She tried to smother her giggle but failed.
“Lady Alathea!” Lord Falworth pushed through the crowd to bow before her. “Dear lady, I’ve been searching quite doggedly, I do assure you.” He shot a censorious glance at Gabriel. “But now I’ve found you, I believe a cotillion is starting. If you would do me the honor?”
Alathea smiled. For all his foppish tendencies, Falworth was an amiable gentleman and an unexceptionable partner. “Indeed, sir—it is I who would be honored.” It was, perhaps, time she put some distance between herself and her self-styled keeper. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Cynster?” With a nod for Gabriel, she placed her hand on Falworth’s sleeve and let him lead her to where the sets were forming.
As soon as the dance started, her thoughts reverted to Gabriel, Falworth forgotten. No other gentleman could vie with her nemesis. There was—and very likely always had been—only one man for her, the man she’d been closest to all her life. And now he wanted to marry her. He cared for her, but not in a way she could accept as a safe basis for marriage. What she should do—how she could take charge of the situation and steer a safe course for them both—she had no idea. With every day that passed, the pressure to give in, to surrender and be his wife, grew.
Her one bulwark against that was simple but solid. Fear. An unconquerable, unquenchable fear of a pain so vast, so deep, she’d never be able to survive it. A pain she sensed rather than knew, one she could imagine but had never felt. The sort of pain that no sane person invited or permitted to threaten them.
That much she knew: She was too afraid to ever consent to their marriage if all he felt for her, bar transient desire, was mild affection and a duty of care.
As she circled and swayed through the figures of the cotillion, she considered that truth, and the fact that it meant she would never bear his child.
She would never, ever, have children of her own.
But that had been decided eleven years ago. Fate had yet to revoke her decree.
From the side of the dance floor, Gabriel watched as Alathea gracefully twirled. She was thinking of something, something other than the cotillion—there was a distance in her gaze, a closed calmness in her expression that meant she was mentally elsewhere. He was certain she was thinking about him. He wanted her to think of him, but . . . he had a strong suspicion that her thinking at present was not following the lines he wished. His instincts prodded him to press her, to seize her however he might. Some other emotion—a stronger emotion—warned him the decision was hers. And he knew just how easy she was to influence.
At present, his campaign was mired in circumstance and his quarry was proving elusive. Every time he thought he had her in his grasp, she drew away, hazel eyes wide, slightly puzzled, not convinced.
Nowhere near convinced enough to marry him.
That fact left him feeling caged and not the least bit civilized every time she moved away from his side. There was no convenient wall against which he could lean and guard her, so he prowled the edge of the cleared area, unwilling to be waylaid by any of the ladies intent on catching his eye.
He was successful in avoiding all the encroaching madams, but he couldn’t avoid Chillingworth. The earl loomed directly in his path.
Their gazes clashed. By mutual accord, they swung so they stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing over the dance floor.
“I’m surprised,” Chillingworth drawled, “that you haven’t tired of this game.”
“Which game is that?”
“The game of knight-protector, keeping the rest of us at bay.” Chillingworth’s gaze raked his face. “Being such a close friend of the family’s, I can understand why you might feel compelled by the notion, but don’t you think you’re carrying the role a little far?”
“Now why, I wonder, should that so concern you?” Even as he asked the question, Gabriel felt an icy tingle at his nape.
“I would have thought that obvious, dear boy.” Chillingworth gestured toward the dancers, careful not to indicate Alathea specifically. “She’s an attractive proposition, particularly to one situated as I.”
Every word deepened the chill now steadily coursing Gabriel’s veins. The uninformed might imagine Chillingworth meant he was considering seducing Alathea because he was presently amorously free. Gabriel knew better. The earl was of their class, from the same social stratum as the Bar Cynster; he was their contemporary in every way. He abided by the same unwritten code Gabriel himself had honored all his adult life. Ladies of good family and good character were not fair game.
Alathea was unmistakeably both. Seducing her was not what Chillingworth had in mind.
His expression impassive, Gabriel looked over the dancers, his gaze fixing on Alathea’s face. “She’s not for you.”
“Indeed?” Challenge rang in Chillingworth’s tone. “I realize this may come as a surprise, especially to a Cynster, but the lady herself will ultimately be the judge of that.”
“No.” Gabriel uttered the word quietly, yet it held enough latent force to make Chillingworth tense. And wait.
Gabriel saw the danger clearly. Chillingworth was Devil’s age but had yet to marry. He needed an heir, and for that he needed a wife. He could appreciate Chillingworth’s taste in being attracted to Alathea; he was not, however, of a mind to approve.
Alathea loved him, but whether she knew that, or accepted it, he didn’t know. She was headstrong and willful, used to charting her own course. She also had that streak of considered recklessness he’d always found alarming. He could never predict what it might lead her to do. She was finding coming to terms with the notion of marrying him difficult. If Chillingworth offered for her hand, might she accept to escape the impasse he’d created?
Despite loving him—or even because of it—might she think to set him free of the chivalric bonds she imagined compelled him by marrying Chillingworth instead?
Over the heads of the other dancers, Gabriel considered Alathea, and knew he couldn’t risk it. She felt friendly toward Chillingworth. The earl could be charming when he wished and was, after all, a gentleman in the same mold as he. And Alathea was an earl’s daughter. It would be a felicitous match all around.
Except for one thing.
Turning to Chillingworth, Gabriel met his gaze. “If you’re imagining rectifying your lack of an heir through an alliance with the Morwellans, I suggest you think again.”
Chillingworth stiffened; the look in his eyes suggested he could barely believe his ears. “And why is that?” he asked, his tone steely, his aggression poorly masked.
“Because,” Gabriel said, “you would die before you laid so much as a finger on the lady in question, which might make getting your heir a trifle difficult.”
Chillingworth stared at him, then looked away, resuming his previously noncombative stance. “I can’t,” he murmured, “quite believe you said that.”
“I meant every word.”
“I know.” Chillingworth’s lips quirked. “How enlightening.”
“Just as long as you keep it in mind.”
Chillingworth looked to where, the dance having ended, Alathea was strolling on Falworth’s arm. Both he and Gabriel stepped out to intercept her. “I’ll think about it,” Chillingworth replied.
Alathea could not believe how easily Gabriel tracked her through the crowd; she and Lord Falworth had barely begun to stroll before he loomed from the throng. She was, consequently, especially delighted to see Chillingworth by his side.
“My lord.” She gave Chillingworth her hand and smiled with real appreciation as he bowed. “I hope you note I took your comments to heart. I could do nothing about the number of guests, but there are many waltzes scheduled tonight.”
Chillingworth sighed. “What manner of torture is that, my dear? I assume that, as usual, you have no waltzes free.”
Alathea did not miss his sidelong glance at Gabriel. “Unfortunately not.”
“However,” Chillingworth continued, “unless my ears deceive me, that’s a country
dance starting up. Might I beg the pleasure of your company?”
Alathea smiled. “I would be delighted.”
The dance was one that left them paired throughout. Chillingworth conversed easily on general topics. Alathea answered lightly, off the top of her head, her thoughts, as always, sliding back to Gabriel. She’d lost sight of him when the dance got under way; he was no longer where they’d left him. She wondered where he was, and what he was doing.
At the conclusion of the dance, she laid her hand on Chillingworth’s sleeve. He led her from the floor, straight to Gabriel, who was waiting at the other end of the ballroom from where they’d parted.
Alathea resisted an urge to raise her eyes to the skies. Drawing her hand from Chillingworth’s arm, she positioned herself between them, ready to jab an elbow into either of their ribs should they infringe her conversational standards.
Somewhat to her surprise, neither did. Chillingworth seemed careful, watchful. Gabriel was his usual arrogant self, the reality uncloaked given it was only Chillingworth, whom he patently regarded as an equal, with them. Then Amanda, escorted by Lord Rankin, joined them. A minute later, Amelia glided up on Lord Arkdale’s arm.
“This is such a lovely ball, Lady Alathea.” Amanda beamed her delight. “I’m enjoying myself hugely.” The minx batted her long lashes at Rankin, who, all unknowingly, glowed.
“It’s a crush—a positive crush,” Amelia chimed in. “There are so many here.” She smiled at Lord Arkdale. “Why, I’ve never had the chance to chat with Freddie here, before.”
“I hope,” Alathea cut in, preempting Gabriel, “that you’re wise enough to take full advantage of the possibilities offered.”
“Oh, indeed,” Amanda assured her. “Our dance cards are full. We’ve danced every dance with a different gentleman.”
“And spent every interval with still different gentlemen,” Amelia added. Both girls softened the news of their deliberate inconstancy with a ravishing smile at their escorts. Neither gentleman was sure whether to preen or not.
“Incidentally, Gabriel, we haven’t sighted Lucifer.” Amanda fixed her angelic blue eyes on her cousin’s face. “Is he here?”
“He was.”
“He must have discovered something terribly interesting. Or someone,” Amelia ingenuously announced.
“I saw Lady Scarsdale, and Mrs. Sweeney, too. She was wearing vermillion—a hideous shade. I don’t think Lucifer would be with her, do you?”
“Perhaps he’s with Lady Todd. I know she’s here . . .”
The twins continued artlessly speculating on Lucifer’s current obsession. Their escorts were totally bemused. Gabriel was not, but neither was he willing to deflect their attention. Alathea bit her lip, and let the twins have their revenge.
Under cover of the girls’ bright chatter, Chillingworth touched Alathea’s arm. Turning, she encountered a slightly rueful expression in the earl’s eyes.
“I fear I’m going to desert you, my dear, and leave you captive to this bevy of Cynsters.”
Alathea smiled. “They are a riotous lot, but the twins, you see, are celebrating a family victory.”
For an instant, Chillingworth’s eyes held hers, then his gaze flicked to Gabriel, presently exchanging barbs with Amanda. Chillingworth looked questioningly at Alathea. “Cynster, too, I think?”
Alathea didn’t know what to think—and even less what to reply.
Chillingworth relieved her of the problem by bowing. “Your servant, my dear. If you ever find yourself in need of help, know you have only to ask.”
He then nodded elegantly and stepped away, disappearing into the crowd.
Puzzled, Alathea watched him go, then turned back to Gabriel and the twins.
The next dance was a waltz.
Without so much as a by-your-leave, Gabriel, his temper sorely tried by the twins, closed his hand about Alathea’s and drew her onto the floor. His arm came around her, holding her close. Their gazes met.
She grinned, but said not a word. She relaxed, following his lead without conscious effort. Scanning the room as they twirled, she saw no indication of any problem; their ball was in full swing and all was well.
She was about to refocus on Gabriel’s face when Lady Osbaldestone’s flashed past. The gleeful expression in her ladyship’s old eyes reminded Alathea of the approval of Lady Jersey, Princess Esterhazy, and the others. How many more had had their eyes opened tonight, their censorious minds alerted?
“This is dangerous—you and me.” She looked at Gabriel. “We’re going to end as a high treat for the scandalmongers.”
“Nonsense. Who’s been disapproving?”
No one. Alathea pressed her lips together. After a moment, she said, “I’m too old. The entire ton is expecting you to marry—they won’t approve of your marrying me.”
“Why not? It’s not as if you’re in your dotage, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
“So? If that doesn’t worry me, and you know damned well it doesn’t, why should it concern anyone else?”
“Bachelors of thirty do not customarily marry spinsters of twenty-nine.”
“Probably because most spinsters of twenty-nine are that for good reason.” Gabriel caught her eye. “You’re that for a completely different reason—a reason that is no longer valid. You’ve done what you needed to do—you’ve set your family back on their feet. You’ve held the fort until Charlie can take over, and trained him to do it.” His voice lowered. “Now it’s time to let go and live the life you should have lived. With me.”
Alathea remained silent, not sure she could trust her voice.
He continued, “I haven’t detected the slightest hint of disapproval—quite the opposite. The senior hostesses all knew your mother—they’re thrilled at the thought of you marrying at last. Along with the rest of the ton, they’ve never understood why you didn’t marry. To them, the notion of your marrying me is highly romantic.”
Alathea managed a sniff. After a minute, she risked a glance up.
Gabriel’s gaze was gently ruthless. “They’ll cheer the announcement, when you consent to let me make it. They’re not standing in my way.”
Only she was. Alathea looked away. There was, it seemed, to be no help from any quarter. She was swimming against a flood tide.
In the nearby card room, Devil Cynster, Duke of St. Ives, strolled up to the earl of Chillingworth, who was standing by a wall watching a hand of piquet.
“Amazing. I never thought to see you pull in your horns.” Devil glanced pointedly toward the ballroom. “I find it difficult to believe there are no possibilities in there. If you don’t look quick, you’ll be cold tonight. I, at least, have a warm bed to hie home to.”
Chillingworth looked amused. “And what makes you think I haven’t? The only difference between you and me, dear boy, is that your bed will be the same tomorrow night, while mine has at least a chance of being different.”
“On the other hand, there’s something to be said for consistently high standards.”
“At present, I’ll settle for variety. That aside, to what do I owe this questionable pleasure?”
“Just checking on your current interest.”
“To make certain we don’t cross bows? Pull the other one.”
Devil settled his shoulders against the wall. “Purely altruistic, on my part.”
Chillingworth hid a smile. “Altruistic? Tell me, is it me you’re interested in keeping whole, or another more nearly related?” Devil studied the crowd in the ballroom through the arch directly before them. “Let’s just say that I’ve no wish to see any misunderstanding cloud the otherwise congenial relationship between your family and mine.” Chillingworth said nothing for several minutes, also staring at the figures jostling in the ballroom. Then he shifted. “If I was to say that I have no intention of disrupting the harmony currently reigning between our houses, would you do me one favor?”
“What?”
“Don’t tell Gabr
iel.”
Devil turned his head. “Why?”
His lips quirking wryly, Chillingworth pushed away from the wall. “Because it’s entertaining watching him rise to my bait, and,” he murmured, just loud enough for Devil to hear as he moved away, “I consider that fitting consolation.”
Their ball had been held on Monday night. Alathea did not set eyes on Gabriel again until Wednesday. Ambling in the park behind his sisters and hers, closely escorted by Lord Esher and Mr. Carstairs, she was deep in disturbing thoughts of Crowley and the Central East Africa Gold Company when she heard her name called. Looking up, she saw the group ahead looking back at her. Heather Cynster pointed to the nearby carriageway—to where her brother held his team of restless bays, stamping impatiently. As she lengthened her stride, Alathea got the distinct impression that the horses were merely reflecting their master’s state.
“Good morning.” Tipping her head up, she looked into his face, some way above her, courtesy of his high perch phaeton. The carriage held the interest of the girls and their beaux, leaving her to deal with its driver.
He beckoned. “Come up. I’ll take you for a tool around the avenue.”
She smiled. “No, thank you.”
He stared at her.
The others had heard.
“Go on, Allie! You’ll enjoy it.”
“We’ll be safe enough.”
“It’ll just be for a few minutes.”
“Carstairs and I will engage to watch over your charges in your stead, Lady Alathea.”
Alathea kept her gaze steady on Gabriel’s face. “When last did you drive a lady in the park?”
He studied her for an instant longer, then his lips thinned. “Hold ’em, Biggs.” His groom leaped from the back and ran to the horses’ heads. Gabriel tied off the reins and jumped down.
Without a word, he took her arm and waved the others on. Absorbed with their own concerns, the girls were happy to comply. By mutual accord, she and Gabriel waited until the group was far enough ahead so they could talk without being overheard, then set out in their wake.