A Gentleman Never Tells

by Amelia Grey

  “I’m ready,” he said to Gabrielle and then turned to her aunt. “Thank you for a lovely visit, Mrs. Potter.”

  “Remember, if you’re not back in two hours, I’ll come looking for you,” her aunt called in a friendly tone as they left the room.

  “We certainly don’t want that, Auntie,” Gabrielle threw over her shoulder.

  Lord Brentwood paused at the doorway and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Potter, we won’t be late.”

  “See that you aren’t. I’m growing quite fond of you and I don’t want that to change.”

  Gabrielle and Lord Brentwood stopped in the vestibule to pick up her parasol, cape, and gloves, and his coat, hat, and gloves. While he donned his outer clothing, Brutus came walking down the corridor. Her heart went out to the lumbering old dog as she tied the ribbon of her rush-brimmed bonnet under her chin.

  On impulse, she turned to Lord Brentwood and asked, “Would you mind terribly if Brutus came with us?”

  Lord Brentwood looked at Brutus and then back to Gabrielle. She saw the corner of his lips twitch just a bit as he hesitated before answering. She held her breath.

  She could see it was on the tip of his tongue to deny her request, but instead he put a smile on his face, looked down at the dog, and said, “Of course not. Brutus and I are old friends now, aren’t we?”

  Gabrielle let out her breath and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, my lord. He won’t be any trouble at all.”

  When they reached the carriage, which was parked on the street in front of her house, he helped her step up and into the curricle. While she seated herself, he looked down at Brutus and said, “Come on, boy, you’re next. Up you go.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” Gabrielle said with concern. “Brutus is too old to climb steps without a boost. I’ll go get Muggs to help him into the carriage for us.” She started to rise.

  “No, no,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her. “Sit back down, Lady Gabrielle. No need to disturb your footman. I’m perfectly capable of helping Brutus get into the carriage.”

  As if knowing exactly what to do, Brutus immediately put his front paws on the first step of the curricle, looked back at Lord Brentwood, and gave a short woof. The viscount reached down and gently grasped him under the stomach with one arm and, with the other, cupped the back of his hind legs and carefully lifted the dog. A passing phaeton slowed and the driver asked if Lord Brentwood needed help, but he shook his head and called out, “I’ve got it handled.”

  It was a bit of a struggle for him at first, but he managed to get Brutus onto the floor of the small carriage, where he slowly lay down.

  With a teasing smile, Lord Brentwood brushed dog hair from his coat and said, “Did I mention that you have a big dog?”

  When the viscount was so charming, she had to remind herself he was being forced to marry her, and she didn’t want that for him or for herself. She must remember her plan and do all she could to convince him she would not be a good wife. But looking at him now, she knew that would be hard to do.

  Gabrielle laughed lightly to cover the good feeling that washed over her from simply looking at him. She smiled and patted the panting dog on the head.

  “But he is such a darling, and I know it pains him to be so much trouble to everyone.”

  “You are obviously a good master,” Lord Brentwood said as he carefully climbed into the carriage, trying not to step on the dog’s large paws. “But I don’t think darling is the word I would use for the mastiff, Lady Gabrielle. He cares not for trouble. He’s just happy to be going along for the ride.”

  The viscount sat down beside her on the padded bench. She immediately felt the heat of his body as his thigh settled brazenly against hers. She knew she should move away and give him more space on the seat, but there was something intimately comforting about the slight touch from him, and she didn’t want to deny herself his warmth.

  “You know you can’t keep doing this.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he seemed puzzled for a moment. “What’s that?”

  “You said I had promised you a dance when I hadn’t, and you said we had planned to go for a ride today in the park, yet you had never asked me to go with you this afternoon.”

  His eyes narrowed further. His gaze settled gently on her face and he questioned, “Really?”

  Gabrielle watched as Lord Brentwood reached for a wool blanket from underneath the seat. All his hand found was dog. The small curricle was not the carriage he needed if Brutus was going to join them. He finally caught an edge of the blanket, pulled it out, and laid it over her lap.

  “Yes, and you know it,” she admonished with a soft smile. “You cannot continue to just assume we have made plans and I will go along with whatever you say.”

  He smiled, and she noticed it was a little crooked from the swollen corner. “It’s worked for me so far. Why mess up a good plan?”

  Gabrielle suddenly felt wistful and said, “Because I would like to have a say about my life, about what I do. I want to be in on making the decisions that affect me, the decisions as simple as where we go together.”

  “All right, it’s your turn. Tell me what you would like for us to do after this outing.”

  Though he sounded genuine, Gabrielle wasn’t sure she trusted him. “You will let me decide?”

  He gave her a curious look, as if he wondered why she questioned his sincerity. “Yes, of course. What do you want to do?”

  His insistence that she could choose surprised her. “Well, I don’t know yet. I will have to think about it.”

  He clicked the ribbons on the horses’ rumps and the carriage took off with a jerk, rattle of harness, and clopping of hooves.

  After he had safely maneuvered them into the street behind a hackney, he threw a smiling glance her way, and said, “Fine. You can let me know when you’ve decided. You have approximately two hours to think about it.”

  Gabrielle settled comfortably into her seat and opened her brown ruffled parasol. The rain and dreary weather of the past few days had lifted. A light blue afternoon sky was filled with puffy white clouds. The air felt cold and breezy, but with the bright sunshine and Lord Brentwood’s thigh next to hers, Gabrielle felt very warm. She wasn’t sure why, but an exciting sense of awareness bubbled up inside her. Something told her it was going to be a splendid afternoon.

  She looked down to see if Brutus was settled, and her breath stalled in her lungs. The dog’s mouth was poised over Lord Brentwood’s feet. Brutus’s drool and slobber from his exertion of getting into the carriage was dripping onto the toe of one of Lord Brentwood’s highly polished boots.

  As she tried to decide if she should tell the viscount to move his feet, or simply try to shift the big body of the dog, Lord Brentwood asked, “Is everything all right?”

  Gabrielle turned and looked up at the same time Lord Brentwood bent his head to glance down. The edge of her parasol hit the brim of his hat and knocked it off his head. The strong wind caught the top hat and sent it flying like a kite through the air and over the curricle behind them. He pulled hard on the ribbons to stop the horses. She and Lord Brentwood looked back in time to see his hat land crown-up in a wide mud puddle on the other side of the road. He set the brake and turned to jump down but stopped as a shiny painted barouche passed by, the wheels splashing black muddy water all over the hat.

  “Oh, no!” Gabrielle gasped. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

  She expected him to start yelling at her how it was his favorite hat, or how expensive it would be to replace it, as her father would have done, but that didn’t happen. Instead of anger, Lord Brentwood was merely looking with detachment at the soiled hat floating in the puddle.

  “I’ll get it for you,” she said, starting to remove the blanket covering her legs.

  “No,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers to still her.

  She looked down at his black gloved hand lying over hers. There was no shake or quiver of fury in his touch. No anger. Her father w
ould have been furious at her.

  “But, my lord, I can see it was an exceptional hat. Perhaps I can have it cleaned.”

  “It’s no matter, Lady Gabrielle. Look over there.” He pointed to a street urchin not far away who was wistfully eyeing the hat. “Let him have it. Maybe he can salvage it and make a shilling or two off it. I have others.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Lord Brentwood turned away and released the brake, picked up the ribbons, and started the horses to moving again. She hadn’t wanted to ruin his hat, but with any luck, he’d add it to the growing list of things that would one day make him realize she was not the wife for him.

  They were both quiet the rest of the short ride to the park. She had no idea what the viscount was thinking, but she knew she was quickly counting up all the things that made Lord Brentwood different from her father.

  There were only a few people in the park as they entered from the east side. That was to be expected, since it was windy, cold, and a weekday. Lord Brentwood took his time and searched for just the right place to stop, which was a level stretch of land not too far from the Serpentine. There was a crop of trees to break the wind but still sunny enough to help keep them warm.

  He set the brake on the curricle and jumped down. He first helped Brutus make it down the two steps and then reached back to help Gabrielle.

  She closed her parasol and laid it on the seat before taking his hand. “I don’t think I’ll need this.”

  He grinned. “And I might be safer if you don’t have it with you.”

  Gabrielle laughed as she took his hand and stepped down.

  Lord Brentwood took the blanket that had covered her legs and spread it on the ground, and then he walked back to the carriage to get the food basket from underneath the seat. “I hope you like what my cook prepared for us. Warm—” He stopped mid-sentence when he glanced back and saw that Brutus had staked out his claim right in the middle of the small blanket and was making himself comfortable.

  But without missing another beat, Lord Brentwood looked at her and said, “Warm chocolate, bread, cheese, and fig preserves.”

  Gabrielle started to tell Brutus to move and would have, except on second thought, she knew her dog’s antics were working right into her plan to make the viscount see how unsuitable she was to be his wife. It was best he know that wherever she went Brutus went, and the dog always got special treatment.

  “It all sounds wonderful to me,” she said to him and walked over to the blanket.

  She gave Lord Brentwood her hand, and he helped her to sit on a corner. He lowered himself on the opposite side of her, leaving the food basket as a barrier between them. She slipped her reticule off her wrist and pretended not to see him looking curiously at the toe of his boot that Brutus had christened with his slobber.

  After taking off his gloves and scarf and unbuttoning his overcoat, the first thing he did was to pull out a flask and pour warm chocolate into a delicate china cup and hand it to her. She sipped the drink and watched in silence as he laid pieces of bread and containers holding butter and preserves onto the napkin the cup had been wrapped in.

  “Mmm, this chocolate is wonderful, my lord, but has a strange taste to it.”

  “That might be because it’s laced with a little brandy. I thought it might help keep you warm.”

  “I’ve never had chocolate with brandy, and it does make my cheeks feel warm.”

  “It also makes them turn a lovely shade of pink.”

  “Really?” she said, touching her cheek.

  Gabrielle set the cup aside. She felt wonderful sitting on the blanket under a tree with the viscount. She felt so happy and so free, she did the unthinkable and took off her gloves and laid them beside her.

  She broke off a piece of bread and buttered it with the small knife he’d brought. “Will you tell me what happened between you and Staunton?”

  Lord Brentwood popped a piece of bread loaded with fig preserves into his mouth and swallowed before saying, “There’s nothing to tell. There were very few words spoken between us.”

  Gabrielle thought for a moment. Staunton had always been a man of few words. She’d actually had very few conversations with him during their engagement. When they had first become engaged, he’d often sought her out, always wanting her to take walks with him in the garden, or if they were at parties, to go out on the terrace with him. It hadn’t taken her long to realize all he wanted to do was kiss her, and that held no appeal to her, so she’d stopped going anywhere with him. He’d soon stopped asking. And that was obviously when he started noticing her sister and fell in love with her.

  “Is it true he just walked up to you and hit you?”

  The viscount gave her a crooked smile. “You know, Lady Gabrielle, I have only one thing to say about my encounter with Mr. Staunton. I might have hit a man, too, if I thought he’d stolen my fiancée from me. In fact, I might have done more than he did.”

  “But Staunton didn’t want to marry me because—” Gabrielle caught herself before she revealed the truth about Staunton and Rosabelle. She quickly popped a piece of bread in her mouth.

  “Staunton didn’t want to marry you because of what?”

  She struggled to come up with something, but words were failing her. She needed to say something that would make herself sound like a dreadful person. Without thinking clearly, she quickly blurted out, “Because I have a nasty temper, and I’ve been known to throw things.”

  “At Staunton?”

  She hesitated. “No, others,” she said, sensing Lord Brentwood didn’t believe her for a moment, and she was only digging the hole she was standing in deeper. “Believe me, no man should have to abide a woman as ill-tempered as I.”

  He sipped his chocolate and looked at her thoughtfully. “Did Staunton ever tell you that?”

  She looked at Lord Brentwood. He was still waiting for an answer, so she said, “No, not in those words exactly. But take my word for it: he did not want to marry me.”

  “All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll believe you.” He added more chocolate to their cups. “But what about you? Why didn’t you want to marry him?”

  Gabrielle hesitated. How had she allowed them to get this far into a conversation about Staunton? She immediately started looking for a way out of it.

  “I didn’t object at first when my father told me he’d picked Staunton for me. I’m sorry he hit you and cut your lip again.”

  A half laugh blew past his lips and he shrugged. “Yes, it wouldn’t have been so bad if Staunton had caught me on the other side, but his fist landed where my lip had just healed.”

  Her eyes searched his. Suddenly, everything around them was very quiet. On impulse, Gabrielle reached over and touched the injured side of his mouth with the pads of her fingers. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it while his gaze searched her face.

  “The care and concern I see in your eyes isn’t necessary,” he said. “It’s almost well and doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “But it was because of me that Staunton hit you.”

  He gave her a half smile. “A small price to pay for such sweet kisses.” His gaze stayed steady on hers. “Do you mind if I kiss you right now?”

  Her heart rate soared, and she felt hot, even though a cool breeze chilled the air. Why was he asking? Staunton had kissed her often and he had never once asked if he could. He would always just pull her into his arms and kiss her without any warning. But then, she had never wanted Staunton’s kisses.

  Did she mind? She was eager for this man to kiss her.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Reaching over the basket, Lord Brentwood bent his head and lightly brushed his warm, moist, and pliant lips over hers. She tasted the sweetness of the jam he’d just eaten, and a quickening tightened her abdomen. The viscount’s kiss was gentle and satisfying, much more pleasant than Staunton’s kisses had been. She wanted it to go on forever, but it ended far too quickly.

  She moistene
d her lips and asked, “Why did you ask permission for a kiss?”

  “That’s what a gentleman is supposed to do the first time he kisses a lady.”

  “But we’ve—” She stopped.

  “I know,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “We’ve kissed before, but it was you who initiated our first kiss, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded again and lowered her lashes over her eyes, embarrassed by how brazen she’d been that morning in the park.

  “I didn’t mind, you know,” he said.

  “Didn’t you think it made me seem a very loose lady to have done that?”

  “Very,” he said with a slight grin as his arms tightened about her.

  “And being loose makes me completely unacceptable as a titled man’s wife, doesn’t it?”

  His expression turned serious, and his eyes darkened. “No. You can kiss me again any time you want to. I will never rebuff you, and wanting to kiss me will never make you unsuitable as my wife.”

  Exasperation settled over her. If that didn’t make her undesirable as a wife in his eyes, she didn’t know what would. She should be furious he wanted her to be so fresh and free. Until she had met him, she had lived a life above reproach and had never been anything but circumspect in the company of a man. But all that was forgotten whenever Lord Brentwood was near her. She had found far too many things to like about him.

  Gabrielle looked deeply into his eyes and remembered the breathtaking embrace they’d shared that morning more than two weeks ago. The memories of his tempting kisses fused with what she was feeling now, and she wanted him to kiss her again as he had that day. The desiring look in his hooded eyes left her no doubt he wanted to kiss her that way again too.

  And that was not a good idea. She couldn’t examine her feelings for him beyond her intense desire to keep this man from being forced to wed her. She had to put a stop to the way he was making her feel, and she had to do it quickly. She reached behind her and grabbed her reticule off the blanket and fumbled inside it, finally drawing out her sheet of poetry.