Raphe gaped at her. He tried not to feel offended by that. It was no use. “What if I marry her?”
That seemed to silence Amelia. She opened her mouth as if to say something, except nothing came out. She was mute. Dumbfounded even, judging by her expression.
“I’d be in favor of that idea,” Juliette said after a bit of hesitation. “She’d be a wonderful sister-in-law.”
Amelia’s mouth opened and closed a few more times before she finally managed to ask the one thing Raphe had wanted to ignore. “Isn’t she supposed to marry Fielding?”
“She’s not engaged to him yet,” Raphe told her, “which means that there’s still a chance I might win her.”
“Do you care for her then?” Juliette asked.
“I . . .” He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Eventually he said, “Having seen her with Fielding, I think it’s fair to say that he certainly doesn’t.” Whatever that meant to any of them.
“Well,” Amelia said. She uncrossed her arms.
“Lady Gabriella has arrived,” Pierson said, materializing in the doorway. “Shall I show her in?”
Raphe glanced at his sisters, raising his eyebrows in question. Amelia looked to Juliette, a silent exchange appearing to pass between the two. Eventually they nodded. “But if you hurt her in any way,” Amelia said as soon as Pierson was gone, “I’ll make you regret your decision.”
He knew she meant it as he watched her go, hurrying away to another part of the house with Juliette trailing behind. It was touching, how fond his sisters had become of Lady Gabriella—how much they liked her. Juliette was right. She’d make a fine addition to their family, and in the meantime, he’d enjoy getting better acquainted with her.
Following Pierson toward the music room, Gabriella did her best to rid her mind of her earlier encounter with Huntley. Naked. The word had been taunting her for the past two hours. Not completely, but enough to make her wonder about the rest. She hadn’t wanted to contemplate it, but it was as if she’d lost control, unable to halt the assault of unbidden images—images that made her all fidgety and stupid. So inappropriate, she chastised herself as she and Pierson arrived at their destination. So unladylike.
Pierson announced her arrival and stepped aside, granting her entry. Her senses sprang to awareness, skin pricking against the fine muslin of her gown while her chest suddenly seemed constricted against her stays. For there he was, casually leaning against the piano, his eyes following her into the room, watching as she surveyed the space. “Where are your sisters?” she asked while looking anywhere but at him.
“They got delayed. Thought I’d keep you company until they arrive.” Straightening, he came toward her, closing the distance until she fairly trembled with alertness. He touched her elbow, and she practically leapt away, only staying in place out of sheer force of will. “Please . . .” He guided her forward toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”
She did, relieved that she no longer had to rely on her legs. “Will they be long?” She glanced at the door once more.
“I can’t say,” he replied as he lowered himself into an adjacent armchair. Tea had already been brought in, but she didn’t trust herself to pour without spilling. Thankfully, she didn’t have to since he did it for her—an unusual task for a man but one that he didn’t seem to mind, as though he was quite accustomed to making himself useful. “It’s hot,” he said as he set her cup before her. “Mind you don’t burn yerself.”
“Thank you.” She took a careful sip. Aaah. Much better.
Leaning back against his chair, he crossed his legs, considered her for a second and finally said, “I’d like to apologize to you.”
This, she had not expected. With no effort to hide her surprise, she raised her gaze toward his. “Whatever for?”
“I think you know.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “It was terribly wrong of me to engage you in conversation earlier, given the state I was in.”
A feverish flush flared from Gabriella’s chest all the way up to the edge of her hairline. She hadn’t wanted to address the issue—had hoped it would simply be forgotten or ignored by both of them. Since that was no longer possible, she did her best to school her features before saying, “While you could certainly have done with more clothes, I intruded upon you, Your Grace, not the other way around.” She averted her gaze, training it on a vase. “I should have left the moment I spotted you.”
“Why didn’t you?” There was an almost abrasive touch to his voice. It suited his rugged style, accentuating a virile masculinity that was rare to Mayfair, where the leisurely lives of gentlemen resulted in slighter frames. Compared to Fielding, for instance, whose body was slim and elegant, Huntley looked like a hardened fighter. And, though she was loath to admit it, there was something elementally attractive about that.
“I was surprised and intrigued. Do you box like that often?” Her attempt to steer the conversation toward a more concrete subject was deliberate. It was safer that way, and would hopefully make her blush less.
“The exercise is satisfying,” he told her evenly. “I enjoy it.”
Not a direct answer, but certainly one that explained the physical shape he was in. “I’m sorry I watched,” she said with honesty.
“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,” he told her wryly.
She didn’t dare tell him that there was nothing to forgive, so she gave him a smile. “You have a deal.”
“Very good.” He smiled as well for a moment, but then turned pensive. “We grew up in the slums, you know.”
The suddenness with which he said it completely threw her. If she had to guess, she’d say it took a full minute for her brain to absorb the comment before she was ready to respond. “How can that be?”
His jaw tightened, just enough to inform her that he didn’t enjoy sharing this part of himself. And yet he was sitting there offering the information to her as though her knowing about it mattered. “My father took his own life when I was eight.”
Oh God! She hadn’t known. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it. Please. It’s in the past and as awful as it was, my sisters and I managed to go on without him.”
“What about your mother?”
Something dark crossed his face. He frowned, his eyes growing distant. “She left us shortly before—ran away with another man as far as I recall.”
“But . . .” She shook her head, unable to fathom the struggle of losing both parents at such a young age.
“There was a debt and no one to pay it—no one to take us in.” He drummed his fingers against the armrest, then halted the action. “I was worried that we’d be separated, sent into care with different families, so I ran.”
“With your sisters . . . they can’t have been more than five and seven,” she said, doing the math.
He gave a quick nod. “It wasn’t easy.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “In fact, I’d say it’s a miracle we survived.”
It seemed an impossible struggle for such young children to go through, a hardship that no one should have to endure. She met his gaze, his dark eyes gleaming like rich drops of honey. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s important,” he told her simply. “And because friends don’t lie to each other.”
Her mouth went dry. “Friends?” Such a foreign concept.
He nodded. “If you like.”
She did. Very much so. But then his words sank in and she realized that she would have to be just as candid. She bit her lip, fidgeted with the skirt of her gown. Honesty in exchange for friendship. “I didn’t lie about not having any. Friends, that is.”
“I know,” he told her gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“But you do now?” She realized then that his trusting her mattered.
“Yes.”
She expelled a sigh of relief, then thought to ask, “Why?”
“Because kind people aren’t generally deceitful. And because of your eyes. The pain in them when I accused
you . . .” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
His apology made her feel lighter somehow, more relaxed and at ease. Perhaps because it showed a more sensitive side to him, a side that she was infinitely more comfortable with than the roguish charmer who made her feel as though there were worms wriggling about inside her belly. “I appreciate that.” They stared at each other a moment.
Drawing a breath, she willed herself to take courage, to be as honest with him as he’d been with her. For the sake of friendship. Nothing more. “When I was six,” she began, “I saw a group of boys crowded together in the park. They were laughing at something that I couldn’t see. So I approached without thinking, abandoning my governess with an impulsive need to know what they were about.” She hesitated, realizing all of a sudden how silly her story would probably sound. He’d been a boy too after all. “Pushing between them, I looked down, trying to find the object of their amusement. And then I did.” She took a staggering breath, hating the transparency of her emotions. “They’d trapped a bumblebee, pulled off its wings, and were poking it with twigs so it spun on its back, round and round while they stood there laughing at how ridiculous it looked.”
“It upset you to see an innocent creature tortured.” He watched her closely. Too closely.
Gabriella shifted, unable to remain still beneath such scrutiny. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so cross in my life,” she said. “I snapped. Like a twig giving way to great strain I just . . .” What was it her mother had called it when she’d heard of the incident. Oh yes. She winced. “I’m afraid I went mad for a second, shouting at them to stop and then hitting them when they refused.” She looked away, embarrassed by how she’d behaved. “Word got around of course. It always does. My parents had to send apologies to the other families.”
“What about the bumblebee?”
Gabriella blinked. Nobody had ever asked, not even her sister. He was the first. “It survived. For a bit. I brought it home in my hand.”
A chuckle rose from his throat, released into the room with a smile. He shook his head. “Of course you did.”
Of course. That was all he said, and Gabriella felt her heart melt in response to his tone of understanding. “That bumblebee led to my fascination with insects. It gave me something to do when all the other children ignored me. When my hobby eventually became known . . . well . . . whatever chance I’d ever had of becoming acceptable company dwindled. I was labeled strange—an eccentric girl who ought to be avoided. After that, there was nothing about me that they did not mock.”
“Including your appearance.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He was quiet a moment. “It hurt,” he eventually said, echoing her memories.
“Yes.” She tried to smile and almost succeeded. “So I faded away between the shadows, avoiding all attention while Victoria thrived in it. She was a perfect lady; well spoken, accomplished, beautiful and clever. My parents chose not to worry about my future. They had her, after all, a daughter who was going to marry a marquess.”
“Except she didn’t.”
“No. She did not.”
“Why?”
A question that Gabriella had asked herself countless times since. “I like to think she fell in love.” When he stayed silent, she stalwartly added. “It happens.”
“Yes. I suppose it does.” Rising, he moved toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go and see what’s keeping my sisters.”
And then he was gone, out the door with a swiftness that unsettled Gabriella more than his presence had done. In fact, it hadn’t bothered her much at all this time.
Speaking with him of more personal matters had been rather nice, she decided. A pity he didn’t return with his sisters, but he’d apparently gone off to practice his dancing. The instructor, according to Amelia, was an old Italian fellow who didn’t believe in allowing partners until they’d mastered the steps, which meant that Huntley and his sisters took separate lessons, since these were not the same for men and women.
Do ye like to dance?
The question he’d asked when she’d first come to offer his sisters assistance drifted through her mind like a tendril of smoke, curling, twisting, reminding her of his daring. He’d been so different ten minutes earlier, siting right there in the chair that Juliette now occupied. And he’d listened to her. Attentively. As though he’d genuinely cared about her past and the scars it had dealt her.
Friends. That’s what they’d become—in the strangest and most unusual of ways. And as she walked home later with Anna by her side, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever have the courage to wish for more than that.
Chapter 14
When Gabriella awoke the following morning, she lay staring up at the ceiling for a long while after, trying to come to terms with yet another dream. It had been even more provocative than the last. Her pulse still raced in time with her sharp inhalations, the sheet tangled chaotically around her legs. Dear God! She’d dreamt of Huntley’s naked body pressed against hers—of her fingers creeping gently across his broad shoulders.
Closing her eyes, she remembered more, her face flushing with the memory of his hands moving over her, caressing her in the most inappropriate ways possible. With a groan, she pushed the sheet aside and sat up, her skin still quivering lightly with the recollection of what had happened. Except it hadn’t happened.
It wasn’t real, she told herself later while her maid placed pearl-tipped pins in her hair. But it had felt real, and because of that, Gabriella knew that today would be more difficult to get through than any of the ones that had come before.
By the time she descended for breakfast, her stomach had tied itself into knots over the thought of having to face Huntley again. Heaven help her, she would not be able to look at him without remembering what he’d looked like yesterday without his shirt, and how her brain had chosen to put that image of him to use in the most outrageous way possible.
God help her.
“Would you like me to act as chaperone when Fielding arrives?” her mother asked from the opposite side of the table.
Gabriella jolted. “What?”
“He’ll be here within the hour.” Her mother pushed a note toward her. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying?”
Gathering her thoughts, Gabriella read the note before telling her mother, “Anna can easily act as chaperone if you have other things to attend to.”
“Well. If you’re sure . . .”
Gabriella gave her mother a definite nod. “Enjoy your day.” She waited for her to leave before scribbling a note to Amelia and Juliette, informing them of her unexpected delay and asked Anna to deliver it. Then, walking through to the drawing room, she proceeded to read her favorite book—a well-used copy of Kirby and Spence’s Introduction to entomology or elements of the natural history of insects.
When Fielding arrived half an hour later, he brought roses. “You look as lovely as always, my lady—my apologies for not calling on you sooner.” He took a step in her direction. “I should have called on you yesterday after my mother’s dinner party, but I feared I might have upset you. I was not as hospitable to Huntley as I ought to have been, and with your gentle nature in mind, I’m sure you must have thought me a scoundrel.”
Gesturing to the sofa, Gabriella asked, “Shall we sit?” He inclined his head and waited for her to lower herself before claiming the spot beside her. “The truth is that I thought both you and my father quite rude. He and I quarreled all the way home in the carriage.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Fielding said. Reaching out, he took her hand, enfolding it in his. “While I cannot speak on his behalf, I should like to explain the reasons for my less than cordial behavior that night.” He took a deep breath. Expelled it. “The fact of the matter is that I was jealous.”
Gabriella’s lower jaw almost hit the carpet. “Jealous? Of Huntley?”
With an awkward shrug, Fielding slid his gaze to a point beyon
d Gabriella’s left shoulder. “He’s very handsome, fit and without a doubt wealthy. His title far outranks my own. So when I found him looking at you as though . . .” The thought faded. He shook his head.
“As though what?” Gabriella prompted.
“It was wrong of me to behave as I did,” he said, not answering her question. “Can you forgive me?”
She pressed her lips together. He’d owned his mistake, asked for her forgiveness in a very polite way. She gave a little nod. “Of course.”
He expelled a breath. “Good.” He produced a smile. “I spoke to your father at the club last night about drawing up a marriage settlement and what that would entail.”
“Oh?” Gabriella felt her stomach shift. With everything that had been going on, she’d completely forgotten to tell her father of the stipulations that she wished to make. She would have to remember to do so soon. Before Fielding proposed.
“It was a very productive discussion, so you needn’t worry. Everything is going to turn out precisely as expected.”
Nodding numbly, Gabriella resigned herself to the conversation that followed—a mundane discussion about bridles and saddles and how well his looked when compared to so many others. She, on the other hand, was given no chance to speak of her own interests. Whenever she tried bringing it up, he would simply go on with his own line of thought as if she’d said nothing at all. It was both annoying and exhausting—her patience stretched to the limit by the time he departed again.
With a hasty glance at the clock, Gabriella turned to Anna. “We don’t have much time today. Mama is due back in an hour.”
“Then we’d best be on our way,” the maid suggested. She was quickly putting away the mending that she’d been doing in a corner during Fielding’s visit.
“Might I be honest with you, my lady?” she asked as they walked toward the back of the house and exited onto the terrace.
“Of course.” Not wanting to waste another minute, Gabriella quickened her step.
“It would pain me to see you marry the earl. He’ll crush your spirit.”
A Most Unlikely Duke Page 14
