Chapter Twelve
There was not one good reason to attend the Nyman rout.
In fact, he could think of a thousand reasons it was a bloody stupid idea, but he ignored all those reasons and instead found a corner of the crowded ballroom and watched for one family’s arrival.
The room shimmered with the glow of crystal chandeliers, their candlelight casting golden flecks across polished parquet floors and silk-clad dancers, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and ambition.
He noted the absence of Lord Woodbury and prayed he’d not make a late appearance. But even as he considered it, the realization slammed into him: if it wasn’t Woodbury, it would be someone else.
Unless…
But he couldn’t do what “unless” required, because he wasn’t the caliber of man that Lady Peregrine needed, or wanted.
It didn’t matter what he wanted.
It only mattered what she needed.
Which should have been his first bloody clue he was falling for the same woman who both irritated him to death and kept him up at night considering her wit and her smile. Her laughter, sharp as a blade yet warm as a hearth, haunted his dreams, unraveling the defenses he’d honed as a rake.
Damn it all. He was everything he swore to never become. And helpless against it.
Yet, even as he was thinking all these things, his eyes scanned the room, watching every new person who entered through the ballroom doors, his traitorous heart expectant. And then, as if it couldn’t betray him further, the bloody organ pounded out a sporadic rhythm the moment he saw her.
Henley strode in first, his expression bored—not that Gabriel could blame him—his sister following close behind, her delicate arm tucked into her sister-in-law’s as they spoke, a warm smile illuminating Lady Peregrine’s expression and spearing through him like a lance.
Her gown of emerald silk caught the candlelight, its hue a bold contrast to her pale skin, drawing every eye, though she seemed oblivious to the stir she caused.
His feet started in their direction before he could command them to stop.
Just one dance. He tasted the lie even as he spoke it.
Henley spotted him first, pausing and giving a nod of welcome.
Gabriel gave a short bow and grinned at his friend, wondering if he held any suspicions as to why Gabriel continued to make an appearance at social functions.
“Good evening,” Henley welcomed, then a moment later, his lips pinched.
Gabriel took note and considered what might have caused such a reaction.
Did he, in fact, suspect him? Henley’s eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, flickered with a brother’s wariness, a reminder that Gabriel’s charm would not easily sway him where Pere was concerned.
“Actually”—Henley turned to his sister and wife—“if you’ll excuse us a moment?” He lifted his wife’s hand and kissed it, his fingers lingering with a tenderness that spoke of devotion, then nodded toward a lesser-populated area of the ballroom.
Gabriel followed, curious and cautious. “What is on your mind?” Gabriel asked when Henley turned to face him.
Gabriel’s senses were on alert.
“We were invited to dinner at my mother’s house this week,” Henley began.
Gabriel shifted his expectations, noting that he was not under scrutiny. “Yes? Is that so odd?”
“Yes. Actually.” Henley sighed. “And I learned that Edwin, my dear elder brother—the one out gallivanting across the Continent to avoid the scandal he created last summer—is returning home like the prodigal son.”
“Interesting,” Gabriel replied. “That certainly could be a myriad of things, and we won’t know what to expect till he arrives.”
“Exactly, and with…” Henley paused and seemed to study Gabriel.
“Yes?”
“I have reason to be very protective of my wife,” Henley spoke cryptically.
Gabriel frowned. “As opposed to being unprotective, which is in opposition to your character in every way. Do you understand my confusion?” Gabriel froze. “Do you expect your brother to … have ill intentions…” He spoke the words in a low, lethal whisper.
Certainly not.
Henley shook his head, easing some of the tension in Gabriel’s chest. “No, you are slightly misunderstanding. Anna will soon be in her confinement—”
“Ah, and it all makes sense now.” Gabriel nodded. “Congratulations, old chap. An heir.”
“Indeed.” Henley’s expression shifted into a satisfied and rather smug, prideful smile.
Gabriel chuckled, then sobered at once. “And, since you do not know what to expect from your brother…”
“You understand my tension.”
“Yes. As much as I can under the circumstances.”
“Regardless, I wanted you aware since you are more intimately acquainted with last year’s situation.”
“Thank you, it is appreciated. How is your sister taking the news?” Gabriel asked before he could think better of it.
Henley snorted. “She’s irritated.”
“That sounds about right.” Gabriel chuckled, already imagining her expression in learning the news.
Her brow would arch, her lips twisting in that wry, defiant way that made his heart stutter, as if she could scold the world itself into submission.
“You know her well,” Henley remarked.
“I’ll be sure to add to that irritation and ask for a waltz, with your permission,” Gabriel tested.
Henley met his gaze with an amused expression. “At your own risk.”
“Don’t I know it?” Gabriel replied with quick wit, but the meaning was deep. The risk was not merely her sharp tongue but the way she dismantled his carefully crafted facade with a single glance.
The risk was great, the risk to his heart.
He followed Henley back to his family and watched Lady Peregrine as he approached, studying her for any indication of her feelings toward him, even if it was merely irritation.
Anything was better than indifference.
Indifference was what began the rift between his parents.
It was the catalyst that led to defiance, and then deception.
And that deception ended in his father’s demise.
His heart thick with memories, he nearly missed the softening of Lady Peregrine’s expression when she first saw him.
Hope swelled, overwhelming everything else in his heart, and he offered a tentative smile. It was not the polished grin of a rake, but a raw, unguarded gesture that left him exposed, a confession he dared not voice.
Never had he felt so out of his element.
He was known for his charm, his wit, his ability to seduce with words and a look.
Hell, he’d used those very charms on her, multiple times.
But … this was different.
Because it mattered.
And it was real.
No playing, no examples to be made … just honesty.
And he felt naked.
Her expression quickly shuttered, and she glanced away.
With a deep breath, he forced the charm that usually came so naturally.
“Lady Anna, Lady Peregrine.” He bowed, then took Lady Peregrine’s hand, lifting it to his lips.
He watched as Lady Peregrine met his gaze then, her eyes widening as he gripped her hand a little firmer than necessary, his thumb, hidden under her palm, rubbing deliciously along her skin as he kissed the air above her wrist. The touch was a secret shared in the crowded ballroom, a silent promise that sent heat coursing through his veins.
Her eyes darkened, then narrowed as if suspicious.
He couldn’t resist the grin that spread across his features.
“Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Peregrine?” He didn’t release her hand, and when she tugged slightly, he held firm, the grin at his lips growing.
Her resistance only fueled his desire to draw her closer, to see how far her boldness would carry her.
“May I have my hand back if I agree?” she asked softly, a little menace to her tone.
Her voice carried that familiar spark, sharp enough to cut yet laced with a teasing warmth that made his pulse race.
He bit back a chuckle as he released her hand, but not before caressing it once more with his thumb. The fleeting touch was a dare, a test of her reaction, and the flush on her cheeks was his reward.
“I’d hate to think you only dance with me under duress, my lady.”
Lady Peregrine arched a brow. “Yes, because I’ve never danced with you under false pretenses, my lord,” she alluded to the first time they danced, when he used his charm against her, trying to prove the dangers in her quest to reform a rake.
It seemed like another lifetime but had only been a month or two.
“Free will is so much sweeter than duress, don’t you agree?”
She studied him for a moment, then offered her dance card.
Victory tasted sweet as he wrote his name next to the first waltz. “And in the meantime, care to take a turn about the room with me?” he asked, knowing he was venturing into new territory.
Her eyes flickered to her brother, then back. “If I must.” She held out her hand again.
Her tone was laced with mock exasperation, but the glint in her eyes betrayed a willingness to play his game.
“And to think I’m known for my charm, and yet you seem immune,” Gabriel mentioned as he led her away toward the edge of the ballroom.
The crowd parted around them, their whispers a soft hum, as if the ton sensed the spark igniting between the rake and the lady who dared to challenge him.
“And to think, I once fell for it,” she shot back, her lips pulling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but rather they sparked with teasing anger.
Her words were a blade, sharp and precise, yet the curve of her lips invited him to parry.
“That’s encouraging to know you’re not completely immune.”
“Yes, allow me to encourage your clearly wounded pride … because I’m sure there’s a dearth of … companions for you seeking your company.” Her expression pinched, and she quickly covered it up with a bland smile.
Her sarcasm cut deeper now, tinged with a jealousy she couldn’t quite hide, and it stirred something primal in him.
“Ah, that’s right, you noticed a while ago. I quite forgot.”
“I would think that the lady in question would find that quite offensive, that you forgot so quickly.”