A Secret Love by Stephanie Laurens
Her wandering gaze reached Lucifer, sipping his wine, his gaze on her and Gabriel. His expression was quietly considering.
Smiling serenely, Alathea let her gaze wander on, only to encounter more considering glances. It took her a few minutes to realize why Gabriel and she were so persistently raising questions in so many minds. It was the way they conversed with each other. They were so attuned to each other’s tone, to every nuance in the other’s repertoire, that they rarely needed to look at each other to be sure of the other’s meaning. They talked as two who knew each other well, as two who, in the ton’s parlance, shared an understanding of long duration.
They talked like long-standing lovers.
The last course was being removed before she again turned to Gabriel. All the guests were repairing directly to the ballroom. He was already standing; he offered her his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to raise her—as soon as she was on her feet, he grasped her hand, tucked it in his arm, his hand possessively over hers, and led her to join the queue exiting the dining room.
The message he was sending the interested observers all about them was crystal clear. Although he could be devilish enough when he wished, she was certain that, at present, he wasn’t deliberately putting on a show. His behavior was simply an instinctive extension of how he now felt about her.
He caught her glancing at him and lifted a brow. “What?”
She looked into his hazel eyes, then, lips curving, shook her head and looked away. “Never mind.” There was no chance she could get him to change and, deep down, she knew she would miss their newfound closeness if he did.
The ballroom caused a sensation. Standing in the receiving line Alathea fielded numerous compliments on the unusual decor while helping Mary and Alice greet the more intimidating dowagers. Unfortunately, more than a few of the old battleships, when distracted from Mary and Alice, were only too ready to turn their cannons on her.
“Absolutely criminal,” Lady Osbaldestone declared, scrutinizing her silk-clad figure through her lorgnette. “Waste, gel, waste!” One bony finger poked her in the ribs. “God knows why you’ve hidden yourself away, but it’s past time some rake rattled your stays.”
Others took a different tack.
“So, my dear, do you spend much time in charitable works?” Lady Harcourt, of similar age to Alathea, smiled insincerely. “It must be so nice to live a quiet life.”
Alathea responded to all such queries with a serene smile and calm assurance. As soon as the incoming tide eased, Gabriel appeared and, with Serena’s encouragement, drew her out of the line.
“But Mary and Alice—”
“Serena’s with them. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?”
His Great-aunt Clara was a sweet old lady, although a trifle vague. She patted Alathea’s hand. “Your sisters are lovely, dear, but we’ll have to see you wed first.”
“Precisely what I’ve been telling her,” Gabriel put in.
Over Clara’s head, Alathea narrowed her eyes at him.
“Indeed, yes,” Clara said, and patted her hand again. “We’ll have to find some nice gentleman for you—perhaps that nice Chillingworth boy.”
The look on Gabriel’s face was priceless; Alathea only just managed not to laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said, smiling at Clara.
“No? Well, then, let’s see. Who else?”
Devil strolled up before Clara could consider other options. She released Alathea to clutch his sleeve. “Is Honoria here?”
Devil grinned. “She’s on the other side of the room—I’ll take you to her if you like.”
“Oh, yes—so kind.” Clutching her shawl with one hand and Devil with the other, Clara smiled in farewell and moved on.
“There are the Carmichaels.” Gabriel directed Alathea’s gaze to a couple whose country estate lay not far from Morwellan Park and the Manor. They headed toward them.
For the next twenty minutes, they moved through the ever-increasing crowd, stopping here then there to chat, always at Gabriel’s direction. Only when she spied Lord Montgomery, then Lord Falworth through the sea of heads did Alathea realize what he was doing. With them constantly moving from one conversation to the next, her court was given no chance to gather about her.
Alathea swallowed her protest—she’d rather move through the crowd on Gabriel’s arm than stand surrounded by her all-too-often vacuous court. Feigning ignorance of his high-handed manuverings was definitely the sensible course.
Then the musicians started up and the crowd magically parted, clearing a wide space. As both Mary and Alice had been given permission to indulge long since, the first dance was a waltz. Keen to see if her expectation that Esher would partner Mary and Carstairs would partner Alice would be fulfilled, Alathea eagerly accompanied Gabriel to the edge of the floor.
Sure enough, Mary and Esher took to the floor first, Mary blushing delightedly, her smile declaration enough, while Esher looked the picture of pride. Alathea smiled mistily as they waltzed past, then looked back up the room. Alice was already in Carstairs’s encircling arms—both seemed lost in each other’s eyes, oblivious to the crowd looking on.
Alathea sighed. With her sisters, her hand was played and she’d won—they would have the futures she’d wanted for them, and which they patently deserved. They’d be happy, and loved . . .
Alice and Carstairs waltzed past.
The next instant, Alathea, too, was on the floor, whirling in Gabriel’s arms. Her eyes flew wide. There were as yet no other couples on the floor. “What? . . .”
Gabriel raised a brow. “My dance, I believe?”
She would have loved to tell him what she thought of his arrogance, but under the curious eyes of half the ton, all she could do was fix a smile on her lips and let him sweep her away. She did, however, glare at him.
He only smiled, gathering her closer as other couples took to the floor in their wake. He leaned closer as they went through the turn. “Don’t tempt me.”
The whispered words caressed her ear; Alathea shivered. “I should take umbrage.”
“But you won’t. You know I can’t help myself.”
She limited her response to a sniff; prolonging such a conversation would do nothing for her serenity. The nagging observation that she enjoyed waltzing with him, enjoyed the feel of his hand burning through the silk at her back, enjoyed the sense of being captive to his strength, whirled so effortlessly around the room, was more than distracting enough.
That her pleasure in life was increasingly dependent on him was a thought she wished she’d never had.
After the dance, they once more meandered through the crowd, chatting with acquaintances. They were leaving one group when Gerrard Debbington hailed Gabriel. Gabriel stopped; sidestepping this way, then that, Gerrard eventually reached them.
He smiled vaguely at Alathea.
She smiled brightly back, completely forgetting that she hadn’t met him in the receiving line. “Hello.”
Gabriel pinched her fingers and introduced them. Alathea continued to smile as if she commonly spoke to gentlemen she’d never met. Gerrard, thankfully, was too well brought up to comment.
He looked at Gabriel. “If I could have a word . . . there’s something you should know.”
Gabriel gestured to Alathea. “Thea knows of my interests—she knows of Crowley. You can speak freely.”
“Oh.” Gerrard’s smile hid his surprise. “In that case . . . I was leaving Tattersalls yesterday when I literally bumped into Crowley. He was with a gentleman Vane said was Lord Douglas. Unfortunately, Vane and Patience were right behind me, and Patience spoke. From what she said, it was obvious she was my sister.” He grimaced. “Only a sister would say something like that. As she was on Vane’s arm, it wouldn’t need any great intelligence to guess the connection. Vane said I should tell you and ask what you think.”
“I think,” Gabriel said, “that we should discuss the possibilities with Vane.” He lo
“Far left,” Gerrard said, craning his head. “Close by the wall. Patience was with him.”
Alathea spotted the purple plume Patience Cynster wore in her hair. “There—by the second mirror.”
They headed that way but in tacking through the crowd, Gerrard forged ahead. Gabriel drew Alathea closer. “I need to talk to Vane about this—Gerrard could be in danger.”
Alathea glanced at him, concern in her eyes. “From Crowley?”
“Yes. I need you to distract Patience while I talk to Vane.”
“Why can’t you talk about the matter in front of Patience? Gerrard is her brother, after all.”
“That’s why. And in case it’s escaped your notice, Patience is increasing, so Vane will certainly not want her worrying over a threat to Gerrard that we’re going to ensure never materializes.”
“So you want me to distract her? To connive at keeping her in the dark over something she has a perfect right to know—” Alathea broke off, another idea overriding all thought of Patience’s sisterly rights. “Tell me—if there was any threat to Charlie or Jeremy, would you tell me, or make sure I never heard of it?”
The way Gabriel’s lips sealed into a thin line was answer enough. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Men! Why on earth you imagine—”
“Just tell me—who wants Crowley stopped?”
Alathea blinked. “I do.”
“And who did you ask to stop him?”
“You.”
“I vaguely recall stipulating that you had to obey my orders.”
“Yes, but—”
“Thea, stop arguing. I need to talk to Vane and I don’t want Patience unnecessarily upset.”
Put like that . . . “Oh, very well.” She threw him a stern look. “But I don’t approve.”
They drew free of the crowd and advanced on Vane and Patience. With an assured smile, Alathea drew Patience aside; Gabriel hid a smile as he overheard her ask after Patience’s condition. The perfect topic, the perfect excuse to exclude the menfolk from their councils.
The males in question quickly formed their own huddle.
“What do you think?” Vane asked.
“Altogether too dangerous. Crowley would have prised it out of Archie Douglas before they’d got to the first ring.” Gabriel looked at Vane. “I take it Archie was sufficiently compos mentis to recognize you?”
“Definitely—he was remarkably sober, but then it was before noon.”
Gabriel looked at Gerrard. “Nothing for it then—we’ve got to get you out of sight.”
Gerrard shrugged. “I could go home to Derbyshire for a bit.”
“No—too far. You have to be within reach of London and the courts. We’ll need you as a witness to corroborate the details of the company’s proposal to investors.”
“How do you think Crowley will react?” Vane asked.
“I think,” Gabriel replied, “that he’ll pause and take stock. He’s been in this game too long to act rashly. And he’s very close to calling in his notes. I think he’ll reason that Gerrard will have consulted me after the meeting—there’s no reason he should suspect I knew anything about the meeting beforehand. Indeed, if Gerrard had mentioned one of Crowley’s schemes to me ahead of any meeting, I would have advised against the meeting taking place. So he’ll imagine I was consulted afterward, and that I’ve advised Gerrard against the investment. He hasn’t heard from Gerrard again, and now he’ll know why. He’s so close to getting his hands on a small fortune, he’ll be very hesitant over unnecessarily rocking his boat. I don’t think he’ll come searching for Gerrard yet, but I do think he will, and with a vengeance, the instant he hears there’s a petition lodged against the company.”
“How dangerous is he?”
Gabriel met Vane’s gaze. “He’ll kill without a qualm.” Vane’s brows rose. Gabriel continued, “The information I’ve received suggests he’s plowed every last penny into this venture—if the company’s notes fail, he’ll be ruined. And he’ll likely have some rather unsavory and irate creditors after him, too. Basically, I’d rate Crowley as more dangerous than a rabid rat cornered.”
“Hmm.” Vane’s gaze shifted to his wife, chatting animatedly with Alathea three feet away. “I’m concerned about Patience. She seems rather pale, don’t you think?”
Gabriel considered the bloom of health blushing Patience’s fair cheeks. “Definitely peaked.”
“A short sojourn in Kent would be just the thing to restore her. Fresh air, sunshine—”
“Scores of your workers in the fields surrounding the manor. Just what the doctor ordered.” Gabriel swung to Gerrard, who had listened in silence. “Of course, as a dutiful brother, you’ll accompany your sister into the country.”
Gerrard grinned. “Whatever you say—I can sketch there as well as here.”
Vane gestured to Patience and Alathea. “Shall we break the news?”
Ten minutes later, Gabriel and Alathea stepped once more into the crowd. Alathea smiled. “That was very thoughtful of Vane to be so concerned over Patience, even if there is no need. She’s perfectly well.”
“Yes, well, husbands have to do what husbands have to do, especially when they’re Cynsters.” Gabriel glanced at her. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“We were talking about pregnancy.”
“I know.”
Alathea took one more step, froze, then whirled on him. “What do you—? You don’t—?”
He opened his eyes wide. “Don’t what?” The musicians started up. Sliding one arm about her waist, he drew her to him, into his arms, onto the floor.
Staring straight over his shoulder, Alathea drew in a tight breath. Ignoring the color burning her cheeks, she categorically stated, “I am not pregnant.”
His deep sigh feathered the curls about her ear. “Ah, well, one lives in hope.”
His hand moved on her back in soothing little circles. Alathea bit her lip against a sudden compulsion to blurt out the truth—that she didn’t know if she was or not. She was not, definitely not, going to talk about such things with him. Especially not with him.
“You will be pregnant with my child one day—you know that, don’t you?”
She shut her eyes—tried to shut her ears to the words but they kept falling, straight into her mind, her heart, her empty, yearning soul.
“You love children—you want children of your own. I’ll give you as many as you like.”
They circled, neither paying any attention to the dance, moving to a tune heard on a different plane.
“You want to have my child—I want that, too. It’ll happen one day, Thea—trust me, it will.”
She shivered. To her immense relief he said nothing more but simply steered her around the floor. By the time the music ended and he released her, she’d regained her mental feet. She did not, however, meet his eyes; instead, she scanned the room. “I should check with Serena—”
“Everything’s fine—she told me to keep you from worrying.”
That had her searching his face. “She didn’t.”
“She did, and you know a gentleman should do everything in his power to satisfy his hostess.”
Her pithy retort was cut off by the descent of Lord and Lady Collinridge, the neighbors who owned the old barn with the narrow back window. The Collinridges had known them both from childhood but hadn’t met Gabriel for years; with a sweet smile, Alathea encouraged Lady Collinridge to twit her tormentor for all she was worth.
In the end, Gabriel invented a summons from his mother to escape, taking her with him.
“Jezebel,” he whispered as they made their way through the crush, now as bad—as good—as any ball that Season. “You enjoyed that.”
“You deserved that,” Alathea retorted. A sudden press of bodies brought them to a temporary standstill, him behind her.
“Hmm—and what else do I deserve?”
Alathea swallowed a gasp as one large hand slid over her hip to
Closing his hand, Gabriel lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “Perhaps you’d like to retreat to your office—I was, after all, ordered by your stepmother to do my very best to keep you amused.”
Alathea couldn’t resist the urge to tip her head back and meet his eyes. Under their heavy lids, they glowed with golden fire. There was absolutely no doubt of what he was thinking.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Did temptation come any more potent than this?
The crush about them eased, and she managed to draw breath. “There’s no lock on my office door, remember?”
She’d spoken before she’d thought—her cheeks flamed. The wicked chuckle he gave made her think of a buccaneer about to seize her, but his hand left her bottom—her fevered flesh—closing briefly, affectionately, on her hip before he released her. The flow of people resumed and they moved on.
Almost immediately they encountered Lady Albemarle, a distant Cynster connection, and stopped to chat. From her, they passed on to Lady Horatia Cynster.
“I have no idea,” she responded to Gabriel’s query, “if Demon and Felicity will return to town before the end of the Season. They’re enjoying themselves hugely by all accounts. The last we heard, they were in Cheltenham.”
They chatted easily for some minutes, then once again moved on. When the next lady with whom they paused to exchange greetings proved to be another Cynster connection, Alathea had to wonder. It was true there were a lot of Cynsters and many more family connections. Nevertheless . . .
As they strolled on again, she caught Gabriel’s eye. “You’re not, by any chance, introducing me to your family?”
“Of course not—they already know you. And those who don’t were introduced to you in the receiving line.”
Alathea sighed exasperatedly. The look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, warned her any protest would be fruitless—his intention was fixed. The reins were presently in his hands and he was driving as hard as he could toward matrimony. She shook her head. “You’re impossible!”
His lips quirked. “No. You’re impossible. I’m merely immovable.”