Page 58 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Gabriel smiled sweetly back, walking on air, mainly thanks to the laudanum.

Whether Phoebe believed his fib or not he had no idea, but she performed a wobbly curtsy to Evesham. “I hope we shall have the opportunity to speak again later, Lord Evesham. However, when my aunt calls, I must hasten to her, whatever the cause, as a dutiful niece.”

There wasn’t much Evesham could say to this, so he stepped back out of the way, more than a little begrudgingly. “I shall look forward to that moment. And do not forget that you have promised me the quadrille.”

She nodded. “I have it on my dance card.” Then she turned to Gabriel and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Lead on, Lord Gabriel. I cannot wait to hear what my aunt needs me for.”

The hint of irony in her voice betrayed her lack of belief in his story, but by now Evesham had moved away, presumably in search of further prey. The man made Gabriel’s skin crawl, and had done since their school days. Even Ambrose, who usually liked most people, didn’t care for him. That he was interested in Phoebe just for her money was all too obvious. He felt a growing urge to plant the man a facer but wasn’t certain he could do so left-handed.

However, as soon as they were out of Evesham’s hearing, he looked down at Phoebe with a grin. “She doesn’t really want you.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, for once bold despite the crowds. “You surprise me. I had already worked that out. It was very kind of you to rescue me from Lord Evesham’s clutches. I was feeling much as a fox must when run to ground by the hunt.” There was something guarded about the way she spoke. No doubt she was angry that so long had passed since their visit to the rookery without him calling on her.

“Would you care for some refreshment?”

“I would indeed. I haven’t yet danced, and have no intention of doing so if I can avoid it, but I’m quite thirsty. Lemonade would be most refreshing.”

At the refreshment table he passed her a glass and guided her towards where the long glass doors opened out onto the rain-washed terrace. They were closed, of course, and small groups of people clustered in most of the alcoves the long curtains had created. These were places where more intimate conversations could take place, and, if one dared to draw the curtains across, one could become more familiar with one’s dance partner. Not that he had that in mind…or did he?

Gabriel stepped into the only remaining alcove. They were not hidden from view, but they had the illusion of privacy, and it would have been difficult for anyone to have come upon them unnoticed.

Now to take the bull by the proverbial horns. “Your offer,” he said, watching her reaction. “I would like to know why you made it.”

Chapter Twenty-One

In the safety of the alcove, out of the prying eyes of the rest of the guests at the ball, Phoebe stared at Gabriel. Her mouth had gone dry, her cheeks flamed hot, and words of any sort escaped her. Inside her head, lying in bed at night, she’d gone over and over why she’d so impulsively suggested marriage to him. And each time she’d come up with a different answer, but also a hot flood of humiliation that had left her cringing with embarrassment even though she was all alone. Now she was so muddled she had no answer she could possibly give.

She gave a little shake of her head, aware of even more heat rising to her cheeks. If only she didn’t have such a propensity for blushing, life might be a lot easier. She dropped her gaze to where she now had her hands clasped in front of her, fingers interlacing themselves in a frantic panic. Could he not have just pretended it had never happened? That would be so much better than this.

He was standing only inches away from her and she was far too aware of the musky scent of his cologne. The intoxicating aroma that was playing havoc with her heartbeat, even though she should have been cross with him for ignoring her for nigh on a week and now suddenly ushering her into a secluded nook as though they were lovers. Her gaze moved to the buttons of his brocade waistcoat. The tailor had expertly covered them with matching fabric. She needed to concentrate on that.

But she couldn’t. If she raised her head, she would have to tip it back in order to look him in the eye. Into those blue, blue eyes that he had no right to own. And if she did that, she’d be lost.

She swallowed. Of course she’d wanted to see him here, to have him pull her hand through his arm to promenade the dance floor, to even dance with him again. But that had all been an ideal in her head and had failed to take into consideration her foolish faux pas, not to mention her own clumsiness. As a consequence, now she was faced with Gabriel, the undoubted man of her dreams, she had no idea what to do.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

She lowered her gaze to his smart black dancing pumps and shapely calves, only that too was not a good idea. What could possibly be the right answer to such a question? Because of course she had meant it, although it had come out sounding nothing like she’d intended, but could she tell him that? Was a young lady even allowed to do the proposing? Aunt Fanny would have a fit. This last brought a ridiculous inclination to laugh out loud, but she would have sounded mad. She even felt mad. That was what he was doing to her. Nearly a week of daydreaming about the impossible had done little to balance her equilibrium.

She peered past Gabriel’s body out onto the dance floor, for once wishing her aunt would appear as if from nowhere and whisk her away. Only really, she didn’t want that at all, which was just as well because Aunt Fanny didn’t oblige. What she wanted was for Gabriel to tell her it had been the right thing to say…and that he would like to marry her.

“I must apologize for my forwardness,” she muttered, the formality of the words enabling her to gain much-needed confidence by the end of the sentence. “I can assure you I did not intend to embarrass you in any way.”

He tapped one foot. “You did not embarrass me.”

She took a deep breath. “But I did embarrass myself, my lord.”

His good left hand that had been hanging by his side tightened into a fist, the only thing betraying a certain tension about him. “Are we back to Lord Gabriel and Lady Phoebe then? No longer intimates with a shared secret?” His voice was gentle, almost persuasive. If only she knew what he was thinking.

Her mouth felt papery. “I…I do not know. I thought…I thought you were angry with me.” There. She’d said it.

He lifted his hand to her chin, his fingers gentle and warm on her skin and sending a shiver of delight cascading through her from head to toe. Oh, to have him touch her all over, to take her in his arms, to press his lips to hers. That was what she longed for.

He tilted her head upwards until their eyes met.

She was going to drown in that ocean of blue, and her legs were going to collapse under her if she had to look at him in this way for long.

His lips curved in a slight smile, and he shook his head. “Oh, Phoebe, I am not at all angry with you. Why would I be? You’re the only person who knows the entirety of my secret, as I don’t count Bessie and Violet who out of necessity know some of it. But with you…with you I chose to share my secret. I could not be angry with you. Not ever.” He paused. “You are the only one who knows the truth about my real mother.”