Page 29 of Unmask Me My Love

“I am very glad to hear it, mademoiselle. It’s just that when you swooned yesterday, I didn’t know what to think.” He took a step toward her, his hand stealing out before he dropped it to his side. “I was frightened, Gab—Miss d’Aventure. I thought you might have died from the shock.”

“I might as well have.” She stared at him, anger and misery warring within her. “I have no employment, no family, nor any friends save one.” She moved to stand behind Celinda. “My father does not believe I am his daughter. The man I loved has disappeared, changed into a nobleman I do not know.”

“You do know me, Miss d’Aventure.” He stepped toward her. “I am the same man you met on the balcony, the same one who met you in the garden, the one who kissed you.” He slipped her hand into his. “The same man who wants to marry you.”

“Then why did you lie to me?” The touch of his hand warmed her, sent a tingle up her arm. No, she would not be persuaded by that. She pulled her hand away.

He shifted his gaze to the floor, rubbing his neck. “The night on the balcony, I was in my shirtsleeves because I didn’t want to be Lord Halford. I’ve done that before.” He looked up. “Celinda can tell you. I’d just told her that night that a formal coat, formal clothes,” he held his arms out, “did not fit me, or rather I didn’t fit them. When I saw you, I wanted you to meet the true man, not the title. Although I’m Hal, not Horace, I’m still more him than I will ever be Lord Halford. If you came to have affection for Horace then it was for me, not for his lordship, the marquess.”

Gabriella breathed carefully, schooling her face. It would be so easy to believe him. Still, he’d lied to her. Could she be sure he didn’t lie now?

“I love you. Do you doubt it?” He seized her hand again, kissing it with a warmth that made her whole body burn. “Do not deny me, love.” His eyes were liquid blue as he gently coaxed her toward him then slid his arms around her.

“I’m still in the room, Hal.” Celinda spoke up from the sofa. “A good thing too, I see.” Lady Celinda arose, grabbed Gabriella’s hand, and pulled her to the opposite side of the room.

“I will remember this, Celinda. Quid pro quo, and all that.” Lord Halford glared at her sternly.

She laughed and linked her arm with Gabriella’s. “I think you should tell Miss d’Aventure where you went this morning. It may help dispel the rest of her fears about your intentions.”

Gabriella shot a glance at him, wary once more.

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “In light of what Celinda told me about your meeting with the duke yesterday, I called upon him this morning and presented myself as a suitor for your hand.”

“What?” Gabriella’s legs turned to water, and she sat down hard on the sofa. If he’d done that, gone to her father to ask for her hand, surely that meant… “What did he say?” If a powerful man, a marquess, was willing to marry her, would that not argue that his lordship believed her story? Her heart beat frantically, impossible hope rising once more.

Lord Halford shot a look at Celinda then shifted from foot to foot. “Rother still does not believe you are his daughter. Until such time as he does, he will not acknowledge you.” He took her hands, his eyes shining bright as the sky. “But I believe you, Gabriella. Together, we will find a way to convince Rother. We must.” He buried his face in their linked hands. “I would marry you this instant, save for my father’s decree.”

“Your father?” His hands were soft and warm, but the chill of his words settled on her heart.

“My father knows of you, knows I wish to wed you, and that you are the duke’s daughter.” Lord Halford raised his head. “He will allow our marriage only if the duke acknowledges you.” He closed his eyes and squeezed her hands. “If I marry you without his blessing, he will cut off my living. I’ll have no income save a small inheritance from my mother, until I inherit the dukedom.”

“You will one day be a duke?” Gabriella stared at him, uncomprehending. Her valet was to be a duke?

At that, he laughed and rose, keeping hold of her. “And you will be my duchess.” He kissed her hands, and her heart melted. “If I have to move heaven or go through hell, I will make sure we marry.”

“But how? The duke won’t acknowledge me without some sort of proof, and there is none.” Nothing had changed, save she was more inclined to forgive Lord Halford his transgressions. Each time he kissed her hands, a little more indignation dissolved away. But the Duke of Rother stood firm, an insurmountable wall. “What can we do?”

“Well, if the duke requires proof then proof he will get.” Lord Halford kissed her fingers once more than loosed her.

“There is no way to prove my story at all.” Gabriella shook her head. What on earth was the man smiling about?

“Leave that to me, my dear,” he said and strode from the room, a jaunty lilt to his footsteps on the polished floor.

Chapter 12

“Here, try this one. I think the color is much better for you.” Gabriella held a delicate pink muslin with tiny white flowers next to Celinda’s face. The exact hue of her lips, the shell-like color made her skin seem to blush with health.

“I do believe you are correct.” Celinda turned her head this way and that, staring into the mirror the shopkeeper had provided. “My goodness, I could scarcely tell the difference between the two colors, but this one is much prettier.”

“It is lighter, which works best with the color of your skin. We will take six yards, s’il vous plaît.” Gabriella handed the material to the man. “Our next stop is the haberdasher to purchase a satin ribbon for trimming and for ties to match.” She grinned at her friend. “Lord Finley will not take his eyes from you if I have anything to say about it.”

Celinda turned a deeper shade of pink than their purchase. She nodded to the linen-draper’s assistant, who cut and packaged her purchase. “I can only hope you are correct about that, my dear.”

During the past two weeks, Gabriella had found unofficial employment as personal modiste to Celinda. She and Celinda had been shopping for dress goods almost every day. Once the outfits were all finished, Celinda’s dressing room would be overflowing with ensembles created by Gabriella and specifically intended to catch the eye of Lord Finley. Judging by the extravagant compliments of the ton ladies over the two gowns she’d finished, if she chose to open a dressmaker’s shop, she would have a stream of steady customers.

Gabriella’s plans had changed, however. Soon, she would have enough money saved for passage back to France. Once home, perhaps, she would open a shop with her mother’s help. As popular as she might have been in London, the city held only sadness for her.

After his declaration two weeks before, Lord Halford had called upon Gabriella, telling her enigmatically only that he was attempting to find proof of her birthright. One searing kiss, well-chaperoned by Celinda, and he’d gone. She’d had no word of him since. Bereft once more, with no one else to turn to, she began making plans to return to France, over Celinda’s vigorous protests.