by Olivia Drake
Gabriel.
Aware of a treacherous weakening in her knees, she braced her hand on the doorframe. It was relief, Kate told herself, relief that he hadn’t absconded to Cornwall, after all. She certainly wasn’t a ninny who swooned at the sight of a handsome rogue.
Stepping briskly into the gun room, she said, “Gabriel, I’d like to speak to you—”
The words died on her tongue as he pivoted, a long-barreled pistol pointed straight at her heart.
She stood paralyzed. His tanned features wore a murderous expression, and his finger caressed the trigger. The acrid scents of metal and gun oil hung in the air. A few dust motes danced in a beam of sunshine.
“My dear ward,” he drawled. “You’re late.”
“To my own execution?” she said tartly. “Put that thing down.”
“Afraid?”
“No,” she said, though her heart was beating far too fast. “You ... startled me, that’s all.”
He lowered his arm, the pistol gripped at his side. His glower eased into a watchful expression. “You promised to follow me everywhere. But I haven’t seen you since last evening.”
“Of course not. I can scarcely watch you all night.”
“You could try.” His gaze did a leisurely inspection of her serviceable black gown. Sensing a sharp edge to his mood this morning, she wondered how he viewed her. As an annoying duty? A dried-up spinster? The foolish girl he had once scorned? Probably all of those things.
“There was a time,” he said, “when propriety didn’t stop you. When you were more than willing to share my bed.”
A flush stung her cheeks. “There was a time when I was young and naïve and couldn’t read a man’s true character.”
“Naïve? Yes.” He sauntered closer, the pistol held loosely in his grip. “But you did admire me, Kate. You still do.”
His audacity robbed her of speech. Never had a man spoken to her so boldly. Never had she felt such a tumult of anger. There could be no other reason for her pulse to race and her breath to catch.
He stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the spiciness of his cologne. Though she was a tall woman, he topped her by half a head. His white teeth gleaming against his sun-burnished skin, he gazed at her with that wicked smile and those bewitching blue eyes.
In a wild surge of giddiness, she thought he meant to kiss her. She feared she might allow him.
Instead, he let the cold, smooth barrel of the gun glide down her cheek. “Admit it,” he said with unabashed confidence. “You dream about me in your lonely bed.”
Appalled by the truth of that, Kate fought back a shiver. She, who had sworn to never again rely on any man, did indeed feel an attraction to this adventurer. Stepping away, she took up a stance behind the table in the center of the room, where an open leather case displayed another long-barreled pistol, the match to the one in Gabriel’s hand.
“For a guardian, you’re far too bold,” she said. “You lack integrity and honor. This situation with Ashraf only confirms it.”
“Ashraf?”
“He’s your slave. You own him as if he were a ... a horse or a gun.”
His smile faded. Without denying the allegation, he said, “When did you speak to him?”
“Yesterday evening.” She crossed her arms. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve little regard for the rights of others.”
“In some cultures, slavery is a way of life.”
“Not here in England.”
“In the colonies, then. Jamaica. Barbados. The Americas.”
“That’s no excuse,” she said. “How can you call yourself a civilized man?”
“I don’t. You of all people should know that.”
She wanted to slap the smirk off his too handsome face. “So you’ll force that poor man to labor for you. Without wages, without hope of gaining his freedom.”
“Have a care, Miss Katie. Things aren’t always as they seem.”
Her throat choked. For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Miss Katie” had been Papa’s pet name for her. “You’re despicable. I wonder if your family knows your true nature.”
His smile took on a feral quality. Through narrowed eyes, he stared at her until she felt uneasy, wondering what he was thinking. All the while, he caressed the tooled silver grip of the pistol. “Think what you will,” he said, a terse edge to his voice. “But I won’t have you upsetting my grandmother.”
Kate swallowed a petty riposte. Better to act calm and aloof than to lower herself to his level of incivility. In a crisp, no-nonsense tone, she said again, “Will you kindly lay down that gun?”
He glanced down at the weapon. “So I do frighten you.”
“A deadly weapon in the hands of an irresponsible man?” she said with pithy sarcasm. “Heavens, why would that alarm me?”
Gabriel beckoned lazily with the long barrel. “Come closer, then.”
She stepped cautiously toward him, not because he’d ordered her to do so, but because she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. “What are you doing with that thing, anyway?”
“It’s a dueling pistol,” he said. “A very expensive one, I might add. I was cleaning it” He picked up a cloth and polished the long barrel.
Her stomach curled in revulsion. “You’re taking it ... when we visit Sir Charles?”
“When I visit him.”
She ignored that. “Do you intend to shoot him?”
“Let’s say I’m doing this my way. Which is why you’re staying right here. Besides, you can’t keep up with my mount.”
“You’re riding?” she gasped out. “But I thought...”
“You thought I’d take the carriage? This isn’t a social call.”
Truth be told, she hadn’t stopped to consider his mode of transit. She’d simply assumed they could travel together. And unlike Gabriel’s wealthy family, her father hadn’t had the means to keep a horse. Consequently, there had been no opportunity for her to learn equestrian skills.
His grin broadened in a display of insufferable male gloating. “What’s wrong? Don’t you ride?”
She lifted her chin. “Like the wind, my lord.”
In frustrated silence, Kate accompanied Gabriel to the dining room for breakfast. He was remarkably jolly, the lout. As he chatted with his brother, Kate picked at her poached eggs and toast, wondering how quickly she could learn to ride a horse as well as a nobleman who had been riding all his privileged life. She would try, of course. Giving up wasn’t in her nature. Especially conceding defeat to an arrogant lord.
But her riding practice had to be postponed when a maidservant summoned Kate to the dowager’s chambers. As Kate stepped inside the sumptuous green-and-pink bedchamber, the chaos within drove all thought of Gabriel from her mind.
Bolts of fabric lay on the four-poster bed, over the pink-sprigged chaise longue, on the chairs and tables. The Rosebuds sat drinking tea by the hearth and smiling at Meg who stood in her chemise as a stout woman took her measurements. Nearby, Jabbar poked a stubby finger at a bobbin, sending it rolling across the carpet and leaving a trail of scarlet thread. The chimpanzee clapped as the seamstress’s skinny assistant chased after the little wooden spool.
Meg pranced forward and beckoned to her sister. “Kate, the most wonderful event has happened! Lady Stokeford says we’re both to have an entire new wardrobe.”
An eager yearning unfurled in Kate, catching her by surprise. Just as quickly, she stifled her errant greed. “We can’t afford new gowns,” she protested. “My lady, I’m afraid you’ve gone to much trouble for nothing.”
The elder Lady Stokeford smiled indulgently. “Of course, you aren’t expected to pay the bills. You and your sister are wards of my grandson, who happens to be a very wealthy young man.”
“He claims to be our guardian,” Kate clarified. “My father never mentioned the appointment to me.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting that my grandson would lie.”
Yes, he would l
ie, prevaricate, finagle, and deceive. Kate swallowed the retort as the wounded look on the dowager’s face struck her with remorse. Hastening forward, she curtsied before the venerable old woman. “Forgive me. It’s a misunderstanding, I’m sure.”
Lady Stokeford fluttered her fingers in a breezy gesture. “Pish-posh. The fact is, Gabriel wishes to provide for both of you. And that’s that.”
“But we mustn’t accept personal gifts from a man we scarcely know.”
“He lived with your family for a few months, did he not? Besides, it’s the role of men to provide for a woman’s wants and needs.”
“Hear, hear,” said Lady Enid, nodding vigorously from her chair by the hearth. “Men squander their fortunes on gambling and mistresses, so we must seize our share, too. Why, I could tell you of many men who shower jewels on their doxies—”
“Enid, really!” Seated across from her, the regal Lady Faversham thumped the tip of her cane on the floral carpet. “Be mindful of innocent young ears.”
Giggling, Lady Enid clapped a plump hand over her mouth. “Dear me! I quite forgot myself.”
Lady Faversham picked up her companion’s teacup and sniffed the contents, then wrinkled her sharp nose. “It’s rather early in the day for French cream in your tea.”
“You’re entirely too stuffy, Olivia. I vow, sometimes you’ve no sense of fun.”
Leaving them squabbling, Lady Stokeford took Kate’s arm and led her toward a selection of fabrics draped over a chair. “My grandson is an admirable man,” she said. “He’s to be commended for honoring his pledge to your father. He could easily have shirked his duty to you.”
“I think he’s a wonderful guardian,” Meg said, whirling around the bedchamber, trailed by the frustrated seamstress with her cloth measuring tape. “Imagine ... we’ll attend fashionable parties and meet handsome men. We’ll drink champagne and dance until dawn. Oh, I can’t wait to be a member of the ton.”
In the face of Meg’s excitement, Kate felt trapped between good sense and ill judgment. Her sister had been denied so much during her young life. What harm could it do to indulge this one wish? And for once in her life to garb herself in pretty gowns, too.
Yet it would be tantamount to admitting that Gabriel had the right to dictate their lives.
Kate feathered her fingertips over a plum-colored silk so soft and delicate that she instantly coveted it. “These fabrics are too rich for mourning. We must wear black to show respect for Papa.”
“My dear girl,” Lady Stokeford said in a kindly tone, patting Kate’s hand. “Please know that we—the Rosebuds and I—have the utmost sympathy for your loss. However, out here in the country, the rules are not so stringent. It’s perfectly acceptable for a young woman to wear half-mourning.”
Groping for a handkerchief, Lady Enid dabbed at her moist eyes. “He would have wanted you to be happy,” she said. “Why, on his deathbed, my own father told me I mustn’t grieve, that he loved me too much to see me dress like a nun.”
Even the dour Lady Faversham nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of sober color, so long as you avoid the brighter hues. I would venture to guess your father would have agreed.”
Aware of the emptiness of loss inside her, Kate bit her lip. The Rosebuds were right; Papa had cared little for convention. Truth be told, he’d been too involved in his studies to notice if she wore silk or sackcloth. Yet how she missed him, eccentricities and all.
“Please, Kate,” Meg said. “Papa wanted us to be happy. He said so in his letters.” She stood quietly, sniffling a little, her lower lip wobbly. The seamstress seized the opportunity to stretch the measuring tape from Meg’s waist down to the floor, then made a notation on a scrap of paper.
Jabbar knuckle-walked to Meg and looked up at her, uttering a series of soft grunts that seemed to express commiseration.
“Come, see what we have for you girls,” Lady Stokeford said gently, drawing Kate over to the array of fabrics on the bed. “This forest-green satin would make a pretty evening gown and set off your red-gold hair. The bronze muslin over here would be suitable for daytime. And look at these. Don’t you agree that the marine-blue silk and the lilac crepe would suit Meg’s dark coloring exceptionally well?”
Unable to resist, Kate lifted the silk, and the airy, cool fabric flowed like a cloud through her fingers. She fancied herself garbed in a gown of the latest fashion, her unruly hair tamed into smooth, stylish curls...and Gabriel on his knees gazing worshipfully up at her.
She crushed the fine cloth in her fist. Blast the man. She didn’t want his regard. Rather, she would relish the opportunity to flirt with other gentlemen, to show him that he meant nothing to her. Dream about him, indeed!
Now that she considered it, why shouldn’t the cad pay for taking Papa away from his family? It was the least Gabe could do.
She pivoted toward Lady Stokeford. “All right,” she said recklessly. “We’ll accept the garments.”
Meg seized her in an exuberant hug. “Thank you, Katie. You’re the best sister in the world.”
Jabbar bounded up onto the fireplace mantel, where he hooted and clapped. Everyone turned to gaze at him, the Rosebuds laughing, Meg smiling like an indulgent mother, the seamstress’s assistant fumbling with a basket of tangled skeins of thread.
With a serene smile, Lady Stokeford looked at Kate. “By the by, have I mentioned that Gabriel is going off on a trip?”
Struck by alarm, Kate tensed. “Is he leaving today, my lady?”
“No, he promised to stay here for three days,” the dowager said, her blue eyes bright and observant. “May I say, you seem inordinately concerned with his whereabouts.”
“I’m not,” Kate said quickly. “It’s just that ... he hadn’t mentioned anything about his departure to me.”
She was relieved when Meg asked for an opinion on several bolts of cloth, and Lady Stokeford turned away to help her. It wouldn’t do for the dowager to find out that Kate intended to follow Gabriel. If she could manage it.
Three days, Kate thought feverishly. She had three days in which to become an accomplished equestrian.
Jabbar’s Escape
“Over here, miss. Ye mun’t mount from the right side.” Kate cautiously walked around the dappled gray mare with the velvety brown eyes. The scent of horseflesh tickled her nose.
“Why not?”
Raymond, a middle-aged groom with stooped shoulders, respectfully doffed his cap as he’d done a score of times already. “’Tis how she’s trained. Ye mun do what the horse expects o’ ye.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.”
At her smile, Raymond blushed, his weathered face turning red to the tips of his big ears. He stepped back, bumping into the white-painted fence of the paddock. Kate had tried to put him at ease, but he still seemed amazed that she’d asked a mere groom to give riding lessons to a lady.
Glancing from the mounting block to the sidesaddle, she pondered the best way to get herself onto the rather large and intimidating horse. Raymond seemed too shy to offer advice until she’d done something wrong. “Are you certain the mare is gentle?” she asked.
He bobbed his head. “Stormy belongs to Lady Amy. Lord Stokeford bought the mare himself.”
If a five-year-old could handle this horse, then so could Kate Talisford, age twenty. Resolutely, she clambered onto the mounting block, grasped the pommel, and inserted the toe of her half-boot into the stirrup as she’d seen other ladies do.
Raymond hovered anxiously. “Other foot, miss.”
“What? Oh.” She gingerly switched feet, then levered herself upward, only to coast right off the slippery leather seat. “Lend me a hand, please.”
The groom hastened to crouch down and cup her boot in his broad palms. This time, she managed to hoist herself into the sidesaddle and hooked her knee around the pommel. The mare danced sideways, and Raymond seized the bridle just in time.
Kate rearranged her black skirt to no avail. The gown wasn’t designed for riding, a
nd the awkward position revealed the bleached edge of her petticoat. But there was nothing to be done about that impropriety.
Beset by a twinge of vertigo, she closed her gloved fingers around the reins. Slowly she straightened her spine, and a spirit of exhilaration infused her. From the high perch, she could see over the yew hedge to the lush rose garden and the magnificent stone terrace that stretched across the rear facade of Stokeford Abbey. She could also observe the stables, which solved one sticky problem.
She didn’t trust Gabriel to keep his promise to his grandmother. But he couldn’t depart without his big black gelding, Kate reasoned. That meant she could pursue her riding lessons here in the paddock and, at the same time, intercept him if he tried to steal away without her.
“Hold them reins up tight,” Raymond instructed. “Don’t let ’em drag, or ye’ll lose control.”
Kate gathered up the leather ribbons. “Like this?”
“Aye. When ye want t’ turn right, pull the reins t’ the right. Or left t’ go t’other way.”
“Yes. I’ll remember.”
“Ready, miss?”
Inhaling a deep breath for courage, she nodded.
The groom slapped the mare on the rump, and the horse set out on a sedate walk around the perimeter of the paddock. Swaying, Kate clung rigidly to the reins. Her position felt precarious, as if she were about to slide off the mare. But after a few moments, she began to relax and enjoy the slow ride. It was a marvelous novelty after so many years of walking. Yet she wouldn’t keep up with Gabe at this plodding pace.
“How do I go faster?” she called out to Raymond.
“Slap the reins.”
She did so, and the mare launched into a trot. Immediately, Kate regretted the action, for she bounced up and down in a bone-rattling rhythm. Feeling herself slip a little with each jolt, she grabbed for the pommel. A gust of cool wind whipped back her bonnet so that it dangled down her back by its strings.
