A Secret Love

Chapter 17

The formal dinner preceding a come-out ball was, in social terms, even more important than the ball itself. The earl, Serena, and Alathea had agreed that this dinner should be the most glittering affair regardless of cost, one by which the assembled leaders of the ton would remember the Morwellans. Alathea had personally overseen every detail, from the guest list Serena had organized and the stiff white stationery on which the invitations had been inscribed, to the gleaming crystal, the silver service, the Meissen dinner service, and the crisp white damask. The dishes in all twelve courses had been carefully chosen to complement one another in a parade of culinary delight. The wine was superb. Not one of the fifty guests seated about the long table would entertain the slightest suspicion of the economies normally practiced at Morwellan House.

From her seat midway down the table, Alathea watched the sixth course being laid out. All was proceeding smoothly, the babel prevailing on all sides-conversations, laughter, the constant clink of porcelain and silverware-a reassuring testament. Her father, presiding over the event from the table's head, looked magnificent; Serena, resplendent in navy silk at the other end, was his match. Opposite Alathea, spread between their guests, Mary and Alice conversed with simple charm. Charlie was seated farther along the table to her right. All three were dressed to perfection, each a paragon of tonnish expectations. In her amber silk gown, a beaded cap perched atop her coiffed hair, Alathea contributed her part to their sartorial facade.

Her heart lifted as she gazed about her. They'd done it-they'd come to London and, despite the difficulties, claimed their rightful place in society. As if to illustrate their success, Sally Jersey caught her eye and smiled and nodded. Seated further along, Princess Esterhazy had already regally signaled her approval. Only as she followed Sally Jersey's gaze to Serena did it occur to Alathea to wonder what it was both patronnesses were complimenting her upon. Their appreciation of the dinner and company they conveyed to Serena, of course. So what was it she'd done to attract their approbation?

She turned to Gabriel, seated on her left. She'd been so absorbed with the dinner itself she hadn't registered his appearing at her side to escort her into the dining room as anything odd. She'd grown accustomed to having him near, to resting her hand on his arm and letting him steer her through crowds. It wasn't until she'd caught Lucifer's questioning look halfway through the fourth course that she'd realized. One glance at Celia's face, at her intrigued expression, confirmed that their sudden penchant for each other's company had not escaped notice.

The suspicion that their ease in each other's company was not escaping anyone's notice suddenly assailed her. Before she had a chance to frame the question: "Did you plan this?" in any form likely to get an answer, Gabriel glanced at her and saw the frown in her eyes.

"Relax. Everything's going well." He indicated a dish of game. "This is excellent-what's in the sauce?"

Alathea looked at the dish. "Muscat grapes and pomegranate syrup." There was no point wrangling over how he'd come to be sitting beside her. He was there. She might as well take advantage. "How's the petition?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "We've made a good start."

"But not enough to be certain of a favorable judgment."

His lips twisted; he didn't answer.

Alathea forged on, her tone barely a whisper as she considered a dish before her. "Everything we have is open to argument-there's nothing cut and dried, no absolute and obvious falsehood. All our claims rely on the word of others, others we can't call on to verify the facts. Without a bona fide witness-without Captain Struthers-all Crowley need do is deny our claims. The burden of proof will rest on us." She helped herself to beans in white sauce and passed the dish along. "We have to find the captain, don't we?"

Gabriel glanced at her. "The case would be certain with him. Without him, it's going to be difficult."

"There must be something more we can do."

Again she felt his gaze on her face. "We'll find him." Beneath the table his hand closed about hers. His thumb stroked her palm. "But tonight, enjoy your success. Leave the captain and Crowley for tomorrow."

Unable to meet his eyes, she nodded and prayed her blush didn't show. His hand wrapped around hers had evoked a sensual memory of his body wrapped around hers, stroking hers… When his hand slid away, she determinedly lifted her head and drew a steadying breath, looking along the table rather than at him.

"I take it Esher and Carstairs are both in earnest?"

Alathea refocused on Mary. Beside her, Lord Esher was quietly and persistently attentive, Mary sweetly appreciative. A similar scenario was playing out toward the other end of the table, where Mr. Carstairs sat beside Alice. "We believe so. Their parents were clearly pleased to be invited tonight." With a nod, Alathea indicated Lady Esher and Mrs. Carstairs; their husbands were farther down the table.

Gabriel followed her gaze, then transferred his attention to the dish she passed him. "Esher has a neat little property in Hampshire. He does well, and pays attention to his land. He's a likable chap with a sense of humor, but sensible and steady. From all I can gather, he's in a position to please himself-I doubt he'll cavil over Mary's lack of dowry."

"She does have a dowry."

"She does?" He hesitated, then asked, "How much?"

Alathea calmly told him.

"Just enough to ensure not even the most censorious raise a brow. You have covered all the cracks."

She inclined her head.

"Well, if Esher's unlikely to be concerned about money, Carstairs is even less likely to give it a second thought. While Esher's old money, well established, Carstairs is both old and new. They met at Eton and have been firm friends ever since, which should suit Mary and Alice admirably."

"They are very close."

"Carstairs's estate is just south of Bath-within easy visiting distance of Morwellan Park. His maternal grandfather had an interest in shipping, which Carstairs inherited. He's gaining a reputation as having a cautious interest in the right sort of ventures. He's ambitious in that area, and not about to become a silent partner."

The approval in his tone was clear; Alathea shot him a glance. "A useful contact for you, perhaps?"

Gabriel met her gaze. "Perhaps."

"How did you find out all this-about Carstairs and Esher?"

"I asked around. Quietly. I didn't think your father would have the right contacts to find out for you."

"He hasn't." Alathea hesitated, then inclined her head. "Thank you."

She looked away, along the table, ostensibly scanning the guests, in reality letting her gratitude flare, then fade. The reprobate beside her-he who knew her far too well-needed no encouragement. She tried not to dwell on how much easier her life was with him beside her, supplying the reassurances she needed but could not gain for herself. Having his shoulder to lean on was a far too seductive proposition.

Her wandering gaze reached Lucifer, sipping his wine, his gaze on her and Gabriel. His expression was quietly considering.

Smiling serenely, Alathea let her gaze wander on, only to encounter more considering glances. It took her a few minutes to realize why Gabriel and she were so persistently raising questions in so many minds. It was the way they conversed with each other. They were so attuned to each other's tone, to every nuance in the other's repertoire, that they rarely needed to look at each other to be sure of the other's meaning. They talked as two who knew each other well, as two who, in the ton's parlance, shared an understanding of long duration.

They talked like long-standing lovers.

The last course was being removed before she again turned to Gabriel. All the guests were repairing directly to the ballroom. He was already standing; he offered her his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to raise her-as soon as she was on her feet, he grasped her hand, tucked it in his arm, his hand possessively over hers, and led her to join the queue exiting the dining room.

The message he was sending the interested observers all about them was crystal clear. Although he could be devilish enough when he wished, she was certain that, at present, he wasn't deliberately putting on a show. His behavior was simply an instinctive extension of how he now felt about her.

He caught her glancing at him and lifted a brow. "What?"

She looked into his hazel eyes, then, lips curving, shook her head and looked away. "Never mind."

There was no chance she could get him to change and, deep down, she knew she would miss their newfound closeness if he did.

The ballroom caused a sensation. Standing in the receiving line Alathea fielded numerous compliments on the unusual decor while helping Mary and Alice greet the more intimidating dowagers. Unfortunately, more than a few of the old battleships, when distracted from Mary and Alice, were only too ready to turn their cannons on her.

"Absolutely criminal," Lady Osbaldestone declared, scrutinizing her silk-clad figure through her lorgnette. "Waste, gel, waste!" One bony finger poked her in the ribs. "God knows why you've hidden yourself away, but it's past time some rake rattled your stays."

Others took a different tack.

"So, my dear, do you spend much time in charitable works?" Lady Harcourt, of similar age to Alathea, smiled insincerely. "It must be so nice to live a quiet life."

Alathea responded to all such queries with a serene smile and calm assurance. As soon as the incoming tide eased, Gabriel appeared and, with Serena's encouragement, drew her out of the line.

"But Mary and Alice-"

"Serena's with them. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?"

His Great-aunt Clara was a sweet old lady, although a trifle vague. She patted Alathea's hand. "Your sisters are lovely, dear, but we'll have to see you wed first."

"Precisely what I've been telling her," Gabriel put in.

Over Clara's head, Alathea narrowed her eyes at him.

"Indeed, yes," Clara said, and patted her hand again. "We'll have to find some nice gentleman for you-perhaps that nice Chillingworth boy."

The look on Gabriel's face was priceless; Alathea only just managed not to laugh. "I don't think so," she said, smiling at Clara.

"No? Well, then, let's see. Who else?"

Devil strolled up before Clara could consider other options. She released Alathea to clutch his sleeve. "Is Honoria here?"

Devil grinned. "She's on the other side of the room-I'll take you to her if you like."

"Oh, yes-so kind." Clutching her shawl with one hand and Devil with the other, Clara smiled in farewell and moved on.

"There are the Carmichaels." Gabriel directed Alathea's gaze to a couple whose country estate lay not far from Morwellan Park and the Manor. They headed toward them.

For the next twenty minutes, they moved through the ever-increasing crowd, stopping here then there to chat, always at Gabriel's direction. Only when she spied Lord Montgomery, then Lord Falworth through the sea of heads did Alathea realize what he was doing. With them constantly moving from one conversation to the next, her court was given no chance to gather about her.

Alathea swallowed her protest-she'd rather move through the crowd on Gabriel's arm than stand surrounded by her all-too-often vacuous court. Feigning ignorance of his high-handed manuverings was definitely the sensible course.

Then the musicians started up and the crowd magically parted, clearing a wide space. As both Mary and Alice had been given permission to indulge long since, the first dance was a waltz. Keen to see if her expectation that Esher would partner Mary and Carstairs would partner Alice would be fulfilled, Alathea eagerly accompanied Gabriel to the edge of the floor.

Sure enough, Mary and Esher took to the floor first, Mary blushing delightedly, her smile declaration enough, while Esher looked the picture of pride. Alathea smiled mistily as they waltzed past, then looked back up the room. Alice was already in Carstairs's encircling arms-both seemed lost in each other's eyes, oblivious to the crowd looking on.

Alathea sighed. With her sisters, her hand was played and she'd won-they would have the futures she'd wanted for them, and which they patently deserved. They'd be happy, and loved…

Alice and Carstairs waltzed past.

The next instant, Alathea, too, was on the floor, whirling in Gabriel's arms. Her eyes flew wide. There were as yet no other couples on the floor. "What?…"

Gabriel raised a brow. "My dance, I believe?"

She would have loved to tell him what she thought of his arrogance, but under the curious eyes of half the ton, all she could do was fix a smile on her lips and let him sweep her away. She did, however, glare at him.

He only smiled, gathering her closer as other couples took to the floor in their wake. He leaned closer as they went through the turn. "Don't tempt me."

The whispered words caressed her ear; Alathea shivered. "I should take umbrage."

"But you won't. You know I can't help myself."

She limited her response to a sniff; prolonging such a conversation would do nothing for her serenity. The nagging observation that she enjoyed waltzing with him, enjoyed the feel of his hand burning through the silk at her back, enjoyed the sense of being captive to his strength, whirled so effortlessly around the room, was more than distracting enough.

That her pleasure in life was increasingly dependent on him was a thought she wished she'd never had.

After the dance, they once more meandered through the crowd, chatting with acquaintances. They were leaving one group when Gerrard Debbington hailed Gabriel. Gabriel stopped; sidestepping this way, then that, Gerrard eventually reached them.

He smiled vaguely at Alathea.

She smiled brightly back, completely forgetting that she hadn't met him in the receiving line. "Hello."

Gabriel pinched her fingers and introduced them. Alathea continued to smile as if she commonly spoke to gentlemen she'd never met. Gerrard, thankfully, was too well brought up to comment.

He looked at Gabriel. "If I could have a word… there's something you should know."

Gabriel gestured to Alathea. "Thea knows of my interests-she knows of Crowley. You can speak freely."

"Oh." Gerrard's smile hid his surprise. "In that case… I was leaving Tattersalls yesterday when I literally bumped into Crowley. He was with a gentleman Vane said was Lord Douglas. Unfortunately, Vane and Patience were right behind me, and Patience spoke. From what she said, it was obvious she was my sister." He grimaced. "Only a sister would say something like that. As she was on Vane's arm, it wouldn't need any great intelligence to guess the connection. Vane said I should tell you and ask what you think."

"I think," Gabriel said, "that we should discuss the possibilities with Vane." He looked over the sea of heads. "Where is he?"

"Far left," Gerrard said, craning his head. "Close by the wall. Patience was with him."

Alathea spotted the purple plume Patience Cynster wore in her hair. "There-by the second mirror."

They headed that way but in tacking through the crowd, Gerrard forged ahead. Gabriel drew Alathea closer. "I need to talk to Vane about this-Gerrard could be in danger."

Alathea glanced at him, concern in her eyes. "From Crowley?"

"Yes. I need you to distract Patience while I talk to Vane."

"Why can't you talk about the matter in front of Patience? Gerrard is her brother, after all."

"That's why. And in case it's escaped your notice, Patience is increasing, so Vane will certainly not want her worrying over a threat to Gerrard that we're going to ensure never materializes."

"So you want me to distract her? To connive at keeping her in the dark over something she has a perfect right to know-" Alathea broke off, another idea overriding all thought of Patience's sisterly rights. "Tell me-if there was any threat to Charlie or Jeremy, would you tell me, or make sure I never heard of it?"

The way Gabriel's lips sealed into a thin line was answer enough. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Men! Why on earth you imagine-"

"Just tell me-who wants Crowley stopped?"

Alathea blinked. "I do."

"And who did you ask to stop him?"

"You."

"I vaguely recall stipulating that you had to obey my orders."

"Yes, but-"

"Thea, stop arguing. I need to talk to Vane and I don't want Patience unnecessarily upset."

Put like that… "Oh, very well." She threw him a stern look. "But I don't approve."

They drew free of the crowd and advanced on Vane and Patience. With an assured smile, Alathea drew Patience aside; Gabriel hid a smile as he overheard her ask after Patience's condition. The perfect topic, the perfect excuse to exclude the menfolk from their councils.

The males in question quickly formed their own huddle.

"What do you think?" Vane asked.

"Altogether too dangerous. Crowley would have prised it out of Archie Douglas before they'd got to the first ring." Gabriel looked at Vane. "I take it Archie was sufficiently compos mentis to recognize you?"

"Definitely-he was remarkably sober, but then it was before noon."

Gabriel looked at Gerrard. "Nothing for it then-we've got to get you out of sight."

Gerrard shrugged. "I could go home to Derbyshire for a bit."

"No-too far. You have to be within reach of London and the courts. We'll need you as a witness to corroborate the details of the company's proposal to investors."

"How do you think Crowley will react?" Vane asked.

"I think," Gabriel replied, "that he'll pause and take stock. He's been in this game too long to act rashly. And he's very close to calling in his notes. I think he'll reason that Gerrard will have consulted me after the meeting-there's no reason he should suspect I knew anything about the meeting beforehand. Indeed, if Gerrard had mentioned one of Crowley's schemes to me ahead of any meeting, I would have advised against the meeting taking place. So he'll imagine I was consulted afterward, and that I've advised Gerrard against the investment. He hasn't heard from Gerrard again, and now he'll know why. He's so close to getting his hands on a small fortune, he'll be very hesitant over unnecessarily rocking his boat. I don't think he'll come searching for Gerrard yet, but I do think he will, and with a vengeance, the instant he hears there's a petition lodged against the company."

"How dangerous is he?"

Gabriel met Vane's gaze. "He'll kill without a qualm." Vane's brows rose. Gabriel continued, "The information I've received suggests he's plowed every last penny into this venture-if the company's notes fail, he'll be ruined. And he'll likely have some rather unsavory and irate creditors after him, too. Basically, I'd rate Crowley as more dangerous than a rabid rat cornered."

"Hmm." Vane's gaze shifted to his wife, chatting animatedly with Alathea three feet away. "I'm concerned about Patience. She seems rather pale, don't you think?"

Gabriel considered the bloom of health blushing Patience's fair cheeks. "Definitely peaked."

"A short sojourn in Kent would be just the thing to restore her. Fresh air, sunshine-"

"Scores of your workers in the fields surrounding the manor. Just what the doctor ordered." Gabriel swung to Gerrard, who had listened in silence. "Of course, as a dutiful brother, you'll accompany your sister into the country."

Gerrard grinned. "Whatever you say-I can sketch there as well as here."

Vane gestured to Patience and Alathea. "Shall we break the news?"

Ten minutes later, Gabriel and Alathea stepped once more into the crowd. Alathea smiled. "That was very thoughtful of Vane to be so concerned over Patience, even if there is no need. She's perfectly well."

"Yes, well, husbands have to do what husbands have to do, especially when they're Cynsters." Gabriel glanced at her. "Did you learn anything useful?"

"We were talking about pregnancy."

"I know."

Alathea took one more step, froze, then whirled on him. "What do you-? You don't-?"

He opened his eyes wide. "Don't what?" The musicians started up. Sliding one arm about her waist, he drew her to him, into his arms, onto the floor.

Staring straight over his shoulder, Alathea drew in a tight breath. Ignoring the color burning her cheeks, she categorically stated, "I am not pregnant."

His deep sigh feathered the curls about her ear. "Ah, well, one lives in hope."

His hand moved on her back in soothing little circles. Alathea bit her lip against a sudden compulsion to blurt out the truth-that she didn't know if she was or not. She was not, definitely not, going to talk about such things with him. Especially not with him.

"You will be pregnant with my child one day-you know that, don't you?"

She shut her eyes-tried to shut her ears to the words but they kept falling, straight into her mind, her heart, her empty, yearning soul.

"You love children-you want children of your own. I'll give you as many as you like."

They circled, neither paying any attention to the dance, moving to a tune heard on a different plane.

"You want to have my child-I want that, too. It'll happen one day, Thea-trust me, it will."

She shivered. To her immense relief he said nothing more but simply steered her around the floor. By the time the music ended and he released her, she'd regained her mental feet. She did not, however, meet his eyes; instead, she scanned the room. "I should check with Serena-'

"Everything's fine-she told me to keep you from worrying."

That had her searching his face. "She didn't."

"She did, and you know a gentleman should do everything in his power to satisfy his hostess."

Her pithy retort was cut off by the descent of Lord and Lady Collinridge, the neighbors who owned the old barn with the narrow back window. The Collinridges had known them both from childhood but hadn't met Gabriel for years; with a sweet smile, Alathea encouraged Lady Collinridge to twit her tormentor for all she was worth.

In the end, Gabriel invented a summons from his mother to escape, taking her with him.

"Jezebel," he whispered as they made their way through the crush, now as bad-as good-as any ball that Season. "You enjoyed that."

"You deserved that," Alathea retorted. A sudden press of bodies brought them to a temporary standstill, him behind her.

"Hmm-and what else do I deserve?"

Alathea swallowed a gasp as one large hand slid over her hip to perform a leisurely, all-too-knowing circuit of her silk-clad bottom.

Closing his hand, Gabriel lowered his head and whispered in her ear, "Perhaps you'd like to retreat to your office-I was, after all, ordered by your stepmother to do my very best to keep you amused."

Alathea couldn't resist the urge to tip her head back and meet his eyes. Under their heavy lids, they glowed with golden fire. There was absolutely no doubt of what he was thinking.

Her gaze dropped to his lips. Did temptation come any more potent than this?

The crush about them eased, and she managed to draw breath. "There's no lock on my office door, remember?"

She'd spoken before she'd thought-her cheeks flamed. The wicked chuckle he gave made her think of a buccaneer about to seize her, but his hand left her bottom-her fevered flesh-closing briefly, affectionately, on her hip before he released her. The flow of people resumed and they moved on.

Almost immediately they encountered Lady Albemarle, a distant Cynster connection, and stopped to chat. From her, they passed on to Lady Horatia Cynster.

"I have no idea," she responded to Gabriel's query, "if Demon and Felicity will return to town before the end of the Season. They're enjoying themselves hugely by all accounts. The last we heard, they were in Cheltenham."

They chatted easily for some minutes, then once again moved on. When the next lady with whom they paused to exchange greetings proved to be another Cynster connection, Alathea had to wonder. It was true there were a lot of Cynsters and many more family connections. Nevertheless…

As they strolled on again, she caught Gabriel's eye. "You're not, by any chance, introducing me to your family?"

"Of course not-they already know you. And those who don't were introduced to you in the receiving line."

Alathea sighed exasperatedly. The look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, warned her any protest would be fruitless-his intention was fixed. The reins were presently in his hands and he was driving as hard as he could toward matrimony. She shook her head. "You're impossible!"

His lips quirked. "No. You're impossible. I'm merely immovable."

She tried to smother her giggle but failed.

"Lady Alathea!" Lord Falworth pushed through the crowd to bow before her. "Dear lady, I've been searching quite doggedly, I do assure you." He shot a censorious glance at Gabriel. "But now I've found you, I believe a cotillion is starting. If you would do me the honor?"

Alathea smiled. For all his foppish tendencies, Falworth was an amiable gentleman and an unexceptionable partner. "Indeed, sir-it is I who would be honored." It was, perhaps, time she put some distance between herself and her self-styled keeper. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Cynster?" With a nod for Gabriel, she placed her hand on Falworth's sleeve and let him lead her to where the sets were forming.

As soon as the dance started, her thoughts reverted to Gabriel, Falworth forgotten. No other gentleman could vie with her nemesis. There was-and very likely always had been-only one man for her, the man she'd been closest to all her life. And now he wanted to marry her. He cared for her, but not in a way she could accept as a safe basis for marriage. What she should do-how she could take charge of the situation and steer a safe course for them both-she had no idea. With every day that passed, the pressure to give in, to surrender and be his wife, grew.

Her one bulwark against that was simple but solid. Fear. An unconquerable, unquenchable fear of a pain so vast, so deep, she'd never be able to survive it. A pain she sensed rather than knew, one she could imagine but had never felt. The sort of pain that no sane person invited or permitted to threaten them.

That much she knew: She was too afraid to ever consent to their marriage if all he felt for her, bar transient desire, was mild affection and a duty of care.

As she circled and swayed through the figures of the cotillion, she considered that truth, and the fact that it meant she would never bear his child.

She would never, ever, have children of her own.

But that had been decided eleven years ago. Fate had yet to revoke her decree.

From the side of the dance floor, Gabriel watched as Alathea gracefully twirled. She was thinking of something, some thing other than the cotillion-there was a distance in her gaze, a closed calmness in her expression that meant she was mentally elsewhere. He was certain she was thinking about him. He wanted her to think of him, but… he had a strong suspicion that her thinking at present was not following the lines he wished. His instincts prodded him to press her, to seize her however he might. Some other emotion-a stronger emotion-warned him the decision was hers. And he knew just how easy she was to influence.

At present, his campaign was mired in circumstance and his quarry was proving elusive. Every time he thought he had her in his grasp, she drew away, hazel eyes wide, slightly puzzled, not convinced.

Nowhere near convinced enough to marry him.

That fact left him feeling caged and not the least bit civilized every time she moved away from his side. There was no convenient wall against which he could lean and guard her, so he prowled the edge of the cleared area, unwilling to be waylaid by any of the ladies intent on catching his eye.

He was successful in avoiding all the encroaching madams, but he couldn't avoid Chillingworth. The earl loomed directly in his path.

Their gazes clashed. By mutual accord, they swung so they stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing over the dance floor.

"I'm surprised," Chillingworth drawled, "that you haven't tired of this game."

"Which game is that?"

"The game of knight-protector, keeping the rest of us at bay." Chillingworth's gaze raked his face. "Being such a close friend of the family's, I can understand why you might feel compelled by the notion, but don't you think you're carrying the role a little far?"

"Now why, I wonder, should that so concern you?" Even as he asked the question, Gabriel felt an icy tingle at his nape.

"I would have thought that obvious, dear boy." Chillingworth gestured toward the dancers, careful not to indicate Alathea specifically. "She's an attractive proposition, particularly to one situated as I."

Every word deepened the chill now steadily coursing Gabriel's veins. The uninformed might imagine Chillingworth meant he was considering seducing Alathea because he was presently amorously free. Gabriel knew better. The earl was of their class, from the same social stratum as the Bar Cynster; he was their contemporary in every way. He abided by the same unwritten code Gabriel himself had honored all his adult life. Ladies of good family and good character were not fair game.

Alathea was unmistakeably both. Seducing her was not what Chillingworth had in mind.

His expression impassive, Gabriel looked over the dancers, his gaze fixing on Alathea's face. "She's not for you."

"Indeed?" Challenge rang in Chillingworth's tone. "I realize this may come as a surprise, especially to a Cynster, but the lady herself will ultimately be the judge of that."

"No." Gabriel uttered the word quietly, yet it held enough latent force to make Chillingworth tense. And wait.

Gabriel saw the danger clearly. Chillingworth was Devil's age but had yet to marry. He needed an heir, and for that he needed a wife. He could appreciate Chillingworth's taste in being attracted to Alathea; he was not, however, of a mind to approve.

Alathea loved him, but whether she knew that, or accepted it, he didn't know. She was headstrong and willful, used to charting her own course. She also had that streak of considered recklessness he'd always found alarming. He could never predict what it might lead her to do. She was finding coming to terms with the notion of marrying him difficult. If Chillingworth offered for her hand, might she accept to escape the impasse he'd created?

Despite loving him-or even because of it-might she think to set him free of the chivalric bonds she imagined compelled him by marrying Chillingworth instead?

Over the heads of the other dancers, Gabriel considered Alathea, and knew he couldn't risk it. She felt friendly toward Chillingworth. The earl could be charming when he wished and was, after all, a gentleman in the same mold as he. And Alathea was an earl's daughter. It would be a felicitous match all around.

Except for one thing.

Turning to Chillingworth, Gabriel met his gaze. "If you're imagining rectifying your lack of an heir through an alliance with the Morwellans, I suggest you think again."

Chillingworth stiffened; the look in his eyes suggested he could barely believe his ears. "And why is that?" he asked, his tone steely, his aggression poorly masked.

"Because," Gabriel said, "you would die before you laid so much as a finger on the lady in question, which might make getting your heir a trifle difficult."

Chillingworth stared at him, then looked away, resuming his previously noncombative stance. "I can't," he murmured, "quite believe you said that."

"I meant every word."

"I know." Chillingworth's lips quirked. "How enlightening."

"Just as long as you keep it in mind."

Chillingworth looked to where, the dance having ended, Alathea was strolling on Falworth's arm. Both he and Gabriel stepped out to intercept her. "I'll think about it," Chillingworth replied.

Alathea could not believe how easily Gabriel tracked her through the crowd; she and Lord Falworth had barely begun to stroll before he loomed from the throng. She was, consequently, especially delighted to see Chillingworth by his side.

"My lord." She gave Chillingworth her hand and smiled with real appreciation as he bowed. "I hope you note I took your comments to heart. I could do nothing about the number of guests, but there are many waltzes scheduled tonight."

Chillingworth sighed. "What manner of torture is that, my dear? I assume that, as usual, you have no waltzes free."

Alathea did not miss his sidelong glance at Gabriel. "Unfortunately not."

"However," Chillingworth continued, "unless my ears deceive me, that's a country dance starting up. Might I beg the pleasure of your company?"

Alathea smiled. "I would be delighted."

The dance was one that left them paired throughout. Chillingworth conversed easily on general topics. Alathea answered lightly, off the top of her head, her thoughts, as always, sliding back to Gabriel. She'd lost sight of him when the dance got under way; he was no longer where they'd left him. She wondered where he was, and what he was doing.

At the conclusion of the dance, she laid her hand on Chillingworth's sleeve. He led her from the floor, straight to Gabriel, who was waiting at the other end of the ballroom from where they'd parted.

Alathea resisted an urge to raise her eyes to the skies. Drawing her hand from Chillingworth's arm, she positioned herself between them, ready to jab an elbow into either of their ribs should they infringe her conversational standards.

Somewhat to her surprise, neither did. Chillingworth seemed careful, watchful. Gabriel was his usual arrogant self, the reality uncloaked given it was only Chillingworth, whom he patently regarded as an equal, with them. Then Amanda, escorted by Lord Rankin, joined them. A minute later, Amelia glided up on Lord Arkdale's arm.

"This is such a lovely ball, Lady Alathea." Amanda beamed her delight. "I'm enjoying myself hugely." The minx batted her long lashes at Rankin, who, all unknowingly, glowed.

"It's a crush-a positive crush," Amelia chimed in. "There are so many here." She smiled at Lord Arkdale. "Why, I've never had the chance to chat with Freddie here, before."

"I hope," Alathea cut in, preempting Gabriel, "that you're wise enough to take full advantage of the possibilities offered."

"Oh, indeed," Amanda assured her. "Our dance cards are full. We've danced every dance with a different gentleman."

"And spent every interval with still different gentlemen," Amelia added. Both girls softened the news of their deliberate inconstancy with a ravishing smile at their escorts. Neither gentleman was sure whether to preen or not.

"Incidentally, Gabriel, we haven't sighted Lucifer."

Amanda fixed her angelic blue eyes on her cousin's face. "Is he here?"

"He was."

"He must have discovered something terribly interesting. Or someone," Amelia ingenuously announced.

"I saw Lady Scarsdale, and Mrs. Sweeney, too. She was wearing vermillion-a hideous shade. I don't think Lucifer would be with her, do you?"

"Perhaps he's with Lady Todd. I know she's here…"

The twins continued artlessly speculating on Lucifer's current obsession. Their escorts were totally bemused. Gabriel was not, but neither was he willing to deflect their attention. Alathea bit her lip, and let the twins have their revenge.

Under cover of the girls' bright chatter, Chillingworth touched Alathea's arm. Turning, she encountered a slightly rueful expression in the earl's eyes,

"I fear I'm going to desert you, my dear, and leave you captive to this bevy of Cynsters."

Alathea smiled. "They are a riotous lot, but the twins, you see, are celebrating a family victory."

For an instant, Chillingworth's eyes held hers, then his gaze flicked to Gabriel, presently exchanging barbs with Amanda. Chillingworth looked questioningly at Alathea. "Cynster, too, I think?"

Alathea didn't know what to think-and even less what to reply.

Chillingworth relieved her of the problem by bowing. "Your servant, my dear. If you ever find yourself in need of help, know you have only to ask."

He then nodded elegantly and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd.

Puzzled, Alathea watched him go, then turned back to Gabriel and the twins.

The next dance was a waltz.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Gabriel, his temper sorely tried by the twins, closed his hand about Alathea's and drew her onto the floor. His arm came around her, holding her close. Their gazes met.

She grinned, but said not a word. She relaxed, following his lead without conscious effort. Scanning the room as they twirled, she saw no indicaiton of any problem; their ball was in full swing and all was well.

She was about to refocus on Gabriel's face when Lady Osbaldestone's flashed past. The gleeful expression in her ladyship's old eyes reminded Alathea of the approval of Lady Jersey, Princess Esterhazy, and the others. How many more had had their eyes opened tonight, their censorious minds alerted?

"This is dangerous-you and me." She looked at Gabriel. "We're going to end as a high treat for the scandalmongers."

"Nonsense. Who's been disapproving?"

No one. Alathea pressed her lips together. After a moment, she said, "I'm too old. The entire ton is expecting you to marry-they won't approve of your marrying me."

"Why not? It's not as if you're in your dotage, for heaven's sake."

"I'm twenty-nine."

"So? If that doesn't worry me, and you know damned well it doesn't, why should it concern anyone else?"

"Bachelors of thirty do not customarily marry spinsters of twenty-nine."

"Probably because most spinsters of twenty-nine are that for good reason." Gabriel caught her eye. "You're that for a completely different reason-a reason that is no longer valid. You've done what you needed to do-you've set your family back on their feet. You've held the fort until Charlie can take over, and trained him to do it." His voice lowered. "Now it's time to let go and live the life you should have lived. With me."

Alathea remained silent, not sure she could trust her voice.

He continued, "I haven't detected the slightest hint of disapproval-quite the opposite. The senior hostesses all knew your mother-they're thrilled at the thought of you marrying at last. Along with the rest of the ton, they've never understood why you didn't marry. To them, the notion of your marrying me is highly romantic."

Alathea managed a sniff. After a minute, she risked a glance up.

Gabriel's gaze was gently ruthless. "They'll cheer the announcement, when you consent to let me make it. They're not standing in my way."

Only she was. Alathea looked away. There was, it seemed, to be no help from any quarter. She was swimming against a flood tide.

In the nearby card room, Devil Cynster, Duke of St. Ives, strolled up to the earl of Chillingworth, who was standing by a wall watching a hand of piquet.

"Amazing. I never thought to see you pull in your horns." Devil glanced pointedly toward the ballroom. "I find it difficult to believe there are no possibilities in there. If you don't look quick, you'll be cold tonight. I, at least, have a warm bed to hie home to."

Chillingworth looked amused. "And what makes you think I haven't? The only difference between you and me, dear boy, is that your bed will be the same tomorrow night, while mine has at least a chance of being different."

"On the other hand, there's something to be said for consistently high standards."

"At present, I'll settle for variety. That aside, to what do I owe this questionable pleasure?"

"Just checking on your current interest."

"To make certain we don't cross bows? Pull the other one."

Devil settled his shoulders against the wall. "Purely altruistic, on my part."

Chillingworth hid a smile. "Altruistic? Tell me, is it me you're interested in keeping whole, or another more nearly related?"

Devil studied the crowd in the ballroom through the arch directly before them. "Let's just say that I've no wish to see any misunderstanding cloud the otherwise congenial relationship between your family and mine."

Chillingworth said nothing for several minutes, also staring at the figures jostling in the ballroom. Then he shifted. "If I was to say that I have no intention of disrupting the harmony currently reigning between our houses, would you do me one favor?"

"What?"

"Don't tell Gabriel."

Devil turned his head. "Why?"

His lips quirking wryly, Chillingworth pushed away from the wall. "Because it's entertaining watching him rise to my bait, and," he murmured, just loud enough for Devil to hear as he moved away, "I consider that fitting consolation."