Page 27 of Unmask Me My Love

Gabriella shook her head and blinked. The man looked just like… “Horace?” Was this some mad waking dream brought on by too much cognac? But there he stood, Horace, resplendent in the elegant dress of a nobleman. And they were calling him Lord Halford.

He opened his mouth then darted toward her as the edges of her vision became gray and then inexplicably black.

Chapter 11

Gabriella opened her eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming through the window of a room she couldn’t place. She sat up, thoroughly confused. The tall bed, expensive oak with four posters and a canopy of white ruffled material, was softer than any she’d lain on in her life. Darker furniture stood out against delicate pink walls, all totally unfamiliar. Even the white gown she wore—long sleeves edged in expensive Cluny lace—was not her own.…because all her belongings had likely been tossed into the street. In a rush the events of yesterday came back to her with a suddenness that made her queasy.

The door opened, admitting a petite, dark-haired maid bearing a tray. “Good morning, miss.” She set the tray on the dressing table and bobbed a curtsy. “Shall I pour your tea?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” Panic sat at the edge of her mind, ready to run rampant through her.

“I’m Ann, miss, the upstairs maid. This is Holly House.” Ann poured tea into a cup.

That’s right. Lady Celinda had brought her to her own home after the horrible scene at Lady Hamilton’s house.

“Sugar or milk?”

“What?” Confusion and fear made her voice sharper than it should have been. She was sorry for that, but she was scarcely able to concentrate on where she was, much less have to answer so many questions.

“For your tea, miss. Shall I tell Lady Celinda you’re awake? They’ve all been in a state since yesterday.” The maid handed her the teacup, and Gabriella drank it automatically, scarcely noting the lack of sweetness.

Yesterday.

The disastrous interview with the duke, her public dismissal, the discovery that Horace was not Horace at all but a marquess came rushing back to her. She shuddered, chills running up and down her arms. She thrust the tea back at the maid, afraid she’d cast up her accounts should she drink more. Life was a bête noire, and that beast had seized her in its teeth to carry her away from everything she’d known. She flung herself back onto the pillows, tears springing from her eyes. Her life, once so perfect in France, was now un enfer.

Even through her tears, the scurry of the maid leaving the room penetrated the fog of despair. She must control herself. She was at the mercy of strangers, although Lady Celinda, at least, was her friend. Still, she must cease this pity and make plans. She must think only of the future. Not of Horace.

Pain ripped through her heart. Who was he? Why had he lied to her? What did he want from her? Fresh grief at the loss of her love brought on more tears, so hot in her throat they scalded her inside and out. If she could die right here and now, it would be a great kindness from le Bon Dieu.

“Gabriella?”

She sat up, rubbing at the tears.

Lady Celinda stood at the side of the bed. “My dear, I’m so glad to see you’re— But what is wrong?”

Gabriella burst into renewed tears. Oh, the kindness of this lady hurt as badly as the scorn of Lady Chalgrove.

“Shhh.” Lady Celinda gathered her into her arms, and Gabriella wailed like a child who had lost its mother. “It will be all right, Gabriella.” The sweet sympathy and warm embrace only made her cry harder, grief for everything she’d lost billowing out against Lady Celinda’s small shoulder.

“It cannot be all…all right. Nothing is right now. I have nothing and no one to help me.” She hitched in a breath then another, trying to calm herself.

“You do have someone. You have my friendship and the friendship and protection of my family.” Lady Celinda patted her arm and drew back, looking into her face.

Her sweetly concerned blue eyes made Gabriella take a deep breath and shake off the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The tears receded.

“Do not fret about anything for the moment. You’re here as my particular friend and will remain so until we’ve sorted everything out.” She smiled so brightly that for a fleeting moment Gabriella believed her, believed that the shattered fragments of her life could be made right again.

Then the horror of yesterday settled on her again. “That will never happen.”

She fell back onto the bed, suddenly bereft of spirit. What did it matter? She no longer had a mission in her life. Both the men who’d had so much promise had deserted her. Nothing remained save to return to France and live out her life without her love or her dream.

“Come, you have more spirit than that, Gabriella.” A warm touch on her shoulder only made her feel worse. “I witnessed it yesterday before the duke. We can make this right if you have faith in me, and in Lord Halford.”

“Lord Halford! Oh, do not speak to me of that wretch.” Gabriella bounced up in the bed. “Who is he? And why did he lie?”

“He is Jonathan George…and several more names I can’t even remember. His title is Marquess of Halford, though I mostly call him Hal. We are distant cousins.” Lady Celinda stood over her, lips firm. “And he is very much in love with you.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Anger was better than tears. “He has lied to me from the moment we met, saying he is a valet. His own valet.” She peered at her ladyship. “Does he even have a valet?”