A Secret Love

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Wait! Who’s Higgenbotham? Does he exist?”

  “No.” Alathea frowned. “He’s just part of our tale.” She yanked up another weed. “Where was I? Oh, yes—this Mr. Higgenbotham had dropped by with a friend of his, a captain whose ship recently docked from Central East Africa. That, of course, was Jeremy’s cue to challenge the harbor master to see if his log and register would tell us who the captain sailed for.”

  “And the harbor master obliged?”

  “Of course! Men always like to demonstrate their abilities before an appreciative audience, especially one composed of a female and a youthful pup. It took him twenty minutes—there were quite a few ships to cross-check—but we think the captain must be one Aloysius Struthers who sails for Bentinck and Company. Their office is in East Smithfield Street. The harbor master recognized the description and is certain Struthers is our man.”

  Gabriel resisted the urge to shake his head. “Amazing.”

  “Jeremy,” Alathea decreed, plonking another weed onto her pile, “was simply magnificent. Even had you been the harbor master, you would have happily searched the log for him. He played his hand just right.”

  Gabriel raised a brow. “He’s obviously like you—he must have inherited the same thespian tendencies.”

  He waited, but Alathea pointedly ignored the comment, reaching instead for another weed. After a moment, she asked, “So what’s next?”

  Gabriel looked across the lawns to where her stepbrothers were wrestling with a thick branch. “I’ll visit Bentinck and Company this afternoon.”

  Alathea frowned at him. “I thought you said any open inquiry was too dangerous?”

  Completing his scan of the garden, Gabriel returned his gaze to her face. “Surely you don’t think you’re the only one who can assume a disguise?”

  Her lips twitched. “What will you be? A merchant from Hull looking for a fast ship to carry his whitebait to Africa?”

  “Hull? Good God, no. I’ll be an importer of wooden artifacts looking for a reliable line to transport my wares, bought throughout Africa, to St. Katherine’s Docks.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll have received a recommendation for Struthers and the line for which he sails but, being an exceedingly fussy client, I’ll insist on speaking directly to Struthers before making any decision. That should encourage the company to give me Struthers’s direction with all possible dispatch.”

  Alathea nodded approvingly. “Very good. We’ll make a thespian of you yet.”

  She looked up, expecting some light retort—he was studying her, his hazel gaze steady and keen. He held her trapped, searching, considering . . . the sounds of the others, their chatter, their laughter, the bright calls of the birds and the distant rumble of carriage wheels, faded away, leaving just the two of them on the grass in the sunshine.

  Then his gaze shifted, dropping to her lips, briefly sweeping lower before returning to her eyes. “The trick,” he murmured, his voice very low, “is not in assuming the role, but in knowing when the charade ends and reality starts.”

  In his eyes, so like hers, lay living reminders of all they’d shared—the childhood triumphs, the youthful adventures, their recent intimacy. Deep in their gaze, Alathea simply existed. Reaching out, he caught a wayward lock of her hair lying loose along her cheek. Taming it, he tucked it back behind her ear. As he withdrew his hand, with the backs of his fingers he caressed the whorl of her ear, then lightly traced the line of her jaw.

  His hand dropped.

  Their gazes held, then Alathea drew a shaky breath and looked down. He looked away. “I’ll see what I can learn.”

  Gathering his long limbs, he rose. Alathea kept her gaze on her pansies.

  “I’ll let you know if I’m successful.”

  She inclined her head. “Yes. Do.”

  With no “Good-bye,” he moved off, waving to the others, stopping to exchange a polite word with Miss Helm. Alathea hestitated, then gave in to the urge to turn her head and watch him as he strode away.

  Twelve hours later, Alathea stood by the side of Lady Hendricks’s overcrowded music room, enraptured by the composition faultlessly rendered by the capital’s most sought-after string quartet. The first segment of the performance was drawing to a close when long fingers curled around her wrist, then slid down to tangle with hers.

  Her head whipped around. Her eyes widened. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Gabriel looked at her, an incipient frown in his eyes. “I wanted to see you.”

  He eased in beside her; she was forced to make room. The last thing she wanted was to draw more eyes their way. “How did you know I was here?” They both spoke in whispers.

  “Folwell told me where you were headed.”

  “Fol—? Oh.” She caught his eye. “You know about Folwell.”

  “Hmm. Has he mentioned my new man?”

  “Chance?”

  Gabriel nodded. “His tongue runs on wheels, out of my presence or in it. I knew Folwell was haunting my kitchen from the first. I didn’t, however, connect his presence with you. I thought he was there to see Dodswell. I know better now, but Folwell does have his uses.”

  With a sniff, Alathea returned her gaze to the musicians. “I can’t believe Lady Hendricks sent you a card for this—not even she could be that naively hopeful.”

  “She didn’t.” Gabriel settled close beside her. “I simply walked in, secure in the knowledge she won’t show me the door.” He studied Alathea’s profile, watching it soften as the music drew her back. The line of her jaw fascinated him, a subtle melding of feminine strength and vulnerability. She had always struck him that way—as much a partner as one to be protected. He’d recognized that quality in the countess; he’d known it in Alathea all his life.

  Following her gaze to the players, he waited until they concluded their piece on an uplifting crescendo before murmuring, “The captain is presently uncontactable.”

  The outburst of applause distracted the crowd so none but he saw her disappointment. It filled her eyes as well as her expression. He moved across her, lifting her hand to his sleeve. “Come to the window—we can speak more freely there.”

  The narrow windows were open, a balcony, barely a ledge, beyond them. A cool breeze wafted the filmy curtains. Pressing them aside, they stood on the threshold, facing each other, hardly private but sufficiently apart from other guests to talk without being overheard.

  Alathea leaned back against the window frame. “What did you learn?”

  “Aloysius Struthers is our man—the clerks at the shipping line confirmed the description, and also that he’s something of an expert on East Africa, having sailed those coasts for the last decade and more. Unfortunately, the captain is presently away visiting friends—the company has no idea where. He has no family and no fixed abode in this country. However, he does call in now and then to check there’s no change in his sailing schedule. He’s not due to sail again for a month. I left a message guaranteed to bring him to Brook Street the instant he reads it, but he may not get it for a week or more.”

  Alathea grimaced.

  Gabriel hesitated, then continued, “There’s also the possibility that he might not be willing to help. The clerks painted a picture of an irascible old gent more concerned with his ships and Africa than anything else. I gather he doesn’t have much time for nonsailors.”

  “Do we have enough proof to mount a case without his testimony?”

  Gabriel paused, then said, “Montague’s figures are strongly suggestive of deliberate fraud, but are not conclusive. A good barrister could argue his way around them. What else we have on the three towns—Fangak, Lodwar and Kingi—relies on the reports of explorers who are not themselves available to vouch for the details. As for information from the African authorities, my contacts in Whitehall are finding it exceedingly difficult to get any straight answers, which in itself is highly suspicious. For any serious investor, what we have would be more than enough to pass judgment o
n Crowley’s scheme. For a court of law, we need more.”

  “How much more?”

  “I’ll keep pressing Whitehall. Without more definitive proof, lodging a petition at this stage would be unwise.”

  “Essentially, we need the captain.”

  “Yes, but at the moment, there’s nothing more we can do on that front.”

  “And even if we do find him, he may not help.”

  Gabriel made no reply. A moment later, the musicians laid bow to string. They both turned toward the dais as the crowd resettled for the next piece. A lilting air, it filled the room with a hauntingly sweet melody. Alathea watched the musicians, letting their art sweep her away, temporarily soothing her fears. Gabriel watched her. The short piece ended; applause rolled through the room. Alathea contributed her share, then sighed and turned to him.

  “I’d forgotten you like music.”

  Her expression turned wry. “To my mind, it’s one of the few charms of the capital—to be able to hear the most talented musicians.”

  Gabriel merely nodded. His gaze went past her, and abruptly sharpened. “Damn! That harpy’s actually going to throw her daughter at me.”

  Looking around, Alathea beheld their hostess bearing down on them, a beaming smile on her face, her pale, clearly reticent daughter in tow. “Well, you are here, after all. She probably sees it as encouragement.”

  The sound Gabriel made was derisive.

  Alathea arched a brow at him. “Shall I leave you to your fate?”

  “Don’t you dare. That poor girl always loses her tongue about me. God knows why. Conversing with her is worse than pulling teeth.”

  Alathea smiled as she turned to greet Lady Hendricks. Gabriel appropriated her hand and placed it on his sleeve, thereby denying her ladyship any chance of whisking her off and leaving him alone with her daughter. Lady Hendricks accepted the situation with a puzzled look, settling for gushing over his presence before retreating, leaving her daughter with them. Alathea, who was acquainted with Miss Hendricks, took pity on all concerned and kept the conversation rolling, never straying from any but the most mundane subjects.

  After one warning glance from her, Gabriel behaved himself, consenting to chat with debonair charm. When the musicians next took to the dais and, under Gabriel’s direction, they parted from Miss Hendricks, the young lady was actually smiling. Gliding through the room on Gabriel’s arm, Alathea felt sure Lady Hendricks would be pleased enough to forget her earlier puzzlement.

  “Esher and Carstairs are sitting with your sisters.” Gabriel shot her a look as they passed out of the music room. “How’s that coming along?”

  “Very well.” Halting in the foyer, Alathea drew her hand from his sleeve and turned to look back into the room. “Inside two weeks, I should think.” Then she glanced at Gabriel, her expression growing serious. “Have you . . . heard anything about either of them?”

  “No.” He scanned her face. “I’ve already checked—they’re exactly as they appear. Both are wealthy enough to marry as they choose, and in both cases their respective families should be more than content with their securing an earl’s daughters as their brides.”

  “Thank heavens. I’d started to wonder if it was all too good to be true. I never imagined they’d both go off so easily.” She looked back at her sisters. “This Season has proved far more felicitous than anyone could have expected.”

  His gaze on her face, on the delicate line of her jaw, Gabriel slowly nodded. He hesitated, then touched her arm. “Au revoir.” Stepping past her, he left the house.

  He found her in the park the following afternoon, a willowy vision in pale green. The fine fabric of her gown clung to her hips, swaying evocatively as she trailed in the wake of her sisters and, unfortunately, his. Esher and Carstairs were once more in attendance; Gabriel resigned himself to speaking to both in the next few days regarding their intentions. A subtle prod wouldn’t hurt.

  His gaze fastened on Alathea. Lengthening his stride, he closed the distance between them. She whirled as he caught up with her. Surprise and awareness flared in her eyes, then she caught herself and inclined her head graciously. “Have you heard anything?”

  Taking her hand, an action that now seemed normal, even called for, Gabriel anchored it on his sleeve and drew her to stroll beside him. “No. Nothing more.”

  “Oh.”

  He felt her questioning glance. She wanted to know what had brought him here. “I thought you might be interested in the details Montague has put together.”

  The distraction served; she not only followed his account, but posed a few shrewd questions on the Company’s projected costs. He nodded. “I’ll get Montague to check—”

  “Alathea! Such a pleasant surprise!”

  The exclamation brought them up short; absorbed in their discussion, they had not been looking about them. Gabriel muttered a curse as his gaze fell on the countess of Lewes, approaching with her brother, Lord Montgomery.

  Alathea smiled. “Cecile! How lovely to see you.”

  Suppressing a frown, Gabriel exchanged a terse nod with Montgomery. They both waited with feigned patience while the ladies exchanged far more detailed greetings. From references the countess made, Gabriel gathered she and Alathea were contemporaries; their acquaintance dated from Alathea’s aborted Season eleven years before. From Montgomery’s smug expression, Gabriel surmised his lordship imagined his sister’s connection would put him on a closer, more personal footing with Alathea.

  “And Mr. Cynster!” The countess turned to him with an arch smile.

  “Madam.” Gabriel accepted the hand she offered him, bowed easily, and released her. Alathea’s fingers slid from his sleeve. Without looking, he caught her hand, enclosing it within his grasp. She stilled. He could all but hear her wondering what he was about.

  “Perhaps,” the countess continued, ignoring the byplay, “we could stroll together?”

  Alathea smiled. “Indeed—why not?”

  Gabriel pinched her fingers, then made a great show of tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. She shot him a sharp glance, then turned to Lord Montgomery. “Is your mother well?”

  Feeling distinctly unsocial, Gabriel turned to the countess. “How’s Helmsley these days?”

  The countess colored and slid around his wicked question. She paid him back by describing her offspring and their illnesses, a subject guaranteed to send any sane gentleman fleeing. Gabriel mentally gritted his teeth and refused to yield. As they strolled on, he noticed that Alathea kept her gaze fixed on Lord Montgomery, paying no attention whatever to all the gory details about the countess’s three children. Knowing her as he did, knowing how closely she’d been involved with the care of her stepsiblings, he at first found that odd. Then they reached the Serpentine and he glanced at her face.

  She kept it averted; he couldn’t see her eyes. He could see the underlying stiffness in her features. Smoothly, he turned to the countess. “Do you plan to attend Lady Richmond’s gala?”

  The abruptness of the question made the countess pause, but she took to the new topic with alacrity. With a query here and there, he kept her engrossed in the social whirl, well away from the subject of children. His awareness centered on Alathea, he sensed the gradual easing of her tension. She had, indeed, given up a lot to save her stepfamily, far more than she would willingly let anyone know.

  “I say! Lady Alathea!”

  “My dear lady!”

  “Countess, do introduce me.”

  A bevy of five gentlemen, including Lord Coleburn, Mr. Simpkins and Lord Falworth, swept up to them from behind; if Gabriel had been able to see them, they wouldn’t have managed it, but now he and Alathea were caught.

  Alathea sensed his increasing irritation. She glanced at him; he was regarding Lord Falworth with an impassive expression and a dangerous glint in his eye.

  “Don’t you think so, Lady Alathea?”

  “Oh—yes.” Recalling Falworth’s question, she quickly amended, “But only in
the company of close friends.”

  Dealing with her would-be suitors while knowing Gabriel was considering annihilating one or all of them played havoc with her normally unassailable nerves. Her relief was quite genuine when he closed his hand over hers, still tucked in his elbow, and halted.

  “I’m afraid,” he purred, at his most urbane, “that we must shepherd Lady Alathea’s sisters and mine back to our mothers’ carriages. You’ll have to excuse us.”

  That last was said with enough underlying command to convince even Lord Montgomery that bowing and making extravagant adieus was the better part of valor.

  Gabriel drew her ruthlessly away. He caught his sister Heather’s eye and with one brotherly gesture redirected the group now well ahead of them back toward the avenue.

  Side by side, strolling easily, their long legs a match for each other, they brought up the rear. Alathea sighed with relief.

  Gabriel shot her a dark glance. “You could try to discourage them.”

  “I haven’t encouraged them in the first place!”

  They walked on in silence. As they neared the point where Serena’s and Celia’s carriages would come into view, Alathea slowed, expecting Gabriel to make his excuses and leave her. He tightened his hold on her hand and drew her on.

  She looked at him in amazement. He cast her an irritated glance. “I’m not escorting them.” His nod indicated the four girls and Esher and Carstairs ahead of them. “I’m escorting you.”

  “I don’t need escorting.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  His expression grimly resolute, that was all he deigned to say. Alathea was too surprised that he’d risk alerting his mother to any particularity between them to marshal any argument, and then they were within sight of the carriages.

  With an inward sigh, she kept pace beside him. “This is not going to make things any easier, you know.”

  She thought he wasn’t going to reply, but just before they reached his mother’s carriage where Serena and Celia sat in matronly splendor, he murmured, “We left ‘easy’ behind long ago.”

  Then they were at the carriage, joining with the girls and Esher and Carstairs. Over the heads, Gabriel fielded a glance from Celia; Alathea, watching closely, could interpret with ease—Celia wanted to know why he was there. Gabriel returned her gaze impassively with a slight lifting of his shoulders, giving Celia to understand he’d simply come upon them and walked them back. Nothing particular at all. His performance was so smooth, if she hadn’t known better, Alathea would have believed that, too. Gabriel nodded and Celia smiled, waving him away.