A Secret Love (31 page)

He could almost see her feathers subside. A moment later, she nodded. “Agreed.” She turned away. “Not that there'll be any ramifications.”

He shot out a hand and shackled her wrist. She froze. The eyes that met his when he turned his head were wide. “
Don't
pretend.” After a moment, he continued, his tone less forceful, “I said we'd defer discussion of the matter, not that we'd ignore it.”

“There's nothing to ignore.” Her tone was breathless; her other hand rose to her breast.

Turbulent emotion swelled, threatening to sweep him away. Jaw set, he held it back, but allowed it to infuse his eyes. “
Don't tempt me
.”

The words, dark and low, vibrated with a power Alathea could sense; it gripped her, shook her, then held her, but lightly. If she tried to fight, the grip would tighten, would seize and pin her. For now, he was content to simply hold. Dragging in a shaky breath, she forced herself to look away.

She was immeasurably grateful when, an instant later, his fingers slid from her wrist.

“Have you learned anything since last we discussed the matter?”

The question gave her something to cling to, to respond to sensibly. “Wiggs.” Dragging in another breath, she lifted her head. “I asked him to find out the legal procedure involved in getting the note declared invalid. He sent a message yesterday saying he had an appointment with one of the Chancery Court judges tomorrow morning to discuss the possibilities.”

“Good. Anything else?”

She grew calmer. “I've been looking for maps of the area to check the locations Crowley mentioned.”

“Detailed maps of that area are hard to find.”

“True, but I finally found one in a biography. It shows those three towns Crowley mentioned—Fangak, Lodwar, and Kafia. They're small, but there.”

“What did the biographer say about them?” She hesitated.

“I don't know. I didn't read the text.”

He sighed through his teeth.

“I will! I only found it two days ago. Anyway, what have you been doing? Have you located the captain?”

“No.” Gabriel frowned. “It's not that simple. He's definitely not with any of the major shipping lines. There are scores of others to check, so we're checking. I've nosed about White's but no one remembers him. Incidentally, who saw him—Charlie?”

“No, Papa. But he doesn't remember anything beyond what I've told you. And I've made him promise to bring the captain home if he sees him again.”

“Hmm. I've got people searching, but it's possible he's no longer in London. Most of the senior seamen come ashore, then head off to visit family, often out of London, returning only a day or so before they're due to sail again.”

“So we might not see the captain again.”

“Not if we simply wait to see him. There are other possibilities I'm following up.” He glanced at the mantelpiece clock. “Speaking of which, I have to be elsewhere.” He met Alathea's gaze. “Are we agreed that we'll pool all information so we can settle this business as expeditiously as possible?”

Alathea nodded.

“Good.” He held her gaze for an instant, then he raised his hand.

Alathea's breath suspended; lost in the hazel depths of his eyes, she inwardly quivered as his fingers traced, then cradled her jaw. The pad of his thumb brushed slowly over her lips. She felt her eyes flare, her lips soften. Her wits whirled.

“And then,” he stated, “we'll settle the rest.”

She was tempted to raise a brow; caution stepped in and prevented it. When she simply held his gaze, he nodded.

“I'll call on you tomorrow.”

She'd never been afraid of Gabriel; after careful consideration, Alathea concluded she still wasn't. It wasn't fear that tightened her nerves when she caught sight of him while strolling in the park; it was anticipation, but of what she wasn't sure.

Together with Mary, Alice, Heather, and Eliza, she'd been strolling for twenty minutes. Lord Esher and his friend Mr. Carstairs, of the Finchley-Carstairs, young gentlemen of impeccable credentials, had joined the group, his lordship to chat with Mary, while Mr. Carstairs manfully engaged the others, although his gaze strayed frequently to Alice's face.

Ambling in the rear, Alathea had watched the budding romances with an approving eye, until she saw Gabriel approaching. After that, she saw nothing beyond him, severely elegant in morning coat, buckskin breeches, and Hessians, the breeze ruffling his chestnut locks. His expression easy, he greeted her sisters and his with brotherly familiarity, appraised the suddenly tense young men, and nodded his approval. Then his gaze slid to her. Deserting the younger crew, he strolled to her side.

Alathea locked both hands on her parasol handle and prayed he wouldn't commandeer one.

His eyes met hers, then his brow quirked. “I don't bite,” he murmured, as he halted beside her. “At least,” he amended, voice deepening, “not in public.”

Awareness swept her; she felt her blush rise. He viewed the sight, his brow quirked again, then he turned and surveyed the group moving far ahead of them. “I suppose we'd better keep them in sight.”

“Indeed.” Alathea stepped out; he fell in beside her.

“Have you heard from Wiggs yet?”

“No—his appointment was scheduled for eleven.” It was only just past noon.

“Will you be at the Clares' ball tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good—I'll meet you there.”

Alathea nodded. That was one benefit of the countess's unmasking; they could now easily meet to exchange information. “I read that explorer's book, at least the relevant parts.”

As she jiggled her parasol and dug into her reticule, she felt Gabriel's gaze on her face.

“Burning the midnight oil?”

She flicked him a glance. She didn't need him to tell her she had rings under her eyes. “When else would I get time to read?”

The tartness of the reply had no discernible effect. “Running yourself ragged isn't going to help. What's this?” He took the sheet she thrust at him.

“That's the description the explorer gave of those three towns.”

He perused it as they strolled; his brows gradually rose. “How very interesting. When was this explorer in these parts?”

“Only early last year. The book's just been published.” Alathea leaned closer, peering at the sheet. She tapped one paragraph. “As I recall, Crowley said the company had purchased a large building in Fangak from some French government agency to house the workers involved in the construction of the company's mines. According to the explorer, Fangak is ‘a collection of flimsy wooden huts far from civilization.' ”

“Crowley also said Lodwar was on a major road. Instead, it appears to be a tiny settlement halfway up a rugged mountainside, ‘well away from the beaten track.' ”

Alathea glanced at his face. “It's evidence, isn't it?”

He looked at her, then nodded. Folding the note, he slipped it into his pocket. “But we'll need more.” He looked at the group ahead of them. “How's that shaping?”

“Promisingly. Esher becomes more definite by the day, while Carstairs . . .” Tilting her head, Alathea considered the young gentleman. “I think he's trying to screw his courage to the sticking point, but is having a hard time believing that it's actually happened to him.”

Gabriel snorted. “Poor bugger.”

Alathea pretended not to hear.

They strolled on, following the others, then Gabriel halted. “I'll leave you here.”

Alathea turned to him, only to feel his fingers close about hers. He raised her hand and considered it, slim fingers trapped by his. Then he lifted his gaze to her eyes.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He was close; because of her height, her parasol shaded them both, creating an illusion of privacy in the middle of the park. They never exchanged the routine pleasantries, touching hands, bowing, but now he held her hand, and her, too; she wondered what he meant to do.

His lips twisted, wry and taunting both. “I'll see you tonight.”

He pressed her hand briefly, then released it. With a nod, he left her.

Alathea stood still, breathing evenly, and watched him stride away. Part of her mind noted that he'd left just before their ambling stroll would have brought them into view of the carriage drive, presently lined with the carriages of the ton's matrons, including those of his mother and aunt. The rest of her mind was engrossed with the burning question of what he thought he was about, what tack he intended to take with her.

The situation between them had changed, yet he still wanted her, even though he now knew who she was. He still intended to have her, to continue their illicit liaison; amazing though that seemed, that much was clear.

Very little else was.

With the countess's unmasking, all control of their interaction had passed to him. She was completely in his power, a power she knew better than to imagine he wouldn't, if provoked, wield.

The little group she was watching were drawing ahead. Straightening her parasol, she set out in their wake.

What he had in mind she couldn't begin to guess, any more than she could be sure of his motives. Given their encounters in Bond Street and Bruton Street, let alone the rest, he might well wish to punish her. His present conduct might be a facade, adopted to ease their way while they pursued the company. He was more than honorable enough to put aside his own feelings until they'd dealt with the threat.
Then
he might consider retribution.

Luckily, he rarely held a grudge. By the time their investigations were complete, it was possible, even likely, that his interest in her would have waned, that he would have grown bored and shifted his sights to his next conquest.

A frown in her eyes, Alathea climbed the slope to the carriage drive, and wondered why the prospect of him growing bored with her and thus abandoning any notion of retribution did not bring her any sense of ease.

L
ady Clare's ball was yet another unrelenting crush. The Season was in full swing and everyone simply had to be seen at all the major events. Finally gaining Alathea's side, Gabriel cast a malevolent glance over the jostling throng. “Manic,” he muttered.

Lord Montgomery, presently holding Alathea's attention, thought the jibe aimed at him. He bristled. Smiling serenely, Alathea pretended she hadn't heard. “Have your mama and sister come up to town this year?” Faced with such unequivocal interest, his lordship's hackles subsided. With a disdainful glance at Gabriel, he intoned, “Indeed, indeed! They are, naturally, concerned as to the future of the estate. Why—”

Recently afflicted with a conviction that she would be just the wife for him, his lordship droned on. Alathea let her smile glide over the other eager faces, but did not linger long enough to encourage any to interrupt with his own tale. Completing her circuit brought her glance to Gabriel; he caught it, irritation behind his hazel eyes. He hesitated, then, to her surprise, reached out and took the hand she hadn't thought to offer him. He held it, waiting with studied patience until Lord Montgomery's monologue rolled to a close, then he bowed. As he straightened, Alathea, off-balance and mystified, saw concern color his expression.

“My dear, you're rather pale.”

My dear?
She nearly goggled.

Gabriel anchored her hand on his sleeve, drawing her within his protective orbit. “Perhaps a stroll outside . . . before you faint from the stuffiness.”

She'd never fainted in her life. Her gaze trapped in his, Alathea waved a hand weakly before her face. “It is rather hot in here.”

His brow quirked; one corner of his lips did, too. “The doors to the terrace are open . . .”

The suggestion was greeted with numerous offers to accompany them; obedient to the fingers squeezing hers, Alathea smiled wanly. “The noise . . .” She gestured limply. “A few moments of absolute quiet would help, and then I'll be able to return to you.”

With that, they had to be content. Gabriel excised her from the circle and steered her down the room. Alathea hoped it appeared that he was dragging her off in brotherly fashion—for her own good—but the speculative frowns in too many eyes made her itch to box his ears. Next, he'd have the scandalmongers watching them avidly, and God only knew what they might see.

They gained the flagged terrace along which a number of couples were strolling. She tried to slide her hand from his sleeve to put greater distance between them. His fingers tightened; she knew better than to tug. “You'll start people talking,” she hissed as, acquiescing, she continued to glide close beside him.

“No more than they're talking already of you and the aspirants to your charms. Why on earth do you surround yourself with them?”

“I assure you it's not by choice!” After a moment, she added, “I suspect Serena's been busy on my behalf,
despite
the fact I made it plain that this was Mary's and Alice's Season and I have no interest in attracting a husband. Well”—she gestured to her braided cap—”how much clearer can I make it? Can't they
see
?”