A Secret Love

Chapter 2

"Ala-the-aaa. Whoo-hoo! Allie! Can you pass the butter, please?"

Alathea focused-Alice was pointing across the luncheon table. Bemusedly glancing in that direction, her brain belatedly caught up with reality; lifting the butter dish, she passed it across.

"You're in a brown study today." Serena was sitting next to her, at the end of the table.

Alathea waved dismissively. "I didn't sleep all that well last night." She'd been so keyed up, primed to play the countess, desperate to secure Rupert's aid, that she'd rested not at all before her three o'clock appointment. And afterwards… after her success, after that kiss, after realizing… she shook aside the distraction. "I'm still not used to all the street sounds."

"Perhaps you should move to another room?"

Glancing at Serena's sweet face, brow furrowed with concern, Alathea clasped her stepmother's hand. "Don't worry. I'm perfectly happy with my room. It faces the back gardens as it is."

Serena's face eased. "Well… if you're sure. But now Alice has woken you up"-her eyes twinkled-"I wanted to check how much we can afford to spend on the girls' walking dresses."

Alathea gladly gave Serena her attention. Short, plump, and fashionably matronly, Serena was gentle and retiring, yet in the matter of her daughters' come-outs, she'd proved both shrewd and well up to snuff. With real relief, Alathea had consigned all the details of their social lives, including their wardrobes, to Serena, more than content to play a supporting role in that sphere. They'd been in town for just over a week and all was on track for a pleasant Season all around.

All she had to do was prove the Central East Africa Gold Company a fraud, and all would be well.

The thought returned her mind to its preoccupation-and to the man she'd recruited last night. She glanced around the table, viewing her family as if through his eyes. She and Serena discussed materials, trimmings, and bonnets, with Mary and Alice hanging on every word. At the table's other end, her father, Charlie, and Jeremy discussed the more masculine entertainments on offer. Alathea heard her father muse on the attractions of Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Saloon, a prospect guaranteed to divert both Charlie as well as his precocious younger brother.

Leaving Serena, Mary, and Alice debating colors, Alathea turned to the youngest member of the family, sitting quietly beside her, a large doll on her lap. "And how are you and Rose today, poppet?"

Lady Augusta Morwellan raised huge brown eyes to Alathea's face and smiled trustingly. "I had a lovely time in the garden this morning, but Rose here"-she turned the doll so Alathea could inspect her-"has been fractious. Miss Helm and I think we should take her for a walk this afternoon."

"A walk? Oh, yes! That's a lovely idea-just what we need." Having settled her sartorial requirements, Mary, all bouncing brown ringlets and glowing eyes, was ready for the next excitement.

"I'm starting to feel hemmed in with all these houses and streets." With fair hair and doelike eyes, Alice was more serious and contained. She smiled at Augusta. "And Augusta won't want us disturbing Rose with our chatter."

Augusta returned the smile sweetly. "No. Rose needs quiet." Too young to share in the excitement that had infected the rest of the family, Augusta was content to stroll the nearby square, her hand in Miss Helm's, and stare, wide-eyed, at all the new and different sights.

"Is there somewhere else we can go-other than the park, I mean?" Alice looked from Alathea to Serena. "We won't have our new dresses until next week, so it's probably better we don't go there too often."

"I would prefer that you didn't haunt the park anyway," Serena said. "Better to appear only a few times a week, and we were there yesterday."

"So where shall we go? It has to be somewhere with trees and lawns." Mary fixed her glowing gaze on Alathea's face.

"Actually…" Alathea considered-just because she'd successfully recruited her knight didn't mean she had to sit on her hands and leave all the investigating to him. She refocused on her stepsisters' faces. "There's a particular park I know of, quiet and pleasant, cut off from all the noise. It's very like the country-you can almost forget you're in London."

"That sounds perfect," Alice declared. "Let's go there."

"We're going to Bond Street!" Jeremy pushed back his chair.

Charlie and the earl did the same. The earl smiled at his womenfolk. "I'll take these two off for the afternoon."

"I'm going to learn to box!" Jeremy danced around the table, thrusting his fists through the air, dealing summarily with invisible opponents. Laughing, Charlie caught Jeremy's fists, then half-waltzed, half-wrestled him out of the room. Jeremy's piping protests and Charlie's deeper amused taunts faded as they progressed in the direction of the front door.

Mary and Alice rose to follow. "We'll get our bonnets." Mary looked at Alathea. "Shall I fetch yours?"

"Please." Alathea rose, too.

The earl stopped by her side, his fingers light on her arm. "Is everything all right?" he asked quietly.

Alathea looked up. Despite his age and the troubles resting heavily on his shoulders, her father, two inches taller than she, remained a strikingly handsome man. Glimpsing shadows of pain and regret in his eyes, she smiled reassuringly; she caught his hand and squeezed. "Everything's going well."

He'd been devastated when he'd learned about the promissory note. He'd thought the sum pledged was much smaller-the wording of the note was such that arithmetic was required to determine the total sum. All he'd intended was to gain a few extra guineas to spend on the girls' weddings. She'd spent some time comforting him, assuring him that although the situation was bad, it was not the final end.

It had been hard for him to carry on as if nothing had happened so the children wouldn't suspect. Only the three of them-he, she and Serena-knew of the latest threat or, indeed, of the perilous state of the earldom's finances. From the first, they'd agreed that the children were never to know that their future hung by such a slender thread.

Despite the fact she had spent all her adult life putting right the problems her father had caused, Alathea had never been able to hold it against him. He was the most lovable, and loving, man-he was simply incapable when it came to money.

Now he smiled, a sad, forlorn smile. "Is there anything I can do?"

She hugged his arm. "Just keep doing what you've been doing, Papa-keep Jeremy entertained and out of mischief." She drew back. "You're so good with them-they're both a real credit to you."

"Indeed," Serena agreed. "And if Alathea says there's nothing to worry about, then there's no sense worrying. She'll keep us informed-you know she always does."

The earl seemed about to speak, then muffled cries and thumps came from the front hall.

The earl's lips twitched. "I'd better get out there before Crisp hands in his notice." He touched his lips to Alathea's temple, stooped to kiss Serena's cheek, then he strode out to the hall, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head as he crossed the threshold.

With Serena, Alathea followed more slowly. From the dining room doorway, they watched the melee in the hall resolve itself under the earl's direction. "He's really a wonderful father," Serena said as the earl ushered his sons out of the front door.

"I know." Alathea smiled at his departing back. "I'm really very impressed with Charlie." She glanced at Serena. "The next earl of Morwellan will hold a candle to all comers. He's an amazing amalgam of you both."

Pleased, Serena inclined her head. "But he's also got a very large dose of your commonsense. Thanks to you, my dear, the next earl of Morwellan will know how to manage his brass!"

They both laughed, yet it was true. Not only was Charlie handsome, unruffleably good-natured, never high in the instep, and always game for a lark, but he was, largely due to Serena, thoughtful, considerate and openly caring. Thanks to the earl's influence, he was a gentleman to his toes and, as he also spent at least one session a week with Alathea in the estate office, and had for some years, he was at nineteen in a fair way to understanding how to successfully manage the estate. While he still did not know the level to which the earldom's coffers had sunk, Charlie now knew at least the basics of how to keep them filling up.

"He'll make an excellent earl." Alathea looked up as Mary and Alice came clattering down the stairs, bonnets on, ribbons streaming, her own bonnet dangling from Mary's hand. Augusta had slipped out earlier; Alathea glimpsed her littlest stepsister heading out to the garden, her hand in Miss Helm's.

Charlie, Jeremy, Mary, Alice, and Augusta-they were the ultimate reasons she'd invented the countess. Even if he discovered her deception, Alathea couldn't believe her knight would disapprove of her motives.

"Come on!" Alice waved her parasol at the door. "The afternoon's winging-we've already ordered the carriage."

Accepting her bonnet, Alathea turned to the mirror to settle it over her top knot.

Casting a critical eye over her daughters, Serena straightened a ribbon here, tweaked a curl there. "Where do you intend going?"

Alathea turned from the mirror as the clop of hooves heralded the carriage. "I'd thought to go to Lincoln's Inn Fields. The trees are tall, the grass green and well tended, and it's never crowded."

Serena nodded. "Yes, you're right-but what an odd place to think of."

Alathea merely smiled and followed Mary and Alice down the steps.

Gabriel discovered the bronze plaque identifying the offices of Thurlow and Brown along the south face of Lincoln's Inn. Surrounding a rectangular cobbled courtyard, the Inn housed nothing but legal chambers. Its inner walls were punctuated with regularly spaced open archways, each giving access to a shadowy stairwell. On the wall beside each archway, bronze plaques bore witness to the legal firms housed off the stairway within.

After consulting a book listing the solicitors of the Inns of Court, Montague had directed Gabriel to Lincoln's Inn, describing the firm as small, old, but undistinguished, with no known association with any matter remotely illegal. As he climbed the stairs, Gabriel reflected that, if he'd been behind the sort of swindle it seemed likely the Central East Africa Gold Company was, then the first step he'd take to lull gullible investors would be to retain such a firm as Thurlow and Brown. A firm stultifyingly correct and all but moribund, unlikely to boast the talents or connections that might give rise to unanswerable questions.

Thurlow and Brown's rooms were on the second level, to the rear of the building. Gabriel reached for the knob of the heavy oak door, noting the large lock beneath the knob. Sauntering in, he scanned the small reception area. Behind a low railing, an old clerk worked at a raised desk, guarding access to a short corridor leading to one room at the rear, and to a second room off the reception area.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The clerk clutched at the angled desktop. Frowning, he flipped through a diary. "You don't have an appointment." He made it sound like an offense.

His expression one of affable boredom, Gabriel shut the door, noting that there were no bolts or extra latches, only that large and cumbersome lock.

"Thurlow," he murmured, turning back to the clerk. "There was a Thurlow at Eton when I was there. I wonder if it's the same one?"

"Couldn't be. His nibs"-the clerk waved an ink-stained hand at the half open door giving off the reception area-"is old enough to be your dad."

"That so?" Gabriel sounded disappointed. Clearly "his nibs" was out. "Ah, well. It was really Mr. Browne I came to see."

Again the clerk frowned; again he checked his book. "You're not down for this afternoon…"

"I'm not? How odd. I was sure the pater said two."

The clerk shook his head. "Mr. Brown's out. I'm not expecting him back until later."

Letting annoyance flash across his features, Gabriel thumped the reception railing with his cane. "If that isn't just like Theo Browne! Never could keep his engagements straight!"

"Theo Brown?"

Gabriel looked at the clerk. "Yes-Mr. Browne."

"But that's not our Mr. Brown."

"It isn't?" Gabriel stared at the clerk. "Is your Browne spelled with an 'e'?"

The clerk shook his head.

"Damn!" Gabriel swung away. "I was sure it was Thurlow and Browne." He frowned. "Maybe it's Thirston and Browne. Thrapston and Browne. Something like that." He looked questioningly at the clerk.

Who shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't help you, sir. Don't know of any firms with names like that. Mind you, there is Browne, Browne and Tillson in the other quad-might they be the ones you're after?"

"Browne, Browne and Tillson." Gabriel repeated the name twice with different inflections, then shrugged. "Who knows. Could be." He swung to the door. "The other quad, you say?"

"Aye, sir-across the carriage road through the Inn."

Waving his cane in farewell, Gabriel went out, closing the door behind him. Then he grinned and strolled down the stairs.

Regaining the sunshine, he strode across the cobbles. He'd seen enough to confirm Thurlow and Brown's standing-precisely as Montague had said, stuffily, dustily dull. He'd learned which room was whose, and through the open doors he'd seen the locked client boxes lining the walls of both partners' rooms. They didn't lock the boxes away somewhere else. They were there, within easy reach, and the only lock between the landing and the boxes was the old wrist-breaker on the main door.

There had also been no sign of any junior clerk. There'd been only one desk, and little space outside the partners' rooms-no area for a clerk or office boy to spend the night.

Entirely satisfied with his afternoon's work, Gabriel saluted the gatekeeper with his cane and strode through the secondary gateway into the adjoining Fields.

Before him, a small army of old trees, like ancient sentinels, spread their branches protectively over gravel walks and swaths of lawn. Sunlight streamed down. The breeze ruffled leaves, shedding shifting shadows over the green carpets on which gentlemen and ladies strolled while waiting for others consulting in the surrounding chambers.

Gabriel paused in the cobbled forecourt beyond the gate, gazing unseeing at the trees.

Would the countess be impatient enough to contact him that evening? The possibility tantalized, even more so as the realization sank in that her impatience could not possibly match his. While with her, he'd felt he knew her, knew the sort of woman she was; away from her, he'd realized how little he knew of the real woman behind the veil. Learning more, quickly, seemed imperative-he especially needed to learn how to put his hand on a woman who thus far had been a phantom in the night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't learn more until she contacted him-at least now, when she did, he'd have something to report.

Shrugging off his distraction, he settled on Aldwych as his best bet for a hackney and set out along the south side of the Fields. Halfway along, he heard himself hailed.

"Gabriel!"

"Over here!"

The voices coming from the Fields were assuredly feminine, equally assuredly young. Halting, Gabriel scanned the shaded lawns; two sweet young things, their parasols tilted at crazy angles, were bobbing up and down and waving madly. Squinting against the sunlight, he recognized Mary and Alice Morwellan. Raising his cane in reply, he waited until a dowager's black carriage rolled soberly past, then started across the narrow street.

Alathea saw him coming, and had to fight down an urge to screech at her sisters-what had they done! She'd seen him walk through the gates of the Inn and pause. Her attention locked on him, she'd assured herself that he wouldn't notice her in the shadows, that there was no reason for her heart to gallop, for her nerves to twitch.

He'd remained safely ignorant of her presence-she'd been surprised he'd acted so swiftly on the countess's behalf. That was, she presumed, why he was here-if she'd known, she would never have risked coming. Having him find her anywhere near any location he would associate with the countess had formed no part of her careful plans. She needed to keep her two personas completely distinct, especially near him.

As he'd walked along the street, cane swinging, broad shoulders square, sunlight had gleamed on his chestnut hair, gilding the lightly curling locks. Her thoughts had slowed, halted-she'd completely forgotten Mary and Alice were with her.

They'd seen him and called-now there was no escape. As he crossed the grass toward them, she drew in a breath, lifted her chin, tightened her fists about her parasol's handle-and tried to quell her panic.

He couldn't recognize lips he'd kissed but not seen, could he?

Smiling easily, Gabriel strode into the trees' shadows. As he neared, Mary and Alice stopped jigging and contented themselves with beaming; only then, with his eyes adjusting and with their dancing parasols no longer distracting him, did he see the lady standing behind them.

Alathea.

His stride almost faltered.

She stood straight and tall, silently contained, her parasol held at precisely the correct angle to protect her fine skin from the sun. Not, of course, waving at him.

Masking his reaction-the powerful jolt that shook him whenever he saw her unexpectedly and the prickling sensation that followed-he continued his advance. She watched him with her usual cool regard, her customary challenge-a haughty watchfulness that never failed to get his goat.

Forcing his gaze from her, he smiled and greeted Mary and Alice, veritable pictures in mull muslin. He made them laugh by bowing extravagantly over their hands.

"We were utterly amazed to see you!" Mary said.

"We've been to the park twice," Alice confided, "but that was earlier than this. You probably weren't about."

Refraining from replying that he rarely inhabited the park, at least not during the fashionable hours, he fought to keep his gaze on them. "I knew you were coming to town, but I hadn't realized you were here." He'd last met them in January, at a party given by his mother at his family home, Quiverstone Manor in Somerset. Morwellan Park and the Manor shared a long boundary; the combined lands and the nearby Quantock Hills had been his childhood stamping ground-his, his brother Lucifer's, and Alathea's.

With easy familiarity, he complimented both girls, fielding their questions, displaying his suave London persona to their evident delight. Yet while he distracted them with trivialities, his attention remained riveted on the cool presence a few feet away. Why that should be so was an abiding mystery-Mary and Alice were effervescent delights. Alathea in contrast was cool, composed, still-in some peculiar way, a lodestone for his senses. The girls were as bubbling, tumbling streams, while Alathea was a deep pool of peace, calm, and something else he'd never succeeded in denning. He was intensely aware of her, as she was of him; he was acutely conscious they had not exchanged greetings.

They never did. Not really.

Steeling himself, he lifted his gaze from Mary's and Alice's faces and looked at Alathea. At her hair. But she was wearing a bonnet-he couldn't tell whether she was also wearing one of her ridiculous caps, or one of those foolish scraps of lace she'd started placing about her top knot. She probably was concealing some such frippery nonsense, but he couldn't comment unless he saw it. Lips thinning, he lowered his gaze until his eyes met hers. "I hadn't realized you were in London."

He was speaking directly to her, specifically of her, his tone quite different from when he'd spoken to the girls.

Her lashes flickered; her grip on her parasol tightened. "Good afternoon, Rupert. It is a lovely day. We came up to town a week ago."

He stiffened.

Alathea sensed it. Her stomach knotted with panic, she looked at Mary and Alice and forced herself to smile serenely. "The girls will be making their come-outs shortly."

After a fractional hesitation, he followed her lead. "Indeed?" Turning back to Mary and Alice, he quizzed them on their plans.

Alathea tried to breathe evenly, tried to hold her sudden lightheadedness at bay. She refused to let her gaze slide his way. She knew his face as well as her own-the large, heavily hooded eyes, the mobile lips given to wry quirks, the classic planes of nose and forehead, the uncompromisingly square chin. He was tall enough to see over her head-one of the few who could do so. He was strong enough to subdue her if he wished, and ruthless enough to do it. There was nothing about him physically that she didn't already know, nothing to set such a sharp edge to her usual tension.

Nothing beyond the fact that she'd seen him last night in the porch of St. Georges, while he hadn't seen her.

The memory of his lips covering hers, of the beguiling touch of his fingers beneath her chin, locked her lungs, tightened her nerves, set her senses leaping. Her lips tingled.

"Our ball will be in three weeks," Mary was telling him. "You'll be invited, of course."

"Will you come?" Alice asked.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." His gaze flicked to Alathea's face, then he looked back at the girls.

Gabriel knew exactly how a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way felt-precisely how he always felt near Alathea. How she did it he did not know; he didn't even know if she had to do anything-it simply seemed his inevitable reaction to her. He'd react, and she'd snap back. The air between them would crackle. It had started when they were children and had grown more intense with the years.

He kept his gaze on the girls, ruthlessly stifling the urge to turn to Alathea. "But what are you doing here?"

"It was Allie's idea."

Blithely, they turned to her; gritting his teeth, he had to do the same.

Coolly, she shrugged. "I'd heard of it as a quiet place to stroll-one where ladies would be unlikely to encounter any of the more rakish elements."

Like him.

She'd chosen to live her life buried in the country-why she thought that gave her the right to disapprove of his lifestyle he did not know; he only knew she did. "Indeed?"

He debated pressing her-both for her real reason for being in the Fields and also over her impertinence in disapproving of him. Even with the girls all ears and bright eyes before them, he could easily lift the conversation to a level where they wouldn't understand. This, however, was Alathea. She was intractably stubborn-he would learn nothing she didn't wish him to know. She was also possessed of a wit quite the equal of his; the last time they'd crossed verbal swords-in January, over the stupid Alexandrine cap she'd worn to his mother's party-they'd both bled. If, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed with temper, she hadn't stuck her nose in the air and walked-stalked-away from him, he would quite possibly have strangled her.

Lips compressed, he shot her a glance-she met it fearlessly. She was watching, waiting, as aware of the direction of his thoughts as he. She was ready and willing to engage in one of their customary duels.

No true gentleman ever disappointed a lady.

"I take it you'll be accompanying Mary and Alice about town?"

She went to nod, stopped, and haughtily lifted her head. "Of course."

"In that case"-he smiled disarmingly at Mary and Alice-"I'll have to see what amusements I can steer your way."

"There's no need to put yourself out-unlike some I could mention, I don't require to be constantly amused."

"I think you'll discover that unless one is constantly amused, life in the ton can be hellishly boring. What, other than boredom, could possibly have brought you here?"

"A wish to avoid impertinent gentlemen."

"How fortunate, then, that I chanced upon you. If avoiding impertinent gentlemen is your aim, a lady within the ton can never be too careful. There's no telling precisely where or when she'll encounter the most shocking impertinence."

Mary and Alice smiled trustingly up at him; all they heard was his fashionable drawl. Alathea, he knew, detected the steel beneath it; he could sense her increasing tension.

"You forget-I'm perfectly capable of dealing with outrageous impertinence, however unamusing I might find such encounters."

"Strange to say, most ladies don't find such encounters unamusing at all."

"I am not 'most ladies.' I do not find the particular distractions to which you are devoted at all amusing."

"That's because you've yet to experience them. Besides," he glibly added, "you're used to riding every day. You'll need some activity to… keep you exercised."

He raised eyes filled with limpid innocence to hers, expecting to meet a narrow-eyed glance brimming with aggravation. Instead, her eyes were wide, not shocked but… it took him a moment to place their expression.

Defensive. He'd made her defensive.

Guilt rose within him.

Hell! Even when he won a round with her, he still lost.

Stifling a sigh-over what he did not know-he looked away, trying to dampen what he thought of as his bristling fur-that odd aggression she always evoked-and act normally. Reasonably.

He shrugged lightly. "I must be on my way."

"I dare say."

To his relief, she contented herself with that small barb. She watched as he bowed to the girls, setting them laughing again. Then he straightened and deliberately caught her gaze.

It was like looking into a mirror-they both had hazel eyes. When he looked into hers, he usually saw his own thoughts and feelings, reflected over and again, into infinity.

Not today. Today all he saw was a definite defensive-ness-a shield shutting her off from him. Protecting her from him.

He blinked, breaking the contact. With a curt nod, which she returned, he swung on his heel and strode off.

Slowing as he neared the edge of the lawn, he wondered what he would have done if she'd offered her hand. That unanswerable question led to the thought of when last he'd touched her in any way. He couldn't remember, but it was certainly not in the last decade.

He crossed the street, wriggling his shoulders as his peculiar tension drained; he called it relief at being out of her presence, but it wasn't that. It was the reaction-the one he'd never understood but which she evoked so strongly-subsiding again.

Until next they met.

Alathea watched him go; only when his boots struck the cobbles did she breathe freely again. Her nerves easing, she looked around. Beside her, Mary and Alice blithely chatted, serenely unaware. It always amazed her that their nearest and dearest never saw anything odd in their fraught encounters-other than themselves, only Lucifer saw, presumably because he'd grown up side by side with them and knew them both so well.

As her pulse slowed, elation bloomed within her.

He hadn't recognized her.

Indeed, after the total absence of his typical reaction to her when he'd met the countess last night, combined with the strong resurgence of it in the last hour, she doubted he'd ever make the connection.

This morning, she'd woken to the certain knowledge that it wasn't her physical self that he found so provoking. If he didn't know she was Alathea Morwellan, nothing happened. No suppressed irritation, no sparks, no clashes. Blissful nothing. Cloaked and veiled, she was just another woman.

She didn't want to dwell on why that made her feel so happy, as if a weight had suddenly lifted from her heart. It was clearly her identity that caused his problem-and it was, she now knew, his problem, something that arose first in him, to which she then reacted.

Knowing didn't make the outcome any easier to endure, but…

She focused on the wrought iron gates through which he had emerged. They were open to admit coaches to the courtyard of the Inn. She could see the Inn's archways and the glint of bronze plaques-it wasn't hard to guess the purpose of the plaques.

He'd seemed satisfied and confident when he'd strolled away from the gates.

Drawing in a determined, fully recovered breath, Alathea smiled at Mary and Alice. "Come, girls. Let's stroll about the Inn."

Evening came, and with it a strange restlessness.

Gabriel prowled the parlor of his house in Brook Street. He'd dined and was dressed to go out, to grace the ballroom of whichever tonnish hostess he chose to favor with his presence. There were four invitations from which to choose; none, however, enticed.

He wondered where the countess would spend her evening. He wondered where Alathea would spend hers.

The door opened; he paused in his pacing. His gentleman's gentleman, Chance, pale hair gleaming, immaculately turned out in regulation black, entered with the replenished brandy decanter and fresh glasses on a tray.

"Pour me one, will you?" Gabriel swung away as Chance, short and slight, headed for the sideboard. He felt peculiarly distracted; he hoped a stiff brandy would clear his mind.

He'd left Lincoln's Inn buoyed by his small success, focused on the countess and the sensual game unfolding between them. Then he'd met Alathea. Ten minutes in her company had left him feeling like the earth had shifted beneath his feet.

She'd been part of his life for as long as he could remember; never before had she shut him out of her thoughts. Never before had she been anything but utterly free with her opinions, even when he'd wished otherwise. When they'd met in January, she'd been her usual open, sharp-tongued self. This afternoon, she'd shut him out, kept him at a distance.

Something had changed. He couldn't believe his comments had made her defensive; it had to be something else. Had something happened to her that he hadn't heard about?

The prospect unsettled him. He wanted to focus on the countess, but his thoughts kept drifting to Alathea.

Reaching the room's end, he swung around-and nearly mowed Chance down.

Chance staggered back-Gabriel caught his arm, simultaneously rescuing the brimming tumbler from the wildly tipping salver.

"Hoo!" Chance waved the salver before his unprepossessing visage. "That was a close one."

Gabriel caught his eye, paused, then said, "That will be all."

"Aye, aye, sir!" With cheery insouciance, Chance headed for the door.

Gabriel sighed. "Not 'Aye, aye'-a simple 'Yes, sir' will do."

"Oh." Chance paused at the door. "Right-oh, then. 'Yes-sir,' it is!"

He opened the door, and saw Lucifer about to enter-Chance stepped back, bowing and waving. "Come you right in, sir. I was just a-leaving."

"Thank you, Chance." Grinning, Lucifer strolled in. With unimpaired serenity, Chance bounced out-then remembered and returned to shut the door.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel took a large swallow of brandy.

Lucifer chuckled. "I told you it wouldn't simply be a matter of a suit of clothes."

"I don't care." Opening his eyes, Gabriel regarded the exceedingly large quantity of brandy in the tumbler, then sighed, turned, and sank into a well-stuffed armchair to one side of the hearth. "He'll become something employable if it kills him."

"Judging by his progress to date, it might kill you first."

"Quite possibly." Gabriel took another fortifying swallow. "I'll risk it."

Standing before the mantelpiece checking his own stack of invitations, Lucifer shot him a look. "I thought you were going to say you'd 'chance' it."

"That would be redundant-I am 'chancing' it. Precisely why I named him that."

Chance was not Chance's real name-no one, including Chance, knew what that was. As for his age, they'd settled on twenty-five. Chance was a product of the London slums; his elevation to the house in Brook Street had come about through his own merit. Caught up in the stews while helping a friend, Gabriel might not have made it out again but for Chance's aid, given not for any promise of reward, but simply in the way of helping another man with the scales weighted heavily and unfairly against him. Chance had, in a way, rescued Gabriel-Gabriel, in turn, had rescued Chance.

"Which have you chosen?" Lucifer looked from his invitations to the four lined up on Gabriel's side of the mantelpiece.

"I haven't. They all seem similarly boring."

"Boring?" Lucifer glanced at him. "You want to be careful of using that word, and even more of giving way to the feeling. Just look where it got Richard. And Devil. And Vane, too, come to think of it."

"But not Demon-he wasn't bored."

"He was running, and that didn't work, either." After a moment, Lucifer added, "And anyway, I'm sure he is bored now. He's not even sure they'll come up for any of the Season." His tone labeled such behavior incomprehensible.

"Give him time-they've only been married a week."

A week ago, Demon Harry Cynster, their cousin and a member of the group of six popularly known as the Bar Cynster, had said the fateful words and taken a bride, one who shared his interest in horse-racing. Demon and Felicity were presently making a prolonged tour of the major racecourses.

Nursing his brandy, Gabriel mused, "After a few weeks, or months, I dare say the novelty will wear off."

Lucifer threw him a cynical look. They were both well aware that when Cynsters married, the novelty did not, strange as it seemed, wear off at all. Quite the opposite. To them both, it was an inexplicable conundrum, however, as the last unmarried members of the group, they were exceedingly wary of having it explained to them.

How on earth men like them-like Devil, Vane, Richard, and Demon-could suddenly turn their backs on all the feminine delights so freely on offer within the ton, and happily-and to all appearances contentedly-settle to wedded bliss and the charms of just one woman, was a mystery that confounded their male minds and defied their imaginations.

Both sincerely hoped it never happened to them.

Resettling his cloak, Lucifer selected one gilt-edged card from his stack. "I'm going to Molly Hardwick's." He glanced at Gabriel. "Coming?"

Gabriel studied his brother's face; anticipation glinted in the dark blue eyes. "Who'll be at Molly Hardwick's?"

Lucifer's quick smile flashed. "A certain young matron whose husband finds the bills before Parliament more enticing than she."

That was Lucifer's speciality-convincing ladies of insufficiently serviced passions that permitting him to service them was in their best interests. Considering his brother's long, lean frame and rakishly disheveled black locks, Gabriel raised a brow. "What's the odds?"

"None at all." Lucifer strolled to the door. "She'll surrender-not tonight, but soon." Pausing at the door, he nodded at the glass of brandy. "I take it you're going to see that to the end, in which case, I'll leave you to it." With a wave, he opened the door; an instant later it clicked shut behind him.

Gabriel studied the dark panels, then raised his glass and took another sip. Transferring his gaze to the fire burning in the grate, he stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and settled down for the evening.

It was, he felt, a telling fact that he would rather wait out the hours until midnight here, safe and comfortable before his own hearth, than risk his freedom in a tonnish ballroom, no matter how tempting the ladies filling it. Ever since Demon's engagement had been announced nearly a month ago, every matron with a daughter suitable in any degree had set her sights on him, as if marriage was some poisoned chalice the Bar Cynster was handing around, member to member, and he was the next in line.

They could live in hope, but he wasn't about to drink.

Turning his head, he studied the pile of journals stacked on a side table. The latest issue of the Gentlemen's Magazine was there, yet… he'd rather consider the countess-all six feet of her. It was rare to meet a lady so tall…

Alathea was nearly as tall.

Three minutes later, he shook aside the thoughts that, unbidden, had crowded into his mind. Confusing thoughts, unsettling thoughts, thoughts that left him more distracted than he could ever remember feeling. Clearing his mind, he focused on the countess.

He enjoyed helping people-not in the general sense but specifically. Individual people. Like Chance. Like the countess.

The countess needed his help-even more, she had asked for it. Alathea didn't, and hadn't. Given how he felt, that was probably just as well. His gaze fixed on the flames, he kept his mind on the countess-on plotting the next phase in their investigation, and planning the next stage in her seduction.