Swinging himself through the low doorway while taking care not to bump his head, Raphe stepped down onto the street below and held the door open for his sister. Although she appeared to move with a conscious attempt at decorum, managing the heavy folds of her skirt while balancing on the narrow step of the carriage proved too much of a challenge for Amelia. With a shriek, she stumbled forward, legs caught in billowing lengths of twisting fabric.
Catching her about the waist, Raphe stopped her immediate fall, the momentum of her body driving him back a step. Juliette didn’t fare much better, which prompted Richardson to mutter beneath his breath, “Another area where there’s room for improvement.”
Dastardly fellow.
Knowing he meant well, Raphe let the remark slide without comment, but it did make him wonder if going out in public like this had been a wise decision. After all, they would be seen, and then they would be judged. Aware that one misstep could ruin everything, Raphe tried to determine if Amelia and Juliette’s inelegant descents from the carriage had drawn attention.
Relief seized him with immediate force at the realization that it hadn’t. In fact, nobody seemed to pay them any notice at all. It appeared as though everyone was too caught up in their own errands, or too busy talking to their companions to pay Raphe and his sisters any mind.
“There’s a milliner just over there, right next to one of the finest cobblers in London,” Richardson said as he led the way forward. “If you’d like to—”
“Look at that,” Juliette gasped, her hand settling against Raphe’s upper arm to stay his progress.
Glancing at the spot to which she pointed, he saw a large glass façade on the opposite side of the street. Above the impressive double doors leading into the building was a sign that read: The Book Company, est. 1805.
Of course.
It didn’t matter that they now owned an enviable library. Books had gotten them through the most difficult years of their lives, inspiring them, educating them and offering brief moments of escape from their daily toil. Feeling the same pull as Juliette, Raphe called to Richardson, who’d moved ahead of them on the pavement.
“One can never have enough books,” Amelia said as she spotted the object of Raphe’s admiration. “Shall we explore?”
“Oh, let’s do,” Juliette exclaimed. She gave Raphe’s arm a gentle tug.
“But the milliner,” Richardson began when he was close enough to hear what they were saying.
“Can wait another hour,” Amelia told him firmly.
Smothering what sounded like a deep sigh of resignation, Richardson proceeded to guide Raphe’s sisters to the opposite side of the street. He then opened the bookshop door for them, holding it while they hurried past him.
Bringing up the rear of their small party, Richardson spoke to Raphe in a conspiratorial tone, “Favoring books over pretty ribbons and lace—I do believe there are some gentlemen who would find that quite refreshing.”
A bell jingled, announcing their arrival to the shopkeeper—a young man who quickly appeared from behind a section of shelves to inquire if they needed help finding something in particular.
“No thank you,” Amelia told him, “we’re just having a browse.”
The shopkeeper’s face fell a bit. “Oh. All right then. Well, let me know if you change your minds.”
“Actually,” Raphe said, an idea springing to mind, “Do you have any books about insects?”
His sisters turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. He ignored them, his attention fixed on the shopkeeper, who instantly smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “Right this way.”
Raphe followed him down a narrow aisle.
“You can’t give her a book,” Amelia hissed from somewhere behind him. “It’s not proper.”
He frowned at that. “How would you know?”
“Because Gabriella confirmed it after I read about it in that etiquette book she provided. You cannot give her a gift unless you’re engaged to be married. It simply isn’t done.”
“That’s just plain idiotic.”
Amelia expelled an exasperated breath behind him, and then Juliette’s voice carried across the shop, “I think it’s very romantic.”
Raphe pushed back a bit of laughter while the shopkeeper came to a halt, his hands going straight for a burgundy spine. He pulled the volume out and offered it to Raphe. “This was published last year in Philadelphia. We just received it a couple of weeks ago.”
“American Entomology, by Thomas Say.” Raphe flipped the book open and took a sharp breath. The book was filled not only with names of insects and their descriptions, but with vividly colored drawings. “I’ll take it.”
The shopkeeper beamed. He took the book from Raphe and went to wrap it up. Amelia held her brother back. “Are you sure about this?”
“It will make her happy,” he told her simply. “That’s all that matters to me.”
“You care for her.” She searched his face and suddenly flung her arms around him in a tight embrace that almost knocked him over. “I’m so happy for you, Raphe. So very happy indeed.”
“Amelia.” He peeled her off of him. “I like her well enough. Let’s stick with that, shall we?”
“You’re buying her a book about insects.” He walked away from her as she spoke but she happily followed. “It’s obvious that you’ve been paying attention to her interests.”
“It’s been difficult not to, considering the fact that she went crawling about the floor of our parlor in pursuit of a spider.”
“Oh, come off it, Raphe. You’re not the sort of man who’d pursue a woman for anything less than love, much less think of marrying her, as you suggested doing.”
“You don’t know that,” he muttered.
“I’m pretty sure I do,” she countered.
“I need some air.” All this talk of love and romance was putting him off. So he left Richardson to take care of his purchase and stepped out onto the pavement.
“Matthews?”
Halted by the familiar use of his name, Raphe turned toward the man who’d spoken and immediately stiffened. “MacNeil.”
The Scotsman stared at Raphe with interest. “Ye disappeared withou’ a trace, ye did.”
“I had a family matter to see to.” Which was true. In a way.
“Guthrie’s been lookin’ fer ye.” Crossing his arms over his massive chest, MacNeil studied Raphe’s appearance with shrewd eyes. “Looks like ye’ve come into some blunt.”
“I paid my debt to Guthrie,” Raphe said, not wanting to offer a more detailed explanation.
The Scotsman nodded. “Aye. So ye did. But if ye think that’s made ’im ferget yer bargain, yer’re mistaken.” The door to the bookshop swung open again and Raphe’s sisters, accompanied by Richardson, stepped out. A distasteful smirk pulled at MacNeil’s lips. “I’ll leave ye with that thought. ‘Ave a good day, Matthews!”
“Who was that?” Richardson asked as Raphe watched MacNeil disappear down the street, blood thundering in his ears while shards of pain threatened to split his skull.
“An old friend,” Raphe ground out. He could feel his muscles bunched tightly together in his shoulders, and realized that he’d been poised to fight the man if the need had arisen. Thankfully, it had not.
“Do you think he’ll be trouble?”
Expelling a ragged breath, Raphe turned his attention more fully on his secretary. “I don’t know. MacNeil works for Guthrie.” Glancing at his sisters, he added, “Perhaps we can discuss this further once we get home. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day, shall we?”
With a stiff nod, Richardson abandoned the issue. Still, it seemed to hover over them like a dark cloud while they drifted from shop to shop, purchasing handkerchiefs, fans and bonnets. It was three in the afternoon by the time they arrived home after enjoying delicious ices at Gunther’s. Amelia and Juliette were in excellent moods, completely oblivious to the heavy thoughts that weighed on Raphe’s mind.
“Brandy?” Raphe offer
ed Richardson once the two of them had removed themselves to Raphe’s study.
“I take it this conversation will warrant it,” came Richardson’s dry response.
Filling two tumblers, Raphe handed one to his friend. “There’s something I haven’t told you—something that could very well bring scandal to my doorstep if Guthrie’s in the mood to follow up on it.”
Richardson paled, but his expression remained firm. “Tell me.”
“A couple of hours before receiving word of my inheritance, I struck a deal with Guthrie, one that I chose to walk away from. Given my new situation, I knew following through with it would have been impossible without tarnishing my sisters’ and my own reputation. We would have lost our chance at the future I wished to give them by claiming the title. But Guthrie wouldn’t have seen it that way. He would have forced me to make good on my promise, so I ran, hoping he’d never suspect where to find me.”
Taking a long sip of his drink, Richardson set his tumbler aside and calmly asked, “What was the nature of the deal?”
Inhaling deeply, Raphe forced the words out. “I was to fight the world champion title holder—a man known as the Bull, in return for my freedom.”
“But you’ve already bought your freedom.” Richardson had dropped the money off at Guthrie’s house himself, disguised as a messenger. “More than that even. So then—”
“It’s a prestigious fight that’s going to bring in a fortune. Guthrie knows I’m his only chance at winning. My freedom was my incentive, but the real prize is the money he stands to make off of me. I don’t think he’s going to walk away from this so easily.”
“I take it you shook on it?”
Raphe nodded.
“Jesus!” Shoving his hand through his neatly combed hair, Richardson disturbed the locks, producing a wild look of dishevelment. “It’s a matter of honor then. Extricating yourself won’t be easy.” He was quiet for a moment before saying, “We can hope he won’t know where to find you, and if he does, we can try paying him off—as much money as necessary. One thing is for certain, however. You cannot engage in that fight.”
Agreeing, Raphe tossed back his drink, hoping this mess would soon be forgotten.
Chapter 16
Lying in bed that night, Gabriella stared up at the ceiling unable to sleep. She simply couldn’t stop thinking about the present that Anna had brought to her room after supper—a book about insects. North American insects. A copy she’d yet to acquire. She’d read it until her mind had boggled with all the information that clung to the pages. And the drawings! She let out a sigh. She knew precisely who the giver was, however inappropriate that might be. But she didn’t care. She was too pleased to care, too thrilled with this new acquisition and too besotted with the man who’d known how much this and the beetle would mean to her.
Which led to a great deal of trouble. She knew that. Oh yes. She’d seen her sister’s plight, had been keenly aware of Society’s reaction to it and of the shame her parents had suffered. But Huntley was right. There had to be more to life than that. There had to be happiness beyond all else.
Impulsively, she got out of bed and put on her robe. Sleep felt like ages away. It would never claim her. Not when she constantly tossed and turned, restless for tomorrow to come just so she could see him again and thank him for his kindness.
Sliding both feet into her slippers, she headed downstairs and out into the garden, careful to close the door firmly behind her. On a deep inhalation of breath, she captured the crisp night air, sucking it deep into her lungs before expelling it again with a misty puff. Feeling slightly chilly, she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed up at the shimmering stars.
Crickets called from somewhere close by—drrrr, drrr drrr—a musical sound as lovely to her ears as any orchestra. But there was something else too. She strained to listen. Silence passed for a number of seconds, and then it began again. Whistling. She could hear it distinctly now.
Stepping down from the terrace, Gabriella moved toward it, no more able to stay away than a moth might be of avoiding a flame. It was coming from Huntley’s garden, a bit louder now and with greater certainty, as though the whistler had finally settled on the right tune.
Intrigued, Gabriella continued walking, not stopping until she reached the gap in the hedge. There she paused, unsure about crossing the boundary without invitation. It was night, after all. She shouldn’t be out here. Except she couldn’t really help herself. More important, she no longer wanted to—not now that she’d acknowledged how awful the past year had been, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She’d no desire to live the rest of her life like that.
So she stepped forward, her stomach buzzing with excitement, her curiosity eager to be sated. The whistling came from her left, drawing nearer until a figure emerged from the darkness; tall, broad and utterly perfect.
Huntley.
“There you are,” he whispered, as though he’d been expecting her. He stood before her now, so close she could lean against him if she wished. Shadows played across his face, obscuring his eyes and casting the bridge of his nose and his upper lip into stark relief.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I came outside. You were whistling.”
A low chuckle escaped him. It made the air around her rumble, made her feel as though he was touching her, even though he wasn’t. She shivered slightly in response.
“I sometimes do. It relaxes me.” He tilted his head, allowing a beam of moonlight to sweep across his face. “What kept you awake?”
She shifted, uncomfortable with the question. You did. She couldn’t possibly confess that much. So she said instead, “American Entomology. I couldn’t stop reading it.”
“Ah.” There was a sigh to his pronunciation. He nodded. “So you like it?”
“You knew I would. And yes, I do. Very much so.”
“Amelia said it would be inappropriate.” He stepped back a bit, back into darkness—away from the moonlight. “I chose to ignore her.”
“And I’m glad you did, for it is without question,” she drew a deep breath, forced herself to be honest with him, no matter how difficult that might be, “the most incredible gift I have ever received—besides the beetle, of course. Thank you, Huntley.”
“Raphe.” There was a raspy sound to the name as he spoke it. “I’d like you to call me Raphe.”
Gabriella felt her skin tighten around her. A flush of heat broke out across her chest. It cascaded through her, teasing and tempting and daring. “Raphe,” she said, abandoning what was left of propriety.
He made some sort of noise. Something that almost sounded like a groan—rough and guttural—an elemental response that filled her not only with heat but with a sudden restlessness, a neediness, she didn’t quite understand. The air had somehow come alive between them and she . . . she didn’t know what to do.
“Gabriella.” He spoke her name with so much longing that it almost made her weep.
There was so much emotion that she found herself overcome by it—frightened almost. For she wasn’t sure she understood what he wanted, or if she’d be able to meet his demands, so she pulled back a bit, and chose to reach for safety. “Did you have to leave many friends behind in order to come here?”
He didn’t answer at first, no doubt startled by the sudden change in mood. But then he said, “Just a few, but only one that really mattered. I think of him often, actually, wondering how he’s doing and if he and his family will be all right.”
“Have you considered going back for a visit?”
There was a grunt. Silence. And then, “I can’t take the risk of anyone knowing about my past. The ton would never accept my sisters into their midst if they knew.”
“And yet you confided in me. Why?”
He was suddenly before her, so close she could feel his breath upon her forehead. “Because I didn’t want to deceive you. I didn’t want to . . .” He tilted her chin with his hand, the warmth of his touch seeping deep beneath the surface. “Jesus, Gab
riella. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She shook her head, unable to fathom the intensity of the moment, of his touch—so gentle and yet so acute. It was dizzying. He’d asked her an impossible question—one she could not answer. So she reverted to the conversation. “When I was younger—once it became clear to me that none of the other girls liked me—I used to wish my life was simpler.”
“The way we lived, Gabriella . . . it might have been simpler, but it was also a hell of a lot harder.”
“I know that, but at the time I just wanted a different life for myself. I just . . . I’ve never felt as though I belonged in this world, where speaking my mind is frowned upon, where one restriction follows another until I feel as though my hands are tied behind my back.” She uttered a sigh. “I’d never had a real connection to anyone outside my own family until I met you and your sisters. You’re different. You like me the way I am.”
“You’re perfect the way you are,” he told her softly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Not even my birthright?” She tried to say it jovially, but there was no denying the underlying seriousness of the question. It was one that had been niggling her since the day they’d met. “I know you dislike the aristocracy, Raphe.”
“As a group,” he explained. “Not you as an individual. Never you, Gabriella. But . . .” She heard him take a breath, exhale it again—a strenuous sound. “My mother was a viscount’s daughter, and although I don’t remember her well, I remember enough to tell you that she was a deplorable woman. All she cared about was wealth, pretty things, the chance to outdo her friends and to show off. She placed objects and tea parties before her own children. I spent more time with the servants during the early years of my childhood than I did with either of my parents.”
“It’s actually not uncommon for gentry children to be raised by governesses and tutors.”
He laughed grimly. “I’m not talking about that,” he said. “I’m talking about being raised by the maid and the cook in the kitchen. Yes, there may have been a governess once, but I don’t remember her. By the time I was six or seven there were only three servants. Years later, I was told that my father struggled to support my mother’s extravagant lifestyle. He was a second son—a vicar with a modest income. But he didn’t have the strength to say no to her. Got him into a massive debt until one day, there was no way out. She left him for another man and the following day, my father killed himself. I found his body.”
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