Chapter Six
Gabriel studied the refreshment table with mild disgust. If someone were spending this ungodly amount of money to throw a ball, the least they could do was have chilled lemonade.
The punch had the pallor of weak tea left too long in the sun; even the flies circled it with suspicion.
He shook his head in frustration. But by all accounts, he shouldn’t even be attending—yet here he was.
And with that same frustration, he scanned the dancers, looking for one in particular.
It wasn’t his place, yet the fact he had somehow gotten through that stubborn streak in Lady Peregrine gave him a flicker of hope, and hope was dangerous because it never stayed silent; it always whispered what if.
Only, where his usual mental thoughts were of the darker variety regarding that delicious word if, hope was addictive, promising—it had a future.
Whereas, he was quite certain, a future full of hope wasn’t part of his destiny.
However, if it meant that his friend’s sister didn’t end up ruined this season, then he’d be happy to be a part of that mission and hope, for her sake.
And, just as soon as that delightful sensation of hope flickered through him, it was singed by the utter rage that followed when he saw Lord Weston dancing with Lady Peregrine.
Weston.
He wasn’t the rake who avoided the virginal debutantes; he was the sort who enjoyed corrupting them.
His hand rode lower on her back than decorum allowed, fingers splayed like a brand.
Whatever hope Gabriel had entertained that he’d made a difference in her plans evaporated, and with an annoyed glare, he searched for Henley.
Giving one last glance at the refreshment table, he started to make his way around the perimeter of the room.
He spotted Henley and followed his frowning expression; upon seeing his attention on his wayward sister, the tension in Gabriel’s shoulders began to release.
“Tense?” a soft voice asked from beside him.
A smile teased his lips before he turned and reached out for her offered hand. “Lady Smithson.” He caressed her name with his tone, meeting her amber eyes and placing a wickedly slow kiss to her gloved hand. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Hmm.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder, her gaze roaming his features with familiarity.
“You doubt me?” he asked, releasing her hand slowly, seductively, as he held to her fingertips for a second longer than needed.
“Never, but it has been … too long.” She raked her gaze up from his feet to his eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would never argue with you, my lady,” Gabriel flirted, stepping a few inches closer. “And my calendar is clear; is yours?” He traced the line of her jaw to her lips.
Even several years older than he, she held the beauty of her youth, a youth that was wasted on an elderly husband who only made it two years before making her a widow—and a merry one at that.
“Is that an invitation, Lord Hawthorne?” he asked, her cheekbones rising as she offered him a delighted smile.
“Only if you want it to be.” He let his gaze linger on her lips, waiting till she gave in to the temptation to lick them, and sensing victory, he lifted his gaze to her eyes.
“Well, there is no time like the present.” She glanced around. “And it is rather dull here.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I’ll have my carriage readied.
Unless you’d rather meet me?” He glanced about, making sure they were not drawing attention.
While the London ton would make some correct assumptions, it wasn’t exactly the on-dit for a known rake to entertain a known merry widow; rather it was considered business as usual.
There were some delightful benefits to knowing one’s place, Gabriel decided.
“If I take my carriage, I’ll attract more attention than I wish, having it wait for me outside your residence, will it not?
And I’m not the sort to stay…” Her brow arched in challenge, as if daring him to make her want to stay longer.
“So I’ll depart with you, and it won’t be any trouble to get me home, will it? ”
“Assuming you do, in fact, wish to leave.”
She gave a small giggle, seductive in nature.
“Ah, Gabriel, I missed you. But not enough to keep your company for that long.” She ran a gloved finger down his arm for a split second and then nodded.
“Ready your carriage; I’ll leave a few minutes after you and meet you there …
you know, in case there’s so little interesting news that they have to gossip about us,” she flirted, and then walked away, swaying her hips and glancing behind once to make sure he noticed.
Gabriel waited till she turned back and made his way toward the door.
Belatedly, he scanned the crowd to make sure that Henley was once more in charge of his disaster of a sister.
But rather than see Henley, his gaze met the piercing one of the lady in question, and Lady Peregrine’s eyes shot through him with queries, her attention flickering to the left and lingering for a moment, then returning to him.
Her chin lifted in a defiant tilt, and she dismissed him, as if a queen holding court.
Gabriel blinked, then noticed her gaze had strayed for that split second to Lady Smithson.
Had she seen? Been watching … him? It was an odd sensation, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Everyone knew his reputation, and he made no qualms about hiding it; however, to be seen so clearly was unnerving.
Because no one paid attention to him; no one saw him.
Yet, for some reason, she did.
And that was the most confusing part of all.
Shaking his head to dispel the conflicting emotions, he made quick work of ordering his carriage and discreetly helping Lady Smithson join him in his luxurious conveyance.
All else forgotten, he lost himself in the pleasure of a playful partner with no expectations, no need for anything more than a few hours of passion.
Her laughter was champagne; her skin, silk.
For a blessed hour, the world narrowed to the creak of leather and the hush of breath.
But as he bid her farewell, an irritating emotion started to surface, rubbing him the wrong way.
He wasn’t sure what it was, which was more frustrating.
He should be relaxed, sated, and rather he found himself restless.
The house was too quiet, his thoughts too loud, and so with a quick glance to the clock, he donned his clothing and made his way to White’s.
The gentleman’s club was the perfect place to avoid one’s emotions and thoughts, he decided as he passed through the door and into the haze of cigar smoke and scent of brandy. The air tasted of oak and regret.
He nodded to several gentlemen and ordered a snifter of brandy, needing something to take the edge off. He sipped quietly as he let the noise of the room thunder around him.
“I placed a hundred pounds on the bet with Ramsford. I think the bloke’s right.”
Gabriel paused, then listened to the conversation taking place beside him between two gentlemen. He angled himself to hear better, and took a slow sip of brandy, waiting.
“Why so little? You think the chit will come to her senses?”
Gabriel held back a glare as he ascertained who the chit in question was likely to be—Lady Peregrine. Was there no escaping that family?
“I think he’s a little too … expectant. I know the lady’s brother, and I’d not want to be on his bad side, if you gather my meaning,” the man huffed.
Gabriel listened intently, curious if they would say more. His patience was rewarded when the other gentleman blew out a breath and then spoke.
“Ramsford’s money—is he good for it? I heard he went in too deep last year in faro. Nearly lost his country estate.”
“You don’t say? I hadn’t heard that, but it wouldn’t surprise me; he’s either in one of the rooms with the faro table or in one of the rooms with the ladies.”
They chuckled together.
Gabriel rolled his eyes and took another long sip of brandy.
It wasn’t shocking to discover Ramsford was lean in the pocket; he had a taste for the excessive side of life.
But it did add a layer of interest to his willingness to entertain Lady Peregrine, because it was known that the Allendale coffers were quite full. Interesting.
“What was the bet for anyway? He isn’t actually betting he’ll marry her, is he? Or does he think the one brother will pay him off to get lost?”
“The elder one is gone, bloody pride and all. So who knows? But I still wouldn’t mess with Allendale.”
“No, but you’re rather deep in your cups if you didn’t even hear my question. What’s the bloody bet actually for? I might want in too.”
“Oh, sorry, chap. It’s to marry the chit. By season’s end.”
Gabriel released a tight breath. Well, that was a twist he didn’t anticipate.
Ramsford was keen on marrying Lady Peregrine, was he?
He couldn’t stifle the chuckle of angered shock that she’d bloody well done it—she’d reformed a rake into thinking about marriage, and only someone of Lady Peregrine’s horrific luck would find that reformation in the form of an eager fortune hunter, one who she wouldn’t suspect, with charm in spades.
It was a bloody horrific disaster.
And he was the only one who knew. Well, at least at the moment.
He stood and drained the last of his brandy and turned to the gentlemen who had been speaking, recognizing them as Lord Hatwell and Lord Longburg, elderly and often bored earls.
“Lord Hatwell, Longburg,” Gabriel addressed them.
“I had the benefit of overhearing part of your conversation, and I’d like to add to this bet.
I assume it’s in the book?” Gabriel asked with a lazy smile, keeping his gaze half bored.
“Of course! And yes, you assume correctly, Lord Hawthorne. Best of luck … to us all.” Hatwell raised his glass and clinked it with his friend’s before taking a sip.
Gabriel took his leave, and rather than walk directly to the betting book, he took a slow route around the room, just in case anyone had been paying attention to his movements. One could never be too cautious.
After he had examined both the faro and the hazard games, he walked over toward the table where the betting book was managed. Just to be cautious, he scanned the room for Ramsford.
As soon as he was certain he was not present, he approached the manager of the book. “I believe there is a specific bet I would like to consider.” Gabriel leaned against the table the perfect picture of insolent boredom.
The manager of the book nodded. “Of course, my lord, what do you fancy?”
Gabriel continued. “The Ramsford wager. I would like to put a thousand pounds wagering that Ramsford will not make the matrimonial match he is claiming.” The manager nodded and made the note. He gestured for Gabriel to sign, and Gabriel did quickly. “I thank you.”
The manager merely nodded, made a few other notes beside Gabriel’s signature and offered no other remarks.
As was the common way for any bets to be placed.
Finished with his business, Gabriel decided that White’s had become far too crowded for his liking.
After a moment’s debate, he choose to leave so he’d get some sleep before the new day, because he had his work cut out for him.
The sleepless night was already wearing on his already exhausted body.
Come tomorrow, there would be no rest for the wicked.
Meaning him. Although, these days, especially with tomorrow’s plans, he felt more like a guardian angel than the devil.
He twirled his cane once—silver head flashing like a warning—before stepping into the dawn. Somewhere across Mayfair, a certain ornithologically inclined debutante was probably cataloguing rakes like rare birds. Let her try to pin this one.