can do is laugh.”
He grinned. “I suppose I am not a decent man. I have been told so before.”
“You needn’t seem so pleased about it.”
She whipped back around and started toward the church. Gabriel came up beside her, saying conversationally, “In my defense, you did not look like the woman I met the other night.”
Thea reached beneath her cloak and dug her spectacles out of her pocket. She put them on and once again turned to face him. “There. Is that better? Am I Miss ‘Falbridge’ now? Or perhaps Miss ‘Dandridge’?”
He studied her, his head a little to one side. She had meant to shame him, but, she realized, she herself was beginning to feel uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He reached out and smoothed his hand over her tumbled and wayward hair. He picked up a curl and twined it around his finger thoughtfully. Heat slithered through Thea, and her mind went blank for a moment. Gabriel placed his other hand on the opposite side of her head, shoving her hair back and holding it tightly behind her head. Thea tried to suppress her shiver. She had never had a man’s hands on her so. Strangely, she found it excited more than affronted her.
He nodded. “Yes, I can see it now, Miss Bainbridge.” He released her and executed a bow. “Pray accept my abject apologies.”
Thea grimaced, pulling away and once more walking toward the church, shielding the flickering candle with her hand. Gabriel strode along beside her. As they approached the bridge that led across to the church, he asked, “Exactly where are we going?”
Thea lifted her chin in the direction of the church. “Over there. I found him in the manger in St. Margaret’s.”
Her words were met with a moment of silence. Then Gabriel said, “You’re not serious.”
Thea glanced at him. “I am not the sort of woman who makes jests, Lord Morecombe.”
“No. I can see you are not.”
“We have a manger that we plan to use Christmas Eve. It was sitting in the vestibule. As I was decorating the sanctuary, I heard a noise, and when I went to investigate, there was Matthew, peeking over the edge.”
“Matthew?”
Thea shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “That is what I decided to call him. I had no idea what his name was, but I could hardly keep calling him the baby, now, could I?”
“I imagine many would.”
“Well, I did not.”
“And why did you choose Matthew?”
“I would have named him after the church, but it is St. Margaret’s, so that wouldn’t do. The name Matthew means ‘gift of God.’ So it seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.”
“It’s a very good name,” Gabriel said with a smile. “It suits him.”
“Oh. Well … thank you.”
Gabriel opened the door, and they stepped into the church. The candle’s flame cast a small circle of light, barely illuminating the vestibule. The sanctuary lay like a dark cave beyond the second set of doors. Thea moved over to the manger and held the candle over it.
“This is where he was. I’m afraid there’s little enough here to see.”
He joined her at the small wooden manger. “There was nothing else with him? No note?”
Thea shook her head. “Only the little blanket and his cap. I didn’t see the brooch until later at the vicarage. It was attached to his swaddling band beneath his baby gown.”
“Hidden, then.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I’m not sure why. Maybe she thought if she left it pinned to his gown, someone might steal it without taking the baby. At least if it was beneath his clothes, whoever found it would have been kind enough to take care of him.”
“That would make sense. I wonder if she meant it for payment for the baby’s needs—or did she hope someone would identify the child and bring him to me?”
“I’m not sure it would be obvious that the brooch was yours. I assumed it only because I noticed your ring the other night.”
“A note would be more certain,” he agreed. “Damn it, why wouldn’t she have left some word?”
“My lord! You’re in a church!”
“What? Oh. Yes. Sorry.” He said the words absently, turning away and looking around him. He took the candle from Thea’s hands and squatted down, searching the floor around the manger. “I had hoped there might be footprints.”
“We keep the church clean. There’s no dust. And it’s been too dry recently for anyone to muddy their shoes walking in.”
He straightened and set the candlestick down on the small table by the door. “You said ‘she.’”
“What?”
“You referred to whoever left the baby as ‘she.’ Did you see her? Maybe a glimpse? Something that made you think it was a woman?”
“No.” Thea shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone. I just assumed that the person who left him was his mother. I don’t know who it was at all. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more.”
Gabriel sighed and leaned back against the wall, rubbing one hand across his forehead. “No doubt this all seems most peculiar.”
Thea shrugged. “There is no need to explain.”
He cast a sardonic look at her. “After having a baby thrust on you? After being dragged over here to show me where you found him? Surely you must want an explanation.”
“Well, yes, of course I do.
But it would be rude to pry.”
His mouth quirked up appealingly on one side. “Since we have established that I am a man without decency, I think there’s little need to avoid rudeness, don’t you?”
He straightened up and began to pace the length of the vestibule, his hands shoved into his pockets. “My sister, Jocelyn, is eleven years younger than I. My father remarried after my mother died, and Jocelyn is their child. I wasn’t raised with her, really, since I was off to school when she was only two or three years old. So we were not close in that way, but I loved her. Our father died when she was only sixteen, so I was her guardian as well. I tried to look after her and protect her; I wanted what was best for her. I was glad when she became engaged to a good friend of mine. I thought she would have a happy marriage. But then, suddenly, Jocelyn ran away.” He stopped and turned to face Thea. “She left a note saying that she could not marry Lord Rawdon. She said she wa
s going to a ‘better life’ and that we should not try to follow her.”
“And did you … not follow her, I mean?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. She was only nineteen. She had never lived on her own. It was absurd. I went to all her friends, our relatives. But she had not run to any of them. I checked at all the inns to see if she had hired a post chaise. I even inquired about the mail coaches, though I could not imagine Jocelyn taking one. So I brought in a Bow Street Runner, but he had no better luck. I searched everywhere I could think of, but there was nothing. Nothing! That was over a year ago. In all this time, this”—he held up the brooch—”is the first sign I’ve found of her.”
“But what does Matthew have to do with your sister? Is the baby hers, do you think?” Thea stopped abruptly, realizing the implications of what she had said. “I’m sorry. I should not ask such a thing.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. ’Tis the obvious question. The truth is, I have no idea. Why would her brooch be on the child if he were not hers? But if he is hers, why did she not come to me for help? Did she think I would turn her away? That I would not help her? I would never have done that.”
Moved by his obvious distress, Thea reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “I am sure she must know that.” She smiled. “If your sister is the one who left Matthew here, I am sure she was counting on you. I don’t know why she did not come to you herself, but I suspect it may have been more that she felt embarrassed. Ashamed. But she knew she could trust in your generosity.”
He gazed down into Thea’s face for a moment, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Thank you. You are good to say so, considering that I have been less than gentlemanly toward you.” He covered her hand with his. “I truly am sorry that I did not remember you this afternoon.”
Thea stepped back, shrugging. “It was not the first time.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Thea wished she could have them back. They revealed far too much. Quickly she turned away, trying to think of something to stop the questions she could see forming in his eyes. Unfortunately, her mind was an utter blank.
“What did you say?” Morecombe asked. “It wasn’t the first time? What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really. We had best get back to the house now. I’m sure Mrs. Brewster will be ready to leave soon, and—”
“No. Wait.” He circled around to face her again. “I am sure that was not ‘nothing.’ You said that it was not the first time I didn’t remember you?”
“Don’t be absurd. How many times could you forget me?” That had not come out well, either, she thought. There had been the echo of hurt in the words. Why could she not say something light and airy? She had had years of practice at telling polite lies—assuring someone that her new grandson was handsome or thanking a skinflint for his generosity in making a pitifully small donation to the church or declaring that she much preferred to sit and chat with the matrons than dance with the other young people. Why was it proving so difficult to conceal what she felt from this man?
“I would have said I wouldn’t forget a woman even once,” he retorted. “Particularly not one as … um, forthright as you.”
“You mean as shrewish as I.”
He chuckled. “You will not allow one even a sop, will you? My dear Miss Bainbridge, you—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “That’s right. You are a Bainbridge. Ian called you ‘cousin,’ did he not? I have met you before. Sometime with Ian, no doubt.”
“Do not belabor your memory. It was years and years ago, at a wedding.”
“What wed—” Thea saw the light begin to dawn in his eyes. “Yes! Of course. Sweet Lord, that must have been over ten years ago. How could I not have remembered you at once? You were the girl who tried to talk me out of dancing with her.” His eyes glinted with the same dark mischief they had shown back then, and Thea was sure, her heart sinking, that he remembered everything about that evening, including their kiss.
She turned away again sharply, her cheeks heating up. It just went from bad to worse with this man. Now he would think that the kiss had meant a great deal to her or she would not have remembered it so long. Of course, it was the truth, but it was humiliating that he was aware of it.
“It was nothing, really,” she said, striving for an airy tone. “I cannot think why I would have remembered it myself. I’m sure I must have recalled you only because you were utterly lacking in decorum at the time.”
He reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, whirling her back around to face him. Grinning, he said, “Ah, but I am still utterly lacking in decorum.”
He reached out and took her spectacles from her nose, dropping them in the pocket of his coat. Before she could so much as protest or even blink, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him. And, once again, he kissed her.
But this kiss was nothing like the first one. Ten years ago, his mouth had been light on hers, gently pressing into her lips, then pulling away, leaving behind the tingling awareness of him. Now his kiss was hot and searching, his arms enveloping her. She could feel the hard tensile strength of his body all the way up and down her. His scent filled her nostrils, his heat surrounded her. And his mouth … she could not even describe what his mouth did to her, the pandemonium of sensations that flooded through her, igniting her nerves and melting her muscles. His lips caressed and teased; they entreated her to taste the full pleasure of his mouth even as they demanded her response. His tongue invaded her, startling her into a little jerk of surprise. Then, as he caressed and explored, Thea was even more stunned to find her own arms curling around his neck, her tongue twining with his.
He deepened their kiss, his hands sliding down to brazenly cup her buttocks, lifting her up and into him. She felt again, as she had on the ride over, that pressure against her, this time harder and more insistent, and she wanted, wildly, to rub her hips against him just to discover his response. That would be madness, she knew, utter wantonness, but even so she had to firmly clamp down on her desires to keep herself from moving. It was equally difficult to restrain the whimper that threatened to bubble up from the throat, and she had to curl her hands into the cape of his coat to stop them from sliding up into his hair.
Gabriel pulled away from her finally, raising his head and staring down into her face with something like shock in his eyes—mirroring, she suspected, the astonishment in her own face. His hands fell away, and he took a step back, turning aside. Thea’s mind was a jumble of thoughts, chaotic and vivid—no, not even thoughts; they were too illusory and tumbling to be called that, only sensations and emotions. She yanked up her hood, hiding her face in the shadows of it. Picking up the candle, she mumbled, “I must—the baby …”
Throwing open the door, she rushed out into the evening, not looking back to see if he followed her. The candle blew out as she hurried along, but Thea needed little light to walk the familiar path. She did not spare a thought for whether Gabriel could find his way without it—the man was the devil himself and sure to see perfectly in the dark.
She flung open the door to the kitchen and swept inside, stopping short as she took in the familiar sight of Mrs. Brewster drying a pot.
“Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Brewster greeted her cheerfully. “Did you find what you were looking for? Where did you go, now, the church?”
“Yes, um, that’s it, exactly.” Thea turned jerkily away and hung up her cloak. She took her time, wondering guiltily if her lips looked as if they had been kissed. They felt swollen and tender, and it seemed to her that surely they must be reddened and bruised as well. What if Mrs. Brewster guessed what she had been doing? The housekeeper’s eyes had always been sharp as a hawk’s. Thea pressed her chilled fingers against her lips; she could feel the trembling in them, the same trembling that vibrated all through her body.
The door opened behind her and Lord Morecombe stepped in. Thea could not even glance at him; she was sure her face would give her away.
&
nbsp; “No, we didn’t find anything,” she said to the housekeeper. “I must, I must look a mess—there was such a wind.”
Thea slipped out of the room, not looking back at either of the other occupants. She heard Gabriel greet Mrs. Brewster, his voice smooth, with none of the nerves or strain that afflicted her. Of course, he would not feel anything. Stealing kisses in the church vestibule was doubtless commonplace to him—well, perhaps not commonplace in the church vestibule, but the kisses, yes, the kisses themselves were something he was most familiar with. No one could kiss like that without a great deal of practice. She felt sure Gabriel did not experience this weakness of the knees or the heat that burst low in her abdomen or that odd ache flowering between her legs.
Thea ground her teeth; she had to stop thinking about this. She faced the mirror in the front hall. She hardly recognized herself. Bright color stained her cheeks, and her lips were a deep red and fuller, softer, than usual. Her eyes seemed huge and dark, vivid. And her hair—oh, sweet heavens, her hair was almost entirely down, tumbling around her shoulders and curling wildly. She looked like a mad thing. Hastily, she skinned it back, combing through the tangles as best she could with her fingers, and began to braid it into one fat braid.
“Ah, Thea, there you are.” Her brother came toward her down the hall, a book in his hand. “I missed you at supper. Mrs. Brewster couldn’t remember where you had gone. To see Mrs. Howard, I imagine, eh?”
Thea nodded dumbly. Was it a lie if she did not deny the untruth he assumed? Her life, it seemed, had suddenly become a veritable cornucopia of sins—lies and lust and who knew what else springing up like weeds in a garden.
“I—” Her voice cracked, and she had to clear her throat. “I hope you were not bored by yourself.”
“Oh, no, you know me.” He smiled and waggled the book at her. “As long as I have a book, I am never bored.”
“Of course not.”
“I am going on up to my room. Read a bit before I go to bed.” He glanced vaguely in the direction of the grandfather clock. “Early yet, I suppose, but on winter nights, it seems I get sleepy early.”