A Secret Love

Chapter 14

Lady Clare's ball was yet another unrelenting crush.

The Season was in full swing and everyone simply had to be seen at all the major events. Finally gaining Alathea's side, Gabriel cast a malevolent glance over the jostling throng. "Manic," he muttered.

Lord Montgomery, presently holding Alathea's attention, thought the jibe aimed at him. He bristled. Smiling serenely, Alathea pretended she hadn't heard. "Have your mama and sister come up to town this year?"

Faced with such unequivocal interest, his lordship's hackles subsided. With a disdainful glance at Gabriel, he intoned, "Indeed, indeed! They are, naturally, concerned as to the future of the estate. Why-"

Recently afflicted with a conviction that she would be just the wife for him, his lordship droned on. Alathea let her smile glide over the other eager faces, but did not linger long enough to encourage any to interrupt with his own tale. Completing her circuit brought her glance to Gabriel; he caught it, irritation behind his hazel eyes. He hesitated, then, to her surprise, reached out and took the hand she hadn't thought to offer him. He held it, waiting with studied patience until Lord Montgomery's monologue rolled to a close, then he bowed. As he straightened, Alathea, off-balance and mystified, saw concern color his expression.

"My dear, you're rather pale."

My dear? She nearly goggled.

Gabriel anchored her hand on his sleeve, drawing her within his protective orbit. "Perhaps a stroll outside… before you faint from the stuffiness."

She'd never fainted in her life. Her gaze trapped in his, Alathea waved a hand weakly before her face. "It is rather hot in here."

His brow quirked; one corner of his lips did, too. "The doors to the terrace are open…"

The suggestion was greeted with numerous offers to accompany them; obedient to the fingers squeezing hers, Alathea smiled wanly. "The noise…" She gestured limply. "A few moments of absolute quiet would help, and then I'll be able to return to you."

With that, they had to be content. Gabriel excised her from the circle and steered her down the room. Alathea hoped it appeared that he was dragging her off in brotherly fashion-for her own good-but the speculative frowns in too many eyes made her itch to box his ears. Next, he'd have the scandalmongers watching them avidly, and God only knew what they might see.

They gained the flagged terrace along which a number of couples were strolling. She tried to slide her hand from his sleeve to put greater distance between them. His fingers tightened; she knew better than to tug. "You'll start people talking," she hissed as, acquiescing, she continued to glide close beside him.

"No more than they're talking already of you and the aspirants to your charms. Why on earth do you surround yourself with them?"

"I assure you it's not by choice!" After a moment, she added, "I suspect Serena's been busy on my behalf, despite the fact I made it plain that this was Mary's and Alice's Season and I have no interest in attracting a husband. Well"-she gestured to her braided cap-"how much clearer can I make it? Can't they see?"

Eyeing the cap with savage dislike, Gabriel bit back the words "Probably not." Her caps offended him at some elemental level. There was, now he thought of it, one sure way of getting rid of them once and for all. Considering the prospect of never seeing another cap covering her hair, he guided her toward the shadowy end of the terrace, presently deserted. "Did Wiggs report on his meeting with the judge?"

Reaching the balustrade at the end of the flags, they surveyed the thick bushes beyond the stone barrier, then turned and leaned against it, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, in oddly companionable comfort.

"Yes. It seems we can ask for a decision declaring the note invalid through a petition directly to the bench, without evidence or deliberations being heard in open court."

"Good. That'll make things easier."

"The judge said the speed at which a decision would be given will depend on the quality of our evidence. The more detailed and complete the evidence, the quicker the judgment. If the case was cut and dried, a decision could be formalized in a matter of days."

Gabriel nodded. "When we're ready, I'll alert Devil. He'll make sure it gets immediate attention." Alathea's sudden grin caught his eye. "What?"

She glanced at him. "Just the way you operate." She waved. "Just like that-throw a duke into the equation."

He shrugged. "If one has a duke to throw…"

Her grin fading, Alathea asked, "Have your people learned anything more?"

"No grand revelations, but Montague is making headway with all those figures and projections Crowley spouted. Needless to say, they don't add up. My contacts in Whitehall are still checking the claims he made about various foreign government departments and officials, and the permissions he said the company had already received. The more things that are false, the wider the front on which the company's claims are disproved, the easier it will be to convince the court."

"But a witness-an eyewitness as it were-would be the definitive proof. Have you heard anything more about the captain?"

"Yes and no. Mostly no. There are so many shipping lines, and at too many I have no contact from whom I can discreetly inquire. We can't risk any overt search, not even for the captain. Crowley's too powerful. He may well have contacts who'll report any unusual queries in all shipping lines dealing with his present area of interest."

"Is he that omnipotent?"

"Yes. Don't underestimate him. He may not have attended any recognized school, but he knows how to play his connections well. Witness Archie Douglas." After a moment, Gabriel stated, "Whatever we do, we must never forget Crowley."

The words disturbed Alathea. Frowning, she shook them aside. "There must be some register of the ships and their captains, surely?"

"There is-it's kept by the Port Authority. There are two registers we need to look at-the log which lists all the ships as they enter the Pool of London along with their captain, and the main register of vessels, which shows which shipping line a particular ship sails for. Unfortunately, there was a scandal involving the last port registrar. Consequently, his successor is exceedingly resistant to the idea of allowing anyone access to either the log or the register."

"Exceedingly resistant?"

"Short of an order from the Admirality or the Revenue, there's no way to view those books."

"Hmm."

Gabriel glanced at Alathea. "Don't even think of breaking in."

She focused on him. "Why? Because you've already considered it?"

"Yes." His lips twisted. He looked back along the terrace, then straightened. "The office is manned around the clock. At present, searching the log and register is impossible."

Following his gaze to Lucifer, strolling through the shadows toward them, Alathea murmured, "Nothing's impossible when you're twelve years old."

Gabriel shot her a look as Lucifer, brows high, joined them.

"What are you two doing out here?"

What do you think? burned Gabriel's tongue. He hadn't yet had time to steer their interaction into the arena he'd intended.

Alathea waved at him. "He's looking into something for me. An investment."

Turning his head, Gabriel looked at her; her gaze fixed on Lucifer's face, she ignored him.

Lucifer was looking at him. "I think the twins have noticed. They're bubbling and fizzing and exchanging glances like fury. God knows what they'll do once they realize it's true."

"Once they realize what's true?" Alathea asked.

Lucifer turned his dark gaze on her. "When they realize he's not watching them anymore."

"He's not?" Alathea looked at Gabriel. He'd developed a consuming interest in his manicured fingernails.

The damned man had listened to her. Listened, and allowed her to influence his direction. She felt slightly giddy.

"He's not. And, at the moment, I'm not, either." Belligerently disapproving, Lucifer looked from her to Gabriel and back again. "I just hope you know what you're doing. That bounder Carsworth's sniffing about their skirts."

Gabriel looked up. "Has he approached either of them?"

The question was mild, the underlying tone anything but.

"Well, no," Lucifer admitted.

"Have either of the twins encouraged him?" Alathea put in.

Lucifer's expression turned mulish. "No. He intercepted Amelia-not overtly approaching her, just happening to come upon her in the crowd."

"And?"

His reluctance was palpable, but eventually he conceded, "She put on an act like Aunt Helena. Looked him down, then up, then stuck her nose in the air and swanned past without a word."

"Well, there you are." Straightening, Alathea slipped an arm through his. "They've been very well trained. They're perfectly capable of managing, if you'll only let them."

"Humph!" Lucifer let her turn him up the terrace. Arm in arm, they strolled back toward the open doors spilling light and noise across the flags. Although she spared him not a glance, Alathea was intensely aware that Gabriel prowled very close on her other side.

"Carsworth's a worm-no real threat." Over her head, Lucifer exchanged a glance with Gabriel. "But what happens when they try that trick with someone with a bit more"-he gestured-"savoir faire!"

Gabriel shrugged. "So they'll learn."

"Learn what?" Alathea asked as they stepped back into the ballroom.

"Learn what would happen if a lady tried such a ploy on, say, one of us," Lucifer replied.

Alathea raised a brow at Gabriel.

He considered her, then flicked a glance at Lucifer. Confirming his brother's attention had wandered, he looked back, into her eyes. "Try it-and you'll see."

There was something in his eyes that reminded her forcefully of a tiger; the purr in his voice underscored the connection. Recalling what had happened the last time she'd tried, nose in the air, to brush past him, Alathea stiffened her spine and lifted her head. "The twins will manage perfectly well."

Lucifer, scanning the crowd, humphed again. "Well, if you refuse to watch, then I may as well put my time to better use." One black brow arching, he glanced at Gabriel, then, with an elegant nod to Alathea, he shouldered his way into the crowd.

If anything, the crush had worsened. Alathea felt Gabriel's fingers close about hers, then her hand was on his sleeve as he steered her out of the ebb and flow before the doors. The tack he took was in the opposite direction to where they'd left her cavaliers.

"Can you see Mary and Alice?" Why she felt so breathless she couldn't understand.

"No." His lips were close to her ear, his breath a warm caress. "But, like the twins, they'll manage."

So would she, she vowed, as he found them a few square feet of space in which to stand comfortably. Although they were surrounded, they might as well have been alone for all the notice their neighbors took, too caught up in their own conversations.

"Now tell me, what did you mean about being twelve years old?" Gabriel trapped her gaze as she glanced up at him. "In case it's escaped your notice, neither you nor I are."

The meaning in his eyes was quite different from the subject of their discussion. Alathea reined in her skittering wits. "I wasn't referring to us."

"Good."

The subtle easing of his lips did quite peculiar things to her nerves. She dragged in a breath. "I meant-"

"My dear Lady Alathea."

Alathea turned to see the earl of Chillingworth emerging from the crowd. He swept her a necessarily abbreviated bow. "Such solace to discover a divine delight in this unholy crush." He sent a measuring glance Gabriel's way. "So nice to know one's evening won't be a complete waste of time."

Gabriel didn't respond.

Ignoring the burgeoning menace at her elbow, Alathea smiled and gave Chillingworth her hand. "I believe the musicians her ladyship has hired are quite exceptional."

"If only one could hear them," Chillingworth replied. "Are your sisters enjoying their Season?"

"Indeed. Our ball will be held next week-dare we hope you'll attend?"

"No other hostess," Chillingworth avowed, "will have any hope of enticing me elsewhere." His gray gaze roved Alathea's face, then settled on her eyes. "Tell me, have you seen the latest production at the Opera House?"

"Why, no. I had heard-" Alathea broke off as the sea of guests suddenly wavered, then parted. As the clamor of voices dimmed, the opening strains of a waltz filtered through.

"Ah." Chillingworth turned to her. "I wonder, my dear, if you would do me the honor-"

"I'm afraid, dear boy, that this waltz is mine."

Gabriel's languid drawl did nothing to conceal the steel beneath his words. Chillingworth looked up; over Alathea's head, gray eyes clashed with hazel. Turning, Alathea stared at Gabriel's face, noting the hard edge fell determination lent his features. Relinquishing Chillingworth's gaze, he met hers. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the rapidly clearing dance floor, then his arm shifted beneath her fingers and his hand closed about hers. His gaze flicked to Chillingworth. "His lordship will excuse us."

Giddy, slightly stunned by what she'd glimpsed in his hooded eyes, Alathea smiled apologetically at Chillingworth. The earl bowed easily. Without more ado, Gabriel led her forward. A second later she was in his arms, whirling down the floor.

It took a full circuit before she caught her breath. He was holding her too close again, but she wasn't going to waste what breath she had protesting that point. "I don't suppose there's any sense in pointing out that this waltz wasn't, in fact, yours to claim."

He met her gaze. "Not the slightest."

The look in his eyes stole her breath. She mustered her wilting temper for protection. "Indeed? So whenever you feel like waltzing, I'm to expect-"

"You misunderstand. Henceforth, all your waltzes are mine."

"All?"

"Every last one." He expertly twirled her around the end of the room; as they joined the long line going back up the ballroom, he continued, "You may dance any other dance with whomever you please, but you'll waltz only with me."

All inclination to argue, to protest, evaporated. Don't tempt me. He'd warned her once-the words were again in his eyes. They rang in her head. When she finally managed to draw in another breath, Alathea looked over his shoulder and tried to gather her wits and focus on his motives.

Only to fall victim to her senses, to the seductive shift and sway of their bodies, their long limbs twining, sliding, separating, then coming together again. He waltzed as he did all physical things-effortlessly, expertly, with an inherent grace that only emphasized the leashed power behind every move. He held her easily, his strength palpable, surrounding her, guiding her, protecting her.

She'd waltzed with others but none with his matchless authority, founded as it was in his knowledge, physical and sensual, of her. He knew she couldn't resist, that while in his arms she was helpless. That her heart beat unevenly, that her skin heated, that she would go wherever he led. He had her trapped in a web, one she had helped fashion, of passion, of yearning, of desire slaked by sensual reward. She was his and he knew it. What he meant to do with the knowledge, with her, remained an unsettling unknown.

The music ended and they slowed, then halted. She studied his face, the hard planes unyielding, uninformative, and inwardly sighed. "I should find Serena."

Releasing her, he placed her hand on his sleeve, and protectively steered her through the crowd.

The following evening, Alathea left her bedchamber once again in a tearing rush. Heading for her office, she flung the door wide and dashed for her desk. Sitting, she pulled a sheet of paper free, settling it on the blotter as she flicked open the inkwell.

"You wanted me, m'lady?"

"Yes, Folwell." Alathea didn't look up. Dipping a pen in the ink, she industriously scribbled. "I want you to deliver this note to Brook Street."

"To Mr. Cynster, m'lady?"

"Yes."

"Now, m'lady?"

"As soon as you get back from driving us to Almacks."

A minute passed, the only sound in the room the scritch-scratch of the pen. Then Alathea blotted her missive, folded it, and scrawled Gabriel's name on the front. She dropped the pen and stood. Waving the note, she crossed the room to Folwell. "There won't be an answer."

Folwell slipped the note into his coat pocket. "I'll drop it off on the way back from King Street."

Alathea nodded. Lips compressed, she strode for the front hall where Serena, Mary, and Alice were waiting.

A minute later, she was in the carriage, rolling across the cobbles to the holy portals of the patronesses' dreary rooms. Almacks! She hadn't liked the place the first time she'd seen it, when she'd been a gawky eighteen. She sincerely doubted she'd enjoy her evening, but… her sweetly loving stepmother had turned stubborn.

She'd expected to remain home that evening and arrange some discreet rendezvous to discuss her urgent news with Gabriel. Instead, over dinner, Serena had announced that Emily Cowper had made special mention of hoping to see her that evening, having missed her in the park that afternoon. That afternoon, when she'd been off on an excursion to see just how much a twelve-year-old could pry from the otherwise impregnable Port Authority.

Jeremy's success had left her giddy. She desperately wanted to see Gabriel. She'd marshaled all her arguments against Almacks and spent the half hour after dinner laying them out, but Serena had stood firm. That happened so rarely, she'd been forced to acquiesce, which had left her little time to dress. Thankfully, Nellie was fully recovered; despite the rush, her hair was elegantly coiffed, her gloves, reticule, and shawl the correct accessories for her gown of pale green silk.

Not that she cared. Given Gabriel wouldn't be there, her evening would be a complete waste of time. Still, tomorrow morning was, logistically speaking, no different from tonight.

That conclusion rang in her mind the next morning-mockingly. Scrambling to her feet, dusting earth from her cotton gardening gloves and quickly stripping them off, she told herself it didn't matter what he thought, how much he saw.

She looked up as he reached her. "I didn't expect you this side of eleven."

His brow quirked as he calmly took possession of one of her hands. "You said as early as possible."

One long finger stroked her palm. Alathea tried to stiffen. "I thought, for you, as early as possible would be close to noon."

"Did you? Why? I didn't go out last night, remember?"

"Didn't you?"

"No." After a moment, he added, "There was nowhere I wanted to go."

Her gaze locked with his, Alathea felt unaccountably giddy. He couldn't possibly mean… Was he flirting with her? Abruptly, she cleared her throat and waved vaguely at her stepsiblings. "We like to spend a little time in the garden every morning. Exercise."

"Indeed?" His shrewd gaze swept the garden. He responded to Mary's and Alice's cheery greetings with an easy smile, to Charlie's familiar "Hoi!" with a wave. Jeremy, helping Charlie lug a branch to the bottom of the garden, bobbed his head. Gabriel grinned, his gaze moving on to Miss Helm, who colored when he bowed. Beside the little governess, Augusta sat, Rose clutched in her arms, her wide-eyed gaze riveted on Gabriel.

"I can't recall seeing Jeremy since he was a babe in arms," he murmured. "And I don't believe I've met your youngest sister at all. What's her name?"

"Augusta. She's six."

"Six?" He looked back at her. "When you were six you gave me chicken pox."

"I'd hoped you'd forgotten. You promptly gave it to Lucifer."

"We three were always good at sharing." A moment passed, then he said, "Speaking of which…"

She waved at the house. "If you'd like-"

"No need to interrupt your endeavors." He looked down. "The grass is dry." So saying, he sat beside her mat, her hand still in his. Looking up at her, he tugged. "You can tell me your news here."

Alathea only just managed not to glare. She subsided with passable grace, settling once more on her knees, tugging her gloves back on. "You know I hate gardening."

His brows rose; from the corner of her eye, she could see him recalling. "So you do. How very devoted of you, to keep your sisters company." A moment passed, men he asked, "Is that why you do it?"

"Yes. No." Her gaze on the pansies, Alathea could feel her cheeks heating. Drawing in a breath, she reminded herself that he already knew more than enough to guess the truth. "They think I love gardening, and Serena insists that they should understand the basics of borders and beds from the ground up, so to speak."

She felt his gaze sweep her face, then he looked out over the lawns. "I see. And Charlie and Jeremy are the pruning specialists?"

"More or less."

He said nothing for a moment, one long leg stretched out, the other bent, one arm draped over his raised knee. Then he turned again to her. "So what have you learned?"

Alathea yanked out a clump of grass. "I've learned that being twelve years old can open the register at the Port Authority."

His gaze switched to Jeremy. "It can?"

"I took Jeremy on an excursion to learn about how ships are managed in and out of the Pool of London. The harbor master was extremely accommodating-he has a young boy of his own. Of course, being the son and daughter of a belted earl helped."

"I dare say. But all we had was the captain's description. How on earth did you manage to learn more discreetly? I take it you have."

"Indeed! I primed Jeremy-he has an excellent memory. I described the captain as Papa had seen him, and explained what we needed to find out. We decided it would be best to ask about the information in the log and register, and then ask what it might be useful for. That allowed us to suggest that it could be used to find out which shipping lines carried goods to different parts of the world. At that point, I suitably vaguely remembered a friend of ours, a Mr. Higgenbotham, who-"

"Wait! Who's Higgenbotham? Does he exist?"

"No." Alathea frowned. "He's just part of our tale." She yanked up another weed. "Where was I? Oh, yes-this Mr. Higgenbotham had dropped by with a friend of his, a captain whose ship recently docked from Central East Africa. That, of course, was Jeremy's cue to challenge the harbor master to see if his log and register would tell us who the captain sailed for."

"And the harbor master obliged?"

"Of course! Men always like to demonstrate their abilities before an appreciative audience, especially one composed of a female and a youthful pup. It took him twenty minutes-there were quite a few ships to cross-check-but we think the captain must be one Aloysius Struthers who sails for Bentinck and Company. Their office is in East Smithfield Street. The harbor master recognized the description and is certain Struthers is our man."

Gabriel resisted the urge to shake his head. "Amazing."

"Jeremy," Alathea decreed, plonking another weed onto her pile, "was simply magnificent. Even had you been the harbor master, you would have happily searched the log for him. He played his hand just right."

Gabriel raised a brow. "He's obviously like you-he must have inherited the same thespian tendencies."

He waited, but Alathea pointedly ignored the comment, reaching instead for another weed. After a moment, she asked, "So what's next?"

Gabriel looked across the lawns to where her stepbrothers were wrestling with a thick branch. "I'll visit Bentinck and Company this afternoon."

Alathea frowned at him. "I thought you said any open inquiry was too dangerous?"

Completing his scan of the garden, Gabriel returned his gaze to her face. "Surely you don't think you're the only one who can assume a disguise?"

Her lips twitched. "What will you be? A merchant from Hull looking for a fast ship to carry his whitebait to Africa?"

"Hull? Good God, no. I'll be an importer of wooden artifacts looking for a reliable line to transport my wares, bought throughout Africa, to St. Katherine's Docks."

"And?"

"And I'll have received a recommendation for Struthers and the line for which he sails but, being an exceedingly fussy client, I'll insist on speaking directly to Struthers before making any decision. That should encourage the company to give me Struthers's direction with all possible dispatch."

Alathea nodded approvingly. "Very good. We'll make a thespian of you yet."

She looked up, expecting some light retort-he was studying her, his hazel gaze steady and keen. He held her trapped, searching, considering… the sounds of the others, their chatter, their laughter, the bright calls of the birds and the distant rumble of carriage wheels, faded away, leaving just the two of them on the grass in the sunshine.

Then his gaze shifted, dropping to her lips, briefly sweeping lower before returning to her eyes. "The trick," he murmured, his voice very low, "is not in assuming the role, but in knowing when the charade ends and reality starts."

In his eyes, so like hers, lay living reminders of all they'd shared-the childhood triumphs, the youthful adventures, their recent intimacy. Deep in their gaze, Alathea simply existed. Reaching out, he caught a wayward lock of her hair lying loose along her cheek. Taming it, he tucked it back behind her ear. As he withdrew his hand, with the backs of his fingers he caressed the whorl of her ear, then lightly traced the line of her jaw.

His hand dropped.

Their gazes held, then Alathea drew a shaky breath and looked down. He looked away. "I'll see what I can learn."

Gathering his long limbs, he rose. Alathea kept her gaze on her pansies.

"I'll let you know if I'm successful."

She inclined her head. "Yes. Do."

With no "Good-bye," he moved off, waving to the others, stopping to exchange a polite word with Miss Helm. Alathea hesitated, then gave in to the urge to turn her head and watch him as he strode away.

Twelve hours later, Alathea stood by the side of Lady Hendricks's overcrowded music room, enraptured by the composition faultlessly rendered by the capital's most sought-after string quartet. The first segment of the performance was drawing to a close when long fingers curled around her wrist, then slid down to tangle with hers.

Her head whipped around. Her eyes widened. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Gabriel looked at her, an incipient frown in his eyes. "I wanted to see you."

He eased in beside her; she was forced to make room. The last thing she wanted was to draw more eyes their way. "How did you know I was here?" They both spoke in whispers.

"Folwell told me where you were headed."

"Fol-? Oh." She caught his eye. "You know about Folwell."

"Hmm. Has he mentioned my new man?"

"Chance?"

Gabriel nodded. "His tongue runs on wheels, out of my presence or in it. I knew Folwell was haunting my kitchen from the first. I didn't, however, connect his presence with you. I thought he was there to see Dodswell. I know better now, but Folwell does have his uses."

With a sniff, Alathea returned her gaze to the musicians. "I can't believe Lady Hendricks sent you a card for this-not even she could be that naively hopeful."

"She didn't." Gabriel settled close beside her. "I simply walked in, secure in the knowledge she won't show me the door." He studied Alathea's profile, watching it soften as the music drew her back. The line of her jaw fascinated him, a subtle melding of feminine strength and vulnerability. She had always struck him that way-as much a partner as one to be protected. He'd recognized that quality in the countess; he'd known it in Alathea all his life.

Following her gaze to the players, he waited until they concluded their piece on an uplifting crescendo before murmuring, "The captain is presently uncontactable."

The outburst of applause distracted the crowd so none but he saw her disappointment. It filled her eyes as well as her expression. He moved across her, lifting her hand to his sleeve. "Come to the window-we can speak more freely there."

The narrow windows were open, a balcony, barely a ledge, beyond them. A cool breeze wafted the filmy curtains. Pressing them aside, they stood on the threshold, facing each other, hardly private but sufficiently apart from other guests to talk without being overheard.

Alathea leaned back against the window frame. "What did you learn?"

"Aloysius Struthers is our man-the clerks at the shipping line confirmed the description, and also that he's something of an expert on East Africa, having sailed those coasts for the last decade and more. Unfortunately, the captain is presently away visiting friends-the company has no idea where. He has no family and no fixed abode in this country. However, he does call in now and then to check there's no change in his sailing schedule. He's not due to sail again for a month. I left a message guaranteed to bring him to Brook Street the instant he reads it, but he may not get it for a week or more."

Alathea grimaced.

Gabriel hesitated, then continued, "There's also the possibility that he might not be willing to help. The clerks painted a picture of an irascible old gent more concerned with his ships and Africa than anything else. I gather he doesn't have much time for nonsailors."

"Do we have enough proof to mount a case without his testimony?"

Gabriel paused, then said, "Montague's figures are strongly suggestive of deliberate fraud, but are not conclusive. A good barrister could argue his way around them. What else we have on the three towns-Fangak, Lodwar and Kingi-relies on the reports of explorers who are not themselves available to vouch for the details. As for information from the African authorities, my contacts in Whitehall are finding it exceedingly difficult to get any straight answers, which in itself is highly suspicious. For any serious investor, what we have would be more than enough to pass judgment on Crowley's scheme. For a court of law, we need more."

"How much more?"

"I'll keep pressing Whitehall. Without more definitive proof, lodging a petition at this stage would be unwise."

"Essentially, we need the captain."

"Yes, but at the moment, there's nothing more we can do on that front."

"And even if we do find him, he may not help."

Gabriel made no reply. A moment later, the musicians laid bow to string. They both turned toward the dais as the crowd resettled for the next piece. A lilting air, it filled the room with a hauntingly sweet melody. Alathea watched the musicians, letting their art sweep her away, temporarily soothing her fears. Gabriel watched her. The short piece ended; applause rolled through the room. Alathea contributed her share, then sighed and turned to him.

"I'd forgotten you like music."

Her expression turned wry. "To my mind, it's one of the few charms of the capital-to be able to hear the most talented musicians."

Gabriel merely nodded. His gaze went past her, and abruptly sharpened. "Damn! That harpy's actually going to throw her daughter at me."

Looking around, Alathea beheld their hostess bearing down on them, a beaming smile on her face, her pale, clearly reticent daughter in tow. "Well, you are here, after all. She probably sees it as encouragement."

The sound Gabriel made was derisive.

Alathea arched a brow at him. "Shall I leave you to your fate?"

"Don't you dare. That poor girl always loses her tongue about me. God knows why. Conversing with her is worse than pulling teeth."

Alathea smiled as she turned to greet Lady Hendricks. Gabriel appropriated her hand and placed it on his sleeve, thereby denying her ladyship any chance of whisking her off and leaving him alone with her daughter. Lady Hendricks accepted the situation with a puzzled look, settling for gushing over his presence before retreating, leaving her daughter with them. Alathea, who was acquainted with Miss Hendricks, took pity on all concerned and kept the conversation rolling, never straying from any but the most mundane subjects.

After one warning glance from her, Gabriel behaved himself, consenting to chat with debonair charm. When the musicians next took to the dais and, under Gabriel's direction, they parted from Miss Hendricks, the young lady was actually smiling. Gliding through the room on Gabriel's arm, Alathea felt sure Lady Hendricks would be pleased enough to forget her earlier puzzlement.

"Esher and Carstairs are sitting with your sisters." Gabriel shot her a look as they passed out of the music room. "How's that coming along?"

"Very well." Halting in the foyer, Alathea drew her hand from his sleeve and turned to look back into the room. "Inside two weeks, I should think." Then she glanced at Gabriel, her expression growing serious. "Have you… heard anything about either of them?"

"No." He scanned her face. "I've already checked-they're exactly as they appear. Both are wealthy enough to marry as they choose, and in both cases their respective families should be more than content with their securing an earl's daughters as their brides."

"Thank heavens. I'd started to wonder if it was all too good to be true. I never imagined they'd both go off so easily." She looked back at her sisters. "This Season has proved far more felicitous than anyone could have expected."

His gaze on her face, on the delicate line of her jaw, Gabriel slowly nodded. He hesitated, then touched her arm. "Au revoir." Stepping past her, he left the house.

He found her in the park the following afternoon, a willowy vision in pale green. The fine fabric of her gown clung to her hips, swaying evocatively as she trailed in the wake of her sisters and, unfortunately, his. Esher and Carstairs were once more in attendance; Gabriel resigned himself to speaking to both in the next few days regarding their intentions. A subtle prod wouldn't hurt.

His gaze fastened on Alathea. Lengthening his stride, he closed the distance between them. She whirled as he caught up with her. Surprise and awareness flared in her eyes, then she caught herself and inclined her head graciously. "Have you heard anything?"

Taking her hand, an action that now seemed normal, even called for, Gabriel anchored it on his sleeve and drew her to stroll beside him. "No. Nothing more."

"Oh."

He felt her questioning glance. She wanted to know what had brought him here. "I thought you might be interested in the details Montague has put together."

The distraction served; she not only followed his account, but posed a few shrewd questions on the Company's projected costs. He nodded. "I'll get Montague to check-"

"Alathea! Such a pleasant surprise!"

The exclamation brought them up short; absorbed in their discussion, they had not been looking about them. Gabriel muttered a curse as his gaze fell on the countess of Lewes, approaching with her brother, Lord Montgomery.

Alathea smiled. "Cecile! How lovely to see you."

Suppressing a frown, Gabriel exchanged a terse nod with Montgomery. They both waited with feigned patience while the ladies exchanged far more detailed greetings. From references the countess made, Gabriel gathered she and Alathea were contemporaries; their acquaintance dated from Alathea's aborted Season eleven years before. From Montgomery's smug expression, Gabriel surmised his lordship imagined his sister's connection would put him on a closer, more personal footing with Alathea.

"And Mr. Cynster!" The countess turned to him with an arch smile.

"Madam." Gabriel accepted the hand she offered him, bowed easily, and released her. Alathea's fingers slid from his sleeve. Without looking, he caught her hand, enclosing it within his grasp. She stilled. He could all but hear her wondering what he was about.

"Perhaps," the countess continued, ignoring the byplay, "we could stroll together?"

Alathea smiled. "Indeed-why not?"

Gabriel pinched her fingers, then made a great show of tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. She shot him a sharp glance, then turned to Lord Montgomery. "Is your mother well?"

Feeling distinctly unsocial, Gabriel turned to the countess. "How's Helmsley these days?"

The countess colored and slid around his wicked question. She paid him back by describing her offspring and their illnesses, a subject guaranteed to send any sane gentleman fleeing. Gabriel mentally gritted his teeth and refused to yield. As they strolled on, he noticed that Alathea kept her gaze fixed on Lord Montgomery, paying no attention whatever to all the gory details about the countess's three children. Knowing her as he did, knowing how closely she'd been involved with the care of her stepsiblings, he at first found that odd. Then they reached the Serpentine and he glanced at her face.

She kept it averted; he couldn't see her eyes. He could see the underlying stiffness in her features. Smoothly, he turned to the countess. "Do you plan to attend Lady Richmond's gala?"

The abruptness of the question made the countess pause, but she took to the new topic with alacrity. With a query here and there, he kept her engrossed in the social whirl, well away from the subject of children. His awareness centered on Alathea, he sensed the gradual easing of her tension. She had, indeed, given up a lot to save her stepfamily, far more than she would willingly let anyone know.

"I say! Lady Alathea!"

"My dear lady!"

"Countess, do introduce me."

A bevy of five gentlemen, including Lord Coleburn, Mr. Simpkins and Lord Falworth, swept up to them from behind; if Gabriel had been able to see them, they wouldn't have managed it, but now he and Alathea were caught.

Alathea sensed his increasing irritation. She glanced at him; he was regarding Lord Falworth with an impassive expression and a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Don't you think so, Lady Alathea?"

"Oh-yes." Recalling Falworth's question, she quickly amended, "But only in the company of close friends."

Dealing with her would-be suitors while knowing Gabriel was considering annihilating one or all of them played havoc with her normally unassailable nerves. Her relief was quite genuine when he closed his hand over hers, still tucked in his elbow, and halted.

"I'm afraid," he purred, at his most urbane, "that we must shepherd Lady Alathea's sisters and mine back to our mothers' carriages. You'll have to excuse us."

That last was said with enough underlying command to convince even Lord Montgomery that bowing and making extravagant adieus was the better part of valor.

Gabriel drew her ruthlessly away. He caught his sister Heather's eye and with one brotherly gesture redirected the group now well ahead of them back toward the avenue.

Side by side, strolling easily, their long legs a match for each other, they brought up the rear. Alathea sighed with relief.

Gabriel shot her a dark glance. "You could try to discourage them."

"I haven't encouraged them in the first place!"

They walked on in silence. As they neared the point where Serena's and Celia's carriages would come into view, Alathea slowed, expecting Gabriel to make his excuses and leave her. He tightened his hold on her hand and drew her on.

She looked at him in amazement. He cast her an irritated glance. "I'm not escorting them." His nod indicated the four girls and Esher and Carstairs ahead of them. "I'm escorting you."

"I don't need escorting."

"Let me be the judge of that."

His expression grimly resolute, that was all he deigned to say. Alathea was too surprised that he'd risk alerting his mother to any particularity between them to marshal any argument, and then they were within sight of the carriages.

With an inward sigh, she kept pace beside him. "This is not going to make things any easier, you know."

She thought he wasn't going to reply, but just before they reached his mother's carriage where Serena and Celia sat in matronly splendor, he murmured, "We left 'easy' behind long ago."

Then they were at the carriage, joining with the girls and Esher and Carstairs. Over the heads, Gabriel fielded a glance from Celia; Alathea, watching closely, could interpret with ease-Celia wanted to know why he was there. Gabriel returned her gaze impassively with a slight lifting of his shoulders, giving Celia to understand he'd simply come upon them and walked them back. Nothing particular at all. His performance was so smooth, if she hadn't known better, Alathea would have believed that, too. Gabriel nodded and Celia smiled, waving him away.

He turned to her-their gazes met. In the folds of her gown their fingers brushed. With a brief nod, he turned and strode away.

Alathea watched him go, a frown in her eyes, an increasingly insistent question revolving in her mind.