Chapter Twenty
Gabriel would have faced French cannon fire with less trepidation than he now felt pacing Lady Devon’s green parlor. Henley was late. Every tick of the ormolu clock on the mantel sounded like a judge’s gavel counting down to his fate.
After Henley had blessedly accommodated his request for a meeting at the ungodly hour of nine, he had wasted not a moment to offer for Peregrine.
Henley had been mildly surprised but not opposed to the match.
But that was the easy part. It was with greater trepidation that Gabriel proceeded to approach the subject of Lord Carver, Henley’s mother, and Gabriel’s family history.
Henley insisted they speak with his mother immediately, only to discover his brother, Edwin, had materialized from the Continent without warning, courtesy of the butler who assumed they were intending on meeting the wayward prodigal.
Henley had gone pale at the news, muttered something about needing a moment, and abandoned Gabriel here like a sacrificial lamb.
Where he now lingered in Peregrine’s childhood home, waiting for Henley to return.
The door opened.
He turned, half expecting the butler with brandy, and felt the floor tilt beneath him.
Peregrine stood framed in the doorway, bonnet dangling from her fingers, cheeks flushed. She looked like sunrise made flesh.
“Gabriel?” A delighted, wondering smile curved her mouth. “Whatever are you doing here?”
For one cowardly heartbeat he considered lying.
Instead, he managed a smile that felt carved from wood. “Waiting on your brother, apparently. And you?”
“Raiding my own wardrobe before it forgets who it belongs to.” She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You are wound tighter than a watch spring. Has something happened?”
She laid her gloved hand on his sleeve. The simple touch nearly undid him. “Talk to me.”
Instead, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
She came willingly, soft and startled and perfect. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and felt her relax against him.
“Nothing escapes you, does it?” he said against her curls. “You read my heart like the worst sort of gothic novel.”
Her laugh vibrated through his waistcoat. “A very badly written one, I hope.”
“The worst,” he repeated, and some of the terror eased.
He drew back just enough to see her face—those clever, fearless eyes—and kissed her.
Once. Twice. A third time, slow and deliberate, tasting her gasp, feeling her fingers clutch his coat as though she feared he might vanish.
The door crashed open.
“What in the blazes—”
They sprang apart like guilty children.
A tall, sun-browned man filled the doorway, eyes blazing. Edwin. Of course it would be Edwin, returned at the precise moment to make Gabriel’s life a farce.
Edwin’s gaze raked over them. “Take your hands off my sister and remove yourself before I throw you out bodily.”
Gabriel lifted both palms. “Edwin—”
“I said go to hell.”
Peregrine’s voice cracked like a whip. “Edwin! When did you even arrive?”
Henley strode in at that moment, tugging off his gloves. “Edwin—Hawthorne, I—” He took in the scene and closed his eyes briefly. “Good Lord.”
Edwin rounded on him. “You allowed this rake to compromise our sister while I was gone?”
“Compromise is excessive,” Henley began, then rubbed his neck. “Would you calm down?”
“He had his tongue down her throat!” Edwin retorted sharply.
“He most certainly did not,” Peregrine snapped, cheeks scarlet.
Henley pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hawthorne offered for her this morning. You are creating an issue where no issue exists.”
The silence was so complete Gabriel heard the clock tick twice.
Edwin’s face went white, then furious red. “You permitted a notorious libertine to court Peregrine? I’m gone for a few months, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket.”
Gabriel watched as Henley’s demeanor locked down, as if he was ready to battle but choosing words rather than fists. “I permitted the man who loves her to court her honorably,” Henley shot back.
Lady Devon’s voice floated in, thin with alarm. “Why is everyone shouting in my parlor? Henley, my maid said something urgent—”
She appeared, took one look at Peregrine’s swollen lips and Gabriel’s disheveled cravat, and arrived—inevitably—at the worst possible conclusion.
“Dear heavens. She is with child.”
And folded to the carpet in a rustle of puce silk.
Chaos erupted.
Peregrine dropped to her knees, fanning her mother with a handkerchief.
Henley bellowed, “She is not increasing!” Edwin roared something about honor and horsewhips.
Gabriel, astonishingly, discovered he still possessed a shred of sanity. He bit back a slight grin at the mayhem around him and decided one of them had to be reasonable.
He knelt, loosened Lady Devon’s stays with the efficiency of a man who had revived more than one overset female in his misspent youth, and snapped, “Brandy.”
A footman materialized, trembling, with a glass. Gabriel tipped a little between Lady Devon’s lips. She coughed, fluttered, and opened bewildered eyes.
“The scandal—” she whimpered.
“There is no child,” Peregrine said firmly, glaring at each brother in turn. “There is an offer of marriage.”
Edwin surged forward. “Which I refuse. Hawthorne, you will leave this house and never darken our door again.”
“And just who has given you authority now that you’re back from your galivanting across the Continent—” Pere started.
“You don’t get a say in this. You’re clearly not a good judge of character.” Edwin pointed at Peregrine.
Gabriel rose slowly. Every eye turned to him.
He could fight. God knew he wanted to—he had faced down worse than a sunburnt cub playing head of family. But Peregrine’s face stopped him—equal parts fury and pleading.
He met Edwin’s glare with icy calm. “As you are presently master here, I will respect your command—for today.”
He turned to Peregrine. The look he gave her held everything he could not say aloud. I love you. I am not leaving you. This is not finished.
“Later,” he said softly. “We will sort this later. Stay with your family. Mad as they are, you are blessed to have them.”
He bowed—perfect, cutting, devastating—and walked out.
Behind him, Edwin began shouting again. Henley’s voice rose in answer. Lady Devon wailed about ruined reputations.
Gabriel did not look back.
He had a war to plan, and this time it would be fought with cooler weapons than raised voices.
Later, he had promised her.
He intended to keep that promise if he had to drag the entire Devon family to the altar himself.