Blend in. Meld with the walls.
Blast and double blast. How many years had she attempted to perfect that very feat? And how many years had she failed? Every single one of them. Jane smoothed her palms over her satin skirts, the smooth, cool fabric luxuriantly soft against her hands. She’d long ago committed herself to remaining unseen, and yet with her sharp tongue, and bothersome golden curls, she’d never quite successfully managed to do so. No, she’d not wanted the attentions of those self-serving nobleman with their wandering stares. Until Gabriel. Unbidden, her gaze found him once more. His sister, now gone, escorted onto the dance floor by the gentleman whom she’d previously spoken with, he stood off to the side, skimming his hard gaze over the heads of the twirling dancers.
Her breath caught. With his midnight black coat and stark white cravat, he really was quite magnificent. So very different than the fops and swains in their vibrant, satin knee breeches and slick oiled hair. What was it about Gabriel, the Marquess of Waverly, that so commanded her notice? She continued to study him. He sipped from the crystal flute in his hands. With her eyes, she took in those hard, firm lips once pressed against hers, touched to the rim of his glass. Oh, of course with his chiseled cheeks and thick, midnight black hair, he possessed a remarkable beauty lauded about by artists. But there was more. His solemnity, his devotion to his sister plucked at the strings of her heart. For he’d proven that not all men were, in fact, self-serving and living only for their own pleasures. He lived for his sister. Jane’s throat worked. And in a world where no one had ever lived for her, there was something potently addictive about a man capable of that regard and love for a person other than himself.
As though feeling her gaze on him, Gabriel looked out across the crowded dance floor, and then their stares collided. She should look away. She should politely avert her gaze and turn to the other women at her side. Yet again, however, she proved herself remarkably like her audacious mother, for she continued to boldly study him as he drained the sparkling contents of his glass. Fear pounded away at her chest, pressing down on her like a boulder and threatening to cut off her airflow. This hold he had upon her was dangerous. He’d been abundantly clear in her role in his household and yet for that vital reminder he’d given, she could not set aside the thought of him. He presented folly of the worst sort, only heightening her weakness as a woman. Jane drew in a breath. She should be fixed on the ruse that had brought her into his life—a reprieve until she secured the funds settled on her by her father. Yet, how often had she thought of the goal that had driven her all these years? Once? Twice? Always as an afterthought and a matter of guilt.
A couple stepped into her line of vision and immediately broke the charged energy between Jane and Gabriel. The young gentleman, with his too-long, nearly black hair had an air of vague familiarity to him, but it was the captivating crimson-haired creature at his side that commanded attention. The elegantly attired couple spoke with a relaxed ease, motioning and laughing, and the faintest softening occurred on the harsh planes of Gabriel’s face, a genuine appreciation of the two before him.
And once more, Jane was as she’d always been—an interloper on life. She touched her hand to the Scamozzi column and stood, a voyeur to the happy exchange. For years she believed all she wanted, all she needed was her school, a place to give her purpose. Yet, a witness to Gabriel’s world, she craved more. She longed for something she’d never, ever believed or would have dared to believe—companionship.
She closed her eyes a moment and fought to suppress a panicky giggle, the irony not lost on her. The hired companion longed for companionship.
“Tsk, tsk, why, it is Jane Munroe. Never tell me you don a pair of spectacles and think you could remain hidden?”
Her eyes flew open as that loathsome voice slapped into her consciousness. Shivers of loathing ran along her spine as she confronted the grinning, unrelenting visage of the Earl of Montclair.
“What nothing to say?” he taunted, when she remained silent.
Panic consumed her and she registered the curious and disapproving stares trained on her by the other companions.
Jane shot her gaze about the crowded ballroom and found herself invisible to all those lords and ladies present, a feat she was never more grateful for. She located Gabriel still locked in conversation with that unfamiliar pair.
The earl angled his body in a way that cut the marquess off from her line of focus. “Ah, you are looking for someone? Your latest protector perhaps?”
An unholy rage to plant him another facer, here in the midst of the ballroom filled her so strongly she had to fist her hands to keep from burying her fist in his nose. “You were never my protector,” she said on an angry whisper. He was merely the demon who’d haunted her.
“Ahh,” he dipped his head closer and the familiar tinge of heavy spirits that clung to him slapped at her senses, offensive and overpowering.
“There you are, Jane.”
At the unexpected arrival of Chloe, Lord Montclair straightened.
And coward that she was, she sent a silent prayer skyward as Chloe appeared before her, a five foot five inch savior. The young woman glared at the Earl of Montclair and then presented him with her back.
Montclair schooled his features and inclined his head. For a moment, dread ran a rampant course through Jane’s being at the idea he’d shame her before this woman who called her friend, and with his admission, proving her unworthy of the role she’d stolen into. For all his brazenness this night and the night she’d been dismissed from his father’s household, he maintained a proper gentlemanly façade for the ton. “Lady Chloe Edgerton,” he murmured. “If you’ll excuse me?” he said quietly with a deep bow. Then, with a slight bow and a final glance for Jane that promised this was not the last of their meetings, he took his leave.
As his loathsome form disappeared into the crowd, Jane’s shoulders sank with a quiet relief. Her relief was short-lived.
“Do you know Lord Montclair?” A muscle ticked at the corner of the young lady’s right eye.
“No,” she said quickly.
Too quickly by the narrowing of the other woman’s intelligent eyes. “Was he bothering you?” She didn’t allow Jane to respond. “If he was,” Chloe said in hushed tones, “you need just say something to my brother. Gabriel would—”
“No,” she said loudly, once again attracting those curious stares. She drew in a calming breath and lowered her voice. “No.” Suddenly, the deception she practiced upon Gabriel and coupled with Montclair’s reappearance in her life, was too much. Her feet twitched with an involuntary need to take flight. “Will you pardon me, Chloe?” she pleaded. She was the veriest coward, but the din of the ballroom, combined with the high heat threatened her senses. “I require a moment.”
Concern flared in Chloe’s eyes. “May I come with you? I—”
Jane gave her head a shake. “I’ll be but a moment.” Then, in a bid of attempted humor, she forced a smile. “I daresay your brother would be none too pleased with me if I stole you away from the evening’s festivities.” She waggled her eyebrows. “What manner of companion would that make me?”
“A perfect one,” Chloe admitted, and with those words she roused an honest, unrestrained laugh from Jane.
Oh, how much this young lady had come to mean to her. Another twinge struck her heart with the truth of the briefness of this stolen interlude with Chloe and her family. As she dropped a curtsy and sought out a moment of solitude, she acknowledged that, at the very least, life should have conditioned her to the inconstancy of relationships and happiness.
What the hell was Montclair doing with Jane? With Alex and his wife, Imogen, before him carrying on about God knew what, Gabriel remained fixed on the young, slender siren at the corner of the room. The healthy color of Jane’s cheeks faded and even with the distance of the ballroom between them, he detected the flash of terror in her eyes. He’d end the man if he’d insulted her. He snapped the stem of his champagne flute. A serv
ant hurried over to collect the remnants of his glass and to sweet up the crystal.
“Whatever is the matter with you?” his brother drawled sounding more amused than concerned. “You’ve gone all red in the face. Aren’t I right, Imogen?”
“Do hush.” His sister-in-law, the logical young lady who’d managed to tame his rakish brother, swatted her husband’s arm. “You’re insufferable.”
Alex grinned.
At that thankful moment, Chloe interrupted Jane’s exchange with Montclair. “Nothing is the matter.” Bloody hell, what had come over him that he’d be so demmed hot-headed, wanting to exact violence against Montclair for all manner of imagined slights?
His brother followed his stare and furrowed his brow. “Who is that?”
At one time, they’d shared everything from dreadful wishes for their evil sire to hopes for the future. He flicked an imagined piece of lint from his sleeve. “That is Chloe’s companion.” There had been a time when no two souls had been closer than he and Alex. All of that had been forever changed at the altar of their father’s abuse. Alex had never forgiven him for allowing those beatings to carry on. Now, they each held their own secrets. Which was only right. Gabriel had never forgiven himself.
His brother chuckled. “You’ve hired another companion.”
“I didn’t hire you,” he pointed out with a frown.
“Ah, yes. That is correct,” Alex said, inclining his head. “You threatened me.” He gave a wry grin. “You are still foisting off that role on anoth—oomph.” The words ended as his wife buried her elbow into his ribs.
“Do you have a problem with that role you’d been assigned?” Imogen arched a single, fiery eyebrow.
“Not at all,” Alex replied automatically.
And the silliest, most hapless grin marred his brother’s lips that Gabriel shifted on his feet, feeling like the worst sort of interloper on the loving couple’s shared moment. Had he not demanded Alex escort Chloe about Society, then he’d not, even now, be married to Imogen, Chloe’s best friend.
Odd, he had spent the better part of his life disavowing those shared sentiments with another human being, and yet standing here, he was filled with an unholy envy for his younger brother’s happy existence. Gabriel worked his gaze over the dance floor and located Chloe. Alone. He silently cursed and quickly scanned the room. “Where in hell is she?”
“She is beside the column,” his brother put in, pointing his finger.
Gabriel wrinkled his brow. “No, she’s—” Chloe. He clamped his lips tight. His brother erroneously believed Gabriel even now sought out their headstrong sister. Which if he was a good, worthy brother, he should be, and yet time had proven how very inadequate he was. “Ah, yes.” He coughed into his hand. “If you’ll excuse me. Imogen, Alex.” He sketched a brow and then started after his sister. If anyone would know where Jane Munroe had taken herself off to, it was Chloe.
Not that he should be concerned with his sister’s companion. After all, by nature of her role, Jane was just that—a companion. She didn’t require a companion. And yet, with each footfall that carried him closer to his sister, his ire grew. Jane couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than Chloe. Regardless of her station or status or wedded state, a woman of her young years was deserving of the same care and protection as any other young lady. He stopped beside his sister. “Where is your companion?”
Chloe shrieked and slapped a hand to her heart. “You startled me.”
Yes, the shriek had suggested as much. He looked about once more for Jane. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the Earl of Montclair, the same charming rogue who’d been engaged in discussion with her a short while ago. And he wanted to kill the man all over again. The lady was not with Montclair. Some of the tension thrumming through his frame left him. “Mrs. Munroe?” he gritted out, careful to keep his tone low from possible listeners. “Where is she?”
In an exasperating manner that had driven him mad as a youth, Chloe directed her gaze to the chandelier. “I’m not Jane’s keeper. If you want Mrs. Munroe watched, you should assign the lady a companion.”
He bristled at having been both caught and called out, by his young sister, no less. “Not watched,” he groused, and resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat. “I’m not suggesting you are her keeper. I, oh blast and damn,” he groused.
Chloe’s eyes formed wide moons. “Did you just curse?”
Again, cursing.
“No.” Her eyebrows shot up. “And lying?”
Jane Munroe was a deuced bad influence. He should stand here beside Chloe until she returned. It was, at the very least, the brotherly thing to do.
“Chloe!”
He gave silent thanks as Imogen and Alex descended upon Chloe, effectively relieving him of his responsibilities. An excited squeal bubbled past his sister’s lips and with little regard for Society’s rules, she flung her arms about the other woman. “Oh, how I have missed you. I daresay I never imagined when I performed matchmaker for you two, that you’d abandon me to my own devices.”
Chloe’s teasing words roused sheepish expressions from the recently married husband and wife.
Taking advantage of the sudden, and much welcome, diversion, Gabriel sketched a bow. “If you’ll excuse me?” he remarked, and then without awaiting permission, or allowing questions, went in search of Jane.
He wound his way through the throng of guests and strode from the hall. With the din of the crowd at his back, he glanced first down one corridor and then another. Where in blazes had she gone off? With an impatient curse, he moved at a brisk clip through one hall. All the while, Jane Munroe occupied his thoughts. Where did he always find the lady in his own home? He paused and narrowed his gaze. Of course. Then with purposeful strides he made his way past door after door in search of the library. The memory of Jane and Lord Montclair, the notorious rogue, grew increasingly strong in his mind. With each opened and closed door, fury expanded…and the fury should be reserved for Jane having abandoned Chloe, but instead, a dark, niggling emotion that felt very much like jealousy slithered inside him like a venomous serpent.
There had been a familiarity to Jane and Montclair’s exchange—the position of their bodies, the furtiveness of their meeting. And he intended to find out just how Jane Munroe knew the gentleman. He shoved open another door. The library. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit space. He peered into the expansive room and then located her almost immediately, tucked against the wall, as though she sought to make herself invisible.
“G-Gabriel,” she stammered. Her cheeks whitened and with unease stamped in the graceful planes of her face, the niggling grew and expanded as the ugly possibility took root and grew within his mind.
Gabriel entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Her gaze followed his every movement, as he turned the lock. He leaned against the frame and folded his arms at his chest. “I believe you have some explaining to do.”
Jane’s mind raced. Oh, she had some explaining to do, all right. The question was, which bit of explaining did Gabriel reference? Life had taught her patience. Inevitably, people revealed themselves and their inner-thoughts.
He shoved away from the door and made his way across the quiet library.
Alas, in this instance, life proved wholly incorrect. Gabriel, stoic and somber as always, gave no indication as to his thoughts. She wet her lips. “My lord?” she began tentatively.
Could one go to prison for stealing a missive and securing oneself employment? And would he have her thrown in Newgate if it was a punishable offense? With his love for his sister, she didn’t doubt he’d ruin Jane, if he believed she’d compromised Chloe’s well-being in any way.
He stopped before her and dipped his head close. His champagne-scented breath wafted about her senses and her lashes fluttered. How was it possible the scent of spirits upon this man’s lips should fill her with a heady desire that drove back the ugly thoughts of another’s brutal attack? He
r heart beat an erratic rhythm and she leaned up to take Gabriel’s kiss. “Are you here meeting someone?” The crisply spoken question brought her eyes flying open.
Jane stared at him. “My lord?” What was he going on about?
His gaze darkened. “There is nothing honorable that would have a lady alone in her host’s library, when she should be attending her responsibilities as a companion.”
She choked. “Y-you think I am here on a liaison?” His silence stood as affirmation. Jane gave her head a frantic shake. “Oh, no. Never. Never.” She’d sooner dance through the flames of hell than meet any gentleman for a clandestine meeting. To do so would consign herself to the same ranks as her mother.
“And yet you are here,” he persisted, relentless.
“I needed…” To escape the memory of Montclair. “A moment of quiet,” she finished knowing even as the excuse left her mouth how lame her response sounded. “I grew overheated from the crush of the room.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I saw you conversing with Lord Montclair.”
Her heart dipped. Of course he did. A man who so closely attended to his family and responsibilities saw everything—particularly the actions of a stranger residing under his roof. She’d only hoped he had failed to note Montclair’s approach. Her mind raced and for the span of a heartbeat she considered telling him all. As soon as the thought entered, it fled her mind. What reason did he have to believe her, a stranger? So when presented with the bold demand of that statement, she did the only thing she’d done to him since she’d entered his house. “I dropped my spectacles.” She lied.
“Your spectacles?” he repeated, with heavy disbelief underscoring that question.
She nodded. “My spectacles.” She removed the wire-rimmed pair from her nose and showed him the frame. “He was so good as to rescue them.” Jane detested giving the loathsome letch even a hint of praise for imagined acts. The vile monster was deserving of nothing good.
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