The Virgin’s Secret
Page 8
“It would be my honor.” Mr. Dennison nodded a bow and left the room. Andrews followed, obviously stifling a smile.
Gabriella stared at Florence. “What on earth was that all about?”
“I’m not sure.” A smug smile danced on Florence’s lips. “Did you see that? From the moment I stepped through the door, that man was flirting with me.”
“He was arguing with you.”
“Call it what you will, he was extremely flirtatious.”
“You were extremely flirtatious!”
“Yes, I was, wasn’t I?” A twinkle sparked in Florence’s eye. “I’ve never been flirtatious before and I certainly didn’t intend to be so now. Quite honestly, I didn’t know I knew how. But apparently I find a battle of wills to be rather…stimulating.”
“Florence!”
“He was quite dashing, don’t you think?”
“Mr. Dennison? I think…” In truth, the gentleman who had been ordinary only a few minutes ago now did seem rather dashing. “Yes, I think he was. And I think he was quite taken with you.”
“Well, well, fancy that,” Florence murmured.
Gabriella stared. Enrico had hired Florence when Gabriella began living in London, to be both chaperone and companion. Florence had shared Enrico’s—now her—modest London house for more than nine years. A mere ten years older than her, Florence was very much the sister—the family—she had never had. But in all their years together, Gabriella had never seen sparks between Florence and any man.
“It simply indicates that Mr. Dennison has extremely good taste,” Gabriella said firmly.
“My dear Gabriella.” Florence turned a knowing eye on the younger woman. “Your flattery will work no better than Mr. Dennison’s.”
“I thought his worked rather well.”
“Which will not help you.” Florence settled in one of the wing chairs positioned before the desk. “Your note said you were staying at a friend of your mother’s?”
Gabriella nodded. “Lady Wyldewood knew my mother.”
“Did you know that when you attempted to rob her house?”
“Yes.” Gabriella sank into the other chair.
“I cannot approve of your methods. However,” reluctance sounded in Florence’s voice, “that was excellent knowledge to have at hand.”
Gabriella studied her. “You don’t sound very angry.”
“Oh, I am furious with you. But I should have expected something of this nature. You have never been the sort of person who would let sleeping dogs lie, as it were.”
“No, I can’t. This is something I and I alone have to do.”
Florence raised a brow. “A quest, then?”
“Exactly. I have to…to right this wrong.” It was indeed a quest, as noble as any of those of the knights of old. “Someone ruined my brother, destroyed his life’s work.”
“And your hopes for the future.”
Gabriella started. “You know?”
“You’ve never admitted it but I have long suspected your plans.”
“My hopes were absurd, and more so now of course with Enrico’s death. But still, I suppose the important word there is hope.” She shrugged. “Hope that until the moment came that Enrico actually said I could not rejoin him and share in his work—”
“His adventures, you mean?”
“Yes, I suppose I do. I am not so foolish as to think convincing Enrico to take me with him would have been easy. In recent years I tried to subtly encourage him to come to the realization on his own that I could be of great help to him. That’s why I studied and learned and worked—to become indispensable.” For a moment, a sense of loss, for her brother and for herself as well, threatened to overwhelm her. She ignored it, as she always did. “I was so sure that the discovery of the seal would be the start of a hunt for Ambropia itself and that he would need me.”
“I am so sorry, Gabriella.” Florence reached over and patted the younger woman’s hand. “Tell me, my dear.” She straightened and fixed her with a steady gaze. “As you went to all this trouble, rightly or wrongly, did you find anything of significance?”
“No.” Gabriella blew a resigned breath. “They all swear they have no knowledge of the whereabouts of the seal.”
“And do you believe them?”
“Certainly I believe Lady Wyldewood and the earl. Mr. Dennison, as well, has assured me he has no information about the seal and has offered—really encouraged—me to search through his files myself.”
Florence nodded. “He seems an honest man to me.”
Gabriella resisted the urge to comment on Florence’s assessment of the dashing Mr. Dennison. Files could be removed; his offer meant little. “Both Quinton and Nathanial Harrington say they know nothing about the seal’s disappearance. I am not certain about the older of the two, but Nathanial—”
“Nathanial?” Florence’s brow rose.
“I believe I can trust him, to a point at any rate.” She met Florence’s gaze. “He is going to help me find the seal.”
“Is he now?” Florence considered her curiously. “I’m surprised that you don’t find that suspicious.”
“It was his mother’s idea. She fears that the longer I continue my efforts to find the seal, the more likely it is that others will learn of my search. Which could bring suspicion and then scandal upon the entire family.”
“I see.” Florence thought for a moment. “Perhaps you should tell me everything that has occurred thus far, as I am, after all, your friend.”
“My dearest friend,” Gabriella said in a firm manner. “Yes, well, perhaps I should.” She quickly related all that had happened: her appearance at Lady Regina’s ball, and the details of what had transpired last night, leaving out the nonsense about kisses in the moonlight or dancing with Nathanial or the odd, longing way he made her feel.
“I see,” Florence said when she was finished. “That matches what Xerxes told me, although he didn’t have all the pieces.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened. “You already knew all of this?”
“I just said Xerxes didn’t have all the pieces. Goodness, Gabriella, after all these years, you don’t think I can’t tell when something is amiss?” Florence snorted. “I knew the minute I read your note this morning that all was not quite right. And when I read the one you wrote to Xerxes—”
“You read the note I wrote to him?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think I wouldn’t demand to read it after I read mine?”
“What I didn’t think was that you would know I’d written a note to Xerxes in the first place.”
“Then you should have arranged for him to be present when the note arrived.” Florence shook her head. “When a servant arrives in the wee hours of the morning and says he bears a note from Miss Montini—”
Gabriella winced.
“I don’t care whose name is on it, I will read it.” Florence rose to her feet. “Gabriella, when we began this journey together you were sixteen and I was a governess without a position. Admittedly, that was due in part to my not being overly fond of small children.” She shuddered as she always did when the subject of small children reared its head. “Regardless, your brother thought you and I would suit, as you were nearly an adult.”
“And I always thought you were the only one willing to accept the position.”
“There was that, of course. My point is that with your brother’s death, I am now in your employ.”
“We don’t need to talk about this now.”
“We haven’t discussed it at all, and we do need to talk about it. Especially as you are about to embark on something—well, on this quest of yours. You are twenty-five years of age and now of independent means. Your brother hired me to be your chaperone, companion, and in many ways guardian, as, Lord knows, he was so infrequently in London. I had hoped that you would be married long before now.”
“I have never planned to marry.”
Florence ignored her. “Your failure to do so is as much my
fault as it is yours. I did think, though, that amidst those libraries and museums you would find someone who would suit. It’s not too late, of course—”
“Florence,” Gabriella said firmly. “Marriage is not in my future. It never has been.”
Again Florence paid her no mind. But then, she’d always dismissed Gabriella’s opinion of her prospects for marriage. “However, until that time comes—”
“It won’t.”
“Or the time comes that you no longer desire my services—”
“Never,” Gabriella said staunchly. “You are as much my family as Enrico was. As Xerxes and Miriam are now.”
Florence shook her head. “It’s a poor excuse for a family, but I suppose it is better than nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” For a moment, panic flashed through her at the very thought of being without Florence, Xerxes, and Miriam, who in many ways were more of a family to her than her half brother had ever been. Gabriella pushed the disloyal thought away. Enrico had been a wonderful brother.
Florence smiled. “We love you too, dear. But as I was saying,” her voice hardened, “as long as I remain in your employ I shall do all in my power to keep you from harm. To continue to attempt to guide you along a path that will keep you from total disaster and, God willing, to avoid scandal.” She shook her head. “Since your brother’s death, you have not made it easy.”
“I daresay you wouldn’t like easy.” Gabriella grinned.
“I seem to recall liking easy quite a lot.”
“That wouldn’t be any fun at all for you.”
“Fun, my dear girl, is relative.” Florence huffed. “I see no particular difficulty with you staying here. As long as Lady Wyldewood is in residence, you will be well chaperoned. However, I do not intend to leave you here alone.”
Gabriella drew her brows together. “You’re not planning on staying here—”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“You shall see.” Florence cast her a pleasant smile, but there was a determined look in her eye. “You are not the only one who can devise clever plans.”
“What are you—”
“Furthermore, I expect a note from you daily and a visit every other day. You shall come to the house or I shall come here. To ensure that, I have brought only enough of your things for a few days.”
“And Enrico’s letters?”
“I brought those as well.” Florence nodded. “Do be careful, my dear. And do attempt to be as honest and forthright as possible.”
“Of course,” Gabriella said in an overly innocent manner.
Florence studied her skeptically. “The ends do not always justify the means, Gabriella. Remember that. But you will follow your heart, I suppose. You always have.”
“You have always encouraged me to do so.”
“Yes, well, that might have been my mistake.” She gave Gabriella a quick hug and started toward the door. “I shall see you soon, my dear.” She paused and looked back. “And try not to refer to the younger Mr. Harrington by his given name.”
“It’s simply a way to distinguish one brother from another,” Gabriella said, shrugging in an offhand manner. “It has no particular significance.”
“No?” A skeptical smile creased Florence’s lips.
“No,” Gabriella said firmly. “It means nothing at all. I don’t trust the man completely and I certainly don’t like him. Admittedly, I will have to spend a great deal of time in his company, but it…” She set her chin. “…it can’t be helped.”
“A necessary evil, then?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, of course, he would be,” Florence murmured. “Always the worst kind.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing of significance. I shall see you soon, and I expect to receive a note from you tomorrow.” Florence pulled the door open. “Mr. Dennison, how good of you to…” The door closed behind her.
Well, that was certainly a surprise. All of it. From Florence’s reaction to her flirtation with Mr. Dennison to her mention of a plan of her own. But then hadn’t the last two days been fraught with surprise?
Gabriella sighed and sank down in the nearest chair. Nothing was quite as she’d expected. Lady Harrington was very nice. The earl was suspicious and rather stodgy but not unkind. As for his youngest brother—Nathanial Harrington was the greatest surprise of all. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
And she had no idea if that was good or very, very bad.
Six
What did you do to Mr. Dennison?” Nate strode into the library, his tone far harder than he had intended.
“I didn’t do anything to Mr. Dennison,” Miss Montini said coolly. She sat at the secretary’s desk as if she owned it, which in and of itself might well annoy Mr. Dennison, but certainly wouldn’t disconcert him in any way.
“Someone did.” Nate drew his brows together. “He looks both preoccupied and puzzled.”
“Does he?” Miss Montini’s tone was noncommittal and she continued examining what appeared to be letters arrayed before her on the desk.
“It is not like him to be either.” Nate narrowed his eyes. “I have never known Mr. Denison to be anything other than competent and assured. And I have never seen him the least bit disconcerted.”
“To every thing there is a season,” she said under her breath, her gaze still on the papers on the desk. No doubt these were the letters from her brother.
She was ignoring him, that’s what she was doing. Oh certainly she was responding, but in nothing more than a cursory manner. And with biblical quotes, no less. In truth, she was paying him no attention whatsoever. It was most annoying.
Admittedly, his mood was already somewhat foul. He wasn’t sure how it was her fault—he hadn’t even seen her today—but clearly it was. Usually when he joined his older brother on his morning ride, it was an excellent way to start the day, invigorating and refreshing. There was nowhere on earth as green and lush as England in the spring, even here in London. Today, Sterling had been full of questions about the legend of the Virgin’s Secret and what scant factual evidence existed about Ambropia.
In and of itself, Nate enjoyed detailing what little was known of the lost city. But he knew that the Earl of Wyldewood was nothing if not thorough. It was just a matter of time before he would want to know about Enrico Montini. Which might well lead to Miss Montini learning more about her brother than he suspected she knew, or at least that was his impression, given the passion of her quest. He had the oddest desire to protect her from that knowledge. Absurd, of course, since he barely knew her.
He drew a deep breath and forced a cordial note to his voice. Regardless of the circumstances, she was still their guest. “I trust you slept well?”
“Quite.”
He had scarcely slept at all, and even the most rational man could indeed place the blame for that squarely at the feet and well-turned ankles of Miss Montini. He had tossed and turned all night. In those few moments when he had dozed, he dreamed of kisses shared with blue-eyed beauties in the moonlight. Little wonder he awoke in a foul mood.
“Your rooms were acceptable, then?”
“More than acceptable.”
If they were to accomplish anything together, he should probably set aside all thoughts of kissing the delectable Miss Montini, as difficult as that might be.
“And breakfast? Was it satisfactory?”
“It was excellent.”
Still, even now with her hair pinned neatly into place, wearing a gown that was more than proper—indeed one might even call it virginal—her attention focused firmly on the letters before her, he had the most insane desire to vault over the desk, yank her to her feet, pull her into his arms and press his lips to hers. Lips he had no doubt would be firm and warm and pliant beneath his and would respond to his ardor with immediate enthusiasm as her shapely, seductive body pressed—
“And the weather, Mr. Harrington?”
“The weather, Mr. Harrington.” She turned over a page then lifted her gaze to his. “I assume that was the next inconsequential topic.”
“Inconsequential?” He stared. What was it about this woman that made him want to at once kiss her and turn her over his knee?
A slight, knowing smile touched the corners of her mouth as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking. Damnable creature. Well, two could play at that game.
“I’d scarcely call a fine spring day such as this inconsequential, Miss Montini.”
She shrugged. “It is a spring day like any other.”
“Not at all. It could be cloudy or rainy or blustery. But today the sun shines, the birds sing, and flowers are in bloom, their fragrance wafted about on the mere caress of a breeze.” He propped his hip on the desk and smiled at her. “Indeed, Miss Montini, ‘What is so rare as a day in June?’”
“Poetry, Mr. Harrington?” She scoffed. “I would not have suspected you were a poetic sort of man.”
“I daresay, there are many things about me you do not suspect.” He wagged his brows at her in a wicked manner.
“And many that I do.” She settled back in her chair and studied him. “For example, I suspect you are a man who does not let minor inconsistencies like facts stand in your way.”
“And why do you suspect that?”
“For one thing,” she smiled in a smug manner, “it’s only May.”
“Are you not impressed, then?” He forced a mock serious note to his vote. “That I can bend the months of the year to suit my purposes?”
“You did no such thing. What you did was quote a line of poetry in hopes of impressing me because any number of women would fall at the feet of poetry spouting, handsome, exciting men who make their living in the pursuit of treasure and adventure.”
He grinned. “You think I’m handsome?”
Her eyes widened in obvious dismay at what she’d said and the most delightful blush swept up her face. She leaned forward and directed her attention back to the letters on the desk. “Goodness, Mr. Harrington,” she said under her breath. “A mirror would tell you no less, and I cannot imagine you are surprised.”