A Secret Love (14 page)

“We're going to look in at Asprey's.” Minnie fixed him with an innocent look. “Perhaps there's some little thing you need from there?”

Gabriel returned the look with one equally innocent. “Not at present.” The image of the countess drifted through his mind. Perhaps, after she'd rewarded him, he would reward her. Diamonds would look well on such a tall woman. Filing the thought away, he bowed. “I won't keep you.”

With a humph softened by a smile, Minnie nodded. Timms took her arm and they moved on. With a grin and a nod, Gerrard turned to follow.

Gabriel hesitated, then called, “Gerrard?”

Gerrard turned back. “Yes?”

“Do you know where Vane is at present?”

“If you want him, try Manton's. I know he was going to meet Devil there sometime this afternoon.”

With a brisk salute, Gabriel headed for Manton's.

“It'll have to be August.” Devil extended his arm and pulled the trigger. His shot was an inch off the center of the target.

Vane squinted down the alley. “That seems awfully close. Is Richard sure?”

“As I understood it, it's Catriona who's sure. Richard, at this stage, isn't sure of anything.”

Moving past Devil to take his shot, Vane grimaced. “I know the feeling.”

“What's this?” Lounging against the partition wall, Gabriel fixed them with a look of mock dismay. “A lesson for expectant fathers?”

Devil grinned. “Come to learn?”

“Thank you, no.”

Grimly, Vane sighted down the long barrel of his pistol. “You'll come to this, too.”

Gabriel grimaced. “Someday perhaps, but spare me my innocence. No details, please.”

Both Honoria, Devil's duchess, and Patience were pregnant. While Devil was displaying the detachment of one who'd been through the wringer before, Vane was already edgy. He pulled the trigger. As the smoke cleared, they saw his bullet had barely nicked the target.

Devil sent the attendant to get another pistol, then turned to Gabriel. “I assume you've heard that our mothers have determined on a special family gathering to welcome Catriona into the family?”

“She's definitely coming down, then?”

Devil nodded. “Mama had a letter from her yesterday. Catriona's decreed she can travel until the end of August. What with Honoria due early July and Patience later that month, it'll have to be August for this celebration of theirs.”

Gabriel blinked, replaying Devil's words. “Don't tell me Richard's joined your club.”

“He has indeed.” Vane grinned evilly. “Now all it needs is for Demon and Flick to get back from their wanderings with Flick blooming, so to speak, and just think where that'll leave you come August.”

Gabriel swore. “I'd better warn Lucifer. Mama is going to be impossible.”

“You could, of course, cheer her up.”

The look Gabriel leveled at Devil was that of a man betrayed. “That is a truly horrible thought.”

Devil laughed. “Strange to say one gets used to the state.” One black brow arched suggestively. “There are compensations.”

“There'd have to be,” Gabriel muttered.

“But if you didn't come to discuss our impending paternity, what brings you here?” Vane, too, settled his shoulders against the wall.

“A swindle.” Briefly, Gabriel outlined Crowley's scheme, avoiding all mention of the countess.

“Crowley.” Devil cocked a brow at Gabriel. “Wasn't he the one with the investment in some diamond mine?” Gabriel nodded.

“You exposed that one, too, didn't you?” Vane asked.

Again Gabriel nodded. “Which is why I need help this time, and not from you or the others.” He looked at Vane. “I need someone not obviously connected.”

Vane looked puzzled; Gabriel quickly explained the necessity of learning the precise details of the offer made to investors.

“And . . . ?” Vane prompted.

“What do you think about using Gerrard Debbington?”

Vane blinked. “As your sheep?”

“I haven't been seen about with him, and if he gives Minnie's address rather than yours, then there's no reason anyone will immediately connect him with any Cynsters. I know Crowley's not
au fait
with the ton—he uses Archie Douglas as his source in that arena, and Archie wouldn't know Gerrard from Adam.”

“True.”

“And even if Archie did ask around, checking Gerrard's background, all he'd hear is that Gerrard is reasonably wealthy and owns a nice manor in Derbyshire. He wouldn't think to ask after Gerrard's connections, or Gerrard's sister.”

“Or Gerrard's guardians.”

“Precisely. Gerrard appears distinctly older than he is.” Vane considered. “I can't see any reason why Gerrard couldn't develop an interest in gold mining.” He looked at Gabriel. “Provided, of course, that we don't tell Patience.”

“I hadn't imagined doing so.”

“Well, then.” Vane straightened away from the wall as the attendant slipped back into the alley. “I'll explain the matter to Gerrard, if you like, and see what he thinks. If he's agreeable, I'll send him to see you.”

Gabriel nodded. “Do.” Picking up the extra pistol the attendant had brought, he hefted it. “So what's the score?”

They fired ten rounds. Gabriel beat the others easily, a fact that made him frown. “Marriage,” he observed, “has dulled your edges.”

Vane shrugged. “It's just a game—hardly important. Marriage has a way of rescripting your priorities.”

Gabriel stared at him, then looked at Devil, who merely looked back, making no attempt to correct Vane's strange thinking.

Reading his thoughts in his eyes, Devil grinned. “Start thinking about it, for as sure as August follows July, your time will come.”

The words froze Gabriel, just as they had at Demon's wedding; again, a tingle of presentiment glissaded down his spine. He managed to suppress his reactive shiver. Adopting an easy expression and his usual debonair manner, he accompanied the other two outside.

At five o'clock, Gabriel was idly scanning the
Gentleman's Magazine
when someone knocked on his door. Listening, he heard Chance's footsteps all but dance up the hall; smiling, he returned to the magazine.

A minute later, the parlor door opened. Chance stood in the doorway. “A Mr. Debbington to see you, m'lord.” Gabriel inwardly sighed. “Thank you, Chance, but I'm not a lord.”

Chance's brow furrowed. “I thought as how all the Quality was lords.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Catching a glimpse of Gerrard, waiting at his elbow to get past, Chance stepped aside, and all but shooed Gerrard over the threshold. “Well, here you are. Do you want me to pour you some brandy?”

“No. That will be all.”

“Very good, sir.” With commendable aplomb, Chance bowed himself out, and remembered to shut the door.

Gerrard stared at the closed door, then looked questioningly at Gabriel.

“He's in training.” Gabriel waved Gerrard to a chair. “Would you like some brandy?”

Gerrard grinned. “No. Patience would be sure to notice.” Once at ease in the chair, he met Gabriel's gaze. “Vane told me about this swindle you're trying to expose. I'd be happy to help. What do you need me to do?”

Omitting all mention of the countess, Gabriel outlined his plan.

A
t noon the next day, Gabriel descended the steps of the Burlington Hotel, well satisfied with the arrangements he'd made. His plan was in motion and developing nicely. Soon the countess would be his.

Turning into Bond Street, he looked ahead. His steps slowed.

Alathea stood on the corner of Bruton Street, hanging back by the shop facade, her gaze on the crowd surrounding a nut vendor.

She'd always been particularly partial to nuts—and she was clearly debating pushing into the crowd to secure a bag. At this hour, the rowdy crew about the vendor's stall was composed of young sprigs and boisterous bucks.

Lips setting, Gabriel had crossed the street before he'd even thought of what he was doing—or going to do. The memory of his last encounter with Alathea flashed—too hotly—into his mind. His jaw set more firmly. Perhaps a bag of nuts would go some small way toward mending his fences with her.

He could hardly excuse his reaction to her by explaining he'd confused her with another lady.

Alathea eyed the circle of male backs between her and the source of the wonderful smell of roasting nuts. That succulent smell had lured her from the doorway of the modiste's where Serena, Mary, and Alice were engaged in making last-minute adjustments to their ballgowns. The salon had been airless and cramped, so she'd come down to the street, intending to simply wait.

That smell had made her stomach growl. Pushing into the crowd, however, would very likely expose her to a score of impertinent remarks. Still . . . her mouth was watering. Deciding she could not exist a minute longer without a bag of nuts, she stepped forward—

“Here.”

A strong hand closed about her elbow and drew her back—her heart nearly leaped free of her chest!

Without meeting her eyes, Gabriel moved past her. “Let me.”

She did, for the simple reason that she dared not move—her legs had turned to jelly. Her latest plan for survival dictated she avoid him at all costs—she'd intended to do just that. She'd been
doing
just that—she was in
Bruton
Street at
noon
, for heaven's sake! What was
he
doing here? She'd never have left the safety of the salon if she'd known he was about.

She clung to her irritation—undoubtedly wiser than surrendering to her panic.

Gabriel turned back to her, a brown paper bag in his hand. “Here.”

She took the bag and busied herself opening it. “Thank you.” She popped a nut into her mouth, then offered the nuts to him.

He took a handful, his gaze on her face. “What are you doing here?”

She met his eyes fleetingly. “I'm waiting for Serena and the girls.” She gestured down Bruton Street. “They're at a fitting.”

Looking down, she took her time selecting another nut. If she gave him absolutely no encouragement, perhaps he would go away. She was acutely aware that the longer she was alone with him as herself, the greater the danger of his recognizing his countess.

Then her conscience prodded—hard.
Damn!
She didn't want to, but . . . Lifting her head, she fixed her gaze on his right ear. “I have to thank you for yesterday. I would have been kicked if you hadn't . . .”

Grabbed her, held her—been aroused by her.

She quickly ended her sentence with a gesture, but her consciousness must have shown in her eyes. To her amazement, from under her lashes, she saw color trace his cheekbones. He was embarrassed? Good lord!

“It was nothing.” His accents were clipped. After a moment, he added in a low voice, “I'd rather you forgot the incident entirely.”

She shrugged and turned to stroll back to the modiste's. “If you wish.” Dare she suggest he do the same?

He fell into step beside her—there seemed little point suggesting he leave her to walk the street alone. Luckily, the bag of nuts gave her a perfect reason for not taking his arm; touching him again would be inviting disaster. As it was, she could stroll with a good two feet separating them—reasonably safe. She flourished the bag of nuts between them, inviting him to help himself as they strolled. It felt like feeding tidbits to a potentially lethal leopard to keep him distracted while she strolled to the cage door.

Thankfully, the door of the modiste's wasn't far. She stopped beside it, contemplating handing him the almost empty bag in lieu of her hand. “Thank you for the nuts.” She met his gaze and realized he was frowning.

She froze—apprehension locked her lungs. Had she said something? Done something?

“You don't happen to know . . .” His tone was diffident. He glanced away. “Have you met a countess, one recently widowed—?”

Gabriel broke off. What was he
doing
? One glance at Alathea's face confirmed he'd said enough. Her expression was deadpan, her eyes blank.

“No.”

He mentally kicked himself. She knew him well enough to guess why he'd asked. A spurt of resentment surfaced; she'd always turned aside any reference to Lucifer's conquests with an amused glance, but she'd never extended the same leniency to him.

He frowned. “Forget I asked.”

She looked at him, blank still. “I will.”

Her voice sounded odd.

He was about to step back, make his excuses, and leave, when the rowdy crew from the nut vendor's stall came barrelling past. One jostled his shoulder. He turned, stepping closer to the shop front, closer to Alathea, instinctively shielding her once more. The group streamed past, then were gone. Turning back to Alathea, his farewells froze on his tongue. “What's the matter?”