by Olivia Drake
Gripping her hands at her sides, she said, “This has been most entertaining, my lord. However, you’ve caught us at a rather hectic time.”
His intense gaze shifted to the wooden crates, some empty and some filled with books and bric-a-brac. “You’re moving,” he stated with some surprise.
“On Friday.”
“Where?”
“Into town. This cottage doesn’t suit us anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Why must you ask?” she countered. “Oxford is a beautiful place. We’ll be nearer to the market and the church.” It was indeed a lovely town, she told herself firmly. She liked the broad, cobbled streets, the ancient medieval buildings, the colleges bustling with young scholars and old professors in academic gowns. She and Meg were certain to be happy there. Perhaps they could even find friends in the literary society that Papa had once frequented as a professor of ancient cultures.
“We’ll be living in tiny rooms right over the market,” Meg blurted out, holding the chimp. “You see, we haven’t any money. The bank lost it all, right after Mama died.”
Again, his gaze sharpened on Kate, and he inspected her from the top of her severe hairstyle down to the frayed hem of her gown. “Tell me what happened.”
“It’s over with and done, and we have enough to manage,” Kate said, directing a quelling glance at her sister.
“Why hasn’t your great-uncle provided for you?”
Because Nathaniel Babcock is as irresponsible as most men, Kate wanted to say. “The last we heard, he was touring Italy with his latest paramour. Now, I presume you’re here to offer your belated condolences in regard to my father.”
“Yes,” Lord Gabriel said, his voice deepening to a gravelly pitch. His piercing gaze flitted over their mourning garb. “Who gave you the news?”
“We were informed weeks ago by a family acquaintance. He was visiting Cairo ... when it happened.” Kate swallowed against the thickness in her throat. The notion of weeping in front of this heartless man horrified her. Tears were useless, anyway; her father had been gone for four years already. She had learned to manage quite well without him.
Yet it was painful to accept that Papa wasn’t ever coming home. That she could never again embrace him, never again see his blue eyes magnified by his spectacles or smell his comfortable aroma of pipe smoke.
“Who told you?” Lord Gabriel repeated.
Before Kate could recover herself, Meg said dejectedly, “Papa’s friend, Sir Charles Damson.”
Lord Gabriel’s face hardened to a cold mask. “Damson? He came here?”
Meg stroked Jabbar’s furry arm. “Yes, he was ever so kind. He even lent me his handkerchief to dry my tears.”
Kate wondered at the tension that resonated through the small parlor. Why did Lord Gabriel’s eyes hint at a violent rage? “Do you know him, too?”
“He’s a collector of antiquities,” he said tersely as if that explained everything.
Perhaps it did. Perhaps he resented Sir Charles’s camaraderie with Papa. Certainly, Sir Charles Damson had been the more considerate friend. Informing her and Meg of Papa’s passing clearly had ranked low on Lord Gabriel’s list of important tasks.
"We’ll be forever grateful to Sir Charles,” she said. “He cut short his Egyptian holiday on our behalf.”
“Is he still in Oxford?” Lord Gabriel fired back.
“No, he returned to London.” To needle him, Kate added, “Though I do wish he’d stayed longer. He’s a pleasant, polite gentleman.”
“Yet not so fine as you, milord,” Meg piped up, giving Lord Gabriel another adoring smirk.
He turned his watchful gaze on her. “How long was he here?”
“He took tea with us, of course.” Sniffling, Meg clutched the chimpanzee tighter against her. “Luckily, Kate had baked a cake that morning, but we didn’t have enough in the larder to invite him to stay for supper.”
“Then he left straightaway?”
“Why, yes—”
“And he hasn’t returned since?”
Kate had had enough of his arrogance. Stepping forward, she said firmly, “No, Sir Charles hasn’t come back. Though I do wish he would. At least he doesn’t badger us with impertinent questions.”
The harshness smoothed from Lord Gabriel’s tanned features, and he aimed a beguiling look at Meg. “Do me a favor and take Jabbar out into the garden. As you can see, his manners leave much to be desired.”
The pungent aroma of fruit spiced the air as the chimp busily peeled the orange and dropped the skin to the carpet. Meg fixed her worshipful eyes on Lord Gabriel. “But I was hoping to hear all about your marvelous adventures in Africa—”
He steered her to the foyer. “You shall. Later.”
“I don’t know how to care for a monkey. What if Jabbar escapes?”
“He won’t. He’s in need of a mother. He likes you already.”
Meg made one last futile attempt to stay with the adults. “It isn’t proper for a gentleman to be left alone with a lady.”
“You’ll be right outside.” Opening the door, he gave Meg a little push.
In another moment, Kate spied her sister through the window, walking with the chimpanzee down the flagstone path to a stone bench in the overgrown rose arbor. As Jabbar ate the orange sections, Meg glanced back at the cottage with an all-too-familiar impatience.
Lord Gabriel scooped up the peelings and dropped them out the window. Tall and muscled, he dominated the parlor, making the very air seem thicker, charged with the force of his presence. Uneasy, Kate again remembered the last time they had been alone, when she had behaved like a besotted ninny. Did he ever recall that mortifying episode? Did he think back on her declaration of undying love and laugh at her naïveté?
It didn’t matter; his opinion meant less than nothing to her. A typical man, he’d gone off on his grand adventure with nary a thought for those left behind. Now, thanks to him, Papa lay buried in a foreign land.
Lord Gabriel picked up a cowrie shell and examined it, idly stroking a long brown finger over the pale, fist-shaped surface. “In the Sudan, the tribal people use these shells as currency to purchase a bride.”
“In England, it’s a paperweight.” Kate crushed her curiosity about all the fascinating sights he had seen over the past four years. “I’m sure you haven’t come here to discuss obscure native customs.”
He set down the shell and regarded her. A faint deviltry—and something else she couldn’t identify—deepened the creases at the corners of his eyes. “Prickly Kate. Won’t you at least invite me to sit down?”
“Pray have a seat, my lord,” she said with polite forbearance.
He waved his hand. “Ladies first.”
She perched on the chaise, automatically taking the threadbare spot, and folded her hands in her lap. Too late, she realized her mistake. Lord Gabriel had the audacity to settle down right beside her. As if to embrace her, he stretched out his arm across the back of the chaise.
Instantly wary, she inched nearer to the upholstered arm. But he still sat so close she could see each individual black lash shading his keen blue eyes. He looked weathered, ragged, steeped in experiences she could only imagine. Things she didn’t want to imagine.
“What did you wish to discuss with me?” she prompted.
“Tell me why Damson came here.”
“I told you why—to inform us of Papa’s death. He didn’t want us to hear the news by gossip or letter. I appreciate his thoughtfulness.”
Lord Gabriel’s jaw tightened, as did his voice. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“He told us what had happened, of course. And he offered his condolences.”
“Did he say how he’d learned the news?”
Wondering at his pointed questions, she gave a curt nod. “An Egyptian official told him...Papa was attacked by thieves on the night before he planned to set sail for England. They broke into his room at the inn, looking for valuables. When Papa tried to stop them
, they struck out at him...”
Kate bit her lip to stop its quivering. Papa had been intending to return home to her and Meg. They would have been a family again. And this time, she’d have been a good, helpful, loving daughter. She would have organized his notes, edited his writings, and aided him in publishing a book about his study of ancient cultures...perhaps a whole series of books.
Now, to honor his memory, she must do it alone.
Lord Gabriel’s large hand came down over hers in her lap. “I’m sorry, Kate. You can’t imagine how much.”
His shockingly masculine touch threatened to spark the powder keg of emotions in her. Half of her was tempted to throw herself into his arms. The other half wanted to slap the sympathy off that sun-browned face.
She pushed his hand away. “Why didn’t you save Papa? Where were you when my father was fighting for his life?”
An unfathomable blankness hid his thoughts. “I was out.”
“Where?”
“It isn’t important. And you’re right. I should have been there. If I’d arrived only a few minutes earlier...”
“What?” she demanded. “Tell me everything.”
“Suffice it to say, Henry lay stricken by a fatal blow. The brigands overpowered me.” He paused, his expression grim. “I don’t remember anything else until I awakened in a hospital three days later.”
“Three days!” she said, doubting him. Sir Charles hadn’t mentioned any injury. “Surely you weren’t insensible that entire time.”
“I’d lost a lot of blood. I had a raging fever. It took me a month to recuperate.”
Kate could see no visible scars. He appeared hale and healthy, untouched and invincible. “How were you wounded?” she asked without a care for propriety.
“Stabbed,” he said. “In the back.”
She winced involuntarily, her spine stiffening. Swallowing queasiness, she asked, “Did you see the men? Could you identify them?”
“No.” His reply was quick, terse, angry.
“Do you know if they’ve been caught and punished for their crime?”
He narrowed his eyes, staring at some distant point beyond her. “They haven’t. By the time I was able to search for them, the trail was cold. They’d vanished into the vastness of the desert.”
Savagery brooded on his dark features, but Kate didn’t entirely trust him to stalk the murderers. He was the sort of man who looked out for his own interests. Had he really bothered to conduct a thorough search? “I wish I’d been there,” she said, barely able to leash her own ferocity. “I’d have gone after them myself.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “Don’t be ridiculous. Henry wouldn’t have wanted you there. Africa is no place for a lady.”
Neither your father nor I have any use for an irksome little girl. The cruel words he’d flung at her so long ago returned with a bitter vengeance. “And England is no place for an ill-mannered brute like you.”
His mouth quirked in a way that was half grimace, half smile. “You’re right, of course. Though I didn’t come here to quarrel with you. I wanted to give you this.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his coat, he withdrew a folded paper and pushed it into her tense fingers.
Kate slowly opened it, the parchment rustling. She stared down at a drawing, exquisitely rendered in pen and ink, of a modest stone cross on a hill shaded by several exotic palms.
“It’s your father’s grave,” he said quietly.
Her chest tightened and her eyes blurred. With supreme effort, she restrained the hurt and loss that threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t expected kindness, not from this man.
Hardly trusting herself to speak, she took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice raw.
Lord Gabriel took hold of her shoulders, his fingers firm and his face taut. “Kate, I would gladly have traded my life for your father’s. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
Kate believed nothing of the sort. His regrets came too late. Four years too late. Rising to her feet, the sketch gripped in her hand, she said coolly, “I accept your condolences, my lord. If that’s all you’ve come here to say ...”
As handsome as sin, he stood up to loom over her. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t. I wanted to know if the professor’s belongings arrived safely.”
“Yes, a few weeks ago.”
“Then you’ve examined the contents of the crate.”
“No.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been busy. I haven’t had the time.” Or the fortitude.
“I see.” His mouth eased into the semblance of charm. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look.”
“Look for what?” she scoffed. “The treasures you promised to bring back?”
Darkness flickered in his eyes, then vanished behind his amiable mask. “My sketchbooks are packed in there. I want them back.”
So much for compassion. Lord Gabriel wished only the return of his property. Pivoting away, she tucked the precious drawing in the old, leather-bound Bible. “Leave me your address,” she said politely. “I’ll send them on to you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. It’ll only take a few moments to retrieve the books. I presume the box is in the study?” Lord Gabriel stepped past her, heading for the corridor. His boldness enraged Kate. Picking up her skirts, she surged forward at an unladylike speed and planted herself directly in his path.
“I beg your pardon!” she said in her iciest voice. “I haven’t given you leave to wander about my home at will.”
“Forgive me,” he said with a smile that surely had the power to melt maidens from London to Zanzibar—though it caused only a clench of distaste inside Kate. “I forgot myself,” he went on. “I did live at Larkspur Cottage once, if you’ll recall.”
How could she ever forget? Lord Gabriel had been her father’s favored colleague. The man who had financed Papa’s dreams. Not caring if she was rude, she said, “Until I have the opportunity to sort through Papa’s effects, they shall remain undisturbed. By you or anyone else.”
His gaze sharpened, his smile fading. “Has somebody asked to see that box?”
Shaken by his astuteness, she compressed her lips. “Was it Damson?” he prodded, taking a menacing step toward her.
“As a matter of fact, Sir Charles offered to purchase the entire contents of Papa’s study. For five hundred guineas.” Kate instantly regretted letting herself be goaded by him. Not even Meg knew about that offer. As desperately as they needed the funds, Kate couldn’t bear to sell so much as a scrap of paper with Papa’s scribbling upon it.
Lord Gabriel scowled. “Damson must not touch any artifact that Henry sent back from Africa.”
“Nor will you since they are in my possession.”
He glowered another moment, and she feared he would thrust her aside and take whatever he wanted by brute strength. Instead, he plunged his fingers through his hair, further mussing the sun-streaked brown strands. “Be reasonable, Kate. As your father’s partner, I have a stake in the curios we collected.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll double Damson’s offer. A thousand guineas.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I assure you, I am.”
Kate braced her shoulder against the timbered wall. A thousand gold guineas? Meg could have a London season, entertain suitors, and marry respectably. Then Kate could live modestly off the remainder while she completed her book.
But there would be no book if she sold the fruits of Papa’s research. No legacy to memorialize him. No way to absolve herself of a lingering guilt over never saying goodbye to him four years ago.
“You believe money can buy you anything,” she said. “But it can’t buy what belongs to me.”
Watching her intently, Lord Gabriel took a step closer, crowding her with his too large, too masculine presence. ‘There’s no need to answer now. Take some time to think about it.”
“I’ve given the matter enough thought. The answer is no. Your we
alth has brought this family enough trouble.”
“Then consider Meg. It’s clear that you both need the funds.”
She stiffened. “What we need or don’t need is no concern of yours.”
“Oh, but there you’re wrong. Your welfare is very much my concern.” A grim smile graced his hard mouth. “You see, Kate, in the event of his death, your father appointed me your guardian.”
The Lucifer League
“My dear Miss Talisford, there is something vital you should know,” Sir Charles Damson said later that afternoon. “Shortly before his demise, your father asked me to act as protector toward you and your sister.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the baron’s fine, pale features. Sir Charles looked like the paragon of elegance with his styled, flaxen curls, the apple-green coat with its gleaming gold buttons, the perfectly tied cravat. When he had appeared unexpectedly on their doorstep, just hours after the unsettling encounter with Lord Gabriel, she had welcomed him warmly, inviting him into the parlor while Meg went to fetch their tea. His flattering attention had soothed her injured sensibilities; he had even brought the bouquet of pink tulips that decorated the mantelpiece. Sir Charles was witty and respectful and pleasantly predictable.
At least he had been so until this moment. It couldn’t be merely a bizarre coincidence that two men on the very same day would claim guardianship of her and Meg. One of them had to be lying.
Lord Gabriel, she decided instantly.
Yet suspicion wormed its way into her confidence. “Why would Papa make such a request of you?” she asked. “He couldn’t have known what would happen to him.”
Sir Charles shook his head sadly. “I found it rather odd myself. When we met in Cairo, he seemed rather ill at ease. Later, I could only conclude that he’d known he was being stalked by thieves.”
Cold prickles crawled over Kate’s skin. The explanation made horrid sense. So why hadn’t Lord Gabriel mentioned it? Even worse, if he’d been aware of the danger, why had he done nothing to protect her father?
“I can see this is all quite shocking to you,” Sir Charles went on, looking apologetic. “That is why I hesitated to broach the topic when last we met. May I say, Miss Talisford, I greatly respect and admire your independent nature.”
