A Secret Love c-5

by Stephanie Laurens

  The man pursed his lips, stared at her, then nodded. "If you'll take a seat, I'll check the records."

  Retreating to a wooden bench along the wall, Alathea waited for fifteen minutes, only to have the man return, shaking his head and looking rather peeved.

  "We do not," he informed her, "have any expert on East Africa listed. Three who could speak with authority on West Africa, but not the East."

  Alathea thanked him and left. Pausing on the steps, she considered, then headed for her carriage. "Where can we find the city's map makers, Jacobs?"

  Along the Strand, was the answer. She inquired at three separate establishments, and got the same answer at all three. For their maps on Central East Africa, they relied on explorers' notes. Yes, their present maps of the area were extremely short on detail, but they were awaiting confirmation.

  "It wouldn't do, miss," one rigidly correct gentleman lectured her, "for us to publish a map on which we showed towns we weren't absolutely positive were there."

  "Yes, I see." Alathea turned to leave, then turned back. "The explorers whose notes you're waiting to confirm-are they in London?"

  "Regretfully no, miss. They are all, at present, in Africa. Exploring."

  There was nothing to be done but smile, and leave. Defeated.

  Alathea returned to Mount Street feeling unaccustomedly weary.

  "Thank you, Crisp." She handed the butler her bonnet. "I think I'll just sit in the library for a while."

  "Indeed, miss. Do you wish for tea?"

  "Please."

  The tea arrived but did little to alleviate the feeling of helplessness that dragged at her. Every time she thought she was on the brink of substantiating some solid fact, the proof evaporated. Her hopes would soar, only to be dashed. Meanwhile, the days were passing. The day Crowley would call in his promissory notes was inexorably approaching.

  Doom leered at her through Crowley's eyes.

  Alathea sighed. Setting aside her empty cup, she flopped back in the armchair and closed her eyes. Perhaps, if she rested just for a few minutes…

  "Are you asleep?"

  Realizing she had been, Alathea blinked her eyes wide, then smiled-a spontaneous smile of real joy-at Augusta's little face. "Hello, sweetling. Where have you been today?"

  Taking the question for the invitation it was, Augusta climbed into Alathea's lap and settled herself so she could see Alathea's face. Wedging Rose between them, she proceeded to distract Alathea with a detailed account of her day. Alathea listened, putting a question here and there, making understanding or sympathetic comments as required.

  "So, you see," Augusta concluded, hugging Rose to her chest and snuggling closer, pressing her head to Alathea's breast, "it's been a frightfully busy day."

  Alathea chuckled; raising a hand, she smoothed Augusta's hair. Small arms, small body tucked close to her side, she felt a warm, emotional tug; Augusta was the daughter she wished she could have had. She banished the thought immediately; she was obviously overtired. Too much investigating.

  Too many meetings.

  Then Augusta wriggled and sat up. "Hmm-mmm." She sniffed at Alathea's throat. "You smell extra nice today."

  Alathea's answering smile froze on her face as she realized the significance of Augusta's remark.

  She was wearing the countess's scent.

  Good God! She closed her eyes. What would have happened if she'd run into Gabriel? She'd been in the city and, earlier, not far from St. James, his habitual haunts.

  Drawing in a breath, she opened her eyes. "Come along, poppet. I need to go upstairs and wash before dinner." Before anyone else noticed she was not quite the same woman she had been.

  Two evenings later, Alathea was sitting with Jeremy in the schoolroom, Augusta in her lap, a detailed atlas from Hookhams open on the table, when the little tweeny appeared, breathless, at the door.

  "If you please, Lady Alathea," she piped, "but it's time for you to get dressed, m'lady."

  Noting the way the little maid was wringing her hands and at a loss to account for it, Alathea looked at the mantel clock.

  Then she understood the agitation.

  "Indeed." Lifting Augusta and settling her on the seat with a fond kiss, Alathea met Jeremy's eyes. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

  Only too glad to escape the shackles of African geography, Jeremy grinned and turned to Augusta. "Come on, Gussie. We can play catch before dinner."

  "I'm not Gussie." The tone of Augusta's objection boded ill for the peace of the evening.

  "Jeremy…" From the door, Alathea fixed him with a matriarchal eye.

  "Oh, very well. Augusta then. Anyway, do you want to play or not?"

  Leaving them in reasonable harmony, Alathea hurried to her room. By the time she reached it, she was even more agitated than the tweeny. They were to dine with the Arbuthnots, then attend the ball their old friends were giving to formally introduce their granddaughter to the ton. It was a major function; all the senior hostesses would be there. Being late for such a dinner without some cataclysmic excuse would sink one beyond reproach.

  But the tweeny, who had thus far only helped her get ready for balls without dinners preceeding them, had not realized the earlier hour involved. Not until she'd noticed Serena, Mary, and Alice were all busy dressing.

  Oh, God! Alathea stilled the panic that gripped her as her gaze swept her room and found no evidence of any chemise or stockings, let alone her gown, gloves, reticule… Nellie always had everything ready, but with the tweeny she had to specify every item.

  For one instant, Alathea considered developing a horrendous headache, but that would leave old Lady Arbuthnot with an odd number about her table. Stifling a sigh, she waved the maid forward. "Quickly. Help me with these laces." At least her hot water was ready and waiting.

  As she stripped off her gown and quickly washed, she issued a steady stream of orders for all the items she required to appear presentable. From the corner of her eye, she kept watch on the little maid, making sure each item was correct before asking for the next.

  Getting dressed in a scramble was one of her worst nightmares-she hated being rushed, especially for such a major event where she could count on her appearance being scrutinzed by the sharpest eyes in the ton.

  Blotting her face with the towel, Alathea shook her head. "No-not those. My dance slippers. The ones with no heel."

  Hurrying to the bed, she stripped off her linen chemise, then slipped into the welcoming coolness of silk. At least with the present fashions, she didn't have to bother with petticoats. Throwing her gown of amber silk crepe over her head, she tugged it down, settled it, then whirled and let the tweeny tie the laces. The instant the last was secured, she rushed to her dressing table, plunked herself on the stool, and plunged her hands into her hair.

  Pins flew. "Quickly-we'll have to braid it." There was no time for a more sophisticated style.

  It was only as the maid reached the end of the long braid that Alathea realized she needed two plaits to make a coronet. "Oh." For one moment, she simply stared, then she waved the tweeny aside and grabbed the braid. "Here-if we do it like this, it should pass muster."

  Underrolling half the thick braid, she bunched it at her nape, then used the long end to circle and bind it. Pushing pins in right and left, up and down, she frantically secured what would pass for a braided chignon.

  "There!" Moving her head, she confirmed the mass was anchored, then quickly eased the strands pulled back from her face so they formed a softer frame. One more quick check, then she nodded. "Now…"

  Opening a drawer in the table, she rummaged through her caps. Freeing a fine net heavily encrusted with gold beads, she grimaced. "This will have to do." Setting it over her hair so the lower edge curved about the braided bun, she pinned it in place.

  Beyond her door, Mary's and Alice's voices rang, then their quick footsteps hurried for the stairs. Alathea quelled an impulse to look at the clock-she didn't have time. "Jewelry." Flinging open her jewelry box, s
he blinked. "Oh." Her hand hovered over the contents, all neatly arranged.

  "I took the liberty of tidying, miss. Nellie said as how I had to dust and tidy every day."

  After one stunned glance at the tweeny's hopeful face, Alathea looked back at the box. "Yes-well. That's all right."

  Except that now she hadn't a clue where her pearl earrings were, let alone the matching pendant. Spearing her fingers into the piles, scattering and disarranging as she went, Alathea unearthed the earrings. Standing, she leaned closer to the mirror and quickly fitted them.

  "Allie? Are you ready?"

  "Open the door," Alathea instructed the maid. As soon as the door swung wide, she called, "I'm coming!" And fell to ransacking her jewelry box again.

  In one corner, she noted the Venetian glass flacon that contained the countess's perfume. After her recent mistake, she'd decided to take no further chances-the flacon was one of an identical pair. The other bottle contained her customary perfume; she'd left that out on the table. Her searching fingers finally touched the gold chain she sought; drawing the gold and pearl pendant free, she held the chain around her neck. "Hurry."

  The tweeny's fingers were sure; the clasp closed as Mary came rushing to the door.

  "The carriage is pulling up! Mama says we have to go now!"

  "I'm coming." Grabbing the flacon on her table, Alathea liberally sprinkled, then whirled-"Oh, no! Not that reticule-the small gold one!"

  The tweeny dived for her armoire; shawls and reticules went flying. "This one?"

  Grabbing her shawl from the bed, Alathea headed for the door. "Yes!"

  Waving the reticule, the tweeny chased her down the corridor. Settling her shawl over her elbows, Alathea grabbed the reticule, checked it contained a handkerchief and pins, then lengthened her stride, took the stairs two at a time, raced through the tiled foyer, out the door Crisp held wide, pattered down the steps and dove into the carriage.

  Folwell shut the door behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion.

  The crowd in Lady Arbuthnot's ballroom was unbearably dense. Having arrived as late as he dared, Gabriel inwardly girded his loins, then stepped off the stairs and plunged in. Prevented from propping his shoulders against the wall-there was no spare wall left-he circulated through the crowd, keeping an eagle eye out for those who most wished to see him, intent on seeing them first, and avoiding them.

  High on his list of people to be missed were ladies such as Agatha Herries. He didn't see her early enough; she placed herself directly in his path. With no alternative offering, he halted before her. She smiled archly up at him and laid a hand on his sleeve.

  "Gabriel, darling."

  He nodded. "Agatha."

  His tone was the very essence of unencouraging. Despite that, Lady Herries's smile deepened. Calculation gleamed in her eyes. "I wonder if, perhaps, we might find a quiet spot."

  "For what?"

  She studied him, then let her lids veil her eyes and slowly stroked her hand down his arm. "Just a little proposition I'd like to put to you. A personal matter."

  "You can tell me here. In this din, it's unlikely anyone will overhear."

  The idea didn't suit, but she knew him too well to push.

  "Very well." She glanced around, then looked up at him. "It seems you're destined to choose a wife soon. I wanted to make sure you were fully acquainted with all your options."

  "Indeed?"

  "My daughter, Clara-I dare say you might remember her. She's been well trained to be an accommodating wife, and while our estate and lineage might not measure up to that of the Cynsters, there would, of course, be compensations."

  The purr in her voice, the lascivious gleam in her eyes, left no doubt as to what those "compensations" might be.

  Gabriel looked at her coldly, then he let his mask slip, let his contempt and revulsion show. Lady Herries paled and stepped back-then had to apologize to the lady she'd backed into.

  When she looked back at Gabriel, his expression was impassive once more. "You were misinformed. I am not presently searching for a wife." He inclined his head. "If you'll excuse me."

  Stepping around Lady Herries, Gabriel continued on his way, searching, not for a wife, but for a widow. When he found her, after he'd wrung her neck and administered a few other physical torments, he'd turn his mind to marrying her.

  First, he had to find her.

  She ought to be here. Almost everyone of note was. She was of his circle-that he did not doubt-so where was she?

  Behind his elegantly aloof facade, he felt decidedly grim. He'd been sure he'd get one of her countessly summonses the evening following their midnight drive. But he hadn't. He'd spent the whole evening with Chance popping in and out of the parlor like a Jack-in-the-box, wondering why he'd stayed in. Reining in his impatience-not easy after that midnight interlude and the tempest of emotions she'd unleashed-he'd waited at home the following night, with no greater success.

  Now he was hungry-ravenous-not just for her, but even more to know she was his, to know where she was, to know he could put his hand on her whenever he wished. He was tense, wound tight with a need to possess far greater than any he'd previously experienced in all the years of his rakish career. He had to find out who she was, where she lived, where she was.

  His copy of Burke's Peerage had started to exert a hypnotic tug. He'd caught himself considering the leather bound tome on a number of occasions. But he'd promised… given his word… the word of a Cynster.

  He'd spent all last night, alone again, trying to devise some way around that promise. His Aunt Helena would know who the countess was-she always knew who was whose son, who had recently died, who married a young bride. Unfortunately, Helena would immediately inform his mother of his inquiry, and that he could do without. For hours he'd toyed with the notion of throwing himself on Honoria's mercy and asking for her aid. She'd give it, but it would come at a price; nothing was more certain. The present duchess of St. Ives was not one to pass up a never-to-be-repeated advantage. It was a measure of his desperation that he even contemplated asking her.

  In the end, he'd concluded that his promise-the promise the countess had so artfully phrased-bound him too tightly and left him no room to manuever. Thrown back on his own devices, he had come here tonight for the sole purpose of tracking her down.

  Her-his houri-the woman who had captured his soul.

  Raising his head, he scanned the room. The one feature she could not conceal was her height. There were a number of tall ladies present, but he knew them all-not one was an elusive countess. Alathea, he noted, was presently on the dance floor, partnered by Chillingworth. He looked away. At least the dance was only a cotillion, not a waltz.

  "There you are. At last!"

  Lucifer struggled free of the crowd. Gabriel raised a questioning brow.

  His brother stared at him. "Well, the twins, of course!"

  Gabriel looked around, and spotted his fair cousins on the dance floor. "They're dancing."

  "I know that," Lucifer stated through his teeth. "But it's more than time for you to take the watch."

  Gabriel studied the twins for one second more, then looked back at Lucifer. "Not anymore. They don't need watching. Just as long as we're here if they need us."

  Lucifer's jaw nearly dropped. "What? You can't be serious."

  "Perfectly. They're halfway through their second Season. They know the ropes. They're not ninnyhammers."

  "I know that-God knows, they're sharp as tacks. But they're female."

  "I'd noticed. I've also noticed that they don't appreciate our endeavors." Gabriel paused, then added, "And they might have reasonable cause to accuse us of excessive interference in their lives."

  "Alathea's spoken to you, hasn't she?"

  "She's spoken to you, too."

  "Well, yes…" Lucifer turned and surveyed the twins. After a minute, he asked, "Do you really think it's safe?"

  Gabriel considered the two bright heads spinning in the dance. "Safe or not,
I think we must." After a moment, he glanced at Lucifer. "I don't know about you, but I have other fish to fry."

  "Indeed?" One of Lucifer's black brows quirked. "And here I thought your exceedingly unmellow mood was due to enforced abstinence and an overfamiliarity with your own hearth."

  "Don't start," Gabriel all but snarled. His exceedingly thin facade threatened to crack.

  Lucifer sobered. "Who is she?"

  With a definite snarl, Gabriel swung away, moving into the crowd, leaving Lucifer with his brows riding high and real concern in his eyes.

  Whoever she was, she had to be here somewhere. Clinging to that conviction, Gabriel started to quarter the room.

  Alathea was taking the long way back from the withdrawing room whence she'd retreated to escape her increasingly persistent cavaliers, when she came upon Gabriel in the crowd. As making any headway through the throng required constant tacking, despite being so tall, neither had any warning of the other's approach.

  Suddenly, they were face to face-and very close.

  They both jumped, tensed, Gabriel with his habitual reaction to her, instantly masked. Alathea saw it and prayed that he thought her reaction merely simple surprise, not the ground-shaking shock it had been. Her breathing had seized; her eyes had flown wide. She kept them locked on his. They were so close, she could sense his strength through every pore, could almost feel the shocking heat of that large body against hers. Wrapped intimately about hers, sunk deep into hers. She swayed slightly toward him, then caught herself. Heaven help her! Would it always be like this from now on?

  His eyes narrowed. Dragging in a desperate breath, she stiffened her spine and lifted her head. His gaze rose to her beaded hairnet; she tilted her chin even higher and clung to her customary haughtiness.

  "It might be gold, but…"

  Temper came to her rescue. "It is not tawdry. If you dare say it is…" She held his gaze for an instant longer-long enough to realize that she had to get away. "I have nothing to say to you-I doubt you have anything civil to say to me. I have better things to do than stand here crossing swords with you."

  "Indeed?"

  That was accompanied by an infuriating lift of one brow.