Page 43 of A Winter Scandal

“Miss Bainbridge has kindly offered to help me get my household in order,” Gabriel said, guiding the group back toward the sofas and chairs that centered the room. “Make it habitable for a baby.”

“You mean, you’re bringing him here?” Alan’s voice rose, panic-stricken.

“Not just yet,” Gabriel temporized. “We need to do some things first.”

“What do you mean?” Alan glanced around vaguely.

“Add some rugs, I should imagine.” Gabriel nodded toward the floor, where a rather faded Persian rug lay under the central seating group of furniture. “The great hall hasn’t any, and there’s not enough in here, either. Not very good for a baby to crawl on, especially when it’s cold.”

The talk turned to a discussion of such things as housekeepers and maids, the state of the rugs in the house, the presence or lack of a nursery, and the possibility of such items as toys, cradles, and child chairs in the attic. Alan’s face grew more alarmed with each statement, and Ian kept shooting sidelong glances at Matthew, who was sitting in Gabriel’s lap and leaning over to chew on the arm of the chair. The only one of the men who seemed at ease was Sir Myles, who divided his time between flirting with Damaris and entertaining the baby by dangling his watch on its chain.

Damaris offered Gabriel the services of her housekeeper in hiring a housekeeper and maids, then followed it with an invitation to all the men to attend her Twelfth Night ball. Gabriel and Sir Myles were quick to accept the invitation, though Thea thought that neither her cousin nor Mr. Carmichael seemed nearly as eager. She suspected that they were rather disgruntled at having their weeks of unfettered male activity infringed upon by the arrival of a baby … not to mention two interfering females.

When Gabriel suggested that the two ladies might look about the place to give him ideas as to what should be done, Sir Myles was quick to offer to show Mrs. Howard about the kitchens and serving area downstairs, and when Matthew let out a wail of displeasure at seeing the shiny watch he had been reaching for suddenly removed from his sight, Myles good-humoredly scooped him up and took him along.

Gabriel smiled and turned to Thea. “Myles is obviously charmed. I cannot decide if he is more taken with Mrs. Howard or the baby. Shall we go up and try to locate the nursery?” He turned toward the other men. “I assume you would prefer to stay here with your game?”

Alan nodded mutely, still looking faintly confused.

Ian frowned, saying, “The devil, Gabe! Surely you don’t really mean to do this …”

Gabriel stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I am not usually given to saying one thing and doing another.”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean that. It’s just—I am not sure you’ve really thought this through.” Ian glanced at Thea. “Cousin Althea, you must know some worthy group who takes in abandoned infants. A church society or such.”

Before Thea could respond, Gabriel said, “We’re talking about my blood here.”

“You don’t know that,” Ian retorted. “You know nothing about the child. He doesn’t even resemble you.”

“I know who he looks like.” Gabriel’s voice was as brittle as glass now, and his face was as unyielding.

“Of course. Not my place, needless to say.” Ian backed off quickly, giving a shrug and moving away from them.

Gabriel offered Thea his arm, and they left the room. His arm was like iron beneath her hand. She was not sure what to say, so she said nothing as they climbed the stairs. At the top of the staircase, they turned, and Gabriel glanced out the window toward the drive in front of the house. He stopped abruptly and strode over to the window.

“Bloody hell!”

“Gabriel?” Thea’s heart turned cold at the expression on his face. His eyes were black and hard as stone, his face set in lines of fury. He looked, she thought, ready to kill. She took a step toward him. “What is it?”

He did not answer, merely whirled and ran back down the stairs. Thea hurried after him. They had gotten halfway down the stairs when there was a thunderous knock on the front door. The footman sprang to answer it, opening the door to reveal a tall man whose broad shoulders in the caped topcoat seemed to fill the entrance.

The man barged in, rudely shoving past the footman. He swept off his hat and thrust it at the astonished servant, saying peremptorily, “Where is she? I am not leaving until she speaks to me.”

The visitor had a lean, angular face. His cheekbones were soaring and sharp, his nose narrow, with a small outward bump toward the top, as if it had been broken. His mouth, above the square, ungiving chin, was a straight line. The eyes beneath the ridge of his brow were a pale, startling blue, and the hair that fell around his face was a trifle longer and shaggier than was entirely fashionable, and of a blond shade so light it looked almost white in the light through the open door. He appeared sculpted from stone and removed from emotion, his pale, aristocratic face revealing no sign of what he felt.

“Rawdon!” Gabriel growled, and rushed down the remaining steps and across the entry, throwing himself at the man.

They slammed back into the opened door, which crashed into the wall under their weight. Thea winced at the loud crack that sounded as Rawdon’s head hit the wood, but he was clearly not stunned for long, for he shoved back hard against Gabriel. They staggered, barely missing the astonished footman, who quickly shut the outer door before retreating to the farthest corner of the room.

The two men reeled around the entryway, knocking over a chair and bouncing into the walls as they grappled and punched. Gabriel landed a flush hit to the other man’s jaw, and Rawdon fell back against a narrow table against the wall, knocking over a tall candlestick and sending it rolling off onto the floor. Gabriel pounced on him, but the other man slid to the side, quick and lithe as a cat, and brought up his hands to latch onto Gabriel’s jacket and pull Gabriel with him as he fell to the floor.

“Stop!” Thea cried, appalled. She whirled toward Ian and Alan, who had come running from the sitting room at the crash and now stood, tankards in hand, watching the fight. “You have to stop them.”

Alan cast her a derisive glance. “You must be mad! More than my life’s worth to get between those two.”

Thea stared at him. “You can’t be serious! Cousin Ian?”

Lord Wofford gave a little shrug. “Carmichael’s right. Might as well try to stop a runaway horse.” He turned toward Alan. “I’ll put a gold boy on Gabriel. Rawdon’s gloves soften his hits.”