Tempt Me Twice

by Olivia Drake

She kept her eyes wide open. “Do you still think me an irksome little girl?”

  He strolled out of the blinding sunlight. “Little girl? No. Irksome? You don’t really want me to answer that.”

  His wry mockery caused an odd melting inside her. To her surprise, Kate had the urge to laugh with him.

  Instead, she walked briskly to a map of Africa that was tacked to the wall. The placement of pins traced a meandering route that went southward from Egypt into the eastern edge of the continent, and then looped back up again. Remembering what Gabriel had said, that Papa had wanted her and Meg with him, she felt an easing of the ache that had been her longtime companion. How she would have leapt at the chance to explore the ruins in her father’s company.

  “Where is the lost city?” she asked.

  Stepping to her side, Gabriel planted his index finger on the route southeast of Khartoum. “Here. In the mountains of Abyssinia.”

  “What is it like there?”

  “Wild and windswept. Uninhabited except for a primitive tribe or two. We had to bring in our supplies on mules. During the dry season, even our water was transported that way.”

  “Papa didn’t mention that in his writings.”

  Gabriel idly riffled the pages of the notebook. “No, he didn’t. Henry seldom thought about the practicalities of life.” He flashed her an oblique glance. “That’s an observation, not a criticism.”

  Instead of resenting Gabriel, she felt a great curiosity about his travels. A curiosity about him. She leaned back against the wall. “Why do you want to tell my father’s story?” she asked. “Why not spend your days at idle pursuits like other noblemen?”

  “It’s something to pass the time, that’s all.” Moving away, he went to a drawing fastened to the wall, dipped a quill into an inkwell, and added some shading to a spotted beast with an unnaturally long neck.

  “It has to be more than that,” she said, following him. “Else you’d be off traveling again.”

  “I told you before, I admired Henry’s dedication to his work. I don’t want it to be forgotten. Isn’t that what you want, too?”

  “Of course.” And yet, when he went over to the table, Kate again suspected that she’d probed a raw place in him. Going to his side, she picked up the drawing of a large, spotted, catlike creature that lurked in the bushes near a herd of grazing antelope. “What is this beast?”

  He glanced at it. “A leopard.”

  The leopard’s alert eyes and crouching stance held an unnerving reality that made her shiver. It looked as if it were about to pounce. “Have you always had such an amazing talent for art?”

  Gabriel grunted. “Amazing? More often than not, I got in trouble for sketching instead of studying.”

  “But your parents must have been proud of you.”

  “My mother wanted me to join the clergy.”

  Kate laughed at the astonishing notion. “You, a vicar? Preaching sermons from a pulpit?”

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it? My mother had me on my knees in the chapel every day, praying for my own redemption.” The quirk of his mouth was more a grimace than a smile as Gabriel tossed the quill onto the table. “It’s no wonder I was the rebellious one. I left home on my eighteenth birthday.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Wandered. Sketched. Seduced women.”

  By his smirk, it was plain that he meant to shock her. But Kate was too curious for that. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “What about your brothers? What did your parents want for them?”

  “The military for Joshua, which suited him. He’s now a captain in the cavalry. As for Michael, he was groomed for the title and the land. He never wanted anything else.” Something in Gabriel’s tone caught Kate’s attention. He turned away again, sorting with studious interest through a batch of drawings.

  She moved some papers aside and then perched on the edge of the table. “It must have been difficult, growing up in the shadow of two older brothers,” she mused. “Especially since they followed the path chosen for them, while you veered away from yours.”

  He looked up sharply, his expression hostile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think...you must have envied your brothers, at least a little. They had the support of your parents.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, but...” Kate struggled to form her intuition into words. “Perhaps you hope this book about your travels with Papa will prove you’re more than a rebel or an itinerant artist. That you’re as competent and worthy as your brothers.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. He gripped the journal in his hands. “You presume too much. I haven’t the time for your chatter. Run along now.”

  Kate didn’t move. She imagined Gabriel as a defiant boy being pushed in the wrong direction. Like her, he’d yearned for approval; unlike her, he’d fled home to escape his decreed fate. A ray of understanding settled in her bosom, the feeling tender and tenacious.

  On impulse, she asked, “What if I said I’d write the text for the book?”

  His blue eyes narrowed, intense and suspicious. “Why would you change your mind?”

  Because you need me. “Because there’s no sense in us working at cross-purposes. And because I want this book to be the best that it can be.” After a pause, she found the humility to add, “I can’t do it without you, Gabriel.”

  Silence fell over the cavernous attic room as he stared at her, his stony expression giving no clue to his thoughts. Dust motes danced in the last beams of sunlight that pierced the dormer windows. She heard the faint buzz of a fly somewhere.

  Tossing down the notebook, Gabriel extended his hand. “Truce, then.”

  Her pulse quickened. After they’d concluded the dangerous business with Sir Charles and returned here to the Abbey, she would work side by side with Gabriel. The project would likely take months to complete. Months in which they would be alone together. She already knew they were like spark and tinder.

  Was she a fool for hoping they could ever find true accord?

  Disregarding the clamor of common sense, Kate stood up and walked toward him. When she reached out, his big hand swallowed hers in a firm grip. “Truce,” she murmured.

  He held on to her hand a few moments longer. Deviltry glimmered in his ocean-blue eyes. With that obnoxious confidence, he said, “Just so long as you remember who’s in charge.”

  “Of course,” she retorted. “I am.”

  The Fraudulent Footman

  As he rode the gelding over the hill and saw Fairfield Park nestled in its familiar wooded setting, Gabe felt a keen sense of homecoming. Set amid banks of rhododendrons, the sprawling Tudor mansion was built of gray granite with mullioned windows and a gabled roof. Ivy climbed the walls, and the setting sun painted the eaves in streaks of gold. From the garden drifted the cooing of doves in the dovecote.

  The place hadn’t changed a bit, though he’d been gone for more than four years. Longer than that, Gabe mused. Since he’d inherited the manor at eighteen, he’d either been carousing in London or wandering the world. Now he wondered why he hadn’t returned here more often. He had good memories of the holidays he’d spent each summer with his maternal grandparents who had doted on him. Fairfield Park had been his refuge from a drunken father and a pious mother.

  As he dismounted in front of the house, a stooped old man trudged around from the stables. When he spied Gabe, his grizzled features broke into a toothless grin, and he increased his amble to a jog.

  “Welcome home, milord,” he called out in a thin, raspy voice. “’Tis been a month o’ Sundays since we seen ye.”

  “Tom Wickett,” Gabe exclaimed, clapping an arm around the ancient retainer. “I thought you’d retired already.”

  “Got a few years o’ life left in these auld bones.”

  “So it would seem. Pinched any maids on the bum lately?”

  Tom cackled. “I ain’t in me grave yet.”

  While Tom led the gelding
off to the stables, the stately black coach with the Stokeford crest trundled up the drive, followed by the baggage cart piled high with trunks containing enough garments to clothe half the population of London. Gabe’s good humor soured.

  He’d wanted to press on to Damson’s estate on the coast, but Grandmama had vetoed him, decreeing they would stop here for the night. “We’ll proceed the last ten miles in the morning,” she’d said airily. “You can’t expect us to present ourselves at the castle, all travel-stained and weary. We ladies are far more delicate than men.”

  Rolling his eyes, Gabe had deemed it wise to bite his tongue. He knew from long experience the futility of arguing with the dowager Lady Stokeford.

  Waving away the footman, he opened the door of the coach and helped his grandmother descend the single step to the paving stones. She looked bright-eyed and cheerful, not the least bit weary from traveling since dawn. “It’s been a long time since I visited here,” she said. “What a pretty place it is, as warm and friendly as a cottage. Don’t you agree, Kate?”

  “A very large cottage,” Kate jested as she stepped out of the coach. “You were right to sing its praises.”

  As he’d done that morning upon their departure, Gabe stared at her, amazed that shedding her crow’s plumage could make such a difference. The deep bronze hue of her gown flattered her red-gold hair, which was drawn up in a new style that looked softer and more feminine than her usual spinster’s knot. Her gown dipped low over her bosom and skimmed downward over womanly hips. He imagined himself stripping it off her, inch by slow inch.

  Uncle Nathaniel gallantly took his grandniece’s arm.

  Admiring the stately old house, they started toward the steps. At the last minute, Kate cast a glance over her shoulder at Gabe as if she’d just remembered his presence. A come-hither smile played over her lips before she turned away.

  That seductive expression caused an instantaneous reaction in him. Heat seared his body, centering in his groin. He hadn’t felt such a hard, raging need since that night when he’d had her up against a wall with his hands on her breasts.

  “She’s a quick study,” Grandmama said fondly. “I hope you don’t mind that I suggested she practice on you.”

  Befuddled, he realized that the dowager stood at his side, watching him. “Practice?”

  “Walk me inside, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Grandmama took his arm as they proceeded slowly up the steps to the broad front porch. “It’s quite simple. To pass the time on the journey, I gave Kate a few lessons on how to entice a man.”

  Gabe stopped short. “What?” he exploded. “Why the devil would you do that?”

  “It’s all part of the ruse, of course. She’ll be attending her first real party with the ton, and she must learn how to captivate the gentlemen.”

  “She needn’t captivate anyone. We’re searching for a statue.”

  Lady Stokeford fluttered her kid-gloved fingers. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that,” he said through gritted teeth. Channeling his ill humor into anger, he walked her toward the door. “It’s our sole reason for calling on Damson. That, and seeing him pay for his crime.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that Sir Charles is guilty of murder and theft.” Her gently lined face firmed into a steely expression. Just as quickly, she looked up at Gabe and smiled artlessly. “However, as we’ll be spending the better part of a week in noble company, it behooves Kate to learn how to play the coquette.”

  “It’s a waste of effort.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said on a cultured laugh. “As her guardian, you should encourage her to flirt. After all, you’re responsible for finding her a husband.” With that, she glided through the front doorway.

  Flabbergasted, Gabe stood on the porch and stared after his grandmother. He couldn’t think of a single response. Find Kate a husband? He’d sooner shovel coal into the furnaces of Hell.

  The next morning, ready ahead of time and anxious to depart, Kate descended to the timbered hall only to stop in surprise with her hand on the newel post. Lady Stokeford and Uncle Nathaniel stood near a portly stranger and a white-wigged footman. Instead of politely taking the visitor’s hat and cloak, the manservant reached out and shook his hand. Odder still, the newcomer bowed to the footman as if he were the Prince Regent.

  She frowned at that tall, muscular form in the crimson livery of the Stokefords. Her heart beat unnaturally fast, and to her confusion, she experienced a deep, unmistakable throb of attraction. She curled her fingers around the carved post. Had that one kiss turned her into such a wanton that she could hunger for every able-bodied man she encountered?

  Then the footman turned and she saw his face. Despite the formal white wig, he had the chiseled features and dictatorial air of an aristocrat.

  Gabriel.

  Kate bit back a laugh. He was disguised for his role in the ruse. Because Sir Charles knew him by sight, Gabriel couldn’t attend the party as a guest. But with him clad as a servant, the nobility would simply overlook him. He would be another faceless menial, whose sole purpose in life was to serve his betters.

  Bedeviled by humor, Kate headed toward the small party, her gown of forest-green silk swishing around her ankles. The tap of her slippers echoed in the entrance hall with its fine old tapestries decorating the oak-paneled walls. “Good morning,” she said. “Footman, you’ve neglected your duties. Won’t you take our guest’s hat and cloak?”

  Gabriel scowled, his gaze roaming over her in a most un-footmanlike manner.

  Lady Stokeford’s tinkling laugh filled the hall. “Kate is right, Gabriel. You would do well to practice a more humble demeanor. And for heaven’s sake, don’t glower.”

  “Now, Lucy, you mustn’t tease the poor man,” Uncle Nathaniel said, though his mouth twitched in a grin. “He cuts a fine figure. The serving maids will be all a-twitter.”

  Gabriel took the visitor’s outer garments and tossed them on a chair. Making a mocking bow to Kate, he said, “Shall we proceed?”

  As the small party headed down a corridor, she hung back to walk with him at the rear. Despite the crimson livery with its shiny gold buttons and the old-fashioned powdered wig, he had an imperious presence and a handsomeness that was almost godlike. “Servitude becomes you, my lord.”

  “That gown becomes you, my lady.”

  The unexpected compliment, coupled by his wolfish stare, caused a turmoil inside her. But she wouldn’t let him get the upper hand. “You realize that henceforth, you must obey my every command.”

  “You’ve only to summon me, and I’ll fulfill your every pleasure.”

  Soft and beguiling, yearning lurked within her. Those beautiful blue eyes held a promise that no lady should heed. How was it that he could so easily unnerve her?

  They entered a large, comfortable drawing room decorated with old-fashioned wing chairs and fine walnut furniture. The ladies and Uncle Nathaniel sat down while Gabriel and the visitor remained standing.

  “Allow me to introduce Mr. Bickell, the Bow Street Runner who will be assisting us on this case,” Gabriel said.

  With interest, Kate studied their guest. The presence of a law officer brought a sobering reminder of the task that lay ahead of them. Though he didn’t look at all as she had expected.

  Bickell had gray eyes half hidden beneath shaggy eye-brows, and a florid complexion to match his red waistcoat. In contrast to his spindly legs, his stout chest strained the brass buttons of his vest. Except for the keenness of his gaze, he looked like someone’s jolly uncle.

  He swept a courtly bow, revealing a bald pate encircled by a tonsure of brown hair. “Barnabas Bickell, at your service.”

  At Gabriel’s imperious wave, Bickell settled onto a bench by the unlit fireplace. His face solemn, he regarded Gabriel, who leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece, his pose entirely too casual for a servant. “With due respect, milord, perhaps you’ll tell me why you’ve summoned help all the way from London.”

  Gabriel reached into his p
ocket and pulled forth a folded paper, which he handed to Bickell. “A valuable statue has been stolen. This one.”

  The Runner whistled softly as he stared at the illustration. “ ’Tis a beaut,” he said. “It must be worth a pretty penny.”

  “It’s priceless. The statue is solid gold, about twice the size of my hand.” Gabriel spread his fingers, his palm open. “The largest stone is a rare yellow diamond.”

  “That isn’t all,” Kate said on a surge of angry grief. “The thief also murdered my father.” Unwilling to leave his journals behind, she had spent the previous evening leafing through them again, rereading the entry in which Papa had reported meeting Sir Charles on the day before his death.

  Lady Stokeford placed a comforting arm around her as Gabriel told an abbreviated version of the events in Cairo. “Our plan is simple,” he said. “Lady Stokeford, Nathaniel Babcock, and Miss Talisford will attend a party at the home of the thief. Once we find the statue, I’ll send word to you here. You’ll obtain the warrant as swiftly as possible and make the arrest.” He eyed Bickell. “I trust you can handle that.”

  “All in a day’s work,” the man said, placidly resting his hands on his protruding belly. “But who is your thief?”

  “A nobleman called Damson.”

  Bickell lowered his thick brows. “Damson, you say? Sir Charles Damson?”

  “You know the name?” Lady Stokeford asked sharply.

  “Aye, milady.” Bickell cast a respectful glance at Kate and the dowager, then looked up at Gabriel. “This is a fine pickle, indeed. I can’t say I like involving the ladies with such a man.”

  Gabriel aimed a look of insufferable smugness at the women.

  Annoyed, Kate said, “Will you tell us what you mean, sir?”

  Bickell shifted on the bench. “I feel it my duty to warn you, there’ve been strange goings-on reported in the vicinity of Damson Castle. Curious things, indeed.”

  His face alert, Gabriel propped his foot on a stool and his elbow on his knee. “Explain yourself.”

  “For one, some of the locals have seen odd lights on the beach at night near his castle.”