Gabby felt the stinging burn behind her eyes. He was as bereft as she, victims of their forced separation and the roles they must play. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know how alone and sad she would be after losing his companionship. She couldn’t look away from his fervent stare.
“For one moment, I want us to be the two simple people who unexpectedly came together in France, before I must play my role in keeping you protected. Once this terrible time is finished and we know you’re safe, I plan to court you openly and outrageously so that all of London knows of our connection.” His eyes gleamed with that wicked, devilish amusement.
She shook her head, but her heart bounded into a lively vivace Bach tempo. She opened her mouth to speak, but Michael placed his finger on her lips.
“Shhh. I’m not expecting you to pledge your feelings to me.” His passionate stare held her trapped.
She placed her hand over his fingers. Happy to touch him again. When he was ill, she had become familiar with every part of his face, his bronzed arms, his strong hands. “It’s only because of my brother… You feel responsible for me.”
Michael pressed his lips to her palm. “Responsibility is not what I feel for you, dearest Gabby. I feel responsible for my sister, my brother, my uncle, and now for most of England. But what I feel for you isn’t a responsibility. It’s much more.”
Gabby shook her head. “I…”
“Please say nothing. I know I have no claim on your feelings. But I want you to know that I will always be your friend, and much more if you let me. I will stand by you always as a friend if that is all you desire.”
She couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice or the joy bubbling up. “Thank you. I am grateful for your offer of friendship, since I have so few friends in England.”
“Once you come out into society, you’ll have more gentlemen friends than you could possibly wish for. It is going to be very difficult to see you in society and hide my feelings, but I promise I will be a man of judicious behavior and manner.”
And then the charming, boyish smile, lethal to all ladies, crossed his face.
“Can you achieve such a thing?” she teased. “Judicious behavior? I’ve only witnessed outrageous behavior.”
It felt good to joke and laugh together again. He made her forget the gravity of her circumstances and her grief. She loved his open nature. She loved his lightheartedness, despite his title and wealth. She loved him. She’d fallen in love with his joie de vivre during their escape from Paris.
No matter how she tried to deny her feelings, he would always own her heart. But, like him, she must make the choice to protect him, because she cared too.
“You wretch!” He pulled on one of the curls that had fallen down from her topknot. “How little faith. But you must promise me.”
“Michael, I can’t promise…” She shook her head again. How could she make promises?
“Wait to hear my request. It’s not what you think. Promise me you won’t marry anyone else until I have a chance to court you too. I want you to be the belle of the season. And enjoy all the things you’ve missed in the convent. You deserve happiness, but promise me that I’ll get a chance when our association isn’t dangerous.”
Happiness. Was it possible? Her life had only been about surviving. “I’ve thought if I married right away, Napoleon’s men wouldn’t pursue me. But then I realized Napoleon wouldn’t honor an English marriage and would just have it annulled in France.”
Michael took both her hands between his. “Exactly. It’s why we must keep you hidden until he gives up pursuing you and has married his brother to another woman.”
Michael caressed her hands. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Gabby.”
She lowered her eyes since she didn’t want to betray her tender feelings for him.
“And then I’m going to enjoy being your persistent, tenacious suitor.”
Whatever the future brought, she would always hold this day and his pledge close to her heart. “I don’t plan to marry anytime soon.”
“You haven’t been out in society. Once you make your appearance, you’re going to cause a riot in the ton.”
She scoffed. She was French, with no title now and past the age of debutantes. “And while I’m being the belle of the season, what will you be doing? Pursuing Yvette or Mimi?”
“Forget Yvette and Mimi. I never would have…” He shook his head and gave her his lost puppy look that always softened her. He didn’t know the potent effect his sorrowful, apologetic looks did to her insides…to her heart.
“Oh, Gabby, you’re too innocent. All men have pasts.”
“And is your past filled with a lot of Yvettes and Mimis?”
“Gabby.” He leaned forward and pushed one of her errant curls behind her ear.
His tender touch sent tremors and shivers through her body, making her heart sing.
“The past doesn’t matter. It is only the future that matters. And my future is only filled with Gabby.” His voice lowered while he gently touched her cheek.
She leaned into his rough, warm hand. She wanted to believe the past made no difference, but she could never escape her past. She would always be pursued for her lineage and wealth while Napoleon was in power. Was it too much to hope for a future together with Michael. “We must stay apart.” If she didn’t love him, the separation wouldn’t hurt this much.
The door swung open. Gabby pulled away from Michael as he jumped to his feet.
Gwyneth, with Amelia, swept into the room. “Morley told me of your arrival, Lord Kendal.” Gwyneth looked between them. “Did I dally long enough?”
“Lady Gwyneth.” Michael bowed, missing Gwyneth’s raised eyebrows, which were directed at Gabby.
“And Miss Bonnington.” Michael’s voice had turned to teasing. “About to be married? I go away for a few months, and my sister marries a humorless chap and you’re about to marry a brute.”
Amelia snickered. “Derrick isn’t a brute. He is just a very large man.”
Gwyneth sat next to Gabby. She whispered, “Everything all right?”
Gabby smiled and nodded.
“A large man, you say?” Michael walked toward Amelia as if stalking her. “Amelia, how risqué!”
Amelia tried to punch Michael’s shoulder, but he dodged her arm and lifted her in his arms and swung her in a circle. “Now, there’s my favorite tomboy.”
Watching the easy friendship between Michael and Amelia stirred Gabby’s feelings of envy and loss. All her friends lucky enough to escape the guillotine had fled France or were in hiding.
Amelia laughed heartily.
He swung her once more. “My sister with a man who doesn’t care about linguistics. And you with a man who doesn’t look like he can run between the Cricket posts.”
“Incorrigible.” Amelia huffed when Michael put her down. She straightened the bandeau holding her flowing red hair. “I can see your adventure in France hasn’t made any difference in your sense of propriety. Miss Gabby has her work cut out for her.”
Michael turned and winked at Gabby as if she were used to twirling and laughing in drawing rooms. And, in that moment, she wanted a lifetime of twirling and laughing with Michael.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael held his position in front of the mirror until he could no longer stand it. He exhaled loudly, impatient for his ham-fisted valet to tie his cravat. “Too tight, old man.”
“It wouldn’t be if you didn’t jump around like a dog with ticks.”
“Tut, tut. Manners, Denby.”
“Yes, my lord.” Denby pulled hard on the white linen, causing Michael to jerk his head back, as his valet intended.
“Denby, pack your bags. Your services are not needed now that we’ve left France.”
“That’s not what Lord Rathbourne said.” Denby assisted Michael into his jacket. “He said I was to keep an eye on you with your new assignment.”
“My new assignment is to entertain an opera singer. How dangerous can th
at be?”
“Women can be more treacherous than men,” Denby growled. “They use their erotic charms on you, and before you know it you’re believing everything they say.”
Michael had only met one dangerous woman, a crafty woman disguised as a schoolboy. Gabby’s gentle nature and sweet voluptuous body were a formidable and irresistible trial. Her rounded derriere in breeches appeared repeatedly in his daydreams.
He sighed out loud. “Sounds like you were burned by a woman, Denby.”
Denby winked at Michael in the mirror. “Lucky you’ve recovered from your injury. Might be a bit awkward with your new assignment, you know what I mean.”
Michael noticed how adroitly Denby changed topics. “Yes, I get your meaning.”
“Speaking of your injuries, when do you plan to see Miss Gabby?” Denby brushed off the shoulders of Michael’s evening jacket. “Really tough about her brother. And after all her solicitous care of you. You owe her.”
“I’m very aware of what I owe her.” He stepped away from Denby’s ministrations, irritated that even his valet-cum-bodyguard reminded him of his need to maintain his distance from Gabby.
“I’m glad she’s got Ashworth to protect her.” Denby grunted. “She’s a brave little thing. But we know Napoleon’s henchmen are treacherous.”
“Your guilt-inducing tactics are not going to work, Denby. You trying to make me feel bad doesn’t matter. I already do, but everyone has warned me off, including Gabby.”
“She probably doesn’t want you to feel responsible for her, independent as she is.”
“Damn you. Of course, I feel responsible for her.”
Denby handed white gloves to Michael. “There must be something we could do.”
If Denby only knew how often Michael considered the ways to help Gabby. He was trying to only think about her safety, but no matter, all he did was think of Gabby.
He considered allowing the rumors to circulate that he had travelled with Gabby. She then would be forced to marry him. But that was no solution, as Gabby pointed out—Napoleon would never honor an English marriage. Besides, he could never promote any rumor besmirching Gabby’s reputation. It could blow her cover. And his, for that matter.
She deserved time to decide what she wanted. She was very clear she didn’t want to escape one forced marriage only to have another forced upon her. He wanted her to have choices. As long as she chose him.
“Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, my lord.” Denby faked his punctilious servant’s mode. “Remember I’ll be at the tavern right across from Covent Garden, if you need me tonight.”
“Why in earth would I need you tonight?”
“In case the lady takes you captive. Or decides to shoot you in the arse.”
“Very humorous, I’m sure.” Michael walked out of the room.
* * *
Michael leaned back in the velvet seat and crossed his legs, playing the part of a bored gentleman, to see and to be seen by his fellow members of the ton. He had never before attended the opera to enjoy the music. He and his fellow chums came for the dancers who flitted across the stage in flimsy costumes.
He pulled at his constricting collar. Damn Denby for making it so tight. Although he threatened regularly to fire his bodyguard, he had enjoyed the close comradery of the ex-army officer. Michael hadn’t known until he had been shot that Denby had been assigned to protect him during his time in France.
And Denby was still guarding him. Another reminder that the French spies who had infiltrated the opera company were dangerous. He could be offended that his new brother-in-law didn’t think he could handle himself, but this wasn’t a time for vanity. England was at war. He had a unique and important skill set to help win the war. No one except Henrietta had his skills, and like Rathbourne, he didn’t want his sister to put herself in harm’s way.
The usual boisterous crowd hushed suddenly. Michael moved forward to look over the balcony to see who or what had prompted the self-absorbed aristocrats to cease their conversation and draw their attention away from themselves. The main floor was crowded with the usual young bucks, all of them staring up at a box across from him.
He followed their enraptured gazes to see who had captured their drunken interest and had them staring with their mouths open. In a box across from him, three women, conversing together, sat down, unaware of the dramatic entrance they had made.
Michael’s heart thumped against his chest at the sight of Gabby, her long curls in a bandeau with blue feathers and matching gown. Although he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew the blue in her feathers and in her dress exactly matched the cerulean color of her eyes. He also knew her smooth cheeks would be flushed with spots of color.
Gabby moved forward to look at the stage. Her generous bosom pressed against the balcony railing when she leaned forward in her low-cut gown, causing an uproar. The young bucks in the pits cheered with raucous hoots and whoops. Jealousy and outrage combusted in a fiery flash through Michael’s body. He was going to skewer Ashworth for bringing her out into society in this outrageous manner. And what was the purpose of subterfuge if she had every man in London wanting to know her and just plain wanting her?
Amelia and Lady Gwyneth sat on either side of Gabby. Three gentlemen stood in the shadows, behind the women. Of course, Ashworth and Brinsley didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. Michael couldn’t see the third gentleman, who must be Gabby’s escort. Gritty, dark jealousy writhed in his gut. Another man was close to Gabby, who was dressed in that revealing, indecent gown.
Michael was interrupted in his deadly musings when there was a smattering of applause as the orchestra members entered the pit. The maestro took up his baton and the music started as polite society went back to their conversation, blissfully ignoring the Prologue. More interested in themselves, they all waited for Madame Abney and her arias and her dramatic acting.
Michael tried to turn away from watching Gabby and focus on the task of listening to Giacomelli’s opera of the Greek myth, Merope. But he couldn’t look away from Gabby. Thoughts of another man escorting her, touching her, twisted in him like a sharp and deadly knife blade.
Unable to help himself, he stared at Gabby, wanting her to feel the connection between them—that she knew he was nearby, that she belonged to him, only him. He watched her flutter her fan in front of her face.
Amelia leaned over and spoke to Gabby. He watched Gabby abruptly look up and then across at him. He held his breath. She gave a quick and barely discernable nod before turning toward the stage.
He wanted to go to her at intermission and make it clear to everyone she was his. He gave himself a good mental shake about why he had to keep his distance. His overwhelming need for this one woman couldn’t trump his mission to find the French spies. But above all, Gabby’s safety was his first priority.
And, unlike Ashworth and Brinsley, he wasn’t at the opera to guard Gabby. It burned him to realize that other men were responsible for her. But he would do everything he could to protect her, even if it meant ignoring her. He leaned back in his seat and tried to clear his mind of the soft desirable woman across the theater.
He took a slow, deep breath and tried to replace his fantasy of undressing Gabby to the intricate pattern of the singing. What a crack assignment! Gabby threw off his game—his superior skill to focus and analyze data. And what a dangerous and delightful distraction, his gentle Gabby.
Involved in visualizing the trills from the horn section, he jumped when he heard the door to his box open.
Damnation. He hadn’t planned on the appearance of his friends from university. With his rummy friends’ entrance came the pungent smell of whiskey and cigar smoke. Swirling his cane, the Earl of Felton sauntered into the box, his cravat and thick hair askew. “Kendal, why are you up here alone?”
The enormous Baron Chalmers barely fit when he plopped down in the ornamental chair next to Michael. Chalmers was a solid mass of muscle, which made him a good man to have ar
ound in the event of a tavern brawl. “Are you here to see her too?”
Michael stared at his Oxford compatriots, whose life interests were women, gambling, and boxing. Neither of them were remotely interested in opera or Madame Abney. Their tastes ran more to voluptuous opera dancers. Only a new opera dancer would have enticed these two to abandon a gambling den.
“I’m here to see her too,” Michael joked. “I’ve heard her high C is spectacular.”
Fenton snorted and Chalmers guffawed loudly, drawing the entire audience’s attention to their box. Being in the company of his rakish friends would work well in hiding his real purpose in pursuing the prima donna.
Fenton bent over and placed his hand on Michael’s forehead. “Did you suffer a brain fever while in France?”
Michael tried not to show any reaction to how close Fenton was to the truth.
Chalmers turned his chair to face Michael with his back to the stage. “You always were cagey.” Chalmers pointed to Gabby’s box. “He has the perfect view. Pretending he came for the music…” Chalmers shook his head. “His box is directly across from the delicate flower.”
Fenton indolently sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. “He wants her for himself.”
Chalmers guffawed again. Had his friend always been this loud?
Michael’s irritation with his friends was mounting at a pace with their loathsome implications. These two idiots couldn’t possibly have attended the opera because of Gabby.
“Hate to break it you, old chap, but Weston beat you.”
“Would either of you muffleheads tell me about whom you’re talking?”
Fenton clapped him on the back. “As if you don’t know.”
Chalmers leaned out of the box, looking down in the pit. “You’re trying to make us believe you didn’t just see the display of those fine womanly attributes.” Chalmers turned back with his hands held in front of him as if holding two oranges.
Although Chalmers outweighed and outsized him, Michael was going to mangle the giant before he killed him.
A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Page 9
