Chapter Sixteen
“I suppose it was my turn to receive a cryptic summons.” Gabriel arched a brow as he strode into Henley’s office.
It was an ironic turn of events, one that made him grin slightly.
Life was nothing if not repetitive; however, he found himself quite curious as to why Henley had requested a meeting.
The office was a masculine haven, all dark mahogany and leather-bound books, the faint scent of tobacco and ink lingering in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos of his own thoughts about a certain lady.
Henley stood as Gabriel entered. “Ah, yes, it is quite similar, is it not? Even the subject matter, to a certain extent.” He gestured to a chair, his shoulders tight and the amusement strained in his tone.
Immediately, Gabriel was on edge, curious as to what was on Henley’s mind. “Is all well?”
“Yes,” Henley answered, too quickly. “Or will be.” He ran a finger through his hair and speared Gabriel with an exasperated look. “If and when I have a daughter, I pray she is less work than my sister. Heaven help me.”
“Oh. So we are discussing Lady Peregrine.”
“Yes, again.”
Gabriel didn’t offer a reply; it wasn’t as if he should admit just how much he liked discussing the fascinating lady in question. Her sharp wit, that defiant spark in her eyes, had haunted him since Drury Lane, where her hand in his had felt like both a promise and a peril.
“I must request your assistance, once again.”
“I’m happy to be of service.”
“You might want to wait to say that till you know just what kind of service I’m requesting aid in.”
Gabriel chuckled but kept his peace. If it pertained to Lady Peregrine, as long as Henley didn’t wish him to stay away, he would seize any opportunity as an excuse to be in her company.
He inwardly scolded himself for being so easily captured, but there was nothing for it now.
He was at least willing to admit that much to himself.
The admission was a bitter draught, yet sweeter than denying the pull she exerted, like a star drawing him into its orbit.
“There is a rumor.”
“Always a boon.”
Henley shot him a look that begged him to be silent, and Gabriel smirked and leaned back, but held his tongue, waving for him to continue.
“That I suspect was circulated by a certain widow that was intercepted by my sister … not sure how all that went down; however, the rumor calls into question your intentions toward my sister and puts my sister’s reputation in a less than pristine light.”
“I see.” Hawthorne leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’d have me assist by…” He wasn’t sure how Henley would try to rectify the situation; however, Gabriel had his own thoughts on the subject.
It would be a simple remedy to simply offer for her, here, now, with her brother so clearly pinned in a difficult situation.
He couldn’t, rather, wouldn’t likely, refuse him …
but that didn’t speak for Lady Peregrine’s affections.
And that thought gave him pause, so he held his tongue.
He had accused her of manipulating the situation; he’d not be accused of the same thing, and rightfully so, if he pressed Henley’s hand.
The idea of a forced proposal soured in his mind, a betrayal of the honesty she championed at Drury Lane, where her words on vulnerability had cut him deeper than any flirtation.
No, this would need to take more than an opportunistic circumstance; he knew Lady Peregrine well enough to know she’d never be confident in his affections, should she even return them, if it was forced.
No, it had to be won.
But, just maybe, Henley was offering him the perfect foil for such a gamble.
“Would I ask too much, for you to direct your friendship with my sister to a more public camaraderie, so that the gossip would find no other reason to question her? Even she admits that you two are indeed friends, and showing the ton that side of your personality would hopefully suspend and extinguish any other whispers.”
Gabriel bit back a grin. “Yes, we are indeed friends, of sorts. At times I’m quite certain she’d do me bodily harm, but yes, I suppose that’s a friendship.” Gabriel didn’t add that he usually didn’t kiss friends, but in Lady Peregrine’s case, he’d make an exception every time.
A situation, he decided, that needed to be repeated upon first opportunity.
And, if he was to be in her company and present that it was a welcome and expected proximity, then the opportunity would come quite soon.
However, it did throw into sharp relief how he’d need to be overly cautious, because if the whispers were already surrounding them, he’d have to make sure they ended and not compromise her reputation more.
He would be walking a tightrope of desire, but the reward was worthy of the risk.
The prospect of her nearness, her laughter, her defiance, was a prize he’d never known he wanted until it threatened to consume him.
“Are you in agreement, then?” Henley asked.
And Gabriel realized he hadn’t actually given any verbal approval.
“Yes, I suppose I’ll survive prolonged exposure to her wit and stepping on my toes when I vex her during a waltz.” Gabriel schooled his features to hide just how delighted he was at the prospect.
“Thank you.”
“I suppose you’re attending somewhere tonight. Which ball, and I’ll be sure to run headlong into the fray.”
“You’re … a good friend, Gabriel.” Henley spoke softly, and Gabriel’s conscience twitched, knowing he was not being as open regarding his intentions.
Honesty … the word resurfaced, and he pushed the realization to the back of his mind. Her voice at Drury Lane echoed in his memory—it’s remarkable how little it’s used and how often it will fix most problems—and he wondered if he could ever be brave enough to bare his heart as she did.
“The Smythe ball tonight, that is where we’ll attend.”
“I shall see you there, then.”
Later that night, as Gabriel’s carriage approached the Smythe residence, he adjusted his cravat for the second time, reminding himself that he was likely doing more damage than rectifying any misstep his valet made.
No, he was just merely twitchy, needing to do something with his hands.
The earlier conversation with Henley still rang in his ears, and he felt caught between what was honorable and what he desperately wanted.
To combine the two was possible, but would take a deft hand, and an unusual insecurity filtered through his mind.
As he stepped from the carriage, he took in the landscape.
The Smythe family’s London residence stood like a monument to old wealth, its Portland stone facade gleaming under the glow of gaslit streetlamps, the windows ablaze with candlelight that spilled onto the cobblestones below.
Inside, the ballroom was a spectacle of opulence, its high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork, gilded with gold leaf that shimmered in the light of crystal chandeliers.
The polished parquet floor reflected the swirl of silk gowns and black tailcoats, while the air carried the scent of beeswax, lavender, and ambition.
Footmen in crisp livery—dark blue coats with silver braiding, their buttons polished to a mirror shine—moved silently, offering trays of champagne and orgeat to the ton’s glittering assembly.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the ballroom, his heart a traitor as it pounded in anticipation of her arrival.
He was here under the guise of friendship, a shield to protect her reputation, but his thoughts were far from platonic.
How could he pursue her without betraying Henley’s trust or risking her honor further?
A public camaraderie, Henley had said, but Gabriel planned subtle gestures—a dance, a walk, a whispered jest—to test her feelings, to see if the spark he felt at Drury Lane was mutual.
The memory of her hand in his, the way her eyes had softened when he offered to chase her mother’s shadow, fueled his resolve.
He would tread carefully, but he would not retreat.
His gaze swept the room, restless, until it landed on her.
Lady Peregrine entered, her arm linked with Anna’s, her periwinkle gown catching the candlelight like a jewel, its hue a bold echo of her spirit.
Her dark hair was swept up, a few curls teasing her neck, and Gabriel’s fingers itched to trace their path.
His breath caught, a reaction that annoyed him—he was no green boy—yet she unraveled him with a glance.
As she bantered with Henley, her lips curving in that wry smile he adored, he felt a pang of something fierce, something possessive.
He pushed it down, schooling his features into his usual charm as he approached.
“Lady Anna, Lady Peregrine,” he greeted, bowing with a grin that masked his racing pulse. “Henley, old chap, I see you’ve survived the carriage ride with your sister’s wit intact.”
Henley snorted. “Barely.” His tone was gruff, but his eyes held a fond exasperation, a brother’s love that Gabriel envied for its simplicity.
Lady Peregrine arched a brow, her eyes meeting his with a spark that set his heart pounding—an irritating reaction, given how many times they’d danced.
“Lord Hawthorne, I trust you’re here to rescue my reputation, as per my brother’s summons?
” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but the playful glint in her gaze suggested she was testing him, daring him to match her.
He took her hand, his gloved fingers brushing hers, and the contact sent a jolt through him, his body responding with a heat he struggled to temper. Her touch was a spark, reigniting the memory of Drury Lane’s forbidden intimacy, and he wondered if she felt it too.
“May I have the honor of a waltz, Lady Peregrine?” he asked, his voice low, the words carrying a weight he couldn’t disguise.
Her eyes locked with his, a charged moment where time seemed to pause, the ballroom’s hum fading to a distant murmur.