A Gentleman Never Tells (12 page)

The viscount presented Mr. Iverson Brentwood and Mr. Matson Brentwood to her. It wasn’t just the longer length of Iverson’s hair that made him different from Matson. She sensed something about his air of nonchalance that immediately told her this man was a rogue of the highest order. Mr. Iverson Brentwood looked her directly in the eyes and lifted his chin slightly, as if to challenge her to try to figure him out, but she had no desire to do so. She greeted him pleasantly and then turned her attention to the more affable Mr. Matson Brentwood. The last thing Gabrielle wanted to do was to match wits with another roguish Brentwood.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lady Gabrielle,” Mr. Matson Brentwood said with a much more engaging smile than his twin.

Gabrielle returned his smile. “Would that be from Lord Brentwood, the gossips, or from the scandal sheets?”

He chuckled. “All three.”

She smiled. “Judging by some of the gossip I’ve heard about myself tonight, I can only imagine the kind of wagers that must be going on at White’s and other clubs about me and Lord Brentwood.”

Matson gave a quick glance to Lord Brentwood, as if to ask if the subject was acceptable, before he answered. “It’s true there are quite a few, but Iverson and I are not strangers to scandal ourselves. Perhaps you’ve heard some of the gossip about us.”

“Yes, more than once, but I never put stock in gossip.” She looked over at Lord Brentwood and said, “Besides, now that I’ve gotten a closer look at the two of you, I can tell that both of you look just like Lord Brentwood.”

Matson lifted his eyebrows and quirked his head slightly to the side. “Really?”

Iverson added, “If true, you are the first to think that.” He looked over at Brentwood and asked, “Does she wear spectacles when she’s not at parties?”

Lord Brentwood grinned. “Perhaps that is why I have such a difficult time getting her to see things my way.”

While his brothers laughed at his remark, Gabrielle smiled and took the time to look each of them in the eyes before she answered Mr. Iverson Brentwood with, “How could you not favor? All three of you are tall, powerful-looking, and handsome.”

Lord Brentwood and his brothers laughed again, and Gabrielle was suddenly aware of how natural it seemed for her to be so at ease with these three gentlemen.

“There you are, Lord Brentwood, I’ve been looking for you. I simply must speak with you about a pressing matter.”

Gabrielle turned to see the Earl of Snellingly walking up to them, holding a lace handkerchief in one hand and a small leather-bound book in the other. The points of his collar were so stiff and high, his head was cocked back in an odd-looking position. His neckcloth looked to be tied in a fancy triple bow with wide ends that flared and covered a good portion of his dark pink waistcoat. The cuffs of his shirt had so many layers of lace, his fingertips were barely visible.

After proper introductions to the twins, who promptly excused themselves, Lord Snellingly turned to Gabrielle and, taking her hand in his, said, “Every time I see you, you remind me of a slice of warm sunshine on a cold and dreary day.”

He bent and kissed the back of her gloved hand. Gabrielle worried he might choke himself, because his collar looked so tight.

“Thank you, my lord,” Gabrielle said as she slowly pulled her hand from his grasp.

Lord Brentwood eyed the earl warily and moved closer to Gabrielle. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Snellingly?”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Snellingly said and then sniffed into his handkerchief as he took a step closer to the viscount. “Pardon me for interrupting your tête-à-tête with the most charming Lady Gabrielle, my lord, but her beauty made me forget my sorrow for a moment. I thought perhaps you could help me, as we have the same troubles.”

Lord Brentwood’s eyes drew together with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“My darling little spaniel, Josephine, ran away from me yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to find her. I heard you have been walking the parks and streets for a week, annoying everyone, trying to find your dog. I thought perhaps you might have seen her.”

The viscount’s eyes darkened and narrowed. His shoulders shifted. “Did you say I’ve been annoying everyone?”

“Annoying? No, no.” The earl’s eyes widened, and he sniffed again. “Well, yes, I might have said that, but forgive me. I’m sure I meant to say asking everyone. You’ve been asking everyone, and no, surely not everyone, but some people. Again, forgive me, my lord, as I’m overwrought because Josephine hasn’t returned home yet. Please tell me you have seen her.”

Lord Brentwood took a step back. “Naturally I’ve seen several stray dogs in the park, but I don’t recall seeing a spaniel.”

Lord Snellingly rolled his eyes up and put his hand to his forehead. “Oh, it pains me to hear you say that. Are you quite sure? Her coat is an exquisite shade of cream with a smattering of golden-brown spots on her back and a large one that circles down the side of her face and over her left ear. She has a good disposition, seldom barks, and is sweet and loving to everyone she meets.”

“I’m sure she is. I haven’t seen Josephine, but if I do I’ll catch her and bring her to you.”

“Thank you. You don’t think it’s true what some people are saying about Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, do you? Do you think he has stolen our dogs and is keeping them for himself?”

Lord Brentwood shifted his stance restlessly and cleared his throat before saying, “I can assure you that is not the case with Prissy, Lord Snellingly.”

“Then what has happened to them?” he asked, a nervous twitch attacking one of his eyes. “It’s as if they’ve simply disappeared into thin air. I think it could be true. I’ve heard Lord Pinkwater was quite fond of dogs when he was alive. I don’t think I could bear it if I knew my sweet little Josephine was living with a ghost and couldn’t get back to me.”

Lord Brentwood glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that seemed to be asking, “Where did this fop come from?” Lord Brentwood was clearly not interested in having the ghost conversation with the earl. Gabrielle knew it was time to direct the conversation in a different direction.

“Perhaps there is a dog thief in town, Lord Snellingly,” Gabrielle said. “Perhaps someone is taking the dogs.”

The earl frowned and looked from Gabrielle to Lord Brentwood. “For what purpose would they? The only thing I can think of is if they wanted to use them for such dastardly deeds as experiments for some insane alchemist or depraved physician, or perhaps to be fed to other animals.”

Gabrielle’s eyes widened in shock at the earl’s inappropriate comments. She glanced over at Lord Brentwood, whose frown had deepened to anger.

She quickly said, “No, my lord, such things as that never entered my mind. I meant someone who wanted to love the dogs and care for them, of course. Dogs such as the quality of your Josephine and Lord Brentwood’s Prissy are highly sought after as pets. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, yes, of course, pardon me, my dear.” Lord Snellingly sniffed into his handkerchief and took the book he held in the other hand and placed it over his heart. “It’s just that no one could love Josephine as I do. No one. I’ve written a poem about her. Since you are both so fond of dogs, I’ll recite it for you.”

Without giving either Gabrielle or Lord Brentwood time to object or retreat, Lord Snellingly looked up toward the ceiling and said:

“With shining black eyes and fast dancing feet

My beloved Josephine is no longer mine to greet

Take my wife, take my wine

I shall never once repine

Take my breath and all sunshine

Take my health and my wealth

But not my darling Josephine’s yelp

My yearning is deep, intense, and fatal.”

Gabrielle gasped and interrupted him. “Surely you don’t mean fatal, Lord Snellingly?”

He looked down at her. “Oh, not as in death, of course not.” He sniffed in his handkerchief again. “But I don’t know how I shall live without my sweet little companion. I thought perhaps coming to this party tonight might cheer me, but the only thing that really helps is my poetry. Shall I recite another for you?”

“Excuse me, Lord Snellingly,” Lord Brentwood said. “I see someone I must speak to before they leave. But please do recite another poem for Lady Gabrielle. I have it on good authority she adores poetry almost as much as she loves dogs.” He turned to Gabrielle with a mischievous grin, and in a low-pitched voice that sounded far too intimate and much too cocky, he said, “Lady Gabrielle, thank you for the dance; now enjoy the poetry.”

There was no way in hell Brent was going to listen to another word from that sniveling fop. He wanted to get as far away from the man as he could, but Lady Gabrielle deserved to listen to more of the obnoxious man’s dreadful poetry. Brent loved the look of shock on her face when he turned away.

He chuckled when he heard:

“Happy bark, wagging tail…”

Brent smiled to himself as he made his way through the crowd in search of drink or his brothers, whichever came first. He couldn’t imagine what had made Lady Gabrielle pretend she couldn’t dance. Her feet must be killing her. He must have stepped on her toes at least five or six times.

Ah, but she was beautiful. The moment he saw her tonight, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She was stunning in that pink velvet gown. When he’d brought her into his embrace for the waltz, it took all his willpower not to pull her up close and hug her to his chest. He watched her lips when she talked, and all he could think was that he wanted to kiss her until she surrendered to his will.

Someone tapped Brent on the shoulder, and he turned around just in time to see a fist heading straight for his face. He tried to duck, but the punch was so unexpected, he didn’t have time to react fast enough. The fist landed on the corner of his mouth that had just healed. Brent stumbled backward and bumped into someone, who gasped. Somehow, he managed to catch his footing and didn’t hit the floor. In his younger years, Brent had been in one or two fights at tavern brawls, and he’d matched his fists against others at notable boxing salons, but he couldn’t ever remember being caught off guard.

Brent’s right hand closed tightly, and his arm flew back, ready to take on his attacker. He stopped short when the irate man was quickly grabbed by a couple of other men. He was held back when he lunged forward at Brent again. Brent’s fist clenched nervously, tightening, itching to knock the man’s teeth down his throat, but Brent couldn’t hit a man whose arms were being held behind his back.

“Let go of me,” the stranger yelled. “I want to hit him again!”

“No, Staunton!” said one of the men holding him. “Stop this madness.”

The name Staunton reverberated in Brent’s ears as his breaths came fast and hard.

Lady Gabrielle’s former fiancé.

Now Brent knew why the man had attacked him. Brent’s fist relaxed a little, and he lowered his arm. He supposed he’d be fighting mad, too, if their situations were reversed, but Brent doubted he would have waited a week to punch any blade who dared to touch his fiancée. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have resorted to such a cowardly strike to an unsuspecting man.

With his thumb, Brent wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and fixed the man with a cold stare. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You’re bloody right you did,” Staunton said, struggling to free himself from the men who held him. “You deserve to be run through with a sword for what you did.”

Brent looked at Staunton. He seemed to be close to Brent’s age but not nearly as tall or as big. To engage someone almost twice his size, the man had to be either courageous or have a whole jug of whiskey in his stomach. A crowd had gathered around them and was quickly growing larger by the second.

“Perhaps,” Brent said calmly, “that one makes us even, but if you want to try your hand at getting ahead, I’m ready. Let’s take this fight out of Lady Windham’s house and into the park.”

“No, he’s through,” said the oldest man who held Staunton.

“I’m not,” Staunton said bitterly. “I insist on meeting him in the park.”

“You can’t. Your father will disinherit you if you have another fight. You’ve had too much to drink, and you’re not thinking properly. Now come on, and let’s get out of here before you cause more trouble for yourself and everyone else.”

Staunton jerked free of the men and pulled on the tail of his coat before walking past Brent, deliberately knocking against Brent’s shoulder as he did. Brent started to grab the man and give him the fight he was looking for, but as his arm drew back, he saw Lady Gabrielle forcing her way through the crowd with Iverson right behind her. In that split second, he knew the last thing he, Lady Gabrielle, or his brothers needed or wanted was more scandal. And certainly Lady Windham didn’t deserve an all-out brawl in her drawing room.

“My lord, what happened?” Lady Gabrielle asked, stopping in front of him.

“Nothing worth talking about, Lady Gabrielle,” he said, knowing he needed to say as little as possible and leave with even less fanfare, as his brothers would say.

“Are you all right?” Iverson asked, scowling as he moved to stand beside him.

Brent nodded.

“You are not all right,” Lady Gabrielle said, her features marred with concern. “Your lip is bleeding. Tell me what happened to you.”

“I’ll tell you,” someone called from the crowd. “Mr. Alfred Staunton punched him in the mouth.”

Her eyes rounded with horror and concern. “Did he?” she said. She stepped closer to him and whispered, “Did you provoke him, my lord?”

A half laugh passed his aching lip. He wanted to say,
Yes, Lady Gabrielle, I provoked him by taking you in my arms and kissing and touching you so thoroughly that still I cannot get the taste of you off my tongue, the scent of you from my nose, or wash the feel of you from my hands.
But that wasn’t the kind of thing a gentleman said in front of a crowd that was getting larger by the second.

He couldn’t continue standing there, talking to Lady Gabrielle or his brother, and feeding the gossips.